War of Eagles

Bureau of Investigation to examine these matters. The ten-member group would be hand-picked by the minister of justice from among the representatives of twenty-three administrative divisions of China. Because the members came from outside the executive branch, the legislative branch, and the military, an SBI was generally unbiased and untouchable. The representatives were prohibited, by law, from seeking higher office. They had nothing to gain by coloring their findings.

But an SBI would not act quickly. And the prime minister needed immediate results, especially if the launch might be at risk. He also needed to keep the foreign minister from moving against him.

“Does the foreign minister have any comments?” Le asked.

“Chinese citizens were killed in the United States and Taipei,” De Ming said. “I would suggest at the very least an oversight committee be formed to collect information from foreign sources.”

“To place blame or redirect it?” General Tam Li asked.

Le regarded the officer. “I ask again, General. Do you have information you wish to share?”

“None,” Tam Li told him. “Only an observation. Absent detente, this situation will escalate.”

The prime minister did not bother to ask him how or when. No one seemed to want to say anything incriminating, something that might help an opponent. “What would it take to establish peace?” Le asked.

“There can be no peace without a singular vision,” Chou said. “We have a system of beliefs in China, one established by great men. One put in place through the sacrifice of millions of lives. There can be no deviation from that.”

Tam Li rolled what was left of his cigarette between his fingers. His pale eyes were fixed on the glowing tip. “The number of smokers in China surpasses the population of the United States. Should all of us smoke the same brand? Should those who do not smoke be forced to do so? I am told by my physician that millions of souls have died for that right as well.”

“Your comments are sickening,” Chou snapped. “They diminish the sacrifice others have made.”

“I had hoped to provide perspective,” Tam Li replied quietly.

“You failed,” Chou said. “Mr. Prime Minister, this meeting is pointless, and I am tired.”

“You should consider retiring,” the general said and then looked at the spy chief. “To bed, I mean.”

Chou Shin regarded the prime minister. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“Not at the moment, thank you,” Le replied. The spy chief had just given him what he needed.

The head of the Guoanbu bowed slightly toward the foreign minister, then to the prime minister, then left.

“Ideologues are easy to bait,” the general said.

“Why did you want to?” Le asked. “You do not advocate our political philosophy?”

“I support the land,” Tam Li replied. “I support China, whatever form that takes. One day it is a dynasty, an empress, one day it is a party called Communism. The next day we are all looking the other way as Hong Kong and Taiwan force us to tolerate new ideas.”

“Not everyone tolerates them,” the foreign minister pointed out.

“No. Director Chou does not. Others do not. As a general, I have been trained to watch and evaluate the currents of battle. This one, the one Director Chou is fighting, is a losing one.”

“Do you think the director loves China any less than you, less than any of us?” Le asked.

“No. But he is a jealous lover.”

“A violent one?”

General Tam Li smiled self-consciously. He put the stub of the cigarette between his lips, then carefully folded the paper full of ashes. He stood and dropped the paper in a wastebasket. Then he walked over to the prime minister and put his cigarette in the ashtray.

“No, Mr. Prime Minister,” the general said.

“He is not a violent man?” Le asked.

“No — I will say nothing more,” Tam Li continued. “Director Chou and I share this much: the belief that a man fights his own battles.”

“Such battles could hurt China,” the prime minister pointed out.

“Internal struggle, however painful at the time, invariably strengthens the host. It builds new defenses, discards aspects of a system that do not work. If the system fails, it was not healthy to begin with.”

“We are talking about escalating attacks on Chinese holdings, not debates in the People’s Congress,” the prime minister complained.

“You are just giving us idealistic words and sweeping ideas,” the foreign minister added impatiently.

“What is Communism if not that?” Tam Li asked.

The foreign minister threw up his hand in disgust. Then he excused himself and left the room. The prime minister set the ashtray aside and rose. “General, I don’t care whether you and Director Chou claw each other to pieces,” he said. “I am not worried about the survival of China. I am, however, very concerned about the launch of the Red Eagle on Thursday. Your command will use it to link communications that are currently using landlines.”

“That is a piggyback function,” Tam Li replied.

“One of many, yes,” Le said. “That is why the Ministry of Science turned to a foreign firm to build the mainframe. Their design allowed us to plug in multiple utilities, to consolidate what would have been several launches into one. I am concerned that your conflict with Director Chou may affect that launch.”

“I don’t see how I can help you,” Tam Li said. “We have a strong philosophical difference.”

“Yes, and it has taken physical form, like the spirit in the old story of Zong Dingbo and the Ghost,” the prime minister said. “In that form the ghost was able to destroy and to be destroyed.”

“As I recall from my childhood, it was a careless ghost,” the general said. “But a ghost must be a ghost, whatever the consequences.”

“The satellite is bigger than your dispute,” Le said angrily. The prime minister was too practical for this. Like Director Chou, Tam Li was a man who would follow principle through the gateway to hell.

“Do you know what our argument is about?”

“You sell people,” Le said. “At least, that is what I am told.”

“It is not true, Mr. Prime Minister. I collect an honorarium for advice, for helping other men conduct trade.”

“Slave trade—”

“Not to me and not to them,” Tam Li said. “These are people who want to leave China, people who do not want to be a part of Director Chou’s world. Like me, they want to make more money. Unlike me, they leave. I collect my legal fee for the same reason that my soldiers gamble or occasionally traffic black market goods. Because we do not make enough money to raise and educate our families. In Russia, men in my position are selling outdated weapons. In the United States, some men sell military secrets. China benefits from both because our government is willing to pay them. We, who offer our lives in the defense of our nation, must make do with what the government has left. Which is not very much.”

“Soldiers are always underpaid,” Le said. “But they do not have to depend on crops or tourists or the whims of commerce to earn a living. Their salary may not be substantial, but it is regular. They are never hungry, and they always receive medical attention.”

“Until new technologies reduce our numbers,” the general said. “You know as well as I that even exotic hardware like the Red Eagle is going to reduce the need for communications units. The new Song-class submarines require half the crew of the older models. In my lifetime I may become redundant. I do not farm. I do not weave. I will not beg to give Japanese and American visitors a tour of the Great Wall. You may not like it, and Director Chou absolutely does not like it, but I stand for many, and I will not back down. Tell me, Mr. Prime Minister. Are you asking me to do so because I happen to be the last one here, or do you agree with Director Chou?”

“I cannot sanction what you do, but I do not support Chou’s actions.”

“You won’t tell him that, though, because he represents the party, and the party is the embodiment of Mao,” the general said. “To challenge him is to challenge the great revolutionary.”

Le said nothing.

“Then I suppose I stand for you as well,” Tam Li said. “I will resist the assault of Director Chou Shin because