The Land of the Free (4 page)

It was not the most interesting
training session Robbie Linssman had ever attended.  He struggled to stay awake
for large parts of it as he sat in the dimly lit conference room.  That the
presenter was his old friend Evan Bozak from Tilbury headquarters in Chicago,
on a rare visit to Kingston, made no difference.  Evan was great to be with in
social and work situations, but he was simply a bore at the front of the room. 
It did not help that the topic was a new automated purchasing system that was
finally being implemented three years after it was acquired.  So far as anyone
could tell, the new owners of Helsing-Tilbury did not care about systems
upgrades that would enhance efficiency. 
Oh well, it’s their money
, thought
Linssman.

After Evan had finished his
presentation, and Robbie had caught up on his sleep, the two men agreed to go
out for a few drinks before dinner.  They sat at the bar in the Copper Kettle,
a cozy local microbrewery.  A larger group would join them later, but for the
moment, it was just the two of them.  “What do you make of the San Marcos
purchase, Bozie?  I think it’s just the weirdest thing.  It can’t make money,
can it?”

Evan Bozak was capable of finding a
lot of useful information.  His office ran the purchasing operations at
Tilbury’s US headquarters in Chicago and processed all financial transactions. 
“You don’t know the half of it, Robbie.  You know that on certain occasions the
CFO approves special requests that circumvent review by our department.  The
special requisitions are sometimes used where confidential information is at
stake, or, as I’ve sometimes come across, when a contractor connected to a
politician required
preferential
treatment to secure favors from said
politician.  You follow those and you quickly see where all the skeletons are
hiding.”

“I think you’ve told me about those
before” said Robbie.  “Are you seeing anything interesting in that regard?”

“Out of a suspicious feeling, I
started keeping an eye on any special requisitions coming through on San
Marcos.  But the fact is, I can’t keep track of it all.  Just about everything
at San Marcos is on a special requisition.  The kicker is, there’s only one
contractor for everything.  It’s obvious that it’s a front company, with only a
P.O. Box as its address.”

“What kind of stuff are they
buying?”

“That’s weird too.  There’s
construction going on, so you see ordinary materials you’d expect for that. 
But thousands of portable housing units are on the list.  They have nonperishable
foodstuffs by the boatload, and over a thousand chemical toilets.”

“Must be a crappy place,” quipped
Robbie as he took a drink of his beer.

“A crappy place with a lot of
people.  And we’re not talking tourists here.  This stuff is pretty industrial
grade.”

“What do you think is going on
there?”

“At this point, I don’t know what
it is.  But Smithfield’s interest in San Marcos, given their total lack of
interest in any other part of Tilbury, makes me think that the only reason they
bought us out is to enable them to do whatever it is they’re doing on San
Marcos.”

Other people began to arrive at the
bar, and Bozak realized the time to discuss the matter was coming to a close. 
He turned to Robbie one last time before engaging the group.  “Before I forget,
Robbie, in your time at Tilbury, have you ever known us to be interested in the
oil infrastructure of the US?”

“No, never.  Why?”

“It’s just something that keeps
coming up lately.  Reports keep coming through our office on refineries,
distribution hubs, pipelines and all sorts of other stuff that’s oil related. 
It’s not normal so I just thought I’d ask.  At this rate I’d hate to see us
merge with an oil company, if that’s where this is going.”

“Keep me in the loop, okay?” said
Robbie.

“Sure thing” replied Bozak.

The National Security meeting
convened in the Roosevelt Room.  While Torres felt the meeting rooms were all
far too stuffy and formal, protocol prevented him from fundamentally changing
their character.  The small indulgence he gave himself was the addition of
comfortable chairs that swiveled and tilted.  These made the attendees far more
comfortable at long meetings, and he tried hard to put people at ease in
meetings.  If they could express themselves there, they did not carp to the
press as much behind his back.

Kurdi had not heard the outcome of
the Zheng meeting, but started by briefing the group about Torres’ interest in
China’s gestures towards Japan.  He covered Torres’ questions about the
importance of Taiwan.  Torres took his seat at the center of the table, with
Kurdi at the end.  “I’d like to supplement my knowledge with your collective
wisdom ahead of a full cabinet meeting tomorrow.  I want your thoughts on
China’s objectives, and your informed guesses on tactics they could use. 
Kurdi, please lead us from here.”

Kurdi’s customary formal expression
became even more so.  He called on several advisers to explain relevant
arguments for and against a particular theory.  The first analyst was Sue
Henderson, a 30-something red haired woman with a quick smile and sharp wit. 
Sue exuded elegance in a cold way that did not rely on strategically timed
smiles or flirtation.  “The Chinese don’t want war, Sir.  They want the United
States to accommodate their interests, to force us to treat them as sovereigns
in their sphere of influence, the Western Pacific.  Our obligation to Japan is
the weakness they’re playing upon.  We have troops committed in too many places
to effectively defend Japan.  By reminding us of the cost it presents us to
oppose them, they want to show us the limits of our power.  The drawback for
them is if we choose to simply ignore their gestures.  They’d have to choose
escalation, which would hurt trade with Japan, or revert to a less aggressive stance,
where they’d risk a loss of face with their neighbors.”

“Why would they pick Japan over
Taiwan?” asked Torres, relaxed in his role.

Sue looked at him with a decisive
expression.  “Japan is too big a target for them to actually attack.  There’s
no real risk it will come to the brink of war.  If they were doing this to
Taiwan, we would have to send some heavy reinforcements there, increasing the
risk of armed conflict.  Basically, because we know they want Taiwan, they
won’t risk going after it.”

“Mr. President, I should say right
here that there is another theory in contrast to this one,” said Kurdi. 
“Reggie, please describe your theory.”

Reginald White was a black American
from Harlem with a record of military service and a college education on the GI
Bill.  He spent many years in military intelligence, and was more interested in
foreign rivals’ needs and capabilities than their motives, which he knew could
change over time.  “Sir, the Chinese are threatened most by their lack of
control over vital shipping lanes.  Their imports of oil and other resources,
their exports of everything else would be in jeopardy if we closed those
lanes.  Taiwan is in the middle of all their shipping traffic.  It has to be
more important than any national pride they feel over the issue.  Their second
objective would be a base in the Malacca Strait.  I view everything with this
in mind.  When I see measures taken against Japan, I see the target as Taiwan. 
If Sue is right and they want to impose costs on us, then they want control
over Taiwan in return for lowering our costs.  If we do nothing about their
incursions, they’ll eventually move against Taiwan in any case.”

Kurdi cut in and turned to Sue
Henderson:  “What’s your take on their objective? If they force us to negotiate,
what will they want?”

Sue was quick to agree with
Reggie’s analysis of China’s objectives.

After four hours deliberating other
possibilities, they settled on the models advanced by Sue and Reggie,
concluding that Japan was a tactic while Taiwan was an objective.

Torres stood up, which had the
effect of stopping further conversation.  He paced the length of the table and
raised a scenario.  “If their objective is Taiwan, we could fortify her.  We
would send the message that any trouble they make will result in us
strengthening our position in the place that matters most.  From what I hear,
responding in Japan would be a waste of resources.  Does everyone agree?”

Kurdi gave everyone a chance to
comment on Torres’ conclusion, and the responses were uniformly positive. 
Torres then thanked the group, and retired to his study.  He was confident that
these discussions with the NS advisory group would prove useful in the full
cabinet meeting.  His hope was that by being well prepared, he could keep
control of the agenda.

“While I enjoy our golf games,
Jackson, I have to tell you that I don’t approve of you using me to avoid
Morgensen.  You’re going to have to learn to deal with her as an equal, and
that can only happen when you get over your fear of her.”  Carson Stahl was
never one to hold back an opinion from Torres, confident that Torres knew he
was looking out for his best interests.

As they came to the fifth hole,
they parked the golf cart and walked over to the tees.  There was a very large,
old oak tree adjacent to the tees, and Torres leaned up against the trunk to
enjoy the shade.  Stahl put his ball on the tee and selected a driver.  “I’m
just trying to avoid her until the cabinet meeting this afternoon.  She’s going
to try to steer things anyway.  I’d like to think it’s harder for her if she
has to do it without having browbeaten me first.”

“That’s a mistake, Jackson,” said
Stahl as he lined up his shot.  “This way, you don’t know her game going into
the meeting.  You won’t be able to formulate a counter-proposal in advance, if
you have problems with hers.”

Thud
.  Stahl had not yet
taken his shot.  Torres looked around to see where the sound came from.  He did
not have to look far.  Just to his left, a man had dropped out of the tree,
holding a sword.  He was wearing a black bandana and something resembling a
ninja suit.  He immediately swung his sword at Torres, who deflected the blow
with his golf club shaft.  The shaft buckled and would be useless against a
second blow.  The blow came quickly enough, and Torres backed out of the way of
it as best he could.  It sliced across his chest, and cut a gash about eight
inches long, diagonally from his sternum to the right side of his belly. 
Torres fell back to the ground, clutching his wound, while the attacker moved
forward, now holding his sword in both hands for a final thrust.  Torres was
completely defenseless, and one well placed thrust would surely finish him. 
Thud
. 
Instead, the ninja collapsed to the ground, his sword still in both hands ready
to thrust.  Behind him stood Stahl, holding a broken golf club.

Stahl had realized immediately that
the Secret Service would be too late to reach them and stop the attack.  They
couldn’t shoot at this distance, for fear of hitting Torres.  So he stepped up
behind the ninja and took a golf swing at the head of the attacker.  The Secret
Service arrived within 30 seconds, and jumped on the ninja, who was in any
event motionless.  They rolled him over on his stomach and handcuffed him. 
Other Secret Service Agents tended to Torres, ripping open his shirt and
examining the wound he had sustained.  It was not a very deep gash, and the
bleeding was not profuse.  “Sir, we’ll let the in-house medic take care of this
one.”

The Marine One helicopter arrived
within 5 minutes and landed on the fairway next to the tees.  Torres had no
problem walking under his own power and was whisked away from the golf course. 
The media was kept away from the White House for his arrival, and Torres was
hustled off the helicopter and into the infirmary.  “I can stitch you up quick
enough.  This is a clean cut,” said Doctor Robinson.  “You should be out of
here in time for lunch.”

…

“He was a Chinese national,” said
Hanna Morgensen, visiting Torres in the infirmary just after he was stitched
up.  “He died a little while ago, of the head injury.  He had a history of
mental instability.  That pretty much made him the perfect choice to pull off
something like this.  Even if we’d been able to interrogate him, we’d never
know what to believe.  Half of what he said would have been fantasy.”

“How did he get to us?  I thought
the course was secure.”

“He had a platform up in the tree.  Almost
a tree fort.  The branches were so thick, the Secret Service didn’t see
anything.  He must have slept up there, waiting for his chance.”

Torres stood and moved his upper
body in multiple ways, to discover which movements caused him pain. He found
that he could avoid the worst postures easily enough.  “I’m not sure we should
even let the public know what happened.”

“Absolutely not,” said Morgensen. 
“It would taint everything if there was reason to believe you had an ax to
grind with the Chinese.  And I can speak for your other cabinet members when I
say that we don’t want to subject the financial markets to the news that the
President was almost killed.”

Torres left the infirmary at about
1 pm, and dressed in his work clothes.  The cabinet meeting was still on, and
it was up to him to gather his thoughts and not be distracted by what was going
to be treated as a non-event.  What was going to happen shortly would decide
his course of action with China.  His stomach was tight, and he had difficulty
eating any lunch.  He was rattled by what had happened, but the seriousness of
the upcoming meeting seemed to him even worse.

Torres walked into the cabinet room
at 2:45, and immediately regretted his decision to be early.  He was alone in
the room with Morgensen.  “By the sounds of it, Zheng took you to the
cleaners,” she opened without any segue from her previous meeting in the
infirmary.  “He delivered his demands, and you played defense, right?”

“More or less, yeah,” conceded
Torres with disarming candor, as he walked to the coffee urn and helped
himself.  “Zheng came with a new agenda.  I had to understand what he was
getting at, and picking a fight seemed impractical.  He was an envoy, not a
negotiator.”  Torres then walked to his seat and settled in, turning his
attention away from the Cobra.

Morgensen in turn helped herself to
another cup of coffee, breaking off the discussion that was no longer trending
in her favor.  To Torres’ relief, others started arriving, greeting each other
and creating a small amount of chaos.

At about five of three, Torres
stood and asked everyone to sit down.  Few members of cabinet even knew of his
earlier close call, and he was determined not to discuss it.  He motioned for
the technician to come in and bring up the audio recording of his conversation
with Zheng.  With a perfunctory, “This was recorded yesterday,” he hit the
“play” icon with his cursor and everyone listened intently.  Even the Cobra’s
customary eye rolls were subdued.

When the audio concluded, Torres
spoke.  “Last night I met with the National Security Advisory Group, which was
not briefed on the meeting with Zheng.  We discussed China’s recent
confrontations with Japan and what they might mean.  I’ve asked Sue Henderson
here to summarize the consensus that emerged.  Sue, go ahead.”

Henderson was an instant hit with
the mostly male cabinet members, but received suspicious scowls from the
Cobra.  Henderson quickly and efficiently summarized the possibilities and tied
them together to point to Taiwan as China’s target regardless of its stance
towards Japan.

“Does anyone have a different take
on the scenario?” asked Torres.  “Our plans will incorporate the assumptions
presented by Ms. Henderson unless there are objections.”

Morgensen spoke first.  “Ms.
Henderson, is it your opinion that China would, if it felt sufficiently provoked,
try to take Taiwan by military action?”

“The facts as they stand are that
China has worked relentlessly to develop that capability, Madam Secretary.  In
spite of that, my own belief is that China’s civilian government would do
anything to avoid it.  For it to happen, the Chinese military would have to
acquire political power.  They’re very ideological, and anti-American.”

Torres posed the next question, but
not to Henderson.  “Bill, what would your people say about the stability of the
Chinese government as currently constituted?”

Bill Connolly was the director of
the CIA, himself a former spook who had done the
dirty work
that nobody
wanted to know about, but everybody seemed to want done.  He had also
outsourced the intelligence operations in Afghanistan to Morningstar Security
Services.  The internal rationale was to take controversial actions outside the
US government.  But as reports leaked of their brutal tactics, the blowback had
become so burdensome that Torres had indefinitely suspended Morningstar’s
status with the government, pending further investigation.

Connolly folded his hands, and
rested his elbows on the table.  “Sir, the Chinese government is superficially
stable, though there are rifts that could show if conditions were right. 
They’re extremely cautious and loathe any radical action.  For war to come
about, the military would have to be the driver, and that implies overt
military rule.  I’m not losing any sleep over it right now, but I take it
you’re worried about where things could go down the road.”

Torres got up and paced the room. 
As he got to the end of the table he was met by a glare from the Cobra so
intense he instinctively turned around and returned to his seat.  It was all he
could do to keep speaking without losing his train of thought.  “Tom, what’s
China’s economic condition?”

Treasury Secretary Tom Gallant was
tall and slightly overweight.  He came from the New York financial circles, and
was well connected.  Morgensen considered him insufferably stupid.  While
Torres was inclined to agree, he felt it important to accommodate the banking
interests.

“Uh, good,” answered Gallant.  “I
mean, they buy our bonds, so we can borrow more to buy their stuff.  Their
growth is very strong.”

Morgensen rolled her eyes in
exasperation.  Bill Connolly saw this and stepped in.  “China’s under a lot of
pressure.”

“What pressure, specifically?”
asked Torres.

“Their economy is rife with
malinvestment.  They overbuilt for their export markets.  So they’re facing the
inevitable bursting of that bubble, while also facing some serious inflation. 
They have enough problems without adding war to the mix.”

“So you’re saying that there’s no
danger of it being a military conflict?  That we can disregard any such
implications from Zheng’s message?”

“Not quite,” said Connolly.  “I
agree with the case Sue made.  If the civilian government were sufficiently
humiliated, it would invite the military to step in and restore Chinese honor. 
In that event, the civilian government would probably be forced to submit to
military dictates.  Maybe we could appease them with a base in the Malacca
Strait, if we can make it acceptable to Singapore.”

“Singapore is too important to the
world’s financial system,” declared Morgensen flatly, as she stood up and took
her turn to pace the room.  “The Malacca Strait is off the table.”  She looked
at everyone in the room in turn to verify their submissiveness, then took her
seat once again.  The discussion would now stay clear of anything pertaining to
Singapore.  A few glances were exchanged across the table, but nobody dared
speak up when the
éminence grise
showed her hand.

“The issue is what we give up with
respect to Taiwan, now that we know what they want” offered Torres.

“And whether Taiwan amounts to
Czechoslovakia, 1938!”  The Cobra’s rebuke to his stance was so aggressive it
shocked Torres, who thought he was used to it. 

She was now ready to take over the
meeting.  “A clash with China on the world stage may be inevitable.  If we
buckle now, they will conclude they are the world’s leading power, and the 21
^st
century will be one of American retreat.”

“Madam Secretary, that’s not
consistent with Chinese history,” said Kurdi with some trepidation.  “China
considers itself a regional power, but they’re not interested in exerting that
kind of influence on the world stage.”

Morgensen remained perfectly calm
when everyone expected rage.  She leaned forward in her chair and lowered her
gaze to meet Kurdi’s eyes.  She was silent for a moment, then with the meekest,
most restrained tone of voice anyone had heard from her said, “History looks
backwards, Mr. Kurdistani.”

After another silent moment, her
voice picked up to its regularly aggressive tone.  “I look forward.  Meeting
China’s future resource demands will require a substantial portion of the
world’s output.  China’s leaders of today are well-traveled.  Many are even
educated abroad.”

She leaned forward in her chair
even further, and the volume and intensity of her voice rose yet higher.  “You
can’t compare them to the ancient emperors who never left the Forbidden City! 
The United States allowed and even facilitated China’s rise.  And unless we
confront them, they will overtake us.”

Apparently finished demolishing
Kurdi’s objection, Morgensen turned her head in the other direction.  “Mr.
Connolly, if China were simultaneously confronted with economic recession and
international humiliation, would it not be at least even money that they’d
fragment politically, and regress economically?”

“Possibly.  But it’s risky.  It
could destabilize them.”

“Not if we offer an alternative,”
countered Morgensen.  “How do you think we won the Cold War?  Your people could
organize a yellow revolution.  I could arrange for certain interests to buy off
military leaders.  We would promise the Generals a pension and a penthouse
apartment in Hong Kong.  We would offer their citizens democracy and social
programs.  They’re an aging population with no retirement benefits.  So we’d
put those in place.  They’d have stability, but they would also have higher
costs, and their economy would shrink in an orderly manner.  At the end of the
day, what you’d see in China is a larger version of Japan.”

“But one slip and you’d have a
military conflict over Taiwan.  And that’s a World War III scenario,” said
Torres.

“They have more to lose than we
do,” said Morgensen, showing restrained displeasure showing at having to answer
Torres’ objection.  “We could destroy their whole civilization with a few
clicks of a mouse.  We could survive any counterstrike they could attempt, and the
outcome would be asymmetric.  They know this, and that’s why they won’t fight. 
But we have to take our stand now.”

“Does that mean we just tell them
to take a
flyin’ leap
on their demands?” asked Tom Gallant.

“Yes, Mr. Gallant.  That’s what it
means,” replied the Cobra with mocking gentleness.  “We’ll respond after one
week as they asked.  We’ll send a letter to their embassy with a short
message.  ‘There’s nothing wrong with American finance, and we see no reason to
change the existing relationship between our two nations.’  We will also send a
large part of our fleet to Taiwan.  Ground forces, too.  We won’t make any
attempts to keep it secret.  We don’t want to dignify their implicit threat
with the notion that we’re trying to do it unnoticed.”

Hanna Morgensen looked up and
glanced at the faces around the room.  Every glance confirmed what she knew
would be the outcome.  Nobody was willing to argue the point any further, which
meant that as far as she was concerned the matter was settled.  Any misgivings
now had to be set aside.  Torres likewise understood that he could not win the
argument, and even engaging in it would demonstrate to all in the room that he
was not the
de facto
head of the government.  Instead, he leaned forward
in a gesture of confidence, and issued instructions.  “Hanna, have your people
send the letter.  Have the Joint Chiefs organize the deployment, to commence
immediately.  Make sure our forces arrive by the time the Chinese receive their
response.  Also, if I remember, there was talk of conducting joint exercises
with the South Koreans.  Let’s move that up.  Do it as fast as we can assemble
the forces.”

“I can do it right away,” said
Tyler Matheson, the Defense Secretary.  “Most of the forces are ready for
exercises anyway.”  Matheson was young at 41, in his first stint in government,
and not yet jaded by his experiences.

“To put adequate pressure on the
Chinese, there will have to be an incident with the North Koreans,” added
Morgensen.  “They always sweat when they think their retarded client has again
destabilized the region.  Bill, make it discreet, as usual.”  Bill Connolly
nodded.  He had just the idea.

Torres couldn’t help but glance
over at the Cobra, and shuddered when he caught himself appreciating her look
of satisfaction, like a junior employee might enjoy the approval of a boss. 
Morgensen had rarely looked or sounded this happy.  She actually smiled and
said, “Very good, Mr. President.  We’ll also arrange for a sloppy leak of a
diplomatic communiqué stating that we read their intentions as wanting to
dominate the Western Pacific, starting with an overt takeover of Taiwan.  That
should ensure they won’t miss the message that our deployment will send.”

Torres adjourned the meeting and
made a straight path for his private study, feeling disgusted with what he had
just agreed to, against his better judgment.  He was in favor of reinforcing
Taiwan, but not trying to destabilize China.  He was going to back a dangerous
animal into a corner, hoping the pressure caused it to break down rather than
attack.  In his mind, he wrestled with the thought that the attempt on his life
may have been arranged by the Chinese, and he was afraid.  His government was
moving towards a confrontation he did not want any part of, but for which he would
be held responsible.  And the exercises he had proposed in Korea were now going
to encounter an “incident” arranged by the CIA.  He would be responsible for
needless deaths.  He consoled himself with the thought that his next act as
President would go some distance to making things right.