Empire Rising (6 page)

The PLA Navy was a formidable force indeed, except when compared to the American Pacific Fleet. But Tsou had toiled diligently to level the playing field and make America pay dearly for its righteous superiority and willingness to employ it. After years of honing carefully guarded plans, it was time to reveal them.

Tsou took a deep breath, then nodded, and his aide strode onto the stage, announcing “Attention on Deck” as he emerged. Conversation in the auditorium ceased as the admirals surged to their feet, standing at attention as Tsou followed his aide to the front of the auditorium. The aide departed, leaving Tsou standing in front of a twenty-by-forty-foot view screen towering above him, which would display every facet of the plan as it unfolded.

“At ease,” Tsou announced. “Be seated.”

Fleet Admiral Tsou surveyed the men assembled before him as they took their seats. Their mood was somber; they knew the upcoming battle would be difficult. In a few minutes, they would understand just how difficult.

“Good morning,” Tsou said. “Many of you have guessed why we are here today. The preparations made over the last week have no doubt indicated our intent, and I am sure you are confident in our ability. But there is more to our plan than meets the eye. The invasion of Taipei is merely bait, drawing our enemy close. For us to be victorious, not only must we defend our amphibious assault from the United States Navy, we must go one step further. Our real goal is to destroy the United States Pacific Fleet.”

Tsou listened to murmurings throughout the auditorium. Until this moment, the obvious goal of their assault had been the unification of the two Chinas. Now, with the true intent of their plan revealed, astonished expressions spread across the room. Admiral Tsou continued as the murmuring died down, “It won't be easy, but this is how we're going to do it.” Tsou paused for a moment before beginning the two-hour operations brief.

*   *   *

After explaining the last element of his plan, Admiral Tsou turned from the view screen and faced his admirals, waiting for the expected reaction. He wasn't the only one who understood the Herculean task they'd been assigned. As the murmuring began throughout the auditorium again, a Vice Admiral stood to address Admiral Tsou. His ships were assigned the most difficult—and seemingly impossible—task.

He began by identifying himself and his command. “Vice Admiral Shao, Commander, 10th Submarine Flotilla, East Sea Fleet.”

Admiral Tsou acknowledged the flotilla commander. “Proceed.”

“Pardon me for being a skeptic, but after years of studying the American Navy's capability, I have a different assessment of the outcome.”

Tsou had seen this coming from the moment the plan was conceived. “And your
opinion
is…?”

“My
opinion
,” Admiral Shao replied, “is that this plan is ludicrous! We cannot defeat the American Pacific Fleet!”

Shouting broke out throughout the auditorium, as some admirals echoed Admiral Shao's sentiment, while others admonished him for both the disrespectful manner with which he voiced his disagreement and his lack of faith. Yet everyone in the room knew there was a kernel of truth in the Vice Admiral's assertion.

Fleet Admiral Tsou stood with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting patiently for the fervor to die out. Finally, he replied, “Well stated, Admiral.”

Tsou's response took everyone by surprise; they had expected him to defend the battle plan vehemently. Instead, he agreed his plan had no chance to succeed. Tsou continued, “Under normal circumstances, you would be correct in your assessment.”

Admiral Tsou cast a glance across the auditorium. For the plan to succeed, his admirals must
believe
it can. The PLA's new capabilities had been kept secret long enough. It was time to reveal them. It was time to reveal
everything
.

*   *   *

It was only a few minutes later when Admiral Tsou finished. Heads nodded throughout the auditorium, confidence radiating from the men within. They now believed they could defeat the American Pacific Fleet. And that, of course, was the most important ingredient.

With the operations brief complete, it was time to send his men on their way so they could make final preparations for tonight's attack. Admiral Tsou stood at attention, and for today's farewell, he decided to follow an American Submarine Force tradition. The PLA Navy's new submarines, after all, would play a crucial role. His eyes scanned his men as they drew themselves to attention in response, then he uttered the time-honored farewell.

“Good hunting!”

 

8

BEIJING

Night was settling over the city, neon café signs illuminating pedestrians strolling the sidewalks as two black 7 Series BMWs, their armored frames riding low to the ground, wound their way through the center of Beijing. Joining Christine O'Connor in the back of the lead sedan was the United States ambassador to China, Michael Richardson, flipping through an appointment calendar on his lap. Christine could see the reflection of the sedan behind them in the security glass, which was raised between the front and rear seats, offering privacy for her discussion with Richardson.

Eighteen hours earlier, Christine had boarded an Air Force Boeing 747 waiting at Joint Base Andrews, the combined Navy and Air Force base southeast of D.C., landing at Beijing's Nanyuan Airport. As she descended the staircase onto the tarmac, Ambassador Richardson, leaning against the black government sedan, had stepped forward to greet her.

The news he delivered was unexpected. There had been a change to her itinerary. Instead of heading to her hotel near the American Embassy, they would proceed to the Great Hall of the People. Tomorrow's meeting had been moved up to tonight. No reason had been given for the change other than “schedule considerations dictate an immediate meeting.” Even more perplexing, the planned meeting with her Chinese counterpart, Vice Premier Wang Qui, had been replaced with a meeting with China's president, Xiang Chenglei.

Richardson closed the appointment book as he looked up at Christine. “Nothing. I can't figure out why they want to meet tonight, or why you're meeting with the president instead of the vice premier.”

Christine had an inkling. “If China has decided to attack Taiwan, tonight's meeting might include a formal request the United States refrain from interfering. Of course, they'd be just going through the motions, knowing we'll come to Taiwan's aid regardless.”

An astonished look spread across the ambassador's face. “That would mean hostilities are imminent.”

“That's what I'm worried about,” Christine replied. “I hope they're still in the consideration phase and can be reasoned with.”

The sedan ground to a halt beside the Great Hall of the People, the entrance to the building framed by massive gray marble colonnades illuminated by bright white perimeter lighting. Standing at the base of stone steps leading to the entrance were five men—four in a single line, while a fifth man, taller than the rest, stood behind them. The two men in the center were dressed in charcoal gray suits, while the other three men wore black suits. Christine figured the men in black were from the Central Guard Bureau's Cadre Department—the Chinese equivalent of the Secret Service—their wary eyes surveying the two cars that pulled to a stop.

Christine and Ambassador Richardson stepped from their sedan as two U.S. Diplomatic Security Service agents exited the second car, flanking Christine and the ambassador.

One of the men wearing a charcoal gray suit extended his hand. “Welcome to Beijing, Miss O'Connor. I am Huan Zhixin, chairman of the Central Military Commission.”

Christine shook the hand of the man in charge of China's military, responding in Mandarin. “Ji
ǔ
y
ǎ
ng.” She had memorized a few Mandarin phrases for her meeting with Wang Qui, and decided to try the standard Chinese greeting between professionals, hoping her pronunciation was correct.

Huan smiled warmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well.” He turned sideways toward the man behind them. “I'd like to introduce Yang Minsheng, head of President Xiang's security detail.” Yang merely nodded as Huan continued, gesturing to the man beside him. “And this is Xie Hai, the president's executive assistant, who will keep Ambassador Richardson occupied while you meet with the president.”

Christine exchanged a concerned glance with Richardson. “The ambassador won't be joining us?”

“I'm afraid not, Miss O'Connor,” Huan replied. “We have several issues we would like to discuss with the ambassador tonight.”

“And the DSS agents?” Christine asked.

“They may accompany you to the conference room, but they'll have to disarm at the security checkpoint.”

As Christine talked with Huan, Yang stared at her, completely ignoring Ambassador Richardson. Christine was an attractive woman and was accustomed to stares and glances from the opposite sex, but there was something odd about the way he studied her.

Huan turned and led the four Americans up the steps into the Great Hall of the People, where Xie Hai peeled Ambassador Richardson from the group. Christine and the two DSS agents continued on to a security checkpoint, consisting of a metal detector and baggage X-ray machine, where the two DSS agents disarmed.

After passing through the detector, Christine joined Huan at his side as they strode down a brightly lit corridor, their footsteps echoing off marble walls. Following closely behind were the two DSS agents, and behind them, Yang and the two Cadre Department bodyguards. Huan offered no further conversation. As they approached a pair of large mahogany doors, Huan pushed the heavy wooden doors inward.

The doors swung open to reveal a large circular chamber, just over one hundred feet in diameter. The Politburo Diplomatic Reception Hall was similar in design to the other thirty-three halls named after China's provinces and regions, each chamber decorated according to the local style of the province it represented. Although the Diplomatic Reception Hall was frequently furnished with up to fifty chairs arranged in a semicircle, tonight it contained only two, positioned at the far end of the chamber beneath an imposing twenty-by-thirty-foot oil painting of the Great Wall of China, winding its way atop the mountainous region north of Beijing.

Sitting in one of the two chairs was Xiang Chenglei, with two additional Cadre Department bodyguards standing rigidly behind him, hands at their sides. Xiang rose to his feet as Christine entered with Huan, followed by the contingent of American and Chinese security agents.

Christine moved across the plush red carpet toward the most powerful man in China, extending her hand with a smile on her face in feigned exuberance. The unexpected change in itinerary, combined with an odd tension exuded by the two Cadre Department bodyguards behind the president, told Christine something was brewing.

“Good evening, Mr. President.” Christine greeted Xiang in Mandarin, as she had done with Huan.

“Aaah, nicely done, Miss O'Connor,” Xiang said in English as he shook Christine's hand firmly. “Welcome to China. I hope you had a pleasant trip?” Xiang's accent was strong, but his grammar impeccable.

“I did, Mr. President.”

“Call me Chenglei. May I address you as Christine?”

“Absolutely.”

Xiang gestured to the second chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Christine and Xiang settled into their chairs, and as Christine smoothed the skirt of her business suit, it was Xiang who spoke first.

“I apologize for the last-minute change to your schedule, Christine, but considering the topic of your meeting with Wang Qui, I thought it best we had a conversation tonight, while there is still time.”

“Time for what?” Christine asked.

“Time to reconsider.” Xiang smiled, but Christine sensed the frustration—even anger—boiling behind his pleasant facade. “That you are here tonight tells me America is aware, at least to some extent, of our preparations. Let's be direct, shall we?”

Christine nodded and Xiang continued. “The United States has—how do you say it—painted us into a corner. Of course, we have plans we can implement to deal with the accord. But I am hopeful you bring news that will make those plans unnecessary.”

“Actually, Chenglei, that's why I'm here. Any issues you have with the MAER Accord can be addressed peacefully. There is no need for military action.”

“There is no need for military action only if America agrees to modify the accord, granting China affordable access to the resources we require. Do you come here with that news?”

“I'm afraid not, Chenglei. It took over a year to forge terms acceptable to all parties—”

“The terms are not acceptable!” Anger flashed in Xiang's eyes. “America deliberately negotiated terms that would harm my country. I will not stand by while forty years of progress are destroyed.” Xiang paused, gathering his thoughts. “I ask you again, Christine. Will the United States dissolve or modify the accord?”

Christine shook her head. “No, Mr. President.”

Xiang stared at Christine for a long moment, then looked up at Yang and nodded.

Yang barked out a command and the Cadre Department bodyguards pulled their firearms. Two of the Cadre bodyguards stepped behind the DSS agents, pressing a pistol into each man's back. The two Americans raised their hands, surprise and consternation on their faces.

Christine stood, looking down at Xiang in his chair. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It's unfortunate,” Xiang replied as he pushed himself to his feet, “but you will be detained. Relations between our countries are about to take a turn for the worse.”

“What do you mean?”

Xiang's face hardened as he answered, “We are taking matters into our own hands and will obtain the resources we need by force. That begins tonight with the unification of the two Chinas.”