by David Poyer
She sounded sobered, even scared. He wanted to comfort her, but could only find fumbling words. “Well, if anyone can find something that works, I know you will.”
“Thanks. But we both know you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, I guess not.”
“And then … if we do find an effective drug, or develop a vaccine … there’ll be the question of whether to release it.”
He frowned into the phone. “Well, of course you would. Why not?”
“And who we should release it to,” she added.
“Yeah, I see what you mean. If there’s only so much of whatever drug, who should you give it to.”
“I didn’t exactly mean that, I—Look, I’m in the lab. Gotta go. Really glad you called. And that you made it back safe.”
“Good to talk to you, kid. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.”
He reset the handset, then leaned back and rubbed his face. A pandemic. Worse than 1918. Millions dead. Maybe … billions.
They might not even need a nuclear war to end the world.
He sighed and, after a while, went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.
* * *
HALF an hour later he snapped awake. Not fully alert, exactly, but warned by some circuit that something was going on down there, deep in the unconscious. Out of his ken, really, except that it seemed to involve what Nan had said on the phone.
We might not have to invent something new.
What if we have something available already that we can pitch in there, see if it works?
And something else she’d said, earlier in the conversation …
It teased in his head, two memes or logic strings that like DNA were trying to combine, twine together, to produce a hybrid.
Maybe, something virulent.
But even as he groped after them they vanished. He lay still, trying to retrace his steps back into the half dream. Chasing the images even as they evanesced back into the vapor of the forgotten. Then gave up at last.
If the clue was that important, sooner or later, the realization would arrive.
9
Dublin
GLANCING out the third-floor window at a bituminous sky looming over Christ Church Cathedral, Blair Titus decided she’d better dress for rain. She and Shira Salyers—the slight, almost frail-looking woman from State, now the official head of the U.S. delegation—had been invited to stay at the ambassador’s residence, outside the city. But Salyers had said staying in town would save time going and coming. The VIP Suite at the Radisson Blu St. Helen’s was spacious and private, with a separate elevator and discreet access onto a side street, bypassing the lobby. She took one bedroom, Shira the other. The rest of the delegation were staying in the city too, at Jurys in Christchurch.
The conference was at Dublin Castle. The stone fortress hearted the old city, a short uphill stroll from the Liffey. A thousand years before, it had been a Viking stronghold. A century before, center of administration for the Protestant Ascendancy. Blair wanted to walk over from the hotel, but the Garda sergeant assigned to protect them had warned against it. The Irish government provided a black Mercedes, complete with driver and opaque windows.
She decided on a black pencil skirt, white silk high-necked blouse, and gray cashmere jacket. She frowned at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Too austere? Not for an international conference. She no longer wore earrings, because of the missing lobe, but added a vintage silver and green-enamel lapel pin in a Celtic knot pattern, a gift from Dan two birthdays ago.
By the time she and Salyers got to the castle it was raining hard. Shira had been appointed by the secretary of state as a special envoy. The driver escorted them under the stone arch of the main gate, holding an umbrella. They picked their way across the flagstones of a wide court, then though another archway. She recognized it from a recent documentary about the Easter Rising.
In the upper courtyard bereted troops patrolled with rifles and a sniffer dog team, working the perimeters. “Shira, is this usual? All this security.”
“Not out of the ordinary.” Salyers cocked a wrenlike head. “Think of the bombings in their recent past. Having something go bad here … some madman break in and wreak havoc … I’m sure they’d rather it didn’t happen.”
In the Portrait Gallery a pale-blue-and-white ceiling garlanded in eighteenth-century plasterwork lofted far overhead. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century visages peered down haughtily from gilded frames, resplendently draped in scarlet and ermine robes. A vanished race from a vanished empire. She wondered why the Irish hadn’t torn them down, and burned the portraits of their oppressors. Too civilized, probably. Erasing history too often meant repeating it. Low murmurs floated upward, echoing like the imperious voices of vanished viceroys.
As ten o’clock approached, the conferees gathered at a long table. The hall quieted as a dignified woman in her late fifties tapped a gavel.
Blair had met Liz McManus the night before, at the opening drinks reception in the Throne Room. A harpist played Celtic airs as the diplomats picked at canapés. McManus, the “rapporteur” and chairperson, was tall, silver-haired, with elegant cheekbones. A former teachta dála, a congresswoman in American parlance, she’d led the Labour Party before retiring. McManus had been gracious but reserved, and Blair had noted her chatting with the Chinese delegates later. A balancing act, no doubt …
A man in his seventies, with springy gray tufts sprinkled across an otherwise bare scalp, introduced himself in French. He was from West Africa. Actually, quite a few of the attendees seemed to be African. When McManus began speaking, he excused himself and picked up headphones, as did half the men and women around the table.
“Good morning. Welcome to the initial session of the United Nations conference on possible human rights violations and war crimes by both sides during ongoing military actions in southern Asia and the western Pacific,” the chairperson said gravely. “It’s worth noting that several possible infringements and infractions have already been reported from this conflict. The Security Council was the initial setting for these charges, and there have been hearings in the council and resolutions proposed, though not agreed on, relating to them.
“In my personal view, no UNSCRs have been adopted because the permanent members are in opposition on this issue.
“Therefore, the UNSC has suggested this special conference. This meeting will not concern itself with specific charges. Instead, we hope for a general exposition of issues. If any charges are brought forward, a separate committee of inquiry can be convened.
“We will consider protocols and staffing for tracking and bringing to public attention possible war crimes resulting from the current hostilities between the Allied Powers, namely the United States, the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, Australia, the Republic of India, and other powers; and the Associated or United Powers, among them the People’s Republic of China, the Islamic Republic of Iran, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, the Lao People’s Democratic Republic, and the People’s Republic of Miandan.”
Blair propped her chin on both hands. “Miandan” was the Chinese puppet state in northern Myanmar. It had been Burma when the men in those portraits had administered the globe. Just another, more distant piece of the British Empire then. Now, conquered territory once more, where a new colonial power was slaughtering thousands who resisted its rule.
The Chinese were seated across the table from the U.S. delegation. A place card in front of the eldest read DEPUTY MINISTER CHEN JIALUO. With pudgy hands folded, Chen returned her stare with a fixed, unblinking gaze through heavy black-framed glasses. All four wore them, as if mimicking their ruthless Leader, President for Life Zhang Zurong.
In measured tones, pausing for the translators, McManus outlined the conference’s charter. If they could agree, protocols would be formulated for observation by small teams composed of respected individuals—statespersons, diplomats, military off
icers, physicians, and attorneys—from nonaligned nations. These teams would not so much gather evidence, as provide unbiased reporting and, perhaps, inhibit by their very existence atrocities and other crimes.
“Our brief is to detect and record any and all violations of international humanitarian and human rights law. We do not, I repeat not, intend to inhibit or replace any law of armed conflict investigations or prosecutions carried out internally by the states involved. For obvious reasons, self-policing is the preferred way to prosecute LOAC violations. But if such states default in their duties and a lack of responsibility becomes evident—as it has in several past conflicts—our reports may constitute the basis for action within the context of the International Criminal Court or ad hoc tribunals like the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia.”
She nodded to a bearded, dark-skinned man beside her. “Pursuant to this I have asked Dr. Abir al-Mughrabi, a former appeals division judge, International Criminal Court at The Hague, to outline his proposals for how such oversight might function. Dr. al-Mughrabi has been involved in prosecutions for internal civil wars and genocide in Lebanon, Rwanda, and Syria. He also oversaw the recent investigations into war crimes in Afghanistan. Dr. al-Mughrabi.”
Blair fitted the headphones, taking care with her ear, but largely tuned out the translation. Proposals by someone who’d prosecuted the U.S. before? A membership dominated by Africans, when Africa had been penetrated by Chinese companies, their governments bought off with grants and cheap development loans? The rapporteur herself, McManus, seemed determinedly neutral.
But aside from that, just half an hour in, she wasn’t getting a good feeling about this.
* * *
THE morning was mainly devoted to orienting the members, but many seemed less interested in the mechanics of peacekeeping than in the wines and snacks set out between sessions. Blair kept an eye on the Chinese team. Four of them, all men, in dark suits and with the same bland expressions, the same pale blue ties, the same red-flag lapel pins. Whenever their gazes crossed hers they quickly turned away to mingle with the other attendees. Who often crossed the room to greet said Chinese, whereas she and Shira stood alone under a portrait of Clive. Not one person approached them.
She muttered, “What’s your reading on this, Shira? We’re lepers?”
“I’m not feeling very comfortable either,” the diplomat murmured. “This is quite unusual. Delegations are never intentionally isolated in diplomatic gatherings.”
“So why now?”
“I really don’t know. But don’t take it personally. Remember, we’re the ones they’re proposing to keep tabs on.”
“Granted, but they seem to be chummy enough with China. I feel hostility. Especially from the Europeans.” She wanted to say, And the Africans, but didn’t, since the State rep was black.
Salyers supplied it for her. “I don’t like all these Africans. I mean, I like Africans, and international oversight’s a good thing, overall. But I don’t think they can be totally disinterested. Considering all the grants and soft loans the Chinese have been spreading around their continent.”
Blair pointed her chin across the room at the bearded diplomat. “This al-Mughrabi. You know him? Where’s he from?”
“Morocco. Though his family was originally Lebanese.” Salyers sighed, fiddling with a plastic glass of nonalcoholic fruit drink. “They have to signal anti-Americanism. But that doesn’t mean they won’t give us the benefit of the doubt.”
“We have effective courts. The rule of law. A free press. At least, mostly. The Chinese don’t. Shouldn’t we get more than ‘the benefit of the doubt’?”
“Let’s rejoin,” McManus said just then into the PA system. “Gentlemen, ladies, next on the agenda: the warring powers have requested ten minutes each to make statements. Let’s start with Her Excellency Shira Salyers, United States of America, special envoy and head of delegation to this conference. Ms. Salyers, welcome.”
Blair tensed. UN meetings, Shira had told her, were carefully choreographed and rigidly scripted. Diplomats adhered religiously to protocols, and surprises weren’t welcome. The HOD spoke for his or her entire government. Ill-chosen words could have unpleasant consequences.
They’d drafted this statement together over the last week, passing each iteration back for comments by both State and the White House.
Blair herself had no right to speak. She could sit next to Salyers, assist on points of fact, and whisper discreet advice. But defense and military officials deferred to their diplomatic heads of delegation. All HODs, in turn, reported to their permanent reps to the UN, who reported formally to their heads of state. But informally, and in every meaningful way, to their SecState equivalent.
The Chinese were smiling. Tenting their fingers. Waiting.
All right, Blair thought. Let’s see if you’re still grinning after this.
Shira stood, meeting not just the stares from the Europeans, the veiled disliking eyes of the Middle Easterners and Africans, but the steady red pilots of television cameras too. Irish TV, or recordings? Blair jotted on a pad. YOU ARE ICY COOL, she scrawled in letters an inch high. The State rep glanced down, smiled faintly, then straightened.
Blair blinked. Suddenly Shira didn’t look quite so fragile anymore.
“Madam Chairman, honored delegates, Mr. al-Mughrabi,” Salyers began smoothly, voice raised so everyone could hear. “The United States has upheld the rule of international law since its founding, and has supported the United Nations from the beginning.
“Let me recapitulate, to set the stage for a resolution I will move at the end of my statement.
“The current state of hostilities originated after General Zhang Zurong’s execution of his rivals in government, consolidating his position as both party general secretary and state president. He now holds all leading titles in what he calls the People’s Empire of China.
“Almost two years ago Pakistan and India opened hostilities. China invaded Bhutan, citing a mutual-defense understanding with Pakistan. They also undertook gray-force activities, including the mining of Yokosuka Harbor. Shoot-downs and blinding of observation, communication, and global positioning satellites occurred at the same time as cyberattacks on American banking and financial systems, industrial plants, and power grids.
“The United States retaliated, yes. But our responses were always calibrated to avoid escalation. Again and again, we offered to negotiate our differences.
“However, General Zhang’s responses were ultimata and threats. He initiated strikes on American and Japanese defenses in the Pacific. He threatened our allies and our homeland with multiwarhead, long-range missiles developed secretly and in violation of mutually agreed upon strategic arms limitation regimes. He torpedoed Allied shipping, and violently seized islands belonging to regional powers allied with the United States.
“Then, in Operation Sheng Chi, he destroyed the Taiwanese air force and navy and invaded that island. Terrible reprisals have followed, including mass murder, incarceration, and torture of large segments of the population.
“In the most egregious violation of the laws of war, he then carried out an unprovoked nuclear attack on a U.S. carrier group in international waters, destroying the carrier USS Franklin D. Roosevelt, destroyer Elisha Eaker, destroyer Richmond P. Hobson, USS Gault, a frigate, and badly damaging another, USS Crommelin.
“In all, almost ten thousand sailors, marines, and civilians were killed in this dastardly attack. In comparison, two thousand four hundred soldiers, sailors, and civilians were lost in the Pearl Harbor attack on December 7, 1941, and just under three thousand military and civilian dead on September 11, 2001.”
Blair sat riveted as Salyers paused, surveying the inhospitable faces. The State rep took a deep breath. Then lowered her glance to hurl the next sentences across the table, into the round placid visages of the enemy. “The United States has deferred retaliating for these outrages, counting on China to cease its aggression and return to
the family of nations without further bloodshed or escalation of this conflict. But other events since, including terror reprisals against China’s own minority populations in Hong Kong, Xianjiang, Tibet, and other areas, render it impossible for me to do otherwise than to move that this assembly end its first day in session by indicting Zhang Zurong for waging aggressive war and other crimes against humanity. I hereby make a motion to so resolve; and ask for a second.”
Beside her, Blair glared across the table at the Chinese. McManus had her head down, concentrating on a tablet computer, though her fingertips had gone white. The murmurs and headshaking had begun as Salyers spoke. As she concluded members rose from their seats, shaking fists and yelling at her. But among the shouts there seemed to be no second to her resolution.
The gavel banged again and again, echoing from the high ceilings, the plaster intaglio far above the angry throng.
* * *
THE Chinese had been conferring among themselves while Shira spoke. Now they requested a break before they made their statement. McManus agreed, also noting that as observers to the conference, not members, neither the United States’ representatives nor those of the Associated Powers could introduce resolutions. “I’m afraid Ms. Salyers’s, therefore, is moot.”
Blair and Shira found themselves sitting alone. She got up, wincing at a twisting agony in her hip. Were there chiropractors in Dublin?
No one spoke to her in the restroom. The silence was frigid, faces averted in the spotless mirrors over the marble sinks.
Well, too bad. They’d laid a marker on the table. Pissed against a tree, as Dan’s Navy friends might say. She washed her hands, using plenty of lavender-scented soap, then headed back.
After an introduction by the rapporteur, the eldest Chinese, Deputy Minister Chen, lumbered to his feet. A paper shook in his hand as he talked rapidly, round cheeks flushed, head bobbing. Blair closed her eyes to focus on the translation.
“The United States’ representative hijacks this solemn gathering to advance outrageous falsehoods. She slanders the good name of the Greater People’s Republic and of our revered leader, Premier Zhang Zurong, light of China and standard bearer of the united peoples of greater Asia.