At last she came to a complete stop, her four great bronze screws beating against the riverbed, embedding their blades in the mud until they could turn no more. The United States, the once-grand superliner of America's shipping fleet, had finished her final voyage.
Pitt stood like a man who had run a triathlon, his head dropped over the wheel, his hands still locked on the rim. He was dead-tired, his body, never fully recovered from the injuries received on an island off the coast of Australia only a few weeks before, shrieking for a rest. He was so brain-weary he could not distinguish any separation of the bruises and abrasions suffered from the explosions or the fight with the Chinese defenders of the ship. They all blended into a growing sea of torment.
It took nearly a full minute before he became dimly aware that the ship was no longer moving. His legs could hardly keep him upright as he released the helm and turned to go search for Giordino. But his friend was already standing in the shattered doorway, leaning on the Kalashnikov AKM that he used to shoot down the helicopter, using it as a cane.
“I have to tell you,” Giordino said with a slight grin, “your docking technique leaves much to be desired.”
“Give me another hour of practice and I'll get the hang of it,” Pitt replied in a tone barely above a whisper.
On shore, the sickening moment of panic had passed. They no longer looked out across a broken levee and saw a roaring, unstoppable flood. The flow had fallen off to that of a rushing stream. Every man on the highway cheered and shouted exultantly, all except Sandecker. He gazed at the United States through saddened eyes. His face was weary and haggard. “No seaman likes to see a ship die,” he said somberly. “But what a noble death,” said Gunn. “I suppose there is nothing left for her but to be scrapped.” “It would cost too many millions to restore her.” “Dirk and Al, bless their hides, prevented a major disaster.” “A lot of people will never know how much they owe those two characters,” Gunn agreed.
Already, a long convoy of trucks and equipment was descending on both ends of the break. Towboats pushing barges loaded with huge stones were arriving from up and down the river. Directed by General Montaigne, the Army Corps of Engineers, seasoned veterans at making emergency repairs along the river, rapidly deployed. Every available man and piece of equipment from New Orleans to Vicksburg had been marshaled to restore the levee and put the highway back in serviceable order for auto and truck traffic.
Thanks to the massive hull of the United States acting as a barrier, the flood tide that hurtled toward the Atchafalaya was robbed of the immense power of the Mississippi. After spreading across the marshlands, the wild waters diminished to a wave less than three feet high when it reached Morgan City.
Not for the first time had the mighty Mississippi been prevented from forging her way into a new channel. The battle between men and nature would go on, and eventually there could be but one outcome.
April 30, 2000 Washington, D.C.
CHINA'S AMBASSADOR TO THE UNITED STATES, QIAN MIANG, was a portly man. Short, hair styled in a crewcut, face fixed in a constant little grin that almost never revealed teeth, he reminded those who first met him of a sculpture of a contented Buddha with its hands supporting a round stomach. Never behaving like a dogmatic Communist, Qian Miang was a very gracious man. Supremely confident, he cultivated many powerful friends in Washington and moved through the halls of the Capitol and White House with the ease of a Cheshire cat.
Preferring to do business capitalist-style, he met with Qin Shang in the private dining room of Washington's finest Chinese restaurant, where he often entertained the city's power elite. He greeted the shipping magnate with a warm two handed shake. “Qin Shang, my dear friend.” The voice was jolly and congenial. Instead of Mandarin, he spoke perfect English with a trace of a British accent absorbed during three years of schooling at Cambridge. “You have neglected me during your stay in town.”
“My humble apologies, Qian Miang,” said Qin Shang. “I have experienced pressing problems. I was informed earlier this morning that my project to divert the Mississippi River past my port of Sungari has failed.”
“I am quite aware of your problems,” replied Qian Miang without loosening his smile. “I cannot suggest otherwise, but President Lin Loyang is not happy. Your smuggling ventures, it seems, have become a substantial embarrassment to our government. Our long-standing strategy to infiltrate high level government offices and influence American policy toward China is threatened.”
Qin Shang was shown to a high-backed chair carved out of ebony before a large circular table and offered a choice of Chinese wines the ambassador kept stocked in the basement of the restaurant. Only after a waiter pulled the cord to a chime to announce his entrance, poured the wine and exited the room, did Qin Shang speak. “My carefully laid plans were somehow thwarted by the INS and NUMA.”
“NUMA is not an investigative agency,” Qian Miang reminded him.
“No, but their people were a direct cause of the raid on Orion Lake and the disaster at the Mystic Canal. Two men in particular.”
Qian Miang nodded. “I have studied the reports. Your attempt to kill NUMA's special projects director and the female INS agent was not a wise judgment, certainly one not condoned by me. This is not our homeland, where such things can be carried out in secret. You cannot run—what do they call it in the West—roughshod over citizens within their own borders. I am instructed to tell you that any attempt to murder NUMA officials is strictly forbidden.”
“Whatever I have done, old friend,” said Qin Shang bluntly, “I have done for the People's Republic of China.”
“And Qin Shang Maritime,” added Qian Miang quietly. “We go back too far to delude one another. Until now, as you have profited, so has our country. But you have gone, not one but several steps too far. Like a bear that has knocked a nest of bees from a tree, you have maddened a swarm of Americans.”
Qin Shang stared at the ambassador. “Am I to assume you have instructions from President Lin Loyang?”
“He wished me to convey his regret§, but I am to tell that from this moment, all operations by Qin Shang Maritime will cease within North America, and all your personal ties to the American government are to be terminated.”
Qin Shang's normally controlled demeanor cracked. “That would spell the end of our smuggling operations.”
“I think not. The government's own shipping company, China Marine, will substitute for Qin Shang Maritime in all smuggling as well as the legal transportation of Chinese goods and materials into the United States and Canada.”
“China Marine is not half as efficiently run as Qin Shang Maritime.”
“Perhaps so, but since Congress is demanding public investigations into Orion Lake and the debacle on the Mississippi, and the United States Justice Department is in the process of building a case for your indictment, you should consider yourself fortunate that Lin Loyang hasn't given orders to surrender yourself to the FBI. Already, the news media is calling the destruction of the levee and the ocean liner the United States an act of terrorism. Unfortunately, lives were lost and the coming scandal is certain to expose many of our agents around the country.”
The chime announced the arrival of the waiter, who entered the private room with a tray of steaming dishes. He artfully arranged the dishes around the table and retreated.
“I took the liberty of preordering to save time,” said Qian Miang. “I hope you don't mind?”
“An excellent selection. I am especially fond of tomato-and-eggdrop soup and squab soong.”
“So I've been told.”
Qin Shang smiled as he tasted his soup with the traditional porcelain spoon. “The soup is every bit as good as your intelligence.”
“Your gourmet preferences are well known.”
“I shall never be indicted,” Qin Shang said abruptly and indignantly. “I have too many powerful friends in Washington. Thirty senators and congressmen are in my debt. I contributed heavily to President Wallace's campaign. He
considers me a loyal friend.”
“Yes, yes,” Qian Miang agreed with an airy wave of his chopsticks before attacking a dish of noodles with scallions and ginger prepared in the authentic manner. "But any influence you had has been drastically diminished. Because of unfortunate events, my dear Qin Shang, you have become a political liability to the People's Republic as well as to the
Americans. I'm told there is great activity in the White House to disavow any relationship with you."
“The influence our government enjoys in Washington was due in a large part to me. I bought and paid for access and favors that benefited the People's Republic.”
“No one denies your contribution,” said Qian Miang amicably. “But mistakes were made, disastrous mistakes that must be swept away before irreparable damage is done. You must quietly vanish from America, never to return. Qin Shang Maritime will still have access to all other ports around the world. Your power base with the People's Republic in Hong Kong remains strong. You will survive, Qin Shang, and go on adding to your incalculable assets.”
“And Sungari?” asked Qin Shang, picking at the squab soong with his chopsticks as his appetite rapidly waned. “What of Sungari?”
Qian Miang shrugged. “You write it off. Most of the money for its construction was subsidized by American business interests and in part by our government. Whatever it cost you, Qin Shang, will be recouped within six months. It is hardly a reverse that will affect your empire.”
“It pains me deeply to simply walk away from it.”
“If you don't, the American Justice Department will see that you go to prison.”
Qin Shang stared at the ambassador. “If I refused to divorce myself from all White House and congressional contacts, you're saying President Lin Loyang would turn his back to me, or perhaps even order my execution?”
“If it was in the best interests of the country, he would not blink an eye.”
“Is there no way to save Sungari?”
Qian Miang shook his head. “Your plan to divert the Mississippi River through your port facility on the Gulf was brilliant, but too complex. Better you should have built it on the West Coast.”
“When I originally presented the plan to Tin Tsang, he approved it,” Qin Shang protested. “We agreed that there was a dire need for our government to control a shipping port on the Atlantic side of the United States; a terminal to siphon illegal immigrants and goods throughout middle America and the eastern states.”
Qian Miang gazed at Qin Shang queerly. “Unfortunately, Internal Affairs Minister Yin Tsang died an untimely death.”
“A great tragedy,” Qin Shang said with a straight face.
“A new directive has been approved, one that places our priorities along the West Coast for the purchase of existing facilities, such as our acquisitions of the United States naval bases in Seattle and San Diego.”
“The new directive?”
Qian Miang paused before answering to taste a stew called curried beef. “President Lin Loyang has given Project Pacifica his total blessing,” Qian Miang answered.
“Project Pacifica? I have not been informed of it.”
“Because of your recent difficulties with the Americans, all concerned thought it best if you not be involved.”
“Can you tell me its purpose, or do our nation's leaders feel I am no longer worthy of their trust?”
“Not at all,” replied Qian Miang. “You are still held in high esteem. Project Pacifica is a long-range plan to split the United States into three countries.”
Qin Shang looked puzzled. “Forgive me, but I find that nothing more than an outlandish fantasy.”
“Not fantasy, old friend, but a certainty. Pacifica may not become a reality in our lifetimes, but with the migration over the next forty to fifty years of millions of our countrymen, respected geographic scientists are predicting a new Pacific-rim nation stretching from Alaska to San Francisco.”
“The United States went to war in eighteen sixty-one to prevent the Confederacy from secession. They could easily do it again to keep their house united.”
“Not if the central government was struck from two sides instead of one. What may even come earlier than Pacifica,” Qian Miang explained, “is Hispania, another new nation of Spanish-speaking people that will spread from Southern California across Arizona, New Mexico and the lower half of Texas.”
“I find it all but impossible to think of the United States divided into three sovereign nations,” said Qin Shang.
“Look how the borders of Europe have changed in the past hundred years. The United States can no more remain united for eternity than the Roman Empire. And the beauty of Project Pacifica is that when it comes to pass, the People's Republic of China will have the power to control the entire economy of the countries surrounding the Pacific Ocean, including Taiwan and Japan.”
“As a loyal citizen of my country,” said Qin Shang, “I would like to think I helped in some small way to make it a reality.”
“You have, my friend, you have,” Qian Miang assured him. “But first, you must leave the country by no later than two o'clock this afternoon. That's when, according to my sources at the Justice Department, you will be taken into custody.”
“And accused of murder?”
“No, willful destruction of federal property.”
“It sounds rather mundane.”
“Only the first tier of the government's case. The murder conspiracy at Orion Lake comes later. They also intend to indict you for the smuggling of illegal immigrants, guns and drugs.”
“I imagine the news media must be gathering like locusts.”
“Make no mistake,” said Qian Miang, “the fallout will be great. But if you quietly disappear and keep a low profile while conducting business from your offices in Hong Kong, I believe we can weather the storm. Congress and the White House are not about to throw a shroud over relations between our two governments because of the acts of one man. We will, of course, deny all knowledge of your activities while our Information Ministry creates a flood of misleading information by throwing all blame on Taiwanese capitalists.”
“Then I am not to be thrown to the dogs.”
“You will be protected. The Justice Department and State Department will demand your extradition, but you can rest assured it will never happen, certainly not to a man of your wealth and power. You have many years of service to the People's Republic left. I speak for our countrymen when I say that we do not want to lose you.”
“I am honored,” Qin Shang said solemnly. “Then this is good-bye.”
“Until we meet in our homeland,” said Qian Miang. “By the way, how did you find the date pancakes?”
“Please tell the chef that he should use sweet rice flour instead of cornstarch.”
The Boeing 737 soared through a cloudless sapphire sky and made a sweeping bank to the west as it passed over the Mississippi Delta. The pilot glanced out his side window and down at the marshlands of Plaquemines Parish. Five short minutes later, the aircraft crossed over the green-brown waters of the Mississippi River at the little town of Myrtle Grove. At the instructions of his employer, the pilot had flown in a southwesterly direction from Washington to Louisiana before turning due west on a course that would take the plane over Sungari.
Qin Shang sat in a comfortable chair in his luxurious private jet and stared through the view port as the golden pyramids of his dockside warehouses and administration buildings grew on the horizon. The afternoon sun's rays flashed off the gold galvanized walls with blinding intensity, causing the precise effect Qin Shang had demanded from his architects and construction company.
At first, he tried to put the port from his mind. It was, after all, merely an investment gone bad. But Qin Shang had poured too much of himself into the project. The finest, most modern and efficient shipping port in the world, lying desolate and seemingly abandoned, haunted him. He gazed down and saw no ships at the docks. All Qin Shang Maritime ships arriving in the Gulf fro
m overseas had been diverted to Tampico, Mexico.
He picked up the phone to the cockpit and ordered the pilot to make a circle over the port. He pressed his face against the window as the pilot banked to give him a good view. After a few moments Qin Shang's mind began to drift, and he gazed without really seeing the empty docks, the big, deserted cargo-loading cranes and the vacant buildings. That he had come within the snap of a finger from pulling off the greatest enterprise in history and achieving what no man had ever attempted before gave him little satisfaction. He was not a man who could block failure from his mind and go on to the next project without a backward glance.
“You will be back,” came the musically soothing voice of his private secretary, Su Zhong.
The beginnings of anger stirred inside Qin Shang. “Not any time soon. If I so much as step foot on American shores again, I will be thrown into one of their federal prisons.”
“Nothing is forever. American governments change with every election. Politicians come and go like migrating lemmings. New ones will have no personal memories of your affairs. Time will soften all condemnation. You will see, Qin Shang.”
“You are good to say so, Su Zhong.”
"Do you wish me to hire a crew to maintain the facility?”she asked.
“Yes,” he said with a curt nod. “When I return in ten or twenty years from now, I want to see Sungari looking exactly as it does now.”
“I am worried, Qin Shang.”
He looked at her. “Why?”
“I do not trust the men in Beijing. There are many who have an envious hatred of you. I fear they may use your misfortune to take advantage.”
“Like an excuse to assassinate me?” he said with a thin smile. .
She dropped her head, unable to gaze into his eyes. 1 ask forgiveness for my unseemly thoughts."
Qin Shang rose from his chair and took Su Zhong by the hand. “Do not worry, my little swallow. I have already conceived a plan to make me indispensable to the Chinese people. I shall give them a gift that will last two thousand years.” Then he led her into the spacious bedroom in the aft section of the aircraft. “Now,” he said softly, “you can help me forget my ill fortune.”
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