Razing Beijing: A Thriller

by Elston III, Sidney

  Chen looked up at the woman standing before his desk. “What was it they were referring to that might be destroyed?”

  “We are not certain.”

  “The contents of the envelope? Or one’s future, one’s life, and whose exactly?”

  “It simply was not clear.”

  “You heard the tape, all I have is the transcript. Your job is to interpret their expressions of voice, their gestures.”

  “There may have been an exchange of currency, transacted say, for conspiring to sell information to the West.”

  Chen eyed the woman. “It strikes me as counterintuitive that Deng would be offering his son both the contents of the envelope and the help. What were their other activities today?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. Deng was driven to his office this morning at the usual time. Peifu of course is an academic, and so he spent much of the morning in bed, with his wife...”

  Chen noted the woman’s embarrassment. “No need to be ashamed of thorough work, Corporal. Please keep both men under surveillance. Inform me of any further developments.”

  “Yes, Comrade!”

  Chen watched the young woman exit his office before eyeing the piles of documents stacked around the desk—his plate was full enough without this latest aggravation.

  There was reason to maintain a positive outlook, he supposed. Most of the initiatives that could be credited to him since attaining his current post had escaped criticism. With succession ceremonies looming on the horizon, the Standing Committee had given the ministry great leeway to crush demonstrations and other forms of dissent. While the existence of a high-level Beijing informant complicit in the Zhao affair was still unconfirmed, the search for one had generated other political spoils and earned him the vice-chairman’s guarded approval. And while broader aspects of the plan were necessarily compartmentalized, it looked to Chen as though the misinformation campaign to provoke wrath between America and Iran was proceeding according to plan.

  Fate, Chen believed, had fortuitously positioned him, and he labored each day to preserve his foothold. There was no telling how Rong would respond to their American principal agent’s latest debacle, particularly should he discover that Chen had not only concealed it, but also that the inscrutable Deng was somehow involved. It was just such shenanigans, he suspected, which had led to his predecessor’s untimely demise.

  Chen summoned his mishu. “I need thirty minutes with Vice Chairman Rong.”

  AN ENTOURAGE OF MILITARY BRASS accompanied by aides toting bundles of maps, battle plans and intelligence analyses shuttled in and out of Vice Chairman Rong’s office. Chen Ruihan stood to the side while the de facto chief of Military Affairs engaged, disputed, cajoled, urged, and threatened China’s top PLA leadership over the elements of plans they rolled out for approval on his desk. It was in this urgent climate that Rong made his decision to summon Commissioner Deng Zhen directly to his suite.

  “How may I help you, Mr. Vice Chairman?” Deng Zhen’s voice rose above the murmur as he entered the office, Rong’s mishu hard on the commissioner’s heels.

  Rong excused his tactical planning committee to resume their debate in a neighboring conference room. He then gestured for both Chen and the highly regarded cadre to be seated.

  Deng eased himself down into the chair and divided his attention between his two hosts. “A glorious night. We have prepared quite a show for the Standing Committee.”

  Rong’s eyes wandered over the map spread out on his desk.

  Deng folded his hands on the desk.

  Rong appraised the Commissioner. “Would it surprise you to learn that we believe the Americans are aware of our satellite weapon?”

  “Aware? In what sense?”

  “In the sense of classified information acquired through an informant.”

  Deng’s face dawned with cold recognition. “Here I thought you summoned me to discuss turning the weapon to the defense of our Iranian ally.” His jaw clenched beneath flaccid skin. “If this is just another of your assaults on the integrity of my staff—”

  “Did you not meet with an American in Tokyo?”

  “Tokyo...yes, I’m sure I met several. It was an international trade summit.”

  “This particular meeting occurred quite late in the evening, discreetly, most notably without the knowledge of your security detail.”

  “You mean, with my friend Stuart?” Deng searched both men’s faces. “Is that what this is about?”

  Chen took pause at the candid admission. “Do you deny knowing this man’s business, or that you did not discuss it?”

  “Did I mention that this was a trade summit? Mr. Stuart said he had recently returned to work at his old medical instrument company. We actually met years ago here in Beijing. But we didn’t talk about medicine.”

  “What is it you talked about?” asked Rong.

  “Telecommunications.”

  “Telecomm...how interesting.”

  “I see you don’t believe me—I suppose I should be insulted. Mr. Stuart is interested in allying his company’s expansion with a Chinese partner, something about managing telecommunications business accounts. I didn’t follow it all, as it seemed to me, well, dry. We talked about family. Tragically, his wife is deceased, his ex-wife.” Deng reflected with a frown. “His little daughter likes to ride horses. Our chat was cut short by the fire.”

  “You knew it was a false alarm,” said Chen.

  Deng cranked his head toward the security officer. “I seem to recall a good deal of smoke. There were injuries...”

  Rong slid open a drawer beneath the surface of his desk and removed a cigarette. The other men watched as he lit it before tossing the lighter onto the map. He stood from his chair and walked over to gaze out the window. “Commissioner, you have my sincerest apology for the inconvenience I have caused you today. I am sure you understand our concern. We are all looking forward to things proceeding smoothly this evening. Our quest for national security must spare no man.”

  Deng pushed himself up from the front of Rong’s desk. “I had better get busy then.” He stopped and turned at the door. “Given our audience tonight, it might be appropriate that my staff assist in the targeting. The technicians seem to me a bit overwhelmed, what with this being their first shot.”

  “That will not be necessary.”

  “The parameters can be tricky.”

  “Respectfully, Commissioner, the security...”

  “I’m not suggesting that we sidestep security, or receive specific knowledge of the nature of the target. Such information is not—”

  “I believe that the PLA can handle it.”

  Deng nodded. He turned and disappeared through the doorway.

  DENG STEPPED ALONE into the elevator and the car began its descent to the ground floor. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by emotion—he could barely bring himself to occupy the same room with the man. He did find revealing Rong’s implication that his military technicians were already adept at targeting the weapon.

  The elevator car came to an imprecise halt, a remnant of slipshod 1970’s workmanship, and Deng limped onto the linoleum floor of the lobby. The anecdotal evidence mounting in support of Stuart’s theory highlighted the insane level of stakes and risks for everyone. He should never have bought into the American’s proposal. Well, I did, and now it’s out of my hands. The only thing left to do was hope for his son’s providence. It was unfortunate that he was unable to visit home before tonight’s activities began. If things were to go badly, it was going to be a long while should he ever again see his family.

  RONG WAITED UNTIL well after Deng had disappeared. “I will never understand what would make a man undermine his career’s crowning accomplishment by turning traitor. The old fool is guilty as hell. Explain once more why we should not immediately destroy this American facility.”

  Chen recognized his sudden opportunity—despite Rong having already dismissed as foolish optimism his suggestion that there soon might not be
a Pentagon to develop their own such weapon. His risk, then, was appearing too quick to float the very idea he had previously advised against.

  “Do you mean, tonight?” Chen asked.

  Rong seemed to absorb the dimensions of his subordinate’s tacit admission. “So.” He waggled his cigarette. “You’ve come around to the idea, after all?”

  Chen held his breath.

  Rong’s eyes sparkled. “The idea of destroying it tonight hadn’t actually occurred to me. Let’s say I was to overlook your dismal handling of the matter.” Rong drew on his cigarette, signaling a reprieve from a deeper examination of Chen’s shortcomings. “The idea of eliminating that liability tonight does have merit. Can it be done?”

  Chen exhaled. “So far as we know, their computer system is the exclusive warehouse of this technology. We know the building layout. We are not talking about a prohibitive quantity of transportable material...I would have to consult with our physicist.”

  “Dr. Zhao is being cooperative, is he?”

  “Quite, and he is conveniently here in Beijing. With the second satellite successfully launched, I arranged to have Zhao’s wife transferred to Capital Hospital.”

  “We must take every reasonable measure to preserve our technological lead in such weaponry. This will be one albatross removed from my neck.”

  Chen was likewise relieved of his own albatross. By the same token, formulation of target parameters for the Pennsylvania Three Mile Island nuclear reactor had received his personal attention. It was he who had accompanied the engineer to survey the Russian containment vessel methodologies inside Bushehr, which reflected industry-wide upgrades similarly employed within the American plant.

  “Second thoughts, Deputy Minister?”

  “Only...there may be unexpected consequences of destroying the CLI facility, now that their law enforcement is again sniffing about. With regard to re-sequencing the attack, my recollection was that the nuclear reactor was to have been—”

  “The final provocation? That just so happens to be a problem I’ve been struggling with.”

  Judging by Rong’s sudden uplift in mood, Chen thought whatever problem there had been now appeared to be gone.

  “There was a blustery exchange of threats today between Washington and Tehran—the pump is primed, you see. And none too soon, as I am sick of dealing with these clerics. But my sense is that tonight is simply premature for the masterstroke. You mentioned our second satellite. When does it become operational?”

  “I am told by the engineers who are stepping it through its start-up procedure that it will not be ready for another week yet.”

  Rong considered the timing with a sigh. “I want more pressure to build, particularly on the pacifist American president. While he is inclined to govern with emotion rather than intellect, he is proving lamentably slow to do much of anything. I have prepared some additional aggravation for him. We should probably delay Iran’s final, egregious attack on America. Could we postpone TMI for the following attack in the sequence?”

  “I believe we can do as you wish, so long as the decision is soon.”

  Rong blew two full lungs of smoke at the ceiling. “How many casualties do we expect from the nuclear fall-out?”

  TMI cooled its reactors with water drawn from the Susquehanna River, a major tributary to the Chesapeake Basin. Its strategic proximity to the populous American capital had been a primary consideration. “In the many thousands,” Chen replied.

  “And tonight, at this corporate office building?”

  “I would think only a handful of technicians in the computer center.”

  “Very well—the decision is made. I would like you to change tonight’s target to the CLI facility. I shall inform the Standing Committee members of the change.” Rong reached for the phone. “You had better see to the details.”

  Chen rose to leave.

  “With regard to Deng’s son.”

  “Yes?”

  “Have him arrested. Do it tonight. Clapping his son in irons should loosen up the old bastard’s tongue.”

  This was one decision for which Chen had prepared. “I’ll put two men on it immediately. With his dissident record, we can put him away for twenty years.”

  “I am interested in the contents of this package delivered by his father. Use whatever means necessary, except...” Rong frowned. “Better not let the arrest present too big a distraction tonight for Deng. I will defer those details to you.”

  Leaving Rong’s suite, Chen Ruihan passed a bank of windows overlooking what in daylight was an expansive view of the manicured gardens surrounding the State Council Building. Tonight the sidewalks through the grounds were illuminated, like rivers of chance winding through the darkness, and Chen allowed himself to believe that he would live to see the morning, after all.

  116

  “LET’S JUST KEEP THIS in perspective,” said President Denis, slowly shaking his head, drawing inquisitive stares from his cabinet advisors. “Beijing’s gone to some lengths to assure leaders around the world that their Spratly action was in response to Middle East instability. I might take umbrage with their claim, but can I sit here and honestly deny the plausibility of it?”

  Lester Burns wondered what, if anything, he might’ve overlooked which the President had not. China had prodigiously stockpiled their crude oil reserves in more than a hundred tank farms. CIA estimates, with which even the Paris-based International Energy Agency numbers closely agreed, put the reserves at an equivalent eleven months of petroleum consumption. If that weren’t enough, for the past five months their armed police and state security thugs had waged their bloodiest crackdown ever on Muslim separatists in western Xinjiang Province, stabilizing an important domestic source of China’s oil and natural gas production. As bad as disruptions involving Iran were liable to be, Burns found it difficult to accept that Beijing would embark on the largest territorial grab in history simply to ‘protect vital economic interests against American gangsterism.’ No, the President must simply be exercising his commander-in-chief’s prerogative to push back against his advisors.

  Burns said to the President, “My analysts say the PLA has enough oil to float their navy in. Unfortunately, we don’t yet know what Beijing is up to. Maybe this is all just some calculated ploy to corner the oil market. For the sake of argument, let’s accept the foreign minister’s remarks at face value and ignore that they’ve disrupted global trade, attacked our allies in the region, that at last count some four army divisions were pouring over the border into Vietnam and that Hanoi and Da Nang are under assault.”

  They had briefed President Denis on the major naval skirmishes around Vietnam’s Big Bear oilfield, Nha Tang, and Phan Rang; Chinese shots fired across the bows of both Japanese and Australian Aegis warships; increased submarine presence detected between the Philippine coastline and Shantou. The Thai defense minister had called his Pentagon contact to announce that Myanmar was threatening to reinforce Malay peninsular border troops all the way to Singapore, with the potential to completely constrict movement through the Malacca Strait. Filling out the scenario of a complete regional meltdown, North Korea suddenly found the temerity to send a message to the forward deployed force command on the 38th parallel, informing him that he had thirty days to begin a draw-down, with bland assurances that the DPRK would not in the process exploit their numerical advantage. The clock, he was told, was ticking on the nuclear fuse.

  General Marcia Fuller said, “Mr. President, we are down to one carrier group in the region, and between bases in Korea, Okinawa, Tokyo, Thailand, a total of nine air attack and bomber squadrons. There’ll come a point where our erstwhile allies may themselves assess our presence over there as inadequate. And that is dangerous for not only the obvious reasons but also because it risks strategic allegiances being re-evaluated and more public denunciations of the sort out of Seoul, or quietly through back-channels, any of which embolden the opposition. The Chinese know this.”

  “For now, the PLA
seems to be going out of its way not to unduly harass merchants transiting the South China Sea between the Luzon and Malacca straits,” Burns added. “But no merchant still wanting to transit is able to even buy insurance, not at any price. We’d be deceiving ourselves not to recognize that the sea lanes of communication are now controlled by the PLA. That’s fifty-five percent of the world’s maritime shipping, the world’s busiest sea lanes. New York and London have followed the Nikkei and All Ordinaries markets into the tank, to name a few that even opened today, and—”

  “Oil futures markets have hardly budged,” Herman pointed out.

  “They were already trading over $370 a barrel because of our action with Iran.” Burns allowed Herman a moment to rebut. “Now then—we are talking about the seizure of 2 million square kilometers of planet earth. Between what the Chinese already had and their recent acquisitions, they now have air bases on Pratas, Hainan, Woody Island in the Paracels, on Mischief and Zengmu Reefs. You add to that list outposts on the Vietnam peninsula, and they won’t need expensive aircraft carriers to project their power over the region.”

  President Denis scowled. “And so what’s the situation with Taiwan?”

  “Tense, high alert,” Secretary Daley replied. “So far as Taipei is concerned, the mainland’s actually being coy. They’ve made no significant military build-up in or along the Strait.”

  The President nodded. “So we don’t—really—view this as a prelude to forcefully taking Taiwan?”

  “We don’t know,” Burns again admitted. “I mean, who would’ve predicted that a move on the Spratly Islands would spread to Vietnam? They’ve established a sizable naval buffer zone for whatever they may be planning to do. With free reign of the SLOC, they can cut off oil to Japan, matériel shipments, certainly anything that we might want to direct back from the Arabian Sea.”