by Unknown
'I did not sanction Pakistan's nuclear strike. Nor did I provide or sanction Park Ho's missile programme and his biological weapons programme. I had no hand in the coup in which he took power. But, if I now set about undoing it all, letting you destroy the North Korean regime, letting you reprimand my government for getting it wrong, letting the US undermine the legitimacy of my nation as you did with the Soviet Union, letting you dictate policy on the post-nuclear-holocaust Indian subcontinent, letting you and Japan hatch the future security policy for the Asia-Pacific--' he gazed around the room, decorated formally with Chinese calligraphy and pictures of storks and mountains. 'I can't do it,' he said shaking his head. 'I have to take the situation as we have it now and use it. Yes, I know that is brutal, but that is how you wanted me to tell it. I have to use what we have now and move on. And so does Jim West.'
'How, Jamie?' asked Newman. 'How? Use what? What the hell are you saying?'
'Yan has talked to Park Ho,' said Song delicately. 'Park has promised to freeze his missile launches and put his smallpox virus back on ice, while we talk with him.'
'Talk with him,' said Newman incredulously. 'Jamie, this is not something about which anyone can negotiate. What the hell are you saying to him: "Put it on ice and if Jim West does something you don't like, bring it out again"?'
'No,' said Song firmly, his right hand gripping the side of the chair. 'No, Mary. That is not what I am saying.'
'Then what the hell are you saying? Because if Park's regime is not destroyed, and his missile and biological and nuclear weapons programme with it, he can use it any time he wants. And if you prop him up, you can turn that tap on any time you want.' Her voice was raised. She felt tiredness prickle in her eyes. She swallowed again, but kept looking at Song. She would be damned if she blinked first.
'All right,' said Song quietly. 'Let us agree to disagree on that for the moment. I have managed to talk to Mehta. He is a broken man, trapped in the bunker, unable to leave. He is so horrified by what has happened that he told me he has no intention of retaliating and murdering innocent people - as long as I can guarantee that Pakistan does not attack again.'
There was the faintest ripple across his eyes, a shift of expression which showed that Jamie Song was claiming high ground and the first round which went with it. As far as Newman knew, West and Mehta had not yet talked. 'Andrei fixed it,' explained Song. 'The alliance between India and Russia is like your alliance with Great Britain. In times of crisis you turn to each other.'
Newman remembered Kozerski telling her that Kozlov had refused to take West's first couple of calls. They had spoken now, but their conversation had been brief and insubstantial.
'Have you given Vasant the guarantee over Pakistan?' asked Newman.
'Yes and no,' said Song. 'We don't know who is in control there at the moment. Nor do we know who authorized the strike on Delhi, although we suspect it was General Zaid Musa working with the cleric Ahmed Memed. He was the man who started the uprising in South-East Asia.'
'Stop,' said Newman, uncrossing her legs and sitting upright. 'Before Pakistan struck, Vasant asked you to guarantee a Pakistan no-strike policy, and you refused.'
'Exactly,' said Song, getting up from his chair. 'That was before the strike.' He glanced over at Yan, who checked his watch and nodded. 'Come, Mary, I have promised the BBC an interview. I would like you to listen in.'
Song held out his hand to help her up. He was running rings around her. She looked across to Yan, who remained loyally inexpressive on the other side of the room. He took a couple of steps to a door that connected with another room and opened it. A spotlight beam lit up his feet and Newman heard noises of radios crackling and furniture being moved.
For a second, Newman didn't move, held in her seat by confusion and anger.
'Come, Mary,' said Song again. 'All of us are trying to help. I have to balance my friendship and loyalty to you, my desire to stop all conflict, against the heaving movement and ambition of my people, most of whom are not as sophisticated in their dreams as you and I are. Unfortunately, the national will is less subtle than the personal will.'
As Newman stood up, the mobile phone vibrated silently against her thigh. She shot a glance at Song, then across to the open door. Yan stepped into the beam of the spotlight, throwing a huge, long shadow at their feet. It took a couple of seconds, while she was pulling the phone from her pocket, to recognize the silhouetted figure which crossed with Yan's as he went into the room. She pressed the answer button and heard Kozerski's voice. 'Mary, Russian and Chinese troops have gone into Pakistan. Are you with Song yet?'
'They've gone in?' she said in disbelief. 'Already?'
'The night skies over Islamabad and Karachi are white with parachutes,' said Kozerski with unusual eloquence.
Her expression must have told Song everything. His mask dropped. He simply nodded to confirm what Kozerski had said.
'I'll call you back,' said Newman. Suddenly detached, lost in a whirl of thoughts, she began following Song.
'Secretary of State,' exclaimed a cheerful voice. It was Song's son Yun. Jacket off and his tie loose, he moved easily, a relaxed man, used to power but without the responsibility of it. 'We came up for Dad's wedding anniversary but,' he paused, casting a long look at her, 'let's just say, it's been overtaken by events.' Yun gently touched Newman's elbow, and skilfully guided her away from the arc of lights coming from the studio. 'I'm only a spectator, but I am so, so glad you are here,' he said, dropping his voice. 'Dad needs your help to fix this. He's in a bind, but if he can't get out of it, no one can, and we're all sunk.'
The spotlight went off, prompting them both to look towards the door. Newman recognized the tall figure of Andrei Kozlov, with his head down to listen to words from his adviser, Alexander Yushchuk. Newman caught a glimpse of a television correspondent brushing the lapels of his jacket.
Newman stepped back, bumping into Yun, and leaving Kozlov's hand outstretched and grasping at air. There was no way she would go into that room and sit as an appendage while the leaders of two newly allied powers announced the invasion of another nation - however abhorrent the governing regime of that nation might be. If she spoke, she would be upstaging her own president. If she sat with them, she would be sanctioning their actions. If she remained silent in the room, she would be a symbol of America, the lame duck.
On a wall bracket behind her, she saw a television set. 'Jamie,' she said with a determined smile. 'Game's up. I'm not going in that room with you.' She pointed up to the television. 'Do me a favour and get your broadcast patched through here.'
Yun repeated Newman's request, while she brought the mobile phone back up to her ear. 'John, Kozlov's here. Both he and Song are about to go live on BBC World.'
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50*
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Washington, DC, USA*
'We need a short press release out right now,' said West, 'that Mary is in Beijing for talks with Kozlov and Song. Nothing more. Enough to give us a presence. Whatever is happening, the US is in the loop and we're talking to our allies.'
'That means we support the invasion?' said Pierce.
'Why not, Chris?' scoffed West. 'Do you want to go in and fight Russia and China to protect those rag-head generals?'
Kozerski repeated the President's instructions into his phone, while fumbling with the remote to get the right television channel.
'Where's Campbell?' asked West.
Green night-vision shots, bearing the logo of a Russian television station, flicked on to the screen. The camera was inside an aircraft. BBC World flashed up that the pictures were being carried live. A strap underneath said that the Russian and Chinese presidents would be giving a joint interview in a few minutes.
'Campbell's in Dubai, sir,' said Kozerski, turning up the volume to try to work out what was happening.
'I want him in Beijing with Mary,' said West. 'She needs someone with her whom she knows and trusts and who can protect her.'
'She h
as her own staff--' began Kozerski, although half his concentration was on the screen.
'What the President means, John,' said Caroline Brock, 'is that he doesn't want a repeat in Beijing of what happened in South Korea. And neither do I, dear God! Neither do I!' She got up, walked to West, held his hand for a moment, but looked away from him. She touched the top of her right cheek with a forefinger, and West saw how sad her eyes were.
Not so long ago, it was he who had been dropping by the Brocks' place in Georgetown to get away from the loneliness of a White House without Valerie. Now it was Caroline, newly widowed, who had found escape to an Oval Office crisis to stave off the prospect of a life without Peter.
The Oval Office had become a close-knit operations centre. West had rejected Pierce's suggestion that they move downstairs to the situation room. He insisted they remain above ground in the Oval Office with its windows and its views.
'Coming on,' said Kozerski.
The wide shot showed Song and Kozlov on upright chairs against a backdrop of Tiananmen Square. West offered Caroline his seat, which she took, and he leant against the side of his desk, reaching for a notepad and uncapping a ballpoint pen with his teeth.
The shot switched to the presenter Susannah Sampson in London, leaning forward towards the camera. 'You're seeing live pictures of Russian paratroopers jumping out of a military aircraft over Islamabad,' she said, glancing through the glass-top surface of her desk to her monitor. 'Announcements from Moscow and Beijing confirm that a joint Chinese-Russian force is moving into Pakistan with the specific aim of securing the nuclear arsenals to prevent further missile launches against India. Most of you will have seen the pictures from Delhi. They have appalled us all. The Indian High Commission in London has confirmed that India supports the Chinese-Russian action. It quotes the Indian Prime Minister, Vasant Mehta, as saying that if Pakistan is disarmed, India will not retaliate against the strike.' She cast her eyes down as if she was reading from a sheet of paper. 'Mr Mehta says - and I quote - "Having seen the horrible destruction of my own city, I cannot imagine any human being giving the command to inflict such dreadful suffering on any other human beings who are simply trying to go about their daily business."'
Sampson looked up and brushed a trail of hair from her eyes. 'And now we're going live to Beijing, where President Song and President Kozlov of Russia, who is in China to announce the operation, have agreed to speak to BBC World. As a point of explanation, they both want me to say that there are no ground rules for the interview and no questions have been agreed in advance. In a few minutes we will be opening our phone lines, and they'll be fielding questions--' She glanced up unexpectedly, then delivered a rueful smile. 'I'm sorry, I'm told we have a few moments before we can go to Beijing, due to interference on our satellite line. Many of you may realize that the nuclear strike on Delhi has produced a sea change in world opinion, not least from the Indian Prime Minister himself. It will be worth reminding you of his dramatic speech, not that long ago to the United Nations, in which he told the United States: "If you are to retain your position as the only world superpower, you will dismantle the authority of these men and everything they represent. If you do not act, India will go it alone."
'Well, the US did not dismantle the authority of the military leaders in Pakistan,' said Sampson, picking up the thread. 'But also India does not seem to be going it alone, despite Prime Minister Mehta stating his policy unequivocally in a magazine article, and I quote again, "Should the tragedy of a nuclear attack on India or Indian interests occur anywhere in the world," he stated, "then my government would obliterate the nation responsible, whether the attack came from the government itself or from rogue elements being nurtured by that government."'
Sampson paused for a few seconds, staring straight into the camera. 'It is astonishing that the reality of nuclear war has changed so many minds so quickly.' She shuffled papers on her desk. 'Now, I'm told that we can go to Beijing - also late breaking news is that Mary Newman, the American Secretary of State, is with the two presidents in Beijing. Until now we did not know she was there. She will not be appearing for the question time session, but at least we know that the leaders of the most powerful nations are talking to each other.'
West looked across at Kozerski and put his thumb up. In an instant America's public role in the night's events had changed dramatically.
'. . . to Jamie Song, who is going to make a statement.'
'Thank you, Susannah,' said Song. In his hand-tailored worsted suit, against the night-time backdrop of Tiananmen Square, there was a debonair look to Song. He was a man of the world, set apart from the more earthy and roughly hewn Andrei Kozlov.
'As you know, Russian and Chinese forces are moving into Pakistan. We have encountered some resistance in the military cantonment areas of Karachi, Multan, Lahore and Islamabad. We believe there is no longer any central government in Pakistan, indeed in the military itself, and that troops are taking their orders from their corps commanders. We hope, therefore, that the resistance is scattered and light; that it will soon end; and that our troops can finish their mission, which is to neutralize Pakistan's nuclear weapons. Our nuclear-warfare teams have arrived outside the hazard zone of the Kahuta facility, which was destroyed by a tactical nuclear weapon dropped by a defecting Pakistan air force officer. It is essential that leakage from this facility is plugged. Even from the brief resume of events that I have just given, we can see that our action is long overdue. Indeed, President Kozlov, Prime Minister Mehta and I had discussed it. Unfortunately, all of us had misjudged the breakdown within Pakistan and the influence of extremist elements there. Now President Kozlov has a few words to say.'
The camera switched to Kozlov, catching him as he was straightening his tie. While Song's composure was urbane and his mood impenetrable, Kozlov's pockmarked and crinkled face appeared to bear all the twists and turns of his difficult life. His sunken eyes and the rubbing of his hands, skilfully picked up by the camera, made captivating viewing, for it was Kozlov who stated the unthinkable. From him it came across as being strangely acceptable. Perhaps Kozlov reflected his own nation more accurately than any of the other leaders.
'I spoke to Mehta,' he began bluntly. 'I said: "What do you want me to do?" He said: "Andrei, tell me what to do. I have led and lost. What authority do I have?"
'Russia and India are allies. In the Cold War the Soviet Union was Marxist and India was a democracy, and we were still allies. You can be friends with different systems. I told Vasant: "You can obliterate Pakistan, as you promised." Vasant said: "Andrei, how can I do that? Look at Delhi. Who but an animal would recreate that in Islamabad?"'
Kozlov paused and pressed his hand over his chin. His was a rugged face, but not from the weather and outdoors. It was hewn more by disappointment and hunger. 'Vasant said, "If you want to do something, tell me they are not going to fire another missile. Give me an excuse to tell the Indian people that I did not fight back because we knew they would never do it again, and that the men who did this are no more and that the nation is no longer a monster." That was when I asked Vasant to take Jamie's call.'
Kozlov looked over at Song. Briefly the shot went wide, showing them both at ease with each other, Kozlov not caring that he had come to Beijing, not caring about pride or face. His pause was uncomfortably long, but then he began again. 'What about Jim West? I asked Vasant, and you know what Vasant told me? He said, "It happened on Jim's watch, Andrei. It started on Truman's watch in 1945 with Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and it happened again on Jim West's watch with Delhi." Vasant told me he had asked Jim West to go in and stop Pakistan. That was after the attack on his house, and he was pretty clear during his speech at the United Nations. Vasant said: "Andrei, can you do it? Can you keep my hands free of the blood of nuclear war?" And I said: "Vasant, I can't do this by myself. But I can do it with Jamie Song. Why don't you talk to him? And the Indian Prime Minister said: "Andrei, go ahead. You have my blessing."'
'Son of a bitch,' mu
ttered West. 'How far's he going to take this?'
'They will have decided that,' said Pierce quietly, tapping his finger on the ridge of his laptop.
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51*
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Rokkasho-Mura, Japan*
The Japanese Prime Minister's limousine, too low slung for the terrain, churned freezing slush underneath its chassis as it turned through the open gate of the high-wired security fence. Four-wheel-drive tyre tracks had hewn intricate patterns into the snow, hardened by weeks of cold. As the vehicle stopped, Sato lowered his window, and a red carpet was rolled out. The atmosphere in this cordoned-off, secret area was strangely unceremonial. Sato stepped on to the carpet and waited for his Defence Minister, Kenijiro Yamada, and Kiyoko to join him.
There could never have been any other way, thought Sato. If Japan was to break free of its Second World War defeat, it would have to embrace nuclear weapons. Being a victim of them was not an excuse not to possess them. At some stage, whether now or half a century on, Japan would no longer be protected by America, and she would have to stand up to China as an equal.