Ultimatum

by Matthew Glass

“It’s not optimal,” said Lisle. “At this stage it’s a statement of principles. We agreed we’ll have a working party that will come up with an agreed procedure within six months.”

  “You think they’ll stick to that? They won’t use that later to renegotiate?”

  “I think they’re committed to the numbers we’ve agreed on. Whatever happens on verification, we’re not going to reopen those. And we start implementation even if we don’t have verification finalized. That’s critical.”

  “Yeah, well, there goes verification,” said Olsen.

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Secretary. We’ve agreed penalties. Until we have verification, if one side shows the other is noncompliant in anything, that’s sufficient for the full penalties to kick in. After that, it’s up to the guilty party to prove it’s compliant again. That argues that both sides should want verification.”

  “Is it definite they won’t reopen the numbers?” asked John Eales.

  “We agreed that anything we agreed on is a firm commitment. We’ve agreed on the numbers.”

  “Maybe you can still try to harden the verification principles,” said Olsen.

  Lisle was extremely reluctant to do that. “Mr. Secretary, what we have now is a package. I don’t think we can unpick one part of it without them unpicking something else.”

  “Larry,” said the president, “I’m happy to have verification principles at this stage and go with the working party on procedure. Is there anything else?”

  Olsen was silent for a moment. “No.”

  “Then I’m going to put you down as a yes. Ben, what about you?”

  “I’m in,” said Hoffman.

  “Jackie? I take it you’re okay?”

  “I haven’t seen the spreadsheet, but as I said, a half point isn’t a deal breaker.”

  “John? What’s your position?”

  “I’m go.”

  “Are there any other thoughts?”

  Benton listened. There was silence on the line. Nothing. It was his decision now. He looked at the numbers he had written on the page as Lisle had been talking. To him, they weren’t just numbers. He couldn’t see them, probably didn’t know any of them and never would, but as a result of this final tweaking he would probably be putting an extra few hundred thousand people out of their jobs, their families into hardship. More suffering to add to the suffering of the he-didn’t-know-how-many people who were going to be hurt by the economic contraction and the Relocation that were coming. They were people to him, not numbers.

  But if he didn’t do the deal, how many more would he be condemning, and to what greater misery? And if he said no, how did he know that he would ever get a better agreement? Or any agreement at all?

  Diplomacy was about getting the best result in conditions of mutual uncertainty. Larry Olsen had said that to him, or something like it. At that moment Joe Benton was reminded of it.

  And he had a deal. He actually had a deal. In his study in Wickenberg, Joe Benton smiled. Suddenly it was real. He glanced at the date on his screen. August 18. His mind was working. August 28. If Lisle could get it finalized and Olsen could get out to Oslo to initial it, he could announce it on the anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I have a dream” speech. That was rich with resonance. What greater dream could a president have than to make the planet healthy and fit for future generations? Already, phrases and sentences were forming in Joe Benton’s mind.

  “Mr. Lisle, Dr. Wu,” he said. “I thank you for your work. Let’s do it.”

  ~ * ~

  Tuesday, August 23

  Eidsvoll, outside Oslo, Norway

  Larry Olsen was expecting Premier Zhai or Foreign Minister Chou. But when the door opened, it was Ding Jiahui who walked in.

  The arrangement was that a senior government official from each side would sign the preliminary agreement in Oslo. The two presidents would then simultaneously announce the deal in public at an agreed time, and later meet at a summit to sign the final agreement.

  Olsen shook Ding’s hand.

  “I’m glad to see you again, Minister,” he said.

  Ding responded in Mandarin, even though his English was flawless. He had brought his own interpreter with him. He was immaculately dressed, as always. Larry Olsen, as always, was wearing a much-used and crumpled suit.

  Lin introduced himself and Gao. Olsen introduced Pete Lisle and Oliver Wu to Ding. Ding said something to Wu in Mandarin. Wu said yes, he had been in Beijing with Olsen back in April.

  “Much has happened in the four months since then,” said Ding.

  “Much,” said Wu.

  They sat. Lisle produced two copies of the memorandum, each with an English and Mandarin version that had previously been agreed and initialed by the four negotiators. Lisle handed one copy to Ding and the other to Olsen.

  “I take it you have President Wen’s authority to sign on behalf of the government of the People’s Republic,” said Olsen

  The interpreter murmured needlessly in Ding’s ear. Ding nodded.

  “I have President Benton’s authority.” Olsen smiled. “You’d better look this over to make sure we haven’t tried to pull a fast one.”

  Ding began to scan the pages. First the Mandarin version, then he turned to the English.

  “Once we do this, we just need to figure out when President Benton and President Wen announce it,” said Olsen. “President Benton’s keen to announce it in a speech he’s making Sunday. I think you guys already know that.”

  Ding nodded absently, still scanning. It was taking a while, as if he was actually following the text.

  Olsen glanced at Pete Lisle. Lisle shrugged.

  At length Ding was finished. He looked up.

  “We okay?” asked Olsen.

  Ding smiled pleasantly and said something. The interpreter spoke. “There is no recognition here of the historical responsibility of the United States.”

  “The United States isn’t admitting any,” said Olsen.

  “There must be recognition of the historical responsibility.” Ding gazed at Olsen as the interpreter translated.

  Olsen glanced at Lisle. Lisle shook his head slightly but emphatically.

  “Minister Ding,” said Olsen, “this is the agreement. Mr. Lisle, this is the text that was agreed, correct?”

  “It is, Mr. Secretary.”

  “Mr. Lin?”

  Lin glanced at Ding.

  “Well, I think you’ll find that Mr. Lin and Mr. Gao’s initials are on this draft.”

  Ding pushed the paper back across the table toward Olsen. “There must be recognition of the historical responsibility.” Ding paused. “Five percent of the world’s population, twenty-five percent of its emissions. For so many years. There must be a recognition of this.”

  “Why didn’t your people say this before?”

  There was no answer from the other side of the table. Ding continued to gaze at Olsen. Gao watched stony-faced, as if it had nothing to do with him. Lin avoided Pete Lisle’s eyes. Lisle wondered whether he had known this was going to happen.

  “Minister Ding, can you give us a moment?” said Olsen.

  “Certainly,” replied Ding.

  Olsen got up, taking his copy of the memorandum. Lisle and Wu went with him into the corridor outside the room. A man from the Norwegian foreign ministry was waiting there in case they needed anything. Olsen smiled at him briefly, and they went further along the corridor.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” hissed Olsen.

  Lisle shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “What does he want?”

  “I don’t know,” whispered Lisle. “Historical responsibility. I don’t know what he wants.”

  “He knows we’re not negotiating here, right? He knows this is a done deal?”

  “They know.”

  Olsen looked at Wu.

  “No question,” said Wu.

  Olsen shook his head in disgust. “What the fuck do they want?”

  “Sounds like some
kind of admission that it’s our fault.”

  “The United States isn’t admitting that! Can you imagine what that might mean? Who knows where that might lead?”

  “It s crazy.”

  “I’m going to tell him to go! We’re not here to negotiate. He wants to negotiate, we’re finished!” Olsen paused, fuming. He glanced along the corridor at the Norwegian official for an instant, and then looked back at Lisle. “What do you think? Could we do some kind of preamble? Not admitting anything.”

  Lisle shrugged. “We can probably find a form of words—”

  “This is outrageous! I’m not going home and coming back. If we can’t work it out today, that’s it. Jesus Christ! I’m ready to turn around right now.”

  “Maybe we can find a form of words,” said Lisle.

  Olsen shook his head. He shot a glance at Wu. Then he shook his head again. “All right, let’s go back. Pete, I’ll let you do the talking. We’re not admitting historical responsibility, whatever he thinks he means by that. But if we can craft something today, and if the president agrees...” Olsen’s expression showed how repugnant he found the situation. “This is out-fucking-rageous!”

  They trooped back past the Norwegian official into the room. Ding was still sitting on the other side of the table, flanked by his interpreter, Lin and Gao.

  “Minister Ding,” said Lisle, “this agreement was drafted and agreed as it appears, so we are extremely surprised that you have raised the question of historical responsibility today.”

  Lisle paused. Ding watched him impassively.

  “The United States believes this should be a forward-looking agreement between our two countries. Dwelling on the past is unhelpful.” Lisle paused again. “However, it may be possible that we can find a way to put this agreement into its historical context. We could expand the preamble slightly, perhaps, and find a form of words that would satisfy your desire without compromising the strong spirit of friendship in which this agreement was written. Would that be a way forward for us?”

  Ding nodded and said something in Mandarin. “Words are not sufficient,” said the interpreter beside him.

  “Excuse me?” said Lisle.

  “One does not feed the people on words, Mr. Lisle. One does not replace the house a man has lost in the flood. With words, one does not remove from the sky the gases your country has pumped into the air for the past fifty years.”

  “Although your country has been the biggest emitter for the last twenty-five of those years,” said Olsen, unable to contain himself.

  “Five percent of the population, twenty-five percent of the emission,” repeated Ding. “For so many years.”

  “If you want to quote numbers,” retorted Olsen impulsively, “things have changed a little. You guys are sitting on forty percent of the world’s emissions for a quarter of the population. So right now when you’re saying that, Minister Ding, you’re sitting in a big, fat house of glass.”

  Ding smiled. “You want our cheap manufactures, the emissions are the result. These are still your emissions, Secretary, they just happen to be taking place in China.”

  “Jesus Christ!” hissed Olsen, almost unable to contain himself. “Now I’ve heard it all.”

  “Words are not enough,” said Ding. “Too many times your country has ignored its historical responsibility for great injustices. No more.” Ding tapped his finger on the agreement, even as his interpreter was translating his last sentence. “No more unequal treaties.”

  “This is no unequal treaty!”

  “Never again. You must adjust this formula to recognize the historical responsibility.”

  “We’re not adjusting any formula!”

  “You must adjust the formula because the gases in the air today are your gases and if there is no room for more it is because of you. When you adjust the formula, we will have an agreement.”

  Olsen, Lisle and Wu all stared at him. An adjustment for historical emissions was off the table. It was the first thing that had gone after the two presidents met in India.

  “That isn’t possible, Minister,” said Olsen quietly, trying to get control of his anger. “I think you know that.”

  Ding shrugged. “The United States must accept responsibility.”

  “We can say something.”

  “That is not enough.”

  “We went through this with your people. We’ve got an agreement.”

  “It is not signed.”

  “It’s agreed!”

  “An unequal agreement is worse than no agreement.”

  Olsen shook his head, literally clamping his teeth together to contain his anger.

  “Mr. Secretary,” said Lin, “I’m sure there’s something we can—”

  Ding yelled at him in Mandarin.

  “He had no right to make such an agreement,” Wu whispered to Lisle and Olsen. “He exceeded his responsibility ... he should shut up ... he should go. Now! Go! Now!”

  Lin got up. He didn’t dare look anyone in the eye. Hurriedly, he left the room. The door closed behind him.

  Ding gave a brisk shrug of his shoulders and straightened his tie. Olsen watched him carefully. That could have been a show, he knew. A piece of theater designed to convince him they had no deal unless they caved.

  “I apologize for Emissary Lin,” said Ding through the interpreter. “He has exceeded his authority, and I myself was unaware of this until today. Now, if the United States is prepared to acknowledge its responsibility, and to match that acknowledgment with a just and fair formula, perhaps it will be possible to commence discussions again. If you would like to consult with Mr. Lisle and Dr. Wu, please…” Ding held his hand toward the door.

  “We’re not adjusting the formula,” said Olsen. “That’s off the table.”

  “Then you must find another way.”

  Olsen stared at him.

  “This is only one part. Historical injustices and divisions must be repaired.”

  There was silence. Ding gazed meaningfully at Olsen. Now Olsen knew what this was about. At last, they had got to it. “Historical injustices and divisions.” In Chinese government-speak, that was code for only one thing. Ding was holding the emissions agreement hostage to it.

  Olsen shook his head. “The discussions are over. That’s why you and I are here, Minister Ding. Because the discussions are finished, and we have an agreement. There is no other way.”

  “Then we do not have an agreement.”

  “Let me make this very clear. Maybe—maybe—we’d be prepared to change the preamble to better reflect the historical context of what we’re doing. But nothing else is going to change, and nothing else is going to be included in this deal. There is no other part to this.” Olsen paused, staring fixedly at Ding. “We’re here to sign this agreement, and if you want an agreement that’s what you’d better do. This is the only one on offer.”

  Ding smiled briefly. He pushed the memorandum back across the table, and looked into Olsen’s eyes.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Olsen quietly. “We are ready to sign, Minister Ding. Do you understand that? We came here to sign.” He pulled his handheld out of his pocket and held it up. “President Benton is waiting for my call to tell him its done.”

  Ding didn’t bat an eye.

  “Call President Wen. Call him and tell him what you’re doing. We’re going to walk away from this. If President Wen thinks he can get something else with this agreement, he’s wrong. This is the best deal you’re ever going to get from us. President Wen’s making a very big gamble and he’s about to lose.” Olsen held out the phone to him. “Call him and let him know exactly what’s going on.”

  Ding made no move. Olsen slapped the handheld down on the table in front of him.

  “I think, Secretary Olsen,” said Ding, “the one who is losing the gamble is you.” He stood up.

  “You’re letting a historic opportunity slip away.” Olsen was shouting. “You’re walking away from the best deal you’re ever g
oing to get. Don’t come back asking for it again. You walk away, it’s off the table!”

  But Ding was walking away. Literally. Followed by Gao and his interpreter, he went out the door.

  ~ * ~

  Friday, August 26

  Benton Ranch, Wickenberg, Arizona

  It seemed that for three days he had thought about nothing but Oslo. Everything else Benton had to deal with, the steady stream of phone calls and papers that needed attention while he was on vacation at the ranch, were interludes between trying to understand what had gone wrong. Trying to make some kind of sense of it. He talked it through with Heather, but still couldn’t find a way to resolve it in his mind. Amy was at the ranch. They went for long early-morning rides together, as they had always done, before the heat of the Arizona summer days got going. He tried to enjoy the time with her, so fleeting, so precious. But he fell into silence, brooding. Amy rode in silence alongside him. After the first time she asked what was going on, she knew better than to ask again.