by Dave Swavely
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you!”
I disappeared back into my room, and called Lynn on the netkit. She came back on, sitting in her chair in our room at the house.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I heard something, and had to make sure it was nothing. It was. Are they finished with the windows?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Terrey probably knows this, but they’re already bulletproof. I guess another layer of protection can’t hurt, though, with the ballistic power we might be up against.”
“How long do you really think this will take?” she asked. “I don’t want us to be apart for a long time.”
“Me neither,” I said. “Hopefully we’ll find the assassins before they strike, or they’ll expose themselves by striking soon—”
“Terrey said something about getting the Chinese guy, what’s-his-name, to back off?”
“Sun, his name’s Zhang Sun,” I said. “If we were able to link the murder attempts to him and prove it publicly, or discover some leverage on him…”
“So the more you know about why this is happening, the better.” Her wheels were spinning. “You should talk to Saul about it.” For some reason, she didn’t share my aversion to using the old man’s name when referring to his posthumous construct.
“Why?”
“I just have a feeling that this is all related to him somehow.”
When she said that, our conversation in the Sausalito house about why the Mayor had brought me here came to mind, and so did something that I couldn’t fully remember from my last talk with the ghost.
“You may be on to something, Marlowe,” I said.
“Who?” She loved books like I did—one of the few things we had in common. But she only read nonfiction—one of the many things we didn’t.
“I think I’ll take your suggestion,” I said, “so I’ll talk to you later. In the meantime, please follow Terrey’s instructions. I know you don’t like doing what anyone says, but remember Lynley needs a daddy, and we need her mommy to stay safe, too.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I closed the link to Lynn on the screen and put on my glasses, going through the three-step security routine to access Saul’s ghost. When his face appeared in my view and he said, “Hello Michael,” I forwarded only the audio to the room, so I could be free from the glasses and more aware of my surroundings.
“I have some more questions for you,” I said, dispensing with the pleasantries to remind myself this was not a real person.
“Wonderful,” the disembodied voice said, echoing throughout the room and seeming more like a ghost than ever. “How can I help you, Michael?”
“Last time I told you that I’m currently the target of a kaleidocide initiated by General Sun of China.”
“I remember,” the ghost said quickly, seeming like it was proud of its capabilities, or maybe eager to approximate a real person. “Let me tell you some things you need to know about General Zhang Sun.”
“I’m wondering if you can tell me why this is happening to me.”
“I don’t know, Michael,” it said, after what seemed like a brief pause.
“Is there some reason you know of that Sun wants me dead?”
“I don’t know, Michael.” The same apparent pause again. “But let me tell you some things you need to know—”
“Why would General Sun want to kill me?” I persisted, trying a different wording.
“Perhaps he found out about your role in the Taiwan Crisis,” the old man’s voice said.
“But even if he did, that doesn’t seem to be enough motivation for a move like this. Everyone I’ve talked to thinks it’s something more.”
“I don’t know, Michael. But let me tell you some things you need to know about General Zhang Sun.”
This time I let it continue, hoping I could get some more help from this path in its programming.
“General Zhang Sun is utterly committed to the concept of Chinese hegemony, or the Ba, as it is known in China. He is the modern incarnation of the Bawang, or hegemon-king, who is seeking to establish its Baquan, or hegemon-power. For thousands of years China exercised primary authority over its ‘known world’ of Asia—that’s why it was always called the Middle Kingdom, which really means Central Kingdom. Each of China’s historic dynasties—the Han, the Sui-Tang, the Song, the Yuan, the Ming, and the Qing—had no contemporary peer. But since their ‘known world’ grew much larger in the age of global travel and communication, and because of the rise of superior powers like the European empires of the 1800s and the U.S./Russian dominance in the 1900s, the leaders of China have endured two centuries of shame in which they have been unseated from their rightful place of world domination.
“Even during that time, however, China consistently sought to expand its borders and possessions as much as those other powers would allow them. In the mid-twentieth century, the Cultural Revolution was also a Ba revival—communist leader Mao Zedong fancied himself as the first emperor of a new imperial dynasty, and even wrote a famous poem called ‘White Snow’ in which he recounted the names of past emperors and then referred to himself as the ‘True Hero.’ So the communist government annexed Mongolia and Tibet, went to war with India over border territories, and reclaimed Hong Kong. After Tiananmen Square and the rise of the worldwide web, Westerners wrongly assumed that China would eventually become more democratic and would not use its growing power in an imperialistic or colonialist fashion. It may have become more like the West economically in recent decades with the introduction of more capitalistic principles, but that has happened in service of their hegemonic goals, not in opposition to them. The desire of nationalistic leaders like Zhang Sun to dominate the world has continued unabated, and in fact has increased since their failed attempt to reintegrate Taiwan. Sun’s rise is the pinnacle of modern imperialism in China … the militaristic faction put him in power because they knew he would devote himself to expanding the Baquan as far as it could go.”
“How do you know so much about this?” I asked the ghost.
“I was always a student of history, Michael, especially modern history, and I knew that Chinese issues were the most important in our lifetime. I also have numerous books on the subject downloaded into my memory banks. I would like to read to you, in fact, my favorite one, a book called Hegemon by Steven Mosher. It was published in 2000 and almost everything he said about China has come true, like he was some kind of prophet.”
“That’s okay, you can just tell me about it.” Before he could continue doing that, I added: “You mentioned the militaristic faction. Are there any opposing ones in China today?”
“Yes, Michael. The People’s Party has emerged in recent years, having consolidated most of the smaller democratic parties under its umbrella now. But its growth has mostly been accommodated by the spread of Christianity throughout China. Some have estimated that the number of Christians in China is approaching twenty percent of the population, and these are committed people who have kept their faith through the fires of persecution. They are beginning to make their voices heard in the social and political arenas. In fact, one of the strongest young leaders in the People’s Party, Gao Dao, actually claims to be a Christian.”
“Min said he was involved with that group,” I said. “Does that have something to do with why he is here?”
“Yes, Michael.” And then an irritating silence.
“Why did Min come to BASS?” I said.
“Min was a colonel in the Chinese PLA—that’s People’s Liberation Army, in case you don’t know. He was given an order by Zhang Sun, at a time before the general ascended to national power, to wipe out an Orthodox community in the countryside outside Shenyang, where they were forced to live after they were driven out of the city. Min refused, and half of his battalion stayed with him to protest the injustice. Sun sent two full battalions with a kill order,
and Min barely survived the attack. Fortunately, the People’s Party leaders found out, including Gao Dao, who happens to be a cousin of Min’s. They used their contacts in Shenyang to save Min’s life by cyberizing him, and then smuggled him out of the country to San Francisco, because I had heard about this and been in touch with them.”
“So you—I mean Saul—brought him here to BASS.”
“Yes, Michael. I brought him here, hired him, befriended him, and had the cyber techs in Chinatown Underground significantly improve his augmentations. Which they were more than glad to do, because most of them are political exiles themselves.”
“So could that be the reason why Sun is so pissed at us?”
“Could be,” the ghost replied quickly, but even as I said it, I realized it didn’t add up. People were escaping China left and right, especially under the new regime, and they found asylum in many places. What’s more, Sun didn’t seem to be angry at Saul or Min, and had never tried to kill them or anyone else at BASS—only me.
“Did Darien Anthony have some connection to China as well?” I asked. D was the other executive peacer, high up in BASS leadership, who had been killed by Paul Rabin last year.
“No, I brought him in because of his ties to Stanford Glenn, from when they played in the WFL together.” So Saul had hired D to improve BASS’s relationship with the American government. Did he hire Min because he had a bad relationship with China? I was beginning to feel like I was on to something.
“Why did you hire me?” I asked, letting my pronouns slip.
“You’re smart, skilled, responsible, a hard worker … and you look good on camera.”
“Did my hiring have something to do with China?”
A brief pause, then: “I don’t know, Michael.”
“What…,” I started. “Did you bring me to BASS because of Zhang Sun?”
“I don’t know, Michael. But let me tell you some more about Zhang Sun—”
“Dammit, old man,” I shouted in frustration, “answer the bloody question!”
“Professionalism, intelligence, and distinctiveness,” the construct began, launching into Saul’s standard litany of why he didn’t allow profanity at BASS.
“Oh, Christ,” I sighed, and then the ghost told me that was “blasphemy, which is actually much worse than other swear words.” That diffused my anger a bit, and brought on a hint of shame, because I remembered a conversation with Angelee’s dead husband where I understood how that could be offensive to him and others who shared his faith. I looked around instinctively to see if she was within earshot, because she might share that faith herself, but then remembered that she was at the store.
“Will you be able to tell me more when the kaleidocide is over?” This was my last attempt for now to get more information out of the ghost.
“You won’t be happy when it’s over,” it said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Michael.”
I hung up, muttering that I would have to find out for myself, and pulled a goggles rig out of a bag I had brought with me, so I could relive my assault on the nuclear power plant in Taiwan during the Crisis. Hopefully my “detective skills,” as Terrey had called them, would help me learn some more about the questions that Saul’s ghost was refusing to answer.
22
INSERTION
The Taiwan Crisis was the only connection I knew of between myself and Chinese interests, though I didn’t know yet how Zhang Sun himself was connected to it. He had been a highly ranked general during the Crisis, but was not in Taiwan himself, as far as I knew—the Chinese operation there was led by a lower general named Ho (a romanized version of He’). So I wasn’t sure what I might learn from reliving my part in the Crisis, or whether I would learn anything at all, but it was the only lead I had to pursue right now in an attempt to discover the reasons for Sun’s animosity toward me, or any other information that might be helpful in abating it. Plus it had been years since I last watched the holo, which I had been allowed to keep as a reward for my heroics, contrary to normal procedure. And I won’t deny that it was a major rush to experience the assault again in this way, much like an athlete who watches his greatest game on video, but many times more intense.
When I slipped on the goggles containing the file and opened it, I was transported back into the insertion coffin as it left the submarine in the East China Sea off the northeast coast of Taiwan. The file was video and sound only, of course, but I immediately started feeling echoes of the other sensations that I had experienced back then. It seemed like I was lying on my back again in the cramped interior of the coffin, feet forward and adrenaline coursing through my body as I imagined the immense volume and pressure of the water all around me, with only about three inches of the world’s best plasteel protecting me from it. I felt disembodied again, too, because most of what I could see in the combat goggles that I was wearing inside the coffin was the view from the front end—headlights shining into the darkness of the ocean ahead of me, with only occasional dots of sea life flashing by.
I also had status displays in part of my view, of course, and control icons that I could select and manipulate using the mouse equipment that each of my hands rested on inside the coffin. I knew this part of the operation would be uneventful and take about ten minutes, but rather than fast forwarding it to the exciting part, I let it run and mentally reviewed the reasons for the assault I was about to relive.
The People’s Republic of China (PRC) had been seeking to extend its hegemony over the island nation of Taiwan for over a hundred years. The island nation had been a part of China since ancient times, but became independent from the mainland in the mid-twentieth century, when Chiang Kai-shek and his government fled from the Communist revolution and found haven there with the support of western nations, especially the United States. Then in subsequent years Taiwan became more democratic, capitalistic, and economically successful, which was a constant insult to the PRC. So numerous times during the years to come, China tested the waters with saber-rattling and military maneuvers, to see if the U.S. would really stand by this “rebel nation” and protect it.
In 1954 Mao Zedong launched an invasion of some islands in the South China Sea and bombarded Taiwan with artillery. The U.S. Seventh Fleet moved in and he backed down, agreeing to peace talks. In 1958 he repeated the artillery bombardment, added air and naval assaults, and threatened a landing. The United States sent troops and a plethora of modern weapons to Taiwan, and signed a mutual defense treaty with the beleaguered country. Mao gave in again, and that uneasy peace more or less held until 1995, when President Jiang Zemin threatened force against Taiwan and even fired several M-9 nuclear capable missiles in the direction of the island. In 1996, the Red Army began rehearsing an invasion, forcing the Americans to send an official warning to Beijing and two carrier battle groups to back it up.
Since the United States had proven its resolve to defend Taiwan against Chinese aggression in the twentieth century, the first part of the twenty-first century was relatively quiet on that front, as China bided its time before acting again, waiting until it had grown stronger and America weaker. When that time came, the Middle Kingdom did act, but in an unexpected way, reflecting and honoring the stratagems of surprise advocated by the ancient general Sun-Tzu, from whom the present General Sun took his name.
Even though China had grown stronger and America weaker, the outcome of a frontal attack on the island was still risky because of the formidable Taiwanese military and the likelihood of escalation by the western powers. So the Red leaders decided to take a page from the playbooks of terrorists and guerrilla warfare groups, and sent General Ho and a company of “Flying Dragon” special forces from Nanjing to take over the Lungmen Nuclear Power Plant on the northeast tip of the island. The soldiers were transported by night in stealth aircraft to the airspace above the plant, and used the latest “Skyfall” backpack equipment to reach the plant with a combination of powered skydiving and powered paragliding. They easil
y neutralized the security measures, which were notoriously lax in Taiwan, and rigged the plant for sabotage before the Taiwanese government could intervene. One push of a button in the hand of General Ho could now release enough radiation into the air to kill all seven million people in the capital city of Taipei, which was forty kilometers downwind from Lungmen. Taiwan’s military surrounded the plant, the army on the three land sides and the navy off the coast, but they didn’t dare to do anything as long as General Ho had his finger on that button.
Ho demanded reunification with the mainland, of course, and the Chinese thinking behind this unorthodox move was that if it was successful, the loss of life from a war could be avoided by giving everyone an opportunity to agree to an outcome that was inevitable anyway, but now had the noble purpose of saving millions of lives. There was also some ambiguity, at the public level at least, as to whether General Ho was an extremist acting on his own, and combined with the threat of nuclear catastrophe, that made the situation much more complex than a direct invasion, and caused the western powers to hesitate in sending their forces to the area. Also, if the ransom attempt was unsuccessful, the Chinese could simply deny that they sanctioned Ho’s operation—no one would be hurt, and things could presumably return to their former stalemate.
The unusual nature of this Crisis could also work against China, however, and that’s where I came in. A counterespionage operation was a viable option, because the Reds were obviously not eager to launch into a world war. But the Taiwanese themselves didn’t have the tech to pull it off, and their current government wouldn’t be able to stay in power if Taipei ended up becoming irradiated because of an attack. The American government had the ability, but also preferred not to be the one to blame for whatever might happen. So they did what they had been doing ever since they funded and promoted “the revival of the British Empire” under King Noel I—they asked us to do the dirty work for them, and gave us the means to do it.