Chapter 18 #2
“Enough.” Pardington raised his voice, and the room slowly quieted. He wondered, in passing, if his counterpart in Beijing had to put up with this nonsense. Probably not. Democracy was so often a shit show.
“Until we know what we’re facing, we keep everything as is. We can’t have the nation grind to a halt. It would feel like the terrorists won. We have to put on a strong front. One of unity and resilience. They need to know we’re bloodied but unbowed.”
This sounded, even to his own ears, like a string of clichés. But still, he knew they resonated.
“Our best weapon at the moment is information. I need answers, and I need them now. Not just how the Chinese managed to do it, but why would they? To what end?”
There still had been no demands. And no communication from Chen, despite their efforts.
A racket ensued as everyone voiced, then yelled, their opinions.
President Pardington turned to his head of National Intelligence. “I also need to know, Mr. McAllister, how our intelligence network, apparently the most sophisticated in the world, missed a plot that must have taken years and hundreds of millions of dollars to pull off.”
McAllister almost pointed out that it wasn’t just them who’d missed it. MI6 had. The French had. The Israelis—the Mossad—had. Even the goddamned Russians had missed it.
But the President was right. It was a failure. His failure.
“We’re looking into it, sir. We’re combing communications to see what we missed.
There is something else, from an informant in Beijing.
President Chen’s own wife has been injured.
She was in an elevator with two of their grandchildren.
I’m also hearing unconfirmed reports that Wang Lai’s wife was badly injured in the same elevator. ”
Pardington turned to him. “Their head of the MSS? The old one?”
“The current one. Wang hasn’t been replaced yet. I’m not sure that was ever the plan.”
I’m not sure Vivien Li was right.
I’m not sure she was telling the truth.
I’m not sure she can be trusted.
All these things were unsaid, loudly.
Pardington absorbed this, while all around them the crisis committee was fighting among themselves. After a moment, the President nodded.
“That is interesting. About Chen’s wife, I mean.”
“Isn’t it?”
“What does it tell you, Mr. McAllister?”
“I’m far from certain, Mr. President, but I find it difficult to believe Chen would order this attack knowing that not only his wife, who all reports say he is very close to, but also two of their grandchildren were in an elevator.”
“But they survived?”
“Yes.”
“Could it be a ploy? An attempt to throw us off. To believe exactly what you just said? That he would never risk his family?”
McAllister considered. “It’s possible, but unlikely. To be honest, sir, I’m not sure President Chen would want us, and certainly his own people, to think he knew nothing about this. That would imply there was some other element in China behind the attacks. Something he has no control over.”
As they spoke, the Secretary of State, the Secretary of Defense, and the head of the Joint Chiefs were involved in a shoving match.
Pardington turned to look directly at his head of intelligence. “What’re you thinking, Grant?”
“I was realizing today that those students in Tiananmen Square, that uprising—”
“Yes.”
“—they’d be adults now. They’d be in their late fifties. Some who were their teachers would be in their sixties and even seventies.”
Pardington’s face opened as he realized what his canny head of intelligence was saying. “They might even be in power.”
“Exactly. Suppose some decided on a long-term plan. To infiltrate the CCP. Quietly, over time, rise to positions of power. All the while putting the plan in place.”
“Pangu?”
“Maybe.”
“That that would mean they’ve been planning this for decades. Does anyone really wait that long?”
“How long did you wait to run for President, sir?” McAllister said it with a smile.
Pardington raised his brows. It was true. Anyone who ran almost certainly had it in their sights for many years, working slowly, stealthily, toward that goal. Toward power.
“But what is their plan?”
“I wish I knew. We could guess.”
“Then guess,” the President snapped.
“Whoever’s behind this wants the population of China to see that Chen and the CCP are vulnerable.”
“But is the enemy of my enemy my friend?” asked the President, dropping his voice until it was barely audible. “If we wait, do nothing. Let it run its course…?”
It was almost unthinkable. In doing that, they’d be allowing this rogue element to attack them again. And again. America, the world, would take the blows. But in the end, Communist China would fall.
“But would”—Pardington was now thinking out loud—“whoever took over be any better than the current regime?”
“They’ve committed mass murder,” McAllister pointed out.
“In this case, it seems the enemy of our enemy is an even greater threat. At least under the CCP, under Chen, there’s some stability.
They’re also a major trading partner. We might lose that.
And don’t forget, Mr. President, China is a nuclear power.
What happens if the weapons fall into the hands of the terrorists? ”
Pardington took a deep breath. Then exhaled. “We need information. Right now, we’re just guessing. Chen might be behind all this.”
“But why?” asked McAllister.
“How the fuck should I know? You’re the one who gathers intelligence, you tell me.”
He stood up and the room slowly quieted.
“Chen needs to know we are arming,” said Pardington. “But what we really need to do is stop the next attack. I want every so-called tech genius on a call in the next half hour. For now”—he looked at his watch—“I have to address the nation.”