Chapter 24
“Mr. President?”
“Yes, what is it?” Chen looked up.
From his office in Beijing, the Chinese President was watching Wang live stream video from Xi’an.
He could clearly see Liu, Vivien Li, and some doughy young woman Wang identified as their daughter. They were now deep in the pit, almost lost among the crowd of warriors.
“President Pardington is calling. Again.”
“Fuuuuck,” sighed Eeyore.
He’d hoped Wang would have tracked down, and shut down, the terrorists before he had to speak to the American President again. Or at least be further ahead than they were.
Wang was becoming less and less reliable. Less and less coherent. But Chen did agree with his head of the MSS on one thing. Whoever was running Pangu had to have contacts high up in the regime. Perhaps within the Politburo. Maybe even the Standing Committee.
Maybe even Liu, Wang had said. Though Chen was wary of that suggestion. It was almost certainly Wang’s ham-fisted effort to discredit the man poised to replace him.
And yet … it was just possible he was onto something. Given Liu’s background. Maybe the original Pangu hadn’t been disbanded. Maybe Liu was still working with his former wife.
Maybe their divorce was a ruse. Maybe—
He stopped himself. That was the problem with being a dictator. The “maybes” got into the brain. Infected it. Ate it away until rational thought and craziness were indistinguishable.
And yet … there was Liu on the monitor, hugging his wife.
Liu was his sharpened sword. One Chen had been mentoring, tempering for a decade or more. And was now ready to use.
He turned his attention to the young woman, the daughter, on the monitor. She looked less than impressive. Soft. Slightly stupid.
He was taken, though, by how alike father and daughter were, at least in appearance.
The thought crossed his mind, were they alike in other ways?
Was it possible he was underestimating this young woman, who all but disappeared when stood beside her formidable mother, much like Liu himself disappeared?
But rather than being a weakness, that was one of Liu Tongzheng’s great weapons. To disappear, then reemerge when least expected.
Time was short, Chen knew. He needed information. If this didn’t work, they’d have to resort to the time-tested method of torture. Chen considered himself a civilized man, but torture, however distasteful, was sometimes necessary.
If China, if the CCP, if he himself was going to survive, they needed to stop the next attack before one and a half billion people realized he no longer had his hand on the tiller. If that happened, China would dissolve into chaos.
The collapse would be just the excuse Russia and the US would need to invade.
The two remaining superpowers would then be locked in a fight over what remained.
It would be the Korean War writ large. And while the two great armies of two great nations fought to control China, Pangu would appeal to a citizenry infuriated by foreign aggression.
Pangu would take charge. Unifying the country against foreign invaders. Whoever was behind the organization would emerge as a modern-day Qin Shi Huang, leading China into a new first imperial dynasty of the modern era.
Forgetting, of course, the terrible abuses. The grinding poverty. The starvation and humiliation of hundreds of millions under the imperial system. Forgetting that the Qin dynasty was the shortest lived of any major dynasty in China’s history.
No. They must not go back.
One urgent question that Chen needed to answer before speaking to the American President was how involved the Americans were in these attacks.
Chen was beginning to suspect that Pangu must have operatives high up in the US administration. Certainly within the intelligence agency. If not the Oval Office. Pushing for invasion. Lighting the match that would begin the next revolution.
Which was why Chen was avoiding talking to President Pardington. Though he couldn’t for much longer.
“What should I tell the Americans?”
Chen ignored the question and continued to study Liu Tongzheng. A clever man, so easily overlooked.
He was hugging his former wife. Now what could that mean? The microphones couldn’t pick up what he was saying. Chen’s brows drew together.
“Mr. President?”
Chen sighed again. Might as well get this over with. Best not to anger the Americans further. The sleeping giant was already awake and spoiling for a fight.
But before he could reply, his Chief of Staff said, “APAI.”
“What did you just say?”
“I’m repeating what the American said to tell you.”
“Here.” Chen held out his hand. “Give me that.” He grabbed the phone. “What about the APAI?”
“Hold for President Pardington,” said the pleasant female voice.
After ignoring the Americans for two days, Chen now thought he might explode with impatience.
“President Chen,” came the American President’s voice, with its flat Midwestern accent. “I’m—”
The line went dead.
The lights went out.
The next attack had begun.