Chapter 27 #2
What was the United Front Work Department again?
Still, his quick mind cut to the core. “Who’s the informant? Do you have a name? Proof?”
“I do. For one, at least. You’re not going to like it.”
“Really? ’Cause so far, this has been a delight. Just tell me.”
McAllister handed him the bloodstained folder. The President took it. Read it. Closed it and placed his hand on it, pressing down. As though to keep the bad in.
“Alan Zhou?”
“Yessir.”
“Are you sure? Why would he risk getting in an elevator if he knew it was a death trap?”
“Maybe he got the timing wrong. He isn’t running the show, but he’s involved. It’s all in there.” McAllister pointed to the dossier. “This’s my fault. I hired him. I placed him in a position of trust. You have my resign—”
“Right, and now’s the time to abandon ship. We’ll talk about this once the crisis is past. For now, we’re in too deep. What else did Zhou have access to?”
McAllister sighed. “Everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded the Secretary of Defense.
McAllister turned on her. “It means what I said. Everything. He was clever. He managed to get access to all the sensitive files. For all we know, he’s messed around in there.
Double Dragon has created a huge AI factory.
Sending out doctored videos, manufacturing voice clips.
There’s a chance a lot of what we believe is legitimate intelligence has been fed to us by the Chinese. ”
“Christ. Is there no way to tell?” demanded the Secretary of the Navy.
“We’re moving the fleet into position. Troops are on alert.
The coalition is lining up behind us, preparing a possible invasion.
A declaration of war. Against China. And now you tell us everything we thought was true might not be? ”
“Well, the attacks are real. The hundreds of thousands of dead aren’t AI-generated.” McAllister gestured angrily at the monitors. “Who do you think did that?”
They looked at each other and then at President Pardington, who was staring at the bloody file under his splayed hand.
“Where’s Zhou now?” he asked, speaking into the manila folder.
“Dead,” said McAllister. “He was in an elevator when it fell.”
Pardington looked up; he had heard Zhou was injured, but thought he was recovering. Now, staring at his head of intelligence for a moment, he nodded and tapped the bloody dossier. “He had this with him?” It seemed odd, but nothing surprised him at the moment.
“Yes.” McAllister paused, afraid he’d said too much. But Pardington seemed almost in a daze.
“Mr. President?” said the Secretary of State.
“Get me Chen.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” asked McAllister.
“Wise? Wise? No, it’s not fucking wise! We left wise a long time ago, now I’m just trying not to be completely reckless. What else is there to do? So far, whoever’s behind this—”
“The Chinese,” said McAllister.
“—has been upping the ante. I’m afraid the next level will be something we can never recover from. After this latest attack, what do you think is next? What could be worse?”
He glared, dared them to say it.
“A nuclear attack,” said Kathleen. Her words dropped into the silence. A tiny verbal mushroom cloud, incinerating what little was left of “wise” or reason.
“You don’t really think…,” the Secretary of the Navy said. “That would be madness.”
“That would be MAD,” said Pardington. Mutually assured destruction. The one thing that had stopped itchy fingers from pressing the button. What a Canadian Prime Minister described in an address to the UN as the “balance of terror.”
If everyone had a bomb, no one could use it.
But what happened when the terrorists had the bomb? When an unbalanced mind had their finger on the button?
“Why hasn’t Eeyore made demands?” asked the Secretary of the Navy. “What does he want?”
“Maybe he wants a war,” said the Secretary of Defense. “But why?”
“To bring us to our knees,” said Pardington.
“And save himself. Cracks are showing in the regime. Chen is scrambling, replacing members of the Standing Committee, people he once trusted. He’s losing his grip.
What happens when a nation is threatened?
It pulls together. He wouldn’t be the first leader to start a war to save himself. ”
“But a nuclear attack? Do you really think Chen would go that far?” asked the Secretary of Defense.
They turned to McAllister. He shook his head. “I don’t know. Alan Zhou’s analysis said no. But it now seems all the intelligence he gave us on China, on Chen, might be wrong.”
“So if Zhou said no, that probably means yes?” said the SecState.
“Oh, fuck,” sighed Pardington. He wanted to tell Kathleen to turn off the monitors. They were distracting. But he owed it to the dead and injured and the living to witness what was happening. What he’d failed to prevent.
“Sir, I think—” McAllister began, before a wave of the President’s hand stopped him.
“Enough out of you. How am I supposed to make a decision that could affect hundreds of millions of people, with the bullshit you give me?” Pardington was on his feet, glaring at McAllister.
“So far, all you’ve brought me is a dead boy and his bloody file.
And news that everything we thought we knew might be a lie. So much for intelligence.”
McAllister dropped his eyes to the plush carpet.
“I need Vivien Li brought here.”
“The dissident?” said the Secretary of State.
“No, the Southern belle. Of course the dissident. Oh dear God,” he muttered to himself. “We’re all gonna die.” He turned to his senior advisors. “If we can’t trust our own people, our own intelligence, we can at least trust her. I want her here when I speak to Chen. I want her read on the man.”
“Sir, I think that’s—” began McAllister, but Pardington lifted his hand again and cut him short.
“Your ‘thinking’ hasn’t exactly been helpful. Go. Go yourself. Bring her here. Now.”