Chapter 29 #2
Like Paddington, Chen had long felt different from everyone around him.
Chen bowed, and in heavily accented English, said, “Apologies, Mr. President. It is true. In an attempt to humanize you, my advisors … I … have taken to calling you Paddington Bear.”
“Humanize or diminish? Still, there are worse things than a beloved character.” Pardington placed a hand on his ample midsection. “Stuffed or otherwise.”
Around him, all his advisors, guessing what was about to happen, shook their heads vehemently. Don’t …
“We have a nickname for you too. Eeyore. From—”
“I’m aware where it’s from,” said Chen sadly. His English might have been slightly better than Pardington’s Mandarin. Then he smiled and his face lit up. “You probably don’t know this, but my granddaughter calls me Eeyore. Apparently I look like him. A handsome donkey, no?”
Pardington smiled. “He is that, sir. And Paddington is a symbol of great strength and integrity.”
“A godlike figure,” agreed Chen.
The American President suddenly wished they were in a noodle bar in Beijing, swapping stories from the political trenches. And photos of grandchildren.
The Chinese President wished they were in a DC tavern, having burgers and beer and swapping photos of grandchildren.
But they were not.
“What can you tell me about adaptive predictive artificial intelligence?” Pardington asked.
Now advisors and translators in both countries were rolling their eyes. They’d completely lost control of their principals.
“A-P-A-I,” said Chen, as if counting the letters.
“Our cyber-technicians have been working on it for years. But as far as I know, while claiming to be close, they have not yet cracked it. I’ve received an update in the last few minutes.
There’s still no indication APAI exists.
I’m sure your own people are working on it too. ”
More vehement headshaking in the Oval Office.
“They are. I’m also told they’re close, but I suspect that’s a ploy for more funding.”
Chen smiled wanly. “Of all the industries that do not need financial support. And yet we give it to them for fear they’ll go elsewhere.”
Pardington raised his brows. So the Chinese feared the same thing.
“The thinking is that if adaptive predictive artificial intelligence could be married to the supply chain, through blockchain,” said Pardington, “then a signal could be sent worldwide.”
His advisors had stopped giving advice and were just staring, wide-eyed. It was as though the American President was defecting before their very eyes.
“Yes. That’s what my people say too,” agreed Chen. “But they would need a place to operate out of. And a great deal of money.”
“And power. It would also need some sort of shield,” said Pardington.
In the last few hours, he’d become an instant expert.
“Otherwise, it would be picked up in scans. We did pick up a brief burst about the time of the attacks. It came from inside China. The exact location isn’t clear, but we think the Xi’an region. ”
He watched Chen for a reaction. There was none.
And then the head of the Chinese Communist Party did something unexpected.
“You’re right. The signals are coming from somewhere in Xi’an.
That’s as far as we can get too.” President Chen paused, holding the eyes of President Pardington.
“It is vital that you understand that my government has nothing to do with these horrific attacks. I know that might be difficult to believe, but you must.”
“It is not only difficult to believe, sir, it is impossible. The signal is coming from your own country. Are you telling me that a dissident group can not only develop APAI, but weaponize it? Right under your nose? In your home province? And you know nothing about it?”
Eeyore had never looked so miserable.
Pardington studied the familiar face on the monitor. Had he made a terrible mistake?
They’d met a few times, but always on state occasions, and had never spent time alone. Now Pardington desperately needed to judge a person he didn’t know, except for the face Chen chose to show the world.
But what was in his heart?
What others in the room didn’t realize was that Pardington and Chen had opened a back channel. Through, of all people, their private chefs.
The chefs for each president had met at summits and became friendly, exchanging recipes. Pardington had a soft spot for dumplings. Chen loved a burger, cooked medium rare.
In the last few hours, in the middle of the crisis, President Pardington had sent a message, from his chef to Chen’s. To be slipped to the President when no one else knew.
Pardington’s message to Chen was hidden in, of all things, a fortune cookie. The White House chef had reported that Chen had a fondness for them and had a very slight tendency toward the supernatural. Believing that perhaps some god was communicating with him through a slip of paper in a cookie.
And indeed, after a hurried meal a few hours earlier, Chen’s chef had brought him the tiny treat. He’d cracked it open, hoping the god might tell him how to get out of the mess.
And he had.
Inside was a note, handwritten by the chef. It contained shocking information. After some thought, Chen sent a message back containing just one word. A name.
After reading it, President Pardington hadn’t been sure what to do with the piece of paper the White House chef had hidden under the wedge of cheese. It was smeared with Camembert. So he ate it.
Now he stared at Chen. Was what the Chinese president sent true?
This was a multidimensional strategy. One that, if there was a miscue, a misstep, would almost certainly lead to war.
If someone really had solved APAI, it would be a powerful tool. A powerful weapon. The Manhattan Project times a thousand. It would either save the world or destroy it.
This whole conversation within a conversation depended on Eeyore not being a complete tyrant and psychopath. And Paddington Bear not being a complete idiot.
Neither was filled with optimism.
Alice and Vivien had left the museum, leaving the authorities to track down the looting gangs.
They had a vague idea of where they were going, to the Ximending district, where so many new restaurants had popped up since the pandemic.
They tried to hail a taxi, but the few they saw on the street zoomed past them.
Vivien’s limp was becoming more pronounced. “Vivien,” Alice said, “do you want to rest for a bit?”
Vivien shook her head. “We don’t have time.”
They climbed over street signs that had collapsed, shards of glass from broken windows, the detritus of disaster.
Finally, after more than three hours of navigating their way through a shattered city, they saw, lying half on the sidewalk, a wooden plank covered with peach blossoms. A stream meandered through the image and, in the distance, a mountain.
Vivien stooped to look more closely.
“Leave that alone,” a woman’s voice commanded.
When she got right up to them, they saw a woman about Vivien’s age. Carrying a baseball bat.
The woman was prepared, preparing, to swing. It looked like she’d already been in a few scrapes. Her face and hands were filthy. Her dark hair was wild, as were her eyes. Here was someone who’d woken up sane and was now mad.
But then something happened. Her shoulders dropped. The bat lowered. Her face opened and the madness slid away.
“Vivien?”
“Shi.” Vivien stepped closer. “Who are you?”
“My name is Ming-na, but you know me as Shu-hui.”
“Shu-hui? My contact? You work here, at the noodle bar?”
“My husband and I own it.”
She stepped aside to reveal an older man standing in the doorway.
He was skinny, with a full head of gray hair.
His face was scored with wrinkles. Worry lines, and perhaps, Alice thought, laugh lines too.
It was a charming face, a map face, charting this elderly man’s journey through what must have been a rough life.
And then he began to sing in a thin, reedy voice.
“Welcome the future world—infinite, ultimate glory. Infinite, ultimate glory.”
Vivien brought her hand to her mouth, but that could not stifle the sob.
“Before we go further, I need to warn you that we’ve uncovered a traitor in my administration,” said Pardington.
He felt like he’d just thrown himself into an abyss. And, judging by their faces, taken everyone in the Oval Office with him.
Chen was also looking at him with surprise. This was what that slip of paper in the fortune cookie had said, along with a name. But he’d thought the point was to keep it secret. And now Pardington was announcing it?
What was he up to? Chen decided to play along.
“Should you not have told me earlier?” he demanded. “Who is it? Who’s he reporting to? The Russians?”
“Don’t tell him,” hissed McAllister. “The less they know, the better. You’ve already said far too much.”
“And you’ve said far too little,” said Pardington, hitting the mute. “We’re facing a nuclear attack by a terrorist organization that you cannot find. We’re already losing.”
He unmuted. “Not the Russians. The traitor is reporting to Pangu.”
Eeyore looked more morose than ever.
“You know about Pangu?”
“We do. It’s behind the attacks. The only question is, who’s behind Pangu? The Russians? A dissident group within China? Or maybe Pangu is a covert arm of your government, operated through Double Dragon. Yes, we know about that too. It’s possible, sir, you are Pangu. The creator and destroyer.”
“Me?” Now Chen actually laughed. “And why would I attack my own country? To what end?”
“Because you’re insane,” the American Secretary of State muttered.
“To shore up your fracturing support. To create a common enemy and rally the people behind you and against the West. Perhaps even give you an excuse to finally invade Taiwan, on the pretext that it’s behind the attacks. You’d be far from the first leader to declare war to hold on to power.”
“We don’t need a pretext. Taiwan is part of China. Time it was reunited with the homeland. This is not only a waste of time, Mr. President, but dangerous. If there really is a traitor in your administration, he has heard everything we’ve said. You’re a foolish, foolish man.”
Chen reached for the red icon.
“I think not. He’s dead. His name was Alan Zhou.”
Chen paused and stared at Pardington. Then he dropped his hand.
Pardington exhaled. “And now it’s your turn. I’ve told you who our traitor is. He must have been reporting to someone in your administration. Pangu must have placed someone high up, perhaps even in the Standing Committee. I suspect you know perfectly well who that is.”
There was a hubbub around Chen before he muted. The Americans watched as Chen gestured angrily. This was a man who, despite his resemblance to a beloved children’s character, did not take kindly to disagreement.
He unmuted. “You are right.”
This was a seismic admission on the part of the Chinese leader.
Pardington remained quiet. Everything depended on this next bit.
“Just in the last few hours, it’s become clear that we too have a traitor. At, I’m sorry to admit, the highest level.”
And he did look sorry.
“Who?”
More gesturing in Chen’s office. Mute. Unmute. “His name is Liu Tongzheng.”
Now there was a stir in the Oval Office. McAllister began to speak, but Pardington cut him off. Mute. “I know who Liu is. Be quiet.”
He paused to exhale and say a small prayer of thanks for that slip of paper and the name making its way through his digestive tract.
Unmute. “Vivien Li’s former husband. Together they created Pangu.”
“Yes. And are without doubt still running it. They were last seen earlier today in Xi’an, along with their daughter.”
“Have you arrested them?”
“Unfortunately, in the confusion of the last attack, they escaped. But we’ll find them. Our needs have aligned, Mr. President. We have to find them and stop the next attack.”
“Damn,” said McAllister. “Shit. She and Zhou must’ve been working together. Then she had him killed to stop him from talking. The terrorists are cleaning up.”
Pardington glanced at him, grim-faced, then spoke to a morose Eeyore.
“You’re free to do whatever you want with Liu Tongzheng, but Madame Li and her daughter are American citizens. If you do arrest them, I expect you to return them to us.”
“Of course.”
Neither Paddington nor Eeyore stipulated what condition the women would be in.