If history was going to judge him on one decision, on the direction he chose to take at Lamu Bay, then let it be a bold one. That was the choice he had made. Let it be a brave choice. Let it be a decision that broke the mold – or at least tried to – not one that cowered in fear of the consequences if anything changed.
‘Tom,’ said Oakley, pleading now, ‘at least, at least, do them at the same time. Tell them we’re going in to get our men at the same moment we release their ships. At least that way you don’t look like you’re backing down.’
‘I’m not trying to give the impression that we’re backing down.’
‘But that’s what it looks like!’
‘Then that’s unfortunate. But they have to know their ships are gone. Now if we go in at the same time, they don’t have any guarantee of that. That’s why we figured–’
‘And if their ships are gone we have no guarantee our guys are coming home!’
‘That’s why we figured,’ said the president firmly, ‘that we’d need to leave an hour, so they could be sure their ships really are released, like Admiral Tovey said. Is an hour enough, Admiral?’
Tovey nodded.
The president looked back at Oakley. ‘John, I’ve thought long and hard about this. In some ways, it would be easier to do what you say. But I’m going to go with this. I’m going to take this chance.’
‘Then at least put some kind of threat in the note! For God’s sake, Tom, we have no leverage once those ships go and if he chooses to shoot our guys down in Sudan he just shoots them down. At least put something in the note about what we’ll do if he does that.’
‘Mr Secretary,’ said Ellman, ‘the whole point is that we don’t put a threat in the note.’
‘And what do we do if it happens, Ambassador? Maybe you might want to start thinking two steps ahead. What do we do if they shoot our guys?’
Ellman was silent.
‘You’ve got no answer, have you? No answer at all!’
‘That’s something we’ll deal with if we have to,’ said the president.
Oakley shook his head in anger. ‘Let’s just hope it never gets out, Tom. When our guys are dead, and the Chinese are crowing to the world how they made us stand down, let’s just hope no one ever finds out it was because Ambassador Ellman thought we should take a chance on President Zhang.’
‘It’s not the ambassador’s decision, John. It’s mine.’ Knowles paused. ‘The debate’s done. President Zhang’s going to get the note. It tells him what we’re going to do, then he’s got twelve hours to decide how he’s going to deal with it. If he wants to call me, he can call.’ The president looked around the table. ‘If anyone else has a reason I shouldn’t send it – something that overrides everything we’ve thought of – now’s the time to tell me.’
Looks were exchanged around the table.
‘This sounds too sensitive for a note that other officials might see,’ said Susan Opitz.
Knowles nodded.
‘Shouldn’t you call him?’
‘I don’t want to have a discussion. I don’t want an argument. I just want to lay down what’s going to happen.’
‘How do you know no one else is going to see it?’
‘We’ve got a way.’
PRESIDENT ZHANG OPENED the bedroom door in his pajamas. It was 11.30pm in Beijing. In front of him stood his personal secretary. His knocking had woken Zhang’s wife. The Chinese president himself had not been asleep.
‘President Zhang, there is an email,’ said the man.
Zhang didn’t understand. He followed him out. The secretary had been alerted that an email had come to the secure account that was linked to the president of the United States.
They had never used it. It took ten minutes of both of them looking in cupboards and files before they found the password for the account.
Zhang opened the message, triggering the receipt function that alerted the other side to the fact that it had been accessed. He scanned the note quickly. Then he pressed to print it. The secretary opened a door to go and retrieve it from the printer.
‘No!’ said Zhang quickly. He closed the email account and went to get the paper himself.
‘Do you want it translated, President Zhang?’
Zhang shook his head. The secretary watched as the Chinese president took the note to his study. ‘Wait here,’ he said, and closed the door.
He sat down and read the text. No translation was required. It had been sent not only in English but in Mandarin, as if it was understood that Zhang might choose to read it without involving an interpreter. It laid out the actions the United States was going to take over the next fourteen hours. The tone of the note was firm. It said Knowles would be happy to take a call for clarification if there was anything that required explanation.
It wasn’t intended as a backdown, Zhang knew. He was being told what would happen. If anything, it could be interpreted as an act of humiliation towards him, like the note a parent would send to a child who couldn’t manage his own affairs.
But Zhang wasn’t looking for such interpretations. He was looking for something, anything that would enable him to give the order to turn the
Chou Enlai
and
Mao Zedong
around with confidence that it would be obeyed.
He studied the note. There would be an hour between the release of the ships and the rescue of the American soldiers. His mind fixed on that, toyed with it, turned it around. An hour. That was the thing this note gave him. What possibilities did it create?
An idea began to form in his mind. One hour was very little. Two would be good. Four would be better. But if he rang Knowles and asked for four, he would need to explain why. If he didn’t explain why, the American leader would think he was prevaricating. And he could not divulge the reason.
So it was one hour. That was what he would have. But that was something. It might be sufficient.
In his mind he inspected it from every side, this one hour that he would have, like a precious piece of treasure that had suddenly appeared from nowhere and that might – or might not – be enough.
Zhang read the note one last time. No one but his private secretary knew the note existed, and not even he knew what was in it. The Chinese president began to tear it up. Tear after tear, until it was in little pieces. He put the pieces in an ashtray and set a match to them.
He watched them burn.
The note changed the entire balance of the situation. When the
Kunming
and
Changchun
were released, there would be no reason for the carrier groups to keep approaching. Xu could tell them to stop, even if Fan wanted them to proceed. Would he? What would happen, he wondered, if he spoke to Xu and said he had spoken with the American president and that Knowles was going to back down and release the ships? What if he said the American president was doing this in order to get China’s help to solve America’s economic problems?
That would turn the situation on its head. That would show his version of China’s true power, its economic strength, trumping Fan’s military muscle.
Where would Xu stand then? Would he turn the ships around? Would he believe that his admirals would agree to do so? As far as they were aware, they would have won. The Americans would have backed down.
Then there would be one hour before the Americans went in to get their men. Where would Xu stand if he, Zhang, went to Fan during that hour and gave him a choice?
TOM KNOWLES SAT in the Oval Office and wondered what was happening in Beijing. Were orders being given? If so, what for? Time ticked by. It was the early hours of the morning in China, he knew. He wasn’t sure if he had really expected a call from Zhang. No call came.
The
Mao Zedong
and
Chou Enlai
carrier strike groups continued their progress. The last satellite sighting before nightfall in the area, at 10.40am Washington time, showed them closing from the east on the Kenyan coast. The
John F Kennedy
was approaching from the south. In Sudan, the standoff continued. A heavily reinforced ring of troops surrounded the compound and the burnt-out Chinooks outside it. From the other side of the world there were reports of Chinese mobilization. Troops had deployed at key points on the Russian and Indian borders. Additional naval forces had put to sea. US defense intelligence was tracking them. They were moving to positions from which they could threaten US military assets in the region, which included the US presence in Okinawa and elements of the
William J Clinton
strike group, which were in the South China Sea. US forces in the region were on combat alert. Air support out of Diego Garcia was being readied.
Through the afternoon Knowles had meetings on the economic situation with his officials and congressional leaders. He tried to keep his mind on the issues, keep it from thinking about what might or might not be happening in Beijing. But in the back of his mind he kept wondering. Had he made the right decision? Was John Oakley right after all? Of the people he was meeting, only Susan Opitz was aware of events in the Indian Ocean. From time to time she glanced at him and he could tell she knew what he was really thinking about. As for the measures they had introduced to put a floor under the markets, they hadn’t been truly tested yet. Everyone agreed the real test would come in two days’ time, when the markets reopened after the New Year’s Day holiday. But by then, Knowles knew, the world might have been plunged into an entirely new era. If that happened, there were no measures that would be enough to hold the markets back from a last, massive dive. But that would be the least of his worries.
By five o’clock in Washington it was dark. Sunrise over Kenya, and the first satellite view of the ships, wouldn’t come for almost another six hours.
It was early morning now in Beijing. Still no call from Zhang.
He had finished his meetings on the economy. There was nothing now to take his mind off it.
‘We got the receipt message,’ Abrahams reminded him. ‘There’s only one way that can happen. He definitely got the email.’
Knowles nodded.
Ed Abrahams smiled. ‘Hell of a New Year’s, isn’t it?’
‘You going somewhere?’
Ed shook his head. ‘Best party in town’s right here.’
The president had originally planned to be in Nevada for New Year’s. A bunch of people were going to be at the ranch. He had called Sarah to tell her he wouldn’t make it. Sarah knew something must be going on but didn’t ask.
‘You want to watch the football?’
Ed grinned. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
Time crawled. At eight-thirty he turned on Monday Night Football. Last MNF of the year, Buffalo Bills and the New England Patriots. Not a game that was going to make a difference to anything. Ed had brought Gary Rose and Roberta Devlin with him to the president’s sitting room on the residence floor, as well as Marion Ellman. The president had asked her to stay at the White House as the day unfolded. He ordered up pizzas and beers and Cokes.
A little after ten-thirty a call came through from General Hale to say that daybreak over East Africa had shown the carrier groups still approaching the
Abraham Lincoln
.
‘I guess they’re not going to turn around until they’re sure we’ve let them go,’ said Rose.
Knowles nodded. He turned back to the television and took a swig of his beer.
The game was drawing to a close with a score of fourteen to ten in favor of the Bills. But Knowles didn’t have his mind on the action that was winding down in the Ralph Wilson Stadium in Buffalo. Halfway across the world, a new year was dawning, and the action there was just beginning.
At a couple of minutes past eleven Hale called to say that the
Kunming
and
Changchun
had been released. The commanders on both ships had acknowledged the communication from Pressler informing them they were free to go. Twenty minutes later Hale rang again to say they were on their way.
It was done now. The leverage, as Hale called it, was gone.
On the TV some kind of New Year’s program reviewing the previous year had come on. Clips and commentary. Knowles saw footage of himself. The five people in the room watched, but their minds were elsewhere.
Soon the TV was counting down the New Year.
‘I should have got some champagne up,’ said the president.
‘Let’s just hold on a little for that,’ said Abrahams.
The phone rang. Hale said that the helicopters out of Lodwar had just lifted off.
IN BEIJING, PRESIDENT ZHANG and Defense Minister Xu walked into General Fan’s office. Fan was having a lunch meeting with four of his senior officers. They sat at a conference table covered with maps. Zhang gazed at the general. Fan told the officers to leave. They got up and walked out, taking their time in a show of arrogance towards the president. Fan stayed seated.
‘The
Kunming
and
Changchun
have been released,’ said Zhang. ‘The
Chou Enlai
and
Mao Zedong
have been stopped.’
Fan’s glance went quickly to Xu, whose eye was twitching.
‘I spoke with President Knowles. He agreed to release these ships in exchange for help with his economic problems.’
Fan watched him suspiciously.
‘I have told him we will allow his men to be removed.’
Fan jumped up. ‘That will not happen without my order.’
‘The victor should be magnanimous. To let him take these men is another victory for us.’
‘If that is what you call a victory,’ Fan retorted sarcastically, ‘what is a defeat?’
‘The Americans are moving immediately. Their men are already in the air.’
‘Then we will deal with them.’
‘You will not. They will not be molested.’
Fan smiled.
‘What?’
‘We’ll see.’
‘There will be no battle in Africa today, Fan. If there is a battle in Africa, there will be a battle here. Look out the window.’
Fan looked. Internal security forces ringed the building.
Fan reached into his pocket. He pulled out a cell phone. ‘With one call, those men out there will be lying dead.’
Zhang took out a cell phone from his own pocket. He glanced at Xu. The defense minister hesitated, then pulled out a phone as well.
The three men stood around the table, phones in hand.
Zhang had never visualized in his mind what it would look like when it came, the final moment of confrontation with Fan. Now it was here.
‘You need to make a call,’ said Zhang. ‘You can give the order to our men in Sudan to allow the Americans in, or you can unleash a war here in China. Look at Xu and ask yourself if you think you will win. Think about it carefully, Fan. You only have a couple of minutes. You need to decide which call to make.’
Fan’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Xu. The defense minister stood behind Zhang, his eye blinking furiously.
ON THE TV, the program had changed. Some kind of entertainment show had come on.
It was a distance of almost a hundred fifty miles from Lodwar to the target in Sudan, Knowles knew, but the helicopters would be over Sudan when they were about halfway there. He watched the time ticking by. Half past midnight. They would be over Sudan by now. They might already be under attack.
He glanced at the others. Roberta Devlin had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Ellman was gazing at the rug, thinking about something. Rose was watching the TV. So was Ed Abrahams. Ed looked at him and smiled ruefully.
Every couple of minutes he glanced at his watch. He kept telling himself he wouldn’t, but he did. Quarter of one. Twelve of one. Eight of one. The watch hands slowly moved. One o’clock. He closed his eyes. One o’clock. They’d be on the ground now, or just about. He could almost see it in his mind like a movie, the helicopters coming in over the clearing he’d seen in so many reconnaissance photos, hovering, setting down beside the blackened Chinooks outside the compound. The dust rising, their rotors slowing.
And then what? Gunfire? Missiles? Perhaps before they’d even come down. Perhaps they were in flames.
Second thoughts swarmed through his mind, as they had in every spare moment of the day. What John Oakley had said that morning was true. If it failed, and if the story got out about how it happened – and it would get out – it would be the end of him. No one would care about the fact that he had averted a global war, all they would care about would be the men he sent in to die. He may as well hand over to Walt Stephenson right now because for the next two years he would be the greatest lame duck in history. Compared to him, Jimmy Carter with his Teheran rescue farce would be a tactical genius.
Suddenly he wished he hadn’t done it. He looked at his watch. Ten past one. It was too late. They were on the ground. They had to be.
‘Tom?’ said Ed Abrahams.
He looked up.
‘You okay?’
He frowned. ‘Yeah.’
Ellman and Rose were watching him.
‘It’s too early to have heard anything,’ said Rose.
‘I know.’ He took a deep breath. Too early to have heard anything, and too late to change it.
They waited.
‘Anyone hungry?’ said Abrahams.
There were shakes of heads.
‘Well, I am.’ He ordered up nachos and sodas.
One-thirty came and went.
One forty-five.
Two.
An hour there, an hour back. How long on the ground to load everyone up if things had gone smoothly?
Nothing happened. Marion was struggling to stay awake. Beside her, Roberta Devlin snored gently.
Two-thirty.
Two-forty.
The phone rang. They jumped.
The president picked up the receiver. He hesitated for a moment.
‘Yeah?’ he said.
The others looked at him expectantly. Hale had rung him to say there was no news yet.
Ten minutes later the phone rang again.
He picked it up. ‘Yeah?’ His face changed. Suddenly he was deep in concentration. ‘Yeah … Yeah … All of them … Yes …’ There was a long silence as the president listened. ‘Really? I didn’t expect that.’ Another pause. ‘Okay, thank you, General. And pass on my thanks to Admiral Pressler. I’ll speak with him shortly.’
He put down the phone.
The others were watching him.
‘Well?’ said Abrahams.
The president was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘Happy New Year.’
They burst into grins.
‘We got a bonus. Dewy and Montez were there as well.’
‘Yes!’
said Rose, clenching a fist.
The president allowed himself a smile, savoring the moment. Then he looked at Marion Ellman. He nodded slightly.
She smiled.
‘I guess all we have to do now,’ said Knowles, ‘is figure out what we do next.’