Ultimatum (50 page)

“This is outrageous! I’m not going home and coming back. If we can’t work it out today, that’s it. Jesus Christ! I’m ready to turn around right now.”

“Maybe we can find a form of words,” said Lisle.

Olsen shook his head. He shot a glance at Wu. Then he shook his head again. “All right, let’s go back. Pete, I’ll let you do the talking. We’re not admitting historical responsibility, whatever he thinks he means by that. But if we can craft something today, and if the president agrees...” Olsen’s expression showed how repugnant he found the situation. “This is out-fucking-rageous!”

They trooped back past the Norwegian official into the room. Ding was still sitting on the other side of the table, flanked by his interpreter, Lin and Gao.

“Minister Ding,” said Lisle, “this agreement was drafted and agreed as it appears, so we are extremely surprised that you have raised the question of historical responsibility today.”

Lisle paused. Ding watched him impassively.

“The United States believes this should be a forward-looking agreement between our two countries. Dwelling on the past is unhelpful.” Lisle paused again. “However, it may be possible that we can find a way to put this agreement into its historical context. We could expand the preamble slightly, perhaps, and find a form of words that would satisfy your desire without compromising the strong spirit of friendship in which this agreement was written. Would that be a way forward for us?”

Ding nodded and said something in Mandarin. “Words are not sufficient,” said the interpreter beside him.

“Excuse me?” said Lisle.

“One does not feed the people on words, Mr. Lisle. One does not replace the house a man has lost in the flood. With words, one does not remove from the sky the gases your country has pumped into the air for the past fifty years.”

“Although your country has been the biggest emitter for the last twenty-five of those years,” said Olsen, unable to contain himself.

“Five percent of the population, twenty-five percent of the emission,” repeated Ding. “For so many years.”

“If you want to quote numbers,” retorted Olsen impulsively, “things have changed a little. You guys are sitting on forty percent of the world’s emissions for a quarter of the population. So right now when you’re saying that, Minister Ding, you’re sitting in a big, fat house of glass.”

Ding smiled. “You want our cheap manufactures, the emissions are the result. These are still your emissions, Secretary, they just happen to be taking place in China.”

“Jesus Christ!”
hissed Olsen, almost unable to contain himself. “Now I’ve heard it all.”

“Words are not enough,” said Ding. “Too many times your country has ignored its historical responsibility for great injustices. No more.” Ding tapped his finger on the agreement, even as his interpreter was translating his last sentence. “No more unequal treaties.”

“This is no unequal treaty!”

“Never again. You must adjust this formula to recognize the historical responsibility.”

“We’re not adjusting any formula!”

“You must adjust the formula because the gases in the air today are your gases and if there is no room for more it is because of you. When you adjust the formula, we will have an agreement.”

Olsen, Lisle and Wu all stared at him. An adjustment for historical emissions was off the table. It was the first thing that had gone after the two presidents met in India.

“That isn’t possible, Minister,” said Olsen quietly, trying to get control of his anger. “I think you know that.”

Ding shrugged. “The United States must accept responsibility.”

“We can say something.”

“That is not enough.”

“We went through this with your people. We’ve got an agreement.”

“It is not signed.”

“It’s agreed!”

“An unequal agreement is worse than no agreement.”

Olsen shook his head, literally clamping his teeth together to contain his anger.

“Mr. Secretary,” said Lin, “I’m sure there’s something we can—”

Ding yelled at him in Mandarin.

“He had no right to make such an agreement,” Wu whispered to Lisle and Olsen. “He exceeded his responsibility ... he should shut up ... he should go. Now! Go! Now!”

Lin got up. He didn’t dare look anyone in the eye. Hurriedly, he left the room. The door closed behind him.

Ding gave a brisk shrug of his shoulders and straightened his tie. Olsen watched him carefully. That could have been a show, he knew. A piece of theater designed to convince him they had no deal unless they caved.

“I apologize for Emissary Lin,” said Ding through the interpreter. “He has exceeded his authority, and I myself was unaware of this until today. Now, if the United States is prepared to acknowledge its responsibility, and to match that acknowledgment with a just and fair formula, perhaps it will be possible to commence discussions again. If you would like to consult with Mr. Lisle and Dr. Wu, please…” Ding held his hand toward the door.

“We’re not adjusting the formula,” said Olsen. “That’s off the table.”

“Then you must find another way.”

Olsen stared at him.

“This is only one part. Historical injustices and divisions must be repaired.”

There was silence. Ding gazed meaningfully at Olsen. Now Olsen knew what this was about. At last, they had got to it. “Historical injustices and divisions.” In Chinese government-speak, that was code for only one thing. Ding was holding the emissions agreement hostage to it.

Olsen shook his head. “The discussions are over. That’s why you and I are here, Minister Ding. Because the discussions are finished, and we have an agreement. There is no other way.”

“Then we do not have an agreement.”

“Let me make this very clear. Maybe—maybe—we’d be prepared to change the preamble to better reflect the historical context of what we’re doing. But nothing else is going to change, and nothing else is going to be included in this deal. There is no other part to this.” Olsen paused, staring fixedly at Ding. “We’re here to sign this agreement, and if you want an agreement that’s what you’d better do. This is the only one on offer.”

Ding smiled briefly. He pushed the memorandum back across the table, and looked into Olsen’s eyes.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Olsen quietly. “We are ready to sign, Minister Ding. Do you understand that? We came here to sign.” He pulled his handheld out of his pocket and held it up. “President Benton is waiting for my call to tell him its done.”

Ding didn’t bat an eye.

“Call President Wen. Call him and tell him what you’re doing. We’re going to walk away from this. If President Wen thinks he can get something else with this agreement, he’s wrong. This is the best deal you’re ever going to get from us. President Wen’s making a very big gamble and he’s about to lose.” Olsen held out the phone to him. “Call him and let him know exactly what’s going on.”

Ding made no move. Olsen slapped the handheld down on the table in front of him.

“I think, Secretary Olsen,” said Ding, “the one who is losing the gamble is you.” He stood up.

“You’re letting a historic opportunity slip away.” Olsen was shouting. “You’re walking away from the best deal you’re ever going to get. Don’t come back asking for it again. You walk away, it’s off the table!”

But Ding was walking away. Literally. Followed by Gao and his interpreter, he went out the door.

~ * ~

Friday, August 26

Benton Ranch, Wickenberg, Arizona

It seemed that for three days he had thought about nothing but Oslo. Everything else Benton had to deal with, the steady stream of phone calls and papers that needed attention while he was on vacation at the ranch, were interludes between trying to understand what had gone wrong. Trying to make some kind of sense of it. He talked it through with Heather, but still couldn’t find a way to resolve it in his mind. Amy was at the ranch. They went for long early-morning rides together, as they had always done, before the heat of the Arizona summer days got going. He tried to enjoy the time with her, so fleeting, so precious. But he fell into silence, brooding. Amy rode in silence alongside him. After the first time she asked what was going on, she knew better than to ask again.

It was the time it had taken. That was the thing he found most discouraging. Three months since the negotiators had gone to Oslo. Three months just to get to a breakdown. It wasn’t long, he knew, by the standards of these things—in fact, incredibly fast—but an eternity in the face of the urgency he felt. The hurricane season was well under way, and in the past two weeks alone he had toured scenes of devastation on both the Florida and Lousiana coasts. There would be more of that, he knew, this year, and next year, and every year after that until those coasts were abandoned. And now three months of hard, painful work had gone up in smoke. If they had to start again, how many more months would it take? Joe Benton felt sick at the thought of it.

He had tried to call the Chinese president, but Wen wouldn’t make himself available. He had also refused to see F. William Knight.

Now the entire Marion group was squeezed into the president’s study at the ranch to figure out what to do next.

“I want to be clear one last time,” said the president. “There’s no way this could have been a mistake? There’s no way Ding could have genuinely thought he was coming to negotiate?”

Lisle shook his head.

“And we have absolutely no reason to imagine Ding would have gone freelance on something like this?”

“We have no indication of anything going on in the Politburo,” said Oliver Wu. “I’ve spoken with people at State and at the Agency and they have no indication of anything significant under way. The Chinese hierarchy is incredibly sensitive to even minor shifts in power. Wen’s not taking any kind of action against Ding, so even if Ding did go freelance, Wen’s approved it.”

Olsen nodded. “Before or after the fact, it doesn’t really matter.”

There was silence.

“I should meet him,” said the president.

“Who? Wen?” Olsen’s face was incredulous. “With respect, sir, he won’t even take your call.”

“I’m sure I can talk to him.”

“Mr. President!” Larry Olsen stopped himself, took a breath. “Mr. President,” he began again, “with respect, sir, you seem to be trying to find a way to exonerate President Wen. Don’t do that. Wen wanted this to happen. If you feel like someone’s kicked you in the gut, that’s exactly what he wants you to feel. Wen knows what he’s doing. This way, when he comes back for more, he figures he’ll get a better deal.”

“Larry,” said the president quietly, “you’ve told me that already.”

“Sir, with all respect, you’re making the mistake of thinking Wen’s like you. That he thinks like you, that he has the same values as you. He doesn’t. Ask Alan. I know we don’t agree on a lot of things, but I bet we’ll agree on this.”

Ball didn’t respond. Silence was about as close as he could bring himself to saying he agreed with Larry Olsen.

“Democratic leaders. . .” Olsen shook his head, as if he was almost too exasperated to speak. “Sir, democratic leaders always make this mistake when faced with authoritarians. It’s classic, all the way back to Hitler and appeasement. Democrats think authoritarians think like them, so they’ll back down. Authoritarians think democrats don’t have the cojones to do anything, so they don’t back down. Before you know it, it takes a war for each side to find out the other was wrong.”