When Totems Fall (9 page)

The White House, Washington DC

The WH Situation Room was full, every last cabinet official located and ushered into the national security sanctum within sixty minutes of initial word of the crisis out of Beijing. This task alone was no small matter, considering it was the middle of the night, East Coast Time.

"
Overture
is on station,"
t
he Secret Service Agent in Charge whispered into the cuff-mic just short of his left hand.

The President had arrived, his protection detail's use of musical terminology as his call sign a respectful nod to his former life as an accomplished, semi-professional cellist. Previously chaotic chatter ceased as all stood in acknowledgment of their Commander-in-Chief.

Ladies and gentlemen, the President...

Overture
charged through the reinforced glass and steel doorway and took his place. Carrying an air of disbelief mixed with
pretty pissed off
, he opened the proceedings. Seconds later Ambassador Locke came alive on the floor to ceiling video wall, so present it seemed he was in the room with them. He began briefing them on the Chinese Minister's visit and demands.

"Mr. President, this was both unforeseen and unusual, as you might expect. China has not shown overt nationalistic aggression in decades, not showing in any way a willingness to go toe to toe with America like this. I need to ask Mr. President: have they captured our nuclear capabilities? If so, how in the name of heaven did we find ourselves in this position? Do we have
any
kind of play besides handing over a third of the State of Washington to them?"

The president nodded toward the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He spoke first.

"Mr. Ambassador, we now have confirmation from Strategic Command. A little over an hour ago we lost control of ordinance and delivery. NORAD is black. Our bunkers are cold. Target and release systems on board naval and air assets are unresponsive. Even the football is BSOD."

The
football
was a small suitcase carrying portable launch capability, one always within actionable reach of the president. BSOD simply meant no boot or control activity on the unit—'blue screen of death', as computer techs referred to it.

"We are scrambling to discover the issues and regain capabilities," the chairman continued. "At this point though sir, yes, we are without nuclear recourse."

The president spoke now.

"Gary, any back channels open for a possible diplomatic solution? I'm having a hard time believing this is what they want, that they're threatening to slaughter millions of innocent people and turn Seattle into a moonscape. Tell me there is another result awaiting us, Mr. Ambassador."

"I dearly wish I could, Mr. President. This much is clear: they fully intend to extend their national boundaries to the west coast of the United States of America, beginning with Western Washington. It doesn't take great predictive powers to see this as an initial incursion with more still to come. Oregon, California, the entire Pacific Coast, is their likely and logical next step."

Gary extrapolated the idea further.

"Sir, larger ambitions would need a test case. You can't just take over a country of nearly 400 million people with one move. This action fits the mold. Capture an achievable amount of land and then attempt," the ambassador's voice trailed off. "To overthrow their people, economy, and culture."

Resignation and weakness, brought on by the gut-level realization of what was transpiring, struck him hard. This was happening to his country. And at the hands of those so much like himself.

Locke was a man of Chinese heritage and the first state executive of such lineage in America. The ambassador had always been proud of this fact. Given his people's cultural and technological achievements of the past two millennia this pride was rightly merited. Presently though, none of this mattered. Anger and shame was all he felt.

The president recognized the angst playing out in his friend's countenance and released him from the proceedings in the room. Of course, this would be especially difficult for him.

"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. That will be all for now."

The screen went black and then transformed again to displaying only the Presidential Seal.

"Options, people. Scenarios.
Now
."

Conversations in the room grew more animated as the directive to engage the dilemma came from the barely-seated president. Sentences started running together, more stream of consciousness than distinct thoughts.

"What do we know?" the president posited. "And what is it we
don't
know that's going to kick us even harder in the ass still. Personally, I don't see how that could be possible. But I sure as hades don't want to find out."

The Secretary of State chimed in, summarizing a list of potential partners.

"Russia stands with China," she said. "No surprise there. Great Britain is politely not answering our request for a checkmate of sorts. France is a no. Israel is with us, although the range of their missiles is far short of an effective strike into China. They are also well aware of Russia's desire to use this as a pretext for aggression toward them, opening a door for Syria to draw more Muslim nations into a back alley fight with the Jewish state. That leaves India and Pakistan, neither of whom want to step into this on our behalf."

SecState continued, swallowing hard. She was a strong woman and a skilled and faithful public servant. What she knew the case to be was distasteful, almost too painful to admit out loud. Finally, she said it.

"Sir, I'm afraid we have no nuclear alliances at our disposal. It seems none of our friends is willing to enter a scorched-earth interchange with China over a portion of one of our fifty states."

The chairman of the chiefs spoke up again.

"Mr. President, the implications are obvious and dire. Not only do we have no recourse against China in this instance. We also have no viable counter to provocations from any other bad actor. China will, because of their own expansionist interests, likely counter any threat of attack for now. Still, we cannot be certain of this. No one knows how this will play out."

"Sure, protect the whole world for decades," SecDef mumbled. "And this is what we get."

At that moment each person in the room came to the same realization. The nuclear chess game America had played to its advantage for the past fifty years? It was now an utterly different board, with all new set pieces.

"How in the world... ?!!" the president started, slamming his briefing notebook down on the hardened maple table. "We have the most sophisticated launch and lock systems ever developed. How exactly did this happen?!"

They all knew better than to offer an answer to the deadly rhetorical statement. All eyes averted his gaze, focusing on the page of intelligence notes in front of them in refuge from his anger. Slowly, they looked up again. A few beats later the president continued, more in control now.

"So I ask for possibilities and what you're telling me is my
only
move is to give them Starbucks, Mt. Rainier, and the grave site of Jimmy Hendrix."

__________________________________

Five Hours Later: The Oval Office

My fellow Americans...

Following a long line
of Chief Executives before him, the president began his nationwide broadcast with this singular, inclusive opening. The message preempted every sporting, news, and entertainment offering currently airing, the executive reserving this privilege of every citizen communication for moments with dire national security or natural disaster implications. This moment qualified as such as television, radio, and web audiences across the country dropped everything to tune in. They knew no details, other than to expect something important from their elected leader and his cabinet.

"It is with a heavy heart..." he began. "... a sense of deep earnestness that I come to you today as your president..."

The ninety minutes following
the meeting in the white house situation room had been a furious storm of political, military, and diplomatic activity at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, the Capitol Building, CIA Headquarters in Langley, and the Pentagon. Hastily called meetings with key leaders and thinkers pressed into action. Each one producing the same answers. Every report effectively said the same thing: without a nuclear strike option and no allies standing beside her the U.S.'s hands were tied. The only move available?

Capitulation. Submission.

The timeline closed on them like a vice and the National Security team made the call no one else wanted to. And a scant thirty minutes before deadline Ambassador Locke signed documents that for the first time gave away United States territory to a foreign aggressor with not so much as a single shot fired. No boots on the ground. No warplanes in her airspace.

Though not uncommon in the history of nations and kingdoms it was a serious offense to this young country that believed such a fate would never befall them. To date, America's unbroken, westward expansion had experienced no real challenges to her desire for continental wholeness. Her super-powered presence in the world, even throughout economic recession and monumental cultural shifts, had remained undaunted, unstoppable. At least until now, as the vast majority of American citizens now heard the news directly from their president.

"... as unbelievable as this seems, I have no other choice than to yield to the People's Republic of China and order the peaceful transition of United States military and governmental assets out of the Puget Sound Region. I am advising all civilians to remain calm, not to interfere in any way with the process of annexation. Your cooperation in the days and weeks to come will ensure the avoidance of unnecessary loss of life and property."

He paused, having a hard time coming to grips with the words proceeding from his mouth, and those poised next for him to speak on the TelePrompTer.

"The Chinese government has given their assurances. Opportunities for portions of the civilian population to leave, to immigrate to the broader American States, will come over time. For now, all non-military and police personnel are to stay in place, resuming their daily activities as ordered. We have been warned. Unauthorized movements of residents will garner a nuclear response. Chinese military and governmental leadership will begin their transfer into the region seventy-two hours from now."

Head lowered, his tired eyes left the camera frame for just a moment. More pastoral than presidential this time, he offered an honest appeal:

"Heaven help us. Heaven help us all."

Ten minutes later
the lighting and production crew had packed and gone. The Secretary of Defense, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and the National Security Advisor were the only ones remaining in the room.

The president looked them in the eye squarely, speaking clearly and calmly.

"I don't care how you do it. I don't care what it costs us. Get our nukes back. Get them back,
now
."

THIRTEEN

Dawn Star Integrated Systems, Beijing, China

Junjie's worst fears had not only been realized, they'd been surpassed ten-fold. He dearly wanted to be surprised at the events unfolding around him. Sadly, this was not the case.

Alone in his office
the young man sat, shocked, processing what it all meant. The sound from the TV affixed to the wall lay muted, even as the broadcast video stream played on. Not unexpectedly, the local anchors carried quite a different tone than that of their American journalistic counterparts. Beijing's official statements spoke of "national glory" and the "natural and destined expansion of the superior Chinese culture and life." Junjie's personal response turned out to be something altogether less positive, having vomited twice so far in his private washroom. The aftertaste of bile, still present in his mouth, only underscored the horrified feelings he held in his heart.

I could have stopped this from happening. I
should
have stopped this from happening.

The merciless self-beating was neither constructive nor fair. Still, the what-if scenarios flowed unabated, like wildfire over dry timber, carrying his mind ever further toward despair. Weariness of body and soul pressed down on his weakened frame like a schoolyard bully. Over the last 48 hours, sleep had completely evaded the young man, forcing him into a half-alert state where his emotions only became more raw by the hour, more susceptible to the endless string of recriminations taking up space in his head. Since handing over the project, imagining his way toward some different, better circumstance had turned out to be an exercise of the deepest kinds of futility.

Following the meeting with Dhe and the committee, Zang had gone down to the company's server room, occupying the majority of the twenty-third floor. There, in front of the control stations and under the guise of checking in, he fantasized about pulling one giant plug out of the wall, shutting the whole enterprise down.