” . SECRETARY ADLER will be leaving for Beijing this morning,” Ryan told them. Arnie had told him that, as unpleasant as these news appearances were, being seen on TV doing presidential things was good for him politically–and that, Arnie always went on, meant being more effective in the job. The President also remembered hearing from his mom how important it was to go to the dentist twice a year, too, and just as the antiseptic smells of that place were certain to frighten a child, so he had come to loathe the damp of this room. The walls leaked, some of the windows were cracked, and this part of the West Wing of the White House was about as neat and well kept as a high-school locker room, something the citizens couldn’t tell from watching TV. Though the area was only a few yards from his own office, nobody really cared much about tidying things up. Reporters were such slobs, the staff claimed, that it wouldn’t have mattered much anyway. What the hell, the reporters didn’t seem to worry about it.
“Mr. President, have we learned anything more about the airliner incident?”
“It’s been announced that the body count is complete. The flight-data recorders have been recovered and–”
“Will we have access to the black-box information?”
Why did they call it the black box when it was orange? Jack had always wondered about that, but knew he’d never get a sensible answer. “We’ve asked for that access, and the Republic of China government has promised its full cooperation. They don’t have to do that. The aircraft is registered in that country, and the aircraft is made in Europe. But they are being helpful. We acknowledge that with thanks. I should add that none of the Americans who survived the crash itself are in any medical danger–some of the injuries are severe, but not life-threatening.”
“Who shot it down?” another reporter asked.
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“We’re still examining the data, and–”
“Mr. President, the Navy has two Aegis-class ships in that immediate area. You must have a good idea of what happened.” This guy had done his homework.
“I really can’t comment further on that. Secretary Adler will discuss the incident with the parties concerned. We want, first of all, to make sure that no further loss of life takes place.”
“Mr. President, a follow-up: you must know more than you’re saying. Fourteen Americans were killed in this incident. The American people have a right to know why.”
The hell of it was, the man was right. The hell of it also was that Ryan had to evade: “We really do not know exactly what happened yet. I cannot make a definitive statement until we do.” Which was philosophically true, anyway. He knew who’d taken the shot. He didn’t know why. Adler had made a good point yesterday on keeping that knowledge close.
“Mr. Adler returned from somewhere yesterday. Why is that a secret?” It was Plumber again, chasing down his question from the previous day.
I’m going to kill Arniefor exposing me this way all the time. “John, the Secretary was engaged in some important consultations. That’s all I have to say on the issue.”
“He was in the Middle East, wasn’t he?”
“Next question?”
“Sir, the Pentagon has announced that the carrier Elsenhower is moving into the South China Sea. Did you order that?”
“Yes, I did. We feel that the situation warrants our close attention. We have vital interests in that region. I point out that we are not taking sides in this dispute, but we are going to look after our own interests.”
“Will moving the carrier cool things down or heat them up?”
“Obviously, we’re not trying to make things worse. We’re trying to make them better. It’s in the interests of both parties to take a step back and think about what they are doing. Lives have been lost,” the President reminded them. “Some of those were American lives. That gives us
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a direct interest in the matter. The reason we have a government and a military is to look after American interests and to protect the lives of our citizens. The naval forces heading for the region will observe what is happening and conduct routine training operations. That is all.”
ZHANG HAN SAN checked his watch again and remarked to himself that it was becoming a fine way to end his working day–the sight of the American President doing exactly what he wanted him to do. Now China had fulfilled her obligations to that Daryaei barbarian. The Indian Ocean was devoid of a major American naval presence for the first time in twenty years. The American foreign minister would leave Washington in another two hours or so. Another eighteen hours to fly to Beijing, and then the platitudes could be exchanged. He’d see what concessions he could wring out of America and the Taiwanese puppet state. Maybe a few good ones, he thought, with the trouble America was sure to face elsewhere. . . .
ADLERWAS IN his office. His bags were packed and in his official car, which would take him to the White House to catch a helicopter to Andrews after a presidential handshake and a brief departure statement which would be as bland as oatmeal. The more dramatic departure would look good on TV, make his mission appear to be a matter of importance, and cause additional wrinkling to his clothes–but the Air Force crew had an ironing board on the plane.
“What do we know?” Under Secretary Rutledge asked of the Secretary’s senior staff.
“The missile was shot by a PRC aircraft. That’s pretty positive from the Navy’s radar tapes. No idea why, though Admiral Jackson is very positive in saying that it was not an accident.”
“How was it in Tehran?” another assistant secretary inquired.
“Equivocal. I’ll get that written up on the flight and
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fax it back here.” Adler, too, was pressed for time and hadn’t had enough to think through his meeting with Daryaei.
“We need that if we’re going to be much use on the SNIE,” Rutledge pointed out. He really wanted that document. With it, Ed Kealty could prove that Ryan was up to his old tricks, playing secret agent man, and even suborning Scott Adler into doing the same. It was out there somewhere, the key to destroying Ryan’s political legitimacy. He was dodging and counterpunching well, doubtless due to Arnie van Damm’s coaching, but his gaffe yesterday on China policy had sent rumbles throughout the building. Like many people at State, he wished that Taiwan would just go away, and enable America to get on with the business of conducting normal relations with the world’s newest superpower.
“One thing at a time, Cliff.”
The meeting returned to the China issue. By mutual consent, it was decided that the UIR problem was on the back burner for the next few days.
“Any change in China policy from the White House?” Rutledge asked.
Adler shook his head. “No, the President was just trying to talk his way through things–and, yeah, I know, he shouldn’t have called the Republic of China China, but maybe it rattled their cage just a little in Beijing, and I’m not all that displeased about it. They do need to learn about not killing Americans. We have crossed a line here, people. One of the things I have to do is let them know that we take that line seriously.”
“Accidents happen,” someone observed.
“The Navy says it wasn’t an accident.”
“Come on, Mr. Secretary,” Rutledge groaned. “Why the hell would they do that on purpose?”
“It’s our job to find out. Admiral Jackson made a good case for his position. If you’re a cop on the street and you have an armed robber in front of you, why shoot the little old lady down the block?”
“Accident, obviously,” Rutledge persisted.
“Cliff, there are accidents, and there are accidents. This
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one killed Americans, and in case anybody in this room forgot, we are supposed to take that seriously.”
They weren’t used to that sort of reprimand. What was with Adler, anyway? The job of the State Department was to maintain the peace, to forestall conflict that killed people in the thousands. Accidents were accidents. They were unfortunate, but they happened, like cancer and heart attacks. State was supposed to deal with the Big Picture.
“THANK YOU, Mr. President.” Ryan left the podium, having again survived the slings and arrows of the media. He checked his watch. Damn. He’d missed seeing the kids off to school–again–and hadn’t kissed Cathy good-bye, either. Where in the Constitution, he wondered, was it written down that the President wasn’t a human being?
On reaching his office, he scanned the printed sheet of his daily schedule. Adler was due over in an hour for the send-off to China. Winston at ten o’clock to go over the details of his administrative changes across the street at Treasury. Arnie and Gallic at eleven to go through his speeches for next week. Lunch with Tony Bretano. A meeting after lunch with–who? The Anaheim Mighty Ducks? Ryan shook his head. Oh. They’d won the Stanley Cup, and this would be a photo opportunity for them and for him. He had to talk to Arnie about that political crap. Hmph. Ought to have Ed Foley over for that, Jack smiled to himself. He was a hockey fanatic . . .