“This is all very interesting, but it’s not going to contribute anything to our decision on what to do about the summit,” said Hartman.
The secretary of state got the discussion back on track, arguing for an American presence in the capital during the meeting. Chastain responded by pointing out that many of Taiwan’s neighbors were taking a very cautious approach. Japan in particular had yet to weigh in on its opinion of the meeting, a clear sign that it viewed it with suspicion at best. There was also the danger that high-level U.S. presence in Beijing at the time of the meeting would raise expectations beyond a reasonable level.
As the debate continued, Jed watched President Martindale. His face gave no hint of which argument he agreed with. Jed knew from experience that he liked to gather as much information as possible before delivering a pronouncement. This often made for a fairly long fact-finding period, though once the President decided, he never wavered or second-guessed himself. Jed admired that; he himself often worried after he made a decision, and even something as simple as picking a tie might be revisited three or four times.
“The real question is whether rapprochement is in our interests or not,” said Freeman. “At this point, I frankly feel the answer is not.”
“Long term it is,” said the secretary of state.
“I agree with the national security advisor,” said Balboa.
Jed thought he ought to pull out his pocket calendar and record the date—the admiral and his boss rarely agreed on what to have for dinner, let alone anything substantive.
“I don’t think we can actively discourage peace,” said Chastain. “But I do argue for caution.”
The President raised his hand.
“I think we have to encourage peace in Asia,” said Martindale. “At this point, we want the dialogue to go ahead. Obviously, we want to monitor events there very, very closely. And we don’t want any developments that would derail it.”
There was more debate, but Jed could tell the President had already made up his mind. Martindale let everyone take one more shot at having his say, then ended the discussion for good.
“The vice president will arrange his schedule to visit Beijing on the first day of the conference,” he said.
“But he will not attend it, or offer any comment on it. He will visit the Chinese premier and the president of Taiwan privately. That is absolutely as far as we can go.”
“It’s pretty far,” said Chastain.
“Anything else, gentlemen?” said the President, rising.
There was, of course, nothing else.
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“Feeling better?” he asked the national security advisor as Freeman and Jed started to leave.
“Getting there,” said Freeman. “No cigars for a while.”
“Your wife must be glad of that,” laughed Martindale. He turned to Jed. But instead of joking, his voice was once more dead serious. “I want you to tell Dreamland to nail this down.”
“Yes, sir. But—”
“I don’t like buts, Jed.”
“Um, they’re going to want to go in-country and look around,” said Jed. “Colonel Bastian already suggested it.”
“Tell them to do so,” said Martindale. “Quietly. Very quietly.”
“If the Taiwanese have such a weapon, what do we do?” asked Freeman.
“We worry about it when we’re sure they have it,” said Martindale.
IV
Duty
Dreamland Visiting VIP Office
12 September 1997
1200
RUBEO LAID THEprintouts flat on the table, pulling the two pages close together so that the lines he had highlighted were next to each other.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” he told Cortend. “But to anyone with a modicum of knowledge of the systems involved, it’s obvious what’s being done. There’s a repeater system that takes bits of captured information and rebroadcasts it. You can see here, here, and here. That’s why the signal seems to be ours. It is ours. This”—he took the two sheets from the folder, laying them side by side—“shows the intercepts and our own flight communications from the other day. Incontrovertible. That word is in your vocabulary, is it not?”
Cortend glared at him. Rubeo realized that he had made exactly zero progress with the old witch.
Then again, he hadn’t come here to convince her. He’d come for the satisfaction of showing her to her face that she was an idiot. And he had accomplished that.
“Now that I know what’s going on, we can easily strip out the signals that are being beamed back, and then determine the actual signals. I would explain how we do it,” he said, gathering up the pages, “but you don’t have the clearance to hear it. Let alone the IQ to understand it.”
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He had nearly reached the door when Cortend spoke.
“Just a minute, Doctor,” she said.
Rubeo couldn’t resist one last look at her constipated face writhing in the torment of ignorance unmasked. He turned around. Cortend pointed at her two assistants, dismissing them with flicks of her finger. The lieutenants scurried away.
“You think I enjoy questioning the integrity of your people?” she said.
“In a word, yes.”
Cortend said nothing for a moment. “My father’s name was Harold Bernkie. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Hardly,” said Rubeo.
For the first time since she had come to the base, Cortend smiled. “It shouldn’t. In the 1950s, he was a very promising scientist. And then his name was linked with the Communist Party. He was blacklisted and couldn’t get work. He’s my father, so obviously I think he was a genius, but of course that really isn’t for me to say. I only know that he eventually became an electrician. A very good one, in my opinion, though I suppose that too is neither here nor there. This hasn’t been a witch hunt. I’ve been extremely fair.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
Cortend shook her head. “No. I believe that you will find that I have been thorough, that I have been a stickler for details, and I have pursued any and all leads. Those were and remain my orders. As far as your Miss Gleason goes, I never charged her with a crime or recommended any disciplinary action against her.”
“That’s because your investigation wasn’t complete,” said Rubeo. “Don’t banter definitions around.”
“You are a scientist. You’re precise in your work. I am precise in mine,” said Cortend. “No charges were filed against your coworker. I was here on an informal basis precisely to spare you and your people the ordeal of a full-blown inquiry. Believe me, it would have been ten times worse.”
“I doubt that is possible.”
Cortend took a long, labored breath. “I’ve been informed that there are explanations for what appeared to be omissions concerning the conferences. Given those explanations, I see no need to make any recommendation concerning her to the commander.”
Rubeo wasn’t sure exactly what to say. He remained angry—extremely angry. This idiot had cost him one of the top scientists in the world, who even now refused to get out of bed, claiming to be sick.
“The data that you have gathered would appear to exonerate Dreamland completely,” said Cortend.
“Coupled with the information about the aircraft’s physical characteristics, it would appear very convincing.”
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“You’re not going to imply that we created it,” said Rubeo.
“I’m sure you’re clever enough to do so,” said Cortend. “But no, Doctor, I don’t believe that for a moment. And more importantly, there is no evidence suggesting that you did. There is no evidence suggesting that anyone at Dreamland is anything less than a dedicated and patriotic American. Good day.”
That was it? She was giving up?
She was giving up.
Truth and reason had won?
Truth and reason had won. The Inquisition was over.