Power Curve (44 page)

“You heard about the Chinese?”

“Who hasn’t,” Malthus replied. In the world of nuclear physics, a nuclear explosion was a main event roughly equivalent to the second coming.

“We responded,” the director said.

“I didn’t hear about that.”

“We dropped a B-61.”

Malthus’s mind raced with implications. The B-61 used the W-40 warhead.

“It turns out,” the director said, confirming Malthus’s
suspicions, “that you were right. You’re leaving for Okinawa.”

“When?”

“Twenty minutes ago. Don’t bother to pack. A helicopter’s waiting.”

Washington, D.C.

Ben stood behind at the rear of the news studio evaluating the intern on the center camera. She was a tall and lithe tomboy with dreams of a career in TV news. She reminded him of a young Liz Gordon, fresh from Seattle twelve years ago. Liz came onto the set and sat down opposite Paul Ferguson, the network’s aging superstar. They exchanged small talk and Ben smiled at Paul’s pose: all friendliness, teeth, and smiles.
And this is the woman who Paul pronounced dead two days ago
, he thought.
Things do change
.

At exactly twelve o’clock, the director gave Ferguson the cue that they were live. “Good afternoon, America. We are in the fourth day since China detonated a nuclear weapon over the East China Sea and brought the world to the brink of nuclear war. While other nations wait and look to the United States for leadership, our president has not responded. Here with me for an update is Elizabeth Gordon.” He turned to face her. “Liz, you were at the White House from the very first. Do you have an explanation for this apparent paralysis we are seeing.”

“At this point,” Liz replied, “I wouldn’t call it paralysis. It is fair to say that the only person not panicking and demanding a knee-jerk reaction is the president. While it has been slow to emerge, we are now seeing a deliberate strategy of—”

Paul interrupted her. “But she has done nothing other than issue appeals for peace.”

“That is the public, visible part of her strategy,” Liz answered. “But there has been a flurry of diplomatic and military activity behind the scenes.” She ticked off what had been accomplished. “But there is more. For example,
the national security adviser, General Robert Bender, is conducting secret talks with the Chinese.”

She’s got an inside!
Ben thought, chalking one up for Liz. Her revelation would cause a big wave in the day’s news. “But the fact remains,” Paul persisted, “she has given in to nuclear blackmail.”

“Sources high in the White House,” Liz said, “tell me the president is still exploring every possible avenue for peace. These are uncharted waters and she is going slowly.”

“At this point, it is fair to ask,” Paul said, deliberately mimicking her, “will the president act?”

“Paul, in talking with my sources, I sensed a building momentum in the administration. You’ll have an answer to your question in a very short time, probably less than twenty-four hours.”

Ben laughed to himself.
You got him again!
he thought.
And if you’re right—move over Paul Ferguson, there’s a new kid on the block!

Shahe Air Base, China

“I
hear footsteps,” Larry Burke whispered. The sergeant was lying on his bunk in the early-morning dark, his ear against the wall. “Coming this way.” Bender rolled over and sat on the edge of his bunk, his blanket draped over his shoulders. He put on his shoes and stood up, adjusting his clothes and knotting his tie. The door banged open and the lone light bulb flicked on. The woman was standing in the doorway flanked by two guards.

Unconsciously, Bender checked his watch: 2:15 Friday. It’s still Thursday in the States, he thought. Nancy is probably just returning from lunch. The woman spoke in Mandarin, and two guards grabbed him, pinning his arms, while a third slapped handcuffs on his wrists. He stared at her passively. “Where are we going?” he asked. She spoke to the guards, and they shoved him into the hallway, slamming the door. “They need more blankets and drinking water,” he told her.

The woman gave a command in Mandarin, and a guard swung his truncheon, laying it across the back of Bender’s shoulders. He staggered but did not fall. “You will only speak to answer questions,” the woman told him. The guards half pushed, half dragged him to a waiting van and shoved him into the back. The woman climbed into a waiting limousine that led the two-car procession to Beijing. Bender struggled to a sitting position and looked
out a window, surprised that the base was so busy at such an early hour. A guard pushed him back to the floor and barked a command that he did not understand. “And up yours, too,” he answered in what he hoped was a servile tone. The guard picked up a thick rubber hose and hit him across the shoulders. It hurt much more than he expected.

“I speak English,” the guard said. Bender nodded, not answering this time. They rode in silence until the van reached the same nondescript government building in central Beijing. A guard grabbed him by the arm and jerked him out of the van, ripping his coat sleeve at the shoulder seam. Bender almost said, “Made in Hong Kong,” but thought better of it when he saw the rubber hose still in the guard’s hand. They hustled him inside and up the stairs. The guards were breathing heavily by the second floor. He increased the pace and made the guards hurry to keep up. The one with the hose was gasping for breath by the time they reached their floor. The woman was waiting in the hall and glared at the panting guards.
I won’t get away with that one again
, he decided.

“Chairman Wang wishes to speak to you,” she said.

“Does that require an answer?” he asked. She spoke in Mandarin, and the guard swung his hose. But he was still suffering from the run up the stairs, and the blow had lost its punch. Bender faked it and gasped for air as he fell to the floor. He rolled in what he hoped was fair imitation of someone in pain. A guard kicked him in the side, and he came to his knees.
They know what the real thing looks like
, he decided.

She confirmed his guess. “No more games, General.” The guards pulled him to his feet and pushed him into a room. It was an austere office with a single table and two chairs. A single filing cabinet stood against the bare walls. The woman sat down in one of the chairs, and they waited. She crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Why would such a beautiful woman smoke,” he lied.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I told you the truth.”

She nodded at the guard, and he laid the rubber hose across Bender’s back. But he had regained his strength,
and this time drove Bender to his knees. “I didn’t ask a question,” she told him. They played the game for an hour as they waited. She would speak to him, and he would only answer when she asked a direct question. Once, he hesitated too long before answering and was rewarded with another blow across the back. “Whatever is taking the chairman so long?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” he replied.

She spoke to the guard, and he swung the hose. “That was a rhetorical question not intended for you.” She tilted her head to one side and nodded at him. He closed his eyes and nodded back as if saying “I understand.” And he did. She was softening him up and conditioning him for the meeting with Wang. “What are you thinking now?” she asked.

“I’m being mugged by a beautiful butterfly who likes to hurt people.” He braced himself for the blow that never came.

“I believe you,” she said.

The door opened, and Wang walked into the room. He was wearing a classic Mao Tse-tung suit and his hair was cut in the same manner as the famous Mao. He sat down and crossed his legs. “A chair for the general,” he said.

Magically, a third chair appeared, and Bender sat down, surprised how relieved he felt. An alarm went off inside his head.
I’m caught in a good cop-bad cop routine
, he thought.

“The games are over,” Wang said. “I am told you have information of value.”

“Not if your goon keeps beating me with that hose,” Bender answered. He braced himself for the blow. Again, it didn’t come.

“Don’t waste my time,” Wang said. “What is it you have to say?”

“I know what President Turner is going to do next.”

“It doesn’t matter what she does next,” Wang replied.

Then why are you here?
Bender thought. “I assure you that what you are interpreting as weakness and the inability to act is wrong.”

“You are full of assurances,” the woman said.

“But they are valid,” he replied. It was time to start
the bidding. “I’m sorry that what I have to say has no value for you. I had hoped that—”

She interrupted him. “You wish to cut a deal?”

“Your command of the English language is excellent,” he said.

“There are no deals to be made,” Wang said. “It is beneath me to haggle.”

But you are here
, Bender reminded himself. He half expected the guard to go back to work with the hose. But Wang just sat and stared at him, his face impassive. Then Bender saw the corner of Wang’s eye twitch.
You’re running out of time
, he thought. “My concern is for my crew,” he said.

“And not yourself?” the woman answered. “How altruistic.”

“What are your concerns?” Wang asked.

It’s still good cop-bad cop
, Bender decided. “That my men should be reunited with their families at the earliest possible moment.”

“Why should I release spies?” Wang asked.

“Because they are not spies,” Bender replied.

“And you are,” the woman said. It was not a question.

Bender took the mental equivalent of a deep breath. “That is for you to decide in your own time.” The deal was on the table.

“I see,” Wang said. “The crew goes free and you remain with us. In exchange, you tell us what your president will do next. Perhaps, we can reach an understanding. If what you tell us proves to be true, then we will release your crew. But not until then.”

It was all Bender was going to get. “I trust you to keep your promise,” he said. “Unless you return to the status quo, President Turner will respond, in kind, to your actions.”

Wang laughed. “She won’t. Your president is a foolish woman. She is afraid of real power, real war, and real nuclear weapons. But she is not alone, your countrymen tremble in fear.”

“You are misjudging her,” Bender replied. “You shouldn’t believe what you read in the newspapers or what your ambassador tells you.”

Wang laughed again. “And when will she do this?”

“In the very near future.”

“Where?” Wang demanded. Bender didn’t answer.

“Do you believe him?” the woman asked in Mandarin.

Wang answered in the same language. “No.”

“Are you going to tell Lu Zoulin?”

“There is no need,” Wang replied. “He would only argue for caution, and the generals are demanding we proceed as planned. Besides, it is too late to cancel the operation.”

The woman smiled. “Shall I have them shot?”

“Not yet,” Wang answered. “They may still be of some use.”

“But if Bender is right and the American witch does as he says, it will be, ah, most embarrassing when the generals discover we were warned.”

“Then immediately execute them, and the generals will never learn of it.”

“General Bender,” the woman said in English, “this has been a waste of time.”

“You need a lesson in etiquette,” Wang said. He spoke to the guards in Mandarin. They dragged Bender to his feet and jammed a canvas bag over his head. One grabbed it and jerked, led him back to the van, and pushed him inside. He hit his knee on the edge of the van’s door frame and pain shot up his leg and into his groin. The driver slammed the van in gear and pulled away, throwing him around. His hurt knee smashed into the wheelwell and he almost lost control of his bladder as pain ripped into his body.

The woman watched the van until it disappeared. No sign of emotion or worry marred her smooth face as she stepped into the waiting limousine. There was no doubt in her mind that Bender had been telling the truth and that Wang should have heeded his warning. That was a problem.

Bender tried to get his bearings as they drove through the city, but he could only tell it was still dark. He counted the passing seconds, and when he estimated an hour had passed, the van slammed to a halt. He was hustled out of the van, and he felt a hand grab the top of the canvas bag.
The rough fabric tore at his skin as it was pulled off. He blinked in the bright light. He was standing outside his cell with four guards. Each had a rubber hose or truncheon shoved under his belt. One unlocked the door and pushed him inside. The guards followed, swinging their hoses and truncheons. A heavy rubber hose slammed into his mouth, and he tasted blood. He fell to the floor and curled into a fetal position. The guards beat on him until their arms were tired.

Finally, they stopped and removed his handcuffs. A swift kick into his side, and they were gone. Burke was over him in a flash as Courtland grabbed the first aid kit. Jenkins hobbled over from his bunk, still suffering dizziness from his own beating. “They really did a number on you,” the flight engineer said.

“What the hell is going on?” Courtland asked.

Bender managed to sit up and spat out two teeth. “Negotiations,” he mumbled.

Washington, D.C.

Mazie Hazelton walked into Bender’s corner office in the West Wing just after six o’clock in the evening. She was exhausted from the hurried flight back from Paris and discouraged by the lack of success. She dropped her briefcase in a chair as Norma helped her off with her coat. “The president wants to see you immediately,” the secretary said. “She’s in the Oval Office.” She reached out and stopped Hazelton with a gentle touch. “What’s happened to General Bender? We’re hearing terrible rumors.”

“I’m not sure,” Hazelton answered. “I imagine that’s why the president wants to see me.” She glanced in a mirror and decided to hell with the way she looked. She hurried down the hall and met Shaw as he came out of the Oval Office.

“Mrs. Bender’s with Maddy,” he said. “Go right on in.”

She knocked twice and opened the door. Nancy Bender was sitting on a couch with the president. Maura was perched on the edge of the opposite couch and came to
her feet. “You look tired,” Maura said. “Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?”

“Coffee please,” Hazelton said. “Black.” She sat in the corner of Maura’s couch.

“I’ve told Mrs. Bender about Robert,” Turner said. “Unfortunately, you were the last to hear anything.”

“When will the Chinese let them go?” Nancy asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” Hazelton replied, taking the cup Maura offered her.

“It’s unheard of,” Maura said, “what they’re doing. I just can’t believe they’ll—” Turner’s look stopped her in midsentence.

“He’s been in dangerous spots before,” Nancy said. “He’s a survivor.”

“We’re doing everything we can to get them out,” Turner said. She paused, taking the measure of Nancy Bender. Was she a woman who had to be gently handled and shielded from the truth? Her instincts told her to be honest. “But so far we haven’t met with much success.”

The corners of Nancy’s lips flickered. Was it a smile? “I imagine the Chinese are finding him a bit of a handful.”

“How so?” Maura asked, amazed that a hostage could cause his captors problems.

“He’s probably negotiating to get his people released,” Nancy told them.

“What can he negotiate with?” Mazie asked.

“With whatever he’s got,” Nancy replied. “You don’t know him. He’ll get his people out.”

“I don’t want to mislead you,” Turner said. “Please don’t get your hopes up.”

Nancy turned to face her. “Robert knows you can’t give in to this type of blackmail, that you may have to sacrifice—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. “But he can accept that if his crew is safe.”

“Is their safety that important to him?” Maura asked.

“Oh, yes,” Nancy answered. She had to talk, to tell them about her husband. “They’re his people, his responsibility. He says it goes with the territory.” She looked at Turner. The president understood. “Sometimes he forgets that he is not a rock, safe from the emotions that tear
other people apart. When he’s hurt or disappointed, he pulls into his cave. He won’t say a thing and refuses to let other people help him.” She blushed. “Robert would die of shame if he heard me say that.”

Hazelton wanted to reassure Nancy that her husband would be safe. But that would have been misleading. She leaned forward, offering what consolation she could. “Mrs. Bender, there’s something you should know. He needs you.”

“I know,” Nancy answered. “But he’s so damn—” Her voice trailed off.

“Close mouthed,” Turner said, finishing the thought for her. “You’re fortunate. I never know what he’s thinking.” She looked at her watch. “You’ll have to excuse me, I need to meet with my advisors. Mother, will you please see that Mrs. Bender gets home?”

“Thank you, Mrs. President,” Nancy said as they stood up. “I can manage on my own.”

“We’ll let you know the moment we learn anything,” Turner promised.

Maura led Nancy out and turned her over to a Marine sergeant who escorted her to her car. “Drive carefully, ma’am,” the sergeant said, closing the car door.