Ultimatum (18 page)

“Nervous?” murmured Gartner. “I was nervous as a schoolboy when I walked up here four years ago. Funny. I’d been up there twice with Shawcross, but it didn’t matter. It gets you, what you’re doing.”

They got to the top. The other dignitaries were waiting.

“Good luck, Joe,” said Mike Gartner. “I mean that.”

Angela Chavez was sworn in first. There was a reading that Chavez had chosen. Then the moment had come. Justice Paula Eagleton, chief justice of the Supreme Court, administered the oath. It would have been a cliche to say it was the most solemn moment in Joe Benton’s life as he stood with hand raised, but it was. In the weeks since the election, he had spoken often about the great honor that the American people had bestowed upon him, the awesome burden, his doubt that he was worthy of it, his endeavour to prove that he was. At the security briefing that morning at Blair House, when he had been instructed on the steps his military aide would take if he was to order the launch of nuclear weapons, he had even thought he finally felt what that really meant. But he realized that even then he hadn’t, it was only a foretaste of the real thing. It was only now, as he raised his hand, uttered the words, conscious of the people watching and listening to him below, conscious of the cameras streaming the image around the world, that he felt the full force of it. It was as if the weight physically descended on him as he spoke, not a heaviness, but a gravity, and he could feel it settling upon him. He felt himself standing in a line with the forty-six men and one woman who had gone before him. He felt himself unworthy. Deeply, deeply unworthy.

When he had said the words, he shook Justice Eagleton’s hand. He shook Mike Gartner’s hand, then Angela Chavez’s. He kissed Heather and hugged Amy and Greg.

Then Senator Randall Turner, chairman of the Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies, called upon him to speak for the first time as the president of the United States.

Joe Benton stepped forward. He was conscious of the coldness of the air, the brightness of the sunlight. For a moment the cold seemed to grip his throat. He looked out at the crowd. He thought of Joe Kowalksi, Joanna Kowalski, sitting in a bar in Detroit. In Philadelphia. In Baton Rouge. In Santa Fe. He thought of all the Joe Kowalskis and Joanna Kowalskis he had met, the real ones, the one who had brought him into politics in the first place, the ones who had kept him in it.

“My fellow Americans . . .” he began. “A little over two hundred fifty years ago, a group of men laid the foundations for a house.”

In Detroit, in Philadelphia, in Baton Rouge, in Santa Fe, in cities and towns and villages, people watched.

In a crowded office in Lafayette Towers, Sam Levy gazed at a screen, mouthing every word an instant before the president spoke it, his hand gripping a champagne glass so hard it threatened to splinter between his fingers.

He spoke for thirteen minutes. Then he drew to the end.

“My fellow Americans, it’s time. Our time. Not a time to take, but a time to give. Not a time to rest, but a time to work. A time to renew the foundations. A time to rebuild the house. To build it strong, to build it sturdy. Come build it with me. And in times to come they will look back and say, in these years, these people built a house to last.”

~ * ~

Saturday, January 22

The President’s villa, Pingfang, outside Beijing, China

Each of them had a translation of the speech in Mandarin together with the original version in English. There was also a summary of editorial from the American media which had been prepared by the foreign ministry, and an opinion from the U.S. desk head of the Guoanbu, the state foreign intelligence service.

President Wen was looking relaxed in polo shirt and slacks. He was a tall, narrow-shouldered man who had gone a little to fat in recent years. The others were more formally dressed, Ding most formal of all. Sharp Armani suits were his trademark, even in the most relaxed surroundings.

They sat on sofas around a low table. The others present were the prime minister, Zhai Ming, Li Wenyuan, one of the rising stars of the next generation and a protégé of Wen, and General Shen Bihua. Zhai had been disconcerted to arrive and find that Foreign Minister Chou wasn’t present. Immediately he felt outflanked.

“It’s a domestic agenda,” said Li, concluding the overview that Wen had asked him to present. “Nothing appears to have changed from what he was saying during the campaign.”

“I’m struck by this sentence,” said Wen. He read it in English. “We are a nation of mighty power. But to those who are listening to me today outside these United States, I say, we will not use this power just because we can, nor without care, but only if we must. Let us sit down, let us solve our problems together. Do not leave the table, that is all I ask.” Wen looked around. “What do we conclude from this?”

“There are numerous ways to interpret this,” said Li. “I think we must look at it in the context of the speech. Only 182 words devoted to foreign affairs, out of a total of 1,644. This is a historically low figure, President Wen. To me this is an important statistic. It couldn’t be a coincidence.”

“I agree with Minister Li,” said Zhai. “I do not take this one sentence to mean so much. His concerns are domestic.”

“Are his domestic problems really so great?” demanded Ding.

“Great,” said Wen. “The domestic problems of America are always great, and yet the consciousness of the people is so low.” He laughed. “How do they do it, Shen? I wish we had the answer.”

General Shen laughed, and there were smiles from the others in the room, except for Ding. He interpreted that as a rebuke from the president. Ding Jiahui had little sense of humor, unlike Wen, who projected an easy, avuncular charm.

“If their domestic troubles are so great,” muttered Ding, “perhaps they will let us get on with solving our own.”

“I believe he is committed to dealing with the domestic issues, and his foreign policy will be minimalist,” said Li. “He will act only when forced.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I watched him very carefully in the campaign, President Wen. I believe he is driven by a kind of historical mission. He believes this moment is the one when he can put right the great problems in America. He has a sense of historical destiny. Many of his speeches refer to the place of this generation in history.”

“Is this some kind of religious faith?”

“No. I conclude that this is a sense of historical mission. In my opinion, the inauguration speech confirms this.” Li glanced over the speech, lifting the pages. “Everything he says here fits with that.”

“A man with a sense of historical destiny is dangerous,” said Zhai.

“Are you saying we have no sense of historical destiny?” Wen paused. “Or are you saying we are dangerous?” Wen roared with laughter. “Ding,” he said. “Ding, can’t you laugh at anything?”

Ding forced a smile.

Wen became serious again. “So this is his vulnerability? His sense of his place in history?”

“I think so,” said Li.

“But Olsen is a pragmatist. Zhai, you know him?”

Zhai nodded. “Olsen is not subtle. His strength is to define his objective, not necessarily in the way he tries to get there.”

“Americans are never subtle,” said Shen.

“But he is forceful? He will play a role?”

“Yes. Why else has Benton appointed him?”

“Benton will focus on his domestic agenda,” insisted Li. “This is what we learn from the speech. And he has a majority in both houses of the Congress, so he has the ability to actually do the things he speaks about.”

“If he can get them to do what he wants,” said Wen. “That’s not always so easy for an American president.”

“Every president says the same thing when he takes office,” muttered Ding. “Always it’s the domestic issues that are on top. Then they get more and more involved outside. Once they have the power, they can’t help it.”

“I think on this occasion Minister Ding is right,” said Zhai. “Every American president comes to power saying he will focus on domestic affairs, and each of them soon becomes embroiled outside.”

Ding was silent, and Zhai, although he had referred to him, didn’t glance in his direction. There was very little on which the two men did agree, and as Ding’s popularity had grown, encouraged and abetted by Wen, Zhai had felt his own authority eroding.

“A new American president always represents an opportunity,” said Shen.

“Or a danger,” said Zhai.

Wen nodded. “The question for us is whether he knows yet.”

“I have thought about that,” said Li.

“Tell us what you think.”

“There is nothing here that deviates from what he said during the campaign. Nothing to suggest he has learned anything new.”

“If he wishes to keep it secret,” interjected Ding, “why would he say it?”

“That may be so, Minister Ding. But I think something would creep in. A hint, at least.”

“What about the sentence President Wen read to us?” Ding searched for it in his copy of the speech and read it in English. “
Let us sit down, let us solve our problems together. Do not leave the table, that is all I ask.
Is he talking to us? Is he not saying that he knows?”

“Who begs in public?” said Zhai coldly.

“Is it begging?”

“I agree with Premier Zhai,” said Li. “The fact that he says this, in my opinion, shows that he doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t say this.”

“What would he say?” demanded Ding. “Since you seem to know the mind of the American president so well.”

“He wouldn’t say this. What does President Wen think?”

All faces turned to Wen.

Wen shrugged. “Does it matter? If he didn’t know, soon he will. What would be the process? When would they tell him?”

There were blank looks around the table.

“Whenever it is, it’ll get him shitting,” muttered Ding.

Wen smiled. “Let us assume he doesn’t know. Now he has made this big speech about solving America’s problems, and the next day he wakes up and finds out his biggest problem is with us!”

General Shen laughed. “We should give them a tickle. He’d be too scared to respond.”

Wen smiled.

“What is it, Premier Zhai?” said Ding. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”

Zhai was grim-faced. “Make my enemy comfortable. My enemy’s pain is a danger to me.”

“And a danger to me makes me strong again.”

Zhai shook his head. He looked at Wen. “President Wen, you should call him to congratulate him.”

“Ambassador Liu has passed on the congratulations of the government,” said Ding. “And President Wen spoke to him after the election.”

“Now he is president.”

“No need to speak again so soon,” said Wen. “When did I speak with Gartner? Hardly ever.”

“The relationship can be better.”

“Let him come to the president,” said General Shen.

Wen nodded. “Let him find out first. Then watch him flounder. Why should we make the path for him? For six months, he won’t know what to do.”

“President Wen, we should take advantage of his confusion to push him to where we want him to go,” said Ding.

Zhai looked at him sharply. “And where is that?”