The Outer Circle (The Counterpoint Trilogy Book 3) (3 page)

Beijing, China

It was perhaps the most contentious meeting of the Party’s Central
Politburo
on record. More so than the one five years ago when the financial attack on the U.S. was agreed upon. Usually, this group of twenty-five most powerful people in China came to decisions by consensus. Today, some of the members seemed close to throwing punches.

“We must take decisive action!” pounded the table Wang Hunshan, President of the Central Party School. “Young people are turning away from the Party
en masse
. They are demonstrating in the streets and openly calling for the end of the Party’s rule. This can’t be allowed to go on!”

“What do you propose, that we send tanks against them again, like we did in 2022 and 1989?” snapped back Sun Yang, Head of the Central Politics and Law Commission. “We’ve been already labeled ‘The Butchers of Beijing,’ should we add to that reputation? The problem is, there are no jobs for many of these people, that’s why they are not content!”

“The problem is jobs,” agreed Li Zhang, the Party Chief of Shanghai. “Appreciation of renminbi and widespread use of robotics made our labor – and our products – less competitive. Even the Americans are now able to undercut our manufacturing costs. We spent enormous resources to undermine the US dollar, just to see our renminbi being sabotaged by digital currencies that people use to smuggle money out of the country. The pride of our achievements in 2022 gave way to disappointment. And the Americans, after the initial surprise, are gathering strength. Some of their politicians are now openly talking about taking aggressive action against us.”

“Let’s not overreact to typical American election year rhetoric. And in any case, we’ve been over these issues before,” pointed out Kai Liu, the General Secretary. “You describe problems but not the solutions.”

“If I may, Mr. General Secretary,” quietly said General Wu Cao, Vice Chairman of the Central Military Commission.

“General...” Kai Liu motioned for others to be silent.

“Addressing the ‘Taiwan problem’ would both contribute to our economic power and channel the people’s energy in a new direction, uniting them behind the flag,” carefully offered Wu Cao.

“That again?” Sun Yang spread his hands. “How many times will the military bring this up? Wars are easy to start, but hard to win. Taiwan is under American protection. We can’t capture Taiwan without gaining control of the East China Sea, South China Sea, and Philippine Sea. The American fleet is still too powerful. We’ve been told it’ll be at least another twenty years before we can take them on. Plus, we’ll encounter resistance from Vietnam, Japan, Philippines, even India.”

“I completely agree with my esteemed colleague,” nodded Wu Cao. “We can’t take Taiwan without addressing these issues. But I don’t think we can afford to wait another twenty years. Nor do we have to.”

Wu Cao paused for full effect, poured himself a glass of water. Everyone’s eyes were on him.

“The real problem is indeed in establishing our sphere of influence over the vast area of the ocean west of the Japan – Indonesia line. That would not only provide us with the additional economic assets of rich Taiwan, but will also provide us with vast resources of oil and natural gas near the disputed Spratlys Islands, secure access of shipments through the Malacca Straits that carry most of our imported materials, and greatly expand our exclusive economic zone. Japan, our old nemesis, is no longer a factor as they self-destroyed financially, between massive government debts and aging population. But the Americans continue to stand in our way because of their superior ‘blue water’ capabilities and the military alliances they have built with other countries in the region. And as long as they do, these countries feel secure in opposing our interests.”

“Tell us something we don’t know.” Sun Yang was being quite impolite this day.

“Yes, this is known. As it is known that we can control the offshore action but don’t possess the long-distance operational capabilities that would rival the Americans. But, contrary to the earlier thinking, we don’t have to defeat the Americans on the open seas in order to win the battle for Taiwan.”

“And do you have a detailed plan on how to do this?” asked Kai Liu.

“We are close, Comrade Secretary,” nodded Wu Cao.

Kai Liu raised his right hand, the index finger pointing straight at the General.

“Let’s discuss it when you have the plan and contingencies for what will inevitably go wrong. I agree that winning the battle for Taiwan will greatly help in addressing our difficult economic and political situation. But I said ‘winning,' not ‘starting.’ Starting is easy. In 1941, Japan started with a successful attack on Pearl Harbor. We all know how this ended. You are proposing to start a war with a country that is militarily stronger than us. We can’t do this as a desperate gamble; we must have overwhelming chances of success before any action. Domestically, we will not survive the failure.”

The Secretary put his right hand back on the table, signaling that this particular discussion is over.

“General, when you are ready to provide a detailed analysis, let me know and we’ll arrange for a proper forum to deliberate.”

Los Angeles, USA

The two-story block house on the corner was surrounded by a tall fence with barbed wire on top. First-floor windows had bars on them. This was not unusual at all: even though this Mid-City area was only a few blocks west from the safe, well-groomed and heavily guarded USC campus, it had neither safety nor grooming. But unlike its immediate neighbors to the north, south, and further west, this particular block was known to be safe. Some of the houses on the block belonged to heavily-armed people that liked their surroundings to be quiet and crime-free. This point had been emphasized a year ago to some of the local gang members and just unruly citizens. Since then, it’s been quiet. The heavily-armed people took care of their neighbors financially and safety-wise, the neighbors reciprocated by behaving properly and seeing and hearing nothing. So when another black self-driving SUV with a telltale laser sensor bump on the roof pulled into the corner house’s garage at 1 a.m., nobody paid any attention.

Once the garage door closed, the lights came on. The human driver guided two men and a woman upstairs, into what looked like a living room. There was a faint whirring sound and the floor reverberated ever so slightly. Maggie looked around: wooden floor with an expensive-looking rug, dim lighting, a leather sofa with a glass coffee table against one wall, a cherry-wood bookshelf lining another wall, an expressionist painting, a mahogany table with six matching chairs. Accurate, orderly, designed to look warm. She crinkled her nose; there was a smell of leather, tobacco, and hot wood even though no fireplace was visible. Perhaps a candle had been burning a while earlier.

A tall, goateed, olive-complexioned man of about thirty came into the room. He wore a camelhair jacket, shaded eyeglasses, a white open-collared shirt, hugging blue jeans, and dark brown shoes. Maggie’s eyes caught gold cufflinks peeking from the jacket’s sleeves and a black-and-gold watch with a silvery bracelet. The man opened his arms:
“Oleg, Maggie, David!”

After a round of hugs and kisses, Oleg exclaimed:

“Alejandro, you devil, how do stay looking so young?”

“Safe and wholesome living, my friend. I don’t have half of the world’s secret services looking for me. Plus, I sold my soul to the devil.”

He laughed, took a couple of steps back, gave his visitors an appraising look:

“Whoever worked on you was good. If I met you on the street, I am not sure I would have recognized you,” he laughed. “David, your nose looks a hundred times better.”

David unconsciously touched his nose:

“Yes, it was broken in a bicycle accident when I was a kid. The doctor straightened it.”

David was still in his thirties but looked older, with cropped prematurely grey hair, hazel eyes, slightly stooped to betray his real height.

“For the record, I was disappointed,” chimed in Maggie. “I loved that crooked nose.”

Under Alejandro’s gaze, she instinctively tried to imagine what she looked like: a tired woman in her early-to-mid-thirties, with long blond hair, round face, gray eyes, light skin; dressed in a white embroidered shirt and tight blue jeans. Alejandro’s eyes lingered on her a second too long and Maggie put her arm around David’s waist.

“And I see they fixed your crooked teeth, my friend,” Alejandro turned to Oleg. “Plus you lost some weight and changed your hair.”

Oleg spread his arms, posing:

“Perfect new teeth and shiny blue eyes – to the delight of Mexican senioritas.”

Alejandro laughed, then grew serious:

“OK, why are you back? Why are you taking this risk?”

Oleg grew serious as well:

“Maggie and David... actually, officially it’s Ann and Mark at this time... and I am Peter... they’ve been trying to finish Schulmann’s work and discovered more important names connected to the 2019 crisis. One, in particular.”

“So why come here? Why not publish them like you did two years ago?” Alejandro looked at David and Maggie in puzzlement. “Mind you, I am very happy to see you.” He let the ending hang in the air as his eyes stopped on her.

“Remember what happened then?” replied Maggie. “Within a few days they had begun a massive disinformation campaign, mixing true and false data, guilty and innocents. So that the guilty ones have been able to point to false data or to those who’ve been unfairly accused and claim that their hands were clean. Most of those with connections got away.”

“Plus we have some major gaps in the data that we have to close,” continued David. “But what we found is too important to ignore. We have to get more data and then pass this information to trusted parties.”

“And how are you going to do this?” wondered Alejandro.

“We have a couple of ideas,” Oleg scratched a side of his face. “They required David and Maggie to come here. We are all taking a big chance. But right now, we are tired, it’s been a long journey.”

“Of course, forgive me for holding you here,” apologized Alejandro. “Please come up and rest. Your bedrooms are ready. While the house is plain on the outside, I believe you’ll find it quite comfortable.”

Smolniy Institute, St. Petersburg, Russia

President Boris Mosin was looking from the window at the statue of Lenin standing in the middle of a small flower garden. Lenin was confidently pointing to the north, to Finland. Summer came to St. Petersburg late this year and, despite the sun being out, the air was chilly and people on the street had their overcoats and scarves on.

“I still don’t understand how this could have happened,” Mosin shook his head. “The Minister of Defense is killed in broad daylight in the middle of the city? And we have no suspects?”

“The FSB, the Military Police, and even the local
militzia
are all investigating,” Dmitry Kolotov, the Minister of Internal Affairs, spread his arms.

“I certainly hope so and they better find who did it,” grumbled Mosin. He had known Maksim Nedinsky for many years, liked the man and was angry over Nedinsky’s death. “Well, Maksim is now at his chosen resting place at Volkovo Cemetery, where generations of his predecessors have been buried. But the business of Russia’s defense must go on.”

He looked suspiciously at General Yuriy Shelkov, the new Minister of Defense, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“General, how are the ongoing joint exercises with the Chinese Navy going?”

“Well, Mr. President; I think they are proceeding quite well,” replied Shelkov carefully. “It took our forces two days of sailing from Vladivostok to rendezvous with PLAN in the East China Sea and we’ve been conducting coordinated maneuvers for six days now.”

“And why do you think the Chinese asked to have these exercises?”

“We have complementary force structure between our Pacific Fleet and their Navy: we now have two modern aircraft carriers with over a hundred Su-35 and Su-37 naval planes there, while PLAN’s strength is in helicopter carriers, anti-ship missiles, fast-attack ships and amphibious landing crafts.”

“In other words, they are more suited for invasion while ours is an open-water fleet?” prodded Mosin.

“That would be mostly correct, Sir.”

“And why is that so?”

“They’ve been always focused on threatening Taiwan and configured their Navy accordingly, for defense and access denial warfare,” explained Shelkov. “The Chinese themselves projected that it would be another twenty years before they will be able to rival the open-water capabilities of the U.S. Navy.”

“But they can’t take Taiwan with the U.S. Navy present, right?”

“That would be a risky operation. The U.S. 7
th
Fleet is only a few days of sailing from the Formosa Strait and Taiwan’s own defenses can hold off the invaders for that long. The Chinese have invested heavily into developing anti-ship missiles, but they are not proven against moving targets beyond a couple of hundred miles, not enough to keep the Americans away from Taiwan.”

“I wonder why the Chinese ambassador was so insistent on expanding the scope of these joint exercises,” wondered Mosin aloud. “Do they really think that our Pacific Fleet can stop the Americans?”

“I doubt they would think that. Our fleet is less than half the size of the 7
th
.”

“Are Americans watching the exercises?”

“Yes, they have ships and airplanes in the area.”

Mosin nodded: “Please make sure that these exercises do not result in any provocative actions from our side. Don’t approach U.S. planes or ships. I don’t want us to be sucked into any kind of military adventures there.”