Sea Strike

18

Professor Djinn Yi lifted the delicate porcelain cup of green tea from the tray offered to him. As he always did at such moments, he acknowledged the dichotomy of the experience. There was the pain that had been with him since the day a Maoist thug had smashed his knuckles with a steel bar. But then, there was also the gratitude that his hand still worked at all. He nodded to the silent serving man and joined with Secretary Duan of the Foreign Ministry in taking a first sip of the hot beverage.

“It goes well,” the Ministry man said after a moment. “Reports from all fronts indicate success. Our forces continue to hold the beach head stable, while yours have commenced their march north.”

“Another inch cut from the dragon’s tail,” Djinn replied, setting his cup onto the low table that separated the two men. The two men were in the central sitting room of the combined Taiwanese/United Democratic Forces suite complex. It had been converted into an ad hoc security space for the delegations. Every inch of the room was swept hourly for bugs, and white noise generators purred in each corner. The curtains were kept tightly drawn and vibrator units had been taped to the windows, ensuring that a laser or radar beam could not be used to “read” any conversation taking place within.

“Quite so,” Duan continued. “However, we have also had word from our people in Peking. The Communists are reacting as we had feared. They are initiating their special operation.”

“Ah!” Djinn lifted his cup once more. “They see their future. They are afraid.”

“Speaking truthfully, Professor, so am I.”

“We knew that this eventuality would have to be faced sooner or later. The Communists have their plan. We have ours. The one shall block the other.”

“In theory.” The solidly built Taiwanese diplomat grimaced and set his tea aside. “I must confess that I have my reservations. I still wish we could notify the United States and the other Pacific Rim states.”

“No. They would have their suspicions about any pronouncement that we might make. They must make the discovery themselves. Anything less would take the edge off the peril.”

“But should they miss the sailing, what then? We may have little time before the Communists act.”

“We must trust in the technologies of the Americans to spot the departure. As for the time, that too may work in our favor. We wish for the Americans to act, not to think.”

“Trusts and theories,” Duan grunted, and sat back in his chair.

“We are playing a dangerous game with both your people and mine “

“With all of China,” Duan replied. The former professor from Canton emptied his cup and returned it to the table. A smile crossed his seamed features and he stiffly flexed his fingers once more.

“But then, the path to freedom is not necessary a safe one.”