Tiger's Claw

EPILOGUE

OFFICE OF THE CHIEF OF THE GENERAL STAFF, PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY HEADQUARTERS, BEIJING, CHINA

THREE DAYS LATER

“The plan is simple, sir,” Admiral Zhen Peng, commander of the South Sea Fleet of the People’s Liberation Army Navy, said. “First, we must complete the destruction of the island of Guam. Our first attack did not do enough damage. But many of the Patriot air defense systems were destroyed and have not yet been replaced, and of course the bombers that carried air-to-air missiles are no longer there. We still have a quantity of AS-19 nuclear missiles ready to load on our surviving H-6 bombers, and they can make short work of the air base on Guam.” General Zu Kai said nothing, only staring into space, an almost burned-out cigarette in his fingers.

“Second, we punish every nation that assisted the Americans on that attack against Guangzhou,” Zhen went on. “Taiwan, the Philippines, and Vietnam must pay for their involvement. A series of strikes against their most important air and naval bases must be undertaken immediately. Third, we threaten immediate nuclear retaliation for any nation that dares to attack us again. We should have responded to the attack on Guangzhou with an attack against the Aleutians or Hawaii, but no matter—we will make it clear to the Americans that their most important Pacific bases will become nothing but charred ruins if they . . .” And the connection was suddenly cut.

“Another thing that does not work around here,” Zu said half aloud. He walked over to his bulletproof office window. He could see several plumes of black smoke and winks of fire off in the distance, probably from more protests. The daily numbers of civilian casualties were no longer counted in the hundreds from these clashes—they were now in the thousands. And yet not only did the protests not stop, they only grew and multiplied.

There was a knock on the door. “Come,” Zu ordered, and his deputy chief of the general staff, General Sun Ji, entered. “I was speaking with Admiral Zhen a moment ago, and we were cut off,” Zu said. “Get him back on the line for me.”

“I am afraid that is impossible, sir,” Sun said.

“Why?”

“Zhen has been arrested for treason and dereliction of duty, sir,” Sun said. “He has been sentenced to summary execution.”

“What?” Zu thundered, shooting to his feet. “Who ordered this? I did not order it! Was it that popinjay Gao? I will beat that man senseless with my own bare hands before I throw him in prison! I said, who ordered Zhen’s arrest, Sun?”

“I did, Zu,” a voice from the outer office said, and to Zu’s complete surprise, Zhou Qiang entered the office.

“You!” Zu cried. “I thought you were dead!”

“Next time you want someone dead, Zu, do it yourself to be sure the job is done properly,” Zhou said. “Zhen will not be the only one receiving summary execution tonight.”

“Why, you bastard!” Zu shouted, and he whipped open a desk drawer, picked up a NORINCO Model 77B that he always had stashed away there, aimed, and pulled the trigger . . . and nothing happened.

“You should always check yourself to see that your personal weapons are loaded, Zu,” Zhou said. Zu’s eyes bulged in disbelief when he turned to the only man who had access to his office and desk at any time—his deputy chief of staff, Sun Ji, who was standing behind Zhou, his hands behind his back, smiling. Sun motioned behind him, and several soldiers came in, put Zu in handcuffs, and pulled him out.

“I am glad that nightmare is over,” Zhou said. He turned to Sun. “You will take over as chief of the general staff. I will be sure to recommend the position to the Central Military Committee.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sun said.

“I will leave you to deal with the Russians as to the sinking of their precious aircraft carrier Vladimir Putin by the Americans in Zhujiang Bay,” Zhou said. “Frankly, I hope they choke on it. What did they expect by making a deal with a megalomaniac like Zu?”

“Had I been asked, sir, I would have advised Zu against dealing with the Russians,” Sun said. “They cannot be trusted.”

Zhou studied Sun for a few long moments, then said, “Neither can you be trusted, Sun.” General Sun blinked, but stood with his hands behind him at parade rest. “Maybe no one can be trusted these days. When no one can be trusted, perhaps China’s response should be to do what it has always done in its thousands of years of history: retreat into itself. Lock itself away from the modern world, whether that modern world is seventeenth-century Portugal, nineteenth-century England, or twenty-first-century America.” He shook his head. “I am going home, Sun. Tomorrow is the first day of China’s future. Remember that.” Sun snapped to attention as Zhou shuffled out of the chief of the general staff’s office and departed.

After Sun heard the outer office door close, he relaxed from his brace, went over to Zu’s desk, sat down in his chair, and put his feet up on the desk.

“You are a senile, hopeless, tottering old man, President Zhou,” General Sun said. “You need to be thrown out into the gutters along with the Politburo, the Central Committee, and all you other political has-beens. If you cannot keep up with the modern world, you should be eliminated.” He found one of Zu’s cigarettes and a lighter and lit up. “And I am just the man to make that happen.”