Page 27 of Air Force One
Zuocheng sighed; he assumed it was not one of her exotic poses that could rouse the jade stem of a dead man. He wished he could rise from bed with the effortless grace Daiyu exhibited so thoughtlessly, but his age and his attempts to match her exceptional prowess in the night made him move more slowly than he ever wished her to see.
However, her expression was not that of a lover but rather of one of the most skilled field operatives he’d ever found. He allowed her to offer a helping hand but no more. Half his age, but she never showed any signs of complaint or distaste for his body. When they reached the limits of his abilities, she accepted without comment. He was pleased that those limits were expanding with their practice.
In the living room, she didn’t need to point. On the television was one of the forbidden American channels that he had made sure she could access. Her mind, as incisive as her body, needed accurate data to make the leaps of logic so familiar from his youth but becoming more of a reach in his seventieth year.
He saw the banner of American President killed.
“Sound.”
She turned it up. “I only saw the initial announcement before coming to wake you.”
They stood side-by-side as the station replayed the new President’s speech. His English, only a little behind Daiyu’s, was more than sufficient to the task. Roy Cole had often used curiously complex sentence structures, making it difficult to keep track of all the nuances of his speeches. At least this once, Sarah Feldman made every word as simple and sharp as the tip of a spear.
They both gasped, then laughed when Miranda Chase came on screen to swear in the new President. They had discussed the peculiar woman at length as they’d each had an opportunity to work with her, though under very different circumstances. And the curious Chinese-American warrior who always stood by her side. Though a hand-width shorter, he had personally witnessed that she was a fighter to compare favorably with Daiyu.
It made him think of the single-line comment in an alternate translation of the Su Nü Jing spoken by Su Nü, the White Goddess, herself: There are women who pick women and they are wonderful. His favorite granddaughter had made that choice. But two years out of graduate college in the US, Mui and Mei-Li’s stars were already rising in fascinating ways he looked forward to leveraging in the near future.
He’d discussed the implications with Daiyu as dispassionately as they analyzed every other topic in the short work. She’d been absolutely frank regarding her own thoughts and unexpectedly varied experiences—her discretion ran deep indeed—but neither of them were yet willing to expand their current circle of one yang and one yin. Still, it was an interesting thought to be with two warrior women together. Perhaps they would discuss it again at a later time.
An unexpectedly abrupt regime change in the world’s most powerful country—no matter what foolishness their own President boasted of China now being the supreme global power—was always a time for great care.
After the new American President finished, Daiyu muted the sound and asked, “Was that us?”
Zuocheng turned to Daiyu. There! There was the mental agility he could feel slipping from his grasp. He’d have asked the same question…soon. She asked it now. He pulled her head down enough to kiss her forehead, for he stood no taller than she did.
“Have I mentioned how thankful I am for you, my dear Daiyu?” He tapped a finger where he’d placed the kiss so that she wouldn’t mistake his meaning, though she never did. He didn’t await her response. “Not to my knowledge. Let us make some strong tea.”
Once she had, they moved to sit as they had that very first afternoon together, in two chairs separated by a tea service beside a bookcase that had expanded to two over these last three years. He wore the forest green silk wrap embroidered with white cranes that she had gifted him. They reminded him of his birthplace in the high mountains, where only she had ever visited.
She wore the wrap commissioned especially for her. The silk was black, as her name meant Black Jade—rare and highly prized—and embroidered with an elaborate green jade dragon, the ultimate symbol of strength and wisdom. She was Daiyu when they were discussing history, politics, or world events. But he’d taken to calling her the precious Black Jade stone itself, Hei Yù, when they were studying the intricacies of Su Nü.
Neither of the short coverings were about modesty or warmth but rather formality of serious discussion. The cool air caressing his skin through the fine silk made him feel the energy of his youth when he’d been the sole hunter for his family in their remote wilderness cabin. He wished for a fireplace, more for the light that seemed to eventually reveal all secrets than for the heat, but Daiyu’s inner Beijing apartment didn’t have one.
“Was that us?” Zuocheng repeated her question. “If so, it either came from above or below. I did not order it.”
They discussed the President of China only briefly. If he had wanted to do such a thing, he would have come directly to Zuocheng to make it happen. There’d been no hint of his own sidelining prior to a removal; the President depended on Zuocheng as co-chairman of the Central Military Commission far too much to purge him. Their leader’s often chaotic responses were due to poor information and poorer self-control, but he was smart enough to leave Zuocheng maneuvering room to compensate when required.
But was there another rogue general somewhere in the over-inflated command structures below or even within the CMC? Perhaps a devil like Zhang Ru, seeking to drive his own agenda at any cost—even risking a possible war with the Americans?
Again, the President of China seemed an unlikely source of support for such an action. He had so buffered himself from reality—with yes-men and sycophants afraid to report less than perfection—that only chance ever aligned his decisions with facts. Even Zuocheng himself had to be careful how he addressed the President, though he was trusted to do what must be done—and he did so, without necessarily informing the man. That would cause their leader to lose face. Such a loss he would never tolerate in public or private.
Perhaps the biggest surprise was that he was effective at all on any front.
The current political landscape created immense opportunity for those below to act with little compunction as long as they steered clear of the overly zealous, yet highly corrupt, anti-corruption committees.
Zuocheng and Daiyu discussed each possible scenario and potential bad actor long into the night.
At the hour when late night became early morning, the time of a summer sunrise—though outside it remained a howling night of bingyuè, Ice Month on the old calendar—he waited. They had made many plans to discover the truth of China’s possible involvement in the downing of the American’s Air Force One jet. They would approach it separately from very different angles but with a shared goal.
They had also discussed ways in which China might use this as an opportunity while winding a circular path around the new American President’s direct warnings.
Then he fell silent and waited. He’d had the next thought. Yet it was so extreme that he was unsure whether he dared give it a voice.
But would she?
He saw Daiyu judging his silence with the great delicacy she had proven on previous uncertain topics. Zuocheng did his best to hide his thoughts. No face had ever been more familiar than they were with each other’s—their perfect intimacy since he’d introduced her to the teachings of Su Nü made that a given. But he tried.
She finally nodded her acceptance that she must speak first. Once decided, she didn’t hesitate. “What can we learn from this to use upon our own Supreme Leader?”
