Page 61 of Air Force One
And after all that work, to have a traitor in his midst made his hands shake with rage. It was good that his heart was robust or it would explode out of his chest.
Instead, he managed to occupy himself with a series of routine emails as the other five members of the CMC filed into the room and took their customary places at the conference table. It was all that kept him from pulling the Type 54 handgun out of his desk drawer—where he’d kept it close to hand for the decades since his service in the Sino-Viet War—and shooting them all.
Nobody was late. No trivial power plays. He’d said six a.m. and every man was here.
He knew them. He knew their history both military and personal. Their wives, mistresses, and the whores they were cheating on their mistresses with.
One was a traitor and before this meeting was over, he would know which one.
Zuocheng sent a message to Daiyu, The ruler regards his ministers. She would know the full quote.
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Kali raised a hand to her mouth and whispered into her wrist microphone.
“What was that?” Sarah turned to look at the head of her protection detail.
Kali turned to Wang Daiyu. “The outer guards monitoring your phone say that you have received a message, The ruler regards his ministers.”
Daiyu spoke so softly that Sarah had to lean in to hear.
“When the ruler regards his ministers as his hands and feet, the ministers regard their ruler as their belly and heart.” Then her eyes focused back inside the room. “It is an ancient quote from Mencius about reciprocal loyalty—that which exists between servant and master. General Liú has completely believed the message I sent and believes he is thanking me.” She pointed at the clocks. “It is now precisely six a.m. in Beijing. He likes to start his meetings punctually on the hour. It has begun.”
“What has?”
“A hard lesson in precisely that—reciprocal loyalty. Especially when it is not earned but taken for granted.”
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General Liú Zuocheng pulled out his chair, but he didn’t sit. Instead, he placed his palms flat on the table. “All hands where I can see them.”
Everyone placed their own hands on the table without hesitation. Those who’d had their hands beneath the table had been cradling no weapon. So there was no immediate physical threat.
The lack of hesitancy, despite his frankly rude and abrupt command, offered him no insights. He inspected each man carefully. He knew no persons better except for the President and, of course, his Black Jade warrior/lover, yet he saw no deceit in their eyes.
He nodded an apology and sat in his chair, resting his hands on the padded arms. Perhaps the direct approach was the best.
“An unimpeachable source has informed me that one of you is a traitor.”
Again no sign of anything beyond genuine shock—shock first, then denial. From a traitor he would expect the opposite—denial, then a sham of surprise.
“As I know it isn’t me, that leaves the five of you. We are remaining here until I am certain of the truth.” And he would find who threatened his life’s work if it was the last thing he ever did. His fury ran so deep that his hands began to shake. Clutching the chair arms tighter didn’t stop them.
A breath. A calming breath. He would not give them the satisfaction of him dying from a heart attack.
One of them wiped at their mouth as if they were feeling nauseous. Two were sweating. Others’ hands were shaking.
He tried to speak…but instead clamped his jaw for fear he too would be ill.
General Liú Zuocheng managed to jab the button to call his bodyguard into the room. The man burst through the door with Zuocheng’s secretary close on his heels.
Zuocheng tried to speak. To warn them. For now, at this moment, he fully understood. But unable to speak, he could only observe as his bodyguard and secretary touched him, his chair, the table—and sealed their own fates.
One of the committee members clasped his chest and collapsed face down onto the table.
Zuocheng remembered Wang Daiyu circling and circling the committee’s conference table during her final trip to his office before departing for America. He had turned his back on her as she continued her course…circling to spread a nerve agent that would linger on every surface. She would know that he only used this table for meetings of the CMC. He’d otherwise preferred the commanding power of sitting behind his desk.
And he recalled her final question, as she stood in the doorway to leave for America with his blessing. She’d asked who knew of her relationship to him. They were all in this room and—he saw his bodyguard’s hand begin to shake—they were all dead.
