Power and Empire

“A game of chicken only works if neither party knows when the other will flinch,” she said. “It wasn’t too many months ago that you demonstrated to China that you are willing to — excuse me, but there’s no other way to say it — bomb the shit out of them. It was only a building that time, but you’ve made your resolve crystal clear. An increase in hostilities, even to bolster nationalism, is incredibly dangerous. All due respect, Mr. President, but playing chicken with you is akin to driving into a brick wall. Stupid men do not become the paramount leader of the People’s Republic of China. President Zhao has to know that you will not get out of the way.”

Adler looked up from his notes. “Are you saying Zhao is knowingly trying to foment an actual shooting war?”

The DNI shook her head. “I’m saying there’s something strange going on in the PRC. I can’t put my finger on it. But it is strange.”

Ryan paused for a moment, eyes fixed on the Remington bronze beyond his desk. The others in the room knew when he was thinking, and they gave him the space to do so by looking down at the folios in their laps and keeping quiet. Mary Pat was right. He’d never been much of a yielder when it came to games of chicken. Now, though, he played the game with other people’s kids. It didn’t necessarily mean he was more likely to flinch. It did, however, make him careful never to start such a game himself.

“Scott,” he said, “get on the horn with your counterparts in and around Southeast Asia over the next few days. You can start with Australia and Japan. They certainly have big dogs in this fight over the SCS. Let them know we appreciate what they are doing, but it wouldn’t hurt our feelings if they ramped up their own movements in these waters. They don’t have to go out of their way to piss off the Chinese, but they shouldn’t be tippytoeing around to avoid them, either.”

“A unified front,” Secretary Burgess said. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yes, it would,” the President said. “And I’ll do my part by bringing up the issue during bilateral meetings while we’re in Tokyo.” He eyed van Damm over his glasses. “I do have meetings with both the Japanese and Australian PMs, right?”

“You do,” the CoS said.

Ryan looked forward to the G20 Summit. It was supposed to be about the economy. What wasn’t, after all? But world leaders, being who they were, discussed whatever they damn well pleased when they got together. Ryan enjoyed the face-to-face meetings. Statesmanship between leaders with competing agendas was often sorely lacking, even in his own country — hell, especially in his own country.

Van Damm flipped through several pages in his folder. “The final advance team is in Tokyo now. Last-minute changes will be doable, of course, especially if you and State need any follow-on talks with Australia and Japan — but the Secret Service won’t be too keen on it. I’m pretty sure they’d just as soon drive you around Tokyo in an Abrams tank.”

The White House Advance Office went out at least three times before any presidential travel such as to the G20. The first trip, five months prior to the event, was called the survey. The second, known as a pre-advance, occurred a month or so before the actual event. A final advance took place three weeks later, a week prior to the President’s arrival. By pre-advance time, the big hurdles such as where they would park the nineteen aircraft and hundreds of vehicles had all been roughed out, allowing the advance team to drill down on the inevitable crisis issues that always came up.

“And don’t forget the PRC,” Ryan said, nodding. “I want to sit down face-to-face with President Zhao at least once. Maybe keep this game of chicken from progressing any further. It would be nice if I could point out our unified front with—”

Betty’s voice came over the intercom, cutting him off.

“Mr. President,” she said. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but Commander Forrestal is here. He says it’s urgent.”

Interruptions like this were not uncommon. When not in the Oval Office, every person in the room was tied to a government-issue BlackBerry or iPhone — the “intelligence umbilicus,” Mary Pat called it. But each of them left their smartphone in a basket at the secretary’s desk just outside before entering the Oval. There were secure phones in compartments inside the Oval Office furniture if anyone needed to make a call pursuant to a meeting.

Betty had a copy of the President’s calendar. She knew how long his appointments were scheduled to last — and her ability to ascertain if some issue just absolutely could not wait bordered on a superpower.

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