SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

1556. Pete Forrest pulled his chair up to the rosewood table, turned his head to the left, and smiled warmly at Wu, who returned the gesture. But behind the crinkly-eyed smiles and the deferential manner, Pete Forrest knew the Chinese leader was tough as woodpecker lips. A survivor. As an economics student he’d been thrown out of a second-story window by rampaging Red Guards in the late 1960s during Mao’s so-called Cultural Revolution. Wu still walked with a noticeable limp. Initially he’d been denied medical treatment because as a graduate student he was deemed an elitist and sent, compound fracture and all, to a reeducation camp in Hunan Province. In the late seventies, after the death of Mao Zedong, he was recruited by Deng Xiaoping’s son, with whom he had been in reeducation, to join the Ministry of State Security, China’s vast intelligence apparatus. Under Deng’s protection, he advanced quickly. He’d been ruthless during the 1989 Tiennanmen demonstrations. By the early nineties, Wu had become the MSS’s powerful vice-chairman.

Pete Forrest had seen a copy of Wu Min’s secret twenty-five-year plan for the PRC, so he knew the Chinese leader was committed to building the People’s Republic into a twenty-first-century military and economic superpower. That single-mindedness explained why Wu was already cheating on the treaty that was being put in front of them right now.

Wu’s rapid Chinese interrupted Pete Forrest’s thoughts. The American interpreter leaned into the president’s right ear. “President Wu says he is overcome with happiness that this historic day has finally arrived. It is a great leap forward between our two peoples.”

Pete Forrest noted the symbolism of the language, looked into the Chinese president’s opaque eyes, and said, “I, too, am delighted that this ceremony could finally take place after such long and ultimately fruitful negotiations.” He waited until the translation had finished, then rose and solemnly offered Wu his hand. The Chinese stood. Wu enveloped President Forrest’s hand between his own two. There was a flurry of shutters and a crescendo of applause as the two men, eye to eye, shook hands and smiled professionally for the cameras. Then, to a second rousing ovation, they were joined on the platform by the American secretary of state and the Chinese foreign minister.

At precisely four o’clock the leaders were presented with four copies of the treaty for signature. There were two in Chinese and two in English. Each nation would keep one copy in each language. The documents were secured in leather folders, stamped in gold with the Great Seals of the United States and the People’s Republic of China.

Pete Forrest laid two dozen pens, each bearing the presidential seal, on the table before him. He would use all of them to sign these worthless pieces of paper. A couple would be given to the senators who’d help to scuttle the treaty during the upcoming hearings. One would go to Rocky Rockman; another to Monica Wirth. One or two others would be slipped to big political contributors. But the majority would go to those covert warriors who’d returned safely from Tajikistan, having put their lives and their careers on the line in defense of the United States. It was the least he could do to demonstrate his gratitude — the nation’s gratitude.

Behind him, the factotums began to pass the documents out for signature. Pete Forrest looked out at the sea of faces. He glanced at Monica Wirth, prominent in the front row, her body language a cheerful, animated counterpoint to that of the glum, rumpled director of central intelligence sitting next to her. And then he scanned the crowd until he located Ritzik, Wei-Liu, and Sam Phillips. They sat at the very rear of the American delegation, directly in front of a cluster of taciturn, olive-clad Chinese military officers.

The president gazed for some seconds as the trio, in oblivious, animated conversation, peered around the cavernous auditorium like tourists. And then he experienced a sudden and decidedly unpresidential lump in his throat. Watching those youngsters overwhelmed Pete Forrest, nearly made him tear up, because he understood how clearly they represented the best America had to offer, and how much he respected their character and their integrity, qualities recently demonstrated with initiative, courage, and persistence.

Sam Phillips glanced in the president’s direction and caught him staring. The spook nudged Wei-Liu, who elbowed Ritzik. The three of them waved at him, all smiles. Impetuously, the president winked back. Ritzik threw him a thumbs-up. A split second later he was joined by Phillips and Wei-Liu.

A wide, spontaneous grin lit up Pete Forrest’s face. Then he raised his right arm and returned the gesture to a barrage of strobe lights.