It was a beautiful spring day, New England weather at its finest. The storm had sucked all the moisture out of the air as it spun past, and it was mild and dry out with a calm, fresh breeze. He strode from the building, his shoe bottoms crackling down on scattered twigs and branches that had been swept across the concrete walkway by last night’s winds.

Olsen stood in the mild breeze, smelling the nearby water. Gulls were gliding over the harbor just north of the office complex. The air taxi was gone.

He stood there in silent reflection for a long five minutes. He thought about those people on the Stalwart, wondering how their loved ones would feel if they learned the truth. Then he thought about the consequences for him.

Sometimes, he thought, it was too late for the truth. Sometimes secrets needed to stay secret. At any cost.

Olsen suddenly felt his heartbeat become hard and rapid. He closed his eyes and stood with the warm sun on his face, trying to settle himself down. But it didn’t work. His heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Finally, he gave up, reached into his pocket for his global smartphone, and made the call overseas.

3

Washington, DC
April 15, 2024

It was ten at night in Beijing and therefore ten in the morning in Washington, DC, where President Annemarie Fucillo was thinking that, in one major regard, she would have preferred to switch time zones with China’s leader for their telecon. The famously insomniac Fucillo was at her peak of alertness after dark and knew she would have to be razor-sharp dealing with him. So minus other considerations, she would rather he had taken the morning slot.

But she had prioritized strategic positioning, political gamesmanship or whatever else one chose to call it. In the protracted negotiations leading up to their scheduled conversation, President for Life Tsao He Feng had strongly conveyed his desire for the morning. Fucillo had therefore insisted on the opposite despite her own preference for the night. She had known her fellow Harvard alumnus for years, and he was as spoiled, egotistical and chauvinistic as Chinese leaders could be. Allowing him to be chronologically ahead of her—when his Zhongnanhai executive complex was aggressively revved for its daily business, and her West Wing was quiet and dormant—would translate into a sense of dominance for him.

No go. Fucillo intended to be in the driver’s seat. Her preference be damned.