“He finds something out internally that could be problematic to him. You give those crazy fishermen guns and set them loose to patrol a million-mile tub, things can get out of control pretty fast.”

“I’m with Tan,” Greenberg said. “The Olympia–CIA deal’s been publicly discussed and dissected. One of your own cabinet members has been hammering it on his podcast since last year. Stalwart was out there laying cable. It wasn’t conducting espionage operations. And Tsao knows it. This is all open-source information for God’s sake.”

Fucillo was silent. The cabinet member Yen had spoken about was Alex Michaels, the director of Net Force, and she was thinking she needed to meet with him. Probably with her CIA chief too...but Alex first.

“OK, everyone. More to come,” she said. “It’s been good to see your sunny faces. Let’s get on with what promises to be a long day.”

Woodbridge smiled pleasantly. Fucillo noticed Celia had gotten her way with him. She had that knack.

“All rise!” he said, lifting her gently off his lap.

Tsao He Feng’s executive residence at the Zhongnanhai enclave was a restored Qing dynasty palace west of the Forbidden City. Through the open parlor window to his right, he could see lights from Precious Moon Tower above the South Gate illuminate the stream that wound through nine gradual turns in the ancient palace grounds, eventually feeding the great man-made lake at their center.

Tsao had taken President Fucillo’s call alone in the room. The single transcriber was his trusted nephew Kim, his sister’s eldest son, who had listened in and made his handwritten notes from a secure white room two floors below. Kim had also enabled the phone connection. There was no other record of the conversation between the two leaders. At a time when leaks and computer intrusions could undermine all government secrets and objectives—even the presidency itself—Tsao was intent on keeping tight control of what happened around him.

After hanging up the phone, he sat in thoughtful silence for several minutes, massaging his smooth, heavy cheeks with one hand. It was a pleasant spring night, and the breeze carried the scent of flowers and soil through his window.

He lifted the receiver and dialed. The minister picked up immediately.

“Have you any news from Fiery Cross?” Tsao said.

“Not yet. General Wei’s flight is slightly behind schedule.”

“I should have the rogue on that island executed,” he said. “I don’t know why I’ve held back.”

“He claims to have a gift horse.”

“We’ll see. And even if so, it’s a horse that’s liable to trample us.”

“Or kick the Americans in their ribs for their attempted espionage.”

Tsao said nothing for a long moment. Then he grunted into the receiver.

“Alert me when the plane lands,” he said. “Whatever the hour.”

“Yes. You’ll know.”