methods and tactics. He has many supporters within the CCP, and it’s expected that within the next six to eight months he will be put forward as the next chairman of the PLA’s Central Military Command.”
The DCI sipped his water. Margaret Nylos picked up thenarrative. “Zhou’s strongest rival for that post is the commanding general of the Beijing Military District, an army four-star named Yin Zhong Liang. Yin is sixty-eight, married for forty-one years. He’s very old guard and tied closely to President Wu Min. Now, General Yin stumbled a few years ago when he lied to the political cadre about who was responsible after that Chinese F-8 fighter hit our EP-3 reconnaissance plane, and Beijing held twenty-three of our Navy personnel for eleven days. But since then, his position has been strengthened because he’s kept dissent in the capital under control, and he’s mended his fences with the leadership. In fact, Yin has single-handedly built such a cult of personality around the president that I can now state we believe Wu will remain in power for the foreseeable future—more significantly, he will not, as previously thought, relinquish his chairmanship of the committee that oversees the military. Equally significant, Yin has made strong political alliances with the generals in charge of the Nanjing, Jinan, Guangzhou, Shenyang, and Lanzhou military districts. All these commands stand to lose massive funding if the budget reallocations young Major General Zhou Yi is advocating go through.”
“Miss Nylos, stop right there,” the president interrupted. “I think I already heard a lot of what you’re saying on CNN last week.” The president glared at the DCI. “Nick—can you people please get to the point.”
“Of course, Mr. President.” The DCI’s voice took on a pedantic tone, and he tapped the tabletop with his pen for emphasis. “Point: General Yin believes he is vulnerable to a challenge from Zhou. Point: Yin’s political allies control every military installation and every liter of aviation fuel between Beijing and Xinjiang. Point: There is no way they will make things easy for the young upstart Zhou.”
Rockman’s eyes went wide. “Even though there’s a loose nuke, Nick?”
“Yes,” the DCI said confidently. “Even so.”
Pete Forrest rapped his knuckles on the table edge. “Enough political theory. There are lives on the line. How much time do we have? How much time?”
Margaret Nylos said: “A minimum of four days, Mr. President, from the sample of message traffic we managed to skim this morning. Possibly as many as five days. I’ll know more after the intercepts are translated.”
The president’s jaw dropped. “Miss Nylos, aren’t you the national intelligence officer for China?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“And yet you can’t read Chinese.”
“Mr. President,” Nick Pappas interjected, “I promoted Margaret for her analytical skills, not her language capability.”
Rockman raised his hand. “Nick,” he said.
“Yes?” The DCI shifted his gaze.
Rockman pulled at his earlobe. “I don’t want to sound like a doom-and-gloom kind of guy, but how do you know that the Chinese aren’t putting out false message traffic?”
Pappas said, “False message traffic?”
Monica Wirth cocked her head in the DCI’s direction. “Disinformation, Nick.”
Ritzik watched as Rockman’s right hand slipped into his inside jacket pocket and retrieved a thin paperback. The secretary flipped to a page that he’d marked with a yellow Post-it, slipped a pair of half glasses out of his breast pocket, perched them on his nose, and read: “ ‘When strong, appear weak. When brave, appear fearful. When orderly, appear chaotic. Draw your enemy in with the promise of gain, and overcome him through confusion.’”
The secretary dropped the paperback on the table. “That, ladies and gentleman, is Sun-Tzu—the granddaddy of all Chinese generals, including General Zhou and General
The DCI sipped his water. Margaret Nylos picked up thenarrative. “Zhou’s strongest rival for that post is the commanding general of the Beijing Military District, an army four-star named Yin Zhong Liang. Yin is sixty-eight, married for forty-one years. He’s very old guard and tied closely to President Wu Min. Now, General Yin stumbled a few years ago when he lied to the political cadre about who was responsible after that Chinese F-8 fighter hit our EP-3 reconnaissance plane, and Beijing held twenty-three of our Navy personnel for eleven days. But since then, his position has been strengthened because he’s kept dissent in the capital under control, and he’s mended his fences with the leadership. In fact, Yin has single-handedly built such a cult of personality around the president that I can now state we believe Wu will remain in power for the foreseeable future—more significantly, he will not, as previously thought, relinquish his chairmanship of the committee that oversees the military. Equally significant, Yin has made strong political alliances with the generals in charge of the Nanjing, Jinan, Guangzhou, Shenyang, and Lanzhou military districts. All these commands stand to lose massive funding if the budget reallocations young Major General Zhou Yi is advocating go through.”
“Miss Nylos, stop right there,” the president interrupted. “I think I already heard a lot of what you’re saying on CNN last week.” The president glared at the DCI. “Nick—can you people please get to the point.”
“Of course, Mr. President.” The DCI’s voice took on a pedantic tone, and he tapped the tabletop with his pen for emphasis. “Point: General Yin believes he is vulnerable to a challenge from Zhou. Point: Yin’s political allies control every military installation and every liter of aviation fuel between Beijing and Xinjiang. Point: There is no way they will make things easy for the young upstart Zhou.”
Rockman’s eyes went wide. “Even though there’s a loose nuke, Nick?”
“Yes,” the DCI said confidently. “Even so.”
Pete Forrest rapped his knuckles on the table edge. “Enough political theory. There are lives on the line. How much time do we have? How much time?”
Margaret Nylos said: “A minimum of four days, Mr. President, from the sample of message traffic we managed to skim this morning. Possibly as many as five days. I’ll know more after the intercepts are translated.”
The president’s jaw dropped. “Miss Nylos, aren’t you the national intelligence officer for China?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“And yet you can’t read Chinese.”
“Mr. President,” Nick Pappas interjected, “I promoted Margaret for her analytical skills, not her language capability.”
Rockman raised his hand. “Nick,” he said.
“Yes?” The DCI shifted his gaze.
Rockman pulled at his earlobe. “I don’t want to sound like a doom-and-gloom kind of guy, but how do you know that the Chinese aren’t putting out false message traffic?”
Pappas said, “False message traffic?”
Monica Wirth cocked her head in the DCI’s direction. “Disinformation, Nick.”
Ritzik watched as Rockman’s right hand slipped into his inside jacket pocket and retrieved a thin paperback. The secretary flipped to a page that he’d marked with a yellow Post-it, slipped a pair of half glasses out of his breast pocket, perched them on his nose, and read: “ ‘When strong, appear weak. When brave, appear fearful. When orderly, appear chaotic. Draw your enemy in with the promise of gain, and overcome him through confusion.’”
The secretary dropped the paperback on the table. “That, ladies and gentleman, is Sun-Tzu—the granddaddy of all Chinese generals, including General Zhou and General
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