THOUGH IT WAS well past the dinner hour, President Chéng Minsheng of the People’s Republic of China did not feel much like eating. Lingering anxiety over the American accusations and dissent within the Communist Party occupied nearly all his time, yet accomplished nothing. Everywhere he turned he faced calls to do more, but the problems he was fighting were amorphous. Strategies and solutions proved elusive.
The president was in his office with several advisers, discussing a planned city into which the government had already sunk the equivalent of $19 billion. Completed twenty-three months earlier, it was less than 10 percent occupied. The provincial government had overborrowed to help finance construction, efforts to encourage private industry to relocate there had failed, and the national government either needed to double down and relocate state-run enterprises to the city or raze it to the ground. Despite the crisis with the Saudis and the Americans, it was a problem that could not wait. The interest expense and the maintenance costs would bankrupt the provincial government within a few weeks.
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation.
“Mr. President,” said one of Chéng’s assistants. “General Xiang is here to see you.”
The president squinted. “Was he on the schedule?”
“No, sir, but he said it’s urgent.”
“Yes, of course,” said Chéng. He dismissed the others from the room.
The head of the Ministry for State Security entered alone and closed the door behind him.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. President, but I thought it best to speak in person.”
The president gestured to several upholstered chairs and a coffee table from the Han dynasty.
“I looked into the items you requested,” said General Xiang.
“Have you discovered the Americans’ motive for accusing us of the strike?”
“No, sir.”
“Is there evidence of a foreign power attempting to cause a Sino-American rift?”
“We have found no such connection.”
President Chéng leaned forward. “Then why are you here?”
“You also asked me if it was possible for someone to commandeer the American aircraft.”
The president folded his arms across his chest. “And?”
“One of my officers visited GSD Third Department, Second Bureau, to see if it was feasible to hijack a tactically encrypted unmanned aerial system. The bureau’s commander indicated that he could not discuss the matter without proper clearance, so I called him myself. He told me that several months ago they made a breakthrough in penetrating tactical encryption using a new quantum computer.”
“I am familiar with Second Bureau’s work,” said the president, “but they are gatherers of intelligence, not exploiters. This is outside their area of expertise.”
“That is what their commander said, but he also suggested that Unit 7474–505B in Shanghai would be able to help with the investigation. However, the man I believe to be the unit’s commander refused to even acknowledge its existence, much less provide any information.”
President Chéng picked up the phone. “We do not have time for such bureaucracy, General. Who is the commander’s superior officer?”
“I’m sorry, sir?” asked Xiang.
“Who does this commander report to?”
“I apologize for my confusion, sir, but I was told it reports directly to the Central Military Commission. That’s why I came here. I was hoping you could grant me access.”
The president’s eyes narrowed as he replaced the telephone in its cradle.
“Then we have another problem, General. Because I am chairman of the CMC, and I’ve never heard of it.”