The heavy oaken door swung open and four dignitaries, three men and a woman, stepped into the foyer with their entourages. Security guards had cordoned off a space in front of the conference room for them. The rest of the room was filled with journalists, photographers, the commentariat, and other content creators. The cameras’ red lights went on and flashes lit the dignitaries as journalists shouted questions.
“The secretaries have just entered the foyer here at the exclusive Excelsior Hotel in Geneva,” reported Georg Mann of the Independent International Inquirer. “They are assembling in front of the conference room with their assistants, surrounded by security personnel.”
The four bureaucrats stood together, unsmiling, facing the media for photos. They ignored the cacophony of shouted questions.
“There you see Boris Sokolov, Foreign Minister of the Russian Federation,” said Mann. “Anjali Sharma, the Indian Minister of External Affairs, Huang Guo, Minister of Foreign Affairs of China, and William Wischmeier, Secretary of State of the United States.”
Then the dignitaries turned and security opened the doors to the conference room. The entourages and dignitaries disappeared into it without looking back. Stern-faced guards, incongruously attired in Hugo Boss suits and submachineguns, closed the doors and stood before them. The shouted questions died off.
“You can cut the tension with a knife,” said Mann as the camera turned from the doors to him. “It’s very palpable. You could see it on the faces of the ministers. They know that the situation is very, very serious. This may be the closest the world has come to nuclear war since the Cuban Missile Crisis, seventy-eight years ago. The fate of the world is being determined behind those doors.”
It was a dim, gently-lit room with a heavy teak conference table on thick maroon carpeting; a chandelier hung overhead. Busts of Greek and Roman philosophers and statesmen watched over the scene.
The four dignitaries entered and sat in leather chairs around the table. Their entourages followed with briefcases and binders of notes, silently placing them on the table near their superiors. As Wischmeier sat, one of his attendants handed him a small folded notecard which Wischmeier read:
She is going to do what we discussed.
Wischmeier slipped the note into his jacket pocket.
The entourages left through a rear door and security closed it behind them. The four statesmen were alone in the quiet room.
“Are you sure we’re secure here?” grumbled Sokolov.
“As certain as we ever are,” said Wischmeier. He was serving as an assistant and moderator in the negotiations between the other parties, or so it was reported.
“It is secure,” snapped Huang, staring straight ahead.
Sokolov slumped tiredly in his chair. “Does anyone else find it difficult to sleep on a plane as you get older? I used to be able to, when I was young.”
Wischmeier noticed that Sharma alternated between shifting uncomfortably in her chair and suddenly sitting bolt-upright. Huang stared impassively. Wischmeier guessed that Sokolov’s torpor was more likely due to drinking all morning than anything aircraft-related.
Wischmeier waited for someone to begin; when no one did, he said:
“Colleagues, the situation in Ladakh appears critical at this juncture. Large-scale conflict between two nuclear-armed powers is now considered a distinct possibility.”
“At the UN, anyway,” said Sokolov.
“And in our nations,” said Sharma.
“The situation must be resolved immediately,” ordered Huang.
“This is easily done,” cooed Wischmeier. “No ground was lost in the latest engagement, was it?”
“No,” said Sharma. “But our casualties were higher than expected.”
“You can’t control a war once the shooting starts,” said Sokolov.
“We’d better,” said Wischmeier. “What were your losses in this latest engagement, Mr. Huang?”
“Why do you ask that?” Huang snapped. His mouth moved but the rest of his face did not change. “You don’t need to know that!”
“Very well,” said Wischmeier in kindly tones. He knew the answer, but always took the opportunity to try to peel back Huang’s harsh mask.
No one who wears a mask so stern feels secure, he thought. It’s as much a betrayal as a neon sign.
“The two of you arranged it,” chuckled Sokolov. “The agreement was made. Now comply with it. Really, Wischmeier, this could have been an email.”
“No, Sokolov,” said Wischmeier. “It wouldn’t convey the correct sense of urgency. We need to be at the brink of war.” The Russian snorted and folded his arms across his chest.
Sharma stared at the tabletop, sitting stiffly.
Here we go, thought Wischmeier.
“Minister Sharma,” he said, “you agreed to pull your troops back after a show of force.”
“For a price,” she said.
“Water rights in Uttarakhand,” said Huang. “We agreed to it.”
“Yes,” said Sharma, “we did.”
“I have the documents here,” said Huang, placing his hand on his briefcase. “We will wait an appropriate length of time, and we will sign.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Sharma quietly.
Huang suddenly looked like he’d swallowed something too large to go down.
“What?” laughed Sokolov.
Huang, red-faced, recovered enough to sputter, “We agreed to it!”
“The situation has changed,” said Sharma.
Indeed it has, thought Wischmeier. US intelligence had discovered, by hacking Sharma’s secure email account, that the Indian minister was under increasing pressure from Hindu nationalists to win the border war against the atheistic communists. The nationalists always did crow that a woman was not strong enough to serve as a government minister; securing water rights in exchange for land would not vindicate her, at least not to the nationalists.
Huang banged his fist on the table. “We agreed to it!” he shouted. Wischmeier hoped the journalists outside the room could hear it. It would help create the atmosphere he wanted.
“I know we did,” said Sharma. “But things are different now.”
“So pull your troops out of Ladakh,” Sokolov told Huang. “We’ll call it even.”
“Not good enough!” shouted Huang. Wischmeier knew Huang was eyeing the post of General Secretary and faced stiff competition for it. He couldn’t afford to lose face here.
“I can’t pull my troops out, either,” said Sharma. She looked to Wischmeier like she was growing more confident.
Good for her, he thought, his face revealing nothing.
“I’ll push you out!” snarled Huang.
“You don’t want to do that,” said Sharma.
“I can take everything to the Pakistani border!” Huang yelled.
“Minister Huang, please do not say that,” said Sokolov, his voice suddenly serious.
None of them ever mentioned nuclear weapons. It was as if they had all silently agreed that it was a taboo subject. But they were painfully aware of them and how easy it would be to use them, and of the unspeakable consequences.
“We have a defense agreement!” snapped Huang, jabbing a finger at Sokolov. The Russians were bound to assist China in a war in exchange for certain trade advantages.
“Do you think he’ll come to your aid?” sneered Sharma.
Sokolov glowered at them both. His president did not want this to escalate. Presently, Russia was getting the trade concessions from China free of charge. Suddenly it looked like the Chinese meant to collect.
“May I remind the three of you of the possible consequences of a misstep here?” said Wischmeier quietly.
“This isn’t your business, Wischmeier!” said Huang. “Sokolov, you are bound by agreements to come to China’s aid in a military emergency!”
“So we are,” said Sokolov.
“So, will you do it?”
“I will put the question to the president,” said Sokolov.
“No, I want an answer right now!” said Huang.
Sokolov looked at the tabletop and said nothing.
“I’ll suggest to the premier that we revoke your trade concessions,” said Huang. He had snapped the mask back on as if flipping a switch.
“Minister Sharma, I hope you will reconsider withdrawing your troops from Ladakh,” Sokolov said quietly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sokolov.”
Sokolov grimaced. Not only would losing the concessions hurt, but the Russians and Chinese often disagreed over the border of Inner Mongolia. A change in Chinese attitudes could intensify disputes on that border as well.
“If neither of you have anything to say,” said Huang, “then there’s no reason for me to be here.” He rose and grabbed his briefcase.
“Minister Huang,” said Wischmeier, “please let me propose a solution.”
Huang stood there, glaring at Wischmeier.
“Please, Minister,” said Sokolov, gesturing at the empty chair. They were all thinking of the unspeakable.
Huang slowly sat down, stony-faced. Wischmeier knew the man’s pride must have burned horribly as he swallowed it.
“Here is my proposal,” said Wischmeier. “The border remains as it is in Ladakh. China retains the water rights to the Tharudiar River in Uttarakhand. However, Russia grants water usage rights to the Amur River to China.”
“Why?” asked Sokolov.
“Due to population concentrations in the region, it’s worth much more to China than to Russia. In return, the United States will lift the sanctions and arrest warrants against the Russian citizens named in the latest executive actions.”
Sokolov nodded slowly. Many influential people in Moscow would appreciate that. There were few influential people in Amur.
“And Minister Huang,” said Wischmeier, “The United States will withdraw support for the Pro-Democracy Front of Hong Kong. We will label them a terrorist organization.”
Huang eyed Wischmeier suspiciously. “You will agree to that?”
“You have my word,” said Wischmeier.
Huang sat silently for a long moment. He hated the American, but Wischmeier had, somehow, never broken his word. It was why he was selected as moderator.
“I will agree to that, tentatively,” he said slowly.
Everyone relaxed into their chairs.
Sokolov sighed. “Sharma, you owe Secretary Wischmeier a debt of gratitude.”
Sharma smiled tightly. She had no doubt Wischmeier would collect on that debt. But she did not guess that he already had a few favors in mind.
Now they had to sit quietly while the journalists outside hypothesized ad-nauseum. They would give it a few hours, given the weighty nature of the problem. They wanted their citizens to sweat in the meantime. It was part of the program.
“Did you know she was going to say that?” asked Sokolov.
“No,” said Wischmeier, looking a bit surprised.
“How could he?” asked Sharma.
“He came up with that plan very quickly,” said Sokolov with a sly grin.
Sharma looked at Wischmeier, who merely shrugged.
It dawned on Sharma what Sokolov was insinuating. If Wischmeier had come up with that compromise on the spot, it was extremely quick thinking. But the alternative was that the Americans had somehow penetrated her inner circle, knew its thinking and concerns, and had concocted a solution in advance. That was a daunting prospect. She squirmed a little again.
Wischmeier appeared serene. Poker is not a very difficult game, he thought, when you know what cards the other players are holding. He and his team had debated whether this move would expose US intelligence efforts in India; Wischmeier had decided it was worth the risk, considering the stakes.
Sokolov eyed Wischmeier. He was quite familiar with the secretary’s background. Wischmeier came from a long line of Central European academics, scientists, and politicians going back more than two hundred years. Their characters drifted between genius and rapscallion, clouded thickly in mystery. The secretary, he figured, was a genetic heir to their rather Machiavellian cleverness. He wouldn’t underestimate the dapper, charming man across the table, not at his drunkest.
“Well, my colleagues,” said Wischmeier, “shall we order lunch?”
No one objected.
The hotel staff came in through the rear door with carts of food, china, and silverware, serving their guests from silver trays.
“You realize, Wischmeier,” said Sokolov, who was already eating, “we’ll have to do something else to increase the tensions after you remove the sanctions.”
“Of course, sir,” said Wischmeier. “I would never deny you your most important requirement.”
“Which is?”
“An enemy.”
Sokolov chuckled through a mouthful of olivye.
Everyone in the room understood, though they discussed it no more often than the taboo topic. The tensions they carefully maintained justified the large defense budgets which kept military contractors offering hefty bribes to their governments. It allowed them to maintain surveillance programs against their own citizens, enabled by patriotic anti-dissent laws; those in Russia and China were particularly draconian. Tensions and fear kept their citizens running for protection to their governments like children to parents. It provided an atmosphere ripe for executive power, whether the nations were autocratic or democratic. And the ministers took full advantage; they just had to ensure that the tensions did not get out of hand and destroy them all.
Wischmeier was pleased as slowly enjoyed his beef wellington. His colleagues were busy silently eating and texting. He looked around at them and, psychologically, down on them. Huang and Sokolov operated in autocracies, systems relatively easy to navigate. He was working in a more complex milieu where the people had to be convinced to follow their leaders: democracy. It took much more verve to succeed in one, but he was confident he had enough of it. He doubted Huang and Sokolov did.
But Sharma showed some promise, he thought. He might assist her, if she proved useful.
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