

### Olinda Media

Beijing, Geat Wall Mirama Hotel, January 19

Baxter, an American mainframe expert, is murdered in his room. The hotel is bristling with spies from all factions.

What was he up to in Beijing ?

Langley, Virginia, CIA Headquarters, August 17

The Agency's analysts discover that China is storing millions of hard disc drives, and spot unusual military preparations.

Beijing, Ministry of Information Industries, August 26

Tang Jinghua, the deputy director of software regulation is about to sign an official bill that will shake the world order to its foundations.

For national security reasons, China has decided to replace Microsoft Windows by Linux throughout its territory.

The White House, Washington DC, September 18

"Mister President, America is under attack."

As the financial markets go into a tailspin, President James A Walker decides to send his flagship aircraft carrier, the USS Ronald Reagan, to blockade Shanghai.

When a Kilo class Chinese sub sends a torpedo into the Ronald Reagan's hull, an all-out war becomes inevitable.

But did Beijing fall all too easily into the trap held by the scheming American Intelligence service?

The only hope for peace rests on an unlikely couple: Tom, Microsoft's computer wizard, and Jin, the beautifull Chinese spy. How can they outplay the mind-boggling machinations of nationalists from both sides?

The world balance of power is shifting towards China and America is losing its dominance.

The two empires are on a collision course.

T

JF SUSBIELLE is a French author and a specialist in IT, geopolitics and geoeconomy.

He has written seven books on Internet technologies and international politics.

contact@susbielle.com

he Bite of the Dragon sets the stage for the battle royale between these two super powers. In the vein of Tom Clancy, Michael Crichton and Robert Ludlum, the Bite of the Dragon is the fiction closest to reality. A scary reality.

# The Bite of the Dragon

### Translation: Dominic King

## Thriller

America's enemy is China

And the war has already begun

China has a weapon

of mass destruction: Microsoft

SMASHWORDS EDITION

By the same author

Mailto: contact@susbielle.com

Technical books on IT and Internet

  * Telephony over the Internet, Eyrolles 1996, 400 pages

The first book in the world on VoIP

  * Multimedia and real-time Internet, Eyrolles 2000, 750 pages

  * Trading over the Internet, Eyrolles, Editions d'Organisation 2001, 450 pages

Geopolitics and geoeconomy

  * La Morsure du Dragon Techno-thriller, mystery

(the bite of the Dragon in French)

Hard cover: First Editions 2005, paperback pocket: Points Seuil 2007

  * **China-USA, the inevitable war** , non fictional assay March 2006, 450 pages First Editions

  * China-USA : Der programmierte Krieg » Propyläen 2007 (German translation)

  * **The warring states,** towards a new world war. March 2008,

550 pages First Editions.

  * **The decline of the European Empire** April 2009, 230 pages, First Editions

## JF Susbielle

# The Bite of the Dragon

## Thriller

### Translation by Dominic King

Original copyright: JF Susbielle 2005

Smashwords Publishing English version copyright: JF Susbielle 2009

1. The Three Empires

'It takes but one word, it takes but one man

to settle the fate of an empire'

Kong Fuzi (Confucius), 500 BC

Beijing

Morning of August 26

It was raining.

Tang Jinghua turned his bicycle into a hutong, one of those famous narrow streets of old Beijing which the property boom threatened to sweep away like a tropical storm, taking with it the last vestiges of a traditional way of life. The hutong led further down, not far from Xichang'anjie Avenue where his ministry stood, the Ministry of Information Industries.

This busy short cut bristled with traditional small trades – a barber's, a poorly stocked fruit stall, an ironmonger's, a watch and clock repairer – interspersed with countless little restaurants where customers seated on simple wooden stools savoured hot buns, bowls of noodles and duck soup.

It was no day for a cyclist to linger around. Tang pulled down the hood of his raincoat to protect his glasses from the rain, a driving rain, sharp as the halberds of the ancient imperial guard.

Usually, whenever time allowed, he liked to take a route through  
Tien An Men. Now, the square was still immersed in its morning's lethargy. Soon, it would be bustling with tourists. Whenever he could, he enjoyed passing through those groups of foreigners gathered for a guided tour of the Imperial Palace, trying to identify those distant languages from the snatches of conversation caught in passing. Often, it would be English, which he spoke sufficiently well to understand the technical specifications of international telecommunications standards, his field in the powerful Ministry of Information Industries. But Tang could now also discern Italian, French or German without too much difficulty ever since he became involved in European seminars. Or at least he liked to think he could. But now things had got complicated since the arrival of those new tourists from Eastern Europe and Latin America. The catalogue of sundry preconceptions he had patiently compiled to recognise visitors' nationalities now no longer offered the slightest guarantee. Of course, he could always spot visitors from around China and Asia by their demeanour, the way they dressed and spoke: the Chinese from Hong Kong and Taiwan with their southern dialects and such characteristic accents, the Japanese who bowed low as soon as they were greeted, the Koreans, coarser and brasher ....

In the summer, as in this month of August, he was happy to hand over his car to his wife, who used it to drop off their two daughters to school. Like his wife, he was an only child. That was why, when their first daughter was born, they were granted the right – a real privilege in China under the single child policy – to give birth to a second child. By misfortune, it was a daughter. He had dearly hoped to father a boy, even though he knew that his offspring, like all those overly desired sons, would probably become one those 'little emperors': a spoilt, aggressive and selfish brat. And he was more than compensated by having won over the hearts of his two daughters, his two princesses, who competed fiercely for the undivided attention of their daddy.

Tang managed quite well without the car, in fact. He preferred to use his good old bicycle, like millions of fellow Chinese, to go to work. He enjoyed that little morning exercise which shook off the morning numbness of his body and plunged him back into the stream of life.

But today, the inclement weather forced him to step up his pace. He rode on, his head tucked into his shoulders, careful not to let his narrow tyres slip on the wet slabs or round paving stones alongside the pavement. He arrived at the front door of the Ministry of Information Industries at around seven forty five, protected by his grey waterproof dripping under the heavy drops. He stepped off his bike and displayed his badge to the security officer.

After receiving the mechanical nod of approval, he entered the forecourt and headed for the bicycle shed.

Was this to be the most important day of his existence?

Despite the pertinence of that question, he noticed that he was not trembling. In fact, he felt no particular emotion. He was incredibly detached. He took off his waterproof, shook off the drops from it, and inspected the bottom of his trousers, jacket sleeves and shirt collar: the rain hadn't spared him. Still remaining calm, he pulled out a few handkerchiefs from his pocket and methodically wiped away the mud that soiled his shoes. While he was rubbing the waterlogged leather of his footwear, he suddenly realised how futile those efforts were to take his mind away from the gravity of the day in front of him. He was immediately seized by a pang of anxiety, settling deep in his gut.

In a few hours, no doubt in the early afternoon, he was going to place his signature on an official Order that stated the policy of the People's Republic of China in matters of computing regulations: .'.. the policy of the People's Republic of China in matters of computing regulations ...'!, he repeated to himself several times. Presented in this light, his text had nothing menacing about it. He tried for a moment to hide behind that technical expression, as if it were a mundane administrative memo. The world would not immediately grasp the far-reaching effect of that Order. As for himself, he would have the time to flea, to take shelter. Like an artificer who places an explosive charge and delays its detonation. With a bit of luck, no one would even notice his name. But no! There was no point in cheating. The text was sufficiently clear. Tang was about to set off a cataclysm that would sweep over the entire planet.

Tang Jinghua greeted a few colleagues perfunctorily while going up in the lift that led him to the twelfth floor where the General Regulations Department was located. The doors closed behind him. The cabin whisked away a dozen employees to the upper floors. Had they noticed his slight paleness, his vacant look, as if lost in distant thoughts? Did they know that they were sending him to the slaughter, placing him on the front line? Tang tried to read into the closed and inscrutable faces of those civil servants. They must have known, but carefully avoided his look. A middle-aged woman nevertheless greeted him discreetly with a nod of the head. Was it a show of solidarity, a sign to comfort him, or a mark of compassion? Tang scrutinized her at length with a haggard expression before eventually recognising her. She worked in one of the General Regulations offices. After a few seconds, he managed to contract his jaw muscles to produce a pathetic smile, a sort of tense grin which he accompanied with a movement of his head. The lift had steadily been emptying and the woman came up close to him.

'Are you OK Mr. Tang?' she asked with concern. 'You should drink a good piping hot cup of tea. Believe me, it looks like you're developing a bad flu. You want to be careful with these summer rains. They're treacherous and can be nasty! I take my own precautions. Each morning, I sip a herbal tea prepared by my physician...'

The cabin doors opened once more. A panel display indicated the twelfth floor. He was saved. He mumbled a few words of thanks and moved away under the concerned look of his colleague.

'Why me?' he asked himself, as if his life had slipped out of his grip, seized by a destiny too great for it. But it was unlikely that his life would be directly affected. He was a low-ranking servant, the assistant manager of the 'software' section Ministry of Information Industry's Politics, Law and Regulations Department. He would still be so tomorrow evening, once the text was made public. So why him?

Tang was born thirty seven years earlier in a town near the city of Shaoxing, in the Zhejiang province south of Shanghai. He had chosen to study history, causing him to leave for Hangzhou, against the advice of his parents who ambitioned for him a career in the civil service, following the family tradition. The Chinese had a passion for history. They could all tell at the drop of a hat the dynasties that succeeded over some 5000 years, with their chequered histories and their periods of glory, the painful moments of the foreign occupation and those happier times of unity regained. He had taught that subject for a few years before marrying a computer science student. She was ambitious. More than he. She pushed him into applying for one of the many administrative exams to become a civil servant. He gave in, dispirited, only half abandoning his true passion. They left the province of Zhejiang to join the capital, Beijing, where he had just been given a post.

He had now been working for three years on the operating systems case, attended hundreds of meetings, drafted countless minutes. So much so that he could no longer put away the reports which were piling up on the floor in a corner of his office. And even though he had no decision power, even though he was content with just giving advice to his department heads, he had nevertheless formulated some recommendations in matters of national independence and software security. But he kept well away from fixing objectives. He simply obeyed.

In all this matter, he was just the instrument, the one who drops the bomb from the height of his plane and disappears into the clouds once the mission accomplished, his conscience at peace, the humble link in the long chain of command. And yet it was he, Tang Jinghua, who was to sign that Order, an Order which, he feared – he was certain – was to change the face of the Earth. How had he got into this? By what mysterious succession of events does one come to take such a decision? He didn't know. He only took part in low-level meetings between pawns, ones where they assign tasks, implement strategies decided elsewhere, in other spheres, by other powers ...

Tang sat behind his office, trying to distance himself from the events in which he had unwillingly taken a role. A way like another of not getting involved, of standing aloof as an observer. After all, it was perhaps his destiny as a historian to be at the heart of the action. A chance, a privilege in a certain sense. Will tomorrow, this Friday 27th of August, to which he shall be forever associated, remain a major date in History, the history of the clash of the empires?

The clash of the empires indeed! The task of the historian wasn't so simple. He stretched out his legs under his desk. He knew how difficult it was to pinpoint the single starting event when the tangle of direct and indirect causes was so complex to unravel, for the really significant schisms only become apparent in retrospect. Today, the events were too close to offer the perspective historians needed. But he could not help thinking that a major milestone would be set tomorrow. Was it going to be a moment of stark transition, one of those symbolic dates we are keen to cite, like the 28th of June 1914 when the assassination of Archduke Francois-Ferdinand, heir to the Austrian throne, was first to plunge the old Europe, then the world, into war? Or like the 9th of November 1989 when the Berlin Wall collapsed, burying beneath its soil the Cold War and the vision of the world after it was divided at Yalta?

The world changes all the time, he thought. Often with clamour. Empires follow one another. They are not eternal; all experience a decline. And what if the death knell of the American Empire were to ring tomorrow, after a century of outrageous domination? He propped himself up in his chair, all full of hope, as if suddenly filled with pride. China is not dead. It has been resisting since always. All empires, Roman, Soviet, European, have known just one decline, like a human being knows just one spring and one winter of life. But not China! In three millennia, it has gone through a succession of golden eras and eras of decadence, the so-called 'dynastic cycles.' It has even become a past master of repeated downfalls, each followed by wondrous renaissances. As if it had several lives while other civilisations had but one! The Celestial Empire had survived at the end of the Han dynasty in 220 AD and at the so-called period of the 'Three Empires' to regain its unity three and half centuries later with the Sui and Tang dynasties. In 908 AD, the shining Tang Dynasty in turn collapsed, giving way to five dynasties to the north and ten kingdoms to the south. This fragmentation could not last. Before the end of the 10th century, the Song dynasty had gathered those scattered pieces together and reigned until 1279 AD. China then survived almost one century of Mongolian domination before connecting again to its history with the Ming imperial dynasty, from 1368 to 1644 AD. After a long phase of decadence, it once more fell into the hands of the invaders, this time the Manchu, coming from the North East. The death throes of the Manchu regime and its dynasty, the Qing, were to last over 70 years, with the opium War in 1839, the 'Unfair Treaties' and the revolt of the Taiping. But, by contrast with other empires, never in its 24 centuries of imperial history did China ever disappear. China changed, opened up and became enriched by its contacts with the West. It had suffered many foreign occupations, but always managed to integrate and absorb them without losing anything of its national identity. As if, while all the great civilisations were doomed to die in order to give birth to their successors, from Egypt to Greece, from Rome to Europe ...., China has always regenerated itself through vast waves of construction and dismemberment. And each cycle of China's history seemed to follow the same invariable sequence, passing from conquest to greatness, from decline to chaos, in the end to return to exactly the same unchanging order. A static history, in a sense. But only in appearance.

And now? With the old Europe falling into the background and the collapse of the Soviet Union, China and the United States stand alone face to face, the planetary empires ready to confront each other for world domination. But what can the United States do to oppose the irresistible thrust of the Chinese economy and its demographic weight, if not to mobilise its military and financial powers? It had to lie! By setting up around the globe military installations targeted exclusively against Beijing under the cover of the war against terror, that nebulous enemy with mysterious intentions. Using the pretext of bringing 'rogue nations' into line, the United States is pulling down China's forward bases and strategic zones ... the enemy of the States is China! Not Islamic fundamentalism. Tang was now convinced of this. But China and the world were looking on powerless as the States prepared the fourth world War ... the War of the empires. The Western Empire against the Middle Empire ...

Tang Jinghua would have given anything for his name to appear at the bottom of a history treatise. He dreamt of being the one who would put into perspective and decipher the world upheavals, present and to come. But, to his greatest anguish, now that he had his mark in history, his place was the most insignificant, the most ridiculously low, the worst. He who pictured himself as a reporter observing from the banks the flow of History was now that little trooper who pulls down the lever to trigger off the explosion that blows up the bridge. Would his name even appear in articles that were to relate the dramatic events of the next few momentous months? 'As a point of detail, the name of the official who signed the Order that was to change the world for ever was ....' Of no interest whatsoever. He didn't even have his place in the cluttered sidelines of 'minor history.' 'Incidentally, it was a low-ranking civil servant whose name was ...' No, all this was just vanity tinged with bitterness. His personal presence in this matter was not even anecdotal.

Yaping, the Software Department's secretary, interrupted Tang Jinghua in his thoughts as she brought him the customary morning refreshments. She was short and wore her long black hair pulled back in a pony tail. A Chinese girl like there are thousands, or rather millions, in the Celestial Empire of secretaries. She always beamed with a broad smile, showing her dazzling white teeth. Much to her chagrin, Yaping wore glasses. She had tried contact lenses, but her eyes had problems getting used to them. They got irritated and reddened, which made her look like a frightened rabbit. She was thinking more and more about having surgery for her short sightedness. If only she could pluck up the courage to go to the clinic. But she simply could not bear the idea of having her cornea incised or her crystalline lens reshaped. So Yaping made do with a boring pair of glasses, which she wore mainly at the office. For she liked to be pretty and her glasses, despite being light, tended to slip down her little Chinese nose.

Although not exactly a beauty, she was attractive, sexy even, and delightfully feminine. She often wore high-heeled shoes, making her legs seem longer, the shortest of miniskirts revealing her somewhat strong thighs, and a tight tunic displaying her high taught breasts. Yaping knew how to draw men's looks. In fact, she enjoyed observing them. She had so much vitality, gaiety and breeziness which contrasted with Tang's often dark and sullen temperament. However much he could appear anxious and pessimistic, she knew how to put him into a happy frame of mind. They formed a perfect pair, a professional couple, with complementary personalities. So much so that little by little, without being aware of it, Yaping had become important, even vital, to Tang's personal well being.

At twenty four, the young woman was still single. It wasn't for want of actively seeking a husband. But it was more difficult to find the ideal partner in modern China than to accept an arranged marriage as the ancient tradition would have it. Moreover, who could impose anybody to Yaping? She had drawn up a true identikit portrait of the man of her life, bringing in Chinese astrology and kitchen psychology. This persuaded her of being able to identify and recognise the man of her life, if not at first sight, at least after a highly reliable selection test.

Under these criteria, Cheng had passed Yaping's tests with flying colours. He specialised in company management. He did not really belong to the Ministry, but was there under a longer-term contract to set up new accountancy practices. He was an elegant, tidy and well-behaved young man, perhaps a little too polite. But Yaping was so happy that her needs were fulfilled.

'There you are Mr Tang, some buns as you like them and your tea.'

Tang dipped his hand mechanically into the small basket placed before him and picked up one of the buns. He wasn't hungry. To take his mind off things, he began by peeling it, getting rid of the excess rice paste from the sides. Without conviction, he took it to his mouth and bit into its sweetened soy core, putting it down on the plate a few moments and crumbs later. As for the tea, it was still scalding hot. He slurped it noisily in little sips in an attempt to cool it down.

His mind kept reminding him of the Order that he was to sign today. Was it on purpose that they chose a 'Deputy Department Manager' to place his initials on that text? Shouldn't that role have gone rather to Bao Yutai, the director of the Regulations and Standards Department, or even to Shan Yunli, the Minister of Industry and Information himself? They obviously wanted to downplay the decision, to pass it off as something inoffensive, mundane, insignificant! It was for that reason that an obscure 'Deputy Manager' had been designated.

His title suddenly appeared derisory, ridiculous; worse still, contemptible. This term 'Deputy Manager' rang like an insult. They chose him, Tang Jinghua, because he was only a small fish within the Ministry, an obscure civil servant without stature, someone unheard of. Settling the future of computing in the People's Republic of China deserved better than that! There should have been a high-ranking official implicated, there to carry the full weight of that measure. Tang had the unpleasant impression of losing face.

'Mr Tang, the mail is on the table,' announced Yaping in her singing voice.

It was 8:45; he had to get down to work and prepare tomorrow's meeting ...

His gaze turned across the window and settled on the pedestrians holding their umbrellas, waiting for the traffic lights to change, on the cars advancing slowly along the main avenue, casting sprays of water. He watched water droplets on the window falling slowly, crossing other drops in their path to fuse into one, swell and form rivulets running down to the bottom of the window.

The exact agenda for the meeting had been kept secret. The top directors of the ministries, institutes and public organisations who had been invited to participate knew nothing of the true reason for their presence. And even Tang himself had only been informed three days earlier by his director, Bao Yutai. Few people were in the know. The authorities had been successful in masking their intentions until the very last moment, following the precepts of Sun Zi, as revealed in his book on 'The Art of War'. This was indeed the lightning about to strike the enemy. Tang shuddered.

The matter had been taken from him at the beginning of summer and passed through to other hands. It had obviously become a major issue that rose above Tang. He turned his attention to the docket, seeking to recollect the main stages of this affair. He would no doubt need all this information for tomorrow's meeting. He went through the summarising notes he had drafted for his department head. He stopped at one of them. It concerned 'The History of Microsoft's presence in China', as its title showed in large a black characters. Tang read it, sitting up in his chair, hardly interrupted by the thoughts scurrying in the recesses of his mind.

'Microsoft's implantation: a bad start.

Microsoft began by opening an office in Beijing in 1992. Right from that time, the Middle Empire was regarded as a potential goldmine. But the American giant was so confident of its power that it did not care about respecting local culture and customs. In its drive, it makes a succession of errors. Almost all the managers of its Beijing office initially came from the province of Taiwan, as did the 'localised' version of Windows, designated P-Win. While China had simplified and reformed its alphabet back in the 1950s, Microsoft proposed software that used ancient characters no longer employed outside Taiwan and Hong Kong!'

This diplomatic faux pas, not to call it a gaffe, was a dismal way to start. 'Let's move on,' said Tang to himself.

Offended, the Chinese government consequently refused the sale of Windows, and declared that it did not want to fall into a situation of monopoly identical to what was going on in Western countries. From then on, the Ministry of Electronics Industry indicated would decide by Order what was to become the standard for computer operating systems. The country already had its own software, 'Chinese Star,' and the major Chinese computer companies privileged the development of the local industry to fight against the American domination.

'They certainly got the title right for this section...,' thought Tang

'But the Redmond company immediately recognised its blunder and adjusted its policy, sensing its position of strength there was at stake. The next version of Windows was adapted to the Chinese market in partnership with local agencies. The Taiwanese employees of the Beijing office were all sent back to their island. And Microsoft managed to play into the hands of the local computer firms and become accepted by them.

And that was how Windows 95 became the standard operating system in China right from its launch.'

End of the first episode.

'Project Venus

But Microsoft made a second error three years later. In 1997, it bought up a company that manufactured set-top boxes that connect to the telephone socket for displaying web pages on TV sets. Unfortunately, those 'WebTV' devices were a flop in the Western markets owing to the low resolution of the TV screens. And yet that did not deter Microsoft from peddling this product nobody wanted to the Chinese! That marketing drive was called 'Project Venus' and the Microsoft China Research Academy was set up for it at the end of 1998. Project Venus was presented to the public amid huge media hype.

Microsoft wanted to flood China with bottom range technologies. At least that was the conclusion drawn by many Chinese over eager to take offence.

Security Breaches

Security flaws inherent to the Windows operating system and Microsoft's Internet software had long preoccupied authorities, not only in China, but the world over. The problem redoubled in intensity when new flaws appeared. All began on July 16, 2003, in the town of Poznan in Poland. The 'Last Stage of Delirium Research Group', a society founded by four students who were computer nerds, discovered a critical security flaw in the most recent versions of Windows. The group immediately alerted Microsoft, which issued security bulletins on the network and a patch to correct this error. The flaw revealed by these Polish students made computers and systems operating under Windows vulnerable. A pirate could remotely access a computer, take over its control and carry out operations on files, destroy data ... China's computer systems were thus at the mercy of looters! Defence, industry and major administrations were no longer protected against hostile attacks. National security was no longer assured. The viruses 'Blaster' or 'SoBig-F' which exploited Microsoft's flaw, had cost the international community some 13 billion dollars!

And virus attacks were still continuing. Six months later, Microsoft issued new alerts, warning users of freshly-discovered flaws in Windows and its Internet connection tools.

For China's analysts and deciders, one thing was now certain: it is impossible to entrust the security of the country's information systems to a foreign private company, let alone one that is American and, to cap it all, so unreliable.'

'And yet, nothing moved,' Tang muttered to himself.

'The 'back door': a matter of national security

And if it were just a question of security flaws! A much more insidious suspicion crept in the minds of governments worldwide: what if Microsoft, bowing under the pressure from American governmental agencies, had introduced some secret modules into its operating system, providing a back door into computers? These intelligence agencies would then be able to penetrate China's computer systems and take over their control at a distance. Horror beyond imagination!

The possible existence of a back door in Windows was at the centre of preoccupations of the governments throughout the world.'

The same question kept coming back endlessly: could we possibly entrust the security of our information systems to a foreign private company? The answer could only be no.

'GSP: the 'Government Security Program'

To put an end to the climate of suspicion surrounding its Windows operating system, Microsoft took the initiative and offered to hand over its program source code to governments. That was the launch of the GSP, the Government Security Program. It testified to Microsoft's good will but – above all – it betrayed the position of weakness the software publisher was now in. Put on the defensive, Microsoft had no choice but to open its black box and let governments rummage through the source code of the different versions of Windows.

In China, it was the CNITCEC, the China Information Technology Security Certification Center, that signed the agreement with Microsoft to participate in the governments' security programs. But it was only after several months' wait that the Source Code Review Lab – CNITCEC's test laboratory specialising in source code analysis – finally opened its doors. 'China' added Microsoft, 'shall receive every attention; it shall be authorised to carry out any test, it shall have access to the entire code ...' But the GSP's initiatives quickly reached their limits. Indeed, how was it possible to monitor in real time the incessant dialogue between a PC and Microsoft, as required for updating software and correcting the notorious security flaws? These regular updates went against the very objective sought by the GSP!

Microsoft was behaving like a cheap conjurer asking his audience to check that he was not hiding anything up his jacket sleeve! It was easier to find arms of mass destruction in Sadam Hussein's Irak than those malicious routines in Microsoft Windows ...

The rise of Linux

Microsoft's charm offensive with its GSP came too late. At the end of 2001, the Chinese government excluded Microsoft from a call to tender of several billion dollars to supply operating systems and office software to country's administration. Applying the principle of precaution, many governments adopted a procurement policy based on open-source software. By implementing Linux, these governments had control over the operating system and the security and encryption procedures. One month before the GSP came into being, the Chinese government announced that, in the long run, its administration shall have to be equipped with domestic software, in other words a home-grown version of Linux. Hundreds of thousands of computers thus slipped out of Microsoft's grasp.

As for the Chinese government, it had to stimulate the local software industry and free itself from foreign technologies, especially from the West. The future of the country depended on it. China's greatness and the strength of its economy were at stake.'

China had to be freed from its shackles, from that technological dependence, from that organised racket. As Tang continued to read, he became animated, as if seized by rage and vertigo.

Tang Jinghua closed his eyes a few moments. Just a short respite.

Yaping, the secretary, entered the office.

'Mr. Tang, I've got Mr. Bao on the line. He insists on knowing whether you have signed the Order for tomorrow's meeting.'

The hour had come. The Order was there in front of him on his desk.

He got hold of a large gold-nibbed fountain pen that he hardly ever used outside great occasions. The moment was solemn. He could almost have requested a brush and inkwell to write his name in calligraphy on this historical document. As his nib touched upon the page, he thought better of it. He opened his drawer. His eyes fell upon a simple pen, the one his eldest daughter once used at school. She gave it to him as present, 'so that daddy can write and do his work'. He took the pen whose plastic casing bore his daughter's tooth marks. The ink had dried in its conduit. He unscrewed the body and changed the cartridge. After several attempts, he was satisfied with the result.

It was with this modest object that he was going to topple the world. 'The pen is mightier than the sword', as they used to say in London's Fleet Street! He pretended to read the Order one last time. It wasn't necessary. He knew it by heart.

Seeing Yaping waiting, he took hold of the pen again. He feigned to hesitate one more second, the time to savour that brief moment when History reaches a watershed. He cast up his eyes to the young woman waiting for him. Could she even suspect the measure of the event? Could she only understand? The world will never be the same. That secretary in a mini skirt couldn't care less. What was she thinking of right now? Of Cheng, her sweetheart, that well-groomed accountant. And during that time, the world would be swept by an enormous wave!

He realised the ridiculous and sexist nature of his thoughts the very instant they came to his mind. Who was he to judge her? Had he lost all sense of humility? Yaping was life itself, life that needs no justification. He was just a bitter, grumpy and pessimistic civil servant. She was graciousness, joy and sunshine.

He got ready to prime the bomb. Tomorrow, in a few hours, it would explode.

'Mr. Tang, the Order must be signed ...'

Yaping began to get impatient. The man had once again drifted into sombre thoughts, faithful to his typical self. 'No doubt he's dreaming of some distant dynasty with a brutal and tragic destiny, or of the dazzling renaissance of a dying empire ... He lives only for history, that dear Mr. Tang' thought Yaping.

She had never seen him hesitate like this, frozen in his seat, incapable of moving. Yaping began again:

'Mr. Tang, you've go to sign. Mr. Tang?'

2. The Crane and the Serpent

'There is no greater disaster

than to underestimate one's enemy'

Lao Tse, VIth Century BC.

Six months earlier ...

Beijing, Great Wall Mirama Hotel

19 January

Jin crossed the hotel lobby with a quick step. It was one of those large establishments of glittery luxury aimed at an international clientele. She wore a business outfit, heeled shoes and tinted glasses. The archetypal executive woman who carries the right blend of class, mystery and seduction. With these clothes, she hardly drew any notice in this large hotel for businessmen, other than the sneak looks of some Westerners craving for local beauties.

Her informers hadn't been mistaken. 'The place is watched,' they had warned her. She cast a quick look around, trying to spot the CIA agents from the anonymous crowd. It was no use. Her team had already screened the premises. She stepped into a scenic lift and hit the topmost button. It offered a towering view of the atrium as she rose into the upper floors. But the CIA weren't alone in watching the place. The secret police of Commander Guo, the very discreet branch of the Ministry of Public Security, was also present. How had they been informed? Their presence complicated matters.

The man she had to watch was called Ron Baxter. He was staying at the Mirama, room 3326. This American was a specialist in mainframe computers for banks and insurance companies. He worked at IBM's Boca Raton site in Florida. Baxter had come to Beijing under invitation of the Chinese Science Academy's Software Research Institute. There was a problem with a mainframe, one of the large computers used by Chinese scientists to develop powerful encryption algorithms which safeguard the secrecy of the country's military communications. The matter was ultra sensitive.

Chinese counterespionage was on tenterhooks. It was Jin who had been given the task of watching the visitor from her post at the Science Academy. This Baxter had of course been thoroughly vetted by the Chinese intelligence services operating on the American territory. He was clean. There was nothing in his records. Employed at IBM for eighteen years, a typical career path, in his fifties, married, two grown-up children, no suspicious activity. A mundane life, no mistress, no known vice, just a straight and boring guy.

The lift came to a halt on the 38th floor, which was entirely taken up by a panoramic restaurant. From there, Jin went up a staircase to a service floor under the roof of the building where her team was waiting for her: three members of the Counterespionage Action Group, hardened agents she could count on. She uttered a few words to her men on the microphone of the radio link to signal her arrival. The door opened. The room was used to store cleaning equipment and consumables. There were hundreds of miniature soap bars, perfume, shampoo and lotion flasks stretched out in large boxes.

'Zeying, what's the situation?' ordered Jin in a clear voice.

The man to whom she had just spoken was her most loyal agent. He was entirely devoted to her ever since she had saved his life, at the risk of her own, during a mission that went wrong. 'You never abandon an agent in the field' she quoted spontaneously as he was about to thank her. That was something he could never forget.

'The American left the hotel two hours ago. His laptop's in his room. He's invited out to dinner by a director of the Science Academy. He'll be back in less than two hours.'

'I know, I know,' Jin said impatiently. I was the one who organised the dinner date. I haven't got a post at the Academy for nothing, you know. Let's press on. What else?'

Jin was determined to pay a visit to Baxter's room. But there was no way she could pass through the door with those guards watching over in the corridors. Without waiting for her lieutenant to finish his report, she opened wide the large sports holdall Zeying had prepared for her, slid her skirt down her legs and donned a black cat suit. She then strapped a climbing harness around her, attached a rucksack, and took out a handgun and knife. The young woman would have left no-one else take on this mission of the utmost importance.

Ron Baxter had been in Beijing for a week now. His intervention at the Software Research Institute went along without incident. For Jin, who used her position as head of research as a cover for her counterespionage activities, watching over this engineer had been easy. She had had nothing to report. Until today when, at 14h00, the red alert had sounded by pure chance. A real chance indeed.

A Chinese secret agent posted in the United States had just returned to Beijing for a debriefing session. That man, the son of Sichuan immigrants, had acquired US citizenship and was an eminent genetics expert. His role was to collect information for the People's Republic in that highly strategic sector. As he was passing along a corridor in the intelligence centre, his gaze was arrested by a face, a photo displayed on a computer screen. He knew that face, he had already seen it before. He drew closer. It was a man in Beijing here for maintenance on a mainframe, he had been told. He had been declared clean by the men posted in Washington. Baxter was indeed an IBM employee specialised in genetics. He worked on future-generation computers based on DNA configurations. Now they had just learnt that this same Baxter had in fact earlier approached this returning Chinese agent during a congress in Pasadena. He wanted to recruit him to work for his second employer ... the NSA, the National Security Agency, that most secret US agency specialising in electronic intelligence and cryptography, based at Fort Meade in Maryland. The officers of the Chinese embassy in Washington who declared him clean must have got a rocket! That inauspicious computer scientist was in fact a spy working for the NSA, a spy to whom they had opened the doors to one of the country's most strategic sites. Jin ceased her recap of the events.

'It's going to be tough,' continued Zeying. 'Commander Guo's men have taken over the hotel. And the Americans, alerted by this deployment of force, have taken positions to protect Baxter. Guo was waiting for the occasion to seize the American and exchange him against one of his agents nabbed in the States. He desperately wants that Baxter and discreetly to negotiate an exchange with the US.'

'OK, thanks, Zeying.'

Jin was ready and had finished adjusting her hood and leather gloves. Zeying opened the window of the store room. The cold Beijing winter air burst inside.

The young woman attached the rope to her harness.

She was to slide down the large hotel's glass wall, between two rows of windows, from the thirty ninth to the thirty third floor, and step along a narrow ledge up to the American's room. There she was to discover the real motive for his presence in China by checking through his time schedule.

The Great Wall Mirama Hotel bar had everything to please the American. Soft lights, a cosy atmosphere and waitresses in long narrow skirts slit up to the waist moving in all directions along the carpeted floor. His poor tastes were fulfilled. He did not regret the journey, even if this evening's alert had forced him to change his schedule.

Val Stenton swallowed his tumbler of bourbon in one go. He had to keep warm. The CIA's chief of intelligence in Beijing had taken his functions just a few months ago. He couldn't get used to these hard winters. What did the Chinese want from this Baxter? That utterly boring computer scientist had come to fix one of their computers which they hoped to use to develop an encryption algorithm sufficiently powerful to hold the NSA in check! All was going well and then, without reason, the Chinese flip their lid. According to them, Baxter is spy. They must be kidding! The NSA had intercepted alert messages sent to the Chinese embassy in Washington. Baxter had apparently come to spy on the Science Academy; he had to be stopped!

For Stenton, this was hard to swallow. For once the CIA was not in the know! Baxter was a genuine computer scientist. He was here to service an IBM mainframe, full stop. Val Stenton sank down a second bourbon. Since then, Beijing had been on full alert. Their secret police, the equivalent of the FBI, had gone into action straight away with its typical discretion. Guards disguised as grooms on every floor, agents in the lobby ... the Great Wall Mirama had become a fortress. There was no doubt about it: they wanted to catch that dangerous spy. Not to mention Counterespionage, which would also be lurking in the hotel. A nice diplomatic imbroglio in the offing. The CIA had had to reinforce Baxter's protection and deploy its own men in the hotel. Hence the presence there of Stanton and his men.

'Song, what's the latest on our computer bod?' he snapped.

The person Stenton had just spoken to stayed in the shadow. He had lightly curled hair that betrayed his Eurasian origins. His face was pockmarked with dozens of little craters.

'He's coming back to the hotel. His dinner date's been cancelled...'

'Did you see the guard of honour? The hotel's swarming with police!'

'They've no reason to arrest him. They must have a pretext.'

'I know. He's returning to the States tomorrow. We can't let things go wrong.'

'Don't worry, we're keeping him under close watch.'

Song moved away, discreetly as always.

Jin stepped over the window and began her descent. Looking up, she saw Zeying's face disappear as she went down suspended in the air. She counted down the floors. When she reached the thirty third, she locked the lowering mechanism and felt with her toes for the steel ledge along the base of the windows. It was an elbow's width at the most. Her heart was beating fast. Too fast. She didn't like it. She struggled to turn round, and now had her back to the wall, facing the void and the night, facing the city lights and the starry sky. She breathed in deeply the frozen winter air. The light breeze which blew at this height hummed gently in her ears.

The city was at her feet, with its lit-up skyscrapers, broad avenues and tinsel of vehicles. She could almost reach out and embrace the buildings. Within the space of second, she felt like leaping out from up high in a flash of euphoria. She now had her breathing under control. A calm voice spoke to her in the earpiece.

'Jin, the American didn't go to his dinner appointment. The Director of the Science Academy called it off at the last minute. He's returning to the hotel. I repeat: he's returning to the hotel. Operation cancelled!'

With regret, she left that magnificent sight and began to turn round, facing the glass wall.

'Negative, the operation's maintained. Keep our customer under watch. If he hasn't dined, he's bound to go to the restaurant.'

Despite the risk, Jin unfastened the cable from her harness, certain that such an occasion would never turn up again.

Song made sure the CIA was adequately deployed on the scene. Satisfied, he moved out of the darkness and made his way to the shopping mall. He threw a quick glance inside the ladies' toilets and caught sight of a woman putting on her make-up in front of the mirror.

'In two minutes. By the lifts.'

She acknowledged with the bat of an eyelid. It was a Chinese woman, tall and sensual. She had met Baxter the night before at the hotel bar. It was Song who had introduced them. They chatted for an hour. She came across as reserved but attentive. A touch shy. Just what it needed to seduce. He had told her his life story, his anxieties, the problems that threatened his marriage, a blend of tedium and frustration. The usual cocktail.

'You know what you've got to do?' muttered the Eurasian, at the risk of being spotted.

The woman nodded curtly, looking dark and decided. They both went off in their respective directions.

Jin shifted one foot after the other, slowly, very slowly, along the narrow steel ledge. She had now covered the two metres that separated her landing point from Baxter's room. She pulled out from her pocket a key to unlock the window. She had only one. No question of letting it drop. The windows were locked from the inside, as in most air conditioned hotels. With carefully-controlled movements, Jin inserted the key into the window frame aperture and turned it. The heavy glass panel seemed to hesitate and then, slowly, it pivoted on its right edge and the window opened. Jin straddled over the sill and found herself in room 3326, behind a thick printed cloth curtain. She pushed back the window, without closing it completely, to keep the warmth in the room.

'Jin,' murmured the voice in her earpiece, 'the American's just arrived at the hotel.'

'Warn me immediately if he goes up to the thirty third floor.'

'If he does, you'll only have one minute to leave the room. Oh, and I forgot to mention: Baxter isn't alone.'

'What?'

'He's with a woman, a Chinese girl, the forward kind of...'

In the semi darkness, she did a quick reconnoitre: the bed, desk, dresser, cupboard...

'Jin,' the voice crackled, 'he's gone up to the thirty ninth floor, to the restaurant. He's asked for a table for two. Your ground is clear.'

She lit just one lamp, the one on the small desk in the corner. It was a spacious room, fitted out in classical Chinese style furniture, with statues of a warrior, knee to the ground, and a reproduction of a horse of the great buried terracotta army of Xi'an.

'He's at the bar with the girl, waiting for his table to be ready,' the voice announced.

Jin quickly got down to work. She pulled out a digital camera from one of her pockets and began photographing all she could not physically take with her. She gathered together everything that might be important: handwritten notes, restaurant bills, tickets, anything that could possibly help reconstruct the NSA agent's time schedule. Whom did he meet during his stay in Beijing? Did he have accomplices on the spot? Had he recruited agents from Chinese research laboratories? Had he bought information? Her counterespionage services ruled out no possibilities.

The American's laptop lay on the sideboard inside its soft nylon case. It was bound to be protected by umpteen codes. 'Something for our specialists to sink their teeth into,' she thought. It would be an interesting challenge for her Chinese colleagues to get inside the PC of a National Security Agency computer expert. Jin overlooked nothing; she went through the American's suits, luggage, bin and ashtrays with a fine-tooth comb. She had gathered together her pickings on the desk and was getting ready to slip them into her light rucksack.

'Alert!'

The voice hollered in Jin's earpiece.

'Baxter's no longer in the restaurant. He's not in the bar. We've lost him. Jin, he may be on his way back to his room...'

The young woman seized hold of the laptop and stuffed it into her rucksack.

There was the sound of a card key pulled out of its slot, followed by the door opening, bursts of talk and laughs. It was too late. Jin just had the time to scramble behind an armchair in a corner, near the desk. Baxter was now in the room with the girl, a Chinese woman dressed in a narrow black skirt. They didn't exchange a single word. She tossed her handbag on the large sofa and was now coiling up against Baxter, panting lightly. She kissed him furiously, frantically, while her delicate hands were unfastening his clothes, as if in tempo with a musical score. Baxter followed suit, at the peak of excitement.

'How could a professional spy fall for it so easily? Did he know that girl? Had she popped into his glass one of those pills that can make any male powerless to refuse the advances of a young beauty?' wondered Jin. Cramped behind the armchair, she held her breath, lost in the thoughts racing through her mind, waiting to leap.

The American had lain back, elbows dug into the sofa. The girl came up, lascivious like a snake. She slid along Baxter's legs, rising slowly up to his thighs. Straightening up, she pivoted round, lips pouting, and cast another ravenous look at Baxter before turning her back to straddle him. Baxter could now only see her wholesome buttocks and hips rising and falling rhythmically and, above, her slender waist and the long black hair she had just freed by delicately removing an ornate clip. But he could not see she had kept the latter in her hand. Her rhythm seemed to have accelerated, her navel now making circular movements. Baxter was on the verge of ecstasy. She drew the clip to her mouth and, with her teeth, pulled out a cusp that covered a fine needle. She swallowed the small piece of plastic to leave no trace. Continuing her up-and-down movements, she brought her two hands between her legs to place her fingers around the man's hardened phallus. In a quick skilful movement, she planted the short needle into the base of his penis and emptied a cartridge of liquid in the blood-gorged member. Baxter savoured the last moments of pleasure that separated him from death. He let out another four groans of pleasure. The fifth sounded nothing like an orgasm. A last spasm had just seized his heart.

The girl got up without showing the slightest sign of emotion. She was tall and had a perfect figure. Her small proud breasts projected from her muscular body. Her black pubic fleece was carefully trimmed. She threw a quick look at the American who lay lifeless on the sofa, eyes contorted. The poison had acted very quickly. It would be virtually undetectable and leave no trace. As for the needle prick, it was so small that it drew no blood. The autopsy would conclude on a heart attack. She tossed the empty poison cartridge into her handbag and took out an elastic ribbon which she used to tie her hair back. She inspected the room. In three minutes, she'll give the alarm. She'll take the phone, feign panic and call for help in a stricken and frightened voice. Her client, an American she had just met, has died of a heart attack. They would find an overdose of a sexual stimulant in his blood. The American and Chinese services would avoid giving too much publicity to the matter. And then she could vanish after a cursory identity check.

She stepped towards the desk and spotted the small pile of documents Jin didn't have the time to conceal. Her eyes searched for the laptop. She had instruction not to touch it to avoid any suspicion around Baxter's death. A draught of cold air caused her to shudder. She drew the window curtains aside. The pane was open and a stream of icy air penetrated the room.

These windows were sealed and the client couldn't have opened them. Somebody must have come into the room from outside. An intruder who didn't have the time to close the window behind? Nor take the documents on the desk? The enemy was still in the bedroom, she could feel it; he was here. She shuddered again. Not from fear, but rather by animal instinct. Her body was no longer that of a professional seductress. Her shoulders were now arched, her breast had sunken in, her leg muscles tensed. She was ready for the confrontation.

Where was he hiding? She scanned the room from the bathroom door to the curtains. She went back to the centre of the room and picked up her underwear, her muscles still tense. Just as she was slipping into her panty, a silhouette pounced from behind the sofa. Quick as a tiger, Jin threw herself at the girl.

The two women rolled on the floor. With the advantage of surprise, Jin quickly got the upper hand. She pinned down the killer firmly to the floor, pressing her right arm against her throat. With her left hand, she seized the dagger she had fixed along her leg. She pointed the weapon at the girl's throat.

'Who do you work for?' asked Jin.

A burst of insults in Cantonese was her only answer.

'Who do you work for?' repeated Jin, pressing down even harder on the girl's neck.

Suddenly, with awesome violence and brutality that took Jin by surprise, the girl arched her back in a loud roar and freed herself from the body lock. She struck Jin in the throat with the side of her hand and leapt up, elastic, before grabbing hold of the dagger. The two women were face to face in combat positions, feline. The Cantonese was the first to attack. Naked though she was, her aggressiveness was unfettered. She made three sweeps in the air with her weapon, Jin dodging each of them, keeping her eyes riveted to her assailant. She was going to fight for her life. The girl repeated her attack, which Jin countered by seizing her enemy's wrist. In return, she received a thundering punch on the chin, flinging her head rearward. Jin fell on her back. The attacker was lunging towards her. Unable to get up, Jin managed to deflect the weapon directed against her. Grabbing the woman's wrist with both hands, Jin managed to turn the blade round just as her attacker lunged for her final assault. With hardly a sound, the sharpened blade impaled the murderess. Their two faces confronted, almost touching each other. The dying woman's last stare was on Jin's eyes, the only part of her face left exposed by her hood. Jin sensed a look of terror as she exhaled a last breath. Without waiting, she dragged the naked woman against the American's body. She cast an anxious look towards the door. Fortunately, its heavy wooden structure and the thick-pile carpeting had deadened the sounds of the struggle. She pulled out the dagger from the wound and placed it in Baxter's hand. 'That would make a nice little piece of stagecraft for Commander Guo's police to work out...as well as the CIA investigators,' she thought.

Jin imagined how they would reconstruct the scenario: the IBM engineer brings a young girl into his hotel room. After a sex romp, they get into an argument; he lethally stabs her and dies of a heart attack... At least that would be a start to the enquiry, and she wished them good luck. Her mask wrinkled as she smiled. Jin took out some tissues from the bathroom and swabbed some of the prostitute's blood before inserting them in a polythene bag. Then she took the girl's handbag and some documents lying on the desk and tossed them inside her rucksack.

Jin quickly took a few more pictures before leaving the scene.

She opened the window and delicately placed her bag on the outer ledge. She stepped over the sill and got out in the freezing winter's cold. She pulled out her key and locked the window. Now it would now be difficult for the investigators to find clues indicating that a visitor had broken into the bedroom. The city noise came up to her. She edged along the two metres that separated her from the cable and attached her harness to it. The cable was pulled taut in response to her call. The young woman ascended along the wall, pulled by the electric hoist. When she got to the thirty ninth floor, Zeying helped her get her footing into the store room. Jin cast off her hood and harness. Her team had already changed clothes. She did likewise.

'I suppose a helicopter's waiting for us on the roof of the building to evacuate us,' she quipped to ease the atmosphere a bit.

'Only the service lift, I'm afraid,' replied Zeying. We've blocked it. 'A delivery truck parked in the basement will take us away.'

She held out her rucksack to another member of the team.

'We've got meat on our plate for the next six months. A PC from the NSA!'

She finished buttoning her tunic. They got out of the store room. The goods lift wasn't far.

Beijing, in a Taoist temple

6:45 the next morning

Colonel Zhou breathed in deeply the icy air. The winter was harsh and the cold penetrating. His gaze settled on the small frozen lake that lay in front of him while his outstretched right foot seemed to describe an almost perfect circle. Slowly, his two hands together, he pushed back an invisible enemy, his chest continuously letting out a long vaporous breath. A few steps away, another silhouette fought against another imaginary being. A light mist skimmed across the barren shrubs, dimly lit by the moon, as dawn had yet to fill the sky.

The mist dissipated, revealing the scene in its entirety. Eight men braving the rigour of winter to practise Tai Chi Chuan, that Chinese discipline which slowed down the movements of the body as if to stop time. Zhou turned up two to three times a week to this ancient Taoist temple bathed in calm and peace. Although he also practised other, more offensive, forms of martial art as part of his training as a special agent for the Chinese government, he liked the gentleness and philosophy of Tai Chi which, by contrast with the explosiveness of other arts, privileged an inner approach to energy.

Zhou then seized an unsharpened sword. It was an heirloom from his father. He had always seen him, early in the morning, practise with that sword, finely crafted like a work of art. It was light and perfectly balanced. He was now standing on one foot, stock still, the smallest of his muscles under control. His left knee moved up above his thigh, toes turned skyward, his left hand palm turned frontward while his right hand, hovering above his head, held the sword pointed at an invisible enemy. A few steps away, a young pupil waited for the end of the session, squatting down on her heels, knees clasped between her arms, to inform the master of the arrival of his friends. She was shivering.

Colonel Zhou was an enigmatic figure. His name figured in no official organisation chart of the Ministry of State Security. And rare were those who could boast of knowing him. Yet it was he who supervised all intelligence operations over the Chinese territory in matters of technology and information. He belonged to no particular department; or rather, he belonged to them all: to the 6th Bureau in charge of counterespionage, the 10th for scientific and technological intelligence, and to the 11th Bureau that analysed information from Electronic Intelligence, the ELINT, for which he was in charge of computer systems security.

The Tai Chi positions followed each other like a series of depicted hunting scenes, limpid, natural, smooth and untamed, poetic. As Zhou was finishing his 'wind curving the lotus leaf' movement, the young pupil timidly called out to her master.

'Master Zhou, I hope you don't mind, your visitors have arrived. They're waiting for you in the temple.'

Zhou slipped into a thick eider-lined jacket and made his way slowly to the building with red pillars and varnished tiles. Turning towards his pupil, still bowing in front of him, he made her a sign straighten up.

'Thank you Yen. Bring them into the small lounge as I requested.'

'They're already there, Master. They gave the password.'

'That's fine. You can bring us some hot tea.'

The young pupil acquiesced and left running towards the temple, heading for the warmth of the kitchen. Learning Tao sometimes called for sacrifices.

This temple, which served as a martial arts school, was a very discreet meeting place. Zhou entered the building and pushed open the heavy door to the lounge. Five men and women were seated.

'Please don't bother getting up,' began Zhou as he drew close to them with a determined step.

He greeted at length Bao Yutai, the Director of Regulations and Standards Department at the Ministry of Information Industries, his closest ally, his right-hand man. He recognised the President of the State Commission for Science, Technology and Industry, the number two at the Science and Technology Ministry, the Deputy Director of the Chinese Academy of Science, his colleague at the Chinese Institute of Communications, and other heads of working groups of State commissions in charge of State intelligence or economic development.

These were 'The Renegades', as they liked to call themselves, who, like he, had a common goal: free China from its dependency on foreign technology. China should count only on its own forces, and not let multinationals impose their standards, patents and technologies. Their lobbying actions were often fruitful, or at least they made a significant impact on final decisions.

China had developed and adopted home-grown technologies in matters of telecommunications, video compression and DVD format.

In other domains too, China was on the way to acquiring it independence.

But there remained the issue of computing and Microsoft. Microsoft, the number one enemy, on whom they were now to concentrate all their efforts. Windows was gradually losing ground to Linux in state administrations and state-owned companies. Indeed, while imposing a purchasing policy on the ministries was something relatively easy to do, replacing Windows in private business and the home environment was altogether a different matter. For Windows still held 90% of the market share of professional and home operating systems. And it would be much more difficult to dislodge the Redmond giant in that market. It would take many years, at least a decade, before a national Linux could snatch a significant slice of the pie.

The members of the group were all faithful and loyal servants of the State, patriots whose only objective was to ensure China's security and prosperity. They all had for model the Imperial Commissioner Lin Zexu, the very one who stood up to the British and attempted in 1839 to put an end to opium trafficking in Canton.

Someone knocked on the door.

The young pupil ushered in two new visitors, high dignitaries from the State Informatization Leading Group, the SILG, and from the Ministry of Foreign Trade & Economic Cooperation, the MOFTEC. The Lin Zexu group was now in full session.

At first sight, it could appear as secret society, but here there was no plotting or conspiracy. They all operated within the law and within the scope of their functions inside the large administrations to which they belonged. They represented an active and influential pressure group; an obscure – yet organised – force intent on making its visions triumph and swaying the policy of the Chinese Administration in the direction it judged most favourable for the country. Colonel Zhou was tacitly recognised by all as that group's leader. His high position within Chinese counterespionage gave him a privileged vantage point over the technologies sectors.

The exclusive information he obtained though his networks served to gauge the forces at play.

'Now that we are all here, perhaps we can start,' suggested the President of the State Commission. 'We have again discovered security breaches in the different versions of Windows. This month, Microsoft has once more sent out two security alerts.'

'Microsoft offers patches which users can download and install on their PCs.'

'How can we know what's in these upgrades?' enquired Zhou.

'Impossible to know. These pieces of software are downloaded by the users. Sometimes without their knowing it. The software system enlarges, grows and transforms by collecting additional bits of code from its creator. An operating system developed and updated from a foreign country is a mortal danger for our economy. It's the middle layer of all our information systems which is at stake.'

Zhou listened in silence, concerned and concentrated.

'We have obtained very positive results in the past months,' added Bao. 'The Administration is migrating its systems to Linux. And the three countries of Northern Asia, namely China, Korea and Japan, have agreed to develop together a regional Linux.'

'I can't see anything coming of this North Asian Linux,' commented the man from the MOFTEC. 'Our governments will never come to an agreement on a definite solution to the problem. I don't trust the Japanese.'

'The Japanese are sold off to the Americans!' echoed a dull voice.

There were more and more voices calling for a radical departure from past practises to safeguard the country's medium and long term independence and security. They weren't by any means alone. Beyond the 'Lin Zexu Group', they knew they could count on influential friends occupying high posts in various State commissions, ministries, and even up to the Central Committee. But they had to reckon against the forces of inertia. And they were the most powerful at the moment. They came from an alliance between the conservative fringe of the administration and the business circles which, above all else, wanted to preserve stability. Stability! For the new capitalists, nothing should disrupt the flow of foreign investments into China, nor the extraordinary momentum of the growth rate that has been propelling the country during the last eleven years. China should be given time to strengthen, to develop its army, its navy, its electronic surveillance networks. Gain time, gather strength, acquire wealth, such were the objectives of that 'Shanghai Cartel', as their opponents liked to call them!

'Bao, what are the actions in store for the months to come?' asked Zhou as the young pupil entered into the room to serve tea.

'In April, we are invited at the Ministry of Science and Technology. We shall demonstrate at the meeting how software pirating in fact presents a greater danger for China than for Microsoft. We'll also be analysing the contents of the new version of Windows.'

'Things should get moving, then?'

'We have convincing arguments: the future Windows includes a digital rights management system that's generalised and managed from the United States.'

'So we should block that version?'

The Deputy Director of the Science Academy began to speak.

'Zhou, it won't be simple. The relations between China and Microsoft are now normalised! Just look at the meetings of the Government Security Program, the GSP workshops, which are due to resume in March. On this occasion, Microsoft is to bolster its team. They've announced the arrival of a high-flying specialist, a leading expert in matters of security, a star who's not turned thirty.'

'And what's his name?' enquired Zhou.

'Tom Bailey. He will not only take part in the GSP activities, but also study how to adapt the future Windows to Chinese specifications as regards security. And that is potentially very dangerous.'

Zhou thought a moment. With eyes half closed, he brought the cup to his lips and drew in the hot tea in small sips.

'We must keep a watch on the GSP. It's strategic.'

'If Microsoft manages with this Bailey chap to integrate routines developed in China, and to convince our leaders that the information systems are protected in this way, then we are moving away from our objective. I would even go to say we run the risk of vanishing off the horizon.'

'What security procedures does Microsoft propose to integrate? It wouldn't be professor Mok's modules, by any chance?'

'No, professor Mok's work is reserved for the Linux versions supplied to our administrations and certain army units. For Microsoft, they're routines developed by the China National Computer Software & Technology Service Corp. in collaboration with Beijing's Microsoft Research Center.'

'The matter's very serious! We risk seeing one day a new version of Windows which incorporates Chinese security modules! Modules produced by private concerns and different from those run by our administrations!'

'Even with these security modules, Windows still remains Windows, a black box in the hands of the NSA!'

'Exactly. The situation would be dramatic. We've got to stop it at all cost.'

The deputy director of the Science Academy was stirring in his chair.

'This isn't official, but I can confirm it to you. We have a version of Linux for the general public that integrates Professor Mok Mengma's security procedures.'

Zhou had got up. Day had now broken, but the fog, having thickened, was limiting the visibility. The small lake had vanished; scarcely a few dry trees could be made out.

'Gentlemen, it seems to me a matter of priority to stymie Microsoft's actions. We cannot allow the next version of Windows to integrate security modules coming from China. That would be exceedingly dangerous.'

'And how do you propose to go about it?'

'I've got my plan, concluded Zhou.'

It was eight o'clock. The 'Lin Zexu Group' broke up.

Beijing, counterespionage office

10:30 am

The Baxter affair was only just beginning. Jin had asked for all the objects recovered from the American computer specialist's bedroom to be laid out on large tables. She had discovered a wad of receipts and bills in the lining of his suitcase. An IBM employee on a business trip had to keep all these vouchers in order to have his expenses reimbursed. That was what he did. But he hadn't been able to get rid of compromising details in time. Jin gave the instructions.

'I want two people working full time on these items. Take as many days as it needs, but I want you to reconstruct that American's itinerary and time schedule. Don't neglect any detail, any lead. He spent a week in Beijing. I want to know where he ate, with who, when he went out, when he came back. I leave you to it.'

'What about the computer?'

'Don't touch that. I'll give it to our special services. It'll take some time to make it talk. Weeks. Months more likely. It's more difficult to penetrate inside an NSA computer than the Pentagon's web server. The first exploitable results will come from you guys out on the ground, not from data processing. Two people died last night. There must have been a good reason for it.'

She had alerted Zhou, but her operations chief had remained silent. She'll try again later.

Jin stepped out of the shower. She halted on the bath rug a few moments to let the larger drops slip slowly down her body. It was chilly. She had goose dimples and her nipples were hard. She wiped her body, arms, breasts, legs and waist. The contact with the warm fabric gave her an intense sense of well being. Wasn't life after all made of such small pleasures? Zhou had phoned; he was to come at around 10 pm. He uttered only a few words, as per his usual self. A terseness, an economy of speech, which many women must have found unbearable. She had got used to it and preferred to see in this a form of bashfulness, a semblance of feelings in that self-controlled man, hardened never to let anything through. You had to read between the lines, despite the paucity of words. She tied her towel under her arms and settled in front of the mirror. Her long silky hair cascaded down over her shoulders and revealed a large light forehead. She began to brush the tips of her damp locks. She had chosen a discreet tint for her hair, giving it light tan reflections.

With Zhou, sex was no amorous outburst, nor an expression of tenderness. It wasn't simply a physical act either. Rather, it was a ritual that rested on meditation and ecstasy. But with him, its enactment was well worth the while. She liked to feel his lean, lithe body mingle with hers. At this evocation, she felt a ripple of desire rise in her. She had worked for Colonel Zhou for five years, since she left university, and had known no other employer than the Directorate of Counterespionage for the Republic of China.

The men of the secret services had come on the day of the degree ceremony for her PhD in computer systems architectures. They listened with interest when she defended her research thesis which she undertook under the direction of Professor Mok Mengma, a brilliant computer scientist who had received the highest accolades for his contribution to national security and independence. They had approached her without waiting for the debate among the jury, while she was biting her nails in the corridor, waiting for the 'verdict'.

Jin looked at herself in the mirror. She held her hand suspended, hesitating whether to put on makeup or to remain faithful to her tomboy image. With a streak of her crayon, she underscored the edge of her eyelids with a simple straight black line to balance the yin and the yang and illuminate her alabaster face. She had a lovely little straight nose that was enough to turn hundreds of millions of Chinese girls green with envy. In the mornings, she applied a light reddish tint on her prominent cheeks, rising up towards the temples. For her lips, she settled for a dash with an apricot-coloured stick.

She remembered the degree ceremony as if it were yesterday. There were two of them, a man and a woman; two spies. She had just finished her studies and knew nothing about the secret services. As a matter of fact, she knew nothing of life. They spoke to her of a demanding job involving reflection and investigation, action and danger. They needed her, the best student of professor Mok. She had to put her talent at the service of her country and its defence. It was her duty. She said nothing. How could she? She was ready for anything except that encounter. The men from the shadows were the first to become interested in her, before all the country's computer service firms, before the banks and insurance companies, before the ministries and IBM. She thought it over at first, putting into her pocket the business card the woman tended to her.

She who had lost her parents at a very early age, killed in one of the many violent episodes of China's tortured history, felt as if she had found a new family. She dialled the number of the special services. They came on the day of her graduation, they were there, where her parents should have been; they had held out their hand. It was a sign. She turned up at an army building in a suburb of Beijing that sheltered the Chinese counterespionage services. There, she discovered a world she never suspected, met teams of analysts who probed intelligence gathered from the four corners of the world, personnel in charge of monitoring foreign agents on Chinese soil, those who protected strategic sites. On that day, they tried to convince her, to win her over. But to her, all this was much too new, a step into the unknown. It was at that moment, at the end of the day, that she came upon Colonel Zhou, the head of Action Group.

He didn't try to convince her, even less to seduce her. Quite on the contrary. At first, he scrutinised her with a penetrating look, so peculiar. He exuded an animal-like strength, perfectly in control. He spoke little. He observed. He warned her that if she were to join the Action Group, she would have to go through an intensive program of weight training and combat techniques, and remarked that he doubted whether she would be up to it. He searched into her student looks, seeking an exceptional personality, without finding anything of the sort in her. What he wanted was courage, a cool head, guts. In other words, you had to be 'special' to enter the secret service. On the looks of it, she didn't have the mettle for the job. Such was the conclusion of Colonel Zhou after his short appraisal.

Jin left, indelibly marked by this encounter. Strangely enough, the Colonel's negative comments made her grin. As if, by instinct, she had been convinced of the opposite. She came to see the Colonel the next day to give her answer. She was never to leave him. He rose in rank; so did she. Two years after entering the counterespionage services, she was at the head of her own team.

She parted the flaps of her towel and observed her naked body in the mirror. She had changed considerably in the space of five years. Martial arts and yoga had fashioned an athlete's figure which nevertheless remained very feminine. Her small breasts, flat stomach, buttocks and hips gave no tell-tale sign of the intense physical training she went through every day. She slipped on a cotton panty, a large woollen pullover directly over her skin and track suit bottoms. As time went by, Zhou had become her lover occasionally, her friend always, and her family above all.

Professor Mok Mengma felt particularly bitter that his best student should leave him. He had always thought that she would stay to continue alongside him in his research on secure computer architectures. Hadn't he, in his own way, given her a family substitute?

So why turn away from him?

Even she could not say. In fact, she had never looked into the inner motivations that drove her to seek her freedom. She had an affectionate thought for professor Mok. Life hadn't spared him. His wife had left him, one year after the birth of their baby daughter. The infant contracted an illness, a very rare and often fatal genetic disease. She had undergone several treatments, none of which had been positive. It was shortly after that Jin claimed her independence and joined the Special Services. Mok had then begun to withdraw from existence progressively. His character had changed; he grew sombre and pessimistic. He had come to the end of his work on secure systems. And then, at the end of last year, to everyone's surprise, he stepped out of active life. A young retiree of 48, generously rewarded by his country for outstanding services rendered to the nation. Since the beginning of the year, he had stayed most of the time locked up at home, by his child's bedside, refusing all visits and contacts with the outside. Jin had often reproached herself for not having given him enough support in his ordeal. But hadn't he refused her compassion every single time? Professor Mok was proud to the point of no longer wishing to see Jin since her leaving the laboratory. The wound was deep and refused to heal.

Zhou arrived shortly before 10 pm. As he entered the room, he took off his shoes and heavy coat before pressing Jin against his body, feeling a shiver.

'Where were you today?' enquired the young woman with concern, without really expecting an answer. 'Are you aware that...?'

Zhou had read the report. He stroked her back gently as Jin continued.

'Guo's police was out there to nab that Baxter. The hotel was plagued with American agents to protect him, and yet that woman managed to approach and liquidate him before we could interrogate him.'

'Who was that girl? Have you got any clues?'

'Not yet. She was from southern China. She spoke Cantonese.'

'Hong-Kong?'

'Not sure. A professional assassin. She used a very powerful poison, probably hidden in a hairpin she wore.'

'Who would want to kill that Baxter?' asked Zhou.

'Off hand, I would eliminate Guo's police; too visible on the scene. They wanted Baxter alive. So I would tip in favour of the CIA.'

'The CIA would have wanted to shut him up, is that what you're thinking?'

'It's the only explanation. Even if I find it hard to believe. I can't see the CIA bumping off an American agent in front of everyone without a good reason for it. It's not like them.'

'So who, then?' he enquired

'That's what we've got to find out. This business hides a mystery of capital importance.'

He had drawn her to him and stroked her breasts with both of his powerful hands, having slid them inside her pullover. He was behind her and murmured into her ears.

'Jin, these are nothing but suppositions.'

'Zhou, he had access to the teams that work with professor Mok. He was able to penetrate inside the most sensitive computer room of the country. They killed him because he was about to be unmasked.'

He let a few seconds pass before answering, still murmuring into Jin's ear.

'I want you to step out of this case...'

Jin was ready for everything. Except this. Give up the case! She turned round and faced him, her face marked with disbelief and incomprehension.

'But why?'

'Jin, let the enquiry follow its course. I've got other projects for you.'

'But you can't do this. It's priority. We've got to find out what this Baxter was doing in China.'

'Jin, I've got other priorities. Do you remember the GSP?'

'Of course, she replied reluctantly. Microsoft's Government Security Program. It's a public relations exercise of no interest. Surely you don't see it as a priority?' Jin put on a sulky pout.

'The program's entering a new phase. Microsoft wants to integrate security procedures developed in China into its future version of Windows. If Microsoft succeeds, if it manages to convince the government its solutions are reliable, we'll reduce our chances of blocking their path.'

'So. Why me? What am I supposed to do?' she asked, half reconciled, fearing to understand.

'Microsoft is bringing in one of their top brains, a genius. He's only 29, apparently. It's a sign the firm is taking matters very seriously and putting all the trumps in its hand to succeed. His name's Tom Bailey. He'll be here in two months. That's the time you've got left to prepare your mission.'

'I'll introduce you into the GSP group, and you're the one who's going to work with Tom Bailey.'

'But I don't know enough about Windows, nor the security procedures they're proposing to insert into it...'

He drew her into the bedroom and pushed her onto the bed while he finished undressing. He lay over her and pulled the heavy quilted duvet over their heads. He kissed her, nibbled her lips.

'You've worked with professor Mok. You're the best, you'll succeed... Security and digital rights are two highly strategic areas.'

The young woman's breath became quicker. When their lips parted an instant, he added:

'You're the one whose going to watch this young computer bod's every movement.'

'Yes,' she whispered into his ear, 'yes, yes.'

She crossed her legs behind him, against his lower back, then uncrossed them slowly moving down along his body. Their skins became moist and electric.

'So, the mission... do you accept it?'

'I don't suppose I've got any choice. But Zhou, you're making a mistake...Baxter...he was assassinated to cover up something very big...Baxter...'

Suddenly, she froze, clasping him like a limpet on a rock, mouth wide open drawing in air. The ensuing gasps took over her entire being.

Tokyo, Kabukicho district

End of January

The large Toyota minivan stopped in front of a karaoke bar in the Kabukicho district, not far from Shinjuku station. The six men got out, laughing noisily and speaking in broken English. Two Chinese, a Korean and three Japanese gathered under a cooperation treaty of their respective countries to develop an Asian version of Linux. They were computer scientists, specialists in Linux, the open source operating system which, they had been repeating since the start of the day, was going to knock a serious dent in the world domination by Microsoft and Windows. The six specialists had spent a week on improving Linux's handling of pictograms, kanji, and other hiragana characters, not forgetting the Korean alphabet; a task that was far from being a priority for Western Linux distributions.

The Japanese had entertained their colleagues for their last night in the Japanese capital. And what could tie people from Asia closer together than a karaoke club to shrug off the weariness and stress of those last days of intensive work? They entered the premises where they were welcomed by the usual mamasan in a kimono bowing in front of them. She led them into a private lounge which could accommodate about fifteen people in its large dark red velvet seats. The light was deliberately kept dim to maintain the cosy atmosphere of the place. They settled in comfortably. They had already generously accompanied their Japanese meal together with sake, but the evening was just getting started.

'Ho, go on, you choose the first song,' encouraged Kim the Korean.

They had decided to call each other by their surnames, generally shorter and easier to remember for the Japanese than their Chinese given names.

Ho Youfang had quickly become the life and soul of the group. He didn't need to drink much for his extraverted nature to take over.

Ho then showed off his talents as a public entertainer. The first notes rang out.

You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.

And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips.

A waitress in a kimono came into the room pushing a trolley and placed on the table three bottles of Black Label, some tumblers and sparkling drinks. Ho was standing in front of his colleagues, singing and miming the words of that dramatic song with all his body.

You've lost that lovin' feeling,

Whoa, that lovin' feeling,

You've lost that lovin' feeling,

Now it's gone... gone... gone... wooooooh.

Another mamasan, older than the first one, drew up close to Takagi, the head of the Japanese mission. He was the one treating his colleagues to this evening out. It was he who was to foot the bill at dawn.

She muttered a few words in his ear. There was mention of hostesses. The speciality of the house was the 'schoolgirl' look, a classic, an all-time favourite attire, and a guaranteed success among 'salary men'.

It was the Chinaman's turn to get up and sing. The third bottle of whisky was now only good for casting a message out at sea.

'Kampei!' called out the second Japanese, raising his glass of whisky and Coke.

'Kampei!' they all shouted out in unison.

Their cheeks were turning scarlet.

Hi hi hi, beautiful Sunday

This is my my my beautiful day

When you said said said said that you loved me

Oh my my my its a beautiful day.

The popularity of J-Pop and K-Pop had spread beyond the frontiers of their home countries, but hadn't yet hit the computer community. To their greatest delight, they were forced to dig up from the selection of international standards. The heavy door which deadened the sound opened once more. Half a dozen young girls in sailor outfits and navy blue pleated skirts entered in single file, followed by the inevitable mamasan.

Four of them sat on the quilted red velvet, receiving the favours of the two Chinese and the Korean; the Japanese men dutifully shared a respective girl each wearing long pigtails. Four fresh bottles of whisky and cans of soft drinks were brought in.

'Yamseng!' hollered Ho.

He was soon joined by his pal.

'Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamseng!,' re-echoed Ho.

He had lost count of the toasts he had raised, now to the 22-year-old little schoolgirl quietly seated against him, knees tight together, in her blue miniskirt, now to Takagi who had nothing to envy.

'To Linux, and to the day when it'll definitely replace Windows!' blurted out the Japanese.

This virtual declaration of war triggered off a chain reaction in poor Ho's head.

'And that day, it'll be China that will rise, I'm willing to bet on that; sooner than you think.' he stammered. 'We're on the verge of wiping Windows away from China...'

The girls were trained to watch the level of drink in the tumblers, which was to remain constant despite the succession of kampeis and yamsengs.

'To the downfall of Windows!' they all roared in chorus.

Takagi had also gone way over the limit. He turned an eye towards his colleagues. They were in the same state of drunkenness, fascinated by the hostess's clasped knees which they were all stroking gently.

'To Commissioner Lin Zexu!' roared out Ho once more.

Takagi this time became puzzled, contenting himself with sipping a dose of that Scottish poison.

Did he actually say 'Commissioner'?

It was now the turn for one of the girls, the one who kept company to the other Chinese, to show the extent of her talent, microphone in hand.

Feelings, nothing more than feelings

Trying to forget my feelings of hate

'To the Zin Lexu Group which'll boot Microsoft out of China!' shouted Ho.

He turned towards the girl and repeated his declaration. She smiled and nodded her head gently. She understood nothing but was very well paid for this.

'Who's this Lin whatchamacallit?' Takagi managed to slur.

He had to holler to cover the voice of the 'singer.'

Feelings, feelings like I never liked you

Feelings like I want to kill you

Live in my heart

Ho had said too much, but the alcohol had freed his tongue. An alarm signal rang in his brain but he didn't hear it.

'Lin Zexu' is a group, there's a whole group of us in China; we're going to ban Microsoft. Completely. Boot them out of China!'

To his left, Kim the Korean had pricked up his ears. Nothing of these confidences had escaped him, except the name of the character.

'Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaamseng!' intoned Ho.

The toast was raised by all, including the four Japanese hostesses filling the tumblers. The singer had just stopped. Ho continued in his momentum.

'To Commissioner Lin Zexu!'

'Yes, but who is this Lin?' enquired Kim.

'Lin Zexu, Lin Zexu...'

Ho tried to gather his thoughts. 'By the way, who was Lin Zexu?' he asked himself all of a sudden. He couldn't remember. He hesitated for a few moments, completely haggard, blanked out, before answering.

'He was the commissioner who put an end to the opium traffic in China. He chucked the British into jail. He burnt the opium, Lin Zexu!'

He picked up his tumbler.

'And now it's the turn for Windows, the new opium the Americans are sending us. We're going to ban it! Just like Lin Zexu! We're all Lin Zexus!'

The girls were delighted to see such animation.

'We've gotta ban the Windows opium,' they all repeated together, brandishing their glasses. One of the Japanese got up, microphone in hand. The other two Japanese were not sufficiently drunk to ignore the danger. The worst was to fear.

Takagi was almost stunned back into being sober again. He would have given anything not to have to endure him singing that:

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew.

But through it all, when there was doubt,

I ate it up and spat it out.

I faced it all and I stood tall;

And did it my way.

'Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamseng!,' screamed Ho from his left.

'I should have taken a hostess for myself too,' he thought to himself...

3. The Year of the Monkey

May the soft surpass the hard, may the weak surpass the strong

Lao Tse, sixth century BC

Beijing

February

Val Stenton turned up the collar of his raincoat. He hated those blasted Beijing winters. 'Why the hell did I leave California', he wondered as the icy cold bit him right to the bone. He would have been comfortably at home that night, watching the late show, had he not arranged to meet Santana Song, his deputy, his right-hand man.

It was Stenton's first winter in China. The CIA had posted him a few months earlier as head of Human Intelligence Gathering at their Beijing bureau.

Stenton had not returned to his home town of San Diego for a good few years. In fact, he was born 55 years earlier in Montana, but was only five when his father, a Navy officer, moved with his family to Southern California. His globetrotting had never ceased since he joined the Agency, with postings all around South East Asia, Japan and Korea. Whenever he left the Asian continent, it was only for a few days in Langley, Virginia, home of the CIA. With a career now spanning almost 30 years, the Agency regarded him as one of its top specialists in Asian affairs.

Of all the countries he had lived in, it was Indonesia that left him the strongest and most long-lasting impression. No doubt a lot of it had to do with the golden-brown skin and long silken hair of the local girls. And they, in turn explained why his marriage did not survive more than four years under these heady tropics. His wife, Alice, packed her bags and returned to the United States with their daughter Sally, who was only six at the time. Alice never managed to settle down in Asia. To her, that continent was a drug and pulled her sensitive nervous disposition to a state of depression. She just wasn't made for that sort of life. In this respect, she was neither the first nor the last person to be thrown off the rails by a distant foreign posting.

She remarried shortly afterwards to a Chicago business lawyer, a rather shady character who ditched her after just three years. There was no blaming the tropics this time. Little Sally had grown up and was now at university reading international relations and diplomacy, like daddy. In the past 15 years, she had often come over to Jakarta or Seoul to join him during the summer vacation. They were astonishingly close for a father and daughter who had never really lived together. Sally felt perfectly at home in Asia. She did not fear insects or monkeys and loved spicy food, expeditions in the Kalimantan jungle, scuba diving in the Sarawak coves ...

Stenton felt round his pocket and pressed the car key's unlock button as he approached his Lexus. It responded with a short welcoming beep and double flash from all its blinkers. A shudder ran through him as he settled in the cold, firm leather seat of the Japanese executive saloon. Immediately after turning on the engine, he switched the fan to the highest setting, stepped up the climate control to maximum temperature and adjusted the vents to direct the flow into his face and chest. He pressed the accelerator pedal to speed up the warming process and tried to soak up the hot dry air that was beginning to blow. As his tenseness melted away with the heat, Stenton slipped into a reverie, tucked cosily in his cocoon. His gaze fell upon the passers by, all warmly wrapped and walking hurriedly to pump some calories inside their chilled bodies.

What made him come to Beijing? He had got to an age when these changes were losing their appeal. The answer was... a woman. He had given in to friendly pressure from Lorna Green, just appointed there as head of the Asia Bureau at the Agency's Intelligence Directorate. It was a promotion to crown her previous achievements in India, a reward for her skills and efforts that were instrumental in normalising that country's relations with neighbouring Pakistan.

While Lorna Green knew the Indian subcontinent like the back of her hand and made it her second home, she just could not get to grips with China. She had an instinctive mistrust of that country, of its impenetrable and closed society, and even of the Agency's own men out there in the field, whom she was now in charge. She was quite aware they would grant her no favours simply for being a woman. That was why she wanted a man of confidence by her side, a man she could count on at all times. And the only person to fit the bill was good old Stenton, even if it meant dragging him from his comfortable pre-retirement posting in Japan. He accepted – or rather, he did not refuse. You just don't say no to Lorna! They were of the same generation and shared the same values. Both began their career together as spies over 30 years back, under Nixon. The Vietnam War was the preoccupation of the time, and they were given missions to neutralise left-wing agitators and anti-war militants infiltrated into the American territory by the KGB to undermine the administration's policies. How the world had changed since those days!

China. That had become the number one obsession of the present administration. There were always things brewing up there, and the Agency was to sense the mood of the Politburo members and leaders of the State Council – no mean feat in the world's most opaque nation. China was for them as inscrutable as a meditating monk.

The spate of terrorist attacks on US soil had painfully revealed the limits of total reliance on so-called Electronic Intelligence Gathering. The agency had since gone back to the good old 'human' intelligence gathering methods. And Stenton, like those of his generation, knew all the ins and outs of traditional spying. Moreover, his deep knowledge of China made him the ideal man for the job.

In recent years, Korea, Japan and China had sought a convergence of their technologies, and this alliance was going much too far to Washington's liking. The Chinese market was bringing much-needed oxygen into the Japanese economy. As for Korea and Taiwan, these two dragons were irresistibly drawn by the sheer mass of the Chinese giant.

And it did not stop there. A new form of Far-Eastern nationalism was beginning to rise to the surface, a dangerous cocktail of thirst for revenge and severance from the West, topped with new ambitions on a global scale. If unchecked, this wave would slowly but surely carry away America's best allies in the region – Japan and Korea – from being their natural protector to forging new alliances with their awesome neighbour. This trend could already be observed in several fields of technology: electronics, computing and telecommunications, not to mention fundamental research. In all these sectors, the three Asian countries sometimes made no bones of their connivance and common interests, even at the risk of upsetting the United States.

It was to wonder whether America, with its blinkered eyes trained on the geopolitical landscape of the oil-producing Middle-Eastern countries, had not neglected its western flank, from where tomorrow's threats and challenges were in fact most likely to come. Fortunately, it could always lay its hopes on regional antagonisms, rivalry and historical contentions to allay its worst fears. All the countries in that region regarded China both as a lure and a predator. For instance, its political rapprochement with Tokyo failed the test of time: the Chinese people nurtured too much resentment towards the Japanese nation. The age-old bitterness seeped through and rotted all the bridges that had been painstakingly built by the politicians. The US greeted this fiasco with a sigh of relief. The Japanese, for their part, also considered themselves vastly superior to the other Asian nations and were not minded to be so easily supplanted by the Chinese. In Taiwan, the population saw the mirage of a peaceful return to the mother country recede and give way to nationalistic fervour for independence – again a welcome political change for the US strategists.

And thus, from Hokkaido to Sumatra, China was growingly perceived as a menacing ogre to be constantly watched and kept in check.

All this promised a rich crop of conflicts that would shield America from the risks of having these Asian Nations create alliances and form a united front.

It had just turned 11 p.m. when Stenton forced himself back into the real world. Spotting a lull in the traffic, he pulled out and headed along the window-lit boulevard. He was heading for the diplomatic district of Sanlitun, which also had a large concentration of late-night bars. He had his favourites. The bar he picked that night was also one of Santana Song's haunts. Stenton could always rely on him whenever it came to crossing the red line. Song had his little army of over thirty agents beneath him, all recruited by the CIA and working under cover in various public and ministerial bodies around Beijing.

Song was an unsavoury character, a necessary evil who had been neglected by Stenton's predecessor, a man with little taste for his unorthodox methods. Song's father was Chinese, a native of Hunan, while his mother was born in Macau of a Eurasian family with Portuguese origins. It was said that she gave him the name Santana on account of her fondness of the eponymous Latino rock band. But much to her dismay, this son preferred making sounds with a 45 mm calibre gun than a guitar. He would certainly have become a gang member or a hit man had the CIA not recruited him 10 years before. He was a cool cat, crafty, never short of ideas and never weighed down by compunction when it came to killing. He was recommended by an old friend of Stenton's, an ex-member of the Agency who had spent nearly all his working life in Beijing. Stenton always felt grateful for this to his friend, who had since joined the NSA.

One of Stenton's jobs – and perhaps one of the most sensitive – was to keep track of Microsoft's relations with China: two titans vying for global dominance.

Being the monopolistic giant that it was, Microsoft approached China as if it entered conquered territory. It gave itself the role of first showing those little Chinese the wonders of computing and then beauty of the Internet. And it attached a high price tag to that mission. Microsoft's condescending attitude hardly helped it establish a positive corporate image. In fact, it understood nothing of Chinese culture and – worse – did not even appear to want to.

This haughty attitude did not stop the Chinese from adopting Microsoft. With a piracy rate in the region of 90%, the software editor's penetration into the Chinese market could indeed be regarded as successful. To the Chinese, Microsoft's incursion was perceived as the modern form of the 19th century opium trade, where the drug was handed out to the masses in the view of subjecting them. From this perspective, the Chinese saw it as a civil duty to make illegal copies of Microsoft's software. In short, they did not refuse the company's opium; they simply refused to pay for it. There lay the difference.

Of course, free – or open source – software was not foreign to the Chinese, in particular the Linux operating system. But, as in other emerging countries such as Brazil and India, it did not go beyond some niche applications and never reached the general public. By contrast with those countries, the Chinese government harboured a form of suspicion towards Microsoft that verged on paranoia. Some members of the government's administration imagined that they were constantly spied upon the moment they switched on a Microsoft program, even if it was such a benign application as PowerPoint.

Much of this was fuelled by old conspiracy theories concerning a secret backdoor through which ill-intentioned people could gain access to an online PC. The popular belief held that nothing could be easier than to bundle into Windows OS some undetectable code providing a secret passage, whereby foreign agencies could peer into any PC and even control the nation's computers. Stenton himself was convinced the NSA would jump at the possibility of remotely accessing and controlling any computer worldwide. After all, the US administration could easily have imposed this magic backdoor on Microsoft in exchange for turning a blind eye to abuses from its dominant position. Such a win-win deal was too tempting to be refused...

And now China and USA were both head-to-head contenders for the number one world superpower position. In its bid to conserve that title, the latter adopted the strategy of strengthening its military and economic superpower status. China, on the other hand, regarded the confrontation as a revenge over its past, a fight to acquire the world leading position it should always have had.

For China remained persuaded that the western world – i.e. the United States – was at the centre of a plot to rob it of the greatness and prosperity it rightly deserved.

'What extraordinary lack of self-confidence from a civilisation dating back over 5000 years,' thought Stenton as he churned these thoughts in his mind. He tried to gauge how much today's collective consciousness still suffered from the ravages of China's enforced opening of its frontiers to foreign traders after losing the Opium War – a situation also endured by Japan with Commodore Perry's gunboats.

He knew the humiliation of these disastrous episodes was passed on from generation to generation, nurturing a desire for revenge and recognition, never satisfied, never appeased.

The main European nations had proved their superiority in technology, military hardware and industrial capacity. China learnt that it was to be in those fields that it should restore its prestige.

Stenton slammed the car door behind him and walked at a brisk pace, head bowed to shelter from the cold night air. The bar he was heading for was discreet and safe... and warm.

The Eurasian was already there, slumped in a crimson couch inside a small private booth decorated like a 19th century opium den. On the low table in front of him stood a bottle of Jack Daniels with a good third already missing and dry roasted peanuts and crisps in red lacquered bowls. Next to him, sitting sidelong on her heels, was a young girl in a provocatively short mini skirt making a half-hearted attempt at massaging his shoulders and arm muscles. If she was professionally skilled, it was obviously not in therapeutic massages. Seeing Stenton arrive, Song pushed her roughly aside and signalled her to leave.

'Hi, Santana – sorry if I picked an awkward moment!'

Stenton was one of a few who called him by his Christian name. Most refrained from any form of intimacy, rebutted by the ruthlessness in his expression, highlighted by his short-cropped hair and pockmarked skin, a legacy from a badly treated childhood disease. But what struck people most was the incredible mobility of his small pale eyes, always darting around on the lookout, as if he were about to commit a crime. He may not have been a beguiling character, but it was better to count him as a friend.

'Any news on this Baxter business?'

'Nope, nothing at all. Apparently no-one's convinced he died from over-exertion while on the job. But this conclusion seems to suit both governments. In any case, no-one knows who orchestrated it all. This Baxter guy isn't in any of our catalogues.'

'Hasn't Langley found anything on him?'

'Nope. They've got next to nothing in their files. Only that he was a scientist working for IBM and involved in programming for genetic engineering. It looks like Beijing's fretting over nothing.'

'And what do you make of all this?'

The Eurasian put on a knowing look.

'If you ask me, look no further than Chinese security.'

'You mean the secret police?'

'No, not the secret police. Their men were called out all over the hotel, you could smell them a mile off. That's not the way they'd go about if they wanted to physically eliminate Baxter.'

'So who, then?'

'I'd put my money on Chinese counterespionage. They got a false alert from their embassy in Washington but didn't take it seriously. Seeing the secret police had beaten them to it, they set about to mount a 'homicide' operation that turned sour in the end.

Stenton remained dubious. This matter was niggling him. He needed the key element to solve the mystery.

'What about the girl?'

'No-one knows her either. The Chinese police aren't leaking out anything on that.'

Song poured Stenton a generous glass of whisky and grimaced in guise of a smile. Seeing no point in pursuing the matter, Stenton moved on to another subject.

'Now, Santana, I've come across some disturbing information. Two days ago, there was a big meeting at the Ministry of Information Industries and guess what it was all about?'

'Pornography over the Internet? No? ... Okay, give me another guess. Microsoft?'

'Right. It was all hush-hush. No agenda, no minutes, as if it were never supposed to have taken place. It gathered some of the top brass from a good half-dozen state institutes, and even a few ministries...'

Stenton dropped two ice cubes into his glass and took a large sip. The liquor seemed to glow as it went down and helped him unwind. Feeling loosened, he continued with marked agitation:

'Microsoft yet again! And always the same obsessive themes: the rallying calls for technological independence, the refusal to accept foreign standards... all that crap. I managed to get hold of a short summary of what was discussed from a contact ...'

'And I suppose we had all the usual suspects present: all the top notch and representatives of the Public Security Ministry, the Centre for Security Certification, not to mention one or two of their damned institutes.'

'But it's always the same person who seems to be pulling the strings: the director of Standards and Regulations, a certain Bao Yutai. Being in this position, he can be really dangerous.'

Song tried to play things down:

'Give over! He's due for retirement in two years. You don't think he's going to take any risks, do you? I know these civil servants and, believe me, I can't see him orchestrating all this.'

Stenton had a perplexed expression. He lifted his eyes and rested his gaze on the girl in a miniskirt, now perched on a bar stool.

\- Does the name 'Lin Zexu' mean anything to you?

\- Nope, never heard of it.

'And they say the Chinese all have a passion for history...,' thought Stenton.

'Tell me now,' asked Stenton with marked interest, 'what was your family doing in Macau during the Opium War?'

The Eurasian feigned to gather his thoughts and then blurted out angrily:

'Hey, you leave my family out it! We never traded in opium back home! OK, we weren't all angels and some of us got involved in prostitution and illegal gambling. But selling drugs and destroying ordinary folk ...never!'

As he spoke, Song seized the bottle of bourbon and shook it threateningly at an uncomfortable distance from Stenton's face.

'And what if I asked you what your family was doing during the Prohibition in Chicago? Was it running illegal gambling dens or distilling bootleg?'

'Lin Zexu was in fact a customs official,' said Stenton trying to calm things down and not to sound patronising.

'Well you need have no fears on that score, there aren't any customs officials in my family, that's for sure!'

'Don't worry, I believe you! This Lin Zexu was a solid and honest guy, someone you could call an untouchable, since you mentioned the Prohibition! I can't imagine you having family ties with him. For your knowledge, it was this customs official who, in 1839, set about to end the opium trade the British were conducting.

'What about it?'

Stenton was no longer in the mood for humouring his companion.

'Well, that's where you come into the scene. I want you to dig up asap all you can possibly lay your hands on concerning a secret organisation that calls itself the 'Lin Zexu Group'. They're pushing from the sidelines for China's outright rejection of all international standards.'

Santana Song was slightly piqued at discovering his ignorance of this subversive group from Stenton's mouth.

'A secret organisation, you say! And where did you get that from?'

'Not from your agents, that's for sure! It came from one of our Korean agents who overheard it from one of his very own members during a gathering in Tokyo. They'd all been over-indulging in sake at some karaoke bar, I gather.'

'And so this 'Lin Zexu Group' wants to fight against Windows, is that right?'

'You get the drift. And I think we both know the name of one of its members.'

This time, the Eurasian had no trouble in identifying the character.

'Don't tell me, Bao Yutai, the Director of Standards and Regulations?'

'You got it. Your doddery civil servant about to retire. I just can't see him in that role, mind you. Now it's up to us to pick up the pieces of the puzzle and get the general picture.'

Stenton poured himself another bourbon – this one in memory of his hypothetical bootlegging forbear of the 1930s – and went on to top up Song's glass.

'Assuming this Bao's a member of the 'Lin Zexu Group', I guess we can just put him under watch to follow the thread. That way, we'll get to the core and neutralise their actions; you OK with that?'

'Fine by me.'

They clinked glasses for the umpteenth time.

'And that's where I want your agent to come in. You know, the one I asked you to plant inside the Ministry of Information Industries.'

'The guy's been placed there for over two weeks, now. He's been given the job of setting up a new accountancy system there, would you believe! We just told him that he was spying for the Federation of Computer Industries, nothing more.'

Stenton did not wish to know his name. His confidence in Song in these matters was total. He could count on his skills.

'Where did you get hold of him?'

'It's a guy I picked for the job precisely because he isn't employed at the Ministry. He's an outside contractor they hired as a consultant. We dug into his past and found he was involved in some dodgy business a few years back in Nanjing - fraud, corruption, that sort of thing... He ran away leaving his wife and daughter behind and tried to find work in Beijing. We couldn't hope for anything better. We held a file that thick over his head... and his greed did the rest. What's more, he seems to have acquired a taste for spying. He's a real two-faced pathetic little creep... Exactly what we need. We gave him the minimum possible information - he should be okay.'

'We've got to put him to task right away. I want him to camp outside Bao Yutai's office and stay all day in there. I want to know how he spends every minute of his day and every person he contacts...'

Stenton made a sign to beckon the girl on the bar stool. When she got close to him, he asked her in a soft voice whether she had a female friend, now they were two... Within a few seconds a second local beauty in tight jeans joined the party and nonchalantly passed an arm around the American's shoulders as she sat close to him. The work meeting had come to an end.

Beijing, February

Ministry of Information Industries

'Everything is possible this year for the agile monkey.'

Yapping knew it, this was going to be her year. Not that the previous one had been so bad for her – or at least her happy, easy-going nature couldn't see anything to complain about. But it had been a dull, monotonous year without any real highlights. In fact, she would have been hard put to invoke a single meaningful event in her life over the past 12 months. She had settled into a comfortable routine, like into an old pair of slippers. Of course, Yaping had been yearning for something else; she wanted a makeover in her lifestyle, some action, surprises and – why not? – romance.

She had spent the previous evening surfing astrology sites on the net, trying to discover what good things were in store. She had selected some material on her sign to print out and show to her office colleagues at the ministry.

Standing inside the crowded bus that morning, she read through the articles: 'Those born in the year of the monkey are funny, lovable and fun loving, always full of beans. Monkeys are also very astute...'

That was her exactly!

She looked at another: 'Monkeys love having fun, going out and partying. They are adorable creatures, always full of energy. Their happy and outgoing disposition always guarantees they'll be the heart and soul of the party.'

Yaping let out a triumphant smile. They had got it so right! She was always so popular; everyone just wanted to be with her! She was constantly amazed by the accuracy of astrology. How could it describe people so precisely without personal contact with them?

She picked another sheet: 'Monkeys love socialising and lead very active lives.'

Now this site didn't get it quite right. Of course, Yaping did go out, quite often in fact, but always among her secretary colleagues at the Ministry of Information Industries. They had fun and giggled and laughed at everything. Usually, they would go out to the huge shopping mall near the Ministry and browse around the many fashionable clothes shops. They would spend hours listening to pop music while flicking through magazines. Then they would go to one of their favourite cheap restaurants and order chicken with fried noodles or duck with Cantonese rice. Occasionally, to ring the changes, they would go to an American fast food chain outlet to have a pizza, hamburgers or just a coffee. It sometimes made her wonder what people did before these shopping centres.

Spending the evening with these friends was all well and good, but it not lead up to very much.

She turned to another article: 'Monkeys can forgive even if they never forget.'

If only it could be true of her! Of course, she knew she was good natured, but there were limits. When people deliberately took advantage of her generosity or played mean tricks on her, she could bear a grudge that simply would not go away. Perhaps people should talk about 'having a monkey's memory'! She was particularly sensitive about her professional attitude. Woe betides anyone who put it into question or even joked about it. As a perfectionist, her work was irreproachable despite the amount piled upon her. She was always snowed under with files, specifications and minutes of meetings to write up. In fact, she worked for two persons: her direct boss, Tang Jinghua, the head of the software section of the Regulations Department, and Bao Yutai, the director of the whole department, for whom she also acted as secretary.

Yaping had an innate gift for putting things away neatly and tidily. She could instantly retrieve even the oldest of dockets that poor Mr. Tang would hunt around for ages among the scattered piles all over his desk.

From another printout she read: 'What others think matters little to Monkeys.'

That was plain wrong! She wondered whether the writer had not got his signs mixed up.

Finally: 'They have a lively love life....'

Now that was going too far, a sheer waste of paper and expensive printer ink.

And that ended her morning read; she was almost at the end of her daily bus journey to work. The young woman got off at the next stop, conveniently just opposite the entrance to the Information Industries Ministry building. It was now time to put away her astrological musings and get ready for a day's work.

Yaping raised her eyes from the screen. A man had just entered her office, almost noiselessly, and stood awkwardly at some distance. He had an elegant expression, a straight nose and glossy jet-black hair combed towards the back. 'He must use hair gloss to get such shiny hair', she thought to herself.

His large frame, flat stomach and wide shoulders could not hide his bashfulness. He was obviously looking for someone, and almost seemed apologetic about his presence. Yaping beamed a warm, welcoming smile at him.

'Hello, what can I do for you?'

'Oh, good morning, I'm Li Cheng from the accountancy department. We're in the process of setting up new accountancy procedures and I'm afraid I have to go round all the Ministry departments to draw up a list of the changes to be implemented...'

Yaping devoured him with her eyes. She always melted in front of men who let their feelings show, who were strong yet fragile at the same time, both vulnerable and protective, just as she couldn't stand swaggering, overconfident males.

'I hate to disappoint you, but I'm afraid we don't do accountancy in this department. Our job is to draft specifications for standards used in computer equipment and telecommunications.'

A look of dismay flashed through his face. She felt sorry for him and regretted having been so negative. Fortunately, he wasn't short of arguments.

'Well, actually, everyone does some accountancy, even if they're not always aware of it.'

'I suppose you're right!'

'I'm sure your department has to keep accurate accounts. I imagine you have to keep trace of disbursements, manage your operating budget, etc.'

'Yes, of course. You're right,' she said.

'And I'm sure that at the end of the month you have to fill out your boss's expenses form, unless I'm mistaken.'

'Yes, you're absolutely right! Come to think of it, I do indeed dabble in accountancy a bit!'

The young woman was delighted at discovering this. Then she added, with a hint of apprehension in her voice:

'So, you've got some new methods to teach me?'

'I'm very much afraid so... we have to change everything from top to bottom... but perhaps I should first explain our training program to your boss?'

'Oh don't worry about that. First, I've got two bosses and both have complete confidence in me. I can take care of explaining all this to them and how important your mission is.'

'That man is so polite, so nice and well educated. What a change from all the guys who usually ask me out,' she thought.

'And how can I contact you, Cheng?'

There would be no risk of her loosing the number of his office extension...

'Oh, well in fact I'm the one who's supposed to call you, Miss...'

'Yaping. My other name's Li, just like you ...Li Yapping!'

'Well, Yaping, I'd be delighted to organise your training schedule. Perhaps we can see each other again next week.'

Cheng knew he had to tread softly, play 'hard to get'. His fish had scented the bait and was swimming about excitedly; he now had to wait for it to home in and take its final bite. So far, everything was turning out just fine.

Reluctantly, Jin had resumed her work at the Chinese Science Academy's software research Institute.

She kept thinking of the Baxter affair. Who exactly was this IBM scientist sent to Beijing on a mission for the NSA, the National Security Agency? What was his real role? What could have been that mission so important to warrant bumping him off as he was about to be unmasked?

Two questions haunted her: 'what was he doing in Beijing?' and 'what was his real function?'

For the past month, she had been analysing the source code of the Chinese security module. Both Microsoft and the Chinese controlling body, the CNITSEC, agreed to integrate it into the new version of the operating system. If only those obsessive questions would stop impeding her much much-needed concentration for that task... She kept running through the facts: one, a compromising character had been eliminated, two, the hotel at the time was swarming with agents of Commander Guo's secret police and three, there were almost as many security agents from the American services at the time. Despite this formidable deployment, 'they' had decided – and managed – to kill Baxter on that night. Who could have pulled off such a feat? The NSA? But why then would the Americans have dispatched so many of their people to protect him? Or could it be that the NSA was acting alone and informed and no-one of that mysterious mission. No-one?

Jin shook herself back to the lines of code displayed on the monitor. She had to be ready before the arrival of that Tom Bailey, the star programmer sent by Microsoft to take part in the GSP sessions. From what she had gathered from his track record, he was bound to be another one of those acne-faced introverted and unsociable geeks...

Several days had passed since their first meeting. Cheng spotted his prey from afar, sitting at one of the long Formica tables at the Ministry canteen. With his tray in hand, he made his way up to Yaping and put on that bashful air that worked so well with girls.

'Do you mind if I sit with you?'

Yaping could hardly contain her thrill at this unexpected encounter. And in the presence of her work colleagues! She was flanked by two secretaries from other departments who tried hard not to appear to be looking at the young man.

'No, by all means do! These are my friends, Weileng and Xiufong,' she said putting a hand lightly on their shoulders. 'And this is Cheng,' she said giggling as the new arrival nodded his head by way of greeting.

She was clearly taking great delight at introducing this handsome young man, and was trying to recall if she had already mentioned him to them.

As he seated himself, Cheng spotted next to one of the trays a magazine opened at the horoscopes page. He did a quick reckoning: according to his fact file, the girl was born in 1980, so that would make her a monkey. That would be a good conversation opener...

'Ha ha, I see you've been reading the horoscopes, what does this new year hold in store for us?'

'Are you into astrology, Cheng?' broke in Yaping excitedly.

'Bull's eye!' thought Cheng.

'No, not really. All I know is we changed sign a few days ago, but that's about as far as it goes, I'm afraid!'

'That's right, we're now in the year of the monkey, and so everything'll be possible for us monkeys!'

'Well, I guess you'll have to make the most of it... try out new things and seize new opportunities.'

'You can bet on it! If I could step into the unknown now, I'd leap right away! And what about you, what's your sign?'

Cheng pretended to think for a moment, pinching his chin between his fingers.

'I'm not too sure... I was born in 1972... would that make me a rat? I've been told before but I still get mixed up with these creatures.'

The young girl quickly grabbed the magazine and checked for his sign, her two friends dipping in as she feverishly turned the pages. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at him in amazement.

'That's right, you are a rat!'

Cheng feigned indifference and continued calmly to prepare a new mouthful of noodles with his chopsticks. He had cheated a little over his age, but it was all for a good cause. He had carefully checked beforehand the best matches for different signs. For a monkey, it was a rat, so he had to produce the corresponding year within his age group.

'He's rat!' repeated Yaping in her mind.

Cheng put on an air of concern and looked on either side of him, as if to make sure no-one had heard that revelation. After all, he was not to know that this should be regarded as complimentary, let alone complementary.

'Well? Is there something wrong with that?'

'No, no, that's fine! There's no such thing as a bad sign, in fact. They're just different, that's all.' She was blushing under the emotion. 'A rat, how incredible, Cheng is a rat!' She could hardly believe it. A monkey and a rat, she knew, formed the best couple of the whole astrological zoo. She had once read that there was 98% compatibility between monkeys and rats – what better guarantee of love and harmony could she hope for? She now felt terribly embarrassed for openly revealing what amounted to an intimate detail. It was as if all the looks had converged upon her and everyone guessed her secret! She quickly changed the subject.

'And... when will you come over to show us you all new accountancy procedures?'

Her two colleagues were both very interested in accountancy.

'Oh, so you're going to train all the secretaries?' exclaimed one.

'I'd dearly love to, but I'm afraid I don't have the time; I can only train one or two people in each department. Then, in turn, they'll have to pass on the information to the others. So far, for the Standards and Regulations department, I've already chosen Yaping.'

The two other girls exchanged disappointing looks between them.

Yaping had been waiting for too long; the question was burning her lips, she just had to know.

It was now three weeks since they had met and she still knew nothing about that charming young man's personal life. Cheng was a bachelor – her female instinct told her that – but surely he had a steady or a sweetheart... It was not that he was particularly mysterious, he was in fact quite open, but his shyness made him refrain from evoking much about his private life.

And so she had decided to get to the bottom of it. She seized the opportunity at the end of a training session on travel expenses by dropping a well-rehearsed innocent question:

'Is your wife an accountant, too, Cheng?'

Hardly a model of subtlety, but it was the best she could think of.

'I... I'm not married,' he blurted, feeling a pang of shame at the enormity of that lie.

'Oh,' she said with mock surprise, it's just that I thought a smart young man like you would have been spoilt for choice.

Cheng bowed his head down in an attempt to appear modest, and also to hide his uneasiness.

'In fact, I've only had very few relationships and, to be honest, only one that really mattered to me.'

The poignancy of that statement and its delivery caught even Cheng by surprise. He raised his head slowly and saw Yaping's searching look marked with compassion. He continued, wondering if there was not an undiscovered budding actor hidden in him.

'Yes, we were both very much in love, or at least I was, but it didn't work out.'

Yaping touched his forearm lightly.

'We knew each other since high school... it seemed as if we were made for one another... and started really going out together at University. And then, seven years ago, when we were in Nanjing, I came back one day to the apartment we were sharing and there... there she was in the company of another man...'

Yaping's features reverberated with compassion and tenderness as she took in these words.

'I... I felt as if the ground had dropped... it broke my heart. I think it was only then I realised I loved her more than myself.'

All this was so awful, yet so beautiful, just like in the romances she read in magazines. She blinked a few times as she felt her eyes moisten.

'I just couldn't believe it was all over. For the next three or four years, I did everything I could to try to win her back. Sometimes she would swear it was really me she loved and we'd get back together, but each time it never lasted more than a few months.'

Cheng was now almost enjoying playing this role. He looked at Yaping intently, putting on an air of sincerity as he meted out some personal philosophy:

'You see, Yaping, for me, love has to be exclusive... uncompromising. It's the total fusion between two beings.'

'My exact vision of what love is all about', thought Yaping.

'And... what happened in the end?'

'The heartache was just too much. It was eating me up from inside. I was living like a zombie. When I was at my lowest ebb, my closest friends encouraged me to turn a new leaf. I was lucky in this respect... they gave me a lot of support, helped me sever all links with the past and start a new life. And that's how I came to leave Nanjing and land myself here in Beijing.'

He seemed utterly devastated and helpless. Yaping instinctively felt like taking him in her arms to console him.

'And wasn't there another woman who came by to make you forget all that?'

'The pain is still too present for the moment. I need some more time for the wound to heal, for the pain to subside. For me, it's like it happened yesterday.'

'Now, I know you may not realise this just now, but I'm sure if you found yourself a woman who really, really loved you, you'd very quickly find a taste for life again...'

By then, Cheng looked totally dejected, without having to act.

'Thanks. I know you're right... but would I ever be able to fall in love again?'

4. The Trial

'You are what you hide...'

Beijing, Ministry of Science and Technology.

Bao Yutai, the director of the Department at the Ministry of Information Industries, had turned up in person. That was unusual. Indeed, the nationalistic members of the 'Lin Zexu group' like Bao himself, generally refrained from holding gatherings. But on that particular occasion, it was Bao himself who had instigated the meeting with a select group of directors from the major ministries and state institutes. It had been planned in the utmost secrecy and arranged to be held at the premises of the Ministry of science and technology. The agenda contained just one item: 'to discuss the merits of software piracy'.

Bao began the proceedings by going straight to the point.

'As you know already, we have a very high level of piracy here in China, something in the region of 90%. Is this something to blush about? No. Rather, it should alert you to the dangers lurking behind that fact, and the dangers I'm talking about are for China, not Microsoft!'

The opening statement caused a start among those present. Bao Yutai used it to mark a carefully orchestrated pause to let it sink in. Dull clicking sounds filled the room as those words were typed on the laptops nearly everyone had brought with them.

'Of course, you should know that China is by no means an isolated case in this matter. The level of piracy in the United States isn't negligible either – in excess of 30% according to the latest estimates.'

One of the attendees burst out:

'The retail price of software is way too expensive for Chinese consumers. There's absolutely no sense in maintaining such high prices in emerging countries.'

'You're absolutely right,' Bao answered, pleased to see he was finding support. In fact, we should be asking ourselves: what is the real prejudice suffered by the software editors due to this piracy? If we are to believe the official industry figures, piracy worldwide costs 250 billion dollars. Now, I'm not saying it doesn't incur any lost earnings, but these figures in no way reflect the actual losses, if only because the pirates are in any case insolvent.'

Grasping the full significance of this argument, one of the industry and commerce administration directors stood up and said, as if he wanted to hear a confirmation:

'If I get this right, we should rid ourselves of all feelings of guilt over piracy?'

'Absolutely, it is precisely this guilty feeling that makes us vulnerable. It puts us in a weak position. Not only is it unjustified when you analyse the situation rationally, but it's also dangerous. Why? Let me explain it to you, if you can bear with me for a few minutes. Whenever Microsoft decides to conquer a country, it deploys a strategy that can be broken down into two phases.

The first is to block out the market to competitors, and the second is to exploit the resulting monopoly. Or, if you prefer, first get the maximum number of users hooked to your OS software, even if that means giving it away, and then reap all the benefits of this stronghold in a financial context purged of all competitors.'

The audience was lapping up his words.

'As far as Microsoft is concerned, piracy at present is 100% beneficial. It's a godsend! It lets them flood the market with their own software and so create a huge loyal customer base. This tactic brings them a fortune; not just here in China, but in each of the emerging countries: India, Indonesia, Latin America, Russia... In other words, one quarter of mankind! Where, in the past, proselyte religions had to resort to weapons and physical constraint to swell the number of their followers, Microsoft achieves the same thing for its Windows operating system through a form of a viral marketing, a form of marketing that feeds on the acknowledged need for uniformity and standardisation. Microsoft is cornering the market and leaving no foothold for its competitors.'

The chairman of the State Reform and Development directorate had difficulty in fully grasping the scope of what he was hearing.

'There's something I don't understand,' he exclaimed. 'You're effectively saying that Microsoft is actually standing to gain from the piracy of its own products!'

'Exactly. It's piracy that enables Microsoft to retain its monopoly. But, what's worse, it has allowed that firm to spread its monopoly to different layers of the population. It's managed to do what no other brand offering products at very low marginal cost has ever achieved – having two different selling prices: a high one for those who can afford it, and a zero price for those who can't. So you have, coexisting in the same territory, both an ultra-lucrative market and a give-away product market. The latter serves to prevent any potential rival from appearing on the scene. Unless, of course, it also happens to be a free product itself. And with the former market – the paying one – Microsoft rakes in all the dividends that come from the monopoly it's created.'

Another member broke in:

'If we're to follow your argument through, we should in effect ban piracy on the grounds that it stifles free competition!'

'You've hit the nail right on the head. A product that has no market value, like a pirated CD-ROM, cannot bring about competition. The only competing product for Windows happens to free – Linux. And in any case, it's hardly making any inroads. Which just goes to show that the laws of free market economy don't apply here!'

They all burst out in hearty laughter at the absurdity of the situation, whatever their feelings towards Microsoft may have been.

'You could even say that Linux isn't really the competing OS for the official version of Windows, but only for its pirated version!'

'So piracy effectively works in favour of Microsoft?' asked another director, still surprised by this paradox.

'Of course it does. Piracy is used here as a marketing tool, like any other. And an incredibly powerful one at that, especially in the emerging countries. You just need to peg up the price for the legally-sold products sufficiently high to spawn a pirated product supply system that will then thrive with uncanny effectiveness. The pirated CDs are copied and packaged with industrial machinery and distributed via an extremely efficient network. Their point of sale network would make any professional distributor green with envy. All it takes is a trestle table and – hey presto! – you have a high street sales outlet. They can be dotted all over the place – go to any busy thoroughfare, train or bus station – they're all swarming with pirated CD sellers. It's perfectly illegal but who cares – these tens of thousands of unofficial retailers constitute a formidable army serving Microsoft's strategy of conquering the emerging markets. Piracy is their ultimate weapon.

You have to understand that Microsoft software users are the Redmond firm's lifeblood. In the short term, it doesn't matter if users have paid for the licence or not. What counts is their potential value as future paying customers. Because, when a user has acquired any software, he does more than simply use it; he in fact adopts it. As he familiarises himself with its look and feel, he'll become increasingly reluctant to switch to another competing product. Migrating from a computer environment in which you feel at home to another can be regarded as a traumatic experience. Of course, the extent of the trauma varies from one person to another, but it always brings discomfort, if not plain suffering. You see, getting to grips with a software takes time and training. The amount of each varies according to the individual, but it's always a constraint. As with all software systems, you have to force yourself and struggle at first before you really master it. For any user, whether he be a professional or not, getting on top of your machine is always felt like a victory, a conquest, an achievement. When he gets there, a user inevitably feels some pride and satisfaction. Now, if at that point, you were to force him to change his working environment, you'd inflict a traumatic experience on him, exactly as with any other worker you'd force to give up the very tool with which he feels at one to express his skills. He will suddenly lose all confidence in himself. He will be ridden with doubts in his confidence and ability to dominate his environment. Before long, he'll be lost, possibly overcome with shame at not being able to adapt.

Because, do you really think that the ability to adapt, that marvellous faculty that was disastrously lacking in the dinosaurs, is a natural attribute of we humans? Don't bet on it! The worst trick you can do to your secretary, no matter how competent she is, is to order her to give up all her work tools and familiar working procedures that make up her working environment in favour of a totally new system. Of course, she wouldn't want to lose face and will gracefully acquiesce, play the game and even show feigned enthusiasm in implementing these changes. But don't be fooled, you could never imagine the torment you'd be putting the poor girl through.'

As Bao paused a little too regain his breath, a Secretary-General burst out truculently in a haughty tone:

'My dear friend, I have personally learnt to drive a car many years ago, but I'm still capable of adapting from one model to another. Believe me, when I changed my old Toyota for a Lexus, any trauma – to use your expression – I might have had from the unfamiliar smell of fine-grain leather and the smooth touch of the precious wood fascia very quickly evaporated. When you've learnt how to drive a car, you know how to drive them all, don't you think? Novelty is the spice of life, as they say.'

The room seemed to side along with the Secretary-General's sound common sense, and began to fill with a rumble as each attendant came up with a personal anecdote tending to shoot down in flames Bao's wildly exaggerated argumentation.

'In marketing jargon, the latter continued, this first phase is called ''locking''. He was eager to bring his audience back into his mind frame, having sensed the mood swing to open criticism after the Secretary's teasing words. 'It consists in taking control of the market by letting pirate networks distribute their software for free.'

The Secretary-General, clearly intent on upstaging the speaker, once more cut him short:

'A bit like a fisherman who throws fish around his boat in order to draw other fish and catch them in his net? Or like a drug dealer who gets his victims hooked on hard stuff by first handing out softer drugs?'

The last comparison was not to everyone's taste and caused a wild stir among the audience.

'What you've just mentioned is none other then tactics that led to the Opium War in China. For goodness sake, we're not in the 19th century any more!' exhorted one of the Administration's directors.

Bao kept his calm, his face impassive as he concentrated. Not even the slightest wrinkle appeared on his marble-smooth forehead. He was inside his bubble.

'Your analogy is far from absurd. When users get caught in the software editor's trawl net, it is virtually impossible to make them give up the product. In fact, Microsoft itself has already used the word 'brainwashed' to describe the state of dependency in which many of its users find themselves in after they're conditioned by its software. They're so hooked that they can't wait for the next version the editor is prepared to serve them up, like an eager child who's been promised a new bicycle. Be that as it may, thanks to piracy, Microsoft has conquered 93% of the Chinese market. Having got that far, they can go about forcing successive classes of those users to cough up. For that, they can benefit from the powerful legal weapons our laws have produced to comply with world trade treaties. This time I will let you choose the most fitting metaphor: they're off to reap their harvest, they're going to shear the sheep, they're pulling up the nets...

That is the second phase of their conquering strategy. It began back at the end of 1998. You have no doubt noticed that it was since that date that Microsoft initiated a series of court cases against a number of Chinese companies. Their tactics are invariably the same. Microsoft always sues medium-size companies. It picks on them to set examples, or turn them into scapegoats if you prefer. And they fight them all the way into bankruptcy, the idea being to put the rest of the market off even considering pirated Microsoft products. With this strategy, they get a flood of paying customers at next to no marketing costs. For China, the timing was very sorely felt and ill appreciated by the authorities, to put it mildly. Remember, 1998 was the year of the Asian financial crisis. You can imagine how much pressure China was under!'

Bao was amused to see the looks of surprise begin to dawn on the listeners' faces.

'It's very easy for Microsoft to force a PC distributor to pre-install Windows and Microsoft Office through paying OEM licences. All they have to do is drag a few non-complying businesses before the courts, make sure the case gets maximum publicity, and there you go. The other players out on the market would then much prefer to enter a friendly agreement with the US giant than having a costly court case hanging over them. Even if Microsoft were only partially to succeed in these manoeuvres, its profits would still be colossal.'

Bao marked a moment's pause to take a few breaths, looking intently at the members of the audience with his impassive stare.

'Now let me ask you a question. Do you think it's reasonable to let a foreign software editor use such an extortionate marketing strategy within our soil and reap phenomenal profits from it – profits, you must realise, that bear no relation with the true costs of their software?'

A director of a commission interrupted him.

'And what is your answer to this, Mr. Bao? Because, if I've understood you right, the obstacle is already insurmountable. In fact, this practice has even been condemned by the American Department of Justice after the famous court cases at the end of the Nineties. That's exactly why China must take its destiny in its own hands. The move away from Microsoft products must be imposed directly by the State. Our country must have its own computer operating system and, not only that, it must make its use compulsory. There is simply no alternative.'

For Bao, this solution that was glaringly obvious. But his audience, less familiar with this issue, still seemed dubious. Such a radical option went against the grain of the current leaders who were in the majority converted to the credo of letting the market decide. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became oppressive and tense. Bao judged it wise not to press further on that particular point.

'User addiction isn't the only advantage Microsoft draws from piracy. The extensive presence of Windows fosters the development of many proprietary technologies specifically blended into its operating system. And these, in turn, further lock the markets to Microsoft's advantage.

This matter was the subject of much investigation by judicial authorities in the United States and Europe. As you may remember, Microsoft was on the verge of being broken up. If it didn't happen in the end, it was only thanks to a more clement political environment, namely the Bush administration, that decided to save Microsoft's integrity.'

'What technologies are you referring to in particular?' asked one of the members.

'In fact you know some already! They take the form of audio and video compression codecs built into Windows Media Player, or exchange protocols for instant messaging, peer-to-peer, telephony and such like. Each of these proprietary applications is bundled into the operating system and thus automatically dominates the market thanks to Windows's ubiquitous user platform. Service providers have no choice other than to use Microsoft's formats if they want to reach out to the maximum number of users. And that takes Windows around a full circle, with Microsoft the winner all the way round.'

'Microsoft acted in the same way with technologies that didn't even belong to it, and here I'm thinking of HTML or Java!' added one of the participants.

'You're absolutely right. In these cases, Microsoft instigated the so-called 'adopt and modify' strategy. While on the subject, you are all aware that China has already adopted rigorous measures to get rid of its reliance on foreign technologies. And that brings me nicely to the next and last topic that I would like to discuss. Specifically, I want to bring up a highly sensitive subject: digital rights management. In its war against piracy, Microsoft has once more been trying to impose its own architecture. In any case, the designated victim of such a scheme is China. Microsoft has for a long time vowed to make our country pay for our record level of fraud. Such a system could also be interesting for criminal and terrorist organisations. And for this reason, it's quite likely the US authorities will be granted a 'back door' through which they will be able to monitor any hacking and malignant uses of Palladium's encryption functions. Needless to say, such a back door would be a godsend for intelligence services, and constitutes yet another ground for refusing this in our country. Can you imagine it: America's NSA would have an electronic skeleton key with which it can read documents in any computer on the planet!'

Bao was now haranguing his listeners, stirring up their nationalistic feelings.

'Today, there is a country which, by its size, by its population, by the strength of its industry, is naturally endorsed to establish worldwide standards. There is a country which, by its sheer mass, has the gravitational force to hold these standards together. And that country is China!'

He pounded those last words with unusual force and passion. The audience's reaction produced a rumble, like a booming echo:

'China, and China alone.'

This improvised slogan quickly went round the room and was repeated several times in chorus.

Bao joined in and, leaning even closer to his microphone, added: 'China shall set the standards!'

The sixty odd members of the audience cheered and resonated with:

'China, China shall set the standards to the rest of the world!'

Ministry of Information Industries

Beijing

14 April

There had been some rich pickings and Cheng was rubbing his hands with glee. Ever since he undertook to train Yaping in 'new accountancy standards,' he had access to a mine of information. His ploy of establishing a standardised format for travel expenses enabled him to draw up an accurate picture of the Regulation Director's time schedule. It gave him a pass to come and go in the secretary's office, a strategic nerve centre, where he could photograph documents lying on her desk without risk of being caught. For that task Song, the head of the spy network for which he worked, had given him a truly remarkable camera. To anyone, it looked just like a normal clamshell type cell phone, complete with the Motorola logo. But it was filled with highly sophisticated electronics and, above all, a twelve megapixel large-size CCD sensor mounted behind a high-resolution miniature lens usually reserved for professional applications. The latter on its own was worth a small fortune. Cheng could thus casually open his telephone and, while pretending to consult his text messages, take high quality snaps of documents left lying around. He had shot photos of virtually everything he saw and sent them systematically to Song, who seemed to appreciate this mass of information.

But there remained the PC itself. Despite Cheng's charm offensive, Yaping had not yet given him the sesame to access the machine. The young woman seemed to have the knack of always staying right by him every time he worked on the accounts forms, preventing him from exploring the files inside the hard disk. Clearly, he would have to step up his seduction manoeuvres by another notch. And that meant taking his relationship with Yaping one step further.

He could rely on the fatherly encouragements from both of their respective bosses, who had warmed to this office romance. He used his humble manners and general awkwardness expertly as ramparts to ward off suspicions.

And now, the most difficult was to come. He had to get to the innards of the computer, or at least gain access to those very confidential files, the ones she carefully put away out of sight before each of his visits.

And that was why he had decided to pull all the stops out that night. Up till then, he had trodden softly in his courting game, mindful not to appear too forward. He had wanted to give the image of a bashful, withdrawing and somewhat inhibited young man to account for his lack of audacity. The young woman regarded him tenderly as a heartbroken romantic who needed time to recover the grief of a lost love. She had shown infinite patience towards the young man to whom women had caused so much misery...

It was 7 p.m., the appointed time when he was to collect Yaping from her office. He felt revulsion at what he was embarking on. While up to now the role game had been a source of innocent fun, and even quite exciting, it now made him want to run away. He was all too aware of what this woman had in the back of her mind. To put it bluntly, Yaping was expecting to have sex with him that night. On that score, his wife was quite enough for him and in fact he didn't really mind being geographically separated from her. Perhaps he was a bachelor at heart...

As he arrived, he found Yaping busy as usual putting away the dockets inside the large steel cupboard with heavy doors protected by a combination lock. 'How many more of files must there be tucked away in digital form inside the PC,' he thought to himself. He imagined what it must be like to share his life with this obsessive tidier. However attractive she may be, it was the sort of mania that would put any man off.

'Right, I think I've now finished,' she sighed, looking tenderly at her handsome though timid young lover.

Stenton had summoned to the US embassy all the members of the Microsoft team who worked with the Chinese computer scientists on the Government Security program. He asked the embassy's experts in Chinese culture to brief the newcomers, and in particular the Californian Mat McCallum and the Indian recruit Rajiv Pradham, for both of whom this was their first trip to China. It was only as an afterthought that he decided it would be a good idea to invite all the others, the GSP veterans, to join in too. A bit of brushing up would certainly do no harm. The team needed to be given the right keys to decipher the Chinese social codes, customs and rules of behaviour.

He took Kathleen Morse aside. She was in charge of the Microsoft mission in China and thoroughly familiar with local practices. Stenton knew her well from her previous operations in that country in connection with the GSP.

'Now, Kathleen I want you to keep a close watch on that whiz kid Microsoft's sent over, okay? You do know who I'm talking about?'

'Only by reputation. But then, who doesn't know Tom Bailey? He's the genius who integrated the Internet into Windows 95 in record time.'

'Tell me, isn't that the version that holds the world record for the number of bugs?'

She chose to ignore the jibe. She had stopped counting the number of times she heard supposedly hilarious jokes of that type since she had taken her position.

'To go back to your question, no I've never met him. In fact, he's rarely in our premises. He's got a rather special status. He's free to do what he likes. You could call it star status!'

'Kathleen, this proposal to integrate Chinese-developed security modules into the latest version of Windows certainly makes good sense. But be careful, there can always be dirty tricks. After all, we are dealing with the Chinese!'

'Rest assured, Stenton, I'm even more pessimistic than you are. Look at the way they imposed their Linux system on their administration! We must spare no effort in preventing them from going further along that line.'

'Yeah, it's up to us to make sure it remains nothing more than a nationalistic dream. They can re-adapt Windows, dress it up in their national colours, or do whatever else they may want, but in the end they'll maintain the status quo. Remember, their bottom line is political stability. That's what being Chinese is all about. They're programmed to do business: no sooner they get up in the morning, they're already thinking about making money; that's just the way they are. And then, with over 100 million PCs scattered around the country, they'd have a lot of people to convince!'

Kathleen Morse remained silent. She had gauged the intensity of nationalistic feelings in a good many of the Chinese she had met. She was aware of their determination. And she knew full well that anything was in fact possible.

'So, when is that whiz kid is supposed to arrive?'

'In three weeks.'

'Okay, keep me posted. Count on me to take care of him.'

The evening out had turned out rather well. The girl had such sparkle that it was impossible to be bored in her company. Even Cheng was pleasantly surprised. It was getting close to midnight when he pulled his car in close to her apartment building.

'There you are, Yaping, I guess this is where we say good bye.' With his hands still on the wheel, he turned to look at her. He had pushed the boat out: first an American film, a comedy romance with Nicole Kidman, followed by a slap-up meal in a fashionable restaurant and, to finish off the evening, a drink in one the trendy bars frequented by Westerners. The full works. Yaping was overjoyed. Cheng really was Mr Right Guy.

'I hope you spent a pleasant evening. Did you enjoy yourself?'

'What a charming young man,' she thought, 'and so polite!' She was beaming with joy. For an answer, she flung herself and kissed him on the cheek.

He carried on looking at her with a playful smile. If only she would leave now.

'Well, good night Yaping!'

But the young woman clearly had no intention of leaving the car, or at least not alone. She drew herself close to him again, revealing her lily-white teeth through an open smile while turning her ardent eyes to his mouth. With such cues there was no mistaking she was expecting serious things to begin. He realised he could no longer back away... And so he forced himself to comply. 'Part of the job of being a secret agent, I suppose' he thought to himself. Slowly, he pressed his lips against the young woman's and they remained locked in a passionate embrace, her eyes closed in pleasure. Then Cheng broke off, almost brutally.

'I think I should go back and get some sleep now,' he stammered naively.

He thought his mission was over, but it was wishful thinking. He felt a sense of dread as her starry eyes seemed to beckon him. Without warning, she flung her hands behind his head and gave him another long kiss, this time with fiery passion. He felt her wriggling, inpatient tongue worm its way into his mouth and whirl around inside. After what seemed a full minute, she stared at him breathing in short gasps:

'I've got yummy cakes in the fridge. Come, we'll have some with a cup of tea.'

'What a showdown!' thought Cheng sarcastically.

Now he was in a quandary. As if caught in a trap of his own making. The last thing he wanted was to bed that girl. But now she had made him an offer he couldn't refuse. What would she think otherwise? That he was gay? A man simply cannot turn down such an invitation. At least women could always feign a migraine!

'Great, that would be wonderful,' he replied forcedly after an embarrassed pause.

She lived on the second floor of a small apartment building with an outside staircase. They hurried up the concrete steps, prompted by the bitter cold of the night.

Yaping shared her flat with another girl and they had to be careful not to make too much noise. Cheng secretly hoped this might play in his favour. He could use this as a pretext to disappear silently after eating his cake.

Yaping left him alone for several minutes in front of a portion of flan that had obviously been bought pre-packaged from one of those American fast food outlets that dotted all shopping centres.

She reappeared, fresher looking and wearing her untied long black hair down to her waist. But it was her eyes that worried him. They were glowing feverishly behind her glasses, and that was a bad sign. In a flight of panic he thought of darting away, his mind racing to find an excuse, but he knew it was already too late.

She came up very close to him. He was struck by how small she in fact was without her shoes. She tiptoed to bring her mouth against his. He felt her taut breasts press against his chest, then her hips against his thighs. She had raised her right leg to coil her body intimately against his...

And his own body was now beginning to betray him as his male organ started to throb and harden. Nature always has the last word! The young woman sensed that she had won over her prey and led him silently to her bedroom. She did not turn on the lights. The streetlights already filled the room with just the right shadowy glow. Cheng noticed the single bed and consoled himself by thinking that at least he would not have to spend the night there.

Almost mechanically, he unbuttoned Yaping's tunic and unhooked her bra. He let his hands mould around her fulsome breasts and took pleasure in feeling their firm, resilient forms. She quickly released her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Before he could bring his right hand over to pull down her white-laced panty, she had already grabbed his manhood firmly. She was shaking it convulsively, as if wrestling with a snake. No doubt this gentle creature had never been taught about the sensitive nature of this part of the male anatomy. Desperate to end this torture, Cheng flung her backwards onto the bed, pulled away her remaining item underclothing and slipped inside her eager body. Now he just wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. But Yaping's body signalled that she wanted to lie above him. He turned round, still clasping her in his arms, almost knocking her out off the bed. She immediately began wriggle and shift frantically in all directions, as if animated by invisible forces. At one moment she would be bolt upright, her hands pressed against his waist, the next perched over his chest, swinging her navel, and all the time at phenomenal speed... At last she let out a series of loud, deep gasps and slumped over him, her warm moist body shaking as she fought to regain her breath. Alas for him, it was but a short reprieve. She sat up again, slid herself back over his thighs and tried desperately to shake some life back into his retiring organ. She shook it with such force that he cringed in pain. He simply had to get the situation back into control.

'It was so good,' she whispered amorously into his ear.

For his part, it had been ages since he experienced such primitive and animal-like sex. Clearly, China had a long way to go if it wanted to renew with the erotic traditions of the past centuries.

'Oh yes, it was wonderful,' he answered, trying to remain calm and convincing. In truth, he felt deep inside a form of professional satisfaction, the feeling of having accomplished a duty. He almost wanted to say that he had done this for his country, like a good soldier! He felt reassured by this notion: he did that for ... but did he in fact know for whom he really worked?

She lay there, pressed against him, purring with contentment.

'Is it still hurting you a lot?'

'What could she be referring to? Her gym workout with my genitalia?' wondered Cheng.

'That terrible heartache – is it still putting you off falling in love again?'

He felt a great relief. He kissed her on the lips, more out of gratitude.

'I'm feeling better now... I think I'll get over it.'

All this lying and deceit was beginning to sicken him. At the same time, he felt a hint of proud satisfaction at seeing this girl fall for it. If the ease with which she opened her bedroom door was anything to go by, the one to the contents of here computer will not stay closed for much longer! And, if needs be, he now knew the arguments to convince her.

As his tensions began to recede, Cheng felt overtaken by a sense of calm and soon began to close his eyes. Such was the great weakness of men, they always had to fall into the arms of Morpheus after making love! But he could not allow himself to drop off to sleep, otherwise he would be there until the next morning. 'Stay awake, don't fall asleep' he kept repeating, 'Stay awake...'

5. The Imperial Commissioner Lin Zexu

'Those who know don't speak,

and those whose speak don't know.'

Lao Tse, VIth Century BC

Beijing International Airport

April 26

The Chinese chauffeur waved his nameboard outside exit 3 of Beijing International Airport. Tom Bailey was at the other side waiting for his suitcase. He was listening to music, earpieces plugged into his ear. The saturated guitar of King Crimson's Robert Fripp boomed in his head and gave a surreal air to the place. He took delight in these oppositions. He was here, elsewhere and nowhere all at the same time. In these moments, he felt outside time, as if in a cinema, watching the world on a giant screen.

Death seed blind man's greed

Poets' starving children bleed

Nothing he's got he really needs

Twenty first century schizoid man.

He had left California with a collection of 200 music titles from the Sixties, the golden decade of Pop music, a decade he would gladly have lived in. That was before he was born and when his father was still alive. Tom's trip was to be for two months. Possibly more. He was savouring the novelties unravelling before him to the full. Everything appeared new to Tom Bailey. He had travelled little in his youth, preferring to ruin his eyes in front of a PC screen rather than go out and see the world. In his early youth, he had visited England, his parents' native country, and Scotland where his mother now lived. That made each mission for Microsoft seem like a pleasure outing, an exotic discovery: China, India, Japan, Brazil...

Officially, Tom was just a consultant for Microsoft. He had always refused the generous employment package the firm offered him, preferring to keep his freedom. This status hadn't prevented him from taking part in Microsoft's most advanced and strategic programs. As a specialist in security and network-based authentication systems, he was regularly called out to tackle the most critical and sensitive questions.

The automatic door opened and Tom made a few steps with his suitcase, stopped and pulled out his earpieces. He was in China. He spotted the nameboard displaying his name in large characters. The Asian driver greeted him and led him to a small group of four standing in the background. A man well into his fifties stepped forward, putting on a broad smile. He moved confidently towards Tom, grasping his hand firmly.

'Hi Tom, welcome to Beijing. This is Kathleen, who is heading the Microsoft party; Mat, a colleague and a Californian like you, and Rajiv. And I'm Val Stenton of the US embassy Trade Department here in China.'

They gazed at him attentively. So this was the Tom Bailey everyone was talking about. This was the nineteen-year-old University of Berkeley student Microsoft had called upon to catch up on its technological lag in the area of the Internet; the one who, following a major strategic turnaround by Microsoft, performed an emergency implant of the Internet's communication protocol into the heart of all the firm's software, when Windows 95 could no longer survive its outdatedness. And now he was continuing to perform miracles in record time, taking in single-handedly millions of lines of code in one glance. They had all heard of Tom Bailey and were looking at him with admiration.

'You're all accommodated in the same residence,' added Stenton. 'Furnished apartments in a top-luxury condominium. You'll be well looked after.'

Stenton couldn't hold back a scowl seeing all the fuss made of that Tom Bailey. 'If that guy was so clever,' he thought to himself, 'why didn't they ask him to clear up once and for all the bugs in Windows which kept causing his computer to crash? What annoyed him most of all was the open-mouthed admiration the other members of the delegation had for this young man. It had to be said that, in addition to landing with a reputation that preceded him, Tom had the looks to seduce: the sporting type, long blond hair, a touch of laughter in his blue eyes. He beamed with happiness. But the young man, unmoved by the enthusiasm he aroused, looked at the view as it unrolled across the windows of the minivan, looking absent, daydreaming. His gaze struck against the reality opening up before him: this alternation of poor, often unfinished, dwellings forming a backdrop for dozens of busy Chinese children, contrasting with brand new buildings from which poured the latest Mercedes.

'Is this your first visit to China?' enquired Kathleen Morse.

'My first trip to China and my first trip to Asia as a matter of fact.'

'Don't worry Tom, you'll soon feel at home. If you can find your way around the Windows source code, then the mysteries of China won't resist you for long,' added Mat McCallum.

He was hoping his Californian colleague was right. Tom was somewhat reassured by the ease the fellow displayed in this universe, so different from the living and working environment he himself was used to. The road continued without the slightest pagoda, temple, or Chinese with long pigtails down his back to brighten up the scenery and remind him he was in China. If it had been in the suburbs of Los Angeles, he would hardly have noticed the difference. Perhaps that country wasn't as exotic as the stereotyped mental image he had made of it.

Tom dropped off his luggage in the Spring Flowers residence. He had a neat one-bedroom apartment on the fifteenth floor with a view overlooking Beijing.

He had spent his first Sunday on Beijing soil in the company of Kathleen Morse and Val Stenton who had a schedule tailor made for him. He saw that there was no tourist visit planned and that he was to get down to work right away. But first he was to take a crash course on Chinese social customs and habits. Never lose face in front of your hosts, never say anything that could be interpreted as an insult, never make categorical statements, stay away from controversial subjects. In other words, avoid saying too bluntly what you think. Apparently, it wasn't that the Chinese repressed their thoughts, but just that they didn't express them in the same way as the Europeans or Americans. It was something to get used to, a manner which didn't come naturally to us Westerners, but was necessary to put all the chances on our side. This was certainly not the time to offend their hosts. Belonging to Microsoft's GSP mission had its constraints and compelled him to redouble in diplomacy and caution. In this matter, the Americans were the askers. They were there to gain their company's acceptance, settle any misunderstandings and dissipate suspicions. The Redmond firm had decided to reveal the innards of its star program, the source code of Windows.

They were to be to-the-point and warm, rigorous and convivial at the same time, to give the impression of revealing all without saying anything beyond the strict minimum. For the moment, the meetings went through in a spirit marked by good will and the desire for cooperation.

Tom was to intervene strictly in his own field of competence, under Kathleen's close supervision.

Beijing, CNITSEC

China Information Technology Security Certification Center Source Code Review Lab

Mid May

Tom left his laptop in his luxury apartment. He gazed one last time across the bay window overlooking a forest of buildings way in the distance. From that angle, Beijing invariably made him think of Los Angeles – no compliment from the native of San Francisco that he was.

At 10 am that morning, the young man was to meet the members of the Chinese Certification Center. Before leaving his room, he picked up a writing pad and a pen, and then slipped into his pocket the i-Pod he always carried around. Kathleen Morse would provide him the necessary equipment in due course.

He hardly had any time to rest between his arrival and getting down to serious business. His first two days in Beijing went by very quickly, taken up by briefing sessions and preliminary meetings. He was discovering the complex relations maintained between Microsoft and China. They had to be particularly cautious and diplomatic with the Chinese party, at the risk of seeing a total collapse in the talks. That was the message he got from these two days of briefing. He now knew what to say, how to say it and when to stop. For the rest, his job was simple. His colleagues had already answered the main questions from the Chinese party concerning the firm's future operating system.

His role in the mission was well defined: to study how the security specifications imposed by China can be integrated into the Microsoft product, evaluate what these modifications would imply on the system architecture, and consider how the modules developed in China could be implemented into the software's source code. 'Easy,' he said to himself. Only the political nature of his mission caused him concern.

In all, the Microsoft delegation counted seven people. Four of them had already taken part in several meetings since the start of the GSP program while, the three others had just arrived in Beijing.

They were welcomed with genial smiles and bows by two directors of the CNITEC in the lobby of the main building. Both sides expressed enthusiasm at the idea of this new collaboration and mutually congratulated themselves on the progress accomplished. Tom was able to see that here, like in the States, the reign of appearances was no myth.

In the meeting room on the tenth floor of the centre, an ultra-modern building with smoked glass walls, twenty five computer experts were already waiting for them. Kathleen Morse was the first to advance towards the group. The Chinese party was standing, somewhat wooden, shaking hands while making light bows.

The two delegations finally took their seats facing each other. Now came the moment of the introductions. Kathleen took care of that. Tom was described as one of those geniuses capable of figuring out the most complex of architectures like no other. Kathleen recapped his achievements. His reputation was already made. He hated that but understood the importance of this ritual. They had to impress the Chinese delegation and prove to them Microsoft had the best intentions and was sending over its top brains.

He began by scanning all these faces one by one. Young computer scientists just like the ones in the Redmond research and development labs. Others, less young, who must play a more political role... The Chinese group also included about ten women who all looked identical, with the same slit eyes and pony tails. Only one of them stood apart by the fineness of her features, soothing smile and hair cascading down to her shoulders. Her face was beautiful and proud. Had it not been for her fuchsia suit identical to those of her colleagues, anyone would have considered her a total stranger to that delegation. But it was above all the look in her eyes that arrested Tom's attention. She seemed to possess a profound and penetrating intelligence. So much so that Tom was counting the minutes before the pretty Chinese girl would be introduced to him. His waiting was interrupted by a charming voice.

'I'm Jin. I work at the Software Research Institute of the Chinese Science Academy. I am more particularly responsible for matters of authentication and access. I think, Tom, that we will be brought to examine these topics together.'

Tom's face lit up.

The head of the Chinese delegation added:

'Miss Lao Jin will lead the work group in charge of studying the way to implement into the system the access and authentication modules developed by our national laboratories.'

Tom couldn't bring himself away from the young woman's face. Their eyes met and she seemed unperturbed. She smiled at him and flitted by turning her gaze. She had the countenance of a queen, nobleness blended with strength and serenity. In a flash, Tom pictured her a moment, running on walls, leaping high, springing up, sword in hand then, back at the temple, eyes closed, meditating in levitation, raising stones by thought alone as in kung-fu films.

The first meeting of the GSP since the January session ended quite rapidly once a new work schedule and the workgroups had been set up. The American delegation was the first to leave the room. Almost as soon as they had reached the street, Kathleen was the first to break away from her reserve while Tom still seemed to be dreaming.

'Jeez!' she exclaimed when they were out of earshot of the Chinese. 'I can't believe this! Out of 25 people, 20 of them were new faces we've never seen before! How can we work constructively and make any headway under these conditions?'

'What's more, three of the six topics the workgroup addressed concerned matters we'd already gone through at the beginning of year,' added a colleague. 'It's almost as if they're trying to wear us into giving in.'

'OK, take it easy,' said the head of the delegation to calm things down. 'It's just their way of operating; you have to expect that in a country of one billion inhabitants, they've got to give a job to everyone...'

Tom remained silent. He only longed for one thing: to sit down in front of a computer screen with that Lao Jin.

'So it's him, that famous Tom Bailey, the operating systems genius, the great wizard of networks.' Jin had studied that young man at length when they were introduced to each other in the CNITSEC laboratories a few days before. She had been expecting to meet a long-haired character, grubby and full of acme, introverted and unsociable. And she couldn't have been more wrong. She smiled again as she thought of that juvenile face, eyes so blue, long auburn hair speckled by the sun. This kid glowed with intelligence.

It was as if they already knew each other in a past life. She felt a deep unrest which she attempted to hide when Tom set his lucid eyes on her. It wasn't in her habits. She scolded herself for that weakness, convinced Tom had noticed it.

They met up again the next day in a group of four around a work table and she had managed to regain her composure. Tom was joyful, ebullient, his mind always alert. There was no doubt about it, he really was brilliant, a whiz kid who could stand up to comparison with Professor Mok Mengma.

Since his arrival in China, Tom played Donovan songs endlessly on his iPod. He couldn't explain to himself why. It was as if there existed a secret and mysterious union between the Sixties' folk singer and the Middle Empire!

Electrical banana

Is gonna be a sudden craze.

Electrical banana

Is bound to be the very next phase.

They call it Mellow Yellow

Quite rightly

They call it Mellow Yellow...

He felt happy. Jin's face appeared before him. Her image seemed to be indelibly imprinted into his memory. And yet he had only met her six times over the last days during the GSP work group meetings with the his new team mate Mat McCallum , a very good programmer who knew the new Windows like the back of his hand. Jin, for her part, never came alone. She was always accompanied by one or two colleagues intent on maintaining distances and cutting short any excess of enthusiasm. It was out of the question to fraternise beyond what was reasonable.

The operations were coming along satisfactorily. The Chinese had presented their security modules, in the form of a black box. Obviously, there was no question of revealing its contents, which was moreover unnecessary. The first phase consisted in establishing the external specifications of that module, describing its interface and modifying it, if needs be. It was Mat's job to integrate it into Windows, while Tom was to supervise the overall procedure. No one could match him in smoothing out difficulties; he had this rare ability to grasp several procedures simultaneously, in parallel and anticipate between mutually remote routines having no direct relation between them.

Jin had worked on one of those modules and was able to modify its programming interface if such an adaptation were to prove necessary.

Jin enjoyed these workgroups. Of course, she had to remain aloof and regretted that. But the cheerfulness of the two Microsoft computer scientists was contagious. At the fifth session, they had even all stayed together to dine at a small Pekinese restaurant, overriding the guidelines to stick strictly to courteous and professional relations with the Americans. She knew how much Microsoft was suspected of the worse intentions. The aim of these work meetings was precisely to dispel the doubts that weighed on the firm. They therefore had to remain reserved and not let themselves get taken for a ride. The Chinese party was going through the Windows source code with a fine-tooth comb, looking for backdoors, underhand routines and malicious modules. The very nature of the investigative mission hardly lent itself to unrestrained cordiality. The dinner was thus quickly got through, Chinese style, without lingering.

But the way Tom and Jin got along had soon eclipsed the presence of the two other participants. They decided to meet up on Saturday at the restaurant. Alone.

Cheng had invented an activity for almost each evening of the week: sport, a training seminar on international accountancy standards, the weekly evening meeting of the Beijing Accountants Society, of which he was the treasurer, an introductory course on seawater aquariums... There he went a bit too far. But Yaping appeared to believe this tale of a tropical aquarium he wanted to buy to replace the goldfish bowl and its two miserable little inhabitants he kept in his apartment. Thanks to this strategy, he had managed to limit his dates with that young woman to two evenings a week.

Before he even became aware of what was happening to him, he had become Yaping's steady boyfriend...With all the constraints, obligations and duties this status implied. And if only he had got a free access to that damn PC! But the zealous young secretary didn't mix business with romance, and that came as an enormous surprise to Cheng. His ego as an irresistible charmer took a severe blow. Clearly, he didn't have that girl round his little finger. And Song was beginning to get impatient.

Between Yaping who clung to him with her tentacles, his bosses who were already talking about the wedding, his own wife Nanjing who made him feel guilty for no longer being present, and that Santana Song always asking for more, Cheng felt he was no longer the master of his existence...

Beijing

End of May

They had worked all through the morning. Jin got the impression of progressing much more quickly during those face-to-face sessions. That guy was so quick she sometimes felt he had guessed the internal architecture of her security module, that he was able to reproduce its inner workings from its external specifications. Despite all the reserve and distance she tried to maintain with Tom, she proposed a visit together to Beijing's Summer Garden, a manner for her to discover more and continue her intelligence mission. Tom accepted. They met up the next day, a Sunday, in the lobby of the town's large hotels for discretion, something Tom had perfectly understood. If the Microsoft experts had everything to gain by relaxing the atmosphere, it was not so for the Chinese.

There he sat waiting for her in a large comfortable red armchair, tucked into a copy of Newsweek while a pianist tried to make his dreary music heard by some distracted clients. His face lit up when he saw Jin come up towards him. It was their first time out together outside work. Taking care not to be followed by anyone, they clambered into the young woman's car and head for the Summer Palace to the north-west of the city.

'The palace backs onto the Hill of Millennial Longevity,' explained Jin, scrutinising Tom's reactions in her rear view mirror.

He appeared to marvel at the poetry of the Chinese, and this particularly delighted the young woman.

'Here you see the Garden of Virtuous Harmony. Over there, the Palace of the Waves of Jade,' she continued, trying to contain her jubilation.

He looked at her, dreamy eyed. They soon stopped the car to continue the journey on foot. They strolled along the broad, stone-paved alleys bordered with trees which sheltered walkers from the fierceness of the sun. The long gallery offered a succession of paintings depicting traditional Chinese legends.

'The Pavilion of the Sea of Perfect Wisdom,' she continued.

She liked seeing that bright smile light up the good-looking face of the young American. They came close to another building standing by edge of the water. Tom turned towards her with an enquiring look.

'The Palace of Orderly Clouds,' she said softly.

He burst out laughing.

'Tom, would you like to go round the lake in a boat? But you'll have to row!'

'No problem. And what's this lake called?'

'Hum...the Lake of Eternal Spring, of course, Lake Kunming.'

Ming focussed his binoculars. His fat body lying on the grass, he watched the two computer scientists as they were moving away from the lake. He got up and moved over to the bank, mixing in with the tourists, without trying in the least to hide - still best way to pass by unnoticed. He was the one assigned by Song to keep a close watch on the Microsoft whiz kid and his Chinese pal. A girl who seemed to take too close an interest in that Tom Bailey for the liking of the CIA.

With his left hand, he brought a lapel of his jacket to his mouth and uttered into the miniature microphone.

'Taken a rowing boat for a spin on the lake. Staying in visual contact...'

It was a beautiful spring afternoon, the sky was bright and the trees in flower. Tom seated himself in front of Jin and grabbed hold of the oars. The young woman drew in the pure air deep into her lungs. Several couples and a few families had, like them, also hired boats. Some children were arguing over whose turn it was to row, under the amused eyes of their parents who tried to separate them. Joyous laughs rippled from afar, reflected by the lake's surface.

'This Summer Palace isn't all that old,' she explained, 'At least not by Chinese standards. It dates from 1888, and it was Empress Cixi who had it built. To finance its construction, she hived off money intended for the development of the Chinese navy!'

They were drawing away from the banks at slow speed. The pavilions on the lakeside began to form a harmonious picture as the viewers were gaining some distance.

'Did you know, Tom, that in 1860 there was nothing but ruins left of these temples?'

'No I didn't, what happened?'

She had there the occasion to give him short lesson in Chinese history, which she knew so well, like all her countrymen.

'Expeditionary corps from England and France ransacked the Summer Palace, then set it on fire, and did the same with the Garden of Perfection and Clarity situated a bit farther along. All that remained was the Great Marble Boat you see over there to your left.'

Tom knew nothing of all this. He took on a look of surprise and shock by this revelation.

'And what were these troops doing in China?'

'Well, for over a century, China was reduced to a state of virtual colony by the great Western powers. All began with the Opium War in 1839. The Europeans made China pay dearly for its splendid isolation, its refusal to open its frontiers to international trade, and for its somewhat haughty attitude, no doubt.'

'Uh-huh. By the way, Jin, how come China always reckons itself to be at the centre of the World, so superior?'

She thought for a few seconds to frame her argument as well as possible.

'One of the characteristics of China is to have always absorbed other populations, invaders from the North. In the 13th century, the Mongols conquered all of China then the Manchus dominated the country in the 17th century. But every time the coloniser brought along a civilisation far less refined and far less advance than that of China. Since its origins, thousands of years ago, China always saw itself surrounded by barbarians they had to push back and contain behind walls. It was the First Emperor, Qin Shi Huangdi who, around 220 BC, undertook to join up the different walls to produce what was to become the Great Wall. It was no doubt that which forged this vision the Chinese have of their country, a land situated at the centre of the universe, the Zhongguo, or Middle Empire.'

They had reached the other bank, opposite the Great Marble Boat. Tom dipped his oars nonchalantly into the black waters of the lake, following along the edge.

'But with the arrival of Westerners, things didn't go quite as smoothly, is that right?'

'Yes, that's right. Things were altogether different from the middle of the 19th Century, when the European traders set foot in China, beat us militarily and tore the country apart. China at that time was convinced it had no need for Western goods. It lived in its satisfaction – its certainty – of having a culturally superior and self-sufficient civilisation. The Neo-Confucian tradition which pervaded the administration during the Ming and Qing dynasties hardly encouraged change and openings to the outside world. On the other hand, the Europeans had a great interest in Chinese goods: silk, porcelain or tea. But the Qing emperors had got into the habit of considering peripheral populations as inferior, and saw no reason to change that attitude with regard to these people from the West. Trade with China at that time passed exclusively through the town of Canton, the only port authorised by the administration to trade. But the exchanges were one-sided. The Europeans bought a great deal from China while the latter bought nothing in return.'

'This all sounds a bit like the present situation, don't you think?' America buys a lot from China and has a considerable trade deficit with that country. Our government insists on a revaluation of the Yuan and threatens to remove customs barriers, or even to impose quotas. Which explains why China is encouraged to buy more Boeings to reduce the deficit...'

'It's something like that. China has for centuries always tried to remain self-sufficient and never to depend on foreign countries. It's a constant feature. In 1830, the British wanted to restore the balance and began by selling goods coming from India, raw cotton and...opium.'

'Opium?'

He looked stunned by what he heard. Are you saying Great Britain was ruled by drug traffickers?

'19th Century England was the biggest international drug dealer, at the head of an organisation no cartel today could ever match! Opium was much in demand in China, no doubt since the beginning of that century, even though it was officially forbidden by the Manchu administration. Thanks to opium, Britain's trade deficit with China was soon to turn to a surplus. Revenues from silk and tea were no longer sufficient, and China had to sell its stocks of precious metals to buy its drug doses from the British!'

'But couldn't the Chinese do anything about it?'

'There was an imperial ruling that prohibited the import of opium into the territory, but with unscrupulous traders and a corrupt bureaucracy, large quantities of drug were still coming in. The British traders were supplying opium to the troops of the Chinese army, civil servants and the population at large, which all became intoxicated and addicted. For ten years, the Qing government fought against opium without success.

Until 1839, when the Manchu government took drastic measures. An imperial commissioner was dispatched to Guangzhou on a mission to put an end to opium trafficking. His name was Lin Zexu. He was incorruptible and proceeded to seize thousands of chests of opium which he burnt, and prosecuted a part of the foreign community.'

'Nice work, looks like that Lin Zexu turned the game around!'

'Sure, but his initiative wasn't to the liking of the British, who jumped at the pretext of this affront to retaliate! They decided to attack China, and that was to become the 'Opium War' which lasted for three years. It concluded with the defeat of the Manchu imperial forces. The British gunboats then had a firepower and military superiority which overwhelmed the Chinese.'

'Tom couldn't believe his ears. Such cowboy tactics were appalling.'

'But that's incredible, the British organise, for their own profit, the smuggling of an illegal drug into a foreign and sovereign nation. That nation reacts by putting an end to this traffic on its own soil, and the British declare war to it!'

'Quite so, and this defeat was to have sinister consequences. First of all, it ruined the prestige of the Manchu imperial rule, which was to vanish completely seventy years later. And the war was to conclude by the perfidious Nanjing Treaty in 1842. China had suffered a national humiliation. The British obtained that China hand over Hong-Kong and open four other ports, in addition to Guangzhou, where they would be authorised to reside and have the privilege of extraterritoriality! These ports were Shanghai, Fuzhou, Ningbo and Xiamen. With the benefit of extraterritoriality, the British obtained the impunity of their countrymen for crimes they could commit on Chinese soil. A foreign power was thus able to set up its own judicial system! This impunity was later extended to all Chinese working for the British, and even to those were just doing business with them. These foreign trading posts quickly became a paradise for all sorts of criminals.'

She stopped a few seconds to admire the coloured branches of the flowering trees.

'You can understand that it was a heavy blow to the Celestial Empire! This treaty, and the ones that followed, are known as the 'Unfair Treaties.' For a century, China was to be a virtual colony where all the great powers of the day came to settle.'

The boat was still progressing slowly on the black waters of Lake Kunming. They were now following the dyke that separated the lake in two. A few birds, egrets and ducks, had made it their playground.

'The Western powers wanted more ports, more rights, and declared the second opium war in 1858.'

Tom was fascinated by this chapter of history he had never even suspected.

'And there's still more to come! For Japan, in turn, took advantage of the situation to attack China in 1895. We were conquered and, under the terms of the Shimonoseki Treaty this time, had to surrender Southern Manchuria and the island of Taiwan, which we still haven't recovered...'

The boat had veered to the left, towards the Bridge of the Seventeen Arches which linked the shore to a small island. They were now returning to the mooring point. He took her hand to help her off the boat. The sun was low on the horizon and the temperature had dropped. They decided to stay for dinner at the Summer Palace. The 'pavilion for hearing the song of the nightingale' could only seduce Tom. It was converted into a restaurant and its magnificent setting, inspired from the court of the Manchu emperors, bathed in elegance. They seated themselves at the terrace; it was the magic moment when the declining sun cast a golden hue on everyone and everything. As young woman was studying the menu, Tom took the occasion to contemplate her face which exuded the peacefulness of a statue of Buddha. She sensed his gaze upon her and raised her eyes. He was smiling.

They ordered a Peking duck, the speciality of the house. Only the crusty skin was served. Tom felt like asking what they did with the rest of the duck. But as he was about to roll the crisp piece of poultry into a light rice pancake, he dared another question that was burning his lips.

'But surely then, Jin, the Chinese must hate us Westerners.'

She broke into a smile, as if she wanted to dissipate his fears.

'To be honest, the Nanjing Treaty and the century of humiliation that followed still remain very vivid in the memory and the collective conscience of the Chinese people. You know, China has opened itself to the world since 1987 and wants above all to avoid a new form of exploitation and subservience...'

Tom was wondering whether Jin was making a veiled allusion to Microsoft. Could the imposed use of Windows constitute such an exploitation? He dared not ask her.

6. Derailments

'When you are close, you must make the enemy think you are far.

And when you are far, make him think you are close'

Sun Zi, the art of war, 5th century BC

Saudi Arabia, Yanbu oil terminal

June

It was coming up to 8 p.m. Gustav Hartmann, the plant's deputy director, was putting away the plans for extension 5 of the huge Yanbu oil terminal. One by one, he rolled up the large A0 format sheets tightly so they would go back into their stowage tubes. It was part of a project to expand the site's storage capacity to face growing demands. Each of the vast circular tanks of the site's tank farm could hold 100 million litres of crude oil. Hartman placed the tubes neatly back on their rack, still immersed in his thoughts. He turned round, moved to the window and contemplated the spaghetti of pipes spread before him amid plumes of steam and smoke. Festooned with floodlights, the Yanbu refinery and oil terminal glimmered like a small city in the Arabian night. Day and night its pipelines sucked in millions of tonnes of crude oil which were then digested to pump out an incessant flow of petrol, diesel oil, heating oil, lubricants and a whole spectrum of other derivatives. It also passed on the incoming crude oil through to shore-based depots for loading onto tankers. Farther out, beyond the distillation towers, a dozen or so supertankers were docked, each waiting to be filled with black gold.

Yanbu was the sole industrial complex on the west coast of Saudi Arabia, far from the oil fields in the east. It had reached saturation point and the construction of a new tank farm was now becoming an urgent matter.

In addition to his normal functions, Gustav Hartmann was on a roster for watching over the plant's security 24 hours a day. That night, this East-German-born production engineer was scheduled for duty. The plant had been put on maximum alert the day before when a local terrorist chief, a certain Sheik Yussuf, appeared on Al Jazeera TV threatening that he would close the taps on imperialist nations. It was a mystery for no one that the Sheik's menacing words were aimed at Saudi Arabia. And for the Western intelligence services, this public exhortation was none other than a pre-arranged signal for his agents in the field to trigger off planned operations.

Stock markets all over the world slumped upon hearing these warnings. The barrel of crude shot through the 180 dollar mark on the New York Mercantile Exchange. At London's International Petroleum Exchange, the barrel of North Sea Brent was negotiated at over 190 dollars.

The Yanbu site spared no expenses on security. The personnel hiring policy was extremely strict. Out of the 3000 employees of this strategic oil terminal and adjoining refinery, only a small handful of carefully-vetted staff came from countries known to export potential terrorists. The overwhelming majority of the men came from the so-called 'neutral' nations: India, the Philippines, Thailand... All were kept under tight watch by outside special contracting services and formed a closed community housed on the site and very difficult to infiltrate. As they entered the work premises every morning, each had to pass through a highly sensitive metal detector barrier and undergo a search that would make New York's JFK boarding control seem amateurish. All these draconian measures had been carefully devised and overseen personally by Hartmann.

It was now 10 p.m., time for Hartmann to begin his tour of inspection. Getting senior members of personnel involved in these routines was a way of showing that security at grass roots level was everyone's business. Hartman subscribed fully to this management philosophy and never delegated the task, however overworked he was. He unclipped a heavy bunch of keys from the side of his belt and slowly opened the thick steel doors of his safe cupboard. Kneeling down, he pulled out from its bottom shelf a heavy dark-grey nylon backpack, closed the door gently, passed one of the straps round his shoulders and made his way out, switching off lights and locking up his office before heading down the long corridor to the main stairway. Once outside, he clambered inside the Jeep waiting for him in front of the building entrance and placed the backpack on the front passenger seat.

No one could penetrate inside the Yanbu oil complex without authorisation. No one. The ultra-sophisticated intrusion detection systems were classed 'infallible' by the American firm that installed them. As for the employees, Hartmann had spent so much time poring over their records that he felt he knew them personally. None of them had a profile even remotely resembling that of a terrorist.

'If Sheik Yussuf ever wanted to take on Yanbu, he'd have a hell of a job to recruit from – or infiltrate – even one member of this workforce,' thought Hartmann as he switched on the ignition.

His tour of inspection began with the refinery. As he approached the compound, he could see yellow-helmeted men busying themselves amongst the inextricable bundles of interwoven piping, some painted green, others purple. He drew up to the main atmospheric distillation unit. After being cracked under vacuum, the crude oil was fed along inside a tall distillation tower where it yielded its different end products: fuel, lubricants, derivatives, etc. These were then extracted and pumped to respective refining stages to upgrade their physical and chemical properties.

He turned off the main lane, leaving to his left the furnace that heated the crude oil to 300° centigrade, and parked the jeep in front of the distillation tower. He strapped the backpack firmly on his back and walked at a brisk pace. A group of four armed guards on patrol was making its way towards him. The men stopped and made a military salute as a sign of respect. One of the men - the leader - cast an inquisitive look at the backpack but refrained from asking any questions to the senior engineer. Hartman walked about the atmospheric distillation unit, hardly noticed by the workers and their foremen, all deeply absorbed in their task. He went about inspecting the building's vulnerable points. They were all as familiar as his home. He climbed up a steel stairway and stepped onto a catwalk ten metres above the ground floor, stopped when he came to the level of a projecting platform giving access to the enormous distillation tower and put down his backpack.

He had collected it that very morning at the agreed spot and carried it through security without raising the least eyebrow. When the backpack went through the x-ray scanner, he simply said, matter-of-factly 'defence-classified equipment - parts for a seismic sensor system.' The man behind the monitor screen nodded and replied with a brief 'Thank you, sir, have a nice day.' Thanks to his director status and icy blue stare, Hartmann turned his security check into just a perfunctory display of co-operation.

He now unfastened the soft flap at the top of his rucksack. The 'bricks' were there, all neatly arranged in two stacks.

At the same instant, in the middle of the Arabian Desert, hundreds of kilometres from the nearest village, a group of Bedouins had just made a halt under the star-speckled sky. The silence was intermittently broken by the cry of a camel, its swollen tongue hanging from the edge of its large yellowish teeth as it dribbled. White clad figures were scurrying against the descending darkness in silent agitation. They had just found under the sand the pipeline that supplied Yanbu, an endless metal snake that guzzled the country's oil.

One of the Bedouins pressed bricks of plastic explosive evenly around the circumference of the pipe. They were wired to a digital detonator programmed to trigger at midnight. Now they had finished; the stars were disappearing, obscured by the first of the arriving clouds of sand particles of an imminent storm. The men knew there was no time to waste. The chief bellowed some orders to reassemble. The camels got up briskly from their knees, alarmed by the unexpected pain of the nervously wielded sticks thrashing their flanks.

Gustav Hartmann dipped his hand inside the backpack. He pulled out a brick of plastic explosive pre-fitted with a timer detonator. The charge was a high-density derivative of Semtex and he had enough of them – if judiciously used – to blow up the whole installation. He attached the brick to a conduit stemming from a junction point of the distillation tower and set the timer for midnight, the agreed schedule for fireworks display.

He pressed once more with his weight against the charge to make sure it would hold fast and turned back the way he came. Outside, on his way to the jeep, he crossed one of the foremen, a Bengali, followed by a small group of night workers. He drove up to the entrance of another distillation tower unit and repeated the exact same series of movements, all with uncanny assurance.

He continued, systematically, until all four of the distillation towers had been primed. Now there remained the oil terminal.

The latter was several kilometres away from the refinery, accessible by a road cutting through a series of industrial installations, flanked on either side by countless sections of superposed and intertwining pipes. The tank farm comprised 30 oil holders and was guarded as fiercely as a fortress in times of war. The three Saudi guards at the main checkpoint instantly recognized the German and let him through with a polite nod. 'Just bringing an acoustic sensor system for detecting the presence of drones over the site,' Hartmann cheerily announced as he walked past them without even being asked. He realised that the less he said the better were his chances of escaping the risk of suspicion.

Within a few minutes, he was at the centre of an enormous reserve totalling several billions of litres of crude oil, all stored in the tank farm before him – an oil reserve that only needed a good box of matches to turn into a monumental inferno. As he drove on, he gently patted the backpack next to him and let his fingers skim over the explosives that would soon put paid to western imperialism and set aflame the consumerist tyranny governing the world. Terrorism was the only effective weapon to bring down that materialistic, productivist and totalitarian ideology that was dominating everywhere and denied human freedom. Hartman's mission was to continue the struggle of the anarchists, where the Bader-Meinhoff group and the Red Brigades had left off.

He had never met Sheikh Yusuf in person, and yet was willing to work under his orders. It was not Islam that brought them close, but rather the insatiable need to resist, to exist, and simply 'to be.' Their respective terrorist networks joined forces towards the end of the previous year. They had found common ground between the anarchist's anti-globalisation ideologies and the Islamic fundamentalist's ongoing struggle.

Hartmann planned his attack with great care. He knew that the sheer number of tanks would make it impossible to place a charge on every one of them. However, he estimated that it would only be necessary to target half a dozen strategically-placed tanks across the site - the resulting firestorm from the inferno would be sufficient to ignite all the others in succession like falling dominoes. Hartman drove up to each of the selected tanks in succession, each time repeating the process of placing a charge on the two most vulnerable points: the welded seam where the primary outlet joins onto the tank body and the point on the opposite diameter, so as to create a shockwave that would cause the whole structure to implode. To maximise the impact, he had to position the charges accurately; a lengthy task during which he was occasionally greeted at short distance by guards on patrol. By 11:40 p.m. he had almost finished on the last tank. For the final time, Hartmann pulled out a brick of explosives. For a moment, he caressed it in his hand. It was going to be his last companion, the friend in whose hands he would die in a few minutes. As with the preceding ones, he moulded its gently the curved surface at the precise point diametrically across from the one he had just placed at the tank's main pipe cluster.

Suddenly, a bright light made him stand out against the darkness. It came from a flashlight. He instantly turned his head.

'Herr Harmann, was machen Sie?'

It was Olaf, a young Norwegian engineer.

'I'm setting up acoustic sensors...'

'What, at this time? Strange, no one ever told us...'

He scanned the torch beam and stopped it when he saw the object the German had just placed. The young man let out a broad grin.

'Hey hey, Herr Hartmann... It's a good job I haven't got a suspicious mind. Your detector looks just like time bomb.'

He burst out in a heavy laughter, pleased with his friendly jibe.

The engineer's mirth came to an abrupt end. The German had pulled out his pistol and, holding the barrel, swung it with all his weight towards the young man's face. It struck his cheekbone with a dull thud, causing him to duck his head low as he let out a shrill scream under the excruciating pain. It ended abruptly as the butt crashed against his nape. Olaf collapsed head down in a bundle, quickly surrounded by a pool of warm blood pulsing from his open wound.

Hartmann checked his watch. He had barely a quarter of an hour. He walked briskly back to his jeep and returned a few seconds later with a reel of heavy duty adhesive tape. Pulling the Norwegian's hands together behind his back, he unwound the tape and passed a strip a few times around the wrists. Next, he snapped shut his victim's half opened jaw and immediately ran a first length of tape over his lips, then two more in a cross pattern, just as the young engineer was showing signs of coming back to his senses.

Pointing the gun directly between his eyes, Hartmann snapped hoarsely:

'Quick, get up...'

He grabbed him by his shirt collar and pushed him vigorously up to the foot of the metal stairway that spiralled around the enormous tank.

'Up you go!'

It took a good ten minutes to force the groggy Olaf to the top platform, some 30 metres above the ground.

From above, they could see spread all around them the vast installation of silvery metal structures, brightly lit against the black Arabian night by a constellation of sodium lamps, like a city that never sleeps. The silence was filled by the incessant drone of hundreds of pumps sending the lifeblood to and from the dozens of tanks that extended over several kilometres along the oil terminal beyond. In the more immediate vicinity, tall, narrow metallic chimneys sent large plumes of white vapour vertically up into the still sky.

Hartmann signalled his prisoner to sit down against the railings on the floor over the roof, and did likewise.

'Watch, Olaf, watch closely, you're about to see the greatest and the last show of your life! Open your eyes Olaf, you're in the front seat, this is all for you, just for you!'

The usually cold, methodical German spoke with an air of exultation. His last words were uttered in a shrill tone and were followed by an insane laugh.

'Come on, sit up, Olaf, the show's about to begin!'

In the immediate moments that followed Hartmann's hysterical announcement, everything remained the same. And then it all happened at once. The first explosion erupted behind them and tore apart a reservoir with a thundering rumble. It sent out a heat wave that scorched the back of their necks. It was the turn of the giant refinery to blow up in various parts, and then another tank in front of them. The Norwegian had time to see walls of flames rise before his eyes like giant waves in the ocean of the sky. Then there was an explosion below him as though he were seated on a volcano. The great tank shivered. A brief and dense rumble turned into a violent blast. He was thrown into the air, caught by the fire that engulfed him. He wanted to scream but his mouth was sealed. The fire was already in him, in his lungs, in his eyes, in his head. In a split second, he experienced the searing pain of a skinned body, and then the ultimate deliverance of sublimation.

In the hours that followed the total destruction of the Yanbu oil terminal and refinery, the Nymex light sweet crude delivery price for June made a series of uncontrolled leaps, true to its traditional way of reacting whenever a crisis hit the world. The first jump pierced through the symbolic 200 dollar ceiling. Then the price settled down to a corrected level of around 182.65 dollars later during the day as the market picked up. But the fall was like pressing down a spring...

The next day, the barrel was being traded at 234 dollars...

People's Palace

Beijing

June

'Yanbu? Why, that's in China?' exclaimed an imminent Politburo member, feigning surprise.

'Yangbu, you mean? That's right near where I come from, just outside Shanghai!' joked one of the representatives of that province.

'No! For your information, Yanbu Al Bahr is in Saudi Arabia. It's the largest shore-based oil terminal of the west coast,' corrected a third member present.

'Or rather, it was!' quipped the director-general of a car manufacturing consortium.

'How can I get them to understand?.' The question had been haunting Admiral Liang Dongbuo, vice-chairman of the Central Military Commission, China's highest military institution. 'How can I make the country's new business circles sensitive to geopolitical matters and the imminent dangers of the international situation?'

It now seemed the recent world events had given him a helping hand.

The admiral took the initiative of arranging this meeting, to which were invited the recently-promoted Politburo members with a background in industry, a handful of governors and dignitaries from the major coastal provinces, many of whom also figured among the country's top businessmen. It was a carefully-selected gathering of men who urgently needed to become aware of the stark realities of international affairs. Because of their business and industrial backgrounds, they spoke of nothing but economics, stability, foreign investments, trade surpluses, etc., whereas Liang and his friends from the old guard were wizened to the darker realities of the world.

To Liang, it was clear that over the past few years, the United States had laid its hands on the world's strategic oil reserves. They had posted their soldiers at each derrick, all along the main pipelines, placed units off the straits passed by supertankers, and could thereby at any moment turn off the tap that irrigated China's economy. Their military bases held the country in a pincer. Their low-earth orbit satellites could spy on every square inch of the territory, listen in to any communication; their navy ruled the seas and their defence systems could intercept missiles.

It was a masterfully orchestrated plan whose pieces were systematically being put into place.

Its goal? knock China off the rails!

China had to be derailed, stifled, prevented from reaching the top of the podium, the step it could rightly claim on account of its size, its population, the depth of its history and culture, and the resourcefulness of its industrious and active people.

He looked at the expressions on each one of the members present. Most faces were unfamiliar to him, but he could almost gauge their state of mind and aptitude to confront the real world just from their general demeanour, carefully groomed hair, fashionable suits and designer spectacles.

Admiral Liang put the tip of his fingers to his temple as a quick salute to his colleagues of the military commission that had just arrived.

The rise of crude oil above 250 dollar mark following the terrorist attack the previous day confirmed his worst predictions.

No, oil was not simply a contingency to which one had to adapt, it was a lethal weapon in the hands of an enemy who would stop at nothing to get to the top.

He had three hours to convince these influential members. Three hours to swing the balance of power within his country. Three hours to sensitise the captains of industry, those who today weighed massively on China's destiny with their monumental trade surpluses.

Whom could he count upon? At least on General Liu Rong, chairman of the Central Military Commission, a hardliner like himself. As for President Ren, his political savvy was the only thing he could rely on. Today, too much decision-making was in the hands of economists and business circles, in other words the advocates of stability.

Admiral Liang went straight to the point.

'Ladies and gentlemen, as you are aware, the barrel of oil now costs over 250 $. This alone is a major preoccupation and constitutes a serious threat to Chinese growth. But there's something even more important. The events of the last three days have exposed China's fundamental weaknesses and extreme vulnerability. It took just one isolated terrorist act by an unknown group to jeopardise the security of our oil supplies. I intend to use this crisis to repeat once more: oil is a weapon of war, and this weapon is in the hands of our enemies.'

Liang clicked the mouse button of his laptop connected to a video projector, and a large map of Western Europe at the beginning of the 20th century came into view.

'Oil first appeared on the scene of military conflicts with the First World War. The Germans were the first to use it intensely for their mechanised army to run its tanks, supply trucks, submarines and other sea vessels... This fuel quickly became the lifeblood for all battlefields. The First World War thus demonstrated the strategic importance of being able to control the world's oil production zones. The fall of the Ottoman Empire in the aftermath of the war was to mark the beginning of bitter rivalry between the British and French, both wanting to control the middle-eastern oilfields. The British were soon to gain the upper hand in this political battle, only to find there was a new player to contend with: the United States with its insatiable appetite. Being aware that oil was not in unlimited supply, America made the decision – even back then – to ration the exploitation of its own reserves in Texas. The American oil companies were quick to set up oil derricks all over Saudi Arabia and the Emirates.

In the Second World War, supplying fuel to the troops was at the core of military logistics. You need only recall that the advance of General Rommel's Afrika Korps in the North African desert was stopped dead in its tracks simply for lack of fuel. And it was because of their limited fuel reserves that the Nazis were forced into a risky strategy of first conducting a lightning war and then scrambling to take control of its enemy's oilfields.

After the Second World War, America's actions to promote decolonisation were conducted with the ulterior motive of taking the place of the old European nations. And thus we saw how in 1953 the CIA organised the overthrow of the Mossadegh government in Iran to put the Shah – a much more pro-Western figure – into power. Soon after, the Iranian National Oil Company granted a 25-year licence to extract and refine its crude oil to a consortium led chiefly by US companies, notably Exxon, Texaco and Gulf.

The United States deployed its oil strategy all along the Arabian peninsular. During a meeting with President Franklin D. Roosevelt in February 1945, aboard the cruiser Quincy, the then King of Arabia granted a sixty-year monopoly of his country's oil to American oil companies. Of course, it wasn't a free gift: in exchange, the United States had to guarantee Arabia's military protection. And that's how the Arabian American Oil Company, Aramco, was for decades to exploit virtually all the oil in Saudi Arabia and the Emirates. The Suez Canal crisis in 1956 was to put an end to European influence in the Middle East, and the new world order for oil was to be established largely to the advantage of the United States.

The Yom Kippur war, started by Egypt and Syria in 1973, pioneered the use of the oil weapon as a means of applying pressure to resolve a conflict, in this case opposing Israel to its Arab neighbours. In the space of just two months, the barrel of oil shot from $3 to $11.60.

If you analyse the situation, you'll come to the conclusion that OPEC's decision had nothing but advantages for the United States...

Together with the Middle Eastern countries, the US majors were the greatest beneficiaries of this quadrupling of oil prices! Moreover, the rise in oil prices increased the potential value of the US oil reserves, and overnight we saw American oilfields that were not economically viable become lucrative.

But, above all, this episode was to reinforce America's domination among its allies. Europe's economic boom of the previous 30 years, backed by vigorous and sustained growth, quickly ground to a halt. Its economic competitiveness suffered a severe downturn with soaring energy costs, all to the advantage of the United States. America's allies suddenly became aware of the precariousness of their situation and began to realise just how much they depended on their transatlantic cousin. In 1973, European nations fell into an 'economic crisis' that has pervaded ever since, and had to live with high levels of unemployment.

But there was also a message there for Asia, and Japan in particular. The Empire of the rising sun was threatening to become a very serious competitor for American industry, not just in the car and electronics sectors, but in many others. The fear of the yellow peril had reached its peak. Not having any raw materials of its own, Japan could now see the limits of its ambitions both at the regional and international levels.'

It was now time to draw the lessons from this first oil crisis.

'China today constitutes a far greater danger to America's hegemony than Japan or Europe ever did in the past; in many ways, we are just as vulnerable as Japan and as naive as Europe.

By acquiring political control of the Middle-Eastern and Central-Asian oil producing countries, the United States now holds the balance of power within OPEC and has direct influence on the price of the barrel. That's why you will see oil prices soar whenever a dangerous competitor needs to have its growth stymied, or its economy weakened, all to the benefit of the US oil majors. Conversely, whenever it is necessary to give the American economy a push, or to punish a country like Iran, Iraq or the USSR by diminishing their oil revenues, then you'll see the price of oil dip.

The United States is also one of the main arms suppliers to that region. When Europe and Asia buy their oil from a US-controlled Middle East, much of the money works its way back to US companies and strengthens the dollar. Oil-producing countries in their turn recycle their dollars by purchasing – among other things – American weapons to protect themselves. And hence we have closed loop.'

He paused for a moment to take a few sips of green tea.

'Now let's move on to the present period. The Gulf war of 1990-91 only reinforced these different factors. For reasons which to this day remain a mystery, Iraq saw fit to invade Kuwait. And once again, Japan was pressured into heavily subsidising the Gulf War. It had to pay the States 13 billion dollars in recognition for America's role in defending that country's oil supplies by preventing a flare up in the Middle East - another way for the United States to remind Japan not to set its sights too high. Should we see a coincidence in that? Let's just say that ever since the Gulf War, Japan has been going through a slow process of decline...

And so, after three oil crises interspersed with periods of settled prices, the price of the barrel seemed to level off at around 25 dollars.

But the American economic machine began to gather steam.

It first took control of the Caspian oil reserves, then those of Iraq. After that, it was time for the US to push up oil prices once more.

We can thus only conclude that all the fluctuations in oil prices have no other purpose than to serve the strategic interests of the United States.

Just like Japan yesterday, China is today enduring these oil price changes with total complacency. But the weapon's still the same, and still in American hands, at the service of the same interests, whether it be in 1973, 1990, or today. Only now, it's China's turn to be the victim. The oil weapon used to slow down Europe in the 70s and Japan in the 90s is now pointed at China. It's plunged Europe into turmoil and subsequently Japan into decline. That's what's now in store for China.'

The audience was visibly stunned by the virulence of the Admiral's rhetoric.

'Now, allow me to focus on the specific situation concerning China. We consume over 8 million barrels of oil each day and imports 40% of it. These oil imports increase at a rate of 20 to 25% per year. You can thus see how important it is for our economy to dispose of reliable long-term supplies. China has indeed made considerable efforts to boost its domestic production, but our country possesses hardly more than 2.5% of the world's hydrocarbon reserves.

If we extrapolate along the current trends, within 10 years China will have to import seven to eight million barrels a day, i.e. more than Germany, France, Italy and Spain put together. It will then import half of its oil needs.

To meet these requirements, we will have to triple our imports from the Middle East over the next 10 years.'

He stopped for a moment to let these hard facts sink in.

'We seriously have to consider the most pessimistic of scenarios. Oil is a weapon now in the hands of the United States. They can at any moment pull the trigger and knock the train of Chinese growth off the rails, and that is their prime international objective for the coming years.

China's oil comes mainly from Arabia, Iran and Angola, the rest being bought from Russia, Oman, Sudan, Vietnam and Indonesia. Our national oil companies - CNOOC and Sinopec - are intensifying their efforts in prospecting abroad. China's diplomatic policies have been rewarded with considerable success: we have signed oil supply agreements with Venezuela and Canada.

But China will feel increasing competition from not only its Asian neighbours, notably Japan, India and South Korea, but also from Europe.'

Admiral Liang next projected a world map on the screen.

'Now, let's look at the geopolitical situation. As you'll see on this map, the world is divided into six main zones. These are in fact none other than the US military command zones! That's exactly how United States sees the world and how they control it! The first four zones respectively cover the American continent, Western Europe plus Russia and West Africa. They are under direct US military command. We can call these four zones the 'American sphere,' which comprises the United States and its living space.

That leaves us with the two other zones: USCENTCOM and US Central command, which encompass the Middle East, Central Asia up to Afghanistan as well as Egypt, Sudan and the Horn of Africa. You will note that this American military command zone perfectly matches the oil producing regions that account for two thirds of the world's hydrocarbon reserves and also covers the red Sea, which has become a main highway for super tankers.

Finally, we have the USPACOM zone, which covers the Pacific. It runs from India to Japan, passing through Australia. And it also happens to cover China...'

Looks of consternation spread among all the politicians and captains of industry upon hearing this. This was clearly news to them.

'Ever since the fall of the Soviet Union, the United States with their 300 million inhabitants have enjoyed total and undivided domination over the rest of the world. Their military bases are now installed in all the strategic points of the globe. They are currently in control of all the sources of raw materials and communication channels. They can impose their own laws on potential rivals and direct the course of events solely as a function of their own interests.

No observer can fail to notice that NATO's geographical coverage matches almost perfectly the 27 nations of the European Union! This is no coincidence. The United States use all their political power and influence to shape the frontiers of the European Union to serve their own interests, against the original goals of the old continent. It is the United States that define, from across the Atlantic, Europe's footprint and frontiers. Heading inexorably along a demographic, political and economic decline, Western Europe will sink into oblivion in a matter of years. And the same fate awaits Russia. The question remains: who will lay their hands on the vast Siberian expanses and exploit their enormous mineral reserves?

In setting foot in Afghanistan, the United States opened bases in Georgia, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, this time pushing their strategic advantage towards the north of central Asia, in other words at our doorstep! The American imperialist powers threaten China on its Western flank, right next to our Xinjiang!'

The mention of that region provoked a flutter among the attendance.

'The occupation of Afghanistan and Iraq ruined all of China's efforts to enter politically and economically into a region of the world that is vital to our energy needs. Our project to build a pipeline linking central Asia to Russia along the north was dashed. Conversely, America's intervention served to de-enclave central Asia towards the West and Turkey and the South via Afghanistan.'

The Admiral paused again to take a few more sips of tea.

'America's pressure had disastrous consequences for China. The Shanghai group formed in 1996 brought together Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Its purpose was to create a pole of stability and development in central Asia. It asserted the intention of its member states to promote a multi-polar view of the world. The arrival of the American presence simply wiped away China's presence in that region. Hydrocarbons from the Caspian were no longer to follow the silk Route. Our western frontier is now flanked by the American military machine.

At the same time, China was surely and simply thrown out of Iraq. America's aim is no doubt to one day to reconstitute the Baghdad Pact which, in the 1950s, federated Turkey, Iraq and Iran and formed a rampart on the South Western flank against what was then the Soviet Union. As for the 'Great Middle East' project, this is nothing less than an expanded version of the Ottoman Empire that dominated the region for over four centuries.

We can thus see that our policies of strengthening ties with the Islamic world are at present being dashed. The United States has reconfigured the Middle East and Central Asia according to its own strategy for controlling global oil reserves. This entire zone is now under the United States' political, economic and military tutelage. The Middle East supplies over 70% of Asia's hydrocarbon imports. Using the pretext of its war against terror, the United States is in the long term waging a war against China. It uses the threat of Islamic fundamentalism, which it designates as the official enemy of the Western world, to effectively weaken China's positions.'

This bold geopolitical analysis appeared to be shared by many of the participants. A dignitary from the Guangdong province broke in with his own personal comment, which tallied well with the general feeling of indignation:

'It's a safe bet that if there wasn't any oil in Islamic territories, no-one would be talking about 'the clash of civilisations'! This absurd term is nothing other than political hype to mask the identity of the true enemy, namely China! It's just a paltry excuse to justify military interventions in the four corners of the world.'

Liang had prepared a shock statement to conclude his talk.

'Gentlemen, the United States have laid their hands on China's oil. This is a deliberate and calculated strategy - nothing less than an act of aggression, which we are perfectly within our rights to treat as an act of war...'

He hammered out each of these words to drive home the full weight of his statement. Looking up, he could see the Politburo members and top civil servants in the room acquiescing with a slight nod of the head. His last three words 'act of war' were ringing in everyone's ears.

He now had to strike while the iron was hot.

'The Americans have just one objective, and that is to derail China before it reaches its critical mass and thereafter becomes impossible to contain. It's in their interest to act quickly and exploit the current window of opportunity during which our country is still vulnerable and in full development stage. Today, China is a paradox. According to medium-term projections, it will only take 15 more years for China to become the planet's second largest economic power, and another 15 for it to reach the number one position.

The world, our neighbours, our partners, our rivals and our enemies all see us already as the giant we shall become tomorrow, and this nurtures in them mixed feelings of fear, respect, jealousy and sometimes panic. We are thus seen as a giant, but a giant that hasn't yet reached maturity, with defence capabilities comparable to those of a medium state. We are now like a harmless whale at the mercy of a harpoon. This puts us in a situation of extreme vulnerability for the 10 years to come.

Prairie animals would have no compunction in killing a baby lion or newborn elephant if they realised the strength of the adult animal it was to become. And the wild scrub in the forest would willingly stifle its neighbouring saplings if they knew the branches of the full-grown tree would starve them of sunlight. Many countries would like to see China as a bonsai, these Japanese trees that human hands turned into dwarves.

If no major factor comes along to disrupt the current trend, then the future is plain for everyone to see. China will become the world's most powerful nation by virtue of its demography, its workforce, its dynamism and the resourcefulness of its people.

The United States will never let itself be overtaken without putting up a fight. They are imbibed with an imperialistic tradition handed down by the British and exacerbated with the pioneering spirit dear to the conquerors of the Wild West. We are dealing with a religious nation convinced of being invested with a divine duty, namely to impose their own order on the rest of the world.

Never in its 5000 year history has China ever been expansionist. The same cannot be said of the Europeans or the Western world as a whole. It is innate in them to conquer, to bring foreign peoples to submission, to impose their own values upon them. Just remember how Great Britain set about exploiting Asia, from India to China, with ruthless arrogance and cynicism and complete disregard for their peoples, their freedom and dignity.

Now take a look at the United States, that hideous replica of the British Empire, that former colony with its over-inflated ego that thinks it has the right to rule the world. As in the past, it will stop at nothing to come to its ends, which is to dominate, to bring nations to submission and bleed them white of their natural resources, and to pull the reins on the entire planet simply to satisfy its own interests.

We must face the fact that China will suffer an attack within the next 10 years, and most likely the next five. It is in the United States' strategic interest to act while our country is still fragile and vulnerable. It's cowardly to attack a child, but there's no arguing it's an effective and economical way of getting rid of the adult in the making.'

No-one among the spellbound audience thought for a moment of challenging these statements, so much they seemed to follow lines of unassailable logical reasoning.

'Now let's look at the factors that could put China off the rails. The most preoccupying of these remain the risk of a military conflict. And here there is no shortage of pretexts. If the security of our oil supplies is under threat, or if the political situation in Taiwan were to become intolerable, then China would have no other choice than to intervene.

The US military budget exceeds that of all the other countries put together. The United States has the clear intention of drawing China into a new arms race, like the one that led to the downfall of the Soviet Union. Their superiority here is overwhelming in every single field, and can only become more so in the years to come with the arrival of new advanced technologies that will give them a decisive advantage in all war theatre zones and in every situation. It's simply beyond China's capabilities to reduce that gap in the coming years.'

He displayed a new map of Asia.

'We must also break ourselves free from the stranglehold at our frontiers. China's eastern and southern flanks are threatened by several American bases, both in Japan and in South Korea. The United States could even set up a naval base in Vietnam...

The challenge in the years to come will be to free the major Asian industrial powers from the gravitational pull of America's sphere of influence and draw them into a system of regional development centred on China.

The innermost circle of these nations comprises Japan, Korea and Taiwan. The next circle encompasses the ASEAN countries, where the Chinese community is the largest and controls their economy. China's sphere of influence will then extend from Japan to Burma and from Mongolia to Bali.

It will then represent a human community of over 2.3 billion people, to be compared with 1.2 billion Indians and the 1.6 billion of the Western world.

In order to construct this sphere of prosperity and security, we must rely on three main factors: economic integration, Asian nationalism and military might. The first of these is being accomplished right now. Japan and Korea, as well as other countries in South East Asia, have invested heavily in China. Our country has become the lung through which all this region can breathe. In particular, Japan has been experiencing a deep crisis since the early 1990s. If it has now managed to pull away from that protracted recession, it's thanks to China. As for Asian nationalism, it's already very much alive and, as doubts begin to settle on America's invincibility, we'll see a growth in rancour and animosity against this hegemonic giant. The Asian world shall not tolerate for long this second colonisation by the white man, neither his arrogance nor his contempt towards other cultures. Asia shall at last get its revenge on centuries of domination and colonial exploitation, on the humiliation and disdain it has endured. Home to a quarter of mankind, China is the natural centre around which the Asian renewal shall crystallise. Our immediate objective is to bring about the closure of American bases in Japan and Korea. To do this, China must increase its own military potential, through its navy, which must now be able to project its forces throughout the Pacific, through its army, which must be able to carry out landings on all the region's islands, through its arsenal of tactical and strategic missiles, and through its satellite-based intelligence gathering and observation capabilities.'

It was now the moment for Admiral Liang to deliver his conclusions.

'The situation is most preoccupying and can be summed up very simply. The United States has five years in which to derail the train of China's growth. It is deploying all the means it has to achieve this before our very eyes. China is dominated by America's military might, which threatens and encircles it on land, on sea and in space. Look at the Iraqi affair! China didn't budge. All it managed to show was its powerlessness, revealing the weakness of its position on the international scene. Never in the heyday of the Soviet Union would the USA have taken the liberty of invading a country under the USSR's protectorate. Just think of the casualness with which it bombed our embassy in Belgrade back in 1999! This was a perfect example of the contempt we inspire the Americans. Will we have to wait till they invade Myanmar to react at last?

The snare is closing in on us and now forcing us to take the initiative. The USA must act now because they know that in ten years it will be too late. Each passing year raises the cost they'll have to pay to stop us. So, we know the enemy is about to strike - that's the only thing we can be sure about. As things stand, the United States has the choice of its battleground, the weapons and the time. Don't let us concede such a strategic advantage. Strike by surprise, there where they aren't expecting us...'

Beijing July 12

CIA Beijing Bureau

Stenton could not stand to remain deskbound. He had been forced to learn to type on a computer keyboard, use software and send e-mails. Back in Jakarta, he could simply dictate his reports with both feet crossed over his desk, comfortably slumped in an armchair, a generously filled glass of whisky in one hand and his gaze lost in the distance. Beside him there would be a petite secretary dressed in a sarong, bolt upright in her chair, painstakingly converting his words into a neatly presented text, beautifully set with different fonts, bullet points and paragraphing.

How the world had changed. Secretaries had now become personal assistants and CIA Department bosses doubled up as typists. Reporting always took too much of his time and he sometimes envied his agents, always on the field, always there in the action; or nearly always.

'Tell me, Song, what's our tropical fish collector up to - that is his favourite hobby, isn't it?'

Stenton did not even know the name of the agent 'recruited' by Song. As far as he was concerned, he was just the accountant thanks to who they managed to infiltrate the Ministry of Information Technologies and whose hoped-for results were long overdue.

'He's having a fling with the secretary. And he's taking more photos every day then a coach load of Japanese tourists in a week. I've got 500 shots of the secretary's office, but nothing worth writing home about. The situation's getting weird; we can't see the contours, there's nothing to sink our teeth into. Everything seems to come from that department and that ministry, but whenever you try to dig deeper, the picture just gets muddled.'

'I don't like that. These meetings are only the tip of the iceberg, and you can be sure that, under the surface, the 'Lin Zexu group' is leading a far more successful undermining campaign.

'I don't like that either, but there's China for you!'

The Eurasian did not volunteer much information, but the expression on his face made it clear that he was expecting a lot more from Cheng and an affair with that secretary.

'I'll bet you anything this Bao Yutai, the regulations director, isn't the leader of the 'Lin Zexu group.' He just doesn't have the shoulders for it; he can't be the brains behind their operations.'

'If it isn't him, who else could it be? He certainly fits the bill!'

Stenton decided to change the subject.

'And what's the latest news concerning Microsoft and that Chinese work group?'

'You mean the GSP? They're getting along like a house on fire. According to the reports from Kathleen Morse, the mission head, the Chinese are thrilled with everything given to them. They keep asking for more; they're dead keen. As far as she's concerned, there's no doubt they're co-operating fully. Especially that girl, the one who works with that little genius.'

'You mean Tom Bailey?'

'Yup. Her name's Jin. They've struck up a relationship. She took him to the Summer Palace last Sunday and they sometimes dine out together.'

Stenton suddenly got up in his chair.

'Who's that girl? Do we know her? We've got to make an enquiry and find out everything about her! That's where you should have started!'

'Hey, easy, everything's under control! We've got her file. She started working with the Science Academy's Software Research Institute six months ago. We've crossed-checked all the information – she's a bona fide computer scientist, and a highly competent one at that. In any case, the little genius would have noticed if she wasn't.'

'Anything else?'

'Apparently, she held several posts as an expert adviser for state commissions, and she also had occasion to mix with foreigners. She worked for some of China's major projects, always on the most sensitive and advanced matters. But that doesn't prove anything.'

'What d'you make of all this, Song? D'you think she works for interior security? Is she watching over her comrades? Or is she out there gathering intelligence?'

He remained silent a few moments before answering.

'I'd say there's a 50% chance that she's on intelligence gathering, maybe more. But that doesn't necessarily make her all that dangerous. After all, there's nothing unusual about everyone spying on everyone else in groups working on such sensitive subjects.'

'I don't want to see her around Tom Bailey!'

'Listen, I spoke about that with Kathleen Morse and she doesn't see any problem with this socialising. Remember, this Tom Bailey guy is their blue-eyed boy, he's untouchable. Also the Microsoft team was told to go out of their way in being warm and friendly with their Chinese counterparts. That's perfectly normal, they're out on a public relations mission; it's their job to seduce and reassure. On the other hand, the Chinese are keeping their distances and play the fraternisation game on the lower tone.'

'Okay, but I don't want this relation to develop into anything deeper, you got that?'

'Don't worry, I've had fat Ming and another guy follow her for weeks now. Each time they spent the evening together, she went back her own way and he took a cab alone to back his hotel. That's happened two or three times... three if I'm right - on top of that Sunday at the Summer Palace. We've got some shots. There's been nothing more.'

'For the time being... but this Tom's a real charmer. You know how women are fascinated by big... brains.'

'I wouldn't bet on that,' muttered Song.

Stenton had already noticed Song's animosity towards the young computer scientist. Just for kicks, he always found an occasion to say something flattering about him and watch its effect on the Eurasian's tough face. Song was no intellectual and clearly nurtured an inferiority complex towards the young Californian prodigy.

'Further to our latest warning, Microsoft could well decide to send him to Shanghai for a while. That'll put things back in order.'

'Excellent initiative. I'll speak to Kathleen Morse about it. Meanwhile, just carry on. We mustn't take our eyes off that Jin girl, not even for a moment.'

Beijing

16 July

Song turned up immediately on the scene. After stalking the girl for two weeks, he and his men had now become familiar with her habits.

Whom was she visiting in this hotel on the outskirts of Beijing? It was a far cry from the city's five-star resorts. The premises were clean but by no means luxurious. It was frequented mainly by agents, Chinese visitors and thrifty businessmen who preferred that kind of unpretentious hotel offering good value the money. It was certainly not the favourite stopping place for westerners, who generally went for the more central districts.

Ming was inside, posted at a lookout position on one of the floors. It was he who gave the alert. Things had begun to get serious an hour ago.

'Something strange is going on' was fat Ming's message on his wireless intercom. The girl had taken exceptional precautions to escape his vigilance. She entered an underground car park and immediately drove out again without stopping. By the time Ming reached the ticket barrier with his car and paid his three yuans, she had already sped away and merged into the traffic. It was not the sort of thing people did out of amusement, only if they wanted to get rid of a stalker.

But her trace had not vanished completely. A few days earlier, Ming had placed a small radio transponder under Jin's car.

Now all he had to do was switch on the screen of his GPS navigation system at the centre of the dashboard and watch the little green symbol showing her position overlain in real time on the street map. His own position was indicated by a red symbol; he simply had to get the symbols to merge.

He called Song immediately. His superiors seemed to have taken a deep interest in that female computer scientist ever since her relationship with one of the Microsoft team members had become a bit too intimate. Ming could not quite understand what was so dangerous about this situation. The Microsoft chaps had come to open up their coffers and put everything up on offer. There was no need for the Chinese to place as spy - the Americans were in Beijing precisely to reveal all their secrets of their own accord. No doubt they had to protect that Tom Bailey guy. After all, he was a whiz kid and perhaps knew things more important than the Windows source code? Things that the Chinese would dearly love to know?

The girl was only a few blocks away – nothing to be alarmed about. No need to put his foot down; he could follow her from a distance without risk of losing her. They thus cruised the city streets for almost three quarters of an hour until they entered this Beijing suburb he had never been to before. He arrived at the front of the hotel just as the automatic gates of its underground car park opened in front of the girl's car. They had hardly finished closing again that they opened once more to let him in.

Knowing the room number beforehand, Jin made her way straight to the lift without going past the reception. No-one challenged her; visits by pretty young women were common in these hotels. Fat Ming caught up with her in the lobby just as the lift doors opened and they both stepped inside the cabin. Seeing her select the fifth floor, he reached over to press the button marked seven and meekly apologised for causing her to step back. In the short time they were together, he had time to sense the light and subtle fragrance exuded by Jin's perfume. He had taken so many photos of her with the American from afar that he imagined he already knew her a bit, but this was the first time he stood physically close to her. She was nothing like his own wife. Ming had never gone out with a girl of such class. Eyeing the woman from the back, he admired her beautiful long hair falling in gentle waves down to her waist, stopping just short of her beige linen low-waist slacks neatly hugging the gentle curves of her lower body.

As the doors opened, he turned round to watch her step out. For a moment, the woman stood motionless in the corridor, deciding which direction to take. The doors were already sliding shut but he had just enough time to get a glimpse of her heading towards the right.

Zhou heard a knock on the door and got up to let the visitor in. It was Jin.

He was in this suburban hotel for a rather special operation that began towards the end of that afternoon. He had got hold of some highly interesting material \- two hard discs loaded with extremely sensitive data belonging to an American firm – which he managed to trade against a thick wad of dollars and a Hong Kong passport for a Chinese citizen whose future existence now depended on his discretion...

After quickly checking that the corridor was empty, Jin entered the room. He gave her a warm hug by way of greeting.

'Has anyone been following you?'

'I don't think so. I took the usual precautions.'

She was trying to give the impression everything was safe. But he knew the considerable risks she was taking in coming over to meet him.

'The CIA's at your heels now you're working with that programmer. You can't be too careful, you know.'

Jin had lost all face-to-face contact with her team and counterespionage members ever since she began her mission within the GSP. In particular, she had ceased to meet Zhou, now that American agents were watching her every move.

'Why would Zhou want this meeting here in a hotel room; did he realise how much this get-together was dangerous?' she thought. 'What did he have to say that was so important?'

'You know, as far as the CIA's concerned, I'm the archetypal programmer! Besides, the Microsoft people are seeking to build up personal relations outside work. They're ever such a warm and friendly lot. I guess it's part of their job.'

She made no mention of the dangers involved in coming to see him. He wanted to see her and so she came, even if it meant flouting all the elementary safety rules of the business. That was all there was to it. He looked at her more intently than usual.

'And how are you getting on with that Tom?'

She could not help turning away from his gaze a fraction of a second. Zhou sensed that defensive reflex driven by her innermost self. Perhaps she did not even really seek to avoid that rapid movement of the eyes that betrayed her. Something inside her refused to hide anything whatsoever from that man.

'Fine. Just fine. In fact he's taking part in some work meetings with our state institutes outside the official GSP sessions. And he's quite open about it. The topics they discuss are just the usual stuff. He certainly doesn't try to put a shroud of mystery over his activities. Apparently, Microsoft's running a charm offensive along different lines.'

'You really sure they're being sincere?'

'They're absolutely irreproachable on that score. I was the first to be surprised.'

He went back to the subject of the young American.

'Now this Tom... are you absolutely certain he is not taking part in any other program?'

'Certain. If he were, I... I'd know it...'

This time, Jin looked at Zhou straight in the eyes.

Once more she had betrayed herself. But now she did not hide away. She no longer wanted to make a mystery of the tender relationship that was slowly building up between her and Tom Bailey. And she wanted to share it with Zhou. He looked at her for a few seconds before continuing.

'Jin, I just want you to be careful with that fellow. He's worth a lot to the Americans and you know they'll put some tight security around him.'

The words they both spoke had little importance, so much their meaning was implicit. Perhaps at that moment Zhou was regretting having sent her on this mission that was to fling her in the arms of this American. Now he was losing her, he was realising that he was more attached to her than he ever dared admit. Life sometimes deals cruel and unexpected blows to those who think themselves invulnerable.

'I know. He's closely guarded by Microsoft and the special services,' she answered.

He drew her towards him. She snuggled in his arms. She felt so safe with that man. She dearly wished she could find the words to express her affection for him from all the expressions defining the myriad forms of love.

Zhou did not ask her to stay. In fact, he was not even sure he wanted her to. She would have accepted, he knew. But he chose not to ask...

She gave him a last hug to say goodbye.

'Jin, you will take care, won't you?'

The door closed behind. In the hotel corridor, her eyes were brighter than usual.

Fat Ming was there, tucked behind a corner at the end of the fifth-floor corridor. Hearing a door open, he poked out his head and saw Jin leave one of the rooms. He quickly made a mental note of the scene and tried to memorise the exact door it was. The lift door opened and then closed again. He immediately pulled out his wireless intercom to inform Song that the girl was on her way down. Song had assigned the roles: he would remain in the hotel lobby while Ming was to be the lookout man upstairs.

Ming was now holding what appeared to be an ordinary Motorola clamshell-type mobile phone, but which in fact housed a sophisticated high-definition camera capable of taking a rapid succession of shots under low light conditions.

Song confirmed that the girl had left the hotel. He did not bother to follow her because it was now more important to identify the mysterious occupant - or occupants - of that hotel room on the fifth floor.

Ming stood by the lift as if he were waiting for someone. He was holding his phone open, looking down on the small screen like someone writing or consulting a text message.

After what seemed an eternity to him, but which was in fact only a little over a quarter of an hour, the room door opened and there emerged a man carrying a large briefcase.

Without raising his eyes from the screen, Ming began to walk towards him, then stopped in the middle of the corridor as if he were typing an SMS. The phone's camera was now firing away at a rate of three pictures a second as Ming watched on his screen the man walking towards him ten paces away. And then suddenly the stranger disappeared out of sight. Ming immediately looked up. 'Where the hell has he gone?,' he muttered in utter astonishment. Then he heard a fire door close a few metres away to his right. The mysterious character had vanished into thin air like a ghost.

He called Song again.

-,'Quick, Song he's going down the fire escape ladder four or five metres to the left of the elevators.'

Ming had now pushed the fire door and was standing in the open-air metal staircase. He stopped a few seconds, hoping to pick up a tell-tale sound from the fugitive. Everything was silent. He finally decided to make his way down, stopping now and then to listen.

He got to the ground floor and thrust open the door that gave onto the lobby, only to find himself face-to-face with Song waiting for him.

'Well, did you see him?' asked Ming.

'No-one came through the door except you!'

'But he was right in front of me!'

'He must've left at one of the floors!'

Their agitated conversation was beginning to draw attention from hotel staff. It would be difficult for them to search the building. They chose to leave and watch all the exits from outside.

'Where the fuck's he gone?' fused Song in frustration.

'He slipped right away before my eyes. I was there getting shots of him and then in a flash he was gone! This guy's the invisible man! He must've got suspicious seeing me with my cell phone in the corridor. Sounds like he's pretty smart. I bet you anything he's a pro, some agent from their special services.'

'The building's bound to have several exits. Come on let's go.'

The two men made their way back to Song's car.

Inside, Ming got out his mobile phone and activated the Bluetooth function. The photos began to transfer into the memory of the car's on-board computer. Song switched on the media player, quickly selected a few functions on the display menu, and the first photo appeared on the central console's 10-inch screen.

It was blurred, perhaps due to Ming having moved as the two men walked towards each other, combined with the low shutter speed. The next photo had the same fuzziness, and likewise for the third. The following two shots showed a face almost entirely masked by a hand.

The two men looked at each other aghast. All this stalking, all these efforts, all this deployment had come to nothing.

They remained silent as they watched the shambolic slide show.

And then, bingo! The second-to-last picture came up, pin sharp and near-perfectly framed. Song immediately stabbed the 'previous' button on the player and studied the image. The man had already passed the fire escape door but was turning round, as if to have a last look at his stalker before disappearing. He was clean shaven with a strong angular jaw, his hair carefully combed back. He was looking at them with steely stare; it was the look of a man who had no fear.

The two men were like fascinated, as if a king cobra had propped up before them. 'It's him' thought Song. 'So that's the ghost we're up against.' At long last they could now put a face on the elusive and furtive enemy. There now remained to put a name to that face.

'Ming, I want you to send that photo straight away to our agents and contacts in all the ministries.'

Song could now call it a day. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before they would identify the man. Stenton and the CIA will at last be satisfied...

Ministry of Information Industries

Beijing, late July

Cheng insisted on clearing up his desk before going off on weekend. He had promised to go out with the young secretary that night and could no longer back away from that date.

'Come on, hurry up!' said Yaping. 'I'll be waiting for you in my office.'

But instead of moving away, Yaping continued to observe him from the corner of her eyes, tut-tutting to herself as she watched his pitiful tidying efforts. In that field, he was simply no match for her!

He emptied the contents of his small briefcase: a few files, some personal belongings and a photo.

'Who's that?' she asked.

It was the photo of the mystery man Song had sent him for identification. Cheng found the face frightening; the expression made him feel uneasy. The man must have been surprised in full action; he had obviously just spotted the camera that was there pointing at him. His features were smooth and tense; all the emotions were portrayed by his stare, like that of an enraged horse expressing all its anger and defiance. Cheng had never met him; he would have remembered otherwise. In fact, he did not really care to meet such a character.

'Oh, that... no-one really... just a photo,' he replied trying to sound casual.

The young woman was showing too much curiosity and Cheng quickly whisked the print out of sight.

'Hey, I know him!' It's Mr. Zhou!

'You actually know him?'

Cheng suddenly became very interested.

She hesitated for a brief moment before explaining:

'Yes, he's already been here at the ministry... but he doesn't look too happy here!'

He had to dig into this matter right away, but first of all he had justify possessing that photo.

'It's a female colleague, an accountant like myself... she belongs to our association. And she's madly in love with that man... can't imagine why to be honest! They met at one of the administration's social evenings. He gave her his telephone number and said he wanted to see her again, but the poor girl lost it, would you believe! She's desperate and thinks the one true love of her life has slipped away. The only thing she can remember is that he works in a ministry, and maybe this one. That's why she gave me that photo so I could enquire at my end...'

'But why doesn't she just call the switchboard operator here? Surely that would be a lot simpler than asking you to scout around with a photograph!'

She was still staring at the face which now had a name he could report back: Zhou!

'That girl' thought Cheng 'you just can't tell her tales; everything has to be absolutely logical and watertight.' Yet inside he felt rather pleased with his little improvisation.

'I'm not even sure if she remembered his name! Besides, Zhou is quite a common surname, you know, and I can't imagine her exposing her love life to a receptionist... we accountants have our pride too, you know!'

'Surely she should be happy with that - I think I got the story nicely sewn up now' sighed Cheng to himself. Yet she proved him wrong:

'But Mr. Zhou looks really angry in this photo... are you absolutely sure he really wants to see your friend again?'

'Well, it wasn't her who took it, in fact. They had an official photographer at the reception and he went round taking everyone's picture. And to give you an idea of just how much she was smitten by him, she went over to see the photographer and, would you believe it, she inspected each and every one of his prints to try to pick him out! Now, if that's not being lovestruck!'

Cheng was proud of himself. His display of a wit, alacrity and imagination demonstrated perfectly why he was in demand and how he had become a spy.

The girl at last seemed satisfied. She let out a smile, pleased at having been let into this secret.

'Yapping, I must stress that this is to remain strictly between you and me. I don't want you repeating this to anyone, least of all to this Mr. Zhou. Okay?'

This time he had overcome all her resistance and taken the upper hand.

'Now I really need you to help me by saying how she could contact him... can you tell me where he works?'

She thought for a moment, pouting coyly.

'Okay, I'll help you. But just one thing... let me keep the photo...'

As she said this, she pressed the photo against her bosom with a grin showing determination.

'What on earth could she find appealing in a chap with such a scary look' thought Cheng with exasperation.

'Okay, if you really want to, but keep it only to yourself and don't tell anyone where it's from!'

'Don't worry, the secret's safe with me! Now come along, let's go up to my office.'

When they arrived there on the 12th floor, she opened the steel cupboard where she put away all her documents for the night and pulled out a large directory to look up Zhou's name. It was not in it, but she had another idea.

She then picked up a diary and flicked through the pages corresponding to the beginning of the year. It was almost a full minute before she finally let out:

'There! He turned up on that day and I made a note of it. You see...Zhou, Ministry of State Security. I'm sorry, that's all I've got - no telephone number, no contact, nothing. All the meetings with him are arranged directly by Mr. Bao himself.'

'Zhou, Ministry of State Security. It looks as though Song will have to content himself with that,' thought Cheng.

Ministry of information industries

Beijing

Bao Yutai did not have any good news. Meetings followed one after the other without producing any concrete results. No matter how hard they stressed on the security breaches in the Windows operating system, on the risk of backdoors and both the short-term dangers and those in the longer term for national independence and control of strategic technologies, on Microsoft's abuse of its dominant position... nothing seemed to come of it. Each of their efforts was opposed by something harder, stronger and heavier that seemed to want to block the mechanism of change.

They had now argued the point from every conceivable angle. The 'conspirators' were attached to different ministries, research institutes and state commissions but were united in their choice of remedy for saving China from subservience. And yet these tight, well targeted salvos proved ineffective.

In retrospect, they may had been better off sticking to the military strategy of concentrating all ones strengths on the opponent's weak points. But for greater security, they had on the contrary decided to create a firestorm by lighting fires simultaneously at different corners.

However, the forces of inertia – as Zhou liked to call them – always had the last word. The only chance now was Zhou. They had to call in Zhou and with him learn the lessons from these last months of action, draw the consequences of that failure and hopefully set up new strategies.

But which ones?

7. The Messenger

'Nothing in the world is weaker and suppler than water.

Yet nothing surpasses it to assail the hard and strong,

and no one can equal it.'

Lao Tse, 6th Century BC.

Beijing

23 July

Zhou was overcome by a feeling of powerlessness. A feeling that overwhelmed him. He didn't like failure. But, more than failure itself, which was part of life, and whose causes he could analyse, what devastated him was knowing he had used up all the means at his disposal. His rational mind could not accept that state of things. There was bound to be something to be done.

He had now been driving for half an hour in nighttime Beijing. He drove along the main shopping street of Wangfujing, still crowded despite the late hour. The neon lights reflected against the car windows. He was going through all the elements of the case endlessly in his mind, almost obsessively. The different leads he explored, arguments incessantly defended and repeated, the people he had rallied to his cause. Those he knew and those, much more numerous still, who formed that virtual network in the shadows, the 'Lin Zexu' group, and whose names and faces he ignored. What was lacking was a catalyst, the chemical element that makes the reaction possible without directly playing a part in it. But no, that wasn't the appropriate metaphor. He was fooling himself by thinking he was so near the goal. The situation was perfectly stable, far too stable, and he needed a foreign element to trigger off the reaction. It would take more than a pinch of magic powder to set things in motion. He had to free his mind, revive its extraordinary mechanism, possibly by some physical activity.

He was seized by a doubt. Was the mind imprisoned in the body, subjected to its gravity, entrenched in its biology? Or was it, on the contrary, that body which, with all its senses awakened, irrigated his brain and made it creative?

He drove on aimlessly and without destination, following the flow of the traffic. He began at last to search his bearings and recognised a few familiar buildings. He turned right, drove alongside an official building and slipped into a narrower street with closed shops for almost a kilometre. He stationed his car in the underground car park and took the lift to the tenth floor. He appreciated this place for its calm, its comfort and its unfailing impeccable service. A hostess in her fifties sprang from a corner of the room, black makeup on her eyes, a smile incrusted on her dark-red painted lips. She recognised him immediately and greeted him at length, nodding her head several times as if by clockwork. Without losing time, she ran through the names of her girls, including two or three who were new. But he had his favourites and didn't like to change. The establishment was recent and no had nothing in common with those traditional old houses of another age. Judging just by the Italian style furnishing of discreet design, the place could be mistaken for the offices of any multinational in the business district. But the dimmed lights from coloured bulbs left no doubt that these premises were for relaxation.

Zhou closed the door of the bedroom and began to undress. He hung his clothes on the hook as if he were at home. He had his routines. Or rather no, it wasn't routine that made his every movement seem mechanical. As a matter of fact, Zhou did everything mechanically, with a discipline that scarcely left any room for hesitation or fantasy. He switched on the television and went to have a shower. He preferred to be alone during this exercise; he hated having someone lather, exfoliate and friction him. When he emerged, his waist wrapped in a towel, the girl was already there, getting her massage oils and powders ready, adjusting the sheet on the heavy mattress lain directly on the floor. She was pretty, as he liked them, with long hair, light skin and a generous body. He didn't react at all upon seeing her; no knowing glance or sign recognition. He simply lay down on the mattress after having tossed his towel on the floor. He was here to relax his body, to liberate his mind and the girl knew it. He had the air conditioning switched off, for nothing could match a hot and humid atmosphere to soothe his body. He closed his eyes and let the flow of news from the CCTV channel penetrate his brain while trying to think of nothing.

'At the Jiuquan base in Inner Mongolia, China was readying the launch of a new Long March 2F rocket carrying in its payload an Earth observation satellite that was to endow it with new intelligence gathering capabilities.' Ever since Colonel Yang Liwei had made fourteen orbits round the Earth in his Shenzhou-5 vessel, the whole country followed the news about space missions. Pictures of that adventure flashed back in his mind. Liwei hadn't discerned the Great Wall from his spacecraft. And yet they said it was the only human construction visible from space. And what about the Three Gorges dam, had he seen it? Was there so much as a window in his vessel? The weather was uncertain over Mongolia and the authorities had preferred to delay the launch.

The girl began her massage. She had picked up one of the plastic bottles from a small basket placed on the floor and started to spread its contents on the Zhou's lower limbs. The oil was delicately scented and he tried in vain to identify its constituents. There was camphor for sure, recognisable by its acrid smell. She was working up his thighs in small swift movements, freeing the muscle from its tensions. Then she began to work on well-defined points located on the path of energy meridians, those very ones that are stimulated by the acupuncturer's needles. That body was lean, without an once of fat, and she had no trouble locating exactly the points on which she was to apply.

The television journalist was commenting on the good results of the Chinese economy at the second quarter, and was forecasting an even better third quarter. Nothing but routine. Annual growth rates of over 8% were now the norm. They were necessary to provide work for an ever-increasing Chinese workforce. There were around 200, possibly 300 million, unemployed in China, an inexhaustible source of labour.

His body began to react to the solicitations of the girl, whose skilful hands were now applied to the most sensitive zones of a man's body.

The United States and Europe alike were battling with tenths of percentage points in their attempts to slow down the rise in the unemployment rate. China was living a privileged moment of exuberance and grace. That was the key to the problem Zhou was attempting to solve. How to drive home the message to an administration hypnotised by economic development, to those business moguls blinded by short-term profits, that national security, China's superior interests, were at stake?

The girl was now applying oil over on his torso. He could feel her long scented hair glide over his face while she massaged his muscular pectorals. Her flesh was moist with perspiration. She had nothing under her simple silk gown. Without opening his eyes, he parted the sides of her garment and, like a blind man feeling round a statue, his hand made its way between the girl's legs, discovering a light fleece with his fingertips, the satin skin of the inner thighs, then her breasts, heavy and beaded with sweat, like the morning dew on flower petals.

All that was needed to unravel his problem was a catalyst. He had to find urgently a massive argument to topple the scales to their side. That would invert the gravitational pull and snatch the decision away from the forces of stagnation. That heavenly body which was going to penetrate into the solar system to alter its equilibrium was there, he felt it; it was approaching. It wasn't visible yet because it was a black hole, a mass of antimatter and besides, who cared what it really was, so long as it showed up – in the end.

'A new semiconductor plant is starting up in the Shenzhen region, financed by Taiwanese capital,' continued the newscaster. The girl had removed her gown and laid down on him. She was massaging him with all her body impregnated with scented oils, her skin sliding over his almost without friction. To the east of Taiwan, this time, America's 7th fleet was moving around in circles.

She was now seated on him and making unhurried to-and-fro movements, her nipples skimming his chest, tracing out two parallel furrows. Now and then she would stop, tantalising him, at the apogee of tension, only to impale herself again deeply into him. She used her internal muscles to bring the massage to its grand finale, as she had been trained.

Taiwan yet again. China had warned, through its Taiwanese Affairs Bureau, that an evolution of that island towards any form of independence whatsoever would automatically lead to disaster. The People's Liberation Army was targeting its medium-range missiles along the coast facing Taiwan. The girl had stepped up her rhythm and her breathing became quicker.

'The economic integration of that island with continental China was already on track', thought Zhou. It was only a matter of time; the territorial unification was bound to take place naturally. But would the USA leave it the time? The Chinese army was against a technologically superior military power. American troops had taken a foothold everywhere, from Japan to Korea, from central Asia to the Middle East. America controlled the main oil production zones as well as the routes through which that oil reached China. The army knew it. But it too was blocked, powerless...

A thunderbolt ran through Zhou's body. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He wasn't even aware of the shot from his body, bursting with pleasure, so much the rapture of his senses was mingling with the exaltation of his mind.

He turned pallid. The girl noticed it and suddenly became anxious. Still seated upon him, she drew his face close to hers as if to examine it, enquiring whether there was something wrong. 'The army!.' That was it; the heavyweight player he was missing. He had pulled all the levers in the civilian sector but had overlooked the army! His very own corps! For the army had got rid of Microsoft applications ages ago. That's why he had never thought of the army!

The People's Liberation Army, China's army, so desperately in need of munitions! These military, who no longer saw how to regain the initiative while they were being encircled by the USA. He was going to hand them over the ideal weapon, the perfect weapon. A weapon that was there all the time, its fuse just waiting to be ignited, but which nobody saw... Zhou opened his eyes. A smile lit up his face.

He had just invented the M BOMB...

Beijing

24 July

Zhou woke up with a powerful migraine. A dull headache that never left him. Migraine was a companion of his, which had marked his life since adolescence. It could crop up three or four times a month and last from 24 to 48 hours, or take him by surprise after months of remission. It was the hallmark of creative minds, they had told him, possibly even a sign of intelligence. Be that as it may, he would well have done without it. These phases had ruined some of best moments of his life. That morning, he knew its cause. His insight of the previous day, that flash of light, so vivid, blinding and powerful, had thrust him into a state of exaltation so foreign to his calm nature, always in control.

He stopped by in one of those old quarters of Beijing which still survive, full of traditional houses with glossy tiled roofs, painted wooden frontages bearing the profession and name of their owners in large Chinese inscriptions.

He went through the circular opening which provided him a passage across the wall and penetrated inside a small planted garden with a rock fountain flowing in the middle. Some large goldfish were swimming around in the pool. He entered a Chinese medicine shop. The glass counter displayed roots, tubercles and small desiccated animals. Behind it, the wall was entirely taken up by a cabinet containing over a hundred small drawers, each marked with a brass plate fixed by two screws to indicate the nature of their contents.

Zhou had faith only in these preparations, concocted with the patience and wisdom of practitioners, holders of that ancient secular knowledge. Or at least, that's what he liked to believe, for in actual fact he had tried a good number of treatments against migraine from western pharmaceutical laboratories. And some of those coloured pills or tablets produced by chemical synthesis did put an end to his headaches. But he kept that quiet. He preferred to come here today to meet this old man with his face wrinkled like the bark of a tree, like the dried roots he aligned under the glass top of his counter. Zhou saw a healthy complexion in this old man of 90. He was able to detect signs of vitality under that greyish skin, in those slowly-fading impish pupils. And he attributed this vigour to the beneficial effects of those natural ingredients.

The basic compositions comprised at least four active principles: the Emperor, the Minister, the Assistant and, finally, the Messenger whose task is to direct the first three principles to the required part of the body and maintain the right balance of the overall composition. Each herb was prepared according to its polarity, that is the degree of yin or yang it brings, and is assigned a temperature coefficient, from cold to hot going through warm, neutral and cool. A herbal tea could then be considered appeasing, calming, or else rather tonic or energising to different degrees.

A herb was also associated to each of the five elements of Tao philosophy: wood, fire, earth, water and metal. The elements interacted amongst themselves, exalted or opposed one another, regenerated or blocked one another, fed on or controlled each other. To each of these five elements, also known as the five movements, or Wu Xing, were also associated a respective one of the five senses, one of the five families of organs, one of the five emotions, of the five tissues... Now, considering the number of possible combinations or interactions, the numbers are countless. The dosage and composition of these prescriptions were a matter for specialists.

The old man finally arrived. He recognised Zhou immediately, not that he often paid him a visit, but because it was always for the same symptoms.

'Now, tell me about this headache,' he asked inviting him to sit down on a simple wooden chair.

His hands were sinewy, but their touch was gentle and appeasing. He took his pulse, both superficial and deep according to a technique claimed to sound each of the patient's organs by the fingertips and determine their afflictions. From his numerous drawers, he picked out five or six different herbs which he then weighed on the pan of a small scale.

He placed the exact quantities of the active principles on a sheet of paper and began to blend them completely. Using a knife, he separated out five small heaps and flicked the switch of an electric kettle to heat up a small amount of water. Zhou was disappointed to see such a modern appliance in a place where everything exuded tradition. The elderly doctor took one of the five plant doses and threw it into a cup, poured in the simmering water and covered it. He was preparing an infusion which his patient was going to drink on the spot. Zhou got out to walk in the garden, carrying his cup.

Just like he, China was ailing, invaded by a pathogen which remained silent, careful not to kill the patient. This pathogen was Microsoft, ready to invade the country when the day had come, to levy its toll, to open the doors of computers to western invaders. But China, enslaved to short-term interests, was unable to defend itself. It was powerless to react, and allowed itself be colonised. China was stricken because its oil, that fluid which irrigated its economy, was in the hands of the enemy, ready to cut off its supply. An enemy which, in Taiwan, stalled the unification efforts of the country, that great body bearing the past mutilations from imperialist powers.

They had to act quickly. Apply a Chinese plant-based remedy. The Emperor would be the army, the central military commission that was going to correct the imbalance between the yin and yang and restore the country's defence capacity. The minister was to be the allies of the of the 'Lin Zexu' group, those of the Science Academy, the Ministry for Science and Education, who have been working for a long time in favour of national solutions. The Assistants were his friends of the SILG and the SDPC of the State Commissions who yearned to benefit fully from the decision while avoiding the backlash. And the Messenger, the one who brought the information, who made sure the active principle reached its destination, would be Zhou Feng himself. Zhou the messenger. He was satisfied with this formulation. He went back to return his cup to the room where the old man sat. He cast a last look at the large goldfish swimming around in the pool. He inhaled the scent of flowers, breathed in the serene harmony of the small courtyard, then left with a determined step.

Zhou returned to the Ministry of State Security and decided to spend the rest of day studying the military hierarchy. He had a plan, now it had to be put to execution. He sat behind that desk he seldom used, and yet was reserved for him, at the headquarters of counterespionage.

He knew personally some of the active service colonels who had been fellow students, as well as a number of intelligence and counterespionage officers operating in China. But he very quickly focussed all his attention on the Central Military Commission, the country's highest decision making instance in matters of war and armament, an institution much more powerful than the Ministry of Defence, which only had an administrative role. He brought the cup of herbal tea to his lips and let the hot liquid seep into him.

On the LCD monitor of his PC, he displayed the biographies and photos of the different members of the Commission. But that was not enough. He also needed the confidential notes. He called his secretary and asked him for a copy of a number of documents and files.

The CMC was run by a chairman, a function presently held by General Liu Rong. He was assisted by several vice-chairmen. Zhou was in possession of some secret documents detailing the balance of power within the Politburo and the Central Military Commission. He studied at length the profiles of each of the members making up these two institutions, spending two good hours immersed in his records and files.

His face suddenly relaxed, an imperceptible grin was cracking his placid face that let nothing through. He had found his man. There was no point in hesitating any longer. It was going to be Admiral Liang Dongbuo, the vice chairman of the CMC. Liang tended to be classed among the hawks, those military or leaders who wanted to take the initiative, to release the grip that was stifling China while there was still enough time. The chairman of the Commission, General Liu Rong, already espoused to his cause, was not a man to mince his words and had for some weeks been in a position of force thanks to the recent terrorist attacks that caused the barrel of crude to soar above 200 dollars. Liang was the outspokenly honest type, often announcing hard times ahead, and all too often ignored. But the recent events had shown him to be right and placed him at the forefront.

There now remained for him to get in touch with the admiral, something not as easy as it seemed, for it had to be done under the veil of the utmost secrecy to mask his intentions, to let nothing transpire. Above all, they had to avoid informing the forces of inertia, those which were trying to maintain stability by privileging economic development, those which wanted to reassure foreign investors at all costs. The 'Shanghai Cartel' was to be kept in the dark about his intentions, not even to suspect his strategy. The success of the operation depended on it. He had to maintain absolute secrecy to avoid counterattacks and hostile reactions.

Zhou feared more than anything the American intelligence services who had placed electronic and human ears in each department. In order for the bomb to be fused and launched with success, surprise was of the essence. If the Americans got wind of the project before it had time to fulfil, they would for certain find a way of stalling it. It would be easy to put pressure on the government and the administration, who may well then backtrack to avoid a crisis. The bomb was to catch everyone unaware. No-one was therefore to know what was being schemed.

How was he to come into contact with the admiral? Which man of confidence would be able to introduce him to the vice chairman of the Central Military Commission? Shen Wubin? Like himself, he had the rank of colonel and commanded the 3rd Department of army headquarters, the one in charge of military intelligence and, in particular, of listening to and processing communications of foreign armies. They had met way back at the Institute of International Relations in Beijing, which served to train a good part of the future spies of the Republic of China. The man was reliable, straight and loyal to his country. They hadn't seen each other for a long time, but he knew he could count on him.

He had some difficulties in tracing Wubin. He left several messages, entreating him to call back. He was contemplating the town from the windows of this tenth floor office when the phone buzzed in its base, jolting him away from his thoughts.

'Zhou Feng, why that must be at least five years since I've heard from you, where have you been hiding?'

'Wubin, thanks for calling me back so quickly. Listen, I've got to see you urgently somewhere quiet and discreet.'

'Tonight, if you like, I know a bar...'

He didn't give him the leisure the finish his phrase:

'Wubin, I don't mean a nice quiet place like that!'

'Cagey old Zhou, you'll never change!'

'What do you suggest? How about reserving a lounge in a karaoke bar and girls with nice...voices? That would be nice way of getting back in touch.'

Zhou took on a more serious tone, demarking from friend's jovial mood.

'Wubin, I would like to meet you at your place, in your office, this very afternoon. Is that possible?'

Wubin understood immediately.

'Very well. You know the way to the barracks. I'll wait for you at five pm. You'll have to leave your weapon at the entrance...'

Before Wubin had finished giving his instructions, Zhou had hung up and left the Ministry with a determined step.

He only had three quarters of an hour to reach the barracks of the 3rd Department.

His friend hadn't changed, his features just slightly more drawn.

'Wubin, we must talk somewhere absolutely safe,' blurted Zhou still agitated from his frantic pace and the importance of his meeting.

'You don't imagine my office is bugged, do you? Doesn't it occur to you that we too know about discretion? Come along now, relax old chap.'

But he didn't insist. Zhou didn't feel like laughing. He never felt like laughing. He remembered their years at the Institute of International Relations. Zhou wasn't funny, to say the least! He was an athlete, an introverted egg head, a cold animal, but he was a loyal friend.

'You want the most discreet place around, so follow me. We're off to the refectory.'

A continuous rumble filled the large room where soldiers and officers came for their meals. Zhou's anxious eyes searched the mess and spotted a quiet table. They seated themselves, placing their meal trays before them.

'I'm all ears, Zhou. What's this so-important thing you have to tell me after all these years of silence and calls for all these precautions?'

'Wubin, what I'm going to ask you is highly confidential. The country's future depends on it. I can't say more, but I need you. Do you know Admiral Liang Dongbuo?'

'The vice chairman of the commission? Yes, I'm in regular contact with Liang for my work.'

'You've got to get me a meeting with him. Most urgently. But the conditions are somewhat particular. I can't disclose the purpose of our meeting and I demand total secrecy. No-one must know about our encounter. No-one, apart from you.'

Used to military secrecy, Wubin didn't attempt to find out more. But Zhou insisted:

'Trust me, it's very important and I must take every precaution, no information must leak. Can you do that?'

Wubin thought for a few more seconds before answering frankly.

'The admiral isn't an easy man, you know. Obtaining a secret meeting without an object won't be simple, but I promise you to put all my weight and credibility in the balance to make it work. I believe he values me. I'll fix it, don't worry.'

Zhou knew his friend was a man of duty and would keep his word. He made eye contact with him as if to renew once more his friendship and trust. Then, getting up suddenly from his chair and leaving his meal tray untouched, he said in a tone whose warmth touched Wubin:

'When all this'll be over, we'll celebrate this. I promise.'

Beijing, 'Flowers of Spring' residence

July 27

Tom dived head first into the swimming pool. He swam a few strokes on the surface and then plunged more deeply towards the white tiled floor. Reaching the bottom, he straightened his head upwards and let out a stream of bubbles which rose to the surface in clusters. He stayed like that for nearly a minute, holding the bottom, seated under 3 metres of water, eyes wide open, lungs fully puffed.

From the bottom of the swimming pool, he noticed two wavering forms drawing towards the edge. They were looking for him, no doubt. With a kick, he emerged up to the surface and blew the air out of his lungs. Stenton was there accompanied by Kathleen Morse, Microsoft's mission head for the GSP.

'Hey Tom, I thought it was the man from Atlantis!' quipped Kathleen.

'Tom, we'd like to have a talk. You got a moment or two?' broke in Stenton who had been fighting Kathleen for a fortnight to have this talk and press Tom to take some distance from that Chinese girl.

The young man followed obediently. He put on a towelling gown he had laid down on a deck chair and sipped through a straw a few long mouthfuls of a tropical cocktail a barman had prepared. Kathleen stepped back, letting Stenton question Tom. She was particularly ill at ease and came only grudgingly to accept the truth behind that relation, after Stenton had brought her the proof that Jin was in league with the Chinese intelligence services.

'Tom, tell us about that girl Jin. It looks like you're meeting her outside the GSP context, is that right? What do you think of her? Is she competent?'

Tom was taken aback and blushed slightly. He wasn't expecting such an interrogation.

'Jin is a very competent computer scientist. She's on top of her subject. She's in charge of some security modules we're thinking of integrating into the next version of Windows. She's a highly valued member of Chinese delegation. And she's also a really nice girl. We enjoy meeting together. Is there a problem with that?' asked Tom in a mildly aggressive tone.

'No, Tom, there's no problem in that. We've got instruction to take on a convivial, warm and open attitude towards the members of the Chinese delegation. Your relations are perfectly in line with that,' conceded Kathleen.

But Tom did not seem convinced by this response. He insisted.

'Where's the problem, then?'

'There's no problem, Tom, reassured Stenton. We want to be sure this girl is a computer expert and not an intelligence agent. We have absolute confidence in your judgement.'

'There's one other thing, Tom,' continued Kathleen Morse. 'You'll have to leave Beijing for two or three weeks, hardly more. We're holding a big training seminar on networks in Shanghai. We'd really appreciate your presence at this venue. The Microsoft office in Shanghai insisted that you free yourself for this. You'll certainly bring an element of quality into this forum. We accepted, after making sure the director of the Chinese delegation would accept this.'

Tom struggled to mask his deception and sadness. He was no longer going to see Jin for several days. During their working sessions, the two young people had exchanged body language and looks that left no doubt. They needed to be together. They would suffer from that separation.

'When do I have to leave?' he asked.

'You're leaving tomorrow morning, Tom. But you'll see, Shanghai's a most fascinating city!'

'Why this separation?' Tom asked himself. 'Did the firm not take kindly to this amicable relation he had with Jin?' Reluctantly, he got up to pack up his bags.

Stock still, one leg stretched to the horizon, Zhou seemed like a statue. For four days, he had retired to his temple, waiting for Wubin's hypothetical reply. He was alternating between meditation and Tai Chi sessions when a student interrupted him, a sealed letter in his hand.

'Master, an army courier has just dropped this envelope for you.'

Zhou adjusted his loose garment, gave leave to his student and took in the message. Wubin had arranged for him a meeting outside Shanghai's Pudong airport. The registration number of the vehicle that was to wait for him was written in the middle of the message. His face lit up.

Shanghai

28 July

Zhou took the China Eastern flight departing from Beijing at 11:40 and arriving at Shanghai Pudong at 13:30. He refused the meal tray offered by the stewardess, settling for two cups of tea. He hated those plane journeys, being confined in small spaces, crammed with all those people, the decompression phases that went with the rise in altitude and which – he was sure of it – affected his metabolism. He closed his eyes without being able to fall asleep. He went through in his mind all the key arguments to put forward at his presentation. He knew he had little time to convince, that he had to win his points right from the start. He felt he was ready. Out of habit more than necessity he did some breathing exercises. He was inclining his head, now to the right, now to the left, to loosen his neck muscles when a stewardess interrupted his meditations and asked him to straighten his seat for the landing phase.

Zhou leaned over to observe the skyscrapers of the new business quarter in Pudong: the television tower, dubbed the Pearl of the Orient, standing 468 metres high. An architectural monstrosity, he thought. He utterly detested its two spheres. The Jinmao tower, 421 metres tall, was hardly less of an eyesore. He conjured in his mind with sadness all those Chinese people coming from the heart of the country pushing their way to the esplanade in front of the Bund and admiring the Pudong skyscrapers, leaning over the railings in front of the Huangpu river. They must dream for hours in front of the infinite ugliness of those graceless buildings, which symbolised in their eyes China's renaissance. A sad renaissance indeed, thought Zhou. This district was only wasteland in 1993 and should have stayed that way.

Zhou knew the city was brimming with captains of industry, those new millionaires he was fighting, who were ruining everything in the sacrosanct name of stability so their business could grow. 'Let the market decide' they all declared, hand in heart! Nationalism had dissolved in the export market surplus.

He spotted the Nanpu suspension bridge and its spiralling motorway, farther along, Lupu bridge and its great steel arch spanning the river. The plane touched the runway, bounced to land again, and veered from right to left before finally stabilising its path. Zhou smiled thinking that it was in Shanghai, the seat of the cartel that hampered China, that he was about perhaps about to change the course of History.

Hardly had he left the plane that Zhou was rapidly crossing the arrivals hall. A small group of westerners were waving a sign board. He read unthinkingly the name it bore: 'Microsoft – Tom Bailey.' He muttered his name before realising that, by an incredible coincidence, he had travelled with the computer bod who worked with Jin... He chased away that thought, fearing it would break his concentration.

Without further turning his head towards the crowd hurrying into the airport building, he went straight to the exit. Outside, he turned right and went up the pavement along the terminal, crossing trolleys pushed by passengers he no longer noticed. He endlessly repeated to himself the registration number of the car waiting for him. He noticed a black Japanese 4x4. Drawing closer, he checked he had read the number plate correctly. A man was waiting standing outside the car. He held out an electronic fingerprint sensor on which Zhou placed the forefinger of his left hand. The man invited him to sit at the back of the vehicle.

They travelled about ten kilometres, passing through Pudong's industrial areas, before the car stopped in front of a gate. A guard in military uniform appeared. The gate opened and the vehicle entered what must have been an old goods wharf taken over by the army. From the wild grass there emerged a small rusty crane and the wreck of an abandoned truck, its bonnet still open. Two bright-red high-speed crafts with overhead sirens and projectors was moored alongside the quay. They must have been used patrolling the Huangpu River. It was the perfect setting for a rendezvous, deserted and sheltered from indiscreet looks.

A sailor from the Chinese Navy, the People's Liberation Army Navy, or PLAN, saluted Zhou, invited him to come on aboard one of the craft whose engine was running. They left at high speed, going up the river Huangpu for about twenty minutes before reaching the Jiangnan naval dockyard.

The craft headed for the corner of the port reserved for military constructions and drew up to a destroyer with '171' painted on the front of the hull. Judging by its angular radar-furtive outline, the vessel must have been very modern. Enemy radar waves reflected by these flat, faceted shapes only returned a weak echo that could not serve to identify the ship's signature.

Zhou also spotted a Lanzhou 052C. It was equipped with a highly-sophisticated phase-array scanning radar able to guide several vertical-takeoff anti-aircraft missiles simultaneously. The craft docked alongside the deserted quay. The sailor led Zhou up the bridge to enter aboard. The vessel appeared to be fully constructed and even commissioned; its presence in the naval dockyard must have been just for installing the latest equipment. Zhou climbed up several metal stairways which seemed interminable to him. He was now at least 30 metres above ground at the threshold of what must have been the ship's command centre, a huge room of about 200 square metres lined with consoles and data display terminals. A group of five or six naval officers were holding a briefing session around a centrally-placed table covered with plans and technical documents. They were discussing loudly, obviously unsatisfied about the positioning of some of the electronic equipment. The sailor who accompanied Zhou asked him to wait by the door while he made his way towards the group. One of the five officers, the one who must have been the admiral, dismissed the others, who then disappeared through the opposite door, and beckoned Zhou.

'My respects, admiral. I'm Colonel Zhou Feng...'

'I know who you are, Colonel Zhou, interrupted the admiral. It's four pm; you've got 10 minutes. Not a minute more. I must be at the Ningbo naval base at five thirty pm. What have you got to tell me?'

Admiral Liang Dongbuo must have been in his sixties. He was a massive, burly, thick-set man. His square face and prominent chin did not invite contradiction. He had a large balding forehead overlying drooping eyelids. They defined just horizontal slits pierced at the centre with razor sharp pupils. His thin-lipped mouth inspired authority and strength.

'Admiral, China's oil supply sources are in the hands of the United States and they can turn off the taps at any moment. Our country has to endure provocations from Taiwan, armed and protected by the Americans. The United States have decided to derail China and they have already begun the hostilities.'

'Colonel Zhou, can you please get down to the facts. You're wasting you time credit.'

The naval man was already beginning to show signs of impatience. He was listening while putting away the documents spread over the table. Perfectly in control of himself, Zhou remained calm.

'I come to propose a weapon, a bomb that will explode without causing victims and without leaving ruins. A bomb we can set off in all legitimacy and which will bring our opponent to his knees, its economy collapsing like a stack of cards.'

Admiral Liang raised his head and pointed his gaze to that spy who was beginning to intrigue him.

'I'm listening. You have all my attention.'

'The bomb I've just proposed to you is called...Microsoft!'

'Microsoft? Make yourself clear!'

The admirals face showed disbelief. Was he making a fool of him?

'Think for a moment of Microsoft's position: it's one of America's top three capitalisations. It's also the most emblematic of information technology companies. It holds 90% of the market share in the desktop computer sector, where it generates a profit margin of 80%. So far, everything is rosy for Microsoft.'

Liang observed silently, scrutinizing his visitor's body.

'But that's just a facade,' resumed Zhou, more and more at ease, 'A cardboard stage set because, behind, Microsoft's image is far from being as solid as it looks. Why? Simply because Microsoft produces immaterial goods, software, and it so happens that China possesses products perfectly equivalent to theirs, and that those products are free!

'So what? What's your point?'

'So, admiral, suppose China suddenly decided to replace all over its territory Microsoft's Windows operating system with its own system. What would happen?...'

'Well what?'

The low throbbing sound of an approaching helicopter could now be heard. It was nearing the ship.

'Microsoft would immediately loose the best part of its value! For this value is entirely virtual and artificial. In fact, its stock value would collapse, bringing with it the entire American technology sector down the precipice! A chain reaction would then plunge the country's economy into a deep and devastating crisis! This, admiral, is the bomb I'm proposing to you to detonate.'

The helicopter had touched down. The pounding of its blades was slowing down. They seemed to slash the air like a ventilator, marking the rhythm of the seconds ticking by. Zhou continued with his exposé, calm, precise and rigorous, leaving aside no argument susceptible of swaying the admiral's decision, but holding back all excess of zeal. He drew from his pocket two CD ROMs, one bearing the Microsoft logo and the other the small penguin that symbolised Linux.

'You see these two disks? This one costs over 2 000 yuans while the other is free! And yet overall they both do the same thing. Do you think this situation can go on for much longer?'

Puzzled, the admiral looked at the two disks.

'And why indeed does it go on?' he asked gravely.

'Because Microsoft can draw from being the market standard, and the market can support only one standard. Even a free product like Linux is incapable of breaking through. This is the living proof that the laws of the markets and competition cannot apply. It takes a political decision to reverse the tide of things break this firm's monopoly.'

'And why doesn't anyone take this decision?'

The admiral appeared not to understand. As though he needed time.

'Exactly. It's for China to take it! It's up to the world's most populous country to establish standards, not to have them thrust upon!'

Zhou knew perfectly how to play on the military's patriotic fibre.

'The value of Microsoft rests only on its monopolistic position and the absence of competition. But this position is built on sand, its value is purely virtual; it's a fiction! If tomorrow the world's first market, a quarter of mankind, becomes closed to its products and replaces them with free software without retail value, then we mechanically destroy the value of Microsoft. And behind Microsoft, it's the whole of America that collapses.'

The expression on the admiral's face had changed. His condescendence had first given way to interest. Then his face became grave under the effect of intense reflection. The man was measuring the far-reaching effects of what he had just heard. The idea, simple and ingenious at the same time, was sinking in, gaining strength and vigour. It came through as a self-evident proof, like a burst of beauty and power. A few seconds passed, punctuated by the beats of the helicopter's blades. Liang suddenly asked:

'And what would justify China banning this Windows over all its territory?'

'Why, everything gives us the right, admiral! Windows is present in practically all the nation's firms, domestic computers and moreover most of the state-owned companies and several administrations. Do you think that China can continue to entrust its information infrastructure to a foreign company? Such a strategic, such a sensitive element! Did you know that US intelligence agencies have undoubtedly reserved backdoors which allow them to penetrate inside our machines as and when they want? In case of conflict, admiral, the United States could annihilate our economy and infrastructures by remote control! Not to mention that Windows possesses glaring security flaws for which Microsoft has to send alerts several times a year. This then requires downloading a software patch whose contents we completely ignore! This cannot last, admiral! We must put an end to it!'

Zhou knew that he had already won his bid. At that moment, two naval officers entered the room and saluted their superior.

'Admiral, your helicopter is ready to take off.'

With a simple gesture, Liang signalled them to wait.

'Why haven't we done this already?' he added. 'What you tell me is most serious! Why doesn't our administration ban this Windows?'

'But we've already begun! As you know, an operating system developed in China is now installed in the ministries and administrations. But the transition takes time. On the other hand, nothing is done for the 90% of the remaining computers, those that equip state enterprises, the private sector and homes.'

'Why not? I want to understand!' he insisted.

'Because the private sector demands that we let the laws of the market decide! Some very powerful lobbies militate for non intervention. And yet, admiral, we've tried everything! For three years we've been in the shadows pushing our case with the Ministries of Industry and Information, of Public Security, of the National Defence, of Science and Technology and several administrations, the SILG, the CIC, and right up to the Politburo and the State Council. The banning of Windows is justified a hundred times over! It's a matter of urgency! In the very short term, it finds justification for reasons of national security, in the medium term by the necessity to master sensitive and strategic technologies and, in the longer term, so that China can at last spawn a national software industry capable of competing with India. But despite all our efforts, the balance still tips in favour of the forces of inertia, of the status quo and stability. This is why I come to see you.'

He was now playing on conquered territory. The vice chairman of the Central Military Commission himself had to fight legions of conservatives, a nameless army difficult to manoeuvre.

'You did the right thing,' approved the vice chairman of the Commission in a grave tone, 'You did the right thing!'

Zhou continued.

'We have grossly underestimated the forces of inertia. They are sacrificing China's fundamental interests on the altar of stability. With Microsoft, we have a hegemony over an entire sector of our industry – namely software – by a monopolistic foreign company that leaves no hope in prospect for establishing terms of fair competition. Microsoft means potentially 300 billion yuans leaving the country in the course of next five to ten years, if we're complacent. A fortune to be budgeted for the purchase of software and on which the American publisher will take an 80% profit margin. That's 300 billion yuans lost for the Chinese economy. And for software we don't need, since we have its equivalent at hand, right here in China.'

'And what is this national software? Is it the one installed in our administrations?'

'Yes admiral, it's a local variant of Linux for the general public that will boost our local software industry and eventually make it the world leader, before India. Just by its sheer demographic weight, China simply has to be the country that sets industry standards. Everything is ready to take over from Microsoft; we can rely exclusively on Chinese resources and companies.'

Liang could hardly believe what he had just heard.

'Colonel, you're trying to tell me that we are perfectly entitled to forbid Windows and, what's more, such a decision would plunge the US into chaos! Is that right?'

'It's exactly that, admiral. Unbelievable as it may seem. Microsoft is at the heart of the American economy. It's the symbol of the US renaissance in the 80s. It's the world champion of information technology industries. To hit Microsoft, to sink Microsoft, is to strike at the centre of their economy, into the heart of their power.'

The two officers standing some distance away seemed to get impatient. Admiral Liang Dongbuo was going to be late.

'In our wake, you can expect to see many other countries refusing to pay their due to Microsoft and America. I'm thinking of India, South-East Asia, Brazil, Mexico, or Russia. Our Japanese and Korean neighbours could also follow suit. And possibly even the Europeans. We wouldn't be isolated. Quite the opposite. China will be regarded as the precursor, the liberator, the country that had the courage to bring a term to the imperialism of a private company with planetary powers.'

He cut himself short a few seconds, which finished convincing him that he had definitely scored the deciding points. The pulsations from the helicopter added a solemn note to the instant, like the roll of a drum.

'The knock-on effect would be devastating, with dire consequences for the entire US information technology sector. Behind the predictable collapse of the markets and the consequent formidable destruction of market values, the American economy altogether could crumble like mah-jong pieces, with virtual bankruptcy facing pension funds, insurance underwriters, banks, and even the bankruptcy of the federal government and of many other states with abyssal deficits.'

The admiral remained speechless.

'Admiral, no one can deny a country the right to exert control over its information systems and to keep control over strategic technologies. No one. It's our national security that's at stake, and only an active decision from the state can safeguard that interest. And the decision would have the power of a bomb. It can bring the opponent to its knees with just a line of the pen, without firing a single shell. The Microsoft bomb, admiral, is the absolute weapon, the weapon with no human victims, but whose devastating blast thwarts the opponent. It's a gift that providence has placed opportunely in our hands. It's a weapon; no warlord in the history of mankind, no conqueror, no emperor, ever had one so powerful.'

The admiral shuddered and signalled Zhou to hush a moment. He drew close to the colonel and, his eyes locked into his, asked him in a tone that wanted to dispel all doubt:

'Colonel Zhou, it is war that you want? You do realise that when your bomb goes off, there's bound to be a violent retaliation from the Americans, you understand what I mean?'

Zhou refrained from answering immediately. Like a chess player who projects several moves ahead, he had been expecting that question. He resumed in a calm and reassuring voice, determined to win over the admiral's last misgivings and show him he was no warmonger, but on the contrary, the most pragmatic of men.

'This bomb is a very powerful tactical weapon, but it's up to us to present it as a strictly economical measure. China has the best reasons in the world to do away with Microsoft. There can be no doubt over our legitimacy and the rest of the world will endorse it. And then, we're not attacking America directly on its soil like the Japanese at Pearl Harbor. We're at home and taking a perfectly justified internal security measure. Just like Imperial Commissioner Lin Zexu when he stopped the British from carrying out their opium trade in 1839. But we're no longer in the nineteenth century. The United States cannot declare a conventional war creating hundreds of thousands of victims to defend the indefensible case of a private company! The Americans are trapped, admiral. Microsoft is fragile; Microsoft is in unstable equilibrium and ready to implode. We just need that final flick, a mark of the pen, a simple signature at the bottom of a government order; that's all it takes today to bring down America...'

He seemed sincere. Liang knew men, and the one he had before him was a patriot. He no longer doubted it. The trap he was describing him was a gem of simplicity and efficiency. The occasion was too good to miss. Zhou thought it appropriate to insist.

'Admiral, this weapon must be used now, because tomorrow it will be too late! China will have hundreds of thousands of networked computers and devices, and then it will be too late to backtrack! China is gearing up incredibly fast, admiral, and its opportunity to act diminishes with each year that goes by. We have a narrow firing window! We must take advantage of it; it's now or never!'

Liang Dongbuo gave himself a few seconds' pause before asking, as if he were already making plans in his mind.

'Who can you count on to this day; who are your allies?'

Zhou had been waiting for this question. He was jubilant but let nothing transpire. Calmly, he pulled out a notepad and pen from the breast pocket of his jacket. He scribbled down some ten names, all members of the Politburo, the State Council, ministries... He held out the sheet to the admiral who ran though it without uttering a word.

'Admiral, we are not alone...'

The vice-chairman of the Central Military Commission figured on the list. The admiral held out his hand, frank and respectful.

'Colonel, this meeting never took place.'

Zhou shook Liang's hand and, looking at him straight into his eyes, uttered the first words that came to his mind: 'Long live the People's Republic of China!' The admiral's look froze for a moment. Then he made his way to the door that led to the upper deck and vanished between the shoulders of the two officers who accompanied him. The exchange had barely lasted fifteen minutes.

Zhou followed the sailor who had escorted him and was waiting, unflappable, by the door. They reappeared on the quay. It was almost five pm. The sun was dropping over the horizon, stretching out the shadows and painting the landscape with rich, warm colours.

The helicopter's engine began to rev up. Zhou turned his head to the stern of the ship. It had landed on the rear platform. It was a light naval helicopter, very different from those used for antisubmarine warfare. The blades whipped the air at full pelt. The noise deepened, thickened, and the machine took off, pivoted laterally through 180° and pitched towards the front. It drew away pounding the sky, climbing almost vertically. It was soon just a spot against the blue, dashing southwards.

Beijing, Presidential Palace

Office of the President of the Chinese Republic

August 2, 22h30

Prime Minister Wei Weimin arrived last, dressed in an impeccable dark suit. The president of the People's Republic of China, Ren Zhibang, had preceded him by a few minutes. Standing in close rank waiting for him were the chairman of the Central Military Commission, General Liu Rong, flanked by his two vice chairmen, Admiral Liang Dongbuo and General Xie Qinglin. The agenda was simple and the evening's program could be summarised under just one single subject: the 'Microsoft bomb'.

The summit meeting was held in a private lounge of the presidential palace. The room was furnished in very traditional style and decorated with Tang sculptures that would have been the envy of world's greatest museums. After a sign of the hand from the President, they all took their seats around a small low table on which stood a teapot surrounded by five fine porcelain cups. Small glasses of rice spirit were also placed on the table. The atmosphere was heavy, the gestures of each member leaden with gravity. They seemed to observe each other. And the Prime minister was the subject of all their attention.

All were wary of Wei Weimin. He symbolised that new China, the China of entrepreneurs and businessmen. He benefited from powerful support among the Central Committee and business circles. Strangely, he immediately grasped the immense repercussions of the plan General Liu Rong and Admiral Liang had come to explain to him a few days earlier, to induce him to take part in the this discussion so as to determine once and for all whether China had the means to get involved in a combat of such indiscernible contours. But his presence and the obstacle he could constitute for the execution of this plan were a constant cause for concern.

Liang was tense, his face closed. It was he who was to lead the discussions. The Prime Minister settled down slowly, as always. He greeted each of the protagonists and bowed before the President. The Vice Chairman immediately went straight to the point, with a display of precision and assurance that would have brought a smile on Colonel Zhou.

'Now is the time to act. Tomorrow will be too late. The more computers there are in China, the more it's going to be difficult to impose a change of computer operating system. Time is running against us. Time is our enemy.'

'Time is also China's friend. It will soon make us the leading empire of the planet, commented the President with wisdom.'

'You are aware we're besieged? We must break away from their claws, Mr. President.'

Sitting at his side, Vice Chairman Xie added in his small, staccato and imperative voice:

'We must take the initiative. If we persist in our passive attitude, we'll be encouraging the enemy. We have to earn its respect. These people only understand force! The Dragon must decide to bite!'

At these words, Vice Chairman Xie seemed to mime the attack of the beast. His jaws deformed as is he were about to spit fire. Prime Minister Wei seated in front of him appeared to ignore the Vice Chairman. He took off his jacket and placed it on the back of his chair. All awaited Wei's verdict.

'For me, the most serious matter is Taiwan. War seems inevitable...'

He brought the small glass of rice spirit to his lips. The Taiwanese cousins were prominent industrial partners and investors. He knew them well for having frequent contacts with them.

'The situation in Taiwan has deteriorated considerably. I experience it every day. Government propaganda supported by the United States has strengthened nationalistic feelings. The island is arming at an alarming rate and getting ready to stand up to us. Despite our threats, the Taiwanese consider themselves very much protected and persuaded that if a war were to break out, it would involve just us and the States. Independence is a luxury the island can seemingly afford without risk.'

The three military men nodded their heads, convinced of the pertinence of their prime minister's analysis. Chairman Liu Rong, unruffled by the correctness of the view just expressed by the Minister, turned towards him to continue.

'A lethal trap has closed in on China and is leading us head on towards military confrontation. If such were the case, China would slide back twenty years and loose all it has gained. America's military superiority is undeniable. They exert tremendous pressure on their European allies, including Russia, to refrain them from selling us their most sophisticated weapons.'

The president was listening, surprised by the unanimous opinion shown by everyone around the table should.

'Are you fully aware of the risks we are running by acting in this way?'

'Yes, Mr. President,' answered Admiral Liang. 'By putting the United States into difficulty, we are forcing them sit round the negotiating table and come to a compromise. America should then face the evidence and accept the idea of a strong China with which they must deal on equal terms...'

But before Liang could finish his sentence, the President took over, formulating his fears in even plainer terms.

'I wanted to speak of the risk of reprisals, gentlemen. If the United States considers itself to be the victim of an aggression, they will retaliate with arms... We would be going straight into war...'

Liang smiled.

He appeared to be seeing himself again a few days earlier, confronting Colonel Zhou's irrefutable arguments in answer to his deepest fears.

'No-one would understand an armed response to China from the United States to protect the interests of a private company whose monopoly happened to be broken. The probability of a military escalation is very weak, Mr. President. I can only reaffirm, our decision is justified and will be understood throughout the world.'

The President turned towards his Prime Minister.

'What's your opinion?'

Wei took a few seconds before answering.

'If we adopt this measure, I think we shall be faced with a few weeks of turmoil. America won't give up its position so easily. But as far I'm concerned, the positive results we can expect to reap from this operation by far exceed the risk of an escalation: by reclaiming the advantage, China will acquire a considerable margin for manoeuvre before the United States. Gentlemen of the Military Commission, if you cease to call this initiative a 'bomb,' you may consider having the approval of the State Council.'

The President raised his glass towards the four men.

'Gentlemen, there can be no hesitation. It is capital to take the enemy by surprise. The Minister for Industry and Information will take over command of operations as from tomorrow. I'm counting on each one of you to be discreet.'

Then, turning to general Liu Rong:

'General, place the army on maximum alert. As discreetly as possible!'

8. Suspicions

All military strategy must be based on deceit.

Thus, when you are in a position to attack, you must seem powerless. When you use force, you must appear weak.

Sun Zi, The Art of War, sixth century BC

United States, Langley, CIA headquarters.

17 August.

Lorna Green was returning to her office on the fourth floor of the CIA headquarters building in Langley, Virginia. She had now been heading the Asia Bureau of the Agency's Intelligence Directorate for 10 months and was beginning to settle in that monumental building.

She stopped by the bank of drinks dispensers and got herself a piping hot coffee served in a plastic cup. Then she helped herself to a few biscuits from an adjacent tray and began to nibble them as she flicked through the Washington Post. She always had difficulty firing up in the morning and this little ritual was something she needed. As she walked down the corridor five minutes later, she crossed some department colleagues who greeted her with marked respect and courtesy. This statuesque short-haired blonde with no known male companion had an intimidating effect on them. The gaze of her steely eyes had the power to freeze all those it fell upon.

Faithful to her custom, she was wearing a dark trouser suit that day. In fact, no-one recalled having ever seen her in a skirt or dress. What little makeup she used was limited strictly to a light touch of colour on the eyelids, which only served to emphasise the hardness of her looks.

She was not displeased with her new assignment. It was a handsome promotion that rewarded her unfailing efforts of the previous years at her India posting, where her role had been acknowledged as instrumental in tightening rapports between the United States and India. She had been particularly skilful in exploiting the chronic crisis with neighbouring Pakistan to build up a relation of trust with that great country. In fact, it was largely thanks to her that there were now regular exchanges of information between the CIA and the Indian government's Joint Intelligence Committee. The deal was effectively that the US Agency would share some of its well-sourced information on Pakistan's political situation and nuclear capabilities in exchange for discreet support of American policy and much-needed cooperation in the strategic matters. She had spent many long months in the Indian sub-continent, sparing no effort to achieve this goal. The resumption of peace negotiations with Pakistan had been her greatest reward for her single-minded commitment. In fact, the best part of her career had been spent abroad, out in the field.

Her return to the USA was thus a welcome break and being in Virginia was almost like settling back home. Her family was from Maryland, just across Chesapeake Bay. She was born in Baltimore, where she spent all her childhood, and did her first degree at Maryland State University.

Lorna entered her office, already dreading to find the usual pile of reports, news bulletins and summary briefing memos which she would have had to wade through. She would invariably be interrupted by some of those officers convinced of having uncovered a plot here, a conspiracy there...

'Sally, would you mind getting me a coffee, please?' she pleaded, before stepping into the battleground.

'Good morning, Lorna. Sam Juarez's been asking for your since seven thirty this morning. He seemed desperate to see you. It looks like he's come across something in China,' came Sally's reply as Lorna made her way wearily to the coffee dispenser, her uncombed hair betraying her natural ineptness at early morning starts.

'Okay, I'll call him. Thanks Sally.'

She opened her e-mail inbox. Watching the lines of bold characters pop up in succession, she noticed that China seemed to dominate the subject fields. 'That's rather odd,' she thought as she began to tap on the keyboard.

If China had once been America's ally during the Cold War, it was now it's bugbear since the collapse of the Soviet empire. The CIA could not afford to lose track of this new giant, watching that it did not start encroaching on America's domination. This constant concern had charged the relations between the two countries with complexity and ambiguity. The mutual mistrust between them reached its apogee in 1999 with the US bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade. The Agency curtly dismissed this incident as a 'mapping error'. The political chill between the two giants reached a new peak when it came to light that Chinese intelligence services were operating on American soil, giving rise to the big spy scandals of the late 90s. Tensions had reached such a point that the Department in charge of watching China had more than doubled in size over the past five years. And it was still undermanned. Lorna had to take on new analysts and poach staff from both the Europe and Latin America Departments. The focus of most of the CIA's resources had now shifted from the ex-Soviet Union to China.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

'Lorna?'

A male figure appeared through the gap. It was Kowalsky, a senior analyst to whom in Lorna assigned the role of coordinating the intelligence teams in their missions to China. He could write and speak Mandarin at least as well as a Chinese office clerk.

'Hi there, Mike! Have you heard from Stenton recently?' she asked, remembering she had meant to call him herself. She in fact wanted Val Stenton to give her a roundup on the situation in China. She had worked with him before in the Philippines and liked his keen sense of vision.

'I'm expecting his daily brief at around ten.' Without seeking Lorna's permission, Kowalsky unfolded before her a double page bearing a graph.

'Look. This curve shows the stock levels of hard disk drives in China.'

'Don't you and your team have anything better to do with your time?' retorted Lorna with icy sarcasm.

'If you'd just take a closer look, you'll see their factories have been churning them out by the truckload in the past two weeks. According to our estimates, their stocks are approaching 35 million units...'

'Maybe these hard disks are intended for those digital video recorders you now plug straight into your TV. You know, the things that are now replacing VCRs.'

Kowalsky let out a grin, relishing the occasion to show off his team's painstaking work.

'That's exactly what the Chinese authorities said when we asked them - digital video recorders!'

'Well then, it looks like an open-and-shut case. Now, shall we get back to some useful work?' she continued in the same punishing tone.

'Except there's one little snag...'

Lorna was now getting impatient. The last thing she wanted was to waste her precious time talking about disk drives!

'You see, HDDs for video equipment work differently. They are made to write short bursts of data at frequent intervals...'

'Well, what about it? Can you get to the point, Mike. Please! I'm busy here.'

'Listen, according to our techies, these drives won't do the job. The Chinese authorities are giving us bullshit. And we're trying to gather why they've been stockpiling those units over the past three weeks.'

'Okay, you've got a point here. 35 million disk drives, did you say?'

Just then, her secretary popped her head through the door.

'It's Sam Juarez. He insists on seeing you.'

'Tell him I'm coming, Sally. I'm just finishing a highly important matter concerning hard disk drives, would you believe!'

Kowalsky winced. He hated his boss's cutting remarks.

'No, but seriously now, Mike my old friend. Can you see me going over to the CIA Director saying: 'Hey, Mister Big Chief, we've just learnt China's stockpiling hard disk drives on its soil - it looks like we're heading for a repeat performance of the 1962 Cuban missile crisis! We must demand that China dismantle its entire stock!' Do you see my point, Mike?'

'Lorna, insisted Kowalsky. We may not know what they could possibly want with those disks, but we shouldn't just brush this aside. Who knows, perhaps the authorities out there have ordered 50 million computers to be fitted out in the weeks to come...'

Resuming her seriousness Lorna began to think about it.

'Okay, dig into it, Mike. But I want nothing but the hard facts. You got that?'

After these words, Lorna got up suddenly, prompting Kowalsky to take leave in a like manner.

Sam Juarez and his team in charge of sifting through photos of China were waiting for her in the Satellite Image Department's meeting room, tucked away in the basement.

With his shiny balding head shimmering under the flickering lights of the monitors and his small round tinted glasses, Juarez looked the exact caricature of what she imagined analysts to be.

'Hi, Sam, what's going on?' she said by way of greeting as she stepped into the room, making her way towards the coffee urn.

The analyst had loaded his database with views he had carefully selected from comparisons with hundreds of photos. Before even starting, he gazed at her with a peevish look, as if he knew beforehand that his work would be slammed once again.

'Over the last two weeks, we've been seeing military activity in China. We've compiled a set of aerial photographs picked up by our satellites in the past ten days.'

He reached over for a remote control and switched on an enormous video projector housed in a console dominating the centre of the room.

'Here we have here a shot of the Qingdao naval base. It's the Chinese Navy headquarters for the northern sector, which covers the Yellow Sea.'

Sam tapped a series of shortcut keys on the server's monitor in front of him to zoom in on the area of interest.

'On this shot, we can make out the five submarines at berth. This is extremely odd. Those two over on the right are Ham class nuclear propulsion attack submarines, and those two across on the other side are Kilo class vessels bought from the Russians, while the fifth one just behind is a Ming. And in this large artificial dock we can see five 051 and 052B type destroyers and three frigates. But what's most interesting is the activity we've been observing around all these vessels. In the following set of photos taken at two-day intervals, we see crates of equipment brought in by truck being loaded on board.'

'It looks like they are receiving supplies. I'm afraid I can't see anything exceptional in that,' snapped Lorna, who had learnt to be wary of Sam's alarmist interpretations.

'Not on a scale like this! I'm willing to stake my reputation here: there's something real weird going on. We watch the Chinese navy all the time; we know every cog in their works. They always proceed in large manoeuvres spread over several months. But the movements we're seeing have nothing to do with their normal exercises. This is a much more focused and specialised operation. There's a sense of urgency, too.'

He moved on to the next photos.

'We are seeing the same sort of activity in the port of Ningbo, to the south of Shanghai, harbour to the Eastern Fleet,' he commented. The two vessels you see are Sovremenny Class destroyers they recently bought from the Russians. And just below to the left we notice no fewer than eight frigates. Note all those vehicles scurrying around,' he said moving his pointer to scattered darkish shadows on the photo. 'I'll spare you all our data on the Jianggezhuang submarine base, which has been the scene of several sea trials, and which all indicate there's something unusual in the way their submarines are geographically deployed.'

He cast sideways glance to the Asia Bureau Director and noticed with a certain satisfaction that her haughty airs had gone. The accumulation of facts was beginning to bear fruit. With a tinge of anxiety appearing in an otherwise composed voice, she suddenly asked:

'Could there be a link between these manoeuvres and the fact that China is currently stockpiling millions of computer hard disk drives?'

Stan looked at her blankly. He would never understand that woman's mind. But Lorna Green's expression reflected her growing perplexity at the different facts converging in her mind.

'Did they declare a state of alert?'

'No, officially everything's normal. We don't have anything that would explain all these activities at their naval bases.'

'So, what are we to conclude? Taiwan?'

That was indeed the most logical conclusion. Sam had been expecting this query. He fished around among the files and folders on his screen and double clicked on a slide show of a scenario for a Chinese invasion of the island.

'China has about 600 ground-to-ground missiles pointed at Taiwan. China currently installs 70 new ones each year. But we've recorded no tests on these missiles outside the normal routine. If they were to attempt a landing on the island, they'd need intensive air coverage, but we haven't seen their air force conduct any preparation exercises for it. Finally, they'd need literally hundreds of amphibian vehicles and, again, everything's quiet on that front.'

'So, they're not after Taiwan? Is that what you're trying to tell me, Sam?'

Lorna was showing signs of restlessness. She began to pace the room up and down in a state of agitation.

'It all looks the other way round... as if it's China that's bracing itself for an attack from outside: an aggression that would come from the sea.'

Lorna Green remained pensive for a few seconds. Her eyes were riveted on the photos displayed before her.

'From whom would the Chinese fear an attack? The North Koreans? I doubt it. Japan, South Korea? Clearly not. India, the Philippines? That's getting crazy! India? They already have enough on their plate with Kashmir and Pakistan. As for Russia, that's plain impossible. What about an enemy from within?' she asked after a pause. 'Did you consider an uprising, a scission within the army, or a military coup?'

'No, there aren't any worries from the army. Believe me, we're very well informed on that score.'

The chief analyst for Chinese matters had no doubts on the matter. The CIA had countless informers and knew all the goings-on within the Chinese army. Communications were routinely intercepted, unfathomed and analysed. The daily life of the People's Liberation Army held little mystery to the keen eyes of the Langley observers. The CIA had a number of its insiders posted at different echelons of this great Chinese war machine. Lorna knew it all too well. She was in copy of all the summary briefs on the intimate workings of the PLA, and nothing could get through un-noticed by the American services.

'So who, then?' she asked with exasperation.

She somehow knew the answer was there, staring at them in the face, simple and obvious. It was a gut feeling that never betrayed her.

The country was getting ready for an anticipated aggressor. But the latter could not be any of its neighbours, nor come from inside. This was no riddle, it was a job for a first-class sleuth. As in all good detective novels, the murderer was likely to be the least suspected character, either because he had been considered dead in one of the earlier chapters or because the culprit was... the narrator himself!

'I think I know who the Chinese are fearing an attack from.' After saying these words, a smug smile appeared on Lorna's lips. What's more, she had scored a point over these blasted analysts who were paid to think of these things.

'Who do they see as a threat then?' asked Sam with a hint of defiance in his voice, his face showing marked interest.

'Us !' answered Lorna, stretching out the syllable in a deep voice.

'Us?' he echoed incredulously.

'They're fearing an American attack! Can't you see that?'

'And why would they imagine America is about to storm in on them? We aren't in a state of crisis with them. How could they possibly see a reason for us to attack them?'

'No, you're right. We don't know why we would possibly want to attack China, but apparently they seem to.'

'What do you mean?'

'Gentlemen, I believe China is preparing a dirty trick. And it's already anticipating our retaliation to it. That's what it is!' she let out triumphantly.

Lorna did not give the analysts present the time to let this revelation sink in. She had already turned her heels and left the presentation room. It was time for her to fly off immediately to Beijing and get to the crux of this matter. She went up to inform Doug Chandler, the director of the CIA.

Beijing

18 August, 1:50 a.m.

Santana Song stuck his head out of the office window and took in the atmosphere of the street. Despite the late hour, the incessant din prevented him from concentrating, much as he needed to. The room had no air conditioning and he was stifling under the humid heat.

The upper storeys of the frontages in his view were adorned with the garish multicoloured neon signs of shady hotels where the rooms were let by the hour. He could also see the luminous signs on the ground floor, occupied by massage parlours, each with their sordid little room where young girls whose body odours, scarcely disguised by heavy sprays of cheap scent, lent a friendly hand to relieve impatient visitors. This was the rock-bottom service, dispatched in less then ten minutes for 50 yuans. His gaze then fell on a fruit seller's stall, then on the outdoor tables of a small restaurant. This working-class district of Beijing never slept. It was constantly animated, bristling with life right through till dawn, when the daytime population took over from the night owls.

That was Song's unofficial 'office,' remote from his appointed one at CIA headquarters in the south wing of the American Embassy building, a fortress protected by high concrete walls. It was his own cubby-hole where he felt more at ease to concoct his underhand schemes. There, in the heart of these seedy streets, his demeanour, reminiscent of a 1930s Shanghai hoodlum, went by unnoticed. He would retire there several times a week to shut himself off from the curious looks of the Agency staff.

Song had just gone through the last batch of documents that Cheng had handed over to him. The accountant obviously put quantity before quality. He had already taken hundreds of photos of items lying in secretary's office: internal memos, screen displays, dockets... Everything he could lay his eyes on - except interesting material. This pathetic little gigolo was not getting up to very much. He had become the secretary's official fiancée and Bao Yutai, the head of the Regulations Department, regarded him somewhat like his son-in-law... That very idea brought Song into a fit of convulsive laughter. You just had to laugh sometimes in this business. And second rate underlings like Cheng were his favourite clowns.

He was about to pass on to the next photo when his brain instinctively sent him a signal to freeze. There was something. There, on the far edge of the desk, near the LCD monitor, was a printed sheet on which he could only just make out the title: 'Project for the Deployment of a National Operating System for Home and Office Personal Computers.' He clicked impatiently on the zoom-up symbol and scrolled the screen to bring that document into full view. It bore the 'Ultra Secret' stamp mark: the highest level of secrecy in China apart from the 'Defence Secret' category reserved for military information.

At last, the long-awaited moment had come! The constellation of clues building up for over a month were now all pointing in the same direction! China was finally going to kick itself from its inertia: it was going to make the big decision everybody had been waiting for. It was going to make a giant leap into the unknown! But Song systematically and painstakingly plucked away each one of those clues as they came to him, so as to pass on just a mush of data to the CIA. Song wanted the Agency to think everything was normal in the Standards and Regulations Bureau: 'Nothing to report' as his brief would state. He deleted the tell-tale photos from the image folder he was preparing to send to his CIA chief. And, as usual, there would be little to say about Bao Yutai's activities.

Now, he immediately had to inform his superiors that the big day was coming closer...

Beijing, CIA Bureau

20 August.

'Something's brewing up in China and I want you to find out what!' Lorna Green was now pulling out all the stops. The head of the CIA's Asia Directorate went to task the moment she set foot in Beijing. Forget the idea of a quick tour of the Forbidden City. In any case, she did not care much for Asian art in general. Although she felt quite at home in Gwalior, Konarak or Mysore, and even in the tiny remote villages of India, the local architecture here, with its flamboyant colours and bright red columns, left her stone cold.

'Gentlemen, I repeat, there's something going on; here, right under our noses – or should I say your noses – and you're not even aware of it! Wake up, for goodness sake!'

The meeting was being held in an elegant 19th century decorated room in the west wing of the American embassy building.

Stenton was slumped in a large tan leather armchair. He was trying to defend his team.

'Lorna, this country's a dark horse...'

She gave him no time to finish. Her innermost feelings were telling her there was something bubbling under the surface.

'How can you be so damn naive? This country is a past master in the art of intrigue. Surely you don't need me to tell you that.'

Val Stanton knew Lorna too well to get ruffled. His female boss held no secrets for him. He knew everything about her: her over-inflated ego, her bossiness, her attraction to women... But after having clashed and finally accepted each other, they had developed mutual feelings of esteem and respect. She was curt and had little time for tact, but no one could deny her outstanding reasoning abilities and unfailing cool headedness.

'According to our latest intelligence reports, China is conducting uncommon military exercises. We've come to the certain conclusion that something is happening out there in the shadows, something different and unprecedented, and which could well take us all by surprise.'

'Like a terrorist attack?'

'Yeah - something like that. But its nature and form might be new...'

Stenton massaged his forehead. He too was having those vague feelings that something was amiss, but refrained from bringing them up for lack of tangible arguments to back them. He summed up the facts surrounding the situation.

'Lorna, we keep track in real time of all of China's activities in each of its key technology sectors: high-tech, space, biotech's, nanotechnologies, electronics... China's ruthlessly and methodically trying to catch up on its technology lag and aiming to sever all its links of dependency on the Western world. We're keeping close tabs on this situation and making sure China isn't getting its hands on the most sensitive technologies. Now, we've seen nothing suspicious on any of these fronts in the past few months, other than...'

'Other than what?'

'As I was about to say, other than a campaign of attacks targeted at Microsoft...'

Lorna was familiar with this affair.

'There's nothing new in that. China has for years been comparing its dependency on Microsoft to its enforced importation of opium back in the 19th century. It's nothing but propaganda, of course, but they did try last year to replace Microsoft software with their own home-grown product. Mind you, that's fair enough. After all, you can't blame them for wanting to safeguard their military and governmental communications as they see fit.'

'Sure, but here the offensive seems to be shaping up.'

'Your' referring it to the so-called 'Lin Zexu group' our Tokyo Bureau uncovered, right?'

'Correct. Over the past six months, we've been picking up reports on a number of very high level meetings involving heads of ministries, state institutes and commissions - all on the subject of the supposed threat Microsoft poses to China. Just run off-the-mill stuff, I suppose you'll say. But, what is less so, is the shroud of secrecy that surrounds these meetings. There were no minutes drawn up for any of them. Their agencies are always very vague and all the initiatives seen to pop up spontaneously from different places.'

'And where are you up to in your investigations?' asked Lorna.

'We've concentrated them on the Ministry of Information Industries. These meetings can all be traced back to the same character: Bao Yutai, the director of the Regulations Department. We've managed to follow a thread to one of the most enigmatic heads of counterespionage, a certain Zhou. His name appears on two documents detailing the organisation of some of these meetings. This Zhou could well be very dangerous.'

'To get to the bottom line, do you believe China's planning an anti-Microsoft offensive?'

'Nothing indicates that it is. All the information gathered out in the field among decision-makers, business circles, industry, i.e. from all the people who actually run China today... well all this information shows that the priority of priorities for China now is stability, maintaining the status quo. They don't want to interfere with the markets. It may be one thing for certain nationalistic circles do want to fight against the so-called American opium, but for industry and business to rally to their cause is quite another. I repeat, there is nothing whatsoever today signalling anything hostile towards Microsoft. And you can't have better proof of that than the extension and deepening of our discussions within the scope of the GSP.'

'That's the governmental security program set up by Microsoft, right?'

'Correct. The Chinese have just given it a new thrust. They're no longer just wanting to analyse the software's source code. Since two weeks ago, they've been adopting a much more open and friendly attitude. At the outset, GSP was grounded in suspicion. Now all that seems to belong to the past. The Chinese are currently seeking to introduce Microsoft's digital rights management architecture into their own computers! This DRM, as it is generally termed, can be used to manage MP3 music files. Now that's what I call significant progress and a mark of confidence.'

Lorna remained immersed in her thoughts for a few moments. All this was indeed going in the direction of stabilised relations.

'Now tell me, the team our country sent over for this GSP business is here to customise Windows and integrate security modules developed by the Chinese. Is that right?'

'Right. It's a positive sign to which Microsoft feels strongly about.'

However, Lorna green would not be so readily taken in.

'Hey, Stenton, d'you happen to know if those Chinese software modules are the work of that Professor Mok Mengma, the father of their computer security... you know, the one who received a medal?'

'No, they weren't from Mok's team... These security routines were in fact developed by another state institute.'

'And don't you smell a rat?'

'Now that you tell me, it does sound a little odd. But Microsoft's bosses and their team seem happy with it. And they ought to know! There's no doubt in their mind the Chinese want to co-operate.'

Lorna continued to muse. All this did not wash.

'And didn't you tell me you identified a spy among the Chinese delegation?'

'Yeah, a Chinese girl. We didn't see anything unusual in that until our thread on that girl took us all the way up to the supposed brains behind that anti-Microsoft campaign, namely the mysterious Zhou.'

'Is that girl dangerous?'

'Difficult to tell, but we're watching her closely, if only because she's struck up a relationship with one of the Microsoft techies; their star computer scientist, apparently.'

'When you say relationship, you mean more than just friends, huh?'

'For the time being, we gather their relationship is... let's say... platonic. But we alerted Microsoft to it and suggested they send that guy away somewhere. They followed our advice and posted him off to Shanghai for a week or two. But now he's back in Beijing as a result of the new developments under way.'

'I don't like this one bit. Who is this scientist?'

'He's a computer wizard. Don't worry, he's perfectly clean. We've been through his psychological profile, his relations, his activities. Nothing to report.'

'You got his file? Let me have it.'

Stenton tapped briefly on his keyboard and the printer in the corner of the room kicked into action. He got up, picked up the three typewritten sheets that rolled off and handed them over to Lorna. She pulled out a pair of glasses from the breast pocket of her jacket, unfolded them and placed them methodically over her nose.

'Tom Bailey. So that's his name.'

'Yes, they call him Tom.'

Her face instantly whitened a shade.

'Did you see who his father was?'

'No, why?'

'That Tom... he's Geoff Bailey's son...'

No one dared ask for an explanation, but Stenton's expression seemed to show he had grasped the significance of this parentage.

'You sure? Well, that would be a coincidence! Yeah, sure I remember that lefty anti-Vietnam War militant.'

To the two fifty-somethings, that name obviously did more than just ring a bell, but they didn't dwell on it. Lorna paced round the room. She was racking her brains to find a link, but it failed to come up. She halted in front of Santana Song who was leaning nonchalantly against a wall.

'You're the one who's following Tom Bailey, right?'

It was her first meeting with that Eurasian. She felt an animal repugnance to him which she struggled to cast aside and hide. If Stanton had chosen him, she thought, it must have been for very good reasons.

'We don't exactly follow him 24/7, nor the girl either,' explained Song. 'But it was through her we managed to work our way up to Zhou, one of the counter intelligence chiefs.'

'If I've got this right,' continued Lorna, 'that Zhou could be the brains... or one of the brains... behind that 'Lin Zexu group'. And not only that, but you also let that girl seduce the star member of the Microsoft team, a certain Tom Bailey who's none other then the son of... Now, gentlemen, don't you think it's all beginning to stink rotten?'

The two men clammed up. Stenton had an unwavering confidence in Song, his henchman always at hand to dig behind the scenes without ever arousing the least suspicion...

'I want you to put an end to all this. Tom Bailey is returning to United States tomorrow.'

'Lorna, that's impossible,' Stenton tried to plead. 'There's no way Microsoft would ever agree to that! As far as they're concerned, very high stakes are placed out here in China. They simply cannot afford to lose the Chinese market. I had the utmost difficulty in persuading them to let Tom Bailey go to Shanghai for three weeks. Kathleen Morse, the woman in charge of Microsoft's GSP commission, is under pressure to defend her company's interests. If the Chinese were to adopt Microsoft's version of their 'Next Generation Secure Computing Base,' or NGSB, which handles the digital rights management on PCs, then they would have achieved a decisive advance in their relations with China. They're prepared to go to great lengths for this and are running an impressive public relations campaign to prepare the ground.'

Lorna remained silent.

'It looks like the presence of one of their intelligence agents among the delegation doesn't bother them all that much, so long as at the end of the day they get China to collaborate with them in the long term. That Lao Jin girl is no doubt a highly competent computer scientist.'

'Yeah, but a highly competent computer scientist collaborating with the Lin Zexu group.'

Song cut in with a point.

'The only thing we know is that she has links with counterespionage.'

'I want you to tell Kathleen Morse that we're granting this Tom Bailey one more week in Beijing. One week. Not more. Have you got that?'

Lorna was uneasy. What was going on in the dark had ramifications way beyond the fate of Microsoft in China. How else could she explain the fact that China was placing its army in a state of near alert?

'We must follow up all clues, even the most unlikely ones.'

The two men exchanged puzzled glances.

'That's impossible, broke out Song. It's up to the market to decide, as the Chinese now like to remind everyone! They can't force a billion of their people to use a new operating system when they're already used to Microsoft!'

'Now let's imagine that they decide to impose this measure using the stamp of authority?'

'No way,' insisted Song. The logistics behind such an operation would be way too complex. They'd need to convert 100 million PCs all around the country. I can't even begin to imagine the palaver involved. If I were in the place of the Chinese leaders, I would rather give up writing with pictograms than replace windows...'

Lorna paused a few seconds to think.

'Would it help your imagination a little if I gave you a stock of 35 million hard disk drives?'

Ge Yong turned up at the huge warehouse in Wuhan, central China. It was one of the main hard disk drive storage sites the CIA had identified. According to a number of coherent sources, around 8 million units were being kept at that plant.

The building was surrounded by an impenetrable electrified fence. All incoming and outgoing traffic through the single security gate was carefully checked by uniformed guards.

'Sir, I'm afraid we need your identity.'

The polite formulation had something comical, coming from the burly, tight-jawed guard blocking the passage.

'Sorry, I'm Ge Yong, a buyer for the Lenovo company. I have an appointment.'

Lorna Green had briefed him the day before. She had been entertaining doubts ever since her meeting with Stenton and Song. She was now wary of the latter to the highest degree, right from the moment she suddenly realised that it was the Tokyo Bureau that discovered the existence of the 'Lin Zexu group.' This may not be a proof of guilt, but at least one of incompetence.

Ge Yong immediately felt the cold throb of adrenalin pumping through his body. A tingling sensation ran all over his skin. Lorna Green had this knack of always catching him off guard. He was a sleeping agent in the Bureau's network, waiting to go into action at the drop of a hat, and she had summoned him. Lorna warned him of the sensitive nature of that mission.

'The members of the Beijing Bureau haven't been informed. They are not to know of this,' she repeated, without volunteering any more explanations.

Ge Yong had to wait for well over a minute before the security barrier finally swung open before him, accompanied by an okay nod from the guard. His cover apparently had the hoped-for aura of credibility. Being a buyer prospecting for China's number one PC manufacturer was evidently a good key for opening doors. All the more so as he had secured a visit to discuss a special confidential order for 800 000 disk drives. The declared purpose was to negotiate prices and delivery schedules.

The assistant to the sales manager received him in a small office and wasted no time in boasting the company's policy of flexibility and speed of response. Ge Yong listened intently to the assistant's awkwardly delivered prattle, which she obviously reeled off to every visitor to highlight the company's merits. Cueing in on a brief pause, he interrupted her, brisk and businesslike.

'We are here to do business. I'm quite happy with your prices but I'm much more concerned by your delivery dates. When can you send us the first batch?'

'The sales assistant looked embarrassed.'

'Unfortunately, the earliest date I can propose is... mid October...'

'Mid October! Why that's a long way off. It's plain impossible. How come that you, one of China's largest wholesalers, are taking so long,' continued Ge Yong as he pulled from his pocket a folded sheet bearing a printed table of figures.

'We have very large orders to satisfy and our stocks are currently very low. It's the same situation everywhere. There is a dearth of hard disk drives all over the country, and that situation's been going on for the past three weeks,' added the saleswoman defensively.

'I wish to visit your workshops... Can that be arranged? You are properly equipped to pre-write software on your disks, I presume? I would like to make sure of your site's quality control levels for myself.'

The young woman turned apologetic.

'I'm afraid that's impossible... our installations are closed to the public.'

He put on an irritated expression.

'Perhaps I should remind you, madam, that Lenovo is no small customer of yours. So, allow me to insist. I demand to see where your disks are kept and the lines on which you install the software on them, failing which I see no alternative but to report to my head office that your company does not seek the custom of Lenovo!'

She took fright. Muttering a renewed apology, she suddenly went away through the door to ask the manager how to proceed. She came back a few minutes later, asking Ge Yong to follow her. The manager had consented, as an exception to its best customer, to let one of its representatives visit their own installations.

As she passed in front of him, Ge Yong watched her tall slender figure advance gracefully along a series of corridors, each protected by security doors at which they briefly halted as the girl swiped her magnetic card through the reader. They finally reached the entrance to a large room where the director was standing, ready to show them in. Inside, Ge Yong immediately spotted dozens of white-bloused young girls rhythmically picking up hard disk drives from yellow basket-trays and placing them in small black antistatic envelopes.

'Mr. Ge Yong, I am very pleased to welcome you here at our packaging plant. Normally, we never let visitors into this area, but we are making a special exception for you as a representative of our largest customer. You can consider yourself very privileged indeed.'

He uttered the last sentence with noticeably less warmth, betraying his vexation at having to bend the rules through intimidation.

Ge Yong put on his best affable air and bowed respectfully at the director, attempting to convey extreme gratitude. Then he quickly turned his gaze back to the room, trying to take in as much as possible. The yellow box-trays were fed by a conveyor belt a few paces to his right, loaded in an adjacent room. He edged his way towards the upstream end of the conveyor, while pretending to show interest in the director's flow of speech. A double swing door suddenly flipped open a few metres in front of him. For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of the other side before his view was closed off by a trolley entering through the opening. The doors closed again. It was just enough for Ge Yong to notice that it was an enormous warehouse with long lines of shelving neatly stacked with identical yellow box-trays, each presumably full of disk drive units. He had to check that out. Turning his heels to the director in mid sentence, he darted straight to the doors and thrust each hand against a respective panel. He was in luck. They were not blocked by the door opening mechanism. Under his force, they both slammed opened in unison.

'Ha Ha, so that's where you store all your disk units!' he exclaimed as innocently as he could.

'No, Mr Ge Yong. No!'

Too late. He had clearly seen them. Thousands of pallets in countless lines, each stacked several metres high, brimming with yellow box trays full of disk units. He did a quick reckoning. There must be literally millions of units.

The director put a hand on Ge Yong's shoulder and pulled him back inside.

'This place is absolutely forbidden... It's in a highly controlled atmosphere.'

He had turned red with fury and surprise.

Without losing his cool, Ge Yong asked with a false air of surprise:

'But how come you're so long in delivering when you're warehouse is chock-full. I was under the impression that your stocks were low!'

Ge Yong did not even bother to listen to the director's muddled explanations.

'Oh, one last thing, I've absolutely got to visit your pre-installed software test installations. You do, of course, still want to work with Lenovo, don't you?'

The director was fuming, torn between the urge to call security to throw him out on the spot and the fear of losing his best customer. They advanced in rapid steps, first through a room in which several hundred disk drives aligned along rigs advanced to a station that injected the software directly into them, and then the quality control room. Here, operators could be seen dipping at random into an array of advancing disk units, picking one for a series of visual inspections and manipulations.

'What's the software you're putting into them?' he asked.

'That all depends on the customer,' the director replied curtly. 'Most of the time it's Windows and Microsoft's office suite.'

Ge Yong moved up to one of the women working at a test station.

'Now, this disk drive, for example... is it loaded with Windows?'

'Come back here immediately!' snapped the director.

Ge Yong paid no heed and continued looking over the woman's shoulders. He had just enough time to see a screen display come up on the monitor before her. From the graphics and icons, it was obviously not a Windows software. The shrill sound of a whistle suddenly burst from behind him. The director was calling the security guards. Ge Yong continued to scrutinise expectantly at the screen. After a few short seconds, he felt his arms been grasped by two hefty uniformed men. Stiffening his legs and bracing his body, Ge Yong tried to overcome their pulling force for a few moments. It was then that he saw four white letters starting to scroll along the screen and stop at the centre: CNOS. It was the last thing he could note before being manhandled and frogmarched through the plant buildings. The director was shuffling along almost sideways in ridiculous steps, trying to keep abreast along the corridor while turning to face the ousted visitor.

'Mr Ge, I'll have you know that I know some of your superiors very well, and I shall give them a detailed report of all this... this is an inadmissible intrusion!'

The escorting party continued on its way to the exit.

For Ge Yong, it was mission complete. The plant director could curse him till he was blue in the face, call for an enquiry, he could not care less. He now had some accurate information with which to brief Lorna green.
9. Ground Zero

'Make your projects as obscure and impenetrable as the night.

But when you decide to move, fall on the enemy like lightning.'

Sun Zi, The Art of War, 5th Century BC.

Beijing, Ministry of Information Industries

26 August. Morning.

'Mr. Tang, there's the Order to sign...'

Yaping was trying to bring Tang Jinghua back to earth. She found him decidedly off colour that morning. The civil servant was clasping a school pupil's fountain pen – it belonged to his daughter, he once explained – and seemed to be holding back the moment of signing the documents she had placed under his eyes. And yet signing administrative orders was a daily routine for him. Bao Yutai, the Director of Regulations, had been asking for that document and she could not keep him waiting any longer.

'Mr. Tang, you've got to sign the order! Mr. Tang?'

The bubble in which he seemed captive finally burst. He raised his fearful eyes at her.

'Oh yes. Yes of course...'

He first gave a test scribble on a blank portion of his diary, just to check that the old pen would do for the job. Then he raised the nib and dropped the tip at the bottom of the page of the Order, just above his name:

Tang Jinghua,

Deputy Director, Software unit, Department of Policies, Laws and Regulations, Ministry of Information Industries.

He slowly traced out the three fateful characters that made up his name. There. It was over.

He held out the sheets to Yaping. She let out her satisfaction with a beaming smile. Tonight, she was going out with Li Cheng, her date from accounts. Provided, of course, their respective bosses let them leave sufficiently early. There was now that big meeting to prepare for the next day, and the whole department was mobilised. It was bound to have something to do with that Order she had so much trouble in getting him to sign.

Beijing, the same day

Beijing was once more hit by a heat wave. Tom and Jin were lazing in the shadow of a century-old tree in the gardens of Beijing's Summer Palace. Despite having been advised by the American embassy men not to maintain personal relationships with members of the Chinese delegation outside the GSP sessions, Tom could not imagine working another day alongside Jin without seeing her otherwise than with her eyes riveted to a PC screen. Those three weeks far from the young woman seemed like an eternity to him. The day was too gorgeous and the heat of the office too stifling for them not to make the most of the afternoon. They had slipped away during the lunch hour as the work groups were breaking up.

They had found a corner of the lawn, partially screened from the sun by the foliage of large tree. Tom pulled out from the bottom of his bag the personal iPod MP3 player he always carried around with him. They lay side by side, face down on grass, like two students.

'This is what they used to play on the radio when my parents arrived in America: Dedicated to the one I love by The Mamas and The Papas.'

He held an earphone out to her.

While I'm far away from you, my baby,

I know it's hard for you, my baby,

Because it's hard for me, my baby,

And the darkest hour is just before dawn.

Jin pressed the pause button.

'It sounds like Abba! And Sorry to say that, Tom, but isn't the girl off key?'

Tom straightened and stopped the player.

'She doesn't keep the note very well, that's true, but it's her style. That's the way the song's meant to be! And we're talking about Mama Michelle! Michelle Philips! She was a stunning babe, a real top model. All the guys were in love with her. My mum looked like her, with long blond hair parted at the centre... And this song, it's about two people in love but far away from each other...'

He stole a look at the young girl who seemed lost in her thoughts.

'You know, July and August 1967 was called the Summer of Love in California. And not just there, throughout America, in Europe; all over the world, in fact.'

She remained silent. He failed to see the shadow of sadness cross her face.

'As a matter of fact, my sister was born nine months later, in May 1968! No kidding! One thing's for sure, she was conceived in an atmosphere of love, by the power of flowers, by the grace of music and peace! Of course, I came much later. My arrival wasn't scheduled then!'

They had turned on their sides, face to face, their bent knees forming a symmetrical figure. Their gazes drew closer, fused, fled and once more locked, this time with force and abandon. Shaking off her unease, she asked:

'So, 1967 was the big year?'

'Yeah, absolutely, a fantastic year, it was the height of pop music. You should've been around at that time, Jin! Listen, this is a less well-known Beach Boys song...'

'I don't know any,' she thought to herself.

'It's from their album 'Smile' recorded in 1967, but which only came out in 2004. Back then Brian Wilson was so deep down in depression he was unable to finish it!'

They were now feeling comfortable in their eye contact. Their gazes no longer wanted to flit away. The last barriers had crumbled, leaving behind nothing but unfailing mutual confidence.

Surf's Up

Aboard a tidal wave

Come about hard and join

The young and often spring you gave

I heard the word

Wonderful thing

A children's song

Child, child, child, child, child

A child is the father of the man

'I don't understand these lyrics.'

'It's a bit obscure,' conceded Tom...

'And then?'

'You mean what happened to pop music after 1967? Well, as from 68 the wonderful flower began to fade, then wilted altogether. Nothing was the same anymore; all innocence had gone, society turned to a destructive form of cynicism...'

'No, I mean your father, your parents...'

His expression turned blank, as if covered by a veil. He flipped on his back, rested his hands on his chest and stared for a few seconds at the sky turning red in the setting sun.

'They stayed in California for a few years. My father was a musician. He studied literature, but his real interest was music. He played the drums and was in a few bands that were fairly popular at the time. But that wasn't enough to make a living. And then... you know.... like a lot of them, he got into drugs...'

Tom's voice darkened slightly.

'It was my mother who brought home the money, and I think my grandparents out in Scotland sent him some too. In 1972 they left California for New York.'

Jin let him talk, listening with interest. She sensed the pain he felt at these evocations, but he needed to free himself from that past. He obviously did not often have the occasion to confide in someone.

'My father was deeply involved in politics; I guess everyone was into politics at the time! He was against the Vietnam War, or more exactly against Nixon; he was an active anti-war militant; I mean he didn't just join the protests. Because he wasn't American, he didn't have to go out there. He was a journalist and part of the underground movement.'

He turned his head towards her and seemed to be calling for help. She did not have the least idea what that movement could be, but let him carry on. She gave a look of acknowledgement, as if to encourage him.

'Towards the late 70s, he worked for a TV station, leading investigations on somewhat sensitive issues, you know, the arms lobby, the power of the media, and those sorts of things. That was about the time when I was born, in 1976!'

'And after that?'

He again looked up to the sky, which had taken a dark blue tint, and watched some seagulls flying by.

'After, early in 1981, in winter, my father died. A road accident. A collision with a truck. He had taken drugs and alcohol. My mother never talked about it. I wasn't yet five... I can hardly remember... It's all very hazy... I came back to England with my sister and mother and everything went back to normal... well... my mother never married again, and our life was calm and without problems. My sister first went to New York for her studies. Then it was my turn to fly out to Berkeley. My mother now lives in Scotland, in her family house in Strathaven, about fifteen miles south of Glasgow. As for myself, I settled down in California! There, I think you now know everything about me.'

He had turned round towards her, visibly relieved to have got it over. She once more wanted to run away from her own feelings, to break this intimacy that made her vulnerable. Perhaps avoid having to talk about herself. She needed to get back on firm ground and change the course of this conversation which had become too intimate.

'And how was it in California?'

Her eyes were burning with curiosity.

'You know, I was very fortunate. I arrived in 1994, the year when the Internet really took off. I never knew anything else! I was right where the action was; I took part in all the important developments while I was still only 18 or 19. And with the Internet, I felt I was somehow reliving the 60s! The same libertarian ideals invented by the hippy movements were reviving thanks to the networks, universities, the free exchange of knowledge.

'So why Microsoft, Tom?'

Tom marked a pause. The remark had certainly disconcerted him, but not for the reasons she imagined. The paradox had never in fact crossed his mind! He had never been struck by the clash between the libertarian and disinterested world he had just described and the monopolistic and mercantile universe of Microsoft!

'Why not Microsoft?' he retorted 'It's a company like any other. They came to me when I was only 18. They had done a complete U-turn a short time beforehand; they needed to catch up the lost time; they were lagging behind, would you believe! In 1994, Microsoft knew nothing of the Internet. They undertook impressive efforts and managed to achieve something remarkable. It's more difficult for an aircraft carrier like Microsoft to do a U-turn than for a light vessel. In fact, it was a real exploit!'

Night had fallen without Jin and Tom appearing to realise it. The temperature had dropped to become gentle and pleasant.

'My teachers at Berkeley recommended me for that job. They needed an IP and networks specialist who could very quickly grasp the sophisticated architecture of their software to find out where and how to introduce the Internet layer. It seemed I was the only one who fitted the bill. They accepted all my conditions, that I should finish my studies, that I should work only as a consultant... And so I continued after graduating. Still to this day I don't belong to Microsoft!'

Tom had again shown this to be true that afternoon by ignoring the recommendations the embassy was trying to impose. Jin broke out into a hearty laughter, a joyful laughter, face turned towards the sky now beginning to glitter with the stars. That marvellous brain capable of absorbing millions of lines of code had found refuge in such a pure and beautiful soul.

He turned towards her, his expression more puzzling than usual.

'Jinny.'

It was the first time he called her by that name.

'I have a song for you... Listen, it's by Donovan.'

Imperceptibly, they had drawn up close, so much so that they were now in body contact. He pressed the play button.

Jennifer Juniper lives upon the hill,

Jennifer Juniper, sitting very still.

Is she sleeping? I don't think so.

Is she breathing? Yes, very low.

Whatcha doing, Jennifer, my love?

Jennifer Juniper rides a dappled mare,

Jennifer Juniper, lilacs in her hair.

Is she dreaming? Yes, I think so.

Is she pretty? Yes, ever so.

Whatcha doing, Jennifer my love?

They were both laughing together, uncaring, as Donovan reeled out his sweet and tender song.

'You're my Jennifer,' whispered Tom in Jin's ear.

She settled her hand on the young man's hair. His eyes were glowing in the twilight.

'OK, but who's Juniper, then?' she asked in a silky voice, trying to prolong a game she knew to be love.

'Juniper is a plant from which they make gin, an alcoholic liquor. The juniper plant. Do you see the connection...?'

She had drawn up closer to him and stroked his fair hair.

'Sort of, but what's the link between a girl called Jennifer and a plant used for making alcohol?'

He thought for a moment and found the best possible answer:

'Actually, there isn't any, Jin. It's just to make up the rhyme, Jennifer, Juniper, Jin.'

Their mouths finally met and joined in a long kiss. They stayed that way for several minutes, in the shadow of the large tree, prolonging their embrace.

It was 6 pm. Cheng and Yaping had met up at the canteen of the Ministry to share a bowl of duck noodles. Since the page of the document he had managed to photograph a few weeks earlier, Cheng was not getting much, apart from the expense forms of the Director, Bao, which he regularly checked for conformity to procedures.

This dearth probably meant that there was nothing new, just a calm period. But Song was not ready to swallow that sort of an explanation. For him, there was always something going on: secret meetings, a conspiracy against the interests of foreign information technology companies... They had to suspect everyone, doubt everything, go in and search, never stop seeking, without knowing what, without knowing why. That was the very purpose of his activity in this Ministry.

He had asked Yaping to go out that evening, but her day's work was not yet over. Cheng was surprised himself at his initiative, and wondered if the alluring black miniskirt she was wearing have something to do with it.

'Listen, I've got to stay in the office a little while. There's an important meeting tomorrow afternoon, something unexpected, but ever so big. All the top brass will be there. It's the biggest meeting of year!'

Cheng took on a falsely detached air and asked:

'Nothing serious, I hope?'

'No, but important! It's certainly got something to do with the Order which is to appear tomorrow,' she answered with the look of excitement of someone who knows but cannot say anything.

He tried his luck using a light-hearted tone, seeming just playful.

'Well?' he asked with a wink, 'What's this Order about?' without expecting an answer.

'Confidential,' she retorted, looking amused.

She appeared to like riddles. All right then, he would just have to continue.

'Now let me see .... it concerns Tang Jinghua or Bao Yutai?'

He continued without waiting for the answer.

'Now, if it's Tang Jinghua, let me see... he's concerned with software, and that can only mean... Microsoft?'

He stopped while looking at her quizzically. She smiled, her air now doubly mysterious. He had hit the bull's eye, he was sure of it. He finished off saying that it suited him fine, he had some work to catch up, and he would wait for her.

'I'll call you as soon as I've finished; will you come to collect me?'

Tom and Jin slipped inside the tiny streets which crisscrossed the Forbidden City. Tom had the impression of entering a time warp in the middle of this traditional setting where silk stores, medicinal plant and jade shops and small poorly-run restaurants all intermingled. Some tourists were enjoying this folklore steeped in poverty and walked with eyes riveted to their camera.

Jin pulled him into a little inner courtyard, protected from the street by a heavy, finely crafted gate.

'And how about some home cooking?' Jin suggested archly.

Tom suddenly drew her to him, convinced that even if they were watched, no-one could have followed them up to here, and kissed her passionately. A crazy idea flashed through his mind.

'Jin, let's run away. Let's leave, both of us.'

She did not have the strength to rebut him. On the contrary, all her being was reaching out to him. But did she only have the right to go? It was not so much her mission she was thinking of. No, she was in fact wondering if she deserved the happiness that was coming to her...

Tom insisted:

'Come on Jin, come, let's just pack everything!'

She suddenly thought of her childhood. She searched her memory in vain for memories of a true love, the trace of a consuming passion. She found none. Was she made for happiness? Why was she asking herself those questions when it was there in front of her? Her eyes were filled with tears; she hugged him in her arms. Then, without a word, she took his hand and drew him once more, hurriedly, into the little street they had just left. They entered a large restaurant which took up the whole frontage of a deep, square house. Jin quickened her steps, crossed the dining room and continued towards the kitchen where a dozen men and women were at work, sweating in the greasy smoke rising from enormous woks. She broke into a run, under the astounded looks of the staff, pulling Tom through the deliveries door in her wake.

They reappeared in a street even narrower than the one they had just left. She cast a look to the right then to the left, spotted a wooden door left slightly ajar, framed by large bins filled to the brim with vegetable crates. 'The back of another restaurant,' she thought. Squeezing Tom's hand stronger still, she pulled on the door and burst in without wasting a moment. They found themselves in the toilets of the premises. Once again, they crossed several dining rooms and emerged in an open-air bar where a group of Chinese in shorts and vests were sipping beer with ice cubes. Jin did not stop. She had already sighted a taxi at the corner of the street and pushed Tom inside while checking that no-one was leaving the bar in their pursuit.

She gave out a brief order to the driver who tore away immediately.

'Jin, I've left my bag in your car... I'm without my ID card...'

'Don't worry, you won't need one where we're going.'

She was still clasping his hand, snuggled against him as they slipped into the night.

She too had made her choice.

She asked the taxi to pull up in front of the entrance to a shopping mall. They entered the precinct, passing along the closed shops, and arrived in front of a bank of lifts. Jin took him up to the twentieth floor. She asked him to wait for her and returned almost immediately with a key card.

This modern and comfortable hotel occupied just the top storeys of the tower block; she sometimes used it for transactions in certain intelligence operations. The room was on the twenty-eighth floor. She closed the heavy door behind her. The glittering lights of the city skyscrapers filled the view from the large bay window. The bed was open, a rose resting on the pillow.

They were alone in world.

They stripped off while kissing and caressing each other passionately. Tom drew her to the large white marble bathroom. With one hand, he turned on the shower tap while gently pressing Jin against the wall. Jin, more sensual than ever, pushed back Tom, inviting him with her feline eyes to let her take over. She delicately soaped him, stooping down in front of him, entirely submissive, washing his feet before moving up along his legs. Tom felt his manhood awakening; he wanted to have her there, up against the cold marble of the shower. She slipped away again, preferring to prolong the preliminaries.

It was past 10pm when the young secretary called Cheng. Making his way along the corridors separating the two offices, wondered again how he could lay his hands on the contents of the Order. Since leaving Yaping a few hours earlier, he was running through his mind all the possible schemes to snatch away that document, convinced that his mission could not succeed all the while the secretary was putting so much zeal in keeping her world under wraps.

However, as he entered Yaping's office, he felt he had an undreamed-of occasion to get what he was looking for. The young woman, still perky despite the late hour, had just lifted the phone. When she saw him, she put the phone back down with a weary hand, looking dejected.

'Cheng, I'm really sorry... I've got to go down to the eighth floor to finish off the preparations for the meeting tomorrow afternoon. I'll be about twenty minutes, half an hour at the most.'

She made her way towards the door.

'You will wait for me, won't you?' she asked playfully. It'll only be half past ten or so. Come, I'll collect you at your office when I've finished.'

She was holding the office key in her hand and clearly intended to lock it once they had left. But Cheng refrained from protesting.

'I've locked up everything in my office!' he said, taking on a dejected look.

He could not let such an occasion go by. All the documents of the department were at hand, there for his taking!

'I'll wait for you here. I'll be reading the paper, OK?'

Yapping seemed disconcerted. She never let anyone alone in her office. She had far too many confidential documents to risk having a visitor fall upon them. But, she thought, the risk would be negligible this evening, given that they were all tidily put away in their cupboards. It was only Cheng, after all. She went over to the PC. It contained many sensitive documents files; she at least had to switch it off. She cast a tender look at Cheng. He had already settled in her chair, feet on the table, reading the newspaper. 'Just like at home,' she thought with a slight pang.

The undreamed-of occasion had indeed come up; the young secretary turned her heels, cast a long, affectionate look at Cheng and decided to forget the security procedures for a moment.

'Don't touch anything, Cheng, I'll be back in half an hour at the most.'

'I'll keep watch over your office, don't worry, I won't let anybody in!' he answered in a tone that tried to inspire trust.

She gave him a last tender look and left him hurriedly.

Cheng was now alone. He looked at the PC. The lift door was closing. He let two minutes go by, folded his newspaper and got down to his task. In a few seconds he had reaped the benefits of six months' patient labour in taming the girl, overcoming her caginess, breaking her inhibitions and creating a deep emotional dependence. Great artistry!

He had left the office door slightly ajar, switched off the ceiling light and lit a lamp on the desk so as not to draw attention. He pulled out from his pocket a USB key, a 16 GB memory which he plugged into the computer while going through in the document explorer the list of the last twenty files Yaping had worked on. Microsoft! Five mails concerned Microsoft. He sent them over to the printer lying to the right on the desk. He could not believe his eyes; he had hit the jackpot! While the printer was churning out the sheets, his eyes were riveted to the PC screen. The memo was signed Tang Jinghua, one of Yaping's bosses, the one in charge of software regulation. Now what was in that note? China was apparently about to make a decision that would rock the course of the world. For a brief moment he thought of immediately calling Santana Song. But that would be impossible from this office: all communications were bound to be tracked and recorded. The long, painstaking investigations and information gathering tasks he had been conducting for months were now beginning to bear fruit, beyond all hope. That would be one in the eye for Song, who had openly expressed doubts on his competence.

He continued to type frenziedly on the keyboard, searching for other documents. The printer continued its job, serving as Cheng's faithful clerk. No longer bothering to sort out the files, he sent frantically dozens of reports and memos to his USB key. He did not notice the silhouetted figure before him, but a fruity perfume wafted up to his nose. He raised his eyes and started.

'Yaping!'

The young woman was livid.

'But you weren't supposed to be back before half an hour!' he muttered.

Jaw agape, she was breathing fast and nervously, staring at the scene before her in utter disbelief. Her face had now taken on a grey, earthen, tint in the pale light from the lamp. The printer was finishing its job. A sheet with the letterhead from the Ministry, covered in Chinese characters, twirled round for a moment before falling at Yaping's feet. Cheng could find nothing to say; he nevertheless mumbled a few words, almost inaudible, like a schoolboy caught red-handed.

'Listen, I just wanted to organise your PC a bit better...'

Yaping remained silent. Her gaze was flicking alternately from the computer to the printer. That man was riffling through her files, through her work! And he was printing pages! Who was he really? A thief? A spy? And to think she had given him her trust, her love. He had betrayed her. Her feelings went way beyond any sentimental heartache or amorous deception. First, she was angry at herself for having given in to sentiments, to have neglected her duty and the security of the Ministry.

'Leave that computer... Get out immediately,' she finally managed to blurt out in a rasping and commanding voice.

Cheng rose and came up to her.

'Yaping, my sweetheart, what's come over you?' I haven't done anything wrong. I'm from the Ministry, he said in a soft tone trying to inspire trust while he placed his hands on Yaping's shoulders.

He did not have time to continue with his explanations. The young woman broke away and reached for the phone. Cheng watched astounded, as if he discovered for the first time the strong will of the secretary he had been abusing for so long. She was going to call security, the police. They were going to arrest him, throw him into prison like any common spy. He would be condemned for betraying his country, executed... Pulling himself away from his torpor, Cheng sprang upon her, snatching the phone from her hands and putting it back on its cradle.

'Oh no you don't!' he said threateningly.

She resisted, wanted to grab hold of the receiver, but he was too strong. He thrust her back violently into a corner of the office. She looked at him and for the first time saw his real face. A hard, brutal face. She leapt up like a spring.

'Help!' she hollered through the door opening.

But before she could repeat her plea, Cheng threw himself at her and held the young woman in a body lock against the floor, with a hand pressed hard against her mouth to stop her from screaming. She was trying to breathe, her chest heaving compulsively. She was struggling, but could not break away from Cheng's grip.

Cheng had no other solution. Yaping's determination, her professional conscience, had condemned her. With his free hand, he grabbed hold of the young woman's skull and suddenly yanked it round to the left. He felt her neck muscles on that side tighten to resist the movement while as they slackened on the other. He was going to use this to advantage. Changing the direction of his pull, he exerted a rapid movement, pivoting Yaping's head violently to the right, as he had been taught. The head went past its limits. There was a sharp and sinister snap, followed by a second one as Li Cheng alternated his movement, almost mechanically.

Jin let out a cry, and another as she felt ecstatic pleasure burst in her lower waist, in her lower back, in her breasts and ripple along her spine up to her shoulders. In turn, Tom's body tensed under the effect of an enormous spasm. She was on top of him, and he was clutching her breasts in his large hands. She abandoned herself, vanquished, and lay over his moist chest, kissing his mouth, searching for his tongue, exploring his ears, mingling her hair with his.

Their mutual abandon was so deep, so complete, that they both fell asleep, unaware of still being in that position.

He had just broken her neck.

When Cheng removed his hand from her mouth, Yaping let out a sigh, almost of surprise, as if astounded by what was happening to her. And then nothing. Her body slumped down to the floor, one leg in front, the other pulled back behind her, a poor, lifeless marionette. Her miniskirt was pulled up to her thighs, revealing a red lace panty that she had chosen specially for him. He looked at Yaping's body for a few seconds, remembered the tenderness of her kisses, her generous body.

He suddenly wanted to protect her, take her in his arms, blow Chi, the pulse of life, into her, by her mouth, by her nose, anything to bring her back to life...

But there before him was a sad, dislocated marionette. Just what had he done? Only this morning, he was still Cheng, that polite, shy and charming accountant, the friend of the Yaping, the cheerful secretary. Now, he was Li, the cold and cynical murderer in front his victim who had paid with her life a secret too heavy to bear.

He held back a sob forming in his throat and pulled the secretary's body by the feet to hide her. His watch showed ten past eleven. The department directors were in the lower floors preparing the meeting for the next day. They could burst into the office at any moment to ask her to type a letter or prepare a document. If they were to discover her lifeless body in the middle of the room, they would immediately give the alarm. Ling Cheng looked around to find the best place to hide the body and slid Yaping under her own desk, hunching up her body to take up the least amount of space. He picked up her glasses that dropped during the struggle and put them on the girl's nose. No need to wipe out the fingerprints, Cheng was known by everyone in the premises. Everybody was so glad Yaping had finally found a steady boyfriend.

He picked up from the printer tray the pages he had selected, folded them and put them away in his pocket. He stopped the computer abruptly, using the power switch, pulled out the USB key and left. He met no-one in the lift down to the ground floor. For a moment, he hesitated before the heavy security door. He knew that to use his badge would be like signing his crime. But did he have an alternative? He inserted his magnetic card and found himself in the Ministry building forecourt. He walked towards his car and a few moments later drove straight past the entrance gate watched night and day by a security guard.

What was he going to do now? The documents he had in possession were dynamite; he had to pass them on straight away to his superiors. It was midnight already, he needed to call his contact Santana Song. But he had just killed a young woman and before dawn all the police forces of China would be at his heels. With a bit of luck, he had five or six hours in front of him. The Ministry's cleaning services turned up at daybreak to dust the offices and empty the waste bins. They were bound to notice Yaping cramped under the desk, stiff with rigour mortis. He just had time to call home and gather up in a suitcase some clothes and any compromising documents that could still be lying around.

He parked his car in front of group of small, three-storey buildings where he had taken residence during his stay in Beijing. The path was clear; no-one was in sight. He darted up the stairs four at a time up to his apartment door. He hesitated. And what if they had already discovered the body, if the alarm had been given? Perhaps they were there already, waiting in the dark inside his apartment? He turned the key slowly in the lock. The door creaked. Cheng rushed to the light switch. He was alone.

While he was gathering his belongings, the face of his wife back at Nanjing flashed through his mind. He wanted to call her, but could not use his home phone, which was bound to be tapped, without endangering himself... and his wife. He got back to his car and drove towards Beijing's nightlife district. He parked close to a few overcrowded bars where he could lose himself amid the anonymous mass of people.

He spotted a phone cabin. His first call would be for his wife, Mei. It was almost one in the morning, she would be fast asleep. It took five rings to get her to answer with a sleep-laden voice:

'Darling, it's me, Cheng.'

'Cheng... where are you? What time is it?'

She had sensed fear and anxiety in her husband's voice. She immediately understood there was something going on.

'Now, I want you to listen carefully, I haven't got much time. I'm going to be out of touch for a few days, a few weeks perhaps...'

'How long for?' she asked anxiously.

'I don't know, dearest, two months, three months, possibly more... You'll get a call, someone will contact you to give you instructions, you'll see. But now, I've got to leave.'

'Cheng, what's going on? Did you do something wrong? Tell me...'

'I can't tell you...'

The young woman began to sob, he had neither the heart nor the words to reassure and comfort her.

'Mei, don't cry, you'll see, things will get sorted out very quickly, and you'll receive some money, you won't have any concerns on that score.'

She continued to sob slowly, sensing the gravity of the situation.

'Please, don't make things more difficult for me, I can't tell you anything for the moment. Give a big hug to our darling little daughter for me, OK?'

'I love you Cheng, please take care of yourself. Promise me that.'

'I promise you Mei, I promise.'

He put the phone down. He was choking with emotion and could not continue the conversation any longer. He put a second coin in the slot and dialled the mobile phone number Santana Song had given him. He let it ring several times until he got the answering service. He left a brief coded message asking to be called back as a matter of the utmost urgency. He repeated the operation from one of his mobile phones to send Song a coded SMS.

He entered a bar frequented Asian businessmen. The premises were dimly lit. Behind the bar, a bottle cabinet was glowing in blue, red and green light. The rest of the room bathed in soft light. Cheng moved up to the bar area, making sure his phone was still able to pick up a signal. He ordered a Scottish whisky, a Glen something or other, on the rocks, European style. The alcohol warmed his body and helped sooth the tension gripping his stomach. With his mind absorbed, he stripped some peanuts from their shells, thrust them nervously into his mouth and let the scraps drop on the floor.

His gaze scanned the room. Three or four girls were at the bar waiting for a customer to engage a conversation. At a table behind him was seated a group of group of Chinese surrounding three Japanese visitors. They were talking in poor English, the Chinese making a demonstration of courtesy and respect to persuade their neighbours to make some heavy investments.

Cheng tried once more to contact Song. What the hell could this Eurasian be up to at two in the morning when the documents he had on him amounted to nothing less than a bomb ready to explode? He lit a cigarette. He thought of Yaping. It had cost him dearly to start off a relation with that girl. He had got attached to her as time went by. It was not love, nor even a particular physical attraction, but she had definitely entered his life. She should never have died. He chased the idea from his mind and again pulled out his packet of cigarettes to offer one to the girl sitting next to him.

Her hair was dyed blond; she could scarcely have been over twenty. There was not much else to do when you came from the country with nothing to sell other than your body. She probably came from southern China. These girls rarely conducted their activity in their native province and preferred to move away. A bit like him, in a way. They both had the same job...

Song was still giving no sign of life. He ordered a Singapore Sling for his neighbour, who must have been heavy-eyed too. The girl gave him a sweet smile. She was very young. He plunged his eyes into hers and hung on to them for a seconds, like a drowning man clinging a lifebuoy.

The phone finally rang. Song was to collect him within ten minutes in a dark blue Toyota. Cheng had to wait for the signal, a single ring, to leave the bar and leap inside the vehicle.

He settled the drinks, took his suitcase and moved away slowly.

The Toyota was parked at the street corner. The Eurasian was there, accompanied by a bulky Chinese character, a huge guy, a mountain of muscles and fat. Cheng got in front, suddenly relieved. He could now talk to his boss and unburden himself of those secrets that weighed him down so much. He blurted out what he had to say nervously, excitedly, muttering quickly. His nerves were starting to give but he did not even try to brace himself. He went into all the fine details of the evening, the documents he had printed, the text of the Order about to be published and, finally, the secretary who had caught him out and whom he had to eliminate. Song's face remained impassive. He did not even flap when he admitted having murdered a woman inside the Ministry building. When he had finished, Song simply looked at him and let out three words:

'Nice work, Cheng.'

That was enough to calm him down slightly.

Song wasted no time. He had flicked through the ten printed sheets and handed them over to the Chinese colossus in the back seat.

'Cheng, from now on we'll look after everything. You're going to give your car keys to Ming and tell him where you're parked, OK?'

Cheng proceeded obediently.

'Did you call round at your place?'

'Yes, I took everything which could be compromising and put it in this briefcase and small suitcase.'

'Forget the suitcase; give Ming the keys to your apartment. You stay with me, I'm taking you to a safe place. It's nice work, Cheng,' he repeated.

The enormous Ming left with his keys. Song began to head towards the residence where they were obviously going to hide him before getting him out of China. He was taken in charge. Little by little he was regaining his calm. He realised he had forgotten to talk about the USB key, that tiny memory which contained hundreds of pages of documents in digital form. He had it in his jacket pocket. He was about to mention it but had second thoughts. It was always wise to keep some ammunition, something to sell, to capitalise on, to exchange. Just in case. For there still remained his wife and daughter back in Nanjing. Someone had to look after them, to get them out of China like him, in a few months, possibly a year...

He must have looked pretty bad, given the way Song watched him from a corner of his eye.

'Here, take these, you need them.'

The Eurasian dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tube of tablets. He popped up the lid with a flick of the thumb and got out two small grey pills.

'Swallow them, you'll see, they'll calm you down...'

Jin had slept for two hours, three hours at the most. It was a light and superficial sleep. She was thinking of the next day, the days that followed, the future, her house, Zhou, the American intelligence services which were going to track down Tom. She was battling against thousands of questions that eluded answers. She had broken every rule in the book and now found herself in unchartered territory.

Tom was there, lying against her in that double bed, sleeping peacefully. They said that men revealed their true nature when they were asleep, stripped off the masks they put on during the day. She looked at him and smiled. In any case, she only had to turn her gaze to him to switch on a smile instantly. He had an appeasing effect on her that no meditation exercise could match. She found him to be just like he always was, handsome, gentle, generous; yet there was something, something she was not yet familiar with, a form of strength, a stalwart solidity. She was perhaps seeing the man he was turning into...

She was unable to get back to sleep. She dropped a gentle kiss on his lips, then got up to the bay window which occupied an entire wall of the room. Her naked body was reflected against the glass. She contemplated the myriad lights at her feet. Day was about to break.

Cheng felt his body loosen under the effect of the drugs. The anxiety gripping his heart began to fade, giving way to a soothing sense of well-being. He could hear Song's voice but did not have the energy to answer him. The vehicle headlights cut through the fine mist and eternal drizzle. He tried to fix his gaze on the cones of light that swept across the damp and shiny tarmac. Some images flashed on his retina, snapshots of night activity. A truck carrying pigs poking their heads between the boards, a road safety marshal waving a light wand to signal road works, a man on a bicycle towing a trailer heaped with wood.

All his muscles gradually relaxed, his arms drooped from his body. He offered no resistance and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep, sleep and forget everything, sink into a deep slumber, slip away... At that moment, a feminine silhouette appeared. She had her back turned. Her long black hair fell upon her shoulders. Her waist was slim. She was wearing a short skirt and high heels which enhanced her shapely legs. It must be Mei, his wife, she was so worried about him. What was to become of her and their little daughter, all alone for several months no doubt? He wanted to tell her all was well, that he was no longer frightened, that he was calm. The silhouette turned round in the murkiness of his mind. No, it was not his wife. Her face became more distinct and he recognised her. It was the face of Yaping, as she was yesterday when the Chi, the energy of life, was still flowing in her. The young woman was smiling. She was speaking to him as if nothing had happened. And besides, what happened? He searched his memory, trying to pick up some fragments. He did not have the time. She held out her hand playfully to him to lead him away. Where did little Yaping want to go? Sing in a karaoke like last month? The girl's face was now right close. He noticed a few quirks, certainly nothing more than slight oddities, just some slight details, but they were becoming sharper and more visible by the second. Her neck, normally so slender, was swollen, puffed, covered in yellowy-blue marks, as if dislocated. Her head pivoted to the right seemed locked in that position. It was unnatural. He now turned to her eyes, as if to seek an explanation to what he was seeing. He found her glasses but, behind them, no pupils, just deep black circles surrounding the white ovals of turned eye globes. Despite the paralysis gaining every muscle of his body, he managed to muster what seemed like a feeling of terror. He wanted to scream.

The young woman was still holding out her hand. He noticed the swollen lips, browny-red and dishevelled. She was leading him somewhere, but there was nothing beyond, just a dark and chilly nook. His heart was beating, but very slowly, imperceptibly...

Song turned the car into a track covered in potholes, without slowing down, racking the shock absorbers of his Toyota. Cheng's disarticulated body was swaying from left to right, held only by his seat belt. He finally came to a huge building site from which sprang half-finished multi-storey dwelling blocks. Song managed to distinguish the concrete pillars, the steel reinforcements and the planks on the scaffolding under the light of the projectors.

He drove his car towards an enormous trench in which rested the foundations of several buildings. He parked in a shadowy corner, away from the lights. He could not be seen by the night shifts at work. He unfastened the seat belt which was holding back Cheng and took his pulse. He was dead.

The drug had done its job. It plunged the victim in a deep torpor which ended by a cardiac arrest, in the same way as the venom of the most dangerous snakes. A swift method that left no trace. In the present case, that did not matter, his body would never be found. He got out of the car and opened the passenger door. He pulled out Cheng's lifeless body and searched him thoroughly. He placed the accountant's personal belongings on the car seat: a wallet, two mobile phones which were turned off, a notebook, and then he came across an unfamiliar object. He took a torch from the glove compartment and shone the light on it. It was a USB key. HHH

He pulled out a dark-coloured sheet and some nylon string from the boot of the Toyota. In a few seconds, he had wrapped the body and tied it up. He did not want to linger in that place and, in any case, he hated that drizzling rain. Song stepped around to inspect the site. There was a large metal cylinder churning out concrete from the surface to form the foundation bed. He looked to determine the direction of the floodlights, spotted the part of the trench that was next in line to be filled and returned to the car. He grabbed hold of Cheng's body and hauled it up to the edge of the crater, unable to make out the bottom which must have been at least 30 metres below. He rolled the bundle over the top but did not hear the sound of the fall, drowned by the din of the cement mixers.

He lit a cigarette and waited for a few minutes to see the metal gusher submerge Cheng's body as it spewed out its concrete.

He got back into his car and skirted round the site until he found what he was looking for: a fire for burning timber and material the builders no longer needed. The glowing embers danced in the night. He tossed the contents of Cheng's briefcase into the fire.

Song looked at his watch. It was past four in the morning. He stopped his car along the avenue where the beefy Ming was already waiting for him. The burly figure opened the door and settled at the back of the Toyota.

'You done everything?'

He nodded.

'The accountant's apartment is now clean. There's nothing left.'

'What about his car?'

'I left it in front of the station. They'll think he took the train to run away.'

'Good. That's good,' he repeated.

He stayed silent for a few seconds. He wanted gauge the situation precisely. It was now two hours since Cheng had alerted him. Two hours since he had come to know in detail the events of the night and had in his possession the explosive text of that Order which was to be published in a few hours.

And now, what next?

Inform the Agency? That would be running the risk of seeing the operation called off. The USA would then have extra time to apply pressure on China and deter it from going into a war situation. America had sufficiently persuasive arguments to compel Beijing to step down without losing face...

There remained the other option. Wait until the morning, for the matter to break out. A secretary working for the Ministry would be found dead, assassinated by a spy. They were bound to point the finger at the CIA. The Order would then be made public. That would smack of retaliation to an act of aggression.

A rather appealing scenario. But, regretfully, he had to set it aside. How could he have the Agency believe that he knew nothing? That the accountant had acted without first informing him? That after he had got himself in this mess he had not called him, his boss? This story would not wash.

He would be drawing too many questions and suspicions on him. He was wary of Lorna Green. That poor Stenton had up to now been his shield protecting him from the reproaches of that woman. But for how much longer still? He hardly had any choice. It was now up to him to set off the storm. He handed over to Ming the three sheets containing the Order as he finished drafting a handwritten message on his tablet PC.

'I want you to scan these pages and send all that to Stenton, OK?'

He pulled out a large satellite phone from the glove box and dialled the US agent's number. Would the latter hear the ring tone if he was in one of those lewd massage parlours he often spent his nights in?

Beijing, Sheraton Hotel

27 August, 4:20 am

A ring broke the silence of the night. It was not really a ring, but rather a familiar tune poorly interpreted by a monophonic synthesiser. Lorna knew that tune; it was the one she had chosen for her cell phone. She lifted her eyelids. The darkness was almost total. The only source of illumination came from the city lights filtering through the thick curtains of her room. The volume of the melody intensified as the seconds went by. The phone was now vibrating. The obsessive sound was amplified by the bedside table. She grabbed the phone the Agency had given to her for her trip to China. She read with difficulty the time displayed on its colour screen: 4:22! Who could be calling at such an odd time?

'Lorna, wake up.'

She recognised Stenton's voice.

'Are you crazy? D'you know what time it is? I hope you've got a good reason...'

'Something new's come up,' interrupted Stenton. 'It's dynamite! I'll be in front of your hotel at 5 am sharp, bye.'

He said nothing more. Did that man ever sleep? She placed her hand on the shoulder of the young Chinese girl who had fallen asleep against her and attempted to wake her up as gently as possible. There was not a minute to loose. The girl put out reproachful noises in Mandarin, turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

'Up we get, baby, it's time to go,' insisted Lorna with more firmness that time.

She was rather frail, with a very pale skin. The girl sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes like a kitten.

'Sweetheart, you've got to move out, I don't have the time to explain why.'

Lorna dropped her a quick kiss on the forehead, then another on the lips as the girl wrapped her arms around her waist. She was thin, very delicate, with long limbs that seemed endless.

She just had the time to get dressed, grumbling again, and already the bedroom door was closing back on her.

Lorna took a shower with cold water to wake her up for good and went down. It was still dark. A few girls were still pacing in front, looking for a client. She recognised Stenton's black Lexus crawling along on the other side of the street. He did a U-turn to stop in front of her. She got in and he pulled away immediately with a screech of the tyres.

'Well, Stenton, what's going on?'

His face was closed and grave.

'We've been conned like beginners! The Chinese have come out with an Order that imposes their own operating system.'

She did not grasp straight away.

'They did that some years ago, if I'm not mistaken!'

'Years ago, Lorna, but only for computers used by their public services, the army and the ministries... This time, it concerns all the computers in the country, Lorna!'

She still failed to grasp the magnitude of the event. It had to be incredibly important seeing how Stenton was shifting in the seat of his Lexus. In fact, she had never seen him in such a state. You could get nothing out of her at five in the morning, her brain simply refused to work. If all exams were taken at dawn, she would surely be without the slightest qualification. 'The operating system... and what are your conclusions on this?'

Stenton nearly choked and had to slam on the brakes to stop at the lights.

'Wake up, for goodness sake, Lorna. D'you know what an operating system is?'

He had turned red, almost shouting.

'Do you happen to know that an American company has 90% of market for office PC operating systems? You may even have heard of that company; it's called Microsoft!'

'Of course! OK, calm down!'

'And that company's operating system is called Windows! And China wants to ban Windows! China has just banned Windows,' he repeated, uttering each word with a pause. 'Finished, finito, goodbye.'

It was the crazy hypothesis she had put out a few days previously while considering it absurd.

'Are you sure of that? Do you realise what you are saying?'

'Why do you think I'm getting you up at five in the morning? What did you think? That it was to invite you to go jogging along the Great Wall?'

She remained speechless for a few seconds. She was now wide awake and her brain was working at full speed. She was reviewing methodically all the consequences of that new event. Like a chess player, she was laying out all the combinations, moving the pieces. The heavy car passed silently along the wide avenues deserted at that early hour.

'We'll go straight to the embassy,' she said at last.

'And where d'you think I'm going?'

'That will do, Stenton,' she snapped sharply. 'Now tell me, how did get this information in the middle of the night?'

'We have an agent on the spot, at the Ministry of Information Industries. An accountant. It was by sheer luck... the Order was typed yesterday; it carries today's date and should therefore be published in the coming hours. Santana Song was told hardly an hour ago.'

'You mean to say he's impossible to get hold of before dawn, is that right?'

He tried to defend his collaborator.

'You're being unfair. In fact things turned out bad. The accountant was caught red handed by the secretary. He had to eliminate her, he had no choice. Then he panicked. After having killed the girl, he got scared of Song's possible reaction. He wandered around for three hours before calling for his help.'

'I hope that guy's no longer around!'

'Don't worry, Song saw to his disappearance. It's impossible to go up any further.'

He pulled out a few sheets of paper from the breast pocket of his jacket.

'Here, read the translation of the Order. It has today's date.'

'In your opinion, will it will be made public in the coming hours?'

'Quite likely. The matter's just too huge. Once you've set off the fuse, it's just got to explode.'

'So, we've got next to no time in front of us!'

They were both thinking about the same thing. Neither of them belonged to that caste of analysts, these bureaucrats who spend their days seated on a chair going through notes, writing reports, setting up strategies hardly adapted to real-life situations. It was because people like these that the CIA dropped its guard, relying completely on electronic intelligence to the detriment of human intelligence. The awakening was brutal. But for them, the men and women on the field working in the shadows, the war against terror had been 100% beneficial. It restored the status of human intervention and rehabilitated the good old methods.

They had to make the most of those few hours before them. All the while the decision was not official, it did not exist. It was just gas, pictograms on a piece of paper.

'Who did you inform?'

'Only my men... plus the military attaché and the cultural attaché.'

'Not the ambassador?'

'Not for the moment, no, it's a matter for the CIA.'

'We'll get the Langley guys to work through the night; they should still be at the office with the time difference.'

They arrived at the US embassy, protected like a fortress by closely-spaced GIs. They parked their car behind the main building. It was 5:45 am; they had just a few hours to stop the bomb whose exact time of detonation was still unknown to them.

Ministry of Information Industries

It was half past seven when Bao Yutai called him on his cell phone, using a number that changed very frequently.

'There are some serious, very serious, things going on. My secretary has just been murdered... Someone may have searched through the computers...'

Zhou could not believe his ears. Getting so close to the goal and seeing the beautiful order of events rocked by such a macabre event...

'I'm coming straight away,' he answered.

The matter was too serious. They had to avoid at all cost having the Order concerning China's policy on operating systems put into question or postponed. He decided to go to the crime scene himself. He could not remain in the shadows, given what was at stake.

Everything seemed to have accelerated since his talk in Shanghai with the Vice-Chairman of the Military Commission scarcely a month before. He and his friends had kept a low profile, keeping away from interfering in a situation now beyond them.

Only a week ago, Bao had informed him that the decision had been agreed in principle and that a date had even been set. To cover it up, the administration had given a new impetus and dimension to the collaboration with Microsoft. They were now negotiating China's adaptation of a hardware-based digital rights management system. And to avoid all risks of leaks, the administration did not set up a work group, nor organise preparatory meetings. They were to decide first, and only after get down to implementing it. Only some logistical aspects were already in place, like the stocks of hard disk drives piling up in the provinces. The Order, which was only one or two pages long, had been drafted three days previously. No-one knew about it.

Bao Yutai greeted Zhou in the entrance hall of the Ministry building and drew him into a discreet corridor.

'Zhou, someone's broken into my secretary's office. The intruder printed out several files, the ones concerning Microsoft, and opened others. We have the history on the computer. Yaping must have surprised him and the poor girl paid for it with her life...'

It was distressing to see his sadness. Who outside could be aware of the imminence of the publication of the Microsoft Order?

'Did the murderer leave any marks or clues?' asked Zhou faithful to his methodical manner.

'Our suspicions rest on an employee of the Ministry, an accountant who had been dating my secretary for several months.'

'Then it might just be a simple crime of passion? Did they often have rows?'

'No, the guy was very gentle and shy, at least in appearance. And then there are those files which have been opened and printed...'

'Apart from you, does anyone know about these files?'

'Yes, my deputy Tang Jinghua and a couple of other people.'

Too bad. It was becoming impossible to disguise this murder as a crime of passion. Bao lowered his eyes to express an apology.

'I'm to blame...we're all to blame; you see, we encouraged this relationship, we treated that man like one of us; he could come and go in the office as it pleased him.'

'And why do you suspect him?'

'The security system is very reliable. We keep track of people entering and leaving through their magnetic badge. And last night, at eleven pm, there were over fifteen people staying behind to prepare this afternoon's meeting. The accountant left the Ministry shortly after eleven pm, but without Yaping. The body was discovered this morning by the cleaners at around six thirty. We have no trace of him since. The police have already been round to his apartment. It's empty, he took everything with him. He's gone. Vanished.

'Who could have introduced a spy in the Ministry several months ago?' Zhou asked himself. He could identify only two enemies: one was in China, that was the lobby of some business circles, and the other came from outside – the CIA.

The enemy from within was the most dangerous, the most insidious, the most unpredictable. As for the CIA lead, he was going to handle it himself...

'Bao, nothing is lost. We've got to remain calm and keep the meeting as scheduled. Those who stole the documents now know the contents of the Order. They're going to act, exert pressure and want it cancelled before it's published. Who else knows about it?'

'About fifteen people in the Ministry.'

'We've got to make sure no-one can establish a link between this murder and the Order. If, as I fear, our enemies from within are behind all this matter, then they'll try to call off the meeting under the pretext of leading the murder enquiry.'

'What do you suggest?'

'Do you have the list of the stolen documents?'

Bao thought for a moment.

'Yes, there were seven documents printed and around ten others opened. According to the times displayed, that would match. The secretary was on the eighth floor with us then, and not in her office. If the murderer is indeed a spy, then he could have taken other documents on an external storage device, but the PC keeps no trace of that.'

'OK, run through those documents and select ones referring to some sensitive matter, like WiFi security procedures. Then we can present the theft as the one most likely to interest enemy foreign intelligence services. It's essential to have the suspicions turned on the CIA.

'You don't think it's the Americans?'

'I can't see how they could know. Believe me, if they knew, they'd already be out there putting on the pressure. The relations between Microsoft and China are still rosy. No, the operation comes from within, from inside the country.'

They took the lift to the twelfth floor.

'What time's the meeting?' asked Zhou.

'Two pm sharp.'

'We've got to hold fast till the public announcement of the Order, cost what may. Do you get that?'

The police were already on the site and several agents were keeping guard, forbidding access to the office. Zhou inspected the room. Yaping's body was still there, resting on the floor, covered in a white sheet. He lifted the cloth and the young woman's head appeared, slightly turned to the right. The neck was swollen and the top vertebra was broken.

Having arrived at seven forty five as usual, Tang Jinghua, Yaping's second boss, had learnt the news. He was shattered and was pacing round his office, his eyes reddened.

Zhou asked for the list of stolen files and went through it carefully.

'Mr. Zhou! Well fancy that! And what brings you here to the scene of a crime?'

The voice was coming from behind him, an unpleasant voice he dared not recognise. He turned round. It was Guo, the chief of secret police of the Ministry of Public Security. They knew each other well and shared a mutual contempt.

'And who had informed comrade Zhou?' spoke out Guo, glaring at each of the members of the Ministry in turn, waiting for one of them to own up.

But it was Zhou himself who answered, moving to face the police chief.

'It was the Beijing police. This investigation appears to be a matter for counterespionage.'

There was a persistent rivalry between the secret police and Ministry of State Security, which was in charge of counterespionage. Zhou often stumbled upon Guo in his work. There was a lot of resentment between the two men and Zhou knew he could expect no favours from Guo.

'Here is the list of the stolen items.'

Zhou held out the document to Guo. Without even waiting for his response, he asserted in a mysterious tone he did not even recognise himself in:

'A foreign power is trying to find out China's policy in matters of technology.'

Guo displayed a shark-like smile.

'Perhaps, but for the time being, it's still to be considered a crime within the Ministry. The number one suspect is an accountant who was dating the girl. I'm sure you won't object to the police doing its work!'

'Go ahead, it's your job to find the culprit and discover the motives.'

Zhou was already moving away when Guo stopped him.

'Just a moment, Colonel...'

Zhou turned round.

'Perhaps you could you explain to us what your photo is doing in that poor girl's drawer?'

It was indeed his photo. Not flattering. Where did it come from, who took it and – above all – what was it doing in that secretary's drawer? First this murder, now this photograph; someone was to trying to compromise him to take him off the scene. But who? Only be the business circles, the ultra liberals allied to Guo, could dream up such a plan. They wanted to forestall the Order and bring his downfall by the same occasion. This photo came at the wrong time. He had to find an explanation, quickly.

'I've already been inside the Ministry, someone must have photographed me...'

'May be... may be. We'll check this out,' muttered Guo looking dubious.

'We're going to enter this exhibit in the file,' he added dryly before moving off.

Now that put Zhou in an awkward position. The police chief would not fail to exploit it to his own advantage. Bao saw everything that was going on. He drew Zhou aside.

'Keep a low profile, Zhou. You're too exposed. You're upsetting a lot of circles. They're not going to miss you. Go back into the shadows, it's safer.'

But Zhou knew where his place was. The situation was critical and could swing one way or the other. It was up to him to give the decisive impulse to this mission, failing which all his plans would come to nothing. Bao sensed that he could not make him change his mind.

'This meeting is going to take place, nothing's going to stop it!' asserted Bao, apparently still had not taken in the scale of the previous night's events in his secretary's office.

'I don't share this view, Bao,' replied Zhou. 'But we're going to give fate a helping hand...'

He had just had an idea. Those who imagined they had made him powerless were in for a surprise.

'Here's my plan. In less than one hour, all the press agencies around the world will spread the news of this murder. Suspicions will inevitably fall on the CIA, and then we've got it made. Because, believe me, if there's the slightest hint of possible American interference in our affairs, everyone will definitely want this afternoon's meeting to take place...'

Upon these words, he left the Ministry.

Beijing, CIA office

The bulletin arrived mid morning: a secretary of the Ministry of Information Industries was murdered in her office late last night. The evening papers were going to spread that information and comment on it. But already people were talking about a spy scandal. The presumed murderer had disappeared, taking several documents with him. The article described the suspect as the archetypal international spy. The Agency was never cited directly by its name, but anyone could read between the lines. Who else could have such a keen interest in China's secret technologies that they were prepared to kill an innocent secretary? All the ingredients were there to make the front page of the Chinese tabloids.

'They've wrong-footed us!'

Lorna Green could not keep her anger down. For three hours she and her Beijing office team had been imagining all sorts of scenarios to force the Chinese to back off. She spared no effort to make sure that Langley would get the true measure of the events about to take place, of the effects of the bomb about to explode.

Thanks to her, the CIA's chief Doug Chandler had finally taken the matter most seriously. He had alerted the Secretary of State, the Secretary for Commerce and the National Security Adviser. They had set up a crisis cell and were ready to in their office through the night. The time delays in which to react were very short, far too short. They had to make an immediate decision, within the hour, something which the administration was not accustomed to. Indeed, the nature of the threat was economical and concerned the private sector. For the National Security Adviser, the matter should rather be treated within the scope of the World Trade Organisation.

The United States had, of course, a whole raft of pressure-inducing measures, capable of coercing a country even the size of China. But all that took time and preparation; it involved setting up the appropriate channels for those 'diplomatic exchanges.' It was impossible to cancel an administrative meeting in China and prevent the publication of an Order concerning a regulation in the computer sector at the drop of a hat.

Lorna leant in favour of a commando type of action. They had to use coercion, threaten the country with military intervention, an oil embargo, a commercial blockade... And even so, there was nothing to guarantee China would be sensitive to those arguments.

The American State Department did not like one single bit all this story about a secretary being assassinated by a secret service agent. The Americans were here signing their crime by revealing they had a copy of the Order in their possession. And the diplomats took exception to being put on the spot during a negotiation that promised to be tough. The State Department was aware of all the facts of the matter. The girl was called Yaping. She was only a simple secretary, but she had lost her life, and this crime seriously undermined the position of the United States of America at a time when it had to engage in a decisive battle for the future of an entire sector of its industry.

For the time being, the preventive measures suggested by Washington were not at all to Lorna's liking. It was the United States ambassador in Beijing who had the task of convincing the State Council and the Prime Minister, to make them backtrack using some compelling arguments... Reasons that would not leave them indifferent. He had a few trumps in his hand. There was the question about the straits of Ormuz, Malacca, or Lombok, of the persistent terrorist threat looming and risking to jeopardise their oil supplies, of powerful electromagnetic waves affecting telecommunications infrastructures, all with graphic explanations and chosen examples.

They were in the course of arranging a meeting for the end of the morning.

And then the news burst out. One hour beforehand. It put into question the entire strategy they had just elaborated. The media coverage of that secretary's murder had shuffled the cards. If only that girl hadn't died! But the agent infiltrated by the CIA had lost his bottle. Lorna turned towards Stenton.

'They did this media coverage with a precise purpose. Stenton, we're dealing with well-organised individuals carrying out a cleverly-orchestrated plan. Normally, matters of espionage are settled quietly behind the scenes.

Stenton appeared just as embarrassed as his boss. That girl's murder had all the hallmarks of a lover's tiff that took tragic turn. The suspicions were bound to fall on the accountant. He got scared and ran away. End of enquiry. That was the optimistic scenario. Unfortunately, there was the computer. It must have kept trace of certain operations, such as the files printed out. And that changed the nature of the crime; the motives were now different.

'You're not answering my question! Why are they making all this affair public?' asked Lorna.

'That's true, it's not their usual way of doing things. This event gives them a free opportunity to embarrass us and make us powerless.'

Lorna was hardly optimistic. Getting officially into contact with the Chinese administration was recognising implicitly the CIA's involvement in this murder case. The Order formed part of the printed documents.

The ambassador entered the room. Seeing his expression, she understood there was nothing left to hope for.

'I've just had the definitive response from the State Department. This thing about the secretary being murdered is not making things easier. Under these conditions, envisaging preventive measures has become an extremely complex task, especially within such a short time frame. We have no choice. The Order will be published, we cannot stop that. We'll act afterwards. After all, nothing proves this Order will be implemented. In any case, believe me, we'll do everything in our power to make sure it isn't...'

Ministry of Information Industries

27 August, 14:00

Bao Yutai now knew his confidence was well placed. Nothing colonel Zhou had imagined came to disrupt the smooth running of the operations. Guo was quick to adopt the hypothesis of an intrusion in the Ministry's computer system by a foreign power. And all looks turned to the CIA, even though there was not the slightest piece of evidence to support the suspicions. The police chief was all too pleased to poach on territory of the Ministry of State Security, which had slipped up in this matter. Zhou need not have worried.

The large conference room of the Ministry was now full. There were about one hundred people, the top brass of the administration, universities and the computer industry. As usual, it was impossible to guess the real points of meeting from the agenda.

The session was to be short, in line with the concise message to be delivered by Shan Yunli, the Minister of Information Industries.

As the Minister was walking up to the lectern, a large white screen displayed the title of the presentation:

'Policy of the People's Republic of China in regard to operating systems for personal and office computers'

'Ladies and Gentlemen,

We have to face the fact that our computers systems are no longer secure. Computers the world over have been the target over the recent years, and in particular these last months, of massive attacks through software viruses.

These attacks are the deeds of pirates who exploit weaknesses in the security of the operating systems and communications software.

Everything leads us to believe that this is only the start of a phenomenon of great magnitude. The rapid development of computer networks and their interconnection on a worldwide scale are going to put questions of security, secrecy and digital rights at the centre stage of preoccupations facing every country.

China has not been spared by these recent attacks, and it has been unable to defend itself effectively because it does not control the technology of these operating systems, which are foreign.

After having conducted a deep examination of this problem, the People's Republic of China concludes that the long-term security of our computers calls for the complete and total control of all the technologies that go into their operating system.

In view of the foregoing, we have decided to adopt the following measures:

The People's Republic of China shall take in its charge the development, standardisation and updating of a Chinese National Operating System, to be known by the acronym CNOS. CNOS shall be totally compatible with the Linux open source system. It shall embody all the procedures responsible for security, encryption and access to communications networks. All of these technologies are to be developed by State laboratories of the People's Republic of China.

The CNOS operating system shall be distributed free of charge.

All office computers and home computers installed in the territory of the People's Republic of China shall be required, in the short term, to operate under CNOS.

Servers and mainframe computers shall be required to communicate with external systems through a machine operating under CNOS.

The transition shall be effected in stages.

This measure concerns only the operating system. As for graphic user interfaces, or GUIs, and application software, these shall remain in the competitive sector in accordance with the commitments taken by China within the framework of the World Trade Organisation. They shall nevertheless be required to run communication and security procedures defined by China.

For reasons of efficiency, security and logistics, the deployment of CNOS shall take place within a very short time frame. We have defined two distinct phases:

A preparation phase which is due to start in two weeks as from today.

In this phase we shall distribute version 1.0 of CNOS and supply its communication procedure programming specifications and interfaces to applications editors.

It shall last for one month and be followed immediately by the operational phase.

The implementation of CNOS shall then become compulsory for all new computers sold on the territory of the People's Republic of China.

Likewise, it shall be compulsory for all machines connected to the Internet, within a period of one month for administrations and state-owned companies, and within a period of three months for private companies and individuals.

The implementation of CNOS shall also be compulsory for all machines connected to a local or private network which is itself connected to the Internet, within a period of three months for private companies and individuals.

After a period of one year, all computers of the People's Republic of China shall be required to operate under CNOS.

Gentlemen, you have a heavy schedule before you. An enormous task will have to be accomplished in the course of the coming months. We will need to organise the transition from the present to the future, convert tens of millions of computers to our new operating system and oversee the distribution and updating of the software.

The challenge is a tough one, but that is the price to pay for the security of our information systems.

I am counting on you.'

There were some murmurs in the room. Some exclamations of surprise and satisfaction greeted the resolute decisions of the Minister. But some judged the extremely short terms for their implementation unrealistic. Despite this, all the audience was won over by the notion of the liberation of China's computer system, released from its dependency on a foreign power, and saw in that a national cause. All the directors of the administration, the chiefs of state-owned companies who, only the day before, would have voiced violently their opposition to such a change, were now unanimously behind the governmental project.

China had refused to be enslaved by American technology; it was now taking its destiny in its own hands, and all this flattered its nationalistic ego.

The Minister knew he could count on them. He never doubted that. What about the private sector? Its close-knit links with the semi-public sector should, in principle, limit its reaction to oppose. Moreover, the logistics had been planned with care. The Minister, flanked by several specialists, was ready to answer the questions from the audience. They came from all sides.

'How are we going to go through with the migration of the applications?'

'CNOS is 100% compatible with Linux and, as you know, there is a large selection of Linux applications already available on the market. We have already adapted most of these applications to the CNOS communication and security procedures, given that these same procedures are implemented in Linux versions that have been used for a number of years by some of our administrations. In any case, this adaptation should only take our editors a few days. The latecomers thus have sufficient time to place the compulsory 'CNOS compatible' marking on their products. As for the data, these can be directly extracted and exploited under CNOS.'

'In concrete terms, how do you propose to make hundreds of million PCs currently working under Windows migrate to CNOS?'

'Over the last few weeks, we have built up a large stock of hard disk drives: around fifty million in total. These disks are preloaded with CNOS, together with a basic suite of applications collected by the Chinese Association of Open Source Software. There is software for communication, office applications, games... These disks are sold for 250 yuans and can be installed as master disks in the PCs, the existing disk becoming the slave disk. Users will also have the possibility of exchanging their old disk against a new one for the sum of 50 yuans, after having saved their data on a CD ROM, for example. We are relying on all computer retailers and service firms, and on the cooperation of the country's computer departments to make sure this transition takes place under the best possible conditions.'

'Your decision amounts to excluding Microsoft from the market of the People's Republic of China!'

'That is absolutely not the case. We are excluding no-one from the market, quite on the contrary! All we are making compulsory is a software layer which allows the machine to communicate, to ensure data security and to manage applications. It falls under our duty, in a world that is becoming ever more dangerous, to guarantee our country's security and independence. China must have the means to control all the elements that go towards this security. We could have integrated our security modules into an existing operating system, such as Windows. We did actually consider this possibility, and in fact our teams have worked for several months with their Microsoft counterparts to evaluate its feasibility. I take this opportunity to give my warm thanks to Microsoft Incorporated for its total involvement in this project. They did not hesitate to open every door of their software and spared no effort. Unfortunately, after having carefully weighed the pros and cons of that solution, we had to discard it. An operating system calls for a permanent dialogue with its publisher, who frequently sends updates downloaded on line. A portion of these updates serves to correct security failures exploited by viruses. You will immediately understand that we had to bring under China's purview the task of effecting updates and the entire responsibility for the protection of our machines. This meant the solution had to be 100% national. Of course, our friends from Microsoft shall remain our partners. We will work hand in hand to make planetary computing safe for the world. We invite them as from now to join us in international forums to establish tomorrow's computing standards.'

'And what about application programs? What's to become of Microsoft applications?'

'Sir, allow me to thank you for your question, which gives the opportunity to clearly state our policy. CNOS is unquestionably the most open operating system on the market. We welcome and invite program publishers everywhere in the world to develop the richest and most varied applications for it. They can be assured that we will apply fully transparent and equitable procedures! The same set of unique specifications shall be sent to every publisher. We shall be particularly vigilant in seeing that no one publisher shall be privileged over another. Each will receive the same tools and after that, may the best man win! We're sure that Microsoft will be in winning situation, thanks to its twenty-year presence on the market and the outstanding quality of its products.'

At the back of the room, several people blanched as they heard these words. The director of Microsoft's Beijing research centre, his deputies, the director of the sales subsidiaries, all of them received the Minister's speech like a sharp punch in the face. They were stunned, shattered. Like other heads of Chinese companies in that sector, they had been invited to hear this important declaration on the administration's policy concerning computer security. They were ready for anything but this. Protection against spams, regulations over websites or Internet access providers, yes, but certainly not this shockingly brutal measure which definitely barred them from the Chinese market.

They felt a taste in their mouths, like earth, accompanied by nausea. That was caused by the last statements of the Minister concerning Microsoft. A sickening blend of sycophancy, cynicism and provocation. Their stomach was tied in a ball of anxiety and anger.
10. Juniper

If the enemy loses his grip, give him no respite.

If his forces are gathered, separate them.

Attack him when he is unprepared, when you are not expected.

Sun Zi, the Art of War, this century BC.

Beijing, CIA bureau

August 27

The atmosphere was laden. Stenton, slumped in his heavy leather armchair, appeared totally drained and remorseful. Lorna Green's face showed defeat, reflecting the devastating failure of her efforts. Despite her stunning intuitions, she had been totally powerless to stall China's devastating missile. Only Song, while remaining silent too, looked more aloof, as though unconcerned by the CIA bureau's setback.

Lorna glared at him, infuriated by his detachment and smugness under such circumstances. Nothing seemed to unruffle him. Neither the murder of a secretary at the Ministry, nor all the accusations levelled at the CIA, the loss of an agent, nor even the Order against Microsoft's industrial policy... he was totally complacent, as if the events were flowing by him in another world. He walked with a brisk pace around the office, almost about to break into a skip, as his superiors sank into despondency, smothered in each other's silence.

'I have ten times more material than I need to compromise that Jin girl together with her boss, that shady Zhou.' As Song broke the silence with this outburst, he pulled out a USB key from his pocket. He drew a sinister smile.

Brandishing the tiny device, he transfixed Lorna Green with his eyes as she looked on in disbelief.

'I found this on the body of one of our agents. He had looted the hard disk belonging to the Rulings and Standards Director. What I've got here is a year's worth of reports, correspondence and confidential memos. I had them printed out.'

Stenton got up in his chair.

'Do the Chinese know we have all this information in our possession?' He asked.

'It's pretty unlikely,' answered Song.

His eyes flashed and darted around more than usual.

'We'll make that spy Jin pay. And her chief is going to tumble with her. All we have to do is tell their superiors who gave us all this information...'

Stenton remained thoughtful. He found the idea interesting. And, after all, he hardly had any other alternative. Everything else across the board had failed since that same morning. They now had the occasion to weaken the enemy by lighting a counter-fire exactly when tough negotiations were about to start. All that remained was to make sure the plan seemed credible.

'And how would that Jin woman have come in possession of all this information?' asked the American

'Through her own boss, Zhou! His name appears on some of the documents. He could very well have had a hand in organising some of the meetings when the fate of Microsoft was sealed. For a character who likes to pull the strings from the shadows, he's going to be in for some surprises!'

Song excelled in setting up these dirty tricks.

'What about the motive? Out of love for Tom?' suggested Stenton.

'Why not?'

'And what if she manages to convince her counterespionage services that she was framed?'

'No one would want to believe that,' interrupted Song. 'The least you could say is that the intelligence services of the Ministry of State Security, to which Jin and Zhou are attached, is not cheek-by-jowl with the Public Security Ministry. This matter could be a godsend for them to get shot of these two characters.'

While Stenton and his acolytes continued in slowly constructing their unassailable plan, Lorna remained silent, choosing to stay out of the conversation. She seemed to be totally devastated, as if the mere idea of unsettling China was beyond belief. Everything was carefully put together, she thought, but if this does not cause China to backtrack on its decision, then... then it is totally vain and useless.

'But do you really think, gentlemen, that just by getting that... Zhou and the girl we'd be able to change the course of events?'

Lorna looked intently at Stenton, wishing with all her heart that he could give her some reassurance.

'Could this Order possibly be repealed?' asked Lorna once again. Do you still seriously believe that China would ever renege an Order endorsed by the members of its top administration and admit they were guilty of making the wrong decisions?'

Moving up to Lorna, Stenton answered her in a calm, considered tone.

'I fear that at this stage, China's decision is definitely irrevocable. In any case, it's out the hands of the CIA. If there's anything to be done, it'll be up to the respective governments. But I reckon the United States certainly have some hefty arguments to throw at the Chinese.'

Lorna could not come to terms with the fact that such an insignificant person as Song could be right. She thought for a moment before reluctantly admitting that they were to go by his recommendations.

'I accept the plan.'

After all, it is never a bad thing to break the cover of secret agents. And, who knows, it may even push Bao Yutai, the chief of Rulings at the Information Industries Ministry, into a tight corner. If he came to stumble, others could follow in his wake.

Song did not hide his satisfaction at seeing the CIA boss having to accept his analysis.

'We now have to settle Tom Bailey's case. He's vanished with Jin since yesterday,' Song pointed out, as if to show that he was in the driving seat as far as this plan was concerned.

'Could he have abducted her?' wondered Stenton aloud, a look of worry coming over him again.

'No. No way. According to his colleagues, he went away with Jin. He'll be back later today to take part in a meeting scheduled a long time ago. That's at 4 p.m. sharp, at their residence.'

Tom turned up at the residence shortly before 4 p.m. The welcoming party gathered before him was pretty fearsome. He spotted some of his colleagues – members of the Microsoft's local branch – who had been working with him on the security program. They all had the same grave look. Before he could even start to worry about the situation, he was intercepted by the Special Services team, headed by Song.

'Mission over, Tom,' announced Song, briskly gripping his arm.

'Hey, what's going on?' protested the young American, trying to make sense of all this agitation around him.

'China's just decided it will now go without Microsoft,' snapped Song.

But Tom still did not understand. Song continued in a tense tone, well aware that the American despised him.

'The People's Republic of China is imposing its own operating system that is to totally replace Windows in computers throughout the country, including home PCs. Getting the point? Your mission's come to a dead end! You're going back home,' said Song with contempt.

'That can't be!' exclaimed Tom with a sincerity that could not be challenged. 'And what about GSP? Why would they have made us work together? Why would they have demanded to see our source code?'

'Must have been their decoy, I guess. They must have been working on this for a long time,' blurted out Song, red with anger. Tom was dumbstruck.

'It's got nothing to do with you,' reassured Stenton, appearing beside Song. 'The Chinese have staged a perfect plan. They used GSP to put us off guard.'

Song was showing signs of restlessness. He could no longer contain the fury this young scientist had triggered in him.

'Well go on! What does your sweet lady friend have to say about this? That nice little Lao Jin! Now you know why she took you around the summer Palace! Why she took you boating on the Lake of Eternal Spring!'

'Jin's got nothing to do with it!' blurted out Tom with marked anger, while wondering how the heck that man could have known about their escapade.

But Song, blind with rage, took no heed and continued in his charge.

'That girl's a spy. She works for the Chinese intelligence services. We had proof of this for ages.' Tom turned to Stenton, as if to call for his help. But the latter's expression seemed to confirm what he had just heard. Jin, a spy! That was a knockout blow for Tom.

'That's the reason we've been watching her. Her job's to glean information from Westerners.'

For the second time, Tom leapt to her defence, assuring them that she was a first-rate programmer, that she...

Once more, Song interrupted him.

'Your Jin's just a whore! We have a file that thick on her. Didn't you know that? Do you want a list of all those she screwed around with? IBM, Sun ... she's had them all. All pals of yours!'

'That'll do, Song!' interrupted Stenton, who had remained surprisingly absent throughout the exchange. It's no use picking on Tom. Nor on that girl either, for that matter. After all, she's only doing her job, like the rest of us.'

Song left Tom in the hands of his boss and moved away, seething with rage. He was muttering, cursing at Tom, Jin and the world in general. As he returned to the small group, Tom caught a snatch of the Eurasian hissing some final words, followed by a thin smile on his lips:

'In any case, she's done for. She's in for the chop!'

Tom turned livid. He said nothing, but clenched his wrists in silence. He felt like leaping up to that monster and plucking his eyes out. However, another feeling began to well up inside him: doubt.

Could it just be feasible that Jin had double-crossed him, as he had heard? Or rather, how could he possibly have been so misled by her? He was wrought by torrents of conflicting emotions that left him haggard, incapable of formulating the slightest rational thought. And yet, amid this emotional chaos, one sentiment prevailed: grief... over the loss of the one who had become the dearest person in the world to him.

Stenton placed his hand over Tom's shoulder, just as a father would under such circumstances. After a few seconds, he gave him his instructions.

'Tom, you're leaving today. You're booked on the flight for Tokyo that takes off at 8:45 p.m. You have just one hour to pack up your belongings. We'll meet you in the lobby, right here at five thirty sharp. There will be a vigil at your door... in case you need some help.'

Stenton then affected a more friendly tone. He could feel the scientist's distress. In the duo he formed with Song, the Eurasian had a part of the baddy and he Mr Nice Guy. The casting could certainly have been better, but it worked sufficiently well to gain the young man's confidence and stop him doing from anything foolish.

'Go ahead, Tom, there isn't much time left. Don't worry, it'll be all right.'

Tom made his way to the elevator, followed like his shadow by Ming, the strong-arm man of the CIA's Beijing bureau.

When the elevator doors had closed, Song moved up to Stenton.

'What d'you reckon?'

'I guess he's stunned for good while yet. We were right to shift up a gear. It was getting far too dangerous to leave him in Beijing even one more day, seeing the spell's this girl's got on him. Did you see to everything?'

'Everything's done,' replied Song, savouring the moment. The secret police attached to the Ministry of public security should now be in possession of a well-furnished docket on Miss Lao Jin. Material that apparently comes from their own services, but which we passed on via the appropriate channels. There are documents we concocted proving she leaked out ultra-sensitive information to the CIA through Tom Bailey! Documents that they're bound to find at her home, of course...'

'Did you take all the usual precautions for Tom?'

'Yup, I've got the residence closed in. There are guards everywhere. Ming's been ordered to follow his heels and act if he tries any tricks. But, believe me, he won't even think about it.'

Tom, back in his bedroom, saw the walls beginning to waver, the furniture about to collapse. He was in a state of total devastation. He went through the motions of packing his suitcases, his vision blurred by tears. He attempted to focus on the events to come along. The airport, the plane, a stopover at Tokyo in the middle of the night, San Francisco where his home and his friends were. The features of his former girlfriend flashed before his mind. It had been two months now since he had last called. He recalled her blonde hair, freckles, tried to relive the feelings he once felt for her. But there was nothing, his hear rate did not change by an iota.

He was now feeling like an intruder in this city, in this country. And to think he imagined having found love there.... 'that was crazy,' he said to himself. He did not belong to this world where everything was foreign to him, hostile. He had to leave. He wanted to expulse every bit of China that got into him, right down to his bones. That country wasn't his home and never will be. He shoved his laptop into its pouch and folded closed the small picture frame with a photo of his parents. He thought to himself how great it would be to go out there to Scotland and find his mother, and just to find himself for that matter. He placed the frame on his suitcase. What else was there to put away? Two pairs of shoes, a jacket...

Suddenly, a violent emotion erupted from the inside and gripped him. There was pain. But not only. Like a tidal wave, a huge surge of love swept him, flushing away his doubts and cleansing him like the tears streaming down his cheeks.

A voice was singing in his head:

Jennifer Juniper lives upon the hill,

Jennifer Juniper, sitting very still.

Is she sleeping? I don't think so.

Is she breathing? Yes, very low.

Whatcha doing, Jennifer, my love?

As the music permeated his body, his pain ebbed away. It left him with a great sensation of joy, a certainty that gave purpose and reason for his existence. How could he ever have given into doubt? He felt terrible for it. He now knew what he had to do: dispel his grief, his misgivings. He grabbed the soft leather shoulder bag and began to pack a few items of toiletry, two changes of clothes, his personal documents, his iPod...

Song's words were turning over in his mind and would not let him go: 'She's had it.... she's in for the chop....' Who wanted to harm her? The CIA? The Chinese secret services? China? He was feeling invincible

He opened the door of his room and took a peek down the corridor. Ming's huge bulk was right in front of the door and blocked his exit. About ten metres further along, a large laundry cart, pushed wearily by a chambermaid, seemed to be there waiting for him. Tom closed the room door, his mind racing to find a way to escape from his guard's vigilance. He made his way to the window and was tempted for a moment to escape by the balcony. But such a route would have been sheer suicide without at least a rope. As he chewed his thoughts inside what had become a cell, he heard a conversation going on outside the door. 'It must be the relief guard,' he surmised, continuing his reverie. But as he once more pressed his nose against the large window pane, contemplating the city at his feet, the door was pushed open.

A chambermaid appeared, wheeling in the laundry cart he had just seen. Ming's frame could be made out behind her, still on guard. Just as the door was closing, Tom had a brainwave. He darted into the bathroom, turned on the shower and drew up to the young maid, begging her silence by placing an upturned finger to his lips. Her puzzled expression turned to a gasp as she saw him thrust out a 100 $ note. Without waiting for a reply, he jumped inside the laundry cart and covered himself with towels and sheets that lay around him, giving the girl a last imploring look. A few moments later, he felt the cart judder and move. He heard the guard rasp out a few orders to the maid, then the soft clunk of the door closing automatically behind. The seconds that followed took dozens of heartbeats. The cart jolted and moved a few metres, then stopped again. A door was being opened. Tom did not even have the time to wonder what the chambermaid was up to before he felt bundled bed sheets being tossed over his head. She repeated the same routine at each of the rooms along the corridor. Just when Tom felt he would die suffocated, he finally felt the cart change direction as it left the corridor. Sensing he was out of immediate danger, he poked a small hole through the pile of laundry and cautiously prodded his head through the opening. There was nothing in sight to stop his escape. He slipped a second banknote into the hands of the young woman, who instantly bowed to thank him for his generosity. He then scrambled down the stairs leading to the basement.

As he pushed the door leading to the hotel car park, a pang of fear came over him. There must surely be men guarding all the exits. There were bound to be some by the front door, at least. But it was also most likely that Song had posted some men to check the flow of vehicles. He shuddered. As he was shifting along the car park lanes, the surrounding silence was ripped by the booming raw of a motorcycle. Tom hid behind the nearest pillar and observed. The cycle drew closer, revving to the whine. Tom recognized the rider. It was Mat, Mat McCallum, one of the Microsoft delegates. He was a great guy, a Californian like he, and a first-rate programmer. His Chinese girlfriend, Ling, was on the pillion seat. Tom jumped away from his hiding place, trying to regain his breath and composure.

'Hey, Tom, my old friend, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the gathering put on by the Embassy guys? You know there's a crisis going on; it might even end up as the Third World War! The Chinese have just banned Windows from their country, can you believe that!' shouted Mat, trying to compete with the din from his motorcycle.

'Mat, you're a life saver!' answered Tom drawing closer to him. 'I need your help. You've gotta lend me your motorbike, this is desperate.'

'What, my motorbike? Gimme a break, man!'

Mat turned off the engine and pulled off his helmet before carrying on.

'I've got to take Ling back into town within an hour for an appointment she can't miss. We can spend the evening together afterwards, if you like. It's our last night. Do you know they want to chuck us all out tomorrow?'

'Yeah, I know, Mat,' answered Tom, suddenly realising his friend knew nothing of his suspension and precipitated eviction. 'But you won't be released from the meeting with the embassy bods before at least an hour. Believe me, these things go on and on. On the other hand, if you let me dash off now, I'll be able to drop Ling in town and be right back here well before the start. Will that be okay for you?'

The big Californian hesitated. Then his face lit up with a broad smile.

'You've got a date with Jin, right? Come along now me old pal, own up!'

'You got it, it's for Jin alright. She doesn't know we're leaving tomorrow,' lied Tom. In fact, I'm pretty certain that she doesn't know anything about Microsoft! The problem's she's planned to go and see her mother and taking the train tomorrow evening. I can't get her on her cell phone. She's unreachable! I've desperately got to warn her before she leaves, otherwise I'll never see her again...'

'Okay, don't worry, take it. But what d'you want me to tell these guys up there \- that you'll be back in an hour?'

'Yeah. Send them my apologies if you would. I won't be long. Thanks a million, Mat, you're a real pal!'

'Here, take my windcheater unless you want a souvenir print of Beijing's urban pollution all over you,' joked Mat.

Tom donned the Californian's clothing and slid his crash helmet almost right down to the collar bone. Standing behind kissing his girlfriend, the Californian could not see the elated look on Tom's face as he pulled down the visor of his helmet.

'Ling, you're going with Tom. He'll drop you off right near the square and I'll meet up with you up this evening, as planned. Okay baby?' He gave her another kiss, passionately, without letting her express her disappointment.

Tom started the motorbike and waited for Ling to settle in behind. She wrapped her arms round his waist. He turned round towards Mat and gave him a wave of the hand. He wanted to show more gratitude, but that would risk arousing suspicions. So, without more ado, he rode up the ramp that led to the street.

Two men in plain clothes barred the passage. With a signal of the hand, they ordered the bike to stop. Tom considered for a moment accelerating hard and charging between them, but he was on a steep slope with no visibility at the exit. The risk of falling off and injuring his passenger was just too great. He halted when he got to the level of the vigils. His full-face helmet masked his features, and the two men seemed to recognize the motorcycle and its two riders they let in a few minutes beforehand.

'Sorry, no-one is to leave. Orders from the embassy. Your name, please?' asked one of the guards.

'Mat McCallum, don't you remember seeing me come in? I'm just popping out for a few moments to drop the girl off at her home.'

The vigil pulled out his walkie-talkie.

'I have to obtain instructions...'

'No need, I'll be back straight away.'

Without waiting for a response, Tom let the clutch in, accelerated and turned into the street. The vigil, who had not received precise instructions concerning that young man, put away his handset, somewhat taken aback by this American's attitude

Tom rode for at least 15 minutes before he reached Tiananmen Square. He dropped off the girl who handed him back his helmet and vanished away immediately amidst the lines of crawling traffic. A thought kept running through his mind, tormenting him like an obsession. Song's words: 'she's in for the chop'. He opened the throttle and reached Yin's apartment building after a few minutes.

A large limousine was stationed in front of the entrance. The driver was wearing dark glasses and appeared to be waiting for someone. Tom decided to remain and stay put.

Mat went up to the lobby of his residence. The area was abuzz with agitation, reflecting the evolution in the events of the past 24 hours. He greeted his colleagues and exchanged a few words with some of them. The general astonishment could be read in each of their faces. China's announcement that it will terminate all imports of Windows products caught everyone by surprise. Then, spotting members of the Embassy staff, he made his way towards them.

'Gentlemen, I have a message from Tom Bailey,' he announced brazenly. 'He's sorry but he'll be a bit late. He has an urgent matter to attend to.'

Val Stenton and Santana Song nearly choked on the spot.

'Hey, cool it, guys,' resumed Mat, clearly failing to understand. 'He's only gone for an hour. He'll be back.'

Stenton broke the silence that marked their shock.

'How did he leave?' he suddenly asked the unsuspecting Mat, still wondering why these embassy people were so jittery.

'I lent him my motorbike, why? Hey, it's nothing bad. Can't you give him a break a little?'

'When?' Hollered Stenton.

'Why, just now, not even a quarter of an hour ago. I've only just left him. We were in the underground car park.'

Tom had been hiding for around 10 minutes, approximately 100 metres from Jin's apartment building. His anxiety hit a climax when the main door suddenly burst open and a young woman appeared, her head down, hands tied and flanked by two heavies. It was Jin. Tom did not stop to consider what he was doing. He was already back on his motorbike. A reflex reaction. The big single cylinder engine shuddered as it fired up.

Opening the throttle to the full and making a beeline along the street, Tom just had time to glimpse at the look of surprise on the two men who were carefully going down the stairs leading to the pavement. Before they could so much as raise an arm, Tom hurled himself against them. He leapt to the throat of one, letting the bike collapse to the ground amid a flurry of sparks. Knocked off balance, the captor fell back limply under Tom's momentum till his head hit a step with a dull thud. There he remained, motionless.

As Tom was getting up with difficulty, Jin hurled her knee deep into the gut of the second captor. He was still lurching forward, winded, as the young woman threw three kicks, each striking his head with phenomenal force, and kept her right foot floating threateningly in the air. He collapsed in a heap. Despite the handcuffs that seemed to be cracking her wrists, Jin managed to clasp the handgun the man kept in a holster under his left armpit. She was now aiming at the driver in the limousine.

'Tom!' she called out.

He was clutching his right arm, which was dangling loose in the air.

'Tom?' repeated the young woman. 'Are you OK ?'

'Yeah, I'll be all right.'

'Open the driver's door,' cried Jin, 'and grab his gun!'

Tom was now beside her.

'D'you know how to use this?' she asked.

The young man nodded his head.

'Great. Hold him at bay,' ordered Jin, already leaning over one of the captors, searching for the keys of her handcuffs.

Some passers-by on the opposite side of the street had stopped and one of them was already calling the police on his cell phone. Jin gave them a threatening look. Then she darted to the motorbike that was leaning untidily against a low wall, its engine still hot. She heaved it straight, pulled the clutch handle to wheel it free, jumped on, pressed the start button and clicked into first gear. She drew up to Tom.

'Keep the gun pointing and hop on the behind me. Quick!'

As Tom tried to get on the bike, he was overcome by a searing pain. All his right side was a mass of burning tissue. He managed to clamber up behind Jin, and fling his left arm round her waist, his right-hand still holding the gun. The young woman pulled off immediately and shifted up the first three gears on the fly. They heard some gunshots from behind. The bullets hailed by without hitting their target. A siren began to howl in the distance.

Tucked in the shadow of a doorway, a discreet observer had witnessed the entire scene. Hearing the approaching police patrol cars, he slipped away.

The motorbike weaved along the tiny streets that bounded large shabby buildings. After a few minutes, and making sure no-one was following them, Jin turned into an urban highway that connected Beijing to the suburbs.

Clinging on to Jin's waist, Tom was feeling his strength ebbing away. The burning pain in his head and arm was agonizing. They rode on for about 20 kilometres before the young woman turned off into a small road. It skirted round scattered dwellings and continued as an unsurfaced lane bordered by the high walls of a vast private property. The top of the wall was festooned with barbed wire and CCTV cameras, leaving no doubt that it delimited a high-security area.

Jin slipped the bike inside between a hedge and the perimeter wall and pulled up against a steel door that no uninformed person would have spotted. There was an interphone with a metal keypad on which she entered a code. A voice crackled on the speaker. She gave her identity and a series of passwords. The door opened amid the whir of a drive mechanism. She manoeuvred the motorbike so as to place it in line with the narrow passage and rode along the path opening up before her and turned into a park a few hundred metres farther along. After a few minutes, a large traditional house sprang into sight.

Jin turned round to get Tom, who was groaning with pain.

'We've arrived,' she said.

She went past a second arched door and parked the motorbike in the courtyard.

A man in his forties, followed by teenager who could have been his son, stepped out of the house.

'Quick, he's hurt. Help me taking in.'

Tom was struggling to remain seated on the bike. The two men helped him get off and led him inside. He was still holding the pistol, locked in his clenched fist.

They were greeted by a middle-aged woman. She hugged Jin at length.

'I'll tell you all about it later, Suyen. We'll stay here a few days, the time it takes for my friend here to recover. He's injured.'

The two men wheeled the motorbike into a shed at the bottom of the garden. The old house had regained its peace and tranquillity.

Jin, clad in loose black silk slacks and a white tunic, had watched over Tom throughout the night, squatted down by his mattress. The young man had fever. He was delirious. His injuries had caused a severe rise of temperature. Suyen dressed his wounds, covering them with natural balms that would promote the healing process.

He opened his eyes at daybreak, under the continuing rain from the night before. He caught sight of the young woman smiling serenely. He was in such pain that even moving a finger was agony. The previous day's events bubbled to the surface of his mind: his escape from the residence, that desperate leap at the throat of the man taking Jin away, his fall, the gun he pointed at the driver, and again that motorbike.

'Jin, I was only trying to help you,' he uttered, as if to excuse himself.

'Tom, you saved my life... you saved me from life imprisonment and, more probably, from execution...'

She was smiling gently. There was nothing but love in her look. He plunged his eyes into hers before being taken over once more by sleep. At that moment, they both knew that nothing would separate them

Washington, DC

The White House

'Here, Digby, come back with that ball, Digby!'

The president of United States, James Adam Walker, was playing with his dogs on the rolling lawns behind the White House.

The large greyhound ran up to its master and got up on its hind legs. It placed its front paws on the President's shoulders and eyed him proudly from his new height, the tennis ball locked between its jaws.

'Down, Digby. Down. There's a good boy.'

Jim Walker strolled back to fetch a golf club from a large black leather bag. It was out of the question to practise drives in the gardens of the White House, but he could not resist a few putts... He even went so far as to have a green practice rug fitted in the Oval Office.

Jessie, his female Labrador who was having a nap near the pool, suddenly broke off from its sleep and came up to its master, shaking its body convulsively. The president's personal assistant appeared at the top of the steps.

'Mr President, Mr President!'

'Hey, what's the matter? Can't you see I'm playing golf with my dogs?'

He made his way back into the building, accompanied by his two pets chasing around him.

'Mr President, Donald Chandler is here with Edwin Nimoy.' She was referring respectively to the CIA chief and the Secretary of State.

He strode into the Oval Office in his tracksuit, handing over his golf club to his secretary.

'Of course, I'd forgotten. Thanks for reminding me, Emma!'

'Well gentlemen, I hope you have a good reason for disrupting my morning's golf session!'

'Good morning, Mr President,' began Nimoy. I would like to get straight to the crux of the matter. Early this morning, China put out an Order – or law, if you like – that, despite its administrative nature, could very soon spell disaster for us.'

'What's China had been up to now? Has it invaded Taiwan or something?'

'Specifically, Mr president, it has just banned Windows and we thought that...'

'What do you mean, Windows?' Jim Walker may have been a keen golfer, but he cared little for computer technology.

'Windows, Microsoft's operating system...'

'Microsoft! Why the hell didn't you tell me that straight away?'

He remembered very clearly these wonderfully supportive people who contributed so generously towards his presidential campaign.

Chandler, the CIA chief, took over the conversation. He was an old friend of the President, a buddy from his Stanford days. They were on Christian name terms.

'Well, Jim, those Chinese pulled a nasty trick on us that caught us completely off guard. They've just slammed the door on the Microsoft – our world's number-one software editor!'

'That's more a matter relating to commerce. Nick Brown should see to that. He must dig his feet in. I insist. We shall take retaliatory measures. They're going to regret this! You can count on me for that!'

There was a big bone of contention between the state secretary for commerce and the Empire of the Middle.

'No, Jim, I'm siding with Nimoy on this issue. This is potentially far more serious than a mere commercial conflict. The effects could be devastating for our economy...'

'Why would that be?'

Information technology had never been his cup of tea. Walker's background was in the arms industry – fighters, missiles – before he became Senator and then Governor of Nevada.

'Because if Microsoft goes into a tailspin on the NASDAQ, it can bring down all the other values in its wake.'

'Can't we just support the Microsoft stock until all this dies down?'

Nimoy rose to the question.

'That could certainly be envisaged in short term, Mr President, but beyond that it would be outside our control. We suspect China took this decision with the specific intention of weakening our position.'

'And what makes you think that?'

It was now Chandler's turn to report the information gathered by the CIA.

'The sheer brutality, the suddenness of this measure. When you think that up to the eve of this announcement we had a delegation from Microsoft working in close collaboration with Chinese officials on preparing the future versions of Microsoft's software. Our exchanges were open and sincere! The decision stunned everyone, including the Chinese party. It was kept secret up to the very last minute for maximum impact.'

'If our fears are confirmed,' Nimoy continued, 'then the Chinese have no less then dropped a bomb on us!'

'A bomb? Aren't you pushing it a bit?'

President Walker saw State Secretary Edwin Nimoy as a warmonger, a hawk, whose reactions needed tempering. He had been drawn into the Cabinet to reassure the conservative wing of the Republican majority in Congress.

'No, Mr President. I really mean a bomb. It gives off no energy because it works at the level of information technology. But it's in every way as awesome and can destroy our economy.'

'Jeez, and what's your answer to that?'

Walker had got up and was looking through the window at the two dogs playing together.

'The advantage of an IT bomb is that it can sometimes be reversible. And if things started to turn out really bad, we'll have to force the Chinese to backtrack, to retract their decision.'

'By what means?'

'By diplomatic means to start with, then by concrete threats and, finally, by military force.'

The president stepped back into the centre of the room. He spoke in a firm tone:

'Let's begin by the diplomatic means, shall we? We're not going to start a World War just for the sake of a CD-ROM manufacturer! That's going to be your job, Nimoy!'

'You can Count on me, Mr President.'

'And I want from you, Don, a detailed report drawn up by the CIA on all this business! The agency has once again demonstrated its incompetence! How come they saw nothing coming?'

Donald Chandler broke into a plea of defence of his own troops:

'We did in fact have some information. We were keeping very close tabs on a lobby that was actively militating for the eradication of foreign technologies from Chinese soil. We correctly identified all of their members. But this decision was made by a very small committee. The logistics behind it were limited to the bare bones. And Microsoft was totally confident.'

'And don't forget there was this business with the agent,' added the State Secretary, who seemed to find interest in undermining the position of the CIA.

'What's that you're referring to?' broke the President turning towards Chandler.

'We had an agent infiltrate the ministry from where the anti-Microsoft order came. This agent managed to obtain the documents before they got published, but was caught red handed by a secretary and had to eliminate her. We, in turn, had to silence him. The Chinese don't have any proof, only suspicions.'

Ed Nimoy added with barely disguised pleasure:

'And that's one of the reasons why we weren't able to exert the pressure we would have liked to prevent the publication of that Act.'

Chandler tried to explain:

'Let's put it down to an unfortunate series of events.'

The president looked at Nimoy straight in the eyes.

'Are you telling me that America is under attack?'

'Yes, sir. The United States is being attacked!'

11. The Winter of Kondratiev

'Wins he who, after getting prepared, waits to take the enemy by surprise'

Sun Zi, The Art of War, 5th Century B.C.

Beijing, Ministry of Information Technology

September 1

The Order had been published. And? - Nothing. The world had not spun off its axis. It continued its smooth orbital path as ever before. Calm prevailed, from Tokyo to New York, from Shanghai to Rio, from Stockholm to Sydney.

Had Tang Jinghua been worrying over nothing? He, the historian, frustrated at being just a pawn in a founding Act. Had he, who imagined having triggered off telluric forces, hurricanes, tornadoes and tsunamis, got it wrong? While he was brooding over the idea that ousting Microsoft from the Chinese market was not going to rock the international scene after all, his eyes stayed riveted on his secretary's door, as if that Order had been Yaping's death warrant.

'She died all through me'. These words kept ringing in his mind. He felt desperately lonesome. No more tea, no more bright smile. Life seemed to have stopped at the threshold of that small office where the forever-cheerful Yapping typed his reports with her nimble hands. There lay the tragedy, a body lying under a large white sheet, strangled, all because of a writ.

Ministry of Information Industries

'How is his Excellency?'

'All the better for seeing you, Minister!'

As a commercial attaché, Stenton had been keen to accompany his ambassador to his meeting that afternoon with Shan Yunli, the Minister of Information Industries. As both men knew full well, that visit was merely the tip of the iceberg.

For some days, now, there had been unequivocal pressure on the government of the People's Republic of China, prompted by the State Department and the rumbustious Edwin Nimoy.

They had explored every single possibility, including the entire palette of punitive measures: freeze on investments, hiking customs duties to 200% on Chinese products, a downright import ban on a whole series of articles...

But the situation was complex and the commercial or economic weapons at hand were proving rather unwieldy. Firstly, a significant proportion of imports came from US companies implanted in China; and there lay the real dilemma. Secondly, it was now all too painfully true that China had become 'The World's factory', as the popular cliché would have it. That was not just hype, but the cold reflection of the real situation. For instance, China was producing 70% of the toys sold on the planet, 60% of all digital cameras, 40% of TVs in the world... And that was just the beginning.

The United States had become highly dependent on China's industrial output for its consumer goods, from electronics to shoes, from household electrical appliances to clothes, not mention toys.

To slam the door shut on these Chinese suppliers and their low prices would be a sure-fire way of importing inflation to the US, reducing spending power and bringing about the collapse in consumer spending. The Federal Reserve simply would not have it.

Any bold move now to re-source by relocating factories to Mexico, South America, Morocco or South-East Asia would be impossible in such a short time frame.

And then there was the debt factor – the abyssal debt created by years of budget deficits, now valued at 10 trillion dollars. Almost 40% of the public debt was to foreign creditors. How much of that debt was in Chinese hands? And at least the same amount of debt was spread amongst the Asian dragons, and possibly three times as much over Japanese creditors.

The only thing that prevented the US economy from flying apart was confidence! Confidence in the US dollar, confidence in the US economy, and confidence in its ability to repay.

The Federal Reserve had put the dollar printing press into overdrive to produce much-needed liquidities as the Federal government dug the deficit deeper by raising the defence budget while reducing taxes. All this in a bid to sustain consumer spending. And the Americans did indeed spend, but on cheap products imported from China and other Asian countries which, in turn, accumulated trade surpluses in the form of dollar reserves eagerly converted into US Treasury Bonds, so pumping fuel back into the machine. The loop was thus completed to form a self-perpetuating cycle.

Who would now want to upset this fragile financial equilibrium?

The situation hardly left much room for manoeuvre and there were hardly any levers for responding with effects in the immediate term. There was the rub: the United States had to retaliate right away – and vigorously at that – to an attack of an economic nature. Naturally, it had to restore its prestige and rank; that was a question of self respect. But it also had to avoid the risk contamination to all the other high-technology sectors and, ultimately, to the whole economy.

It could always rely on military and other tough options: turning off the oil supply taps to asphyxiate the Chinese economy, sending the US Navy along their coasts...

The Chinese Minister invited them to sit down in a small parlour adjoining his office.

The two American visitors wasted little time on the customary small talk according to diplomatic protocol and moved quickly to the core of their concerns.

'Minister, your administration last week adopted a measure that I would qualify as radical, not to say brutal. I am referring, of course, to the Order concerning the deployment of your national computer operating system.'

The Minister was a round character with an impenetrable smile. He put on an expression of concern.

'Yes, I understand. But I do want to assure you that we didn't make this decision lightly. It was the fruit of much soul searching and debate. Believe me, the sheer logistics of this operation gives me insomnia! In fact, strictly between you and me, I still don't know how we are going to manage to implement all these measures!'

He was putting on a good act. His facial expression, sweeping hand gestures and even his sighing voice conveyed the air of a man crumbling under an impossible task.

'I'll be perfectly frank with you, your Excellency. I would much rather have been assigned the responsibility of building the Three Gorges Dam, or given charge of the Chinese Space and Inhabited Flight program. I don't think they would have given me the sleepless nights I'm enduring right now. I'm very pessimistic about all this. Do you realise that we'll need to manage something like 100 to 150 million computers!

This time, the challenge is far too great for us. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't be really surprised if we were to give up the whole scheme after a few months...'

'I sympathise with you, Minister. But, beyond these practicalities, have you given serious consideration to the legality of this move? You see, you are closing the market to a company, namely Microsoft. In my view, this is in complete violation of the fundamental rules of free competition. We had always been led to believe that your county committed itself to open up its markets when it joined the World Trade Organisation.'

The Minister was now settled deep in his armchair, hand resting on his knees. A soothing smile exuded from his placid face.

'With all due respect for your point of view, you Excellency, I must say that the perspective on this matter depends on which side of the observer is sitting. It has never been our intention to close our doors to the computing market! Quite on the contrary, your Excellency, our markets in this sector are more open than they ever were.

'I'd be curious to know in what way...'

'Well, our CNOS computer operating system will constitute the common platform on which all software editors and applications developers will be able to work under fair and equal terms.'

'The market has already decided on this issue, Minister. It elected the best product years ago, namely Microsoft Windows. That is the law of the free market. The very same law by which millions of Americans buy goods made in China.'

'But we are in no way excluding your Microsoft from the Chinese markets, your Excellency. In particular, we have provisionally excluded servers and mainframes from the scope of Order, precisely because we consider that large firms must be free to choose the computer system that is best adapted to their specific needs. Now this exclusion doesn't apply to personal and office computers. The reason is purely a question of security. It is our security that is at stake, you Excellency. We simply cannot leave it in the hands of others, even if they are our friends!'

'But you seem to forget that Microsoft has opened up all of its source code; it was ready to integrate into its operating system security routines developed here in China, by Chinese laboratories! Now, if that isn't a mark of confidence!'

'Your Excellency, even the Americans no longer believe Windows is capable of guaranteeing their own security! They too are banking on Linux to improve the security of their computer systems. Look at the initiative taken by your National Security Agency, the NSA. Even they are turning to SELinux, the security-enhance version of Linux. You see, even the States' most competent authority in the matter doesn't trust Windows! So how can you expect China to use Windows when the NSA is recommending an enhanced version of Linux instead?'

The Chinese minister was gaining the upper hand. The Ambassador was not aware of that initiative by the NSA.

'Your decision boils down to putting the entire computing market into the hands of Chinese companies. This runs counter to WTO regulations and could have serious repercussions!'

The Minister remained a picture of serenity and self-assurance.

'Your Excellency, our CNOS does not go beyond the computer operating system. It comes entirely free. Any IT firm in the world is free to use it. Just as with Linux, which is also free and used with considerable commercial success in China by US firms, such as IBM and Sun. If your Microsoft is willing to make the effort to adapt to open-source software, I'm certain it will succeed. Its future here is in its own hands. Moreover, I draw your attention to the fact that the software applications market remains open to competition, and likewise for that of the graphics interface. This means your Microsoft is quite free to continue to sell its Windows graphics interface as well as its popular applications, such as Word, Excel and other office applications you probably know better than I do.

The Minister clearly had some pluck. The Ambassador replied, a bit too hastily:

'And how do you expect Microsoft to continue selling Word or Excel when it can no longer have the Windows platform, now your administration's banned it?'

The Minister strained his eyes and let out a grin that was all but diplomatic.

'Correct me if I'm wrong, your Excellency, but wasn't it precisely for this reason that your Department of Justice took Microsoft to court, leading to that epic case for abuse of dominant position?'

An uncomfortable silence set in.

The Minister continued.

'You can see for yourself that China is fostering an environment for healthy competition, in conformity with US court decisions...'

The Ambassador was struggling to formulate a response commensurate with diplomatic language. Stenton came to the rescue.

'It is indeed quite appropriate that you bring up this episode, Minister. The United States of America operates in a legal framework with laws to effectively protect competition, and there are courts to make sure they are enforced. I don't doubt for a moment the same is also true in the People's Republic of China, all the more so now it's become a member of the WTO.'

'You can rest assured, Sir, that the fundamental rules of trade are recognized and enforced in our country. You may recall that with our notion of Yin and Yang, China in fact invented the binary system 5000 years ago, well before its introduction in Europe by Leibniz in the 17th century... not to mention the abacus, which dates back to the same period...'

'And yet, Minister, like you, I am sometimes overcome by pessimism when I gauge the difficulties that stand in our path and block the actions of men of good faith, however strong and pure their intentions may be. And then I say to myself that, if such is the way things are, then the situation could escape our control, yours as well as mine, and drift catastrophically into something of an altogether different nature.'

The thinly veiled threat was all too real, even though the Minister of Information Industries may not have been the most appropriate person on whom to apply such pressure. Be that as it may, the two American visitors had obtained what they wanted to know. China would not go back on its decision and there was no point in insisting. They were heading straight for a confrontation, and there would be no escaping from it.

'Your Excellency I've no doubt you've seen some of our people do Tai Chi Chuan? It's derived from traditional martial arts. There is an exercise called 'push hands'. Each participant develops sensitivity to its partner's life energy, and understands the way he reacts. The members are respectively Yin or Yang, depending on whether they push back their partner's hands or, on the contrary, receive and bypass the other's forces.'

'We'll take inspiration from this ancient wisdom. When two partners know each other and respect their mutual interests, they can move together without throwing the other to the ground...'

There was nothing more to add.

Cambridge, Massachusetts.

MIT, Macroeconomics Study Center

September 3

The whole of nature is known to hold its breath well before an earthquake actually occurs. Animals seem to have a sixth sense, warning them of the imminent catastrophe. Birds cease to sing, rabbits lie crouched deep inside their burrows; everything is at a standstill; nothing breathes. Other creatures, by contrast, become agitated, like a goldfish in its bowl, a horse whinnying in its stable, beating a hoof against the box door.

David Ferman's sole task at his Macroeconomic Research Center was to pick up the early warning signals that announced large-scale economic movements. In this respect, he was very much like a seismologist of economic activity.

He had devised a whole raft of indicators that allowed him to monitor the world markets. Over the past few days, he had been scrutinising the figures going haywire. The Microsoft stock had been blinking red since the beginning of the week. Monday, a drop of over 2%; Tuesday and Wednesday, the plunge was even steeper. The share value had lost 18% in three days. The traders had been quick to act to the closure of the Chinese market.

And yet the analysts did not seem to agree on the consequences of this measure. The most pessimistic forecasted the end of the Redmond firm and the expansion of the free software market. Others counter-argued that this was over estimating the importance of the Chinese market, as that the vast majority of computers out there used pirated versions of Windows. Accordingly, the fall in revenue resulting from Microsoft's eviction from the Chinese market was of little concern for its profit margin. In a way, it was very much a non-event. And in fact, this was the view that seemed to gain consensus.

Between Thursday and Friday, after three consecutive days of fall, the Microsoft share was now on the rise. But the Dow Jones index had nonetheless lost 7% over the week, while the NASDAQ composite slid by almost 10%, more than Microsoft itself.

As for himself, David Ferman had a very clear idea of the short, medium and long-term consequences of China's boycott of Microsoft. He was sketching curves on a sheet of graph paper when his gaze crossed that of Leroy Adams, an iconoclastic economist he liked for his openness of mind. Adams moved up to him in an untypical state of agitation.

'Hi there Ray what can I do for you?' asked Ferman in a jovial tone. 'You have this knack of popping up whenever I'm into Fibonacci ratios and Elliot waves.'

'You're talking about Microsoft?'

'Yup, it's awesome... somebody's supporting its stock value, but how long for? The deteriorating situation is now contaminating the entire sector and will spread all along the coast.'

Ray, who had always advanced alarmist views, seemed almost to be rejoicing at the idea that the turn of events was now proving him right.

'So, here it is, the big day! And I suppose you're now going to tell me about Kondratiev,' quipped Ferman.

'He had got it all right, you know. Look at the way he segmented the evolution of the economy since the 18th century: in cycles each lasting 60 years on average. Each cycle comprises four phases. The first two, primary expansion and recession, are marked by inflation. The last two, the plateau and deep recession, by disinflation and a transition to inflation. We entered the end of that last cycle at the turn of this new century. We're now entering 'winter of Kondratiev'!

'D'you really believe in all this, Roy?'

'Of course I do, it all fits perfectly! The period stretching from 2000-2010-2015 matches the one from 1929 to 1945!'

'So, you're a harbinger of wars to come.... Jeez, don't you have a more cheerful topic of conversation?'

'These are just natural economic cycles, Dave. I'm not gazing into to tea leaves, I'm deciphering the economic news!'

'And I suppose all the economic indicators point in the same direction, is that it? Is that what you're trying to tell me?'

'Right! Even the Elliot waves! Listen, the markets were at the peak of a supercycle back in 1929. And what did we have in 2000...?'

'Since then, we've gone into rampant deflation. Like in the 30s. You can see deflation as a drying up of money and credit. And I'm not teaching you anything when I say it's not simply a matter of falling prices. The Federal Reserve did have a go at stemming this by opening wide the credit floodgates. But it's run out of steam'

Ferman put down his pen. He was listening to his friend with more interest.

'Take the price of PCs. It's been falling constantly over the last 20 years, even though the economy is in full bloom.'

'That's true.'

'New technologies intrinsically have a destructive effect on values. For the last 20 years, the constant fall in price of computer equipment has been compensated by the exceptional growth in the rate of purchase of equipment by households and business. But now we've come to the end of the cycle; the two trends have reached their crossover point.'

Roy leaned over the sketches Ferman had scribbled on a sheet.

'So, if I get your drift, the Microsoft/Intel tandem has in a way protected us from inflation in the 1990s?'

'You got it, Dave. Microsoft developed software that was always more power hungry without any real technical justification for it. Intel, on the other hand, offered ever-more powerful processors whose reason for being was simply to run Microsoft's latest systems. The 'Wintel' duo had thus artificially kept the average price of PCs at a more-or-less constant level, whereas Moore's Law should have applied.'

'You're referring to that law which claims the number of transistors on a chip doubles every 18 months, right? That does indeed sound very much like a deflationist law!'

'Fortunately for them, the Microsoft/Intel duo always managed to convince its customers they needed more computing power and that their needs were endless. The bottom line of it? Each new version of Windows ran slower than the previous one if you kept the same PC. Whereas Linux gives you equivalent performance when run on a 10-year-old PC. All they had to do was to convince the user to change his PC that had instantly become obsolete. Constantly updating software and hardware had become essential for sustaining growth.'

'So, while preserving its own interests, Microsoft was in effect acting for the national interest.'

In saying those words, David Ferman drew a faint smile tinged with irony.

'You could indeed call it a form of good citizenship. The company's monopolistic position and commercial strategy saved the market from the deflationary effects of information technology,' confirmed Roy.

'So it's quite fitting Microsoft should set off a deflationary phase!'

'Right. There is some logic and consistency in all this.'

Jin hung up. Her face darkened, eclipsing for the first time the smile that had not left her since Tom had definitely recovered. The young man who was watching her from the corner of his eyes sat down in the narrow courtyard of the pavilion. He leant over to her, gently placing his hand on her delicate nape.

'Bad news?'

Jin remained silent for a while. Tom's warm voice was enough to make her forget all the threats weighing on their relationship.

'All the police forces in the country are looking for us. I'm accused of high treason. And as for you, my dear Tom, you're charged with spying. I'm waiting for orders but, for the time being, it would be madness to consider leaving this place.'

Tom gathered that she had just spoken to Colonel Zhou, the only man to know where Jin was hiding. She had admitted everything to Tom: the double-crossing she got involved in, her secret activities... shattered by their meeting and the kindling of her feelings towards him. The sight of Jin's lifeless body swinging at the end of a rope flashed through his mind in an instant. He cared little about his own fate. He cradled up against Jin to feel her heart beat, the warmth of her body, her scent.

'Tom, you must get yourself exfiltrated back into the hands of the US authorities.' She spoke against her feelings... It'll be safer for you.

Tom interrupted her with a kiss, fearing she would say more. Then he looked deep into her eyes, delicately pressing a finger against the young woman's lips so that she would say no more that could upset their love.

'Jin, I'm going nowhere without you! I didn't pull you away from these two savages only to get myself 'exfiltrated' like a criminal! You seem to be forgetting something: I'm the only one who can get you off the hook. From now on, our fates are in each other's hands!'

Back at Langley after her calamitous stay in Beijing where she had failed to stop the inevitable; Lorna Green was fuming in her office. 'What's the use of having those giant receiving aerials, these constellations of satellites snooping in all over the globe if we cannot trace the most important man in China, i.e. Tom Bailey?' she kept thinking.

Tom Bailey had to be found, cost what may. His presence in China from now on constituted a continuing threat to America. If he fell into the wrong hands, if ever he were to put his extraordinary abilities and knowledge at the service of the enemy... Lorna did not even dare imagine such a possibility. They just had to find Tom whatever it would take.

The piercing tone of the telephone interrupted her thoughts. Stanton was trying to contact her. She took the call, more impatient than ever.

'Still no success?'

'Complete radio silence. If our satellites had picked him up, you'd have known it before me. As for our men out there on the field, they've nothing to go on. Tom Bailey has vanished into thin air, gone. The counterespionage service the girl belongs to is adopting a low profile at the moment. They're not in a position to defend these two. All the police forces of the People's Republic are at their heels. It's a complete mystery.'

'Stanton, Tom Bailey's got to be found. That's an order,' Lorna added just before hanging up.

It was now two weeks since China had imposed its own operating system. The pen plotter on the David Freeman's economic seismograph was beginning to show signs of jitters. Yet the week had begun relatively calm. The traders and financial markets did their utmost to disguise the truth. According to them, this Microsoft business amounted to nothing more than a patch of turbulence in the Redmond firm's otherwise smooth flight path. Now was the time to be steely nerved.

But the illusion of a provisional and controlled crisis lasted only three days. On Thursday, the stock exchange went into a tailspin. It began with an article in the Wall Street Journal expressing serious doubts on the business prospects of the Windows firm. The key words in the article were 'the domino effect'. For, after China's decision, the question was how to avoid the proliferation of similar national initiatives regarding computer operating systems. Would the other countries around the world sit with their arms crossed watching China benefiting all alone from a privileged situation, namely no longer having to pay royalties to Microsoft? Especially at a moment when the firm decided a few months earlier to pay out dividends to its shareholders – the first time in its history – changing its status from a growth stock to one of financial returns. This was widely interpreted as a tax levied by a private American company on the computer sector worldwide. It was as if Microsoft had granted itself the sovereign privilege of States to raise a new tax. And the tens of billions of dollars – lifted out of the pockets of users in the rest of the world – were being redistributed to bolster the pensions of the American babyboomers.

The doubts over Microsoft's fate had thus become the backdrop for deeper fears of a conflict, and now the spectre of military confrontation began loom. Because China was the powerhouse of world growth.

From a purely monetary aspect, there was an objective alliance that linked the United States to the Empire of the Middle. China was financing the US debt by buying US treasury bonds with its trade surplus. America was using this money to buy Chinese industrial products on credit. To break the system – to upset its fragile balance – would be to plunge the world economy into a deep systemic crisis.

Propagation once again.

The American press, clearly not lacking inspiration, never ceased to find parallels between the Windows publisher and its competitors. The first one brought in to this little exercise was Intel, the world leader in microprocessors, and one of the 30 reference companies of the prestigious Dow Jones industrial average. Intel owed its expansion to the geometrical growth in microchip integration density set out by Moore's law. But the latter had reached its limits. An operating system such as Linux only required relatively modest processing power compared to those called for by the products of Intel's accomplice, Microsoft.

The downfall of the semiconductor manufacturer took in its wake the entire semiconductor industry, likewise judged too vulnerable in the face of Chinese competition. And IBM, another Dow value, was also sucked into the maelstrom, followed by PC vendors such as Dell, Apple, HP, etc., soon to be joined by Sun, Oracle ...

Then the pundits began to seek out the firms which, like Microsoft, benefited from privileged revenues. And thus they came down upon equipment makers in the networks and telecoms sectors, starting with Cisco. How would these firms fare against their counterparts in Shanghai, Shenzhen or Wuhan?

The verdict of the analysts was a cruel one. Like when the Internet bubble burst between 2000 and 2003, they were now putting at the pillory those values they had only just before a venerated.

-20%. That was the NASDAQ's performance for the week. The indexes had smashed a number of technical safeguards. They had jumped out of their channels that paved out the long-term trends and were heading south towards the abyss.

But, even more worrying to David Ferman was the real estate property index that was beginning to dive, both for new and used houses. American households had got themselves bogged down in debt over the previous years, taking advantage of historically low interest rates to buy new dwellings. But the financial edifice itself only held together because of the continuing rise of the property market, creating a wealth effect and scaling down the weight of the national debt. If, by misfortune, property prices were to stumble, the Americans would jump into the market to sell their property and escape from personal bankruptcy, so amplifying the downward trend that was already accelerating.

Consumer spending, as well as spending in the property and military sectors, had put the US economy back on track after two years of recession, but the upturn was artificial and short lived. By contrast, the other side of the Pacific owed its break from the recession solely to being exposed to the Chinese market. It was a short-term policy by which the Japanese transferred their know-how to the Chinese, who would soon become awesome competitors. In these times of crisis, truth was sometimes stranger than fiction.

Washington.

The White House, Oval office

'So you're telling me that this Chinese Order thing is buggering up our stock exchange?'

The US president was incensed. Nick Brown, the trade secretary, volunteered an explanation.

'Mr President, this Godamn Order is nothing less than a boycott of Windows by China. Next year, if we want to sell a PC in China, we'll be obliged to install on it their own brand of Linux, a free operating system. If Microsoft can no longer export to China, it will be barred from a colossal market. But it won't be the only one to suffer. Our own PC constructors and microprocessor manufacturers will also be severely handicapped in the face of Chinese industry, which would inevitably take the lead. It's our entire computer industry which risks sliding down over the edge. The financial markets have just begun to grasp this.'

State secretary Ed Nimoy, never one to lose an occasion to dramatise a situation, added:

'It's a cataclysm, Mr President, as if our industry had been nuked!'

Nick Brown cared little for Nimoy's hyperboles, but thought better of moderating his colleague. Let alone contradicting him. The ex-director of the NSA, who was now secretary of state, was feared by all. Not least because he had the backing of the ultraconservatives in Congress. This put him in a position to impose his own version of events to serve his hawkish plans. President Jim Walker, while seen as more moderate, nevertheless seemed in the grips of his secretary of state.

'It's an act of war OK, it's an act of war,' repeated the president, sinking deeper into his armchair.

The members of the Inner Cabinet formed by the president nodded their heads in silence. Edwin Nimoy, Nicholas Brown and Robert Larson, the extremely powerful national security adviser and another Hawk in the administration, exchanged gazes, conscious of what was at stake within those walls. The present was waiting for their advice for organising retaliatory measures.

Nick Brown was the first to break the heavy silence that was setting in:

'Mr President, it would be difficult to present this measure as an act of war. China has already justified its decision by invoking national safety considerations which, on the face of it, are quite legitimate.

Annoyed by Nick Brown's pussyfooting, Larson moved up to the president's desk and placed his heavy fists on the table. He let the word out:

'It's a bomb. B-O-M-B!'

Larson spelt out each letter to drive the message into the president and his entourage.

'This bomb is ticking away... all the measures Microsoft took to reassure China were in vain. They had already started the countdown timer. I repeat, Mr President, there isn't the slightest shadow of a doubt. We must strike back...'

'We could consider legal proceedings before the WTO, followed by commercial and financial reprisal actions...' Nick Brown did not have the time to finish his attempt at moderation.

The present shot him with his eyes.

'Bob Larsson is correct, Mr Brown.'

The president waved the CIA file that indicated how, right to the end, the Chinese had only pretended to want to collaborate with Microsoft.

'You don't seem to understand, Sir; it's not a mere economic dispute, but a war.' He continued, emphasising each of his words while brandishing the CIA report.

'We have the proof. China deliberately and knowingly committed an act of aggression against the United States of America. China could not ignore its effects and consequences. And yet it decided to strike. It covered its cards, hid its weapons, and then struck. Like a traitor. It's an egregious act of war.'

'A new Pearl Harbor, Mr President,' interjected Larson, who seemed to take pleasure in defying a downbeaten Nick Brown. Thirty seconds went by without anyone uttering a single word... Nick Brown had clammed up for good, realising that the president had long since sided with Larson. Then Jim Walker got up slowly and began in a solemn tone:

'We have just a few weeks to show the American people, to show our markets, and finally to show the world, that we are launching a swift and powerful retaliation against China. A retaliation of the same nature as its attack. A war strike.'

Turning towards his secretary of state, he added:

'Ed, would you mind making sure we have the unfailing support of all our allies. And I do mean all our allies. We must avoid all risk of contagion.'

'Yes, Mr President. We have already summoned the ambassadors of Latin America, the European Union and Russia. India must also be considered extremely important, its population is approaching that of China and it's the second IP power in the world. With the help we gave that country in their dispute with Pakistan and our aid for modernising their armaments, we should expect their good relations with us to guarantee their support. I made a personal call to the Indian Prime Minister, and likewise to the premiers of Brazil, Mexico, Australia, Japan and South Korea. It's also crucial we have the complete backing of all the Asian countries in the present context. China's decision is not only an act of aggression toward the United States, but also against the free world as a whole. China is showing its ambition to dominate the computer sector, to dominate Asia and overtake India. It's a threat to the entire region and we can be sure the nations within that zone will side with us. The Russian government is not in a position to refuse us anything.'

'What about the Europeans?'

'The Eastern bloc countries are with us. But the old Europe likes to wallow in endless debates. I doubt in the end whether it'll take any position. It'll opt for neutrality.'

'Mr state secretary, no-one is to follow in China's footsteps. No-one! Our allies must issue a firm and unequivocal condemnation of the aggression to which we fell victim! Gentlemen, we are in a state of war...'

Tom spent the morning fighting with his iPod music player. It had stopped working since his motorcycle accident. With the help of the young Yandong who was watching the American admiringly, Tom undertook to take the delicate housing apart.

At noon, a loud voice ripped through the courtyard. It was Tom hailing victory. He put on an earplug and handed over the other to his companion who hadn't left him since his arrival.

Beijing, CIA bureau

Song made another attempt. Despite having the world's most advanced technology, dozens of low-earth-orbit satellites, he still couldn't find trace of the computer scientists two weeks after they had slipped away from him. Nothing, not the slightest blink of a signal from the skies. Tom and the Chinese spy had vanished into thin air. And then, suddenly, at 4 p.m., a red spot appeared on his PC screen.

Song darted to the office next door.

'Stenton, we got him. We've just picked up his transponder signal!'

'About time! Where is he?' he asked, beginning to follow Song back to his office.

'35 kilometres from Beijing. According to our maps, he's hiding in a forest.'

Song zoomed in on the zone concerned.

'That's no forest, it's a military zone...'

'A military zone! D'you mean a military prison camp?'

Song consulted a CIA register that recorded all of China's military installations.

'No! It's a training zone for their commandos...'

'You mean their special services?'

'Most likely, Stenton.'

'That means Tom and the girl have placed themselves under the protection of the army's intelligence services, what d'you think?'

Stenton thought for a moment.

'You still have contacts in the secret police, haven't you?'

Song pulled a wide grin.

'Of course!'

'Is the police also looking for them?'

'I believe so.'

'And apparently they don't know where they're hiding. Song, it's time we contacted the police. We should be able to find some grounds for cooperation... ask central command for a satellite trajectory over that zone...'

Song's big Volkswagen turned into the avenue. Only a few Street lights preserved the deserted pavements from total darkness. He turned off the engine and got out of the car. He had come alone, in accordance with the instructions sent to him by the chief of the secret police. He pressed the central locking button on his key fob, breaking the stillness with a shrill bleep and two flashes from all four of the Volkswagen's turn indicators.'

His eyes darted around to check out the perimeter. There were two or three cars parked nearby and, in one, he could make out the dark form of a figure sitting behind the wheel. The perfect setting for a trap. But it was too late to go back. Song had taken a risky gamble, being totally ignorant of his opponent's positions. If Guo's secret police knew where Tom Bailey and Lao Jin were hiding, the game was over and Song would fall into their snare.

On the other hand, if the two scientists were still on the run, as he and Stenton suspected, then he would have a deal to offer to the police. He had passed on the message to Guo via one of his shady informers who acted as a go-between for the two sides. He wanted to meet Guo, and discretion was the operative word.

The door of the premises was dimly lit by an overhanging red Chinese lantern. It could have been anything: a brothel, a private bar, a gambling den, whatever. There was one thing for sure: he was not stepping inside a Burger King. He knocked on the door and was greeted a moment later by a mamasan clad in a traditional robe. He made his way through the haze of cigarette smoke and sensed the suspicious looks turned on him. He tried to discern from among the figures dispersed in the semi darkness one which could plausibly be his contact. He was venturing to sit at the bar when he felt a hand suddenly grip his shoulder. Immediately after, he felt the jab of a gun pressed hard against his lower back. Two men – one on each side – forced him along to the end of the room. As soon as they were out of sight, the men frisked him. They quickly discovered he had come without a gun. They drew aside a draped curtain and made him step inside a tiny room with one other access at the opposite end. Song noticed a square table on which a game of Mah-Jong was going on, lit by the bare light of a bulb dangling from the ceiling.

Waving the barrel of his gun, one of the men indicated a chair and signalled Song to sit down. He could hardly distinguish the face of the man seated before him, but could nevertheless make out two other silhouetted figures standing in the background.

'Who are you?' came the voice.

'Santana Song, from the American Chamber of Commerce in Beijing.'

The man flashed a torch on the Eurasian's face, clearly trying to identify him.

'You're from Macao, aren't you?'

They were obviously well-informed. The Chinese speaker uttered those few words with just the right amount of intonation to express all his innate contempt for that old Portuguese enclave.

'I was born in Macao, but I didn't come here to talk to you about my mum,' retorted Song, showing he was not intimidated.

The two men in the shadows moved up to the table and came under the halo of light.

'Am I right in thinking that you've lost one of your computer scientists!'

'He's an absent-minded guy; he easily gets lost...'

'Our country is so vast... but our population is very friendly; we're always eager to help a stranger on his way. I'm convinced your friend's in good hands.'

It must have been Guo, the chief of the secret police. He was a man of medium height, ordinary looking, with unkempt hair that did not often come into contact with shampoo. Was he trying to convey that they had found Tom? It was all bluff. Song was sure of that. In any case, he hoped so, because otherwise it meant he had just stepped into the enemy's hands and would be lucky to see another day!

'You know these computer bods... no sense of direction. I reckon he's still trying to find his way – him and the girl serving as his guide.'

Song had just put down a trump card there. The Chinese character remained silent for a few moments. This was the moment of truth.

'It's possible,' he finally uttered. 'But how are we to find him?'

He was holding out a cue.

'We know him well. I think we should be able to locate him. But China is a country that holds many mysteries for us. We would need your help...'

Song had now revealed his game. He just had to hope he had got it right. Guo remained stonefaced. Finally he let out:

'I suppose this computer scientist is very valuable to you?'

'Well, you see, it's his family... they're impatient to get him back.'

'And what about the girl acting as his guide?'

'I don't think much of her sense of direction either. But that's quite a common fault with women. She'll have some explaining to do with her travel agents...'

The deal was taking shape.

'And you can locate her with what precision?'

'Very high precision...'

There was no need to add more. The Chinese agent must have surmised that they had been located on a satellite positioning system.

Guo paused to reflect. Lao Jin and the computer scientist could not be protected by counterespionage. That would be far too dangerous, even for secret services which were already being accused of having given shelter to a traitor. But Zhou, her chief, despite his weakened position, would never drop her. The girl must therefore be hiding in a quiet place that was inaccessible to the Americans...Guo would dearly have loved to solve that puzzle. However, he needed to catch that girl and hardly had any options... He asked Song:

'What do you have to offer?'

'We take the kid, you keep the girl...'

Guo thought for a moment. He scrutinised Song with his small dark eyes. After all, it was quite conceivable that the CIA needed him.

'I'd say it's a fair deal.'

From his pocket he drew a business card on which he wrote a cell phone number.

'Call me back tomorrow at that number. Ask for the person whose name figures on this card.'

The deal was clinched.

The Chinese negotiator made a sign with his head to the two guards on either side of Song.

The interview was over. They marched him to the exit through the same path.

He had got it right.

Tomorrow, he was going to supply Guo with the GPS coordinates of the military base where the two fugitives were hiding. It was now up to the police to convince the army to hand them over. And then he would be able to recover Tom Bailey.

'Jin, the situation's getting complicated...'

It was Zhou. He was calling her two or three times a week. He too was in difficulty. His efforts to let his team off the hook were slow to bring results. For, in the diplomatic game of chess engaged between China and the United States, Tom Bailey and his companion had become more than mere pawns.

China was accusing the CIA of setting up an intelligence campaign by taking advantage of the GSP mission to gain the confidence it had been shown. It contended that Microsoft's apparent willingness to reveal the innards of Windows – and notably its entire source code and crucial knowhow – was nothing more than a pretext to spy on China and glean information on its own computer security policy.

There was one step from there to state that the decision to oust Microsoft from China found full justification on the grounds of this espionage attempt. But China did not make that step. It was clear to all that China had sealed its decision well before the dramatic events of that fateful day of August 26.

It was most probable that the Chinese authorities would give credit to Zhou's version of the events only after all this affair had outlived its usefulness. And that was not yet the case.

'Jin, the army's just learnt that you're hiding with that American inside the base. I don't know how they managed to... the colonel in charge of the zone is one of our friends. He gave me four hours – not one more – for you to leave the premises. He's got the order to arrest you and hand you over to the police. Jin, you must leave immediately without any trace whatsoever.'

'Where can we go?'

'Do you remember our contact at Beijing Central Station?'

'Yes.'

'He'll pass you the instructions. Be there at 1500 hrs this afternoon.'

They gathered all their belongings and took the motorbike out of the shed. Jin checked that it was still in working order. Then, after a farewell hug to Suyen, her husband and the young Yandong, they left by the same hidden path that they had used for their arrival.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the midst of hundreds of Chinese travellers, laden with bags and luggage, arriving from the provinces in search of work. Some were sleeping on the floor, waiting for a train that would take them back home, their hopes of employment dashed.

Simply clad, Jin and Tom mixed with the crowd. They looked like two students. Jin reappeared with two train tickets, handed over to her by a drinks stall holder at the east corner of the huge station.

Xi'an. They were going to Xi'an by sleeper carriage. The train was to leave Beijing at 4 p.m. They had just a short time left to board. As they were making their way along the platform crowded with goods and people, Jin praised Zhou's resourcefulness. What better way to hide when travelling with an American scientist sought by all the country's police forces and the US special services, than to make off for the city of the first Emperor, Qin Shi Huangdi? The tourists were so numerous there that it would be easy to escape notice.

As the train painfully pulled away from the station, it seemed to dislocate throughout its interminable length. Tom slammed shut the door of the compartment they shared with a modest Chinese couple, bringing the tumult from the corridor down to a whisper. However, both Jin and he refrained from engaging into conversation with their companions, who were eyeing them as though they were curious creatures.

A few hours later, they made their way to the restaurant car where wealthy travellers – mostly Westerners – savoured the slow pace of the train that gave them all the time to view China's scenery under the rapidly fading sunlight.

The train was now chiselling its way through the night, and the occasional scattered lights from passing villages produced a moving backdrop behind the window as they were comfortably seated, sampling some Chinese dishes around a bowl of white rice. The train was crossing street-lit villages, the lamps revealing a series of cameos of everyday life in the world on the other side of the window: busy stores, evening markets with customers pushing stacks of coloured clothes, open-air bars and restaurants with men and women clustered as they downed litres of Chinese beer...

Above the couple's table, the glow of a wall lamp distilled a soft light that invited intimacy.

Tom had laid his hand on Jin's, who was responding with a tender smile. For a moment, they had become two carefree tourists, two lovers like millions. They forgot they were fugitives, hunted by the country's police, accused of dozens of crimes. Thus they remained for over an hour, watching the world flow by.

They returned to their compartment at 10 p.m. Jin slid the door open and entered first. The compartment was spared from total darkness by a blue nightlight on the ceiling. The Chinese couple must be asleep. Instinctively, she cast a look on the lower bunk. The woman's was empty, but the man appeared asleep, his face turned towards the compartment wall. And yet something triggered an alarm signal in Jin's mind, always on the alert. Despite the near darkness, she had spotted the well-cut clothes of the occupier, nothing like those she saw a few hours earlier. And why had he kept his shoes on to sleep...

She immediately sensed the danger. She turned towards Tom who was about to follow her in.

'Tom, get away. Quick!'

But it was too late. The young man was raising his arms, threatened by a gun aimed at his back by an accomplice who had followed them in the corridor. The passenger in the bunk immediately sprang up, pointing a gun at the couple. They were caught. Their time on the run was up.

The man in the compartment got out some rope. He spoke out to Jin:

'Listen carefully now. We are instructed to shoot the American at the first wrong move. You got that?'

He shoved Jin's hands behind her back and tied together her wrists, then her feet. The stranger seemed to be particularly wary of her and did not want to take any risks.

Jin made no attempt to resist. Tom was under the threat of a gun held by the second accomplice. It was far too dangerous.

It was now Tom's turn. The two computer scientists were quickly attached to a stanchion rising from the lower bunk, gagged, powerless and overcome. They looked at each other. Tom seemed desperately sad. It was all over...

12. Lebensraum

'In a war, the best tactic consists in avoiding the opponent's strong points and striking him at his weak points.'

Sun Zi, The art of war, 5th century BC

Washington, White House

September 18.

Three weeks. Three weeks had gone by since China announced the scheduled end of Microsoft's presence on its soil. The medium and long term forecasts for the US economy were deteriorating at an alarming rate. One after another, entire sectors of industry had revealed their all-too-great vulnerability. China, on the other hand, had done rather well during those weeks of crisis. Not only had it resisted – to no-one's real surprise – to the pressures applied by the United States, but it had justified quite convincingly its policy before the international community with endless statements. But, to that date, it had failed to rally other countries around its cause. China remained isolated. And for that, credit had to be given to the heavy-handed diplomacy of Secretary of State Ed Nimoy.

In the United States, public resentment towards China was reaching new heights. Already accused of taking away jobs from American workers and maintaining a monumental trade deficit, China was now catalogued among the rogue nations, guilty of having deliberately sabotaged the US industry. Voters were demanding justice. All the more so as the financial markets were collapsing. Not to mention the property market, whose prices were ebbing away alarmingly, threatening mortgages.

The media continually played on the theme redundancies and unemployment. Deflation was becoming the norm in most areas of the economy. General resentment got to such a stage that the public did not even want to know about possible rational reasons that may have incited China to turn its back on Windows – all the focus was on the ravages it was causing back home.

To the president, there was no real alternative. He had to retaliate. A show of strength and determination was bound to bolster his public opinion ratings. And that could only make Jerry Bakhash, the White House's spin doctor, rub his hands with glee. The Cabinet was already busy devising a number of graded retaliatory actions.

As he burst into the Oval office, the President seemed a different man, as if the economic debacle and affront endured by his country revealed an unsuspected war leader in him. The man, once mocked in the press as a yellow belly unable to make a decision alone, now jumped into the role of the lone avenger. He stepped towards his desk with marked determination and eyed each of his collaborators from top to bottom with an air of superiority. The first line of action, proposed by Benjamin Bischoff, the Army chief of staff and Admiral of the US naval forces, came across as far too wet to the President.

'I want to see China cringe, do you hear me?' he threatened. 'What aircraft carriers do we have ready right now?'

'At the moment, the John C. Stennis is undergoing an overhaul, the Carl Vinson is at its Bremerton base and can be readied for another three weeks. Likewise for the Abraham Lincoln on exercise off the coast of Everett, but I suppose we could bring them all in sooner if we have to. So that leaves us with the Nimitz currently at sea off Hawaii and the Kitty Hawk now at Yokosuka in Japan. The latter could thus enter the China Sea zone almost right away, but it's very old.

President Walker would not have any of this. He had an altogether different idea of his armada's might. He got up from his chair and gazed briefly through the window. A few plump blackbirds were pecking around the White House lawn. He handed out his verdict:

'Now you say the Nimitz is too old...'

At the same time he could not afford to wait. He leant across and glared at each of his collaborators.

'What about Ronald Reagan?'

The ninth Nimitz-class aircraft carrier was not only the most modern vessel of the fleet, it's mere name symbolised America's comeback in the Eighties, when it got the better of the Soviet empire. It was also the ideal platform for projecting America's supremacy in the Sea of China.

Bischoff, the Navy chief of staff, saw things differently.

'The USS Ronald Reagan has indeed joined its base, Sir, but it is currently undergoing trials off Pearl Harbor.'

The deception could be seen on the President's face. He would never get used to the inflexible thinking of those blasted military. He spat out his words like bullets:

'Admiral, you have not understood me. I want the Ronald Reagan. Have I made myself quite clear?'

Bischoff's efforts to contain his irritation made him silent for a moment. Trying to remain calm, he protested:

'Mr President, perhaps I should give you the exact picture regarding the Ronald Reagan. The ship is still in the validation stage for its nuclear reactors, and we have to rerun all the test procedures for the boilers. We need at least another month. There is also the fact that some of our airmen are not yet mission ready, and I cannot take the responsibility of sending them to combat under these conditions.'

Marion Stone, the vice President, then spoke out.

'Admiral, speaking as a civilian, this suggestion may come across as somewhat naive... but... couldn't we simply switch over crews?'

'I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Madam.'

'Well, couldn't we transfer airmen from another aircraft carrier to the Ronald Reagan, and so make it operational sooner?'

Reluctantly, the admiral conceded:

'We could conceivably replace the trainee F18 pilots by more experienced men from the Nimitz. The procedures are indeed identical and standardised in this respect. The main difference for the pilots is that the Reagan uses only three cables to stop the planes, instead of four on the...'

'Admiral, we are at war,' interrupted the President, wanting to hear no more. 'Get the Ronald Reagan ready for mission.'

'Very well, Sir, the Reagan shall be ready in three weeks.'

'Admiral, I'm giving you not a day over two weeks!'

One of the men had remained inside the compartment, pistol in hand, as his colleague kept guard in the corridor. Jin remained silent, overcome by guilt for not having been able to do anything. She was looking at Tom who was appealing to her sadly with his eyes. At around 8 a.m., someone knocked on the compartment door. Without opening it, the policeman inside asked in a loud voice:

'Is it you?'

Just as he was waiting for the answer, the door shuddered before crashing open against his head with a heavy thud. A man appeared from behind the gap. Heavily built, clad like a farm worker with a deeply set cloth cap, he was deliberately trying to hide his face as much as he could. Without a word, he pulled out some fine nylon cord from his haversack and began to tie up the unconscious guard. Then, he switched on the central light in the compartment, hitherto still dark and with all the curtains drawn, bringing Jin and Tom into view.

'Zeying!' exclaimed Jin as she recognized the member of her team.

'Colonel Zhou sent me over to protect you.'

Lowering his voice, he continued:

'We haven't got much time! We're convinced somebody's planted a transponder on one of you!'

'A transponder?' queried Tom.

'That's right, a radio-emitting microchip so you can be tracked at a distance. Zhou believes its you who's got that chip, Tom. Jin, we're in a tricky situation. They've been keeping a close track on you with that transponder, right from Beijing Station. We're sure it's the work of Guo's police.'

The train slowed down, getting ready to pull into its final destination, Xi'an railway terminus.

'Now, a bunch of heavily-armed men are waiting for you at the station. There's no safe exit. You're not to leave the station building, these of the colonel's own instructions. Stay in the main hall and wait...'

The train was now crawling along. Jin poked her head out of the window. Several plain-clothes police officers were posted along the track, making it impossible for them to alight on the opposite side of the platform.

'I'm afraid I have to leave you now,' said Zeying apologetically.

The train ground to a halt at Xi'an station. In no time, their rescuer had mingled with the flow of arriving passengers. Tom and Jin followed suit. They quickly merged with a group of European tourists towing their luggage on wheels as they made their way to the exit. Jin looked around discreetly, trying to pick out the plain clothes policemen who were bound to be looking for them. A few paces inside the main hall area, they stopped as instructed. They had hardly dropped their luggage when some passengers in front of them began to shout. The sudden echoing sound of a powerful car horn immediately drowned them out, growing in volume. Next, a 4x4 burst inside the station building, scattering the bystanders away in a panic.

Within the space of a few seconds, the vehicle had climbed up the short flight of steps, crossed the main entrance and charged towards the astounded passengers amid intermittent strident hoots. The vehicle scrambled to a stop a few paces from the couple and the front passenger door sprang open. Jin instantly grabbed Tom by the arm and, exploiting the surrounding chaos, leapt inside the large SUV. As Jin was pulling the door closed, a spray of bullets smashed against the windows and body panels.

The projectiles seemed to bounce off. They were no match for the heavily armoured vehicle.

'I trust you had a good journey, Jin?'

The young woman instantly recognized Zhou's voice. He was behind the wheel and appeared to be having fun. He drove across the main hall, hooting with gusto, heading generally toward the platforms. The people around had fled and dived down to escape the bullets as their detonations boomed in the vast hall. Zhou pressed his right foot down. The car crashed through a first security barrier, then a second, before bouncing down the five steps leading to the tracks. The suspension took the jolts in its stride. The 4x4 mounted the rails at a glancing angle and straightened, bringing the open track before them into full view from the windscreen. Straight ahead for Beijing. It rumbled over the wooden sleepers with a thunderous roar that gained in pitch as Zhou accelerated. Jin looked around. No one was following.

After about three kilometres of bumpy ride, Zhou left the track and swung the steering wheel to the left, causing the 4x4 to plunge into a ditch and pick up a small dirt track that led onto a tarmacked road. Pulling up just before a T-junction, he consulted the GPS road navigator he had programmed to display the destination and route. Zhou turned right and followed the road for 5 kilometres before veering off to the left along a lane that led to a derelict-looking warehouse. The car entered the deserted building at low speed. Zhou switched off the engine and made a sign for the young couple to leave.

Jin recognized two other members of the Action Service group standing by an unassuming Toyota Corolla.

'This is Tom Bailey. Tom, allow me to introduce you to Colonel Zhou...'

The two men shook hands. It was the first time Zhou met the young American who seemed to mean so much to Jin. He gave him just one short look and then resumed to his business.

'It's only a matter of minutes before they find us. But first of all, we must get hold of that transponder!'

'Zhou, we've bought new clothes, changed our bags, toiletries, and even our shoes... we haven't even got a cell phone...'

Zhou remained unswayed.

'And yet they're permanently on your trace, even at this very minute! I want you to place all your personal belongings on the bonnet.'

They duly obeyed and spread all the contents of their shoulder bags on the vehicle. Colonel Zhou cast a rapid glance over the clothes and sundry items.

'What's this?' he suddenly asked, grabbing hold of the object that caught his interest.

'Why, it's my iPod,' answered Tom.

'A what..?'

'A digital music player. I bought it in San Francisco. I never go without it. It's always there with me, in my bag,' protested Tom.

Zhou cut him short.

'Look no further. This device has enough energy to power a transmitter and signal your position to American low orbit satellites. It's every bit as precise as a GPS.'

'But how could they have introduced such a device inside my iPod?' queried Tom.

'They could easily have taken it and tampered with it, or even have substituted yours for another one. They only had to transfer the music files from one to the other.'

Tom was short of arguments. Zhou carried on inspecting the items spread before him, but found nothing else suspicious.

'Okay, now we split up without wasting time. I'll take the player with its battery charger and head in one direction. This way, I'll be the one the CIA follows, while you go in the other direction.'

'Where do we go this time?'

'Take this old car, you'll go by unnoticed in that. Here's a map and a set of instructions. You're going to hide in a monastery near the Yangtze gorges until further notice. Here, take my cell phone; the number to join me is entered in the memory. It's still anonymous and shouldn't be tapped, but only use it in case of emergency so as not to give yourself away. It's a satellite phone... it was scrambled by our services but uses American satellites. So careful, they could still locate you with it - only use it if you really have to. And take this watch, it's a bit big but contains a GPS beacon. It computes your position and sends it by satellite. Only activate in case of absolute necessity! We'll then come and collect you.'

Jin moved up to Zhou and hugged him with all her strength. He took her by the shoulders and tried to reassure her.

'Don't worry, Jin, we'll pull you through! It's just a matter of time. The authorities are still turning a deaf ear, but it won't be long before they lose interest in this case. And then we'll be able to straighten things out!'

'How can I thank you enough, Zhou,' she answered, pressing herself against him. And then, realising that Zhou had said nothing on the subject of Tom, she added:

'Zhou, I want you to know he saved my life! He should really be back home safe and sound in the United States instead of fleeing away from the Chinese police forces!'

Zhou hesitated for a moment, then whispered in her ear:

'You know, I was in front of your house too when they came to arrest you.'

Breaking into a smile, she replied in a gentle voice:

'I was sure of it...'

She kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

Then she went back to Tom and took his hand in hers. They had to go. She waved goodbye to her former team mates as they went back into the big 4x4 with Zhou. She and Tom got inside the Corolla. The big vehicle was already disappearing in the distance, along with the iPod.

The couple was setting off for their next estimation.

Washington, National Security Council

September 26

China's banning order had come to execution: in just over a week, the aircraft carrier Ronald Regan was to be readied and sent to bring its mighty firepower to the Sea of China. It would be sailing off in defence of America's vital interests, brutally and unilaterally upset by China's embargo on its star software product. America was struck deep in the flesh, within its own soil. Entire sectors of its economy were crumbling in droves, going through a deflationary spiral reminiscent of the Great Depression. The Ronald Reagan was not on a mission to safeguard the interests of a private company. No, it was going to defend the American nation: its workers threatened by unemployment, its home owners overburdened by their loan repayments, its pensioners whose retirement funds were going into bankruptcy. In sum, the very fabric of America. It was off to restore the power of an America slighted from across the ocean by a hostile and criminal China, a China that had declared a war in the most dastardly way imaginable. America's military supremacy had to produce a dazzling display of force. Its domination had to be unmitigated, total, absolute.

Such was the message Jerry Bakhash, the President's spin doctor, was trying to promote. The doctrine was simple. Get China to yield under America's show of strength. 'Make China pay' became the new catchphrase bandied about by those who wanted to impose on that country the trade concessions needed to guarantee the monopoly rights of US high-tech industries in the Chinese markets. The future was to remain America's exclusive property, its own hunting ground. Woe betide anyone who thought otherwise. The Chinese were about to reap what they had so recklessly sown!

They were gathered around Robert Larson, the much-feared national security adviser, the architect of the White House's response to the Chinese aggression. He was the real strategist, the brains behind the President. The one who, together with Secretary of State Ed Nimoy, instigated the United States' ultra-conservative policies.

But while Larsson liked to operate in the plush rooms of the White House, Nimoy preferred to fling his weight out in the open.

It was a secret for no-one that both men belonged to that notorious think tank which, at the fall of the Berlin Wall, was set up to promote America's exclusive domination over the world throughout the new century. It branded the Europeans as people exhibiting typically feminine characteristics – predominantly yin, as the Chinese would say – in whom courage and realism had given way to sentimentalism and wayward idealism.

Its thus befell on the United States to take up the defence of the Western world.

'Remember what Deng Xiaoping once said: 'We must conceal our potential and gain time. We must immerse ourselves silently in our work, without brandishing the flag, without doing anything excessive.' Do you remember that? Well, there you have China's global strategy in a nutshell. It's playing poker, taking on a low profile, gaining precious time in which to grow, expand and build up its power.... discreetly, well out of the world's gaze. But one day the dragon will come out of its cave. And, believe me, you'll then see a huge, raging and invulnerable demon. Awesome. Pray that God spares us of this creature. We have only a few short years in front of us to tame that dragon while it's still small and vulnerable, while it's still a suckling infant feeding on the rest of the world.

Because, mark my words, that's just what China is: the growing monster we feed day after day with our investments, our foreign exchanges, our factories out there, our technology transfers. We are fattening up a baby belonging to a species whose adult behaviour is a complete mystery to us. There is only one thing we can be sure about: the beast is hungry and one day soon, tomorrow, it will become a giant, crushing us under all its weight. It is famished; it eats, consumes, spreads, works, and builds itself up all the time. Even a 10-year-old child discovering Malthus's theory will tell you: we must interrupt its growth. The monster is about to eat all our crops, burn all our oil, breathe all our oxygen. The planet is just too small for China.'

All those present exchanged looks. These words were clearly not to leak out. Edwin Nimoy had very personal notions of diplomacy and relations between nations. They rested on the concept of domination.

'You're probably thinking I'm a Cassandra! Do you want to know how China will evolve? No problem, just take a look at the history of Japan.'

'Japan?' stammered the National Security Council's number two in surprise.

'That's right, Japan! Just like China, Japan too was a 'backward' country by Western standards. The mid 19th century saw the end of two and a half centuries of total self dependence when an American, Commodore Perry, came over to Japan with his fleet of seven steamships. In 1854, he forced the shogun to open its ports to American vessels and its country to international trade. In 1867, a 15-year old emperor called Mutsuhito took over. He modernised his country at lightning speed and built up a powerful army inspired by the Prussian model.

That's where my comparison begins. Having become an imperialistic power, much like Europe at the time, Japan set off in 1895 to attack China, conquering Taiwan and southern Manchuria. Ten years later, in 1905, Japan takes on and defeats Russia, one of the greatest powers in Europe. It then goes on to annex Korea, Sakhalin and another bit of China.

In 1919, just after world War one, Japan possessed the world's third most powerful naval fleet. Then, an economic downturn in the 1920s brought in a militarization of its government. To safeguard its exports and supply of raw materials, Japan decided to create a so-called 'living space' that encompassed all of South East Asia, the West Pacific and coastal China. In 1927, General Tanaka became prime Minister and announced the policy of 'positive expansion, thanks to which Japan was to dominate Asia'. In 1938, Japan declared 'The new order in the Far East'. In 1941, on the eve of the attack on Pearl Harbor, Japan already occupied western China and French Indochina. There then followed the fall of Burma, Indonesia and the Philippines. What happened afterwards belongs to the history of World War II.'

He had come to the climax of his argument.

'Just after having acquired its status as a great power, Japan inexorably developed a taste for imperialism.'

Sol Grant, the defence secretary, did not buy that argument, clever as it appeared.

'So that's how you draw the parallel between China and Japan? But that's forgetting China's opened up to the world back as far as 1842 and never adopted imperialistic policies!'

'I'm afraid you've got your dates wrong, my friend! China's opening does not date back to the Nanjing treaty of 1842, but back to 1979 when Deng Xiaoping launched the four axes of modernisation! And 30 years was the time for Japan to pass from the last shogun in 1867 to the conquest of Manchuria in 1895!'

This time, his logic was unassailable. Terrifying.

'Do you mean to say China's only at the beginning of its mutation and, if that's the case, we've seen nothing yet – is that right?'

'Exactly. I'm glad to see we're in sync!'

'And I suppose if we continue with your parallel, the worst is yet to come! Am I still with you there?'

'You're right on track...'

'It's the natural course of all nations! America too has its own living space in which it controls oil supplies and endeavours to contain the ambitions of potentially dangerous rivals. All hegemonic powers behave in this way, and China will be no exception! However, it must be owed to America that it never enslaved its allies but, quite the contrary, has always seen to their prosperity!'

'But what makes you so convinced things will go bad with China?'

'Because there's something irrepressible with these people who endured for so long the straitjacket of rigid and archaic traditions. The West evolved over a gradual process, going from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, from the Enlightenment to the Industrial Revolution, and now the age of information technology. By contrast, the brutal transition that jumps five centuries within the space of a generation never comes to anything good, as Japan has shown so horrifically. These countries enter modernity with a fresh backlog of frustration and resentment that fosters a feeling of aggressiveness. They all have a score to settle. They want to prove their strength. They thirst for respect and consideration that will wipe away the humiliation of having one day been dominated. All this puts them on the course to confrontation.'

'So, according to you, China, just like Japan before it, will mark out its living space, or Lebensraum, to use the German term popularised by the third Reich?'

'Japan pounced on its neighbours back in 1890, and China will do likewise, that's glaringly obvious.'

'And I suppose its living space matches the one defined by Japan in the Thirties!'

'You're absolutely right. Southeast Asia, i.e. all the ASEAN countries, plus those of the South China Sea, the West China Sea, Korea and Japan are called to gravitate around the empire of the middle and form part of its ecosystem. But it doesn't stop there. You've got to add to this Asian sphere its oil supply sources in the Middle East, Africa, Central Asia and Russia.'

'China and the United States are thus doomed to clash in all these theatres? Is it inevitable that these imperialistic powers should confront?'

'I can't see how we can avoid a spate of conflicts. China's attitude leaves little room for doubt. They endeavour to become technologically autonomous to escape dependency on the West. They've already designated their next battlefield: space, by sending an astronaut into orbit.'

The defence secretary kept a close tabs on matters concerning space.

'That's true, China did indeed force us back into manned space missions.'

He could not help laughing as he recalled the NASA's latest public relations campaign.

'The space agency's raving on about traces of water apparently found on Mars, hoping to stoke up public interest in space exploration! I must grant you that this revival of space exploration is due in a large part to China's declared ambitions!'

'That's perfectly clear. It would be out of the question to let China be the sole player out there and given a free rein in the space colonisation game, even if it means pushing the stakes sky high. I would even go so far as to say that space rivalry could prove an excellent engine for our economic activities.'

But he was still not ready to concede the argument.

'You're a dyed-in-the-wool pessimist! Your mechanistic vision of history leaves hardly any room for the progress achieved by civilisation. So China's awakening from a secular sleep and is inextricably bound to follow Japan's belligerent path! And what if China were to surprise everyone by simply coming up with a new model? After all, it can draw from its 5000 years of history for experience and wisdom. At least you can give them credit for one thing: expansion has never been a word in their vocabulary!'

'The image of a peaceful China withdrawn behind its Great Wall is a bit of a fairy tale. If we are to believe it, we have a peace-loving country that invented gunpowder only to make fireworks and the compass solely to navigate through the islands of the Pacific. If China doesn't figure among the expansionist nations of the last centuries, believe you me, it's only because it wasn't able to. But the new perspective showing a prosperous China growing exponentially gives an altogether different picture. The ambition of today's China relates more to the hordes of Mongol warrior's than to the dozy placidity of the panda. The historical dialectic that pushes the Chinese authorities to lay claim without restraint on the island of Taiwan is – to put it mildly – a source of worry for its neighbours. Don't forget that Chinese navigators of the ancient past and their pirates had, we now think, visited a big chunk of the South East Asian islands and, if we are to believe some, the West as far as Australia. Can you imagine if China, a colossus of 1.5 billion inhabitants, began to lay claim on Vietnam, Japan or Queensland, come to think of it? They even say their admiral Zheng He discovered America 80 years before Columbus!'

'Aren't you stretching it a little?'

'And where do you think China's gluttony will stop?' asked one of the Pentagon's geostrategic experts, a uniformed general.

'Not at this planet, that's for sure! The empire of the middle has already declared its interest for having men in space. We must now brace ourselves for an all-out war in space within the next 20 years. First, the Chinese will attempt to stymie our star wars anti-missile defence system, thereby putting American supremacy and its security shield into question.'

The general had his own opinion on the matter.

'In any case, if the Chinese have such ambitions, they'd better hurry up building their launchers because they'll soon won't be able to all fit on this globe. If they are to have a future, it'll be in space, and good luck to them. That country's oversized, off-limits. There's no place for China in this planet. It all boils down to this simple choice: it's either us or them. That may be another way of seeing the policy of entrenchment of China – a measure to ensure the US's long-term survival of its American way of life.'

'China's emergence as a world power will figure as the major change of the first quarter of the 21st century. The arrival of a giant of such scale will wreak havoc in the planet's ecosystem and in the fabric of international relations. The Chinese are convinced the empire of the middle is the greatest of all civilisations and that it befalls on China to rule the world.'

The general was giving fuel to Nimoy's arguments. The state secretary took over.

'You see, the problem is that China wants to improve itself without clashes, smoothly, silkily. The Soviets invented the concept of 'peaceful coexistence' to define their relations with us. Well now the Chinese want to impose their 'peaceful ascent'. And if they imagine for one moment that we'll let them go ahead with it without reacting, then they're in for a big surprise. Gentlemen, we now have the ideal opportunity to implement our policy of entrenchment. We are going to show the rest of the world the real face of China and where its real place is.'

Somewhere in China.

Startled, the farm labourer stepped aside briskly from the track to let by the passing car as it ripped through the peaceful backdrop of surrounding paddy fields and rivulets patterned like veins, glimmering under the rising sun.

He spat out a string of curses at the intruding vehicle and then continued on his way, stepping slowly, his back arched forward under the heavy load it was carrying. The vehicle was already disappearing in a trail of dust.

'Careful, Jin,' said Tom, noticing the young woman was wavering.

'Sorry Tom, my mind was drifting.'

'It'd be a shame if something were to happen to us now. We've driven over 700 kilometres and no one appears to be bothering us.'

'Yeah, but be prepared for some action, though. The last part of the journey will be on foot! Once we've crossed the Hangzhou river, we'll have to avoid the towns of Ankang and Shiyan by following the winding road that leads to Daba Shan. Afterwards, we'll have to abandon the car and go up nearly 1000 steps leading to a monastery.'

The car finally approached its stopping point. From the foot of the mountains where the young couple was standing, it was impossible to discern the steps zigzagging up the rock face. And yet they were right there before them. They abandoned their vehicle carefully out of sight and set off on the last leg of their journey.

The steps were scarcely more than a metre wide and, at one side, ended with a sheer drop. They stopped twice to take a few sips of water.

After a while, a Taoist monastery appeared above them, dominating the valley with its red walls, its glazed tile roof curving up at the corners in ancient Chinese architectural style.

'Here we are, Tom, this is going to be our new hideout...'

But how long for?

Beijing, Ministry of Information Industries.

Bao Yutai was satisfied in the way the operations were turning out. The Chinese national operating system, or CNOS, had become something of an international star, even if the western media invariably used the term 'bomb' when referring to the Chinese exclusion Order. To Bao Yutai, that was just too bad. The Order had the merit of showing up Microsoft's vulnerability to the rest of the world. The Redmond firm, when everything was weighed up, was in fact far more virtual than any Yahoo or Google. Commentators could always compare the 'M bomb' to an atom bomb or hydrogen bomb and argue that even if the former spared human lives, its destructive power was in fact far greater, and they could endlessly claim that this Order amounted to no less than an act of terrorism. But the fact was that they could not come to accept that China was a sovereign nation and, on that score, perfectly entitled to devise its own policies concerning information technology.

Version 1.0 the Chinese operating system was now launched, one week ahead of schedule. The only thing that bothered Bao Yutai was the decision to call it Linux. True, it was 100% compatible with the commercial distributions of Linux, but China was supplying a compiled and closed software system. It was never intended that the source code would one day be made open. In this respect, CNOS was more akin to a new Windows system than an open-source software!

Bao Yutai had all the more reason to rejoice that computer manufacturers and PC distributors had co-operated beyond all hope. It had even been quite unnecessary to fix ultimatums or deadline dates. All of China's computer industries set themselves enthusiastically into the adventure of creating a national standard. Throughout China, CNOS-powered PCs could be picked up for 2000 yuans, excluding the monitor. The trend had been set and everyone was after their own CNOS computer.

The administration laid out very precise details on the means that would be implemented to make sure that all businesses and consumers fully complied with the measures. Private firms would be obliged to produce the invoices for updating their computer systems. There was even a requirement for company financial controllers to produce a certificate of compliance. As for home users, the administration called upon Internet access providers to check on their compliancy. Beyond a legally-fixed deadline, it would be impossible to have an Internet connection with a PC not running on CNOS. Only foreign firms would benefit from a temporary exemption upon written request.

More than a few countries were keenly interested in the Chinese experiment but preferred – at least initially – to remain discreet. China had nevertheless received favourable feedback from Brazil, Mexico, Russia, Malaysia, Indonesia, the Philippines, Thailand and Korea. That rallying was important for China, which needed to be the locomotive of a 'new order in world computing'. Just as the astronaut Yang Liwei took the UN flag with him aboard the Chinese spacecraft, the Chinese nation wanted to be united behind the national computing standards to come.

To encourage such alliances, China organised forums and consortiums modelled on those created around Internet, ISOC, IETF or W3C. Their object was to standardise the public domain protocols and technologies used on the world-wide web, such as IP, TCP, HTTP, HTML, XML... These new scientific gatherings were intended to normalise functionalities of many software products, such as open source and General public license technologies. For instance, China had invited Microsoft to participate in a forum on the normalisation of office applications, modelled on W3C. The American giant of course did not deign to respond to the invitation. It also proposed to set up workgroups with international standards committees, including the world trade organisation, in view of harmonising digital rights management procedures.

Through all these initiatives, China appeared to impose itself firmly at the head of the international information technology liberalisation movement. This came about as a natural evolution: China accounted for one quarter of the world's population and formed a coherent and self-consistent section of humanity.

It thus deemed it perfectly natural that it should decide on the standards that were to apply to its population, to its economy and – above all – to the planet as a whole. For isn't it always the mightiest who make and apply the law? Besides, what did America, with its 300 million inhabitants, weigh against the insuperable mass of the Chinese people? Nothing, or so little. 'Now it will be up to China to define industry standards' Bao repeated to himself, 'China must take over as the new Microsoft of world computing!'.

Beijing, main headquarters of the Central military commission

October 5

President Ren Zhibang made his way back to the command room of the Army's main headquarters. There he found the commanders of the military commission, the chief of the political command, Army chiefs of staff, the prime Minister and a few members of the Central committee. They all looked grave.

Satellite images were showing intense activity all around Pearl Harbor. Several vessels had left their base in San Diego to join the two aircraft carriers stationed there. The Americans were mounting a naval task force to head for China. And then the news broke, straight from the mouth of the chief of staff:

'Mr President, the Americans announced the sending of a fleet to the Sea of China in view of... in their own words.... maintaining the security and stability of the world economy.' According to our intelligence reports, the fleet will leave Pearl Harbor on October 6, at dawn.'

The Chinese government had in fact anticipated such an initiative. It had been preparing for it, discreetly, for two months. The President took the news without batting an eyelid. He also knew that the United States had exerted very strong pressures without success on their allies in the region, especially South Korea and Taiwan, asking them to condemn China with a view to obtaining more decisive justifying grounds for their intervention in the eyes of the international community.

As for Tokyo, while opinion polls revealed that the Japanese were overwhelmingly against the idea of their country getting caught up in what amounted to be a commercial dispute between China and the USA, the Japanese government had towed the line of American policy. Japan summoned China to go back on its decision, failing which it would feel compelled to give its backing to America's military pressure.

In brief, China's diplomatic situation at the regional level was undermined by Japan's position. Most of the Chinese military and Politburo members had grossly overestimated the sense of Asian solidarity and rallying to its cause. The let down was beginning to cause uncharacteristic agitation among a number of top Army brass, led by the chief of staff.

'What do they expect to achieve with their vessels?' exclaimed the latter. 'Force us to consume their opium under the threat of sending their gunboats to bomb our ports?'

'Gentlemen, let's not give in to our emotions,' advised the president, whose calm was unwavering. Our talk must be stripped of imagery that belongs to another century.

'Our intelligence services have obtained a number of highly confidential documents coming from the Pentagon and the CIA. They all make systematic reference to 'losing face'. Apparently, that's America's secret weapon against us! They figure they can play us into their hands by pressing on the sensitive button of national pride. So, for goodness sake, let's steer well clear of this grotesque ploy.'

The President opened a docket placed before him and consulted some notes that contained precise information on the naval task force deployed by the United States.

'We are gathered here this morning to decide on the future actions to take. Last week, we placed our armed forces on level 1 alert in response to the American threats. Should we now move up to maximum alert? An air-sea group is now heading towards the Sea of China. We know this force is composed of eight vessels, including the aircraft carrier Ronald Regan.'

A murmur of surprise and concern came from those present. The President watched them in silence.

'Our strategists all agree that this task force could first reach Okinawa and then parade in the western part of the China Sea. It would then most likely head towards Taiwan in an attempt to shift the scope of the conflict and raise the tension by a notch or two. Our naval strategy experts believe it would be too risky for the US fleet to sail along the Straits of Taiwan – their vessels are spaced 50 km apart, which would force them to sail near our coast. Alternatively, the US fleet could make port in Taiwan, which would be an affront we'd be forced to react to. Which leads to the next question: how should we retaliate in the case of such an aggression? Finally, just how far will America go in setting their best fleet against us?'

The military commission's chief of political command was the first to speak:

'The Americans won't start a world war to come to the aid of a firm that sells CD-ROMs and video game consoles. However patriotic the Americans may be, pressure from public opinion will blow any military adventure off the agenda.'

'Commander,' politely interjected Admiral Liang, the commission's vice chairman, 'Don't forget the US is plunged in a deep financial crisis. They've received a humiliation as never before. Remember, too, that President Walker is staking his term and re-election on the show of strength to come. Admittedly, there are limits to what he can actually do. We still continue to believe that the US administration is not in a position to conduct an all-out war...'

The President looked on with an air of pity as the vice chairman battled with his self contradictions

'These blasted military seemed to be losing their bottle now the American armada was getting within firing range,' he thought. It was too late to give up, and too early to give in. There was no choice but to face up.

'We must deal with this forthcoming military confrontation courageously and serenely. It's a trial we have to face up to. But we'll pull through it and come out strengthened,' asserted Lin Rang, the chairman of the commission. His words received the immediate approbation of an uncharacteristically confident Prime Minister Wei.

'The systemic crisis in the American economy is about to come,' he explained. Our boycott served merely as a trigger. It is not the root cause of their action. Over the past three weeks, this viewpoint had been endorsed by many economists and a very influential part of the international press. China is already beginning to be overcoming the problems ailing the Americans. Time is definitely on our side. You'll see that within a month, two at the most, they will all come to agree that our boycott was justified.'

President Ren took note of their expressions.

'Gentlemen, I would like to keep the alert to level 1 for the time being. What are your feelings on this?'

The army chief of staff was the first to speak:

'Mr President, I share your view. We must reserve our level of maximum alert for the events to come. It would also be wise to show our calm in the face of the oncoming American fleet. We know our actions are perfectly legitimate and that we cannot be held responsible for the disastrous situation of America's economy.'

The president closed the docket and shifted it to the right, before reaching for a heavy folder. It was now the time to get to the heart of the problem. China would in a few days be confronting a mighty task force sent by the United States to make it surrender. Only then would the military commission know whether their optimistic scenario reflected the truth or not.

The atmosphere in the meeting room had turned heavy and grave. A waiter in military uniform whisked round among those present, pouring jasmine tea into the cups placed before each participant.

'Gentlemen, the president continued, I brought you all here so that we can draft up a roadmap for the days and weeks to come to tackle the imminent threat. The time for idle speculation is over. Now, let's begin. When do you expect the American fleet to arrive?'

With a sign of the head, the army chief of staff ordered the technicians in the background to switch on the video projector put at disposal.

'The US task force is due to leave Pearl Harbour in the morning of October the 6th, according to a latest intelligence report. Assuming a maximum speed of 30 knots, we reckon they could reach of the Okinawa region within six days. However, some reports indicate that the aircraft carrier has not yet fully completed its nuclear reactor validation program. In this case, we think it will cruise at well below its top speed, and we would therefore expect to see it in the Sea of China around October 14 or 15th.'

A series of photos of the Ronald Reagan appeared on the screen.

'What will the Americans do?'

The chief of staff made another sign to the video operator, and the screen then showed a map of the West China Sea.

'We believe they will enter the Sea of China either from the north, between Okinawa and the Japanese island of Kyushu, or from the south of Okinawa. In either case, their fleet, which will be escorted by a tanker, should not encounter any logistical problems. It will always be able to rely on the US bases in Japan.

A passage from the south could give the following scenario: the fleet will head towards Taiwan, where it could land along the east coast, so avoiding the Straits. However, we do not consider this to be the most likely scenario. For a start, there is no recent event on the island that could justify an intervention by the US; Taiwan has repeatedly affirmed its vision of one China. While involving Taiwan would be the surest way of creating a head-on clash, such a strategy would come across as a totally fabricated pretext and be unanimously condemned. Moreover, Taiwan has shown absolute neutrality since the beginning of this affair, and the island has no intention of opening its ports to the American navy.'

He marked a pause to take a sip of tea and moved on to the following slide.

'We in fact lean in favour of a different scenario. The American task force would penetrate the West China Sea from the south of Kyushu and, from there, head towards our coasts. Washington could then declare a blockade of Shanghai.'

His head turned to discern the expressions on each participant.

'Such an action would offer the United States several advantages. Firstly, it would allow it to respond with an economic weapon to a likewise economic aggression. This retaliation would then have a mantle of legitimacy and be well perceived in the eyes of public opinion. Its resulting positive impact would confer the best pretext for engaging military hostilities. But the military commission has also envisaged a number of other scenarios that could also lead to this type of 'provoked incident'. Here, I'm alluding to the tactic developed by Imperial Japan in the 1930s to set foot in Manchuria and the rest of China. That same tactic was also exploited by President Johnson in 1964. To justify America's entering the Vietnam War, he set up a false attack – all entirely fabricated – that involved the assault on a US destroyer by a North Vietnamese gun boat in the Bay of Tonkin.'

The President interrupted – the possibility of a blockade of Shanghai appeared far more preoccupying and urgent.

'What means do we have at disposal to counter a possible blockade of Shanghai?'

'We are in an extremely tight situation. The presence of American frigates off our ports would deter cargo vessels from coming near. Our surface navy would not hold them back for long: the American detection and defence systems are technologically far superior to our own. To engage our destroyers and frigates into naval combat would amount to accepting to sacrifice them in the aim of placing ourselves as victims. Then we have our fleet of attack submarines. If we left the American fleet set up quarters in the West China Sea, they will install a network of sonar, frigates and submarines, effectively forming a barrier to our undersea vessels. Our submarine fleet would very quickly become powerless. We would then be left with no other option but to trigger off a military escalation, ultimately threatening to use our strategic missiles.'

The President and Prime Minister remained perfectly calm as they analysed the situation.

'So, what would you suggest?'

'Mr President, it is absolutely vital that we prevent the US task force from entering the West China Sea if we are to retain a reasonable chance of settling this conflict fairly and rationally.'

'And how are we to proceed?'

The chief of staff turned towards Admiral Liang Dongbuo, the vice chairman of the Central military commission, who undertook to present the strategy they had elaborated.

'Mr President, we have come to the following conclusion: if we are to put all the chances on our side when we confront the US fleet, we will need to impose a naval exclusion zone around China.'

He asked for the next slide to be projected.

'We have traced out on this map a boundary line which the Americans must not cross, under penalty of triggering off hostilities. This position offers a number of advantages. Firstly, we are the ones with the initiative; we put the ball in their court. We no longer wait for the Americans to encircle Shanghai before reacting. It is we who fix the limits not to be broken. In the eyes of international opinion, China will be legitimate in protecting its territory against the threat of the American armada. If the United States decides to cross that line, then they will be the aggressors. This strategy moreover offers the tremendous advantage of preserving a volume of manoeuvre for our submarine fleet, giving us scope for covert missions.'

The President scrutinised the virtual boundary skirting the coast and which seemed to ward off the spectre of US warships encircling the port of Shanghai. It looked like a maritime form of the Great Wall, raised to protect the Celestial Empire from the Barbarians coming from the sea. He knew full well it was nothing more then a mere sketched contour on a map, but it had a reassuring and tranquilising effect. He needed that. It was the first positive element in the day, a flicker of light against the otherwise bleak background.

'Gentlemen, this is an excellent proposal. Now, how far out we should place this exclusion zone?'

'We would suggest adopting the norm that applies to the 'economic exclusiveness zone' endorsed by the United Nations regarding maritime rights, that is 200 miles.'

'Does the line you have drawn correspond to this 200-mile coastal region?'

'Yes, absolutely. The island of Okinawa is 600 km off our coasts and thus well outside the exclusion zone. On the other hand, the Straits of Taiwan are well within. The advantage of this particular choice is that the notion of a 200-mile region is already recognised and accepted by the international community. All countries around the world are deeply attached to this privilege. It would have a disastrous effect on the United States if it were to be seen contravening this right. It may only concern the economic exploitation of sea areas but, then again, the conflict that opposes us to the United States is rooted in economic matters too.'

The President turned towards the prime Minister:

'Let's give some time for the American fleet to take an aggressive stance. As from October the eighth at zero hundred hours, China shall instigate a 200-mile-wide national exclusion zone applicable to all foreign sea and air military craft. Any violation of this exclusion zone shall be considered as a deliberate act of aggression against the People's Republic of China.

Hubei province

A Taoist monastery

A sea of clouds was encircling the mountain as Tom and Jin gently rose from their slumber. For a week now their mornings had been moments of magic. Hardly a sound permeated their ears; the monastery seemed to be asleep, suspended in time.

They were totally swept by the kindness shown by the monks who hosted them. Such was their power of inspiration that Tom and Jin even asked to share in their life of prayer. They joined meditation sessions several times a day, and Tom was already beginning to discern unsuspected depths of his consciousness.

Some rays of light filtered through the gaps in the shutters of their large bedroom, projecting scintillating patterns on the uneven lines of the floorboards. The couple were lying face to face, a position they had kept throughout the night. And in their wakefulness, they enjoyed remaining thus, the face of one forming the foreground for the gaze of the other.

'I had a dream this morning,' announced Tom, stretching himself. 'But the more I try to bring it to mind, the more it fades, blurs and goes away, like a sketch you make on the sand that gets washed up by successive waves. It seems that it's my very effort to bring it to mind that in fact destroys it. My first perception of the dream flashes very clearly, but becomes elusive as soon as I try to seize it. It deteriorates a bit more each time I try, and I end up with a strange whiff of a fleeting experience.'

Jin continued to look at him, never tiring of that gentle face smiling at her.

'It's your unconscious mind playing tricks; it's concealing the secrets revealed by your dreams. It puts them out of your reach because they're too dangerous to be laid bare to your conscious mind.'

'Give over, Jin... they're only trivial little scenes...'

'Don't you believe that! The unconscious mind often disguises the deepest mental scars as childish images. Can you remember any of it?'

'No, it's really all gone. Just a few silly incoherent fragments. I can't even recall what the dream was about.'

'Can't you even remember some of the main recurring themes of your dream?'

Tom made an effort to recollect. It was several minutes before he answered.

'It seems that images of my father come in fairly often. I can't explain why.'

She broke into a smile, a smile exuding tenderness.

'Tom, when we get out of here, we'll go to California together. You don't know all the truth about your late father. Maybe you've kept some painful memories you're trying to suppress...'

'Maybe you're right. But first of all, I'd like you to visit Scotland and England to meet my family out there!'

Jin suddenly turned silent. Her face froze, as if she had been struck by an unbearable thought.

When would they be able to leave? She had been keeping track of the events on the radio. Tensions between China and the United States had reached breaking point. They were talking of nothing but war, naval blockades and even nuclear strikes...

Northern Pacific, USS Ronald Reagan

October 8th. Daybreak.

The American task force was now on its way. 'Here we go for three weeks or a month, maybe more,' thought Mark Campbell, the officer in charge of transmissions aboard the aircraft carrier Ronald Reagan. He was no rookie. Like many of his fellow officers from the Naval Academy, he had taken part in recent combat missions for his country in Afghanistan and Iraq. And now he was embarking on the world's most modern and formidable combat vessel, heading for a mission of intimidation, a show of strength before the largest country of the planet, China. The order to go on that mission came while he was carrying out equipment testing and deck landing exercises off Hawaii. The Navy had decided that the task of upholding America's prestige would befall on this new flagship.

They all felt immense pride. It was a privilege to be part of their country's greatness and technological superiority. Of course, other vessels like the Nimitz and the Abraham Lincoln had in the past taken part in war theatres and certainly had better references for fulfilling this mission. But rumour had it that it was the president himself who had insisted on calling in the Ronald Reagan.

They had taken on a number of highly experienced F-18 and S-3B Viking pilots, as well as the few Seahawk SH-60F submarine hunting helicopter pilots, provisionally transferred from the Nimitz and John C. Stennis. The navy chiefs were obviously taking no risks.

To an untrained observer scrutinising the sea, there'd be no way of guessing the presence of a task force. Indeed, its vessels were so far apart as to make any one of them invisible from the deck of another. They were like planets, seemingly lost and astray in outer space and yet mutually bound to form a solar system. And, playing the role of the sun around which gravitated the US naval deployment, was the nuclear-powered aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan, codenamed CVN76, the latest behemoth to come out of the Newport News shipbuilding dockyards.

The carrier's motto was 'peace through strength', a message directed not only to potential enemies, but also to allies, reluctant friendly nations and to the rest of the world.

It summed up in a nutshell a complete doctrine applicable to all. The so-called pax Americana was to reign over the oceans, the seas and the continents... The United States left hardly any room for choice. The world had become a dangerous place, and anyone who was not on America's side was automatically on the enemy's. Woe betide anybody who does not take heed!

'That's the intention behind the motto', thought Campbell. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the saying Theodore Roosevelt liked to repeat: 'Speak softly and carry a big stick', and which he himself borrowed from ancient West African folk wisdom.

And Theodore Roosevelt received the Nobel peace Prize during his presidency, from 1901 to 1909! But, inspired by the ideas popular to the Progressive Party, he had led the battle against trusts and giant monopolies, leading to the splitting up of Rockefeller's Standard Oil in 1911. Ironically now, the USS Ronald Reagan, a big stick of 100 000 tonnes, was about to penetrate the Sea of China to protect the monopoly rights of one of the biggest stock market capitalisations, a giant that had survived all past attempts to break it up... Clearly, strength was no longer at the service of the same peace.

The Ronald Reagan was the ninth member of a family of aircraft carriers that began with the Nimitz, launched in 1972. But the new arrival featured a number of improvements, especially in its communications and arms systems.

It was a floating fortified island, 330 metres in length and almost 80 metres in breadth, as well as an underground city with 6000 sailors and airmen, and 80 aircraft, all housed beneath the top deck. The latter comprised two runways with a combined operational area of nearly 4.5 acres, mutually offset at an angle of 9.15°, leaving room in between for a command tower. The Ronald Reagan was equipped with two nuclear boilers that powered four turbine units, each one driving a respective five-blade propeller 7 metres in diameter. At full power, its speed was in excess of 30 knots.

It was escorted by seven other vessels, each ensuring its protection or supply. Together they formed the CSG, the Carrier Strike Group. The remoteness of the escort vessels was dictated by the nature of the threat. A missile cruising at mach 0.8 and fired at a range of 35 to 40 kilometres left a mere 30 seconds in which to react: precious little time. Hence the vital need to get very early warnings of imminent threats.

Foremost among these was the possibility of enemy submarines sneaking up close. To deal with this, an antisubmarine frigate was positioned some 40 kilometres astern. Two other vessels – a cruiser and a destroyer – protected the carrier's flanks 70 kilometres on either side. Further astern, an S-3B Viking plane capable of dropping sonar buoys circled a zone some 200 to 300 kilometres back and created a highly effective acoustic barrier against submarines. About 200 kilometres ahead of the carrier were two anti-aircraft cruisers equipped with an Aegis radar system for detecting attacks from fighter planes. One of these cruisers could act as a watchdog, advancing further ahead to inspect a potentially dangerous zone. At the vanguard position were two attack type of nuclear submarines; they were the watchdogs for any enemy submarines.

The support for the carrier was further ensured by the combat air patrol, CAP, with two F-18E Hornets on constant patrol, 24 hours out of 24, describing wide orbits around the vessel. This gave the Ronald Reagan the power to react immediately to an aggression. Finally, radar coverage for the entire task force was provided by an E-2 Hawkeye plane.

Among the Ronald Reagan's fleet of 80 aircraft were F-18 Hornet fighters, EA-6B Prowler radar-jamming and electronic warfare planes, S-3B Viking and E-2C Hawkeye airborne early warning (AEW) planes. The carrier also had a number of SH-60 Seahawk submarine killer helicopters.

Submarines were the aircraft carrier's worse nightmare, but these helicopters were to submarines what the mongoose is to snake: a deadly enemy. And on the island of Okinawa, where Campbell had been posted for several years, the local inhabitants had imported mongooses to fight against the dreaded habu snake.

Like every other morning, Mark got up very early for his physical workout on the carrier's deck with the other crew members. It was the only moment in the day when they could occupy that space, reckoned the most dangerous place in the world when, after sun-up, the flurry of aircraft becomes incessant.

He liked the freshness of these summer mornings in the Pacific, when the sky flared with vibrant hues of red and violet as the first rays of the sun ripped through the clouds.

Gathered in groups of 500 or 600 men, they performed their muscle warming and toning movements in strict unison, silhouetted against the semi darkness, floating on a huge pedestal alone in the middle of the ocean. They were like dancers of a ghostly corps de ballet performing on the moving stage of the world's largest theatre.

Mark Campbell had returned to the officers' mess for supper. He was greeted by George Foley, the second in command, whom he knew from previous missions.

'These crossings can get pretty boring, don't you think, George?'

'I wouldn't complain about it. In a couple of days, we'll be hitting the exclusion zone the Chinese just set up, and then things could flare up real quick...'

They made their way to the table where some familiar faces were seated.

'George, d'you happen to know anything about the strength of the Chinese navy?' asked the machine officer who ignored everything about their enemy's force.

'Not much, I have to admit... but if you ask me, I'd rather have a confrontation now than in 10 or 15 years time. Because as far as I can make out, they're arming themselves at an awesome speed. We'll have to dig deep into our pockets if we want to preserve our superiority!

For years now, China's been the world's largest arms importer, buying most of its arms from Russia. Mind you, before you get alarmed, let me remind you that our defence budget is on the order of 400 billion dollars a year!'

His last phrase did little to reassure Mark Campbell.

'What sort of planes do they have? Sukhois?'

'On the latest count, their air force and navy have about 200 home-grown versions of the Sukhoi Su-27 and some Su-30 MK2s, which are attack aircraft fitted with supersonic anti-ship missiles...'

'What about their ships?' continued Mark Campbell, now visibly concerned.

'In 2002, China began the construction of two new multi-mission 052B type stealth destroyers powered by Ukrainian-designed turbine engines. They'll be equipped with Russian SA-N-12 antiship missiles and long-range radars, also of Russian origin. They also carry some pretty awesome antisubmarine weapon systems.'

'Everything comes from Russia in that country!'

'For the time being. By just importing, they can save themselves a lot of time; but the way technology transfers are going, it won't be long before they're autonomous on that front. China has also begun constructing two other destroyers under the designation 052C, based on the design and engines of the 052B stealth models. But they're equipped with a 3D phase-array missile-guiding radar comparable to our Aegis system. These ships will take on board 48 vertical launch anti-aircraft missiles.

China also took delivery from Russia of four Sovremenny-class destroyers and placed an order for two additional ones.'

These particular vessels were their main focus of interest. They constituted the most serious threat to aircraft carriers that ventured into this region. Their eight MOSKIT SS-N-22 anti-ship missiles, known under the codename Sunburn, could carry either conventional or nuclear warheads. They had a number of rocket-launching tubes for antisubmarine warfare, two Gadfly SA-N-7 ship-to-ship missiles, several torpedo launcher tubes and 30 mm cannons. These vessels could also carry an antisubmarine warfare helicopter. With these new ships, China was thus able to impose a total blockade of Taiwan and give any intervening naval force a hard time.

'China also bought from the Russians some of their Squal type tornadoes. These travel seven times faster than classical torpedoes and are considered a big danger for US aircraft carriers. We also have to think about the Russian Yahont cruise missiles supposed to be installed on PLAN – that's the People's liberation Army-Navy – ships. They could be a real problem for our Aegis antisubmarine systems. Their speed exceeds 2500 kilometres per hour and they can strike targets up to 500 kilometres away with uncanny precision, making them a highly efficient anti-ship weapon.

It can be launched from an aircraft or even a submerged submarine, using its torpedo tubes.'

Submarines were the main danger the aircraft carrier had to face. They all knew it.

As regards submarines, China disposed of the Song class Yuanzheng vessels, or 039 under their reference, constructed at the Wuhan shipyards. They were among the most modern of their locally-built subs, manned by 10 officers and 50 sailors. Measuring 75 metres in length and 8.9 metres in diameter, they had a seven-pale propeller driven by an MTU shock-absorbing diesel-electric engine of German origin. They were equipped with YJ-82 (C-802) sea-skimming missiles, and had a top speed of 22 knots in submersion and 15 knots on the surface. But rumour had it that the sub was plagued with technical problems. Or at least that was the conclusion drawn when the Chinese later bought Russian Kilo class submarines.

The latest of the Kilos, the 636, were particularly silent and contained some of the finest examples of Russian technology, notably with their sonars and weapons systems. They were equipped with Novator Club S missile systems with a range of 288 kilometres. Four of these vessels had already entered service and China was investing in a further eight units for delivery in 2007.

They were especially intended to fight US aircraft carriers in case of conflict...

And China's arsenal did not stop there. It had also hired some Typhoon class submarines with the aim of warding off any US military assistance to Taiwan in the event of a planned invasion of that island.

China had also taken delivery of two Russian Amur-class fourth-generation diesel-powered submarines intended to be constructed under licence at a Chinese shipyard. These vessels were even more silent than their conventional Kilo class counterparts.

As regards nuclear powered vessels, China's 094 type strategic submarine posed a direct threat to the American territory. It carried Dongfeng, or DF-31, nuclear inter-continental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) and JL-2 long-range missiles capable of striking any city inside the United States with their independently targetable multiple warheads.

They were commissioned in 2002, three years ahead of schedule.

The Julang-2, or JL-2 missile, known as the Great Wave in Chinese, had a theoretical range of 10 000 kilometres. Each of the 094-type submarines could carry 12 to 16 of these weapons. The Dongfeng-31, or DF-31 (East Wind in Chinese) had a range of 7000 kilometres and could carry in its payload a three-megaton H-bomb or three conventional 90-kiloton heads.

The 093-type attack nuclear submarine was able to carry long-range cruise missiles that could be launched in submersion. It was the Chinese version of the Russian Victor III submarine and constituted a threat not only to US aircraft carriers, but to all surface vessels.

These new Chinese submarines incorporated some sophisticated Russian technology, such as the latest generation of nuclear reactors and extremely silent propellers, making them considerably difficult to detect.

With these two new types of vessel, China henceforth had the capability of extending its control to all navigation routes, not only in the South and East China Seas, but also to those used for supplying raw materials to eastern Asia and Taiwan. This would make it considerably more difficult for the United States to station its ships in the Straits of Taiwan, just off the Chinese coast, as it did in 1996.

'It's kind of scary to see this sudden rise in military power.'

'A strong China would indeed constitute an awesome potential threat to the United States towards 2015, possibly sooner.'

'If China were to become a major regional force, it would more easily be able to draw Korea into its sphere, and even force Japan to bend and accommodate its oversized neighbour. Korea and Japan could then have to demand the closure of the US bases on their soil, whereupon we would be stripped of our presence in that region.'

And during all this time, the Europeans were straining every nerve to get the embargo against arms sales to China lifted, while the US was pushing it with all its might. To the United States, it was out of the question to envisage the possibility of seeing such advanced and highly threatening weapons come into the Chinese military stockpile, which was already deemed to be too rich.

The United States certainly possessed a clear military superiority, but for how much longer?

13. The Eagle and the Dragon

'Let your plans be as obscure and impenetrable as the night.

But when you decide to move, fall onto the enemy like lightning.'

Sun Zi, The Art of War, 5th century BC.

USS Ronald Regan

October 14. 6.00 a.m.

Never before in all his previous duties had Commander Taylor been forced into such a farce. The fitness workout to which the entire crew had to take part seemed perfectly ridiculous to him. Worse, he felt he was drawn into a humiliation exercise in which the Navy airmen were transformed into ballerinas for the occasion. He had been cursing for a good hour on the flight deck, clumsily raising his legs, when he caught shot of the voice of Sanchez, an Afghanistan war veteran with whom he took part in the final assault of the Tora Bora underground base.

'Let's go, Taylor. They're waiting for us. Our aircraft are ready to patrol. Take off at eight zero twelve.'

Taylor looked at his watch, too glad to see his sufferings brought to an early end. He immediately ran inside to his quarters and jumped into his flight suit, while to Hornets rose on an elevator platform from a hangar below deck.

Ten minutes later, Taylor and Sanchez were leaving the briefing room. They climbed up into their respective cockpits, fired up the twin-jet engines and slowly taxied to their waiting positions, guided by the deck crew.

First in line, Sanchez opened the throttles to full power. A deafening roar burst into the cockpit. A few seconds later, he felt a violent kick in the back as the steam catapult began to hurl the aircraft amid a trail of dense haze. Pulled by the catapult's shoe, the Hornet was flung from standstill to 260 kilometres per hour in less than two seconds – a fleeting moment in which the pilot, crushed against his seat under four times his own weight, abandons physical contact with the carrier and finds himself staring straight up at the clear blue sky. With the afterburner, the two jet engines blew plumes of crimson flames like a Chinese dragon. The plane soared into the air and veered left after a few seconds to clear the path for his escort. 20 seconds later, the second Hornet was in turn catapulted into the air. The two fighters grouped up to continue in formation.

Mark Campbell climbed up the stairs and, still panting, entered the operations room at the top of the island.

'Captain,' he blurted, trying to catch his breath, 'I've taken the liberty of informing you personally that...'

Campbell gasped again before continuing:

'a Hawkeye's just spotted an enemy plane. It seems it took off from Dachang airbase, near Shanghai. According to its radar signature, it could be a Cub type distant-alert plane. It's heading towards our task force at a speed of 600 kilometres per hour.'

The captain turned over to Admiral Ralph Brendel who was commanding the air fleet with his on-board staff:

'Admiral, this reconnaissance plane is closing in to acquire our group's position data. We must stop it before it gets sufficiently close to pinpoint us.'

'Captain, will you please order our two F-18s to intercept. Their mission is to chase that plane back to its base. If it fails to comply, shoot it down,' he ordered in an adamant tone.

Within two minutes, the two US planes had set bearings on their target. Taylor immediately recognized the Cub: an Antonov AN-12 made under license in China with the local designation Y-8. It was advancing at its 600 kilometres per hour cruising speed at an altitude of over 7000 metres. But as the two fighter pilots were homing in on the Cub, they were overtaken by doubts.

'Leader to Zulu, do you see what I see?' asked Taylor, scarcely believing his eyes.

The Cub was not the Y-8J model that they had been expecting. An enormous rectangular radar antenna, at least 5 metres in span, was mounted on the back of the plane.

'What's that! It looks like a Hawkeye!' Sanchez replied.

Taylor confirmed what they were both suspecting.

'It's an AWACS. And it's fitted with a high-precision, long-distance radar by the looks of it.'

Taylor immediately contacted the aircraft carrier.

'Leader to Ronnie, it's an AWACS. I repeat: the Chinese have sent us an AWACS! Awaiting instructions. Are we to eliminate? Please confirm.'

But no answer came on their radio channel.

In the command centre aboard the Ronald Reagan, silence gave way to a sudden burst of effervescence. The chief Admiral of the Fleet, who was also the officer in command of tactical operations, was making rapid exchanges with his officers regarding the Chinese radar plane identified by the two Hornets. The intelligence officer was pointing to photos of the plane displayed on the large LCD screen.

'This is what we were expecting, a Y-8J, easily recognizable by its oversized rounded black nose that dips downward. It has good avionics, but it's no match for our Hawkeye. Even if it turned out to be an Airborne Early Warning system, its range would be limited to 200 kilometres, thus making it incapable of acquiring a complete overall coverage of our operations theatre. And this is what our guys have just intercepted! It now appears the Chinese possess a true AWACS. They'd been seeking to obtain one from foreign sources. Failing to find one on the market, they obviously managed to knock up a home-grown AWACS.'

Using his small metal rule as a pointer, the intelligence officer indicated the radar antenna on the back of the plane.

'What you see here is something the Chinese developed themselves. It is built around a Y-8, which is their own version of the Antonov AN-12. According to our records, it carries a phase-array scanning radar. That's the large rectangle you see fixed on the airframe by a series of struts. It's backed up by a second radar, also a phase array, whose window is under the airframe...'

'What's the capability of its airborne radar?' snapped the Admiral.

'It is difficult to say, Admiral, but if the Chinese chose to send us its AWACS, we can assume they're pretty confident of its performance. You can be sure it has a range of over 500 kilometres.'

The Admiral winced, as if someone had suddenly stabbed him in the abdomen.

'So, we have to conclude that our entire fleet has been located...'

'Negative, leader. Just send it back home and keep taking pictures.'

Sanchez and Taylor circled broadly round of the plane, and then flanked it on either side, wing against wing. They were sufficiently close to see the four pilots and the flight engineer in the Y-8's cockpit. But the crew gave no sign of reacting, as if they wanted to gain time and get as close as possible to the US task force. Inside the airframe, there must have been at least 10 radar operators scrutinizing their respective screens, trying to locate each vessel.

'Leader to Zulu, our friend needs a wake-up call. Sound the alarm!'

'Understood, leader.'

Sanchez's Hornet broke away to describe a loop. He cut the path of the Chinese plane, at the same time firing his Vulcan M61 20 mm cannon. The message could not have been clearer. It was the last warning fire before more radical measures. His cannon was sufficient to down the big Cub; there was no need to set off one of the Sidewinder missiles mounted on his wingtips.

The Chinese captain understood there was no point in insisting any longer. He began to veer westwards, losing a bit of altitude, then straightened on a south-west bearing, apparently heading back to its base. The two Hornets escorted it for a full 20 minutes without entering Chinese airspace. Then they radioed to the aircraft carrier.

'The bird's returned to its nest. Request permission to return to base.'

'Okay leader, you can come back. We're watching your customer on our screens.'

The two Hornets left their prey. They broke formation and set bearings to the USS Ronald Regan.

Aboard the Yunshu-8, everyone had kept their calm as the thunder of the two US fighter jets broke loose, drowning the din of the Chinese aircraft's four turboprops. The Hornets had squeezed in tight, and even left them a few holes as a memento. But they have scored a victory. Inside the plane, eight radar operators glued to their screens had managed to locate the American task force vessels with excellent precision. Knowing the initial trajectory, the specialists at the Chinese HQ would be able to trace the aircraft carrier's route with adequate precision over the following five hours. They had even sent the position information in real time to relay stations on the continent, which in turn immediately forwarded it to the headquarters.

Langley, CIA headquarters.

Lorna Green was beaming. It was miraculous. A satellite happened to be in the field of reception at the very moment when the tiny tell-tale transmitter was sending its signal. They had just detected the presence of Tom Bailey.

She unfolded a large map on her desk. Her eyes were not deceiving her. It was indeed a monastery, Taoist according to the symbol legend. Without waiting, she rang Stenton in Beijing, oblivious of the local time there.

'We've found him. He's in the Hubei, 400 miles from Xi'an as the crow flies.'

The announcement was met with a dull groan.

'Stenton, are you there?' asked Lorna assuming a dry and rasping voice.

'Yes Lorna. Yes, I'm here. What's going on?'

'Would your contacts still be interested in a deal, despite the war? We've found Tom.'

'Hardly likely. Now they'll want to keep the computer scientist and place him on public trial with maximum international press coverage, so they could afterwards brag to the entire world about how they caught an American spy.'

'Stenton, we must recover him before the Chinese do. Do you have enough men in the field?'

'Yes.'

'Well then, I want you to mount a commando operation. Tom is in a Hubei monastery, far from the cities. I shouldn't think there's anything to fear.'

'We'll need a precise topological survey of the area.'

'I'll get our observation satellites to fly over the zone. Will a position down to 5 inches been all right for you?'

Headquarters of the People's liberation Army

October 14, 11:30 a.m.

The army chief of staff, surrounded by the highest dignitaries of the Central Military Commission, was waiting for the president. An American anti-aircraft and antisubmarine protection frigate had broken through the 200-mile exclusion zone China decided to impose against all military vessels and aircraft. They were 160 kilometres ahead of the Ronald Regan aircraft carrier, and must therefore be preceded by one – possibly two – assault type nuclear submarines.

The 200-mile limiting line was clearly not in the same league as the Great Wall of China. It had not managed to hold back the American armada. President Ren had to face up to his responsibilities.

'Mr. President, one of our AWACS detector planes has located the flotilla with extreme precision before being intercepted by enemy fighters. It returned to base without any serious damage. The carrier-based task force initially marked a pause before entering the Sea of China, no doubt fearing an ambush. A frigate set off first as a scout to patrol the zone, and was then followed by other vessels in its progress. We are now in a position to confirm that the Americans have crossed the exclusion line.'

The awaited verdict had fallen. The United States had begun the hostilities. The war had entered into its active phase.

'How far is the aircraft carrier?'

'According to position data received half an hour ago, it is within 100 kilometres from the exclusion line. In the last 48 hours, we ordered four of our submarines to go on a mission. They've just received the target's coordinates. We await your instructions.'

The President looked attentively at the positions of the vessels displayed before him on a large projection screen. The target, at the centre of the cluster, was clearly distinguishable by its bright scintillating echo dominating the others.

'It's time to place all our armed forces in a state of maximum alert.'

The army chief of staff immediately passed on the order.

'Place all our strategic forces on alert, ordered the President without departing from his natural calm.

'Our skies are continuously observed by American satellites... Every one of our movements will be known to them in real time, observed a general. But the latter bowed down upon noticing that the general in chief in command of the strategic forces had already accepted the President's decision without batting an eyelid.'

'Order our submarines to take on the aircraft carrier,' he commanded, without taking any heed of the general's faint-hearted observations.

The chief of staff gave a sign to the admiral in Chief of the Naval forces, who returned a nod of acknowledgement.

'Our vessels have been ready for the past two days. We sent out four submarines. Two nuclear powered vessels, both belonging to our new type 093 class, plus an old 091, which went ahead as a scout. The fourth is our latest-generation 'Kilo' class submarine. Our first submarine, the 091, will reach the exclusion zone by mid-afternoon.' It was Admiral Liang in person who had conceived this strategy.

The deadline date was getting closer. In just a few hours, the crisis would be about to reveal its true nature.

The chairman of the military commission, Liu Rong, broke the heavy silence that had fallen among those present.

'We have prepared a communiqué in which the People's Republic of China confirms that a foreign naval power has violated the exclusion zone it established. This constitutes a deliberate act of aggression. China shall not hesitate to use its nuclear arsenal to enforce the respect of its territorial integrity.

It is capital that American and world opinion clearly understand that China is the victim of aggression, and that the ensuing consequences can be of the utmost gravity. We must raise the tension, for the threat of a nuclear strike remains our first defence. But we must also be prepared to engage our navy and air force to defend our territory. If the Americans take us on, will make them pay for our losses.'

The president got up from his seat, prompting his chiefs of staff to do likewise.

West China Sea

Chinese navy submarine 'Han'

October 14, 12 p.m.

Captain Huang knew he would be the first to arrive at the target. He was the commander of the 'Changzheng,' a Chinese 091-type, first-generation assault type nuclear submarine, codenamed 'Han' by NATO. It was his task to confront the American air-sea forces that had just crossed the exclusion zone imposed by the government of China.

The military HQ had sent him both the coordinates and the most probable trajectory of his target. The latter was the 'Ronald Regan,' the latest aircraft carrier to come out of the American shipyards. Huang searched across the bank of sonar screen consoles. It was going to be quite some challenge to cross the curtain of submarine detectors dropped by the US task force. For a start, it meant diving to a depth of at least 200 metres.

He turned to his sonar operator.

'Still no signal?'

'Nothing at all, sir. Not even a whale.'

His sonar equipment was able to pick up the noise from other submarines or surface vessels without even sending a tell-tale sound signal to its potential targets. This 'one-way-only' detection was their only guarantee of discretion – and survival. But the submarine was showing its age. It was due to be replaced by 093 submarines, of which two were already in service. One of them was following approximately 100 kilometres behind, together with 2 Kilos – conventional diesel-electric powered submarines that were nevertheless remarkably silent. Huang would dearly have loved to say as much for his own craft.

And yet the chiefs of staff had chosen to place his sub at the vanguard position. They surely had good reasons for this.

USS Ronald Reagan

October 14, 2 p.m.

Admiral Brendel was satisfied with the situation. For the time being, everything was going rather well. The approaches to the West China Sea had been thoroughly explored by his two 'watchdogs', as he called his detection frigates, and by attack submarine SSN Charlotte, all reporting that no Chinese vessel had been detected.

But he knew it would not be long before the Chinese fleet would rear its head; it was inconceivable that China would remain passive in front of a violation of their so-called exclusion zone. The Chinese were forced to engage in contact, and thereby fall under the accusation of attacking the American fleet in international waters! They were thus caught in a trap of their own making.

Now it was the American aircraft carrier's turn to cross the 200 mile line. It was going to mark a pause, waiting for an anticipated Chinese reaction.

Lieutenant Mark Campbell brought him the news he had been waiting for.

'Admiral, the Princeton has just detected a hostile submarine 95 miles from the Ronald Reagan in sector 5-3-8.'

Without delay, the Admiral turned to his second officer. It was now urgent to install a barrage of acoustic buoys.

'Send out a Viking and drop of 16 buoys 50 miles ahead of our position.'

The subsonic twinjet, geared for antisubmarine warfare, was already on the flight deck. Its crew that was just waiting for the plane to be taxied and placed against the catapult.

20 minutes later, the plane was over the announced sector and dropped a single line of sonar buoys so as to form a protective barrage ahead of the task force.

Upon hitting the water, each buoy separated into two parts: a floater which remained on the surface and housed a transmitter for the radio link with the aircraft, and a 400-gramme metal cylinder containing a hydrophone. Once submerged, the latter remained connected to the buoy via a reeled cable. The hydrophone emitted an acoustic waveform that could be reflected by the submarine if it came within its active range.

'Admiral, the Viking has just detected an intrusion in the sector 5-3-8. It was a signal from one of its sonar buoys; it must be a Chinese submarine. It immediately moved away you when it realized it was spotted.'

Serious business was about to begin. The Admiral turned to George Foley, his second in command

'Which of our submarines are in the vicinity?'

'The Princeton to the south is the nearest one to the zone. To the north, the Charlotte can be there in under two hours.'

'I want you to direct both these vessels immediately to that sector. And discretion is the operative word. Put out the order to use only the passive sonars. And send out to Seahawks from the Princeton.

'Admiral, we've been able to classify our targets from the sonar signals: it's a Han,' cut in Campbell. 'It's the Chinese 091 type attack nuclear submarine.'

Captain Foley made no mystery of his surprise.

'A Han! Jeez, I thought these vessels were decommissioned years ago! They encountered their worst problems during their final testing back in the 80s – leakage from the nuclear boiler, if I remember right.'

'According to our information, there were two left in service. But it must be their swan song, because the new 093-type generation now appears operational.'

'The 093's definitely more furtive, but it's nothing more than a good old Russian Victor III from the 80s, too. Nothing that can outdo our detection systems. You'll soon see the Chinese go begging to their Russian friends for their Akulas.

Foley was chortling heartily, as if – with pardonable tunnel vision – the whole outcome could only concern his own vessel. For it was true that the Americans had developed awesomely effective submarine detection technology. Their sonars and data processors that could recognize a Typhoon and distinguish a Delta from an Alpha or a Charlie. But the Admiral had been expecting a more precise and balanced form of response from the captain.

'Gentlemen, all this doesn't explain why the Chinese are sending us a craft they know perfectly well we're bound to detect the moment it leaves its mooring.'

'Because they want to keep their best vessels to pursue the operations,' suggested Foley, in a somewhat haughty tone, before adding more seriously that he would not be surprised if two or three Kilos were lurking around at that very moment, not less than 100 kilometres from their positions.

But the Admiral was still not satisfied by the viewpoint adopted by his second-in-command.

'My opinion's that the Chinese have chosen to deliberately sacrifice that submarine. It's going to take every possible risk and try to force a passage to compel us to sink it.'

'And force us into the role of the aggressors!'

Foley was no longer laughing. Neither was the Admiral.

'The Chinese know only too well that they're in a position of inferiority both in the air and at sea. Their strategy is to pose as the victims, even at the price of sacrificing on the way a few Sukhoi's, or some of their missile launching frigates. And at the same time they're escalating the risk of a nuclear conflict.'

'What are we to do about this Han?'

'No need to rush, time is on our side. We'll begin by harassing it. If it backs away, let it return to its base. If it forces through our barrages, then sink it. That's an order.'

USS Princeton

October 14, 2:30 p.m.

'The guys aboard of the Charlotte are going to have a whale of a time following that old crate! It sounds like my grandma's coffee grinder!,' quipped the Princeton's sonar officer, who had no trouble in classifying the Chinese vessel by its giveaway signature.

Two SH-60 Seahawk helicopters took off from Princeton's platform. 30 minutes later, they were inside the zone with sufficient fuel for four hours' mission.

The first one began to hover about 20 metres over the sea's surface and dropped its AQS-13F submersible sonar. The latter was suspended from a 500 metre cable, more than long enough to reach down to the submersion depth of even the most modern submarines. The helicopter's autopilot locked into a perfectly stable hovering mode. The sonar sank to a depth of 100 metres. No sooner had it emitted its acoustic signal in all directions that it picked up an echo signalling that the Han was on a new bearing. It was now heading south, attempting to bypass the barrage of buoys. It's a tactic was doomed to failure. It was now stalked not only by the two helicopters, but also by the Princeton and the Charlotte.

The second Seahawk followed a path that took it head-on against the submarine's position. It then hovered and dropped its sonar to a depth of 150 metres, bombarding the Han with acoustic impacts. It repeated this procedure several times in succession. Upon hearing these active acoustic energy emissions, the submarine once more changed bearing while maintaining its depth of 200 metres.

The sub was clearly not going to give in. It traced large curves to escape from the range of the sonars. But its derisory speed of 20 knots was no match for the helicopter's 300 km per hour capability. The game was completely one-sided.

The pilot of a second Seahawk began to show signs of nervousness.

'We'll soon have to go back to base, our fuel level's getting low,' he announced to his tactics officer.

'Its seventeen hundred hours. We'll return to base in fifteen minutes.'

'I hate these long drawn out agonies; let's kill it now and get it over and done with!' pleaded the pilot.

'We have orders not to sink it. Up till now it's always retreated from us.'

'Just one nice little torpedo and it'll be game over.'

The Seahawk carried two MK-50 light torpedoes mounted on outboard pylons. Although only 2.7 metres long and 30 cm in diameter, they spelt certain death for any submarine that came in their way. An active acoustic, self-homing device was mounted inside the nose, coupled with a passive acoustic guiding system. They could charge towards their prey at over 70 kilometres per hour. There was simply no escape from such a weapon. A submarine that was detected, identified and located was a dead submarine. All the helicopter had to do was to place itself straight above the enemy vessel, drop its missile and move away. To have any chance of escaping, the submarine would need either a highly sophisticated electronic countermeasures systems that would override the torpedo's own guiding devices, or equally complex decoys – none of which China was likely to possess.

If the order to fire were given, they could sink the Han in a few minutes. But no such order came through.

'We're going back now, the relief party's on its way; the new choppers'll be here in 10 minutes and the Charlotte's right close.'

The American fleet had ample means to play cat and mouse with the Han all night long if needs be.

Chinese navy submarine Han

15th October, 2:15 a.m.

Captain Huang did his best to hide the overwhelming tiredness that had gripped him. He had to show the example to his officers and crew. A superhuman task after the long hours of intense stress.

Shortly before 2 p.m., he fell upon the barrage of acoustic buoys as he was heading east. He was about 150 miles off the coast and first crossed that barrage when heading for the aircraft carrier. Now the sub was turning back on its heels. The nightmare began just after 3 p.m.. The US helicopters with their active sonars had stalked him without respite, relaying each other one another above the ocean to track it down.

He was the snake confronted by the crane, as in the legend of Chang Sanfeng, the ancient Taoist monk who invented Chinese martial arts back in the 12th century. According to the tale, the bird would open its wings and swoop to attack the reptile with its powerful beak. But the snake would always dodge away with slick circular movements. Over and over again the crane would strike, the snake each time slipping out of its predator's clutches, and so the combat lasted, all through the night, without there being a winner or a loser.

And there he was, inside his miserable steel snake, immersed 200 metres down inside the ice cold depths, describing circles, curves and loops. Meanwhile, above the surface, the mechanical bird brimming with thunder and fire was dipping its deadly beak in its search. But there ended the analogy: the forces were all too evidently uneven.

Water – cold – dodging away: all the yin characteristics were on his side. The yang – fire, heat, attack – was with the Americans! Once more, he ordered a new manoeuvre, this time a change of bearing to the north. The sonar officer had just spotted a new trace.

'Captain, come and look, I think we have visitors. This trace doesn't come from the helicopter sonars. It looks like a submarine, probably a Los Angeles class.'

The Han was caught in a trap between the active buoys, the helicopters and now a US nuclear submarine.

USS Charlotte

October 15, 2:50 a.m.

Inside his submarine submerged to depth of 150 metres, Captain Nathan Kirchner had been tracking his prey for over 10 hours. At last he had the Han on his sonar screen. The Chinese sub had been darting around to escape from the Seahawk. But, like a goldfish in an aquarium, it kept coming up against an invisible wall, in this case the curtains of sonars. And yet it never gave up, forever refusing to retreat and always dodging the attacks. Was this what they were taught at the Chinese naval academy?

In any case, these were perfectly useless manoeuvres to the rational mind of the US captain. Just what was the Han up to? Surely it could not seriously expect to come head to head with a United States Navy aircraft carrier of the?

Kirchner had placed his vessel on maximum alert. Its arms systems were primed, the Han's coordinates entered in real-time into the weapons computer system, and the torpedo launching tubes were readied. They just needed the captain's orders to deliver their weapons.

The Charlotte kept a chaste distance from the Chinese submarine to avoid being detected by the latter – not an easy task, the way the Han kept darting from one bearing to another. He knew that his opponent's detection capabilities well, and was fully aware of exactly how close he could safely get.

'Captain, how much longer are we to play this cat-and-mouse game? They seem to want to go on for ever. Do they really think we'll give up?' mused the second officer.

Kirchner understood his officer's feelings. This close-quarters surveillance hardly made sense.

'We have orders not to fire all the while the enemy sub doesn't cross the barrage and simply continues to dodge the sonars. Spare a thought for our guys up in the choppers. They've been relaying each other for the past 12 hours!'

Chinese navy submarine Han

October 15, 2:55 a.m.

That American submarine had been stalking it for hours. It was now vital to get out of its reach. For a moment, Captain Huang turned his mind off the shrill sound of the sonars that had been piercing his ears for the past 12 hours. The presence of the enemy submarine had become his foremost preoccupation. More speed was needed. He gave the orders to his second officer.

'Captain, our engines are already pushed very hard and our vibration levels are uncomfortably high,' answered the latter with undisguised concern.

Huang would not be discouraged so easily. He set his mind racing for a few moments before ordering:

'Push the power to absolute maximum. I want over 25 knots.'

The second officer passed on the order to the engine room.

'Where's the Los Angeles,' asked the sonar officer.

'7.6 miles inside sector 2-8-5: at a depth of 160 metres, Captain.'

The vibrations were now booming throughout the hull.

'Speed?'

'24 knots, sir.'

'New position of the Los Angeles?'

'Impossible to tell, sir. I can't pick up any signal.'

The Han had been maintaining a speed of almost 27 knots for over 15 minutes.

'Where's the American vessel?' insisted Huang.

'I've lost him, sir.'

They had to keep up the effort. The vibrations were now a problem. They were interfering with their detectors, and the very low frequency drone of the machinery was wearing down the nervous systems of the crew, already severely weakened by the tension of the past hours.

At that moment, a violent shock rocked the vessel. The submarine jarred, seemed to grind to a standstill for a fleeting moment, and then started to drop like a brick, its nose dipping straight towards the lower depths. In the space of a few seconds, the keel angle flipped from zero to 40°. Huang and his officers were flung forward, losing their footing and tumbling uncontrollably under their weight.

Huang painfully managed to pick himself up, a flood of questions chasing away his grogginess. What exactly could have caused this? Had they been hit while attempting to escape from the US submarine? Why was there no explosion?

Clasping the pair of handles on the periscope turret, he scanned the scene around him to evaluate the damage. The sonar officer lay motionless on the ground. His head had struck violently against a sonar console, knocking him unconscious. A deep wound from his temple was pulsing out a pool of blood. The second officer was nursing his right arm, wincing with pain. He yelled:

'Captain, our depth's 310 metres!'

Huang grabbed hold of the microphone.

'Calling machine room. Stop propulsion. Reverse engines at full power!'

Then he enquired:

'Damage report.'

The last syllable of his voice was followed by the heavy silence against the background hiss of the speakers. Precious seconds elapsed. Then there broke out a voice, stammering, pregnant with fear.

'Captain... the hydraulics... the rear fin hydraulics... they're dead. Control bars jammed... We've lost all control. Injured crew all around me...'

The second officer was screaming, while cracking sounds were heard from all along the hull. There was a long, echoing, groaning sound as the steel structure was buckling under the pressure.

'Captain, depth now 440 metres! Awaiting emergency instructions!'

'Flush out all ballasts,' ordered Huang after a heavy pause.

The Han was gliding towards the abysses at a speed of 14 metres per second. The submarine was now an agonising mass of continually screaming metal splitting at every rivet. The compressed air flasks, under a pressure of 250 bars, forced out the sea water from the ballasts as the latter filled with air.

'Captain!' The second officer's voice seemed to be pleading.

Huang, almost resigned, picked up the microphone.

'Drop the safety weights...'

It was too late. The depth gauge was by then displaying 540 metres. The reactor's cooling circuit was beginning to weaken under the external pressure. A razor like sheet of water cut its way across the central control room, amid screams of terror relayed by each of the Tannoy system's speakers. Huang tried to spare a final thought for his wife and only son. But his brain refused to bring them to mind. Everything was fading away all too quickly.

At 600 metres depth, the ocean is calm, silent and as cold as steel. The submarine slid with uncanny grace into its abyssal grave. There was a final, dull, booming crack, followed by the deadened sound of an explosion. An enormous air bubble broke out from the carcass. It seemed to float for a fraction of a second before being whisked away to the surface.

All that remained of the Han and its crew was now for ever sealed in the ocean's bosom.

USS Charlotte

October 15, 3:10 a.m.

Captain Kirchner was tracking the Han on the screen, looking over the shoulder of his sonar officer.

'Captain it's again switched direction – the Chink doesn't know whether he's coming or going!'

'He's out to give us a sleepless night, you'd better get used to the idea...'

The Charlotte was proceeding to mimic the Han's manoeuvres with a slight time lag when a second officer once more called out to his captain.

'Sir, it's just accelerated. It was at 23 knots, and now it's moved up to 27. Do you think it's spotted us?'

'Possible, we were following him from pretty close behind. They have sonars too, remember. But what the hell... without realising it, it's now heading straight towards a Seahawk!'

The captain was pacing silently round his cabin, immersed in his thoughts, wondering if he would ever receive the order to destroy that Han with its insolently long submerged range. He was brutally brought back to the present by a short, shrill cry of awe coming from his right.

'Captain, quick, come and look. The Chinese sub's suddenly begun to dip down.'

The officer was pressing his headphones against his ears with both hands, intrigued by what he was hearing.

'Listen to this!'

He had turned a knob, and now the signal picked up by the sonar came through all the speakers of the operations room. Cracking sounds were distinctly audible through the background hum.

'They're at a depth of 500 metres. It's crazy!'

The following events lasted only a few seconds. There was another cracking sound – more drawn out than the others – then the muffled roar of an explosion that sounded more like a rapid crunching of metal objects, finally followed by the gurgle of bubbles rising to the surface.

And then silence, brought into dramatic perspective by the gentle ripple of the ocean's background noise.

Everyone had perfectly deciphered the signals. For some unexplained reason, the Han had vanished from their monitors and imploded at a depth of 600 metres. An accidental failure, no doubt. All the faces expressed the same feeling of gravity. The Chinese submarine had stood up to them for twelve consecutive hours without giving up. Its disappearance was due to accidental circumstances.

'How many men aboard the Han?' enquired Kirchner.

'70, 75, muttered the second officer.'

He had to report immediately to the Ronald Reagan.

'Bring us up to periscope depth,' he ordered, so that the submarine could engage radio communication with the aircraft carrier.

'Break radio silence and transmit the information. Send them the sonar recording.'

The weather forecast announced a severe low-pressure front over the zone. It was no time to drop guard.

Hubei Province

Taoist monastery

October 15, 3:30 a.m.

A dog began to bark in the night. A second one followed suit. Hua turned over in his bed. Won't these blessed dogs ever let him sleep? Weren't dogs meant to be man's best friend, not there to ruin his sleep? In any case, he had only been sleeping with one eye since sheltering these two protégés over the past two weeks.

Master Zhou had asked him to take care of them, and he was committed to do so, even at the cost of his own life. After all, Jin had learned martial arts, Thai Chi and meditation with her venerable master Chang at Luoyang. She appeared to be deeply in love with that American, Tom, a man who had won the hearts of everyone at the monastery.

But why were these dogs barking? That was odd indeed. He picked up his watch and held it before his eyes. The green luminous hands indicated three-thirty. He resolved to get up and inspect the central courtyard. The dogs had suddenly turned silent. Strange too.

Walking alongside the walls of the building beneath the overhanging roof tiles, he stumbled upon a dark mass. Dropping down on his knees to look, he realised it was a dog. He ran his fingers over its fur and felt a warm viscous liquid. Blood! The dog was dead, apparently killed by a weapon.

Hua sounded the alarm. He drew out a slender whistle from his pocket and blew out a long, shrill sound to arouse the other monks. Before he could finish, a dozen policemen in commando gear sprang out of the shadows and ran towards the monastery's central courtyard, while others were encircling the buildings.

'This is the police! Don't offer any resistance! You are surrounded! Hand over your two fugitives!' came a heavily distorted voice from a megaphone.

Hua instantly slipped away through a concealed flight of steps. A bullet whistled uncomfortably close to his ears and smashed against the stone wall.

'Quick, help Jin and the American escape!,' he kept repeating to himself.

He darted up the steps four at the time, pelted along a series of narrow corridors and finally came to the door where his two guests were sleeping.

'No time to lose, the police have surrounded the whole monastery. Follow me...'

The couple hastily gathered their belongings and ran behind Hua.

'All the exits are cut off. We'll have to try the passage from the North face. It gives onto a deep scarp on the mountains,' whispered Hua.

They climbed up several stairways until they reached a wooden terrace that dominated the valley.

'But how are we to get down?,' despaired Tom as he leant over the wooden parapet.

There was a drop of over 1000 metres to the small river that could just be made out at the bottom of the gorge, its surface catching the moon's rays.

Hua urged them on:

'Help me! Quick! We can only hold back the police 10 minutes at the most!'

They heard some rifle shots coming up from the central courtyard. The monks were clearly offering more than token resistance to the assailants' advance.

From a dark corner of the terrace, Hua began to heave a dense bundle measuring about three metres in length, covered in cloth. Together, they rushed to unfold it. There were aluminium tubes, light fabric, two harnesses...

'A hang glider!' exclaimed Tom.

Jin was scarcely surprised. All this bore Zhou's hallmarks.

They hastily assembled the different elements and were ready within a few minutes.

'Hua, how could I ever thank you enough! I'll never forget what you did for us!'

'Please, go, I beg of you!'

They slipped on their respective harnesses and Hua ripped off a few boards of the wooden parapet to open up a passage for them. They were ready to leap into the void. The large delta wing almost immediately puffed up under the wind and dived into the valley, whistling through the air as it carried them. Gradually, the liquid reflections from the moon became more distinct.

They remained airborne in the night sky for nearly a quarter of an hour, Jin keeping her eyes trained on the distant plain at the mouth of the valley. They were scouting for a suitable landing site.

They pushed the hang-glider's wishbone, causing the craft to nose up. Their feet hit the ground; they tried to run to follow the advancing ground, but their speed was still too great. They lunged and tripped forward, causing the front wing to dip and dig itself into the ground. Nothing dramatic – just an amateurish landing. In no time they had freed themselves from their harness and dismantled the glider. They scampered to the nearest patch of woods to find a hiding place.

Jin beamed Zhou a message. Their hideout had been stormed by the police. They were once again on the run and awaiting instructions.

Chinese navy submarine Kilo

October 15, 3:30 a.m.

Captain Meng of the People's Republic Navy had been watching the combat – from afar, discreetly, undetected. His Kilo submarine was staying a safe 200 kilometres from the hostilities, but his passive sonar missed nothing of the affray. He was without any news of the 091 for 20 minutes now.

The 091's operating zone had been the theatre of intense activity, probably involving antisubmarine warfare helicopters and even sonar buoys. His Kilo had been the silent witness of an interminable attack. The 091 of his comrade Huang, being at the vanguard, must have been spotted. His vessel was noisy. Too noisy. And their HQ had exploited that weakness to create a decoy for the Americans, who had indeed made it the object of their focus.

Its successor, the 093, had recently been commissioned and was taking part in the mission. Although technologically superior to the 091, it was still years behind its US counterpart in terms of detection capabilities.

What happened to the Han? Its sudden sonar silence gave rise to the worst fears. His comrade had not fled. He was certain of that. His sense of duty was beyond reproach. His chances must have been slim, caught in a pincer by the US helicopters.

There now remained just the two Yuanzhengs, dubbed 'Kilo' by the Americans. The Chinese Navy had bought ten of them from the Russians. Captain Meng's craft was of the latest generation 'project 636' type. It was one of the world's most silent and discreet conventional submarines. Classical propellers create cavitation effects when they rotate, giving rise to acoustic tell-tale noises. The answer is therefore to use large-diameter propellers with more blades, allowing slower rotational speeds and thus reduced detection risk. Those of the Kilo adopted that approach with remarkable effectiveness.

As the adage goes, 'a detected submarine is a dead submarine'. On the other hand, an undetected submarine posed a real threat to aircraft carriers. Silence and sonar discretion were thus the foremost qualities required of a combat submarine.

Meng was in the operations room.

'Weather report!' he ordered.

'Very heavy gale warning,' captain.

'Which direction? I want the speed of the weather front.'

'Heading towards us at 20 knots, sir.'

The advancing weather front had given him an idea. If he rose back to near the surface, staying at periscope depth, then he may have a reasonable chance of slipping through unnoticed! The enemy radars would be unable to detect the periscope in the background of waves. At least, that was what he was hoping. And, at such a shallow depth, the noise of the waves should mask his submarine's acoustic signature. Under these conditions, even the sophisticated American signal processors would be unable to extract anything from the background noise. He could then advance furtively towards the US flotilla.

The deteriorating sea conditions at the surface were giving him a chance to go through unnoticed. It was a crazy idea. For, even if he ever managed to pierce through the protective curtain, he would never get close enough to the aircraft carrier to be within torpedo range. And, even if by some miracle he managed to get that close, the submarine would be spotted straight away and sunk by killer submarines. They had next to no hope of returning safely from that mission.

He chased away that thought from his mind. Nothing was to make him waver from his decision.

'Submersion to periscope depth, bearing north-north-east,' he ordered in his strident voice.

The rough sea was causing the submarine to roll. The gale force nine winds on the Beaufort scale generated wave amplitudes of several metres. The crossing was going to be no pleasure cruise.

It lasted over six hours, during which incessant cracking sounds reminded the crew of the tremendous stress the sea was exerting. Above them, in the sky, US detector planes were surely also flying despite those appalling weather conditions. At each moment, they expected to hear the acoustic shock of an enemy sonar bouncing off the sub's steel hull. That would then sound the death knell, announcing the end of the expedition, the craft, and all its crew. The men were silent, all absorbed in their task and hiding their anxiety. They were all well aware that they were going it alone, a small craft, taking on a task force belonging to the Navy of the world's most powerful military power of all time. A lone ranger, a foolhardy knight charging, lance in hand, to the assault of the enemy armies.

'Captain, the weather front's moved away.'

By then, they were at least 80 miles away from the aircraft carrier. Without resurfacing, they had to examine the horizon.

'Raise the periscope,' he ordered.

He flipped over the handles to the horizontal position and brought his eyes to the binoculars. The sky was clear with a milky-blue hue. But the sea remained agitated, with three-metre waves blocking his view in rapid cycles. He scanned the horizon through a full 360°. There was nothing in sight. And yet they were right in the centre of the American flotilla.

'Captain, I think I've got a signal at 0-8-3.'

He turned the periscope to the direction just indicated by his sonar officer. Nothing was in sight. He waited for the waves to give him a clear view up to the edge of the horizon and looked again, scrutinising even harder. His eyes suddenly caught sight of a tiny black rectangle that must have been no more than a dozen kilometres away. A US vessel, towering above the water, came into sight.

His heart missed a beat. It was the aircraft carrier! How on earth could he have got so close? They must have both navigated towards each other, their relative courses bringing them to close proximity.

He had to act quickly if he was to fire his torpedoes before being detected. He turned to his artificer to initiate a launch sequence. He gave him the target's azimuth and range, which the artificer duly entered into the arms system's calculator.

The submarine was equipped with 18 torpedoes, six of which were preloaded in their tubes, the remaining 12 being stored on supporting racks. He decided to fire two conventional 53-65KE torpedoes and one wire-guided TEST-71MKE type. The former were Russian models that were totally autonomous after firing. They had active and passive sonar acoustic guidance systems, an electromagnetic detonator and a second, contact type, inertial detonator. These torpedoes were powered by gas turbines that ran on kerosene and oxygen. As for the wire guided torpedo, also of Russian origin, it unwound a wire whose length could reach several tens of kilometres. This wire let it remain in permanent contact with the submarine's control system. The TEST-71 MKE was considerably more silent owing to its battery-driven electric motor propulsion. Moreover, its totally discreet remote guidance system allowed the operator to control its path right up to the target. In this way, the operator was free to change targets after launch and steer the torpedo manually, much like in a video game. The 53-65KE and TEST-71 MKE both weighed nearly 2 tons and carried an explosive charge of 200 kg – sufficient to pierce even the toughest of armours. This put them in the category of heavy torpedoes, with a length of over 7 m for a diameter of 50 cm.

Through the interphone link to the torpedo section at the submarine's bow, the artificer ordered his men to activate torpedo launch tubes 1, 2 and 6.

The torpedo crew began a routine of connecting the designated torpedoes to the fire control computer, balancing the water pressure inside the tubes with the outside and opening their exit shutters. They were now ready to launch.

The computer evaluated the travel time at eight minutes. The torpedoes' respective inertial guidance gyroscopes were set into rotation. These were the devices that gave the reference axis on which to fix the target's bearing.

Meng ordered:

'Tubes one and two, fire!'

The artificer pressed the corresponding buttons of his firing console, triggering the pneumatic actuators that propelled the torpedoes out of their tubes.

'Torpedo one launched. Torpedo two launched,' confirmed the artificer.

The captain waited about half a minute before ordering the launch of the wire-guided torpedo.

'Tube six. Fire!'

'Torpedo six launched!'

The second officer started the stopwatch he was holding in his left hand. It was the start of eight long nerve-wracking minutes of hoping and waiting for a hit.

'Two minutes,' announced the second officer.

He was tracking the progress of the wire-guided torpedo on his video display console. Its trajectory was good, and it was starting to get close enough to its target for the on-board passive sonar to pick up the aircraft carrier's noise.

The sub was pounded by heavy waves, and all had to hold tight under the rolling movements.

'Five minutes.'

The men were all stock still, frozen in suspense. From the machine room to the missile compartment, all the faces were tense, eyes searching each other anxiously.

'Seven minutes.'

The last moments seemed to go on for ever.

'Eight minutes,' announced the second officer.

From that moment on, each passing second gnawed away the hope of hitting their target. However, the sonar operator, headphones riveted to his ears, remained uncannily silent. Everybody understood. The two torpedoes had missed their targets. Or else they had stopped short, fallen prey to a breakdown in their propulsion system.

Their gazes turned to the artificer controlling the wire guided torpedo on his screen. He indicated that he had just switched the torpedo to the auto seek mode. There was nothing more to do except hope that the acoustic auto-director – the most appropriate system to bring the weapon to its target – would be able to do its job.

A voice broke the silence:

'Explosion to the East!'

Relief was instantly reflected on all the faces. The captain seized the microphone and announced calmly to his crew:

'The torpedo has reached its target.'

A murmur of satisfaction rippled through the vessel, everyone being aware that they had to be silent.

'Submersion to 20 metres, bearing south,' ordered Meng, anxious to disappear from the scene.

The Kilo slowly moved away, propelled by its electric motors in energy-saving mode. Still pushing his luck, the captain could once more hope that the noise of the waves would mask his retreat from the US task force.

USS Ronald Reagan

October 15, 10:25 a.m.

The shudder was felt up to the stern of the enormous vessel. Sufficiently loud and short to distinguish from the machine vibrations or the sea roll. The torpedo struck the aircraft carrier's hull beneath its waterline, a third of a length from the bow. The machine room, boiler and propeller shafts were undamaged, allowing the Ronald Reagan to remain autonomous. But the gaping hole swallowed up tonnes of water, which would slow it down considerably.

Three Viking planes were immediately catapulted from the carrier's flight deck. They dropped over 40 sonar buoys dispersed along an arc, forming a lethal trap for the Kilo. At the same time, four Seahawk helicopters were covering the area with their over-water sonars. The submarine was caught in the deadly net of the American fleet, just like a fish.

The Kilo was located at 11:34 a.m. In a final attempt to escape from its doom, the submarine suddenly veered course. But such a move could in no way fool the sonars. Within moments, a Seahawk set on its path and hovered ahead of the submarine's trajectory. With perfect timing, an MK-50 torpedo dropped from its outboard pylon, followed by a second one. They dived obliquely towards the sea, slowed down by a small parachute serving both to stabilise and to dampen the impact upon submersion. Their nose-mounted active acoustic auto-seeker immediately locked on the Chinese submarine. Sliding through the water at 70 kilometres per hour, the torpedoes took less than a minute to come into contact with their target. A strong explosion erupted from the sea. It was followed by another. The Kilo no longer existed.

Langley, CIA headquarters.

'There has been a leak, I'm sure of it!'

Lorna Green was incensed. The operation that the CIA's Beijing bureau was mounting to recover Tom Bailey was now futile. The Chinese secret police forces had launched the assault on the monastery, wounding four monks. The infrared pictures of the action, taken by satellite, were displayed on the work desk of the Langley operations room. How could the Chinese have possibly got knowledge of the American's hiding place? And foremost, who was protecting him? Counterespionage?

The CIA's operation was cancelled; everything was now back to square one. Tom Bailey was once more on the run; they had to locate him, wait until he settled down at a precise location and attempt to pick him up, possibly in a hostile environment. And all this right in the middle of an open war with China.

Stenton, was trying to defend himself.

'Lorna, I have total confidence in my men. They have all been in service with the CIA for many years.'

'Stenton!' Lorna interrupted sharply. 'We can be sure of no-one in times of war. The naval battle that's been going on the last few days and up till last night in the Sea of China can sway even the most moderately-inclined souls into a state of nationalistic fervour.'

He remained silent. This whole matter came at the worst possible moment. The day before, a Chinese submarine had been able to come sufficiently close to the Ronald Reagan aircraft carrier to land it a nasty blow.

And now the CIA, with all its unlimited technology, was incapable of laying its hands on Microsoft's star computer scientist. Failures were accumulating.

'We must change the teams, get fresh men in, starting from the top...'

He knew whom she was referring to. She was nurturing a lingering doubt about Santana Song.

'It's all over, Stenton. There are too many coincidences; get rid of Song and bring the old team back in. I want Song well clear of these operations and out of the hierarchy. I'm sending you over Kowalsky to supervise the reorganisation.'

He was in no position to protest.

The cell phone rang. It was Zhou.

'Jin, I want you to head to the town of Yichang. Go five kilometres upstream of the Yangtze River from that town. A boat will be waiting for you. You'll be safe for at least a few days. Go down the river towards Wuhan and Nanjing. I think the situation will quieten down before you reach Shanghai.'

She looked at the map. Yichang was only about 50 kilometres away. They would be there by the end of the afternoon.

'You mean we'll no longer have to hide?'

'I hope not, Jin. Last night, the Chinese Navy forced a retreat of the American task force. A submarine managed to pierce a hole in their aircraft carrier. Despite the loss of two out our vessels, it's a great victory!'

They set themselves off. The idea of going down the Yangtze by boat appealed to them. It was vital to remain mobile in order to limit the risk of being spotted and intercepted by the police forces. But how the devil had Guo been able to discover their hiding place?

14. Hao Bù Hao

'Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without even having to fight.'

Sun Zi, The Art of War, 5th Century BC.

Washington, The White House

October 15th, 8:15 pm.

Jerry Bakhash's big black Lincoln slipped into Pennsylvania Avenue and turned right along East Executive Avenue to enter the White House by the East Wing. The US President's spin doctor looked grim as he put his notes back into his briefcase; his role had become crucial and the dramatic events of the last few hours left him little room for manoeuvre.

He had an appointment in the 'Situation Room', an underground shelter tucked beneath the White House. This nerve centre had been placed on maximum alert round the clock. The Army Chiefs of Staff were to keep the President informed of the latest intelligence they received regarding the USS Ronald Reagan.

The aircraft carrier had returned to the US naval base of Okinawa in Japan for repairs before going back into service. It would be out of commission for at least three months, but there were already several vessels on their way to China to consolidate the Seventh Fleet's task force.

China had certainly lost two of its submarines in the course of the episode, but that fact did not weigh much in America and world public opinion. Quite the opposite, in fact. China was eager to incriminate the US Navy for having violated its exclusion zone and accuse it of being directly responsible for the death of 150 sailors. In the eyes of international opinion, China was acting in good faith. So much so that, against all expectations, China seemed to have come out the winner in this first clash: it had not only stood up to the US Navy, displaying undeniable courage, but also wounded Uncle Sam in his pride by inflicting damage to its standard bearer.

Jerry Bakhash entered the situation room to take part in a show he would willingly have done without. The military brass now had to come up with an explanation. The President could not figure out how the top air fleet of the World's number one power could be so vulnerable, to the point of being stymied by an isolated submarine.

'We have a defence budget of over 400 billion dollars and you're trying to tell me that a brand new, super-equipped aircraft carrier can't ward off the torpedoes from a small Chinese submarine?' blurted out the president. 'What's the point then of having these dozens of different types of missiles, all those radars, those electronic warfare aircraft, electronic countermeasure systems, decoys, all those frigates, destroyers, cruisers... and those fighters armed right up to their wingtips?'

The president's face turned red.

'And what about those constellations of spy satellites? Those AWACS? And those sonars?' he continued, spelling out his disbelief.

He was trying to recall all the weapons systems those blasted military and their sycophants in the arms industry had 'sold' him. He had let himself be convinced, accepting their justifications, and had signed their procurement programs with his own hand. He had given them his confidence and was now feeling cheated.

'Do you know how much it costs the United States of America to dispose of the world's best armament? Do you know it's money from the American taxpayers that pays for all this; money from their taxes? And our American taxpayer now wants to know how we spend his money. He's demanding results! And, you see, his mind just boggles when he learns that an ordinary submarine of the fleet of a developing country can play David and Goliath with the entire US Navy!'

Heads were going to fall.

The Army Chief of Staff stuck his neck out to come to his troops' rescue. He was the highest-ranking officer to come and get the flak.

'Mr. President, when the sea is very rough, the waves send out echoes on our radar scopes. Under certain unfavourable conditions, it's almost impossible to eliminate these echoes and read an intelligent signal. Radars can become ineffective in this way. As for the sonars, large temperature differences between the sea's depth and the surface can sometimes affect sound propagation in water. The waves from the sonar then tend to dip vertically...' The president felt he was being messed around. Instead of placating him, this highly technical explanation infuriated him even more.

'Waves!' he blurted out, choking with rage. 'Are you trying to tell me that we were defeated by waves, and not the enemy? The US navy is vulnerable to waves. Is that it? You'll be telling me next that the US Air Force backs down in storms? Do you think I'm here to lead a fleet of trawler men and deer hunters? For your information, I'm at the head of the most powerful army in this planet, the army of the United States. Gentlemen, I want a detailed and accurate report on the responsibilities involved in this whole matter.'

He made eye contact successively with each one of the military chiefs present in the room, his look threatening:

'I'll once again make myself clear: I want you to establish who were the ones responsible for this.'

On the way out of the situation room, Jerry Bakhash escorted the president back up to the Oval Office along with Larson, the National Security Adviser. Upon arriving, they were met by State Secretary Nimoy and Sol Grant, the Defense Secretary.

'Jerry, can you give us a run-down on the situation?' asked the president, apparently having recovered his calm and wits.

'Well, let's say it's grey overall... I'll start with the negative points... The punitive operation we launched against the Chinese had two objectives. First, to mount pressure on China to force it to give up its embargo on our software products, and second to restore America's prestige in the international and domestic scenes. We may as well say that was a total failure. China, in fact, did better than simply stand up to us, since in the end it came out as the victor of this confrontation.'

The president tried to contain his rising anger. Bakhash continued.

'Not only is China giving no sign of easing its commercial policy towards Microsoft, but it's gained in self-respect. We hardly have any options. We must repeat the operation, but this time with more clout. If we are to have any reasonable chance of a quick and unequivocal victory, then we must hit hard. It's only at that price we'll wipe away the smear on us.'

The president had great confidence in Bakhash, a man who had been instrumental in his electoral victory three years earlier. He had this rare talent of sensing public opinion, whether it be from California or the middle West, and to be at one with the voice from smallest of the villages, just as with the planet as a whole. Bakhash had a knack for manipulating the masses and men in equal measure, with the skill of a silk merchant in an Istanbul bazaar. The president could only nod in agreement at his suggestions. He turned to his Defence Secretary.

'Grant, when can we be ready?'

'In ten days at the most. We have two aircraft carriers on alert in the zone. The first one is expected to arrive in the week. And this time, they're heading straight for Taiwan and Shanghai. All our forces are in place to bring China to its knees.'

Bakhash continued.

'Which brings me to the positive points in this matter. Our fellow citizens were sickened to see that hole pierced through the Ronald Reagan's hull! They definitely want revenge. The situation is now quite different; we're no longer fighting against a commercial antagonism, but in response to a military aggression. This gives us altogether stronger military grounds to go into battle against China.'

Larson and Nimoy remained silent, but were secretly congratulating themselves on the new turn of events.

'Now's the time to gather up all our allies,' added Nimoy. We need their support now we're entering this new military phase.

'Aren't they already behind us?' asked President Walker with a mark of surprise.

'The European governments are showing their typical lethargy. I'll whip them up. In Latin America, India, Africa and Southeast Asia, it's the people and business circles that are dragging their feet. They don't want to be left lagging behind China's software industry and some would dearly like to ditch Microsoft themselves and join in the fight against us.'

'All the more reason to strike real hard,' concluded Walker. I want all our allies in their battle formations. We are at war; they'd better believe it.'

Zhou was reading the bulletins that popped up at regular intervals on his PC screen. China had decreed a national day of mourning for the crew of its People's Liberation Army Navy submarines. Captains Huang and Meng were raised to the rank of hero of the nation. These men did not hesitate to sacrifice their own lives and those of their crew to defend the country against the aggressor. China now had its hour of glory. The aircraft carrier Ronald Reagan had been forced to beat a retreat and, in the eyes of the whole world, America had lost face.

And yet the war suddenly took on a more sinister turn. The military deployment that was being set up off the Chinese coast bore nothing in common with the show of strength of the past weeks. America was no longer merely flexing its muscles in the sea of China, it was this time gearing up to wage a full-blown war whose objective was none less than the destruction of China's military potential.'

Zhou was assessing his own share of responsibility in all this. That weapon he had been so proud of, his own bomb, had caused collateral damage he could never have imagined... And what about the heads of the military commission, to whom he had proposed the 'M-bomb'? Hadn't they catastrophically underestimated the US retaliation?

How could a decision of a purely commercial nature – and a truly legitimate one at that – levelled against Microsoft have triggered off such a rapid and brutal military escalation?

It was totally bewildering. Everything had been going on as if the US had actually expected that embargo, as if they had been just waiting for it to launch an armed intervention.

The Navy, Air Force and missiles of the mightiest military power of all time were about to pounce on China. An ill-prepared China, still lacking maturity and poorly protected. The razor-like steel jaws of the great military engine were about to crush China's pathetic defences. The country was about to be stripped naked and thrown as prey to those very creditors that had torn it to pieces one and a half centuries before. The United States, Japan, Korea, India, Russia – all those regional powers would then fling themselves onto this enormous, now defenceless, body, eager to bleed it white and drain it of all its substance.

Tom Bailey was no longer topical, and that was no doubt the only positive element worth noting. Neither the Ministry of Defence nor the government wanted him. The instructions were to send him back to his native California, and Guo's police must have been informed of this. All that remained was to negotiate his trade value.

Bao Yutai had handed Zhou the list of files stolen on that sordid night of August 26. He had given much thought to the matter and found only one credible explanation. The documents found in Jin's apartment could only have come from the computers of the Ministry of Information Industries. The police had not circulated that list, but Zhou was sure of one thing: if the CIA was behind the burglary, as he now believed, then it was simply to recycle the property it had just stolen.

Tom Bailey was no longer a strategic element in the all-out war in the offing, and Zhou should be able to exploit that new fact to get Jin cleared of all accusations. But that promised to be no easy task, not least because any chance of coming to a solution would entail negotiating with the chief of the secret police, commander Guo, Zhou's long-standing enemy. Yet Zhou had no alternative. It was up to him to plead the cause of his subordinate face to face with the implacable Guo.

It was certainly a blow to his pride to make the first step and effectively go begging, but such was the price to pay for Jin's freedom. And it was imperative to give back to counterespionage its full latitude for action.

Guo had just suffered another failure following the unfruitful assault of the monastery. He too must be wanting to get it over and done with. It was not in Zhou's habits to do things by a half. He turned up at the Ministry of Public Security, the holy of holies of the secret police. It was a humiliation he could not even have imagined a few months earlier. As if the calamitous consequences of his 'M-bomb' had made him meek and humble! Commander Guo greeted him with genuine surprise, but remained frosty, not even deigning to get up to welcome his visitor.

'Guo, I think it's time you and I had a talk... in the face of the events our country is confronted with, we must close ranks and act like true patriots. Let's cast aside our quarrels of the past. I've come to propose that we both form a common front against our enemy.'

'What are you referring to?' asked Guo.

'To the American special services which are pursuing operations inside our territory. We have to put an end to it. In the current situation, they are making the most out of our division.'

The police chief seemed unswayed.

'This all sounds fine, but these are just empty words. You have nothing concrete to offer, Zhou! Nothing whatsoever! Your services are paralysed, discredited ever since one of your agents has been accused of treason. So, what can you be possibly talking about?'

Now was the time for Zhou to pull out his trump.

'I know the whereabouts of the American. Our government's decided to hand him back to appease the tensions with the US. Wouldn't it be better if he were in the hands of the Chinese police rather than those of the CIA? So there you have it; I've come to bring you Tom Bailey.'

The offer was tempting, but Guo remained suspicious.

'I can do without you. I've already located him twice and I'm quite capable of finding him by myself, thank you very much.'

'Not this time, you won't! Believe me, you won't find it so easy to catch him now. So, do you want to let the CIA carry on with its little game, or would you prefer a more... adapted solution?'

Guo realised that his visitor was not bluffing. The American had fled with that girl and they were kept protected by the counterespionage services. After a pause, he let out:

'And what do you want in exchange? Because, I suppose, you've come to do a deal, haven't you?'

'Not strictly speaking a deal; it's more a matter of repairing a prejudice. You see, Jin is innocent.'

'That remains to be proven. Running away is hardly the best way of proving one's innocence...'

'I've gone over and over the events of the night of August the 26th. I kept asking myself: where could those recent and classified documents found in Jin's apartment have come from, and who would gain from making her fall? And the conclusion I've come to is that she was framed by the CIA.'

Guo remained silent.

'I brought with me the list of documents contained in the PC of the secretary who was murdered that night, the one that was stolen. Here, take it. Bao Yutai gave it to me in person. You won't have any trouble in comparing these documents with the ones that were dumped in Jin's apartment.'

Zhou pulled out a few stapled sheets from his pocket. He was hoping he had got it right, for if not he would in fact be making Jin's case even worse.

'Very well, Zhou, let me have it.'

Guo got up and strode to a safe-locked cupboard, from which he pulled out a docket. He sat down again behind his desk and began to inspect the documents. His eyes switched repeatedly between the list Zhou had given and the one inside the docket opened before him, but his expression gave no hint of what he was discovering. After a few long minutes, he finally turned up his eyes towards Zhou.

'Okay, you've just scored a point, Zhou. All the documents found in the girl's possession do indeed belong to your list. Now, let's suppose, for argument's sake, that your theory is correct and that your spy is innocent...'

'Then, in this case, Jin must of course be cleared of all accusations. And I'll let you negotiate with the American authorities the procedure for handing back their countryman.'

Guo put on a pensive expression, but already knew he had hardly the choice. He was under orders to find the American.

'Very well, I accept.'

'In this case, I suggest we begin by organising the handover of Tom Bailey within the next few hours.'

The deal was concluded. At long last. Zhou could now announce the good news to Jin.

Langley, CIA headquarters.

'China was prepared to hand back Tom Bailey!' This shock announcement was reverberating in Lorna Green's mind and she was still wondering whether to take it seriously. The message had come via the US Embassy in Beijing. The Chinese were proposing to rendezvous near the town of Anqing, by the Yangtze River. She had even obtained her visa for Beijing to supervise the logistics of the matter. She was to take the plane that very night to be in the Chinese capital by late morning.

The woman had given strict orders. Not only was Santana Song to be dropped from the CIA's action service, but he was also to be kept in the dark about the whole operation.

Beijing,

Deep in the night.

The girl slid her lower body languorously between Stenton's legs.

'Hao bù Hao?' She whispered in his ear.

He was seated on the edge of his stool, leaning over the bar of a pickup joint in Beijing's red light district. She was standing between his legs, warm and sensuous. She reeled off a string of Mandarin words in a crystalline and mellifluous singing voice, as only the girls from northern China know how. Stenton could not make out a word of it. He had given up all hope of speaking that language ever since he had set foot in the capital. Too difficult, too old, he concluded in self consolation. And then he had Song who served him as an interpreter, go-between and adviser.

What was he going to do without him? Lorna had demanded that he be set aside...

The girl was enveloping her naked arms around him as she rubbed her taught breasts against his broad chest. She placed her lips close to his right ear and let out in a soft breath the same flow of words, punctuated here and there with a Hao bù Hao? that sent him soft shudders. Hao bù Hao?: 'good, not good?'. In other words, 'is it okay with you?'

'Hao bù Hao?,' repeated the girl.

She had now slipped her tongue into Stenton's ear, searching hungrily round the recesses of his lobes, visiting its intimate folds before resuming in her purring tones:

'Hao bù Hao, Hao bù Hao?'

Never before had he heard anything so erotic in Mandarin. 'Hao bù Hao?'

He wondered whether he was beginning to develop some peculiar tastes in the matter... For instance, in Japan, he would remain stone cold before the Kyoto geishas in the Gion district as they played the shamisen and recited poetry. He had little time for this fetishism centred on those young ladies' feet or toes that Japanese men would kiss with ecstatic pleasure. No, he was more into straight, raw sex, where flesh meets flesh without frills or mascara.

'Hao bù Hao?' repeated the girl endlessly. 'Hao bù Hao?'

He would have to learn to live without Santana Song, his sinister henchman... And the idea did not appeal to him one bit. He slid his hand under the girl's tunic to savour the warn graininess of her skin. No, nothing could match the delicateness of skin of Javanese women. He cast his mind back ten years to that five-star hotel in Nusa Dua with Sumi. Her skin was as smooth as a dolphin's, and the droplets from the shower head fell like rain, sliding gently against the matt leather of her contours like the sea spray drips effortlessly along the sea mammal's belly.

'Hao bù Hao?,' she began again.

He gulped down his bourbon and pushed the girl back abruptly. It was time to go home. Lorna would be arriving tomorrow.

White House, Oval office.

At that morning's opening session, the Dow Jones dropped below the 5000 point mark, while the Composite, for its part, slid under 800 points. This reflected the markets' panicking responses to the tech trading crisis against a background of a war in the Pacific.

One week! Such was the period of the ultimatum solemnly handed out to China. It was Jim Walker's decision, based on Larson's advice. He was giving the Beijing authorities just one short week to step back and put their Godamn Order in the shredder. The Order that started it all.

'You did the right thing,' Edwin Nimoy commented. 'The hour of truth has rung for those enemies of freedom!'

He was using the same simplistic terms that he thrashed out on every platform and TV studio. Nothing surprising, given that his speechwriter was none other than fellow accomplice Bob Larson, the national security adviser. It was becoming urgent to put an end to this crisis, to save the States of the Union and the Federal Government from bankruptcy, to save the pension funds and the banking institutions, and to put paid to the infernal cycle of personal bankruptcies.

'Our economy will be back on track within a week,' Walker tried to reassure. 'The nightmare will soon be over. Everything will be back to normal.'

Marion Stone, the Vice President, would dearly have loved to share the President's certainty. America may indeed gain the upper hand, but at what cost?

The Secretary of State was already preparing his speech for the following day before the General assembly of the United Nations.

New York, UN headquarters,

D-6 before expiry of the ultimatum.

'You are either with us or against us, that same old song', was thinking Bertrand Chastain de l'Asperet, France's representative before the UN. But he still hadn't asked the assembly to draw up a resolution endorsing the ultimatum given to China.

There now remained less than a week for the Celestial Empire to decide on its fate.

To be saved from its due retribution, all it had to do was to abandon its nationalistic and protectionist policies regarding software. But that would mean putting an end to its lofty ambitions and moves for independence. Such a renouncement would inevitably bring on others, making it difficult, if not impossible, to resist to American pressure. The USA would then alone dictate the rules of international trade, all for its own benefit, in matters from patents and legislation to standards and copyrights.

If China were now to give in, it would lose face. But, far worse, it would be surrendering its imperious ambitions for a long time to come. If not forever.

On the other hand, if it stood firm, which was quite probable, the US military system would be set in motion and crush China into submission, rendering it powerless and ruined for an even longer period.

Such was the dilemma. What would Beijing decide? A friend in need is a friend indeed, so they say. And China now had pathetically few friends to rely on. The most outspoken nations refrained from clearly picking sides. This was notably the case with France and some of its European neighbours. But on the other hand, it was out of the question to endorse America's unilateral adventure in setting off a war of overblown proportions to defend what was initially nothing more than the monopolistic rights of a private firm.

Such grounds could not federate the old nations of Western Europe.

Bertrand Chastain de l'Asperet had thus used the language of moderation before the UN, perceived as lukewarm and timorous by the hawks in Washington, much to their irritation.

The diplomat's polite neutrality fell fart short of assuaging Edwin Nimoy, who had asked to meet the Frenchman.

'So, Monsieur Chastain,' jibed the Secretary of State, 'Now that the Fourth World War has begun, can we at last count on you to fight on our side?'

The Frenchman thought he had misheard and politely observed:

'You're referring to the Third World War, I presume?'

His partner let out a sardonic smile.

'That's exactly where your mistake lies; the world was at war and you chose to ignore it, all those decades during which the forces of freedom fought against communism, while you sat there in blissful ignorance! You really make me crack up!'

Nimoy had clearly peeled away the shallow coating of diplomatic veneer he applied for international summits. He had always dreamed of humouring one of those arrogant and pretentious Frenchmen, at that day had come.

'No doubt you failed to notice, busy as you were venerating your glorious past, but the Third World War came to an end on November the ninth 1989, with the victory going to the United States and the unconditional surrender of the Soviet Union. I get the feeling all this went by completely unnoticed by you, Bertrand!'

The Frenchman struggled to maintain his composure.

'Oh, Of course, the fall of the Berlin Wall! Thank you for reminding me Edwin. But isn't it stretching things a little to compare this undeniably major event with the 1945 victory?'

'No, it was the turning point for everything to come! The Third World War was won by the United States and entire nations were freed: those of Eastern Europe and those of the ex-Soviet republics, among others. It was a war that lasted 45 years! It was fought in the battlefields of Korea and Vietnam; it spread to Africa and the Middle East. They called it the 'cold war' in Berlin or Cuba in 1962, and it was even fought in space, right up to the moon.

But this Third World War, my dear French friend, was something quite foreign to you. You were simply a spectator! I could even go so far as to say that you shamelessly profited from that war. After all, didn't the bipolarization that resulted give you French some room in which to exist, to make your quirky and dissonant voices heard? You managed to eke out some space between the two blocks and give yourself the illusion of having far more weight in the world than your lack of means would have ever allowed. Is it really so difficult to accept your new condition?'

'I could ask the same question, don't you think? After all, your economy didn't appear to weigh very much in the face of that little Chinese act of boycott !'

The American thought better of rising to the Frenchman's provocation. He much preferred to relish the pleasure of winding up his partner. That was one of his kicks in life, like others enjoy playing golf.

'That war was won without you, and when victory came you weren't among the victors. And, as is the case with any war, it's the victors who share out the territories they've just conquered. They draw out their new frontiers and decide alone on the economic and political regimes they will set up. Your General de Gaulle wasn't invited round the table at Yalta. It was only thanks to Churchill that France was ever allowed to join in with the victors and get a seat as permanent member of the Security Council, the one you're occupying right now! On the other hand, you were completely absent from the 1989 share-out that marked the end of the Third World War. You ignored that war; you closed your eyes to it and even went so far as to deny its existence. In fact, you didn't recognize it, no doubt because you consider the French Revolution as the mother of all revolutions. Aren't I right? And every communist bastion that collapsed was a bit like part of the French heritage going with it.'

The French representative paled a little. He would have liked to retire away. But his partner gave him no break.

'Did you know that the French flag used to be on display in every American classroom to honour the country that fought for our independence? But ever since France withdrew from NATO's integrated command, back in 1966, all the French flags have been taken away from our schools... For that, you can only blame General de Gaulle, that theoretician of your so-called third path, the one of national independence and opposition to the United States of America!'

The Frenchman had to concede that Nimoy knew his stuff. He tried, much as he could, to defend his country.

'In times of difficulty, France has always stood by your side, as a loyal ally!'

'Perhaps, but always as a last resort and after endless philosophical dillydallying. This sort of behaviour may come across as quaint in certain spheres, but its subtleties elude the grasp of the likes of the Republican senator for Kansas!'

The Secretary of State sipped the last of his Bourbon. The cat still wanted to play with the mouse.

'The world is being reshaped without your Gallic intervention! It's what's called 'The New World Order'. But of course, you wouldn't understand.'

'And so, you've just set off the Fourth World War, if I have understood you right?'

'Correct! So now, will you come along and fight on our side? Can't you see what is happening right now?'

'And I suppose the enemy in question is China?'

'Don't you realise we must unite and form a common front? Otherwise, we're all lost.'

The Frenchman remained silent.

Nimoy turned and gave him a menacing look.

'Come, Bertrand! There is no middle path. Are you with us or are you against us?'

D-5 before expiry of the ultimatum

Tom and Jin had just spent nearly a week in the cargo vessel that coasted gently down the Yangtze. They had a private cabin on the top deck, with a porthole from which they could watch the monotonous banks glide by.

They had crossed the towns of Wuhan and Huangshi and could have continued up to Shanghai. But Jin had just got a call from Zhou.

The Chinese government had decided to hand Tom back to the American intelligence services, and Zhou had seized the occasion to plead Jin's cause successfully before the secret police. She was free too. Things were getting better.

The rendezvous point was somewhere upstream of the town of Anqing, less than an hour away. The matter had been kept secret, the CIA's Beijing bureau having planned the particulars directly with the police. Apart from Commander Guo and his men, only two Chinese – both from the Hong Kong special autonomous region – were to be present. The couple would then be transferred by military plane to the airport of Rui'an, where they would be met by just one authorised representative of the American government. From there, a second plane taking off from Hong Kong was to take them to the former British colony.

Tom and Jin were living their last moments together. They were soon to be separated, not knowing when they would see each other again. He was to leave China and she was indefinitely bound to her country. Or at least, all the while their respective countries were at war. For it was inconceivable to the young woman to fail in her duties as member of the counterespionage directorate.

When would they see each other again?

The boat landed against the small wooden jetty. The place seemed deserted. Jin quickly spotted in the distance five unmarked cars and four police coaches, as well as a group of men standing with their hands in their raincoat pockets.

Commander Guo move towards the jetty, followed by the two Hong Kong lawyers.

'Tom Bailey?' said one of the latter, holding out his hand, 'I'm Milton Fu, a lawyer from Hong Kong. We've been empowered by your government to escort you out of China. He then introduced his colleague.

Jin was still standing close to Tom. She could not get round to seeing him go. She was looking intensely at him with exuding tenderness, knowing too well she would miss him for several months. His hair had become even longer during their escapade; she placed her hand on his broad square shoulders, those of the university league football player, and against which she, the tough soldier, liked to rest her head.

And then she suddenly noticed a spot, there, right over his heart... A small red shimmering glow... It was the spot from a laser sight! They were going to assassinate Tom! Reacting in a split second, she shoved her companion to knock him out of the line of fire. But it was too late. The shot had just been fired and the bullet smashed its way into the top of his right lung, beneath the collarbone.

Guo immediately shouted out orders. The police immediately began to deploy around the area from where the shot appeared to have come. The sound of an outboard engine broke out in the distance. The police had not thought of providing a river patrol, and no-one could give chase. An ambulance was called in. The young man was wincing with pain but remained conscious.

Jin's mind was racing. Who could possibly have wanted Tom Bailey's death? Certainly not the Chinese! So who then? The shot could only have come from the other camp... For Jin, it was more than mere intuition, it was a near certainty. The American's were trying to liquidate Tom Bailey.

He was in great danger.

Beijing, the presidential building

President Ren had summoned Wei Weimin, the Prime Minister, as well as Fong, the Minister of Finance, for a work session on... the country's monetary policy.

There were only five days left before the US ultimatum expired, and the awesome armada of the world's greatest military power was at his doorstep.

'Was this really the right time to talk about money matters?' wondered the Minister. Where on Earth were the leaders of the central military commission? They were making themselves conspicuous by their absence while the United States was preparing a massive strike on the country!

Yet they were the ones responsible for this current situation! Rumours were going round that Liu Rong and his vice-chairman were in fact the real instigators of that perfidious decision targeted against Microsoft. They had completely misjudged the consequences.

Did these adventurers even stop to think about the possible repercussions of their acts? Surely it was obvious that the Americans would not watch their economy being dilapidated with their arms crossed!

And what about Prime Minister Wei, the champion of the liberal path? Why didn't he oppose that decision? All these questions were niggling Fong. What was there left for China to do in the face of the ultimatum? Back down? 'If it were only up to me,' thought Fong, 'I would open the country's gates wide open to US software...'

The president was late.

When he finally entered the room, features drawn, Fong wondered how many people would want to be in his shoes right now.

The President was accompanied by the governor of the People's Bank of China, the nation's central bank, as well as a group of three economists who formed his counsel.

What on earth was the president up to? Why urgently call up this meeting on monetary policy when, in all logic, he should be dedicating all his precious time and energy on the country's military situation?

'Gentlemen, please sit down.'

Ren certainly did look tired. But his face expressed a will and determination that struck the attendants.

'I suppose that you have all heard of the 'M-bomb'?' he continued, without waiting for an answer.

'What you may not know is what the 'M' stands for!'

He observed the looks of surprise among those present.

'This is the reason why I have brought you here this evening. We are together going to prime and launch the real 'M- bomb'!'

They stared at him in disbelief.

'I now pass the word to Hui Yong, the governor of the People's Bank.'

The elderly gentleman cleared his throat and put on a pair of glasses.

'First of all, let me remind you how the United States uses monetary policies as weapons to eliminate its enemies, starting with Japan. Ever since the 1950s, Japan's GNP experienced constant growth, catching up with America's GNP to reach 60% of the latter by the 80s. That was going too far! The Reagan administration demanded – and obtained – at the Plaza agreements of September 1985 that the yen be revalued by nearly 50%! And, as if by magic, just after the Plaza agreement and the Gulf War of 1991, Japan entered a long period of stagnation, accompanied by the bursting of the real estate bubble and the crumbling of its banking system.'

The governor of the central bank was obviously fond of innuendoes. The three economists nodded their heads approvingly.

'The United States possesses this exorbitant advantage, which only they have, of being able to make other countries finance their trade deficits. It's the rest of the world that funds America's consumerism, its economic growth, its military spending and lifestyle. America's principal lenders come from Southeast Asia – Japan, China, not to forget the Asian Tigers! Today, half of America's Treasury bonds are in the hands of foreign investors! The great weakness of the American economy lies in the size of its deficit, both its commercial deficit and its budgetary deficit. Last year's trade gap between America and China totalled 200 billion dollars, while their overall deficit exceeded 600 billion dollars. The States' budgetary deficit is in the hands of Asian capital investors.'

'All of this was common knowledge to them... what was he trying to get at?' thought some.

The governor went on.

'Interest rates constitute the main lever of America's monetary policy, and here's how my colleague, William Rothko, governor of the Federal Reserve, uses it to drive the economy. When America is in a recession, the Fed brings down its base rates, the so-called Fed funds. And when the economy is overheating, the Fed raises interest rates.'

Governor Hui raised his eyes above his small glasses that always seemed on the verge of slipping off his nose to look at his audience.

'When President Ren asked me two months ago to think about creating a monetary weapon in case the conflict with the US were to last, we asked ourselves the following question: what would happen now if the long-term interest rates were to rise suddenly?'

No one felt inclined to answer.

'Well, the answer is clear. America would come to experience a crash of the bond market. The effect would be devastating because their economy is now extremely fragile, given the particularly high level of public and private debts.'

The president was regaining some serenity as the Minister went on.

'It so happens that the central banks in China, or Japan for that matter, possess such enormous stocks of 10-year bonds that they can greatly influence their rates merely through their buying-and-selling policy.'

President Ren then broke in and declared with a stamp of authority:

'In response to the ultimatum set by the United States of America, we have decided to launch within this very hour a massive sale of American Treasury bonds on the international financial markets... In less than 18 hours, we will have caused the biggest crash of the bond market ever known in history!'

He raised his head and looked round to his Prime Minister and Minister of Finance with renewed pride.

No, he had not been unduly defiant towards the USA. No, he was not playing with fire by imposing a policy of software independence and no, he was not helpless in the face of the American military machine.

And no again, he did not have his back to the wall; he now had some breathing space, and those who had underestimated him were going to regret it.

America may have weapons superiority, but its debt was in the hands of its enemy! It could growl, threaten and flex its muscles, but it remained at the mercy of its creditors! In the space of a few hours, it would go begging for mercy on bended knee!

China had just launched... the 'M-bomb'.

Beijing, counterespionage Headquarters.

Who could possibly have shot Tom Bailey?

Zhou was attempting to bring a logical and consistent answer to the question that was haunting him since that morning. He had had a telephone discussion with Jin. The shot came from within the American side, she affirmed, without managing to advance conclusive proof for this.

On the face of it, her arguments were rather weak.

No-one in China had anything to gain by eliminating the computer scientist, she maintained. Admittedly. But to go so far as to suspect the American services of wanting to assassinate one of their own... wasn't Jin stretching things a little?

The bullet had struck Tom Bailey in the shoulder. He had been extremely lucky and Jin had certainly saved his life by thrusting herself against him. But it did not hit any vital organ and it had been possible to extract the bullet inside the mobile medical vehicle that had quickly come to the scene. The wound was clean and did not call for a complex surgical intervention.

The American was fixed up with a large bandage that blocked his arm. They had injected him with powerful sedatives that plunged him in a deep sleep to enhance recovery. He went about in a wheelchair accompanied by a nurse.

The CIA, which had been supervising the operations, insisted in sticking to the original program, no doubt fearing the Chinese government might change its mind. It did not even attempt to elucidate the matter. All it wanted was to recover its computer wizard.

And so Tom was at that moment on board a military plane heading towards an airport near Rui'an.

Jin, for her part, had not returned home. To her, Tom was in deadly danger in the hands of the Americans and, once more, she decided to protect him...

'Colonel Zhou...'

A man in his thirties was trying to draw his attention. Zhou knew him by sight. He was an analyst, a computer ace at the head of the cryptology department. Zhou remembered having seen him in Jin's company.

'Colonel Zhou...,' the analyst attempted again, fighting to overcome his natural shyness.

'What do you want? Jin isn't here...'

He had to call Jin, she was due to return to her post.

'Colonel, we have come across something odd...'

The techie was obviously making a heroic effort in daring to come up to the unapproachable Colonel Zhou. With a movement of his eyes, the latter invited him to continue.

'Colonel, we've finished decoding part of the laptop belonging to the American spy, the one identified as Baxter...'

'What! Is that why you want to see me! Do you really think it's the time!'

The scientist did not insist and disappeared as he had come.

Baxter. What a strange coincidence! He had just discussed the Baxter affair with Jin that very morning.

As far as Jin was concerned, there was no room for doubt. Tom Bailey was the victim of the American services or, in any case, one of their sections that had decided to eliminate him. To substantiate her case, she had drawn a parallel with the Baxter affair, in which the IBM computer scientist was in fact none other than an agent of the NSA, the highly secretive American electronic intelligence agency. Baxter was uncovered during his visit to Beijing in January last, and the American services did not think twice about bumping him off in his hotel room. Or at least that was Jin's interpretation of the facts.

Could there possibly be a connection between Tom Bailey and that Baxter?

Something irrational, like a hunch, made Zhou call back the scientist he had just sent running. Perhaps that's what Jin would have done had she been there?

He darted out into the corridor and caught a glimpse of the young man waiting in front of the lifts.

'Okay, I'm listening.'

The scientist approached hesitantly.

'So, what was it you want to tell me?'

'Well... we've been working on that PC for the past nine months and we've just got the first results...'

'You mean it took you nine months to get inside the disk drive!'

'Well... It's not just any machine... It's been through the NSA and they're pretty cool in cryptology! And then, we only managed to crack the triple DES and RC5 with 4096-bit keys...'

Zhou interrupted him sharply.

'Get to the point, what have you found?'

'Well... it's pretty awesome. Everything began with a mistake we made. To save time, we often begin by drawing up a list of significant words we want to look for in the coded text. Now, a month ago, the operator took the wrong list and used instead the one for checking e-mails coming out of China. It contained words in connection with the Microsoft business. And in that list there was the term 'M-bomb'...'

'What about it?'

'Well... this is really weird, Colonel!'

The computer scientist suddenly blanched by what he was evoking. He was dumbstruck.

'Go on, what was it you found so extraordinary?'

'It's that the term 'M-bomb' appears several times in Baxter's PC files...!'

The young man's hairs were on end, as if he had just unfathomed the mysteries of the universe.

'What do you mean by 'appears'?'

'Well, I mean 'M-bomb' is the name given by the press to the Order against Microsoft, isn't it? And yet that exact term 'M-bomb' was already recorded in that American's PC six months before the events!'

'Couldn't it just be a coincidence?'

'No, no way. It appears in no fewer than 12 instances... Look at the printout!'

His nervous hands thrust a wad of concertina-folded paper under Zhou's bewildered eyes.

The commander sensed a shiver running down his spine. How the hell could a term conjured up at the end of August be present inside a computer seized back in January?

He felt like a palaeontologist who had just found a cell phone in a sedimentary layer dating back from Homo Pekinensis.

Zhou gazed at the scientist.

'You did the right thing by coming to see me.'

'We also conducted searches on words that preceded and followed the term 'M-bomb', to try to learn something about the context. We've already decoded the words 'mission' and 'Beijing', as well as a number: 531.

'531? Any idea what it means?'

'None for the time being, but we're still searching.'

'But where the hell was Jin?' Zhou thought impatiently.

The young woman finally rang. It was 1 p.m., and on that same morning she and Tom had landed on the same jetty where the American nearly lost his life. Jin had made the most of those few hours to devise a plan. Tom was in danger. There had been at least one attempt to eliminate him, and those behind the crime were bound to try again. Now that she was fully rehabilitated, she could henceforth count on her team's support.

'Where are you, Jin?'

'Somewhere along the way to Rui'an. I'll need another 24 hours. I've got to pull Tom away from here, he needs me...'

'You are aware that the department won't be responsible for your actions, aren't you?'

'I am, Zhou, but I've got no choice.'

Zhou then moved over to the topic that had been obsessing him the best part of an hour.

'Jin, do you remember the Baxter affair?'

'Zhou, this is hardly the time...'

'I want you to listen very carefully: this is important. You were indeed correct. Your team has just deciphered that American's laptop, the one you managed to get hold of...'

The young woman on the other side of the line suddenly focused her attention.

'Now it turns out this computer contains references to a project called the 'M-bomb'. They appear in messages that were created over six months before the events...'

There were a few moments of silence, followed by a hesitant voice:

'It must be a coincidence, don't you think?'

'Impossible, the term appears repeatedly – 12 times in all. Baxter was in Beijing over a matter he called a 'bomb.' That was his real mission. Now we've got to find out the exact nature of that bomb.'

'Don't forget he was bumped off to stop him talking. I knew it, Zhou, there's something of the utmost importance hidden in this case.'

Colonel Zhou became more insistent:

'Jin, I want you to return to Beijing immediately. We need you. You're the only...'

'No!'

'That's an order, Jin!'

'I'm very sorry, Colonel, but I must disobey.'

Zhou mustered all his efforts to contain his irritation. Wasn't he the one who had taught Jin that in some circumstances orders could indeed be..? He pressed the handset back against his ear and, trying to sound calm, changed the subject.

'Going back to the contents uncovered in the laptop, there are several instances where the term 'M-bomb' is followed by the number 531. Does this number mean anything to you?'

The young woman thought for a few seconds.

'No, nothing at all. Sorry...'

Then he went on the onslaught.

'Listen, Jin. You're taking the first plane. I'll be waiting for you in Beijing. Is this clear?'

'It's no use,' the young woman answered in a dreary voice. 'I'm really sorry, but I'm going to hang up. I've got to go – I can't explain – please, just trust me...'

Zhou tried to contain the sudden rage welling up from deep inside. Just as he was about to hang up, Jin's voice came through the earphone again.

'Zhou. Zhou?'

'Yes?'

'Did you say 531?'

'That's right. 531...'

'When I was doing my thesis in Professor Mok Mengma's lab, I heard about a software module referred to as M531. I wasn't directly involved with it, but I knew of its existence. It's probably the most secret piece of software in all of China!'

Zhou began to imagine a worse. He felt his blood chill.

'And what was that software for?' he asked.

'Well it's... it's the core of a secured architecture developed by Professor Mok's team...'

'Are you sure about that?'

'Absolutely, it was indeed that number: 531. I distinctly remember. So that would mean we're dealing with the 'M531' bomb!'

She cut herself short a few moments to sense the full weight of the situation. Then, with a voice betraying anxiety, she added:

'Zhou, this means the NSA may have got hold of the communication module that protects our computers...'

Zhou was gradually seeing the extent of the impending disaster. With a choked voice, he asked:

'This 531 module... is it part of the CNOS system, the one that replaces Windows?'

Her reply killed all hope.

'Zhou, the M531 is the centrepiece of the secure communications architecture that was developed by China. The M531 is present not only in CNOS, but also in most of the computers installed these past few months in the administrations, sea ports, airports, military bases...'

Not wanting to hear more, he interrupted her and implored:

'Jin, you must come back, I need you, Jin...'

She demurred for a moment, knowing full well she would not give in.

'Tom is in deadly danger. I simply can't abandon him.'

'This matter no longer concerns you, that guy is now in the hands of the Americans.'

'He's in danger. I know it, I can feel it. I'm the only one who can help him. Zhou, if I were you, I'd enquire around Professor Mok's former team. There could only have been five or six at the most to have worked on the M531. That was an ultra-secret project. I reckon the team must have split up now. We must find them and interrogate them.'

'I'm going to meet Professor Mok. He should be able to help. Jin, can't you see you've no option but to return! You were his pupil!'

'Mok! You or I won't get a word out of him. In fact, I doubt there's anybody he ever speaks to. I'm afraid you'll have to do without Professor Mok. The man's withdrawn himself from the world. He's taken his retirement and has ever since lived as a recluse, tending his sick daughter. Zhou, just give me one day. That's all I'm asking.'

The colonel remained silent.

'Zhou. Good luck...'

He wanted to wish her good luck too, but she had already hung up...

15. The M-bomb

'Those who win battle after battle are not the most skilful.

Those with greater skill employ strategy to make their opponents yield before reaching the stage of conflict.'

Sun Zi, The Art of War, 5th Century BC.

Washington, the White House

D-day – 2 before the ultimatum

'What's all this thing about the interest rate?' snarled the president.

Hadn't he enough on his plate already with the war? They were just five days, five short days, before the final assault! The strategy was sewn up and the combat units were on full operational alert, just waiting for the green light from the president.

So why did he choose to bring the interest rate into all this?

William Rothko, the Governor of the Federal Reserve, took a seat in the Oval Office where Ed Nimoy, the Secretary of State, and Larson, the Security Adviser, were already present.

'I'm afraid it's a crucial issue, Mr. President. I'll go straight to the point: the long-term interest rates for ten-year state loans leapt from 6% yesterday to over 8% this morning. They'll reach 9% or 10% this evening if the crisis continues, and could exceed 12% as from tomorrow.'

'What's your point?'

'Some very big brokers are flooding the market with T-bonds, causing a sudden plunge in their trade value and, as a result, their long-term rates are soaring. The dollar is continuing to sink. It's now only worth half a euro as the rest of the world stands to defy the US dollar.'

Why were they bothering him with all this when he was supposed to be in the situation room with the military, watching over the naval task force as it approached the Sea of China! The State bonds could go to hell. He was in no mind for economic headaches. He found nothing better to say than an astonished:

'So what?' he immediately retorted, looking totally bewildered at the idea of an economic briefing when the war situation was calling him to much more forceful actions of a military nature.

'But Mr. President, the consequences are nothing short of dramatic. And I'm weighing my words,' added the boss of the Fed with a hint of indignation. The country is heavily in debt. It needs to finance a 700 billion dollar budget deficit each year, as well as a commercial deficit on the same order. Our citizens are likewise deeply in debt, because we opened the credit flow pipeline.'

He paused for a few seconds and began again, his voice now grave and solemn:

'I must remind you that we need over two billion dollars each day. Failing that, we'd be in a state of virtual bankruptcy. I'm forced to increase the interest rate of the fed funds.'

'What do you mean forced to? I thought it was you who decided the interest rates!'

Somewhat embarrassed, almost apologetic, he answered:

'It's an optical illusion, Mr. President. All we do is adjust the interest rate to follow market trends. In the present situation, the trend will cause the crash of countless sectors. We'll witness a succession of bankruptcies that will plunge the economy into a long-term recession. We won't emerge from it for another ten to fifteen years. Mr. President, in comparison to what's waiting for us, the so-called 'Microsoft bomb' was just a firecracker.'

The President remained speechless, features drawn and looking sombre. Nimoy broke out:

'Do we know who's selling the T-bonds?'

'Yes, sir, and that's what I was coming to! I immediately ordered an enquiry. The sales come from the Far East. And we traced it back to... China...'

'China!'

'It has sufficient T-bonds in stock to continue its trick for several days. But that's more than enough. I wouldn't give more than 48 hours before our monetary system completely disintegrates.'

'China,' repeated Walker.

William Rothko, who had analysed the situation, thought he had grasped its full significance. He cast a sideways glance at the two hawks of the administration. He was going to poach on their territory but could not care less. He never compromised over his conscience.

'Mr. President, this deliberate act can be interpreted in the following way. China is sending us a very clear message. If we maintain our military ultimatum, they'll continue to use their monetary weapon. And we're the ones who'll lose...'

Larson leapt up from his seat.

'Absolutely no way. We'll never give in to blackmail. You'd be well advised to stick to your field of competence, Rothko!'

'We won't back away under their threat,' added Nimoy eager for just one thing: seeing the governor leave the Oval Office.

'We'll ask Japan to rally with a massive purchase of bonds to support their price, suggested the National Security Adviser. All our allies will contribute to the war effort, and I'm thinking not only of Japan, Korea and Singapore, but also of Germany and Great Britain. We're not short of resources, Mr. Rothko.'

President Walker was still stunned. And under those moments of extreme dejection, he became very pessimistic.

'We're caught in our own trap. We're threatening China with arms we're making on credit while getting into debt. But our creditor happens to be China. It's that country which is paying off our debts! And it's just reminded us of that fact...'

The President needed a pep talk. Someone had to bolster his morale, and Nimoy excelled in that task. Seizing the occasion, he drew out the line of action to follow.

'Rothko, we must hold on five more days. You got that: five days. Do whatever it takes to maintain or contain the rates, or I don't know. Just do your job. We're at war, and we cannot give in. We have such sophisticated weapons in our hands that it shouldn't take more than two days for China to capitulate.'

The governor got up from his seat.

'Very well. My duty was to warn you. The political decision doesn't belong to me. Mr President, I'm at your orders.'

'Thank you Rothko. Go, do your job; hold fast for those five short days we need!'

As he spoke, he folded his fingers into fist as a sign of encouragement.

The economist left the room.

Nimoy was readying another salvo. It was important not to let the president's determination wane. It was no time to flag so close to the goal.

'Mr. President, I think it's time we spoke to you about an ultra-secret project.'

'A weapon so awesome that it shall give us victory without even having to fight,' added Larson.

'As the sixth day comes to dawn, China shall request unconditional surrender.'

'And why wasn't I informed?' demanded Walker.

The two acolytes exchanged knowing looks.

'Because nothing was possible up till the last few weeks. We now benefit from optimal conditions.'

'Alright, I'm listening. What's that secret weapon?'

'Well, you see, it's a...'

He broke himself short.

'Mr. President, why don't we go out into the garden?... We could then walk as we talk...'

The three men left by the French window giving onto the lawn where the president's dogs Digby and Jessie were playing.

They started walking away, followed by the two dogs leaping around them.

Zhou was delivered a box containing everything Jin had brought back from her visit to Ron Baxter's hotel room that January the 19th. The objects were spread over a large table: bills, receipts, business cards... The team of analysts had reconstructed the IBM computer scientist's schedule down to the last detail. They knew where he spent his evenings, whom he met, what he ate...

The history of his trip was followed up by Jin and her team, who drafted the surveillance report. Now, several months after the events, they were able to follow the American's trace during his stay in Beijing. Every day except... that evening of January the 18th between 11pm and 8am. There was simply no data for that time period. It was the only dark zone.

All they found was a tiny and insignificant creased-up note. A tab from a taxi. It was scarcely legible because the ink was almost completely erased, but they managed to discern the date: 18th of January and the number of the taxi: 189268.

It was 3pm. There now remained less than five days before the American ultimatum expired. They had managed to identify the taxi used by Baxter. It belonged to Beijing Taxi Services. The driver, alerted by phone during his break, was waiting for Zhou in the street. He wanted to meet him and discover the ride the American took.

He went down to the ground floor, crossed the compound gates and walked over to the street corner. That was where the taxi was waiting for him. The vehicle, a model produced by the Shanghai GM factories, was parked on the other side of the road. As Zhou went up to it, he noticed the driver, a man in his late fifties, eyes closed, head tossed back and mouth open...

Zhou tapped on the window. The man remained still. He tapped again, louder. The driver woke up and unlocked the doors. Zhou settled next to him.

'Did you bring you logbook for last January?'

Chinese taxis note down all trips made during the day, including the leaving and destination addresses.

'I brought everything along, every journey made since the start of the year,' the man replied.

He put away between the seats his glass bottle containing tea. Zhou dipped into the list for January. There were four trips that could fit in with Baxter's time schedule, whose activities on the evening of the 18th were unknown. However, only one of those trips began from the Great Wall Mirama hotel.

The taxi started off straight away and around forty minutes later pulled in at number 104 of a street full of shops in the town centre.

Having asked the taxi to wait, he made an inspection of the surroundings. Number 104 corresponded to the entrance of a shopping mall inside a 1970's style office building. There was nothing luxurious about the shops, just simple retail outlets for cheap clothes, mobile phones, electronic goods, small restaurants... What would Baxter be doing in such a modest neighbourhood? He pushed open the glass door and stepped inside entrance hall of the building. He scanned the names marked next to the buttons on the interphone panel. Nothing but importers-exporters, goods merchants, travel agents, graphic designers...

His team would have to check all these addresses one by one. That would take time. He tried to find a clue. Baxter was here nine months ago, possibly to buy secret information from China. With whom did he meet up? A member of Professor Mok's team? Several agents were right this minute questioning the computer scientists who had worked on the M531 security module.

He was now back inside the shopping mall. He had not eaten anything during the day. He walked up to the end of the mall. It extended right through the building and led out on the other side to a car park. A hundred meters on the opposite side stood Central Hospital No.3. That was where Professor Mok Mengma had fixed the meeting for 6pm. The man spent his days there at the bedside of his sick daughter. It was vital to get Professor Mok's collaboration, for there would be little chance of solving the enigma without his help. Would he accept?

Zhou got back inside the taxi.

Still inside the vehicle used by Baxter a few months earlier, Zhou went through the gates of Central Hospital No.3. The taxi pulled up at the drop-off zone in front of the main entrance. The girl at the reception greeted him with a broad smile. His manly and mysterious style obviously appealed to her.

'Have you come to visit a patient?'

'Correct. I've come to see a child named Mok Lili.'

The girl turned to her computer screen.

'Mok Lili... Mok Lili, ah yes. She's in block M, that's the biology unit. You have to go back out from where you entered, follow round the hospital building on your right and walk about 200 metres down the path.. You can't miss it.'

Zhou followed her instructions. The hospital was very well signposted. Before leaving, he cast another quick look at the file on Professor Mok.

The man had been through many ordeals. His wife had left him after the birth of their daughter Lili and he never got over it. She went to settle with a rich businessman from Shenzhen and now lived in the island of Hainan. She never showed any interest towards the child, whose custody she had left entirely to the father. Then, Lili very soon showed symptoms of an extremely rare disease whose prognosis left almost no hope.

He reached the door of her room. It was open, letting him see a doctor at her bedside, a man of average size in his forties wearing a white blouse. Zhou knocked to signal his presence.

'Hello,' said the doctor holding out his hand. 'I'm Doctor Wu Hanru. Her father won't be long, he informed me of your visit. He's just gone out for a few minutes.'

He noticed the little face of the child sitting on her bed.

'And you're Lili, if I'm not mistaken? Here, Lili, I hope you like chocolate, that's if Doctor Wu gives his permission...'

The girl and her doctor were both smiling.

'You certainly do have my permission! We're celebrating a great victory, you know. The latest tests confirm it, Lili is on the road to recovery, a complete and total recovery! It's simply marvellous. We've been battling for five years, but now we're there.'

Zhou patted the little girl's cheek. She was so lovely.

'Indeed,' continued the doctor proudly. 'The treatment she received at the beginning of the year was a total success.'

A strong voice burst from behind them.

'She'll live, Mr. Zhou, she'll live!'

Zhou turned round. Professor Mok was there. They did not hear him enter. He was a tired man, greying and with a slight stoop.

'I'm so happy, Professor Mok, she's an adorable child. As a matter of fact, we've already exchanged greetings.'

It was now Mok who scrutinised him.

'So, you're the one who snatched away my best student! Because it was with you she left... you are Jin's boss, aren't you? I was curious to meet you, Mr. Zhou.'

'Oh, I didn't steal anyone, believe me. Jin decided on her future of her own accord!'

'Just joking! But, to be quite honest, I must admit I was counting a lot on her. I felt very bitter towards her for having ditched me, to join the army among all things...'

He was clearly out to show his contempt for that institution.

'Such a talented girl! I decided I would never speak to her again. But now that my darling Lili is recovering, I could possibly make an exception...'

He sat down next to the girl and cast upon her a look a look full of tenderness. He adored that child. Doctor Wu took leave and returned to his patients.

'What can I do for you, Mr. Zhou? I was told you wanted to meet me, for an enquiry, I believe?'

'Professor, an American computer scientist called Baxter came here to China, last January. We knew that man was a spy, but nothing about his real mission. Now we've just come across some vital clues. We have reason to believe he was in Beijing to obtain some information about a software module designated M531. Jin explained to us how important this module is in the secured architecture you developed for our operating systems.'

'Indeed, M531 is the codename of that core element. Jin was right there. It would certainly be a strategic objective for a rival intelligence service. I can well believe that. But you know, it's now almost a year since I left that department. How can I be of any use to you?'

'Professor, we need your assistance. This computer architecture is your brainchild, you know the team around you who wrote all the lines of that program...'

He turned abruptly towards Zhou, and suddenly went into a rage.

'And first of all, why doesn't Jin come over herself to request my collaboration? Why is she sending you in her place? Is she scared of me? Do you think that's the proper way to act?'

Zhou was ready for that. The man was known to be terse, and his relation with his former student was still a sensitive topic...

'Professor, please excuse our friend Jin; we're in a state of war, as you know. She's out on a mission and even I don't know where she is right now. We had a very brief telephone conversation at the end of this morning. Please try to understand the urgency of the situation. If the Americans got to know a part of our operating system, then we'd be extremely vulnerable. There'd be a risk they could get inside our operating system.'

'I quite understand, Mr. Zhou, I quite understand.'

He appeared to have calmed down a little. Zhou continued.

'We're now gathering up information on all the members of the team, all those who worked on the secured architecture, and more particularly those involved in the development of the M531.'

'The team was broken up, I believe. It began before I left...'

'Professor, you're the only one who knows precisely the tasks performed by each member of that team. You must collaborate with us; it's a matter of national duty! We are at war, Professor!'

Mok seemed to have grasped the scale of the events. He remained speechless for a few moments, eyes immersed in the face of his little girl Lili.

'When will Jin return?'

'Soon. Tomorrow, I hope, the day after at the latest...'

He felt some shame at not being more precise. He was her boss, after all.

'Mr. Zhou, I can't promise you anything; I've been living as a recluse for a long time. But now I know Lili will live, a ray of light has come into my life. I would even be prepared to meet Jin, if she deigns to come.'

Zhou got the message. It was up to Jin to make the first step. Mok was going to collaborate, he was sure about that. It was clear from the tender look the father cast on the face of his daughter, finally cured.

Zhou made a wink at the little girl before leaving.

He gave the order by phone to have Professor Mok followed like his own shadow. The man was to stay at hand. He must remain reachable 24 hours a day.

'But where could Jin be; where the heck was she?' he thought.

East Coast of China, Rui'an airport.

The same day

It was coming up to 17:15.

Standing near a car parked a safe distance from the runway, Lorna Green waited for the ambulance to arrive with Tom Bailey on board. Lorna had landed at Beijing less than an hour beforehand. It was she who had suggested to the Chinese administration that small airport on the East coast, 400 km south of Shanghai as an ideal site for discreet exchanges.

After a few minutes, an ambulance drew up alongside the tarmac of Rui'an airport, followed by three unmarked police cars which ground to a halt at the top of the runway. The car that brought Lorna had already gone away.

In the distance, the landing lights of a plane descended onto the horizon from the blue sky. The rendezvous was perfectly synchronised.

It touched down before them with a screeching of tyres as the pilot applied reverse thrust.

The plane, an Embraer 175, bore the Federal Express livery and came from Macao, its home base. It did a U-turn at the end of the runway, made its way towards them along the taxiway up to the point where the ambulances were waiting, and turned round again. It was now ready for immediate takeoff.

A flight of steps emerged as the door opened. Nobody was allowed to disembark except the doctor and his assistant nurse. Such were the conditions laid by the Chinese. The ambulance pulled in at foot of the plane and the rear doors opened. The nurse had raised a surgical mask for germ protection over her face before entering the vehicle where her colleague who made the journey with Tom was waiting for her.

The nurse reappeared, her face still masked, and asked for Tom's wheelchair to be brought out. The vehicle doors were then closed straight away and the ambulance drove off from the runway. Walking in front of the doctor, the nurse pushed the wheelchair in which Tom was still sleeping towards the plane. The entire ground operation was completed in a few minutes and Tom Bailey was homebound.

The plane in fact had nothing to do with the postal services. It was fitted out in two large compartments: one served for the crew while the other, at the back where Lorna and Tom had taken place, contained highly sophisticated military detection and transmission equipment.

The pilot opened throttle to maximum power. The Embraer 175 screamed along the runway over a short distance and climbed into the sky.

Lorna found herself alone with Tom, who was regaining consciousness.

'Well, Tom, you've finished with your adventures this time?'

The young man was not yet in a state to answer.

But where were those lawyers from Honk Kong and the CIA agents who were supposed to accompany them? And what about the nurse? Why had she abandoned Tom?

The indicator light had just switched off. She made her way towards the front compartment.

At that moment the door opened. She jolted. She was face to face with a man. She regained composure.

'Song! What are you doing here?'

The Eurasian was standing before her, wearing a triumphant smile. He was the last person she expected to see onboard.

'I understand your surprise! You thought you'd managed to clear me from the field. How naive of you! As you can see, I'm still around!'

She took a step back, more out of disgust than to let him through.

'My orders were very clear concerning you! Can you explain to me your presence here?'

'Explain to you? Why, of course!'

He pulled out a gun, a model fitted with a silencer, and pointed it at the director of the CIA's Asia Department.

'Just what are you playing at?' she snapped dryly, giving vent to her anger. 'You're going to pay very dearly for this, Song...'

He frisked her in search of hidden weapons. He removed two mobile phones she was wearing round her belt. Lorna began to loose her calm.

'What was he doing in a plane chartered by the Agency?' she thought.

'Well, are you going to tell me? What are you doing here? You're going to be dismissed of your functions at the CIA!'

He looked at her with a mix of condescension and contempt.

'But, my poor Lorna, I've never worked for CIA!'

'So, who do you work for, then? The Chinese? Taiwan? The Russians? The Japanese? For who?'

It was now for Song to raise his tone and snarl:

'I work for the United States of America. Just like you! So cut it out!'

Tom was witnessing this incredible scene and, like Lorna, was trying to understand. In any case, he always had a deep dislike of Song! Lorna was standing, white with rage, under threat from the Eurasian pointing his gun. The truth now came to her in bits...

'It was you who hid the evidence revealing the activities of the 'Lin Zexu' group! Wasn't it? And you again who helped the Chinese catch us out! Why?'

Song was not denying. He sat down casually on a couch in a corner of the compartment, pointing his gun at Tom and Lorna. He seemed to draw some perverse satisfaction at being exposed in that way.

In the front compartment, the passengers and three-man crew had also unfastened their seat belts, as did the doctor and nurse who kept on the surgical mask that hid her face. The plane was rapidly gaining altitude.

The nurse was the first to get up. She went towards the toilets, taking along her briefcase containing some medical equipment. When she got out of sight of her fellow passengers, she opened the briefcase and drew out a small gas mask which she immediately placed around her face. Then she pulled out from her pocket a miniature grenade and calmly pulled out its safety pin. She bowled down the centre of the aisle.

The grenade came to a stop under a seat in the middle of the compartment and began to belch out a thick white smoke. The other passengers let out a cry and brought their hands to their throat. The next moment they collapsed in their seat. The nurse unbuttoned her white blouse and stripped off her cotton slacks. She was now in a full commando suit. From her suitcase, she retrieved her gun, several cartridge clips, a thick watch which had a GPS transponder function, a knife and a pair of goggles.

She opened systematically the cupboards until she found some parachutes. She got out two. She donned on one of them, tying and strapping it around her waist. That was how she was going to leave that plane. She and her protégé.

The onboard ventilation system was beginning to draw in the fumes of the powerful narcotic. It was enough to keep the others asleep for several hours. She removed her gas mask and drew up to the dividing door, pistol in hand, and opened it very slowly.

She could hear voices, including a female voice coming from the right close, dead close.

Lorna was at a loss for an explanation. If the Eurasian worked for the Chinese, then how was he able to take over the control of a CIA plane?

'So who do you work for, Song?' she asked him again.

Everything went quickly.

A woman in a commando suit burst in the cabin. She slid up behind Lorna and got her in arm wrench to stop her moving.

She pressed the gun against the American woman's temple.

Only then did she spot the weapon Song was holding in his hand.

'Drop that weapon or I'll shoot!' ordered Jin.

Tom instantly recognised her. He wanted to join her but he was still strapped to his wheelchair.

Song appeared unflappable by this unexpected event. In fact, he seemed to make a game of it.

'Now look who's here, our old friend the Chinese spy, the one who sold secret documents to the CIA out of love! The one who betrayed her country! Isn't it so cute, I'm such a romantic you know!'

'You're the one who plotted all this,' Jin retorted. 'Drop that weapon immediately or she's dead...'

'Ah, so it's your turn now to make light accusations, is it? And how did you manage to get aboard the plane? Oh, of course, the nurse. How silly of me! You took the place of the nurse in the ambulance! Well played!'

She tightened her grip on Lorna and pressed the barrel into her cheek.

'For the last time, Song, drop that gun!' repeated Jin, blind with rage.

Song burst into a laugh.

'Ha-ha! Because you think I might value Lorna's life! Lorna Green's life's worth nothing to me, nothing at all!'

He was wielding his weapon in a fit of an unconfined eagerness.

'D'you know what she's worth to me? Watch this...'

He aimed at the CIA agent and pulled the trigger.

The silencer deadened the shot to a light pop.

Jin felt Lorna's body slump slowly. The bullet had penetrated her thigh, passing through the main muscle and fracturing the femur into several fragments. Lorna cried out in pain and collapsed on the floor.

Jin had lost. The American woman served as a shield. She put down the gun and helped Lorna sit down, taking her head in her arms. She was in agony. Tears were running down her cheeks as she gasped for air, mouth agape.

Song picked up Jin's gun. He now had control of the situation. All his enemies were there, powerless, at his mercy. He was triumphant.

The pilot's voice came on the speaker. He sounded alarmed.

'Sir, this is your pilot. All the passengers in the front compartment have been drugged. They're asleep. What am I to do?'

Song moved up to the onboard telephone.

'I have the situation under control. Lock yourself in the cockpit and wait for my instructions.'

Lorna found the strength to turn towards Song. How on earth could he have authority to give out orders on a CIA plane?

'Song, I need to know. Who do you work for?'

'For crying out loud, Lorna, haven't you understood yet? We have the same employer. We both work for the government of the United States of America!'

It was Jin who uttered the name.

'He works for the NSA, the National Security Agency, am I right, Song?'

'Well done, aren't you a good spy. I'm so impressed.'

'And it was you who killed Baxter in Beijing last January, and it was you again who attempted to assassinate Tom Bailey this morning...'

Song smirked.

But he was no longer in a laughing mood.

'You know far too much, little miss spy. But who cares, you're going to die anyway...'

Jin continued.

'Baxter was working for you. He was an NSA agent. When you learned he blew his cover, you chose to eliminate him. What was he up to in China?'

Song did not answer.

Lorna overcame the pain torturing her body.

'But why? What was the NSA looking for? Why did it fight against us, against the CIA, against Microsoft and against American interests?'

This time, Song was inclined to answer.

'Why, Lorna? Think about it! The fate of Windows and Microsoft in China was settled a long time ago! The Chinese were imposing their Linux on all their administrations. And there was no reason why they would stop there! It would only be a question of time before they would clamp down on private users, on the 100 million PCs across the country! Windows was doomed anyway. Everyone knew it! Everyone except the CIA, which followed blindly what those fools at Microsoft were telling them. Saving Windows was a battle lost from the start! That was when we, at the NSA hit upon another idea...'

He paused, visibly savouring the moment. The CIA's Asia director was writhing in agony in front of him. She was lying on her side to avoid pressure on her blood-drenched leg.

'As we said to ourselves, if China took the decision to ban Windows, that would be a golden opportunity for us...'

'A golden opportunity for what?' asked the agent, grimacing with pain.

'War, Lorna. War!'

'War?'

She pressed on her leg to reduce the haemorrhaging.

'You got it! The Microsoft bomb and its devastating effects fully justified a US military intervention against China. We then had the pretext we needed to launch a preventive war against our No.1 rival, a war that would provide us another century of domination over China! The NSA was keeping close tabs on the discreet efforts of the 'Lin Zexu' group which operated in the sidelines to eliminate Windows.

'And you actually helped them along?'

'In fact they helped themselves. All we did was to remove any obstacle that could slow them down. We neutralised the CIA, pushed back suspicions, muddled the leads... that's all.'

'What about Stenton?'

'Stenton did his job as a loyal CIA agent. It's all your fault, Lorna! You posted him in China because you trusted him but you didn't know the country. You know your problem, Lorna? You don't like China. You don't understand it and you're wary of it. You're scared of being manipulated by the CIA's China bureau, and that's why you shunned China and dumped it all on poor Stenton. But you know what? He didn't know the country any more than you do, and fell back on good old Santana Song who was recommended to him by, would you believe, a former NSA agent!'

Lorna now grasped the extent of the disaster.

'So you helped to boot out Microsoft to justify a war with China! That's completely crazy! Who drew up this strategy? It can't be Larson! Or is it Nimoy, who was a former director of the NSA! It's Nimoy, right?'

'There's no other possible strategy regarding China... I know the Chinese well, believe me! I remember how they treated my poor mother, just because she had curly hair and wasn't a pure Han!'

Lorna tried to figure out the succession of events.

'And how do you guys think you'll win this war?'

'You've seen nothing yet, Lorna. The world's seen nothing yet. The big offensive is due to start in five days! Because while the Chinese were replacing Windows, we at the NSA were installing in their territory a weapon that's so powerful you wouldn't believe it. A weapon that will bring us victory without even having to raise a finger! The ultimate weapon...'

'And what's this weapon?'

Song looked at his watch.

'Sorry Lorna, but I'm afraid your time among the living is up...'

She knew too much, she was going to die; they were all going to die.

Jin attempted another question.

'But Tom? What's Tom got to do in all this?'

That girl was undeniably curious!

'He should never have come to China... The NSA had always been against it and opposed his participation in the GSP. But Microsoft insisted. It was really out to impress the Chinese! That boy can't be controlled and he's ready to betray his country. He's too dangerous.'

'Dangerous? But why?'

'Because he's too smart...'

He was to say nothing more. His smile suddenly froze. He was about to finish with them.

Lorna was now lying in a pool of blood. She surmised Song's intentions.

'And now you're going to kill me?'

'Me? Kill you? Of course not, Lorna.'

He turned towards Tom, still sitting in his wheelchair, and designated him with his finger:

'No, he's the one who's going to kill you!'

He exploded into laughter, a sick laughter.

'And why would he want to kill me?' asked the American woman.

'Because he's real mad at you, Lorna! You're responsible for the death of his poor father!' He broke into laughter once more. He was clearly enjoying this.

'Don't they say 'like father, like son'? Already, over thirty years ago, his father was betraying his land of adoption, the United States of America. He was an active and violent anti Vietnam War militant; he kept close links with all the enemies of the United States, including the KGB. In fact, he was one of their agents! Can see now, Tom, how your treacherous genes drove you along the path traced out by your father, Geoff Bailey? But what d'you expect, it's programmed in you. All those of your caste are traitors. You simply had to betray your country, your employer, and all that for a second-rate little Chinese spy!'

With a weak voice, Tom tried to defend himself.

'I did not betray! Jin was in danger through your fault. I just helped her...'

He cut him short in a threatening tone.

'You betrayed just as your father betrayed! Your father conspired against the interests of the United States, and the CIA had him eliminated. And do you know who was the CIA agent in charge of that dirty job? It was a young woman from the Action Department. She's now aged a bit, but you know her name. It's Lorna Green and she's there, right in front of you, Tom! One of your first missions, I believe, Lorna?'

Lorna lashed out at that statement.

'It's all lies, Tom, I didn't kill you father. Don't listen to him! Your father was watched by the CIA but, believe me, his death was accidental!'

Song was frothing with excitement. He loved torture, especially its psychological form. He continued.

'Poor crazy bastard! They killed your father like they killed John Lennon...'

'Tom, its all a pack of lies, don't believe him!'

He got up, untied the strap of Tom's wheelchair and pushed him roughly to a computer terminal.

'Well, why don't you check that for yourself. Go on! You see this computer, it's connected by satellite to the NSA's central server. Make the most of it, it's the chance of your life! Type in the search box the shameful name of your father, the traitor Geoff Bailey.'

Tom was being rocked by very powerful and mixed emotions. As much as he hated Song and wanted to throttle him with his hands, he felt drawn to the keyboard by an irresistible force. His father! What did he in fact know of him? Of his activities, his death in a road accident. He knew nothing because, out of respect for his mother, he never wished to awaken a painful past. And now, there he was in that plane, the truth perhaps a few centimetres away.'

'Type!' yelled Song, as if in a trance.

The young man stretched out his left hand but could not reach the keyboard. Being strapped to his wheelchair and with an arm in a sling, Tom could hardly move.

Song turned towards Jin.

'You. Go and help him,' he ordered.

Jin got up to the computer and seized a stool beside Tom.

'Go on, type 'Bailey', type!

Jin placed her fingers on the keyboard and began typing on the filename search field: B, A...

Tom was fascinated. His eyes were riveted to the screen, the flashing cursor, the data field in which the letters of his name were beginning to appear.

Jin continued: X, T, E, R... BAXTER! Then she hit the 'enter' key...

No luck! The NSA server came up with no file under that name. Tom did not understand but said nothing.

'Well?' asked Song, standing back to keep watch on Lorna. 'Well?'

Jin raised her head humbly.

'I made a mistake, I'll start again...'

She could no longer afford another mistake. This was her last chance. She now typed just three figures: 5, 3, 1.

The numbers Zhou had given her over the phone. The same figures as found on Baxter's computer.

One more time, she hit the 'enter' key. This time she had knocked on the right door! The NSA screen gave way to a page on a pale blue background bearing the inscription 'Project 531'

She clicked.

'Well?' resumed Song.

For Tom, the emotional shock was too strong. He had expected to see the ghost of his father on the screen, whereas instead of that... But what on earth was Jin up to?

The young woman opened a file mentioning Baxter, then another. Her eyes scanned the screen frantically. She was memorising each line, each word, in a fraction of a second, cramming as much data as possible in her head.

'Stem cells', 'DNA', so that was what the M-bomb was all about...!'

A bacteriological bomb!

Suddenly, her mind was gripped by the vision of tens, hundreds of thousands Chinese children struck by a new plague from the United States! She saw open graves swallowing up corpses of victims of the epidemic. The countryside annihilated, towns devastated, the country drained of its lifeblood. China was going to disappear...

So that was the absolute weapon Song was mentioning! 'A weapon of awesome power that would allow America to win the war without even having to raise a finger....'

America had made the decision! Like in 1945 over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, it had decided to launch a new weapon, horrifying, inhumane...

She continued reading, mobilising all her brain cells to retain those specialised terms: 'transformants', 'plasmids', 'hybridization'...

The genetic weapon, the arm of the twenty first century! The mass extermination of the Chinese people.

And then, there, at the bottom of that page: a name. The name of the doctor in Beijing Baxter met on January the 18th to hand him over genetic equipment. That was the accomplice, possibly the one who was in charge of spreading the evil...

Now it was Jin who was stunned. She batted her eyelids to clear the tears she could not hold back.

'Now you've seen for yourself, you've seen who murdered your father!' broke out Song to Tom.

It was then that he noticed the blanched face of the young woman, as if it had turned to snow. Song shuffled up to the workstation before Jin had time to close all the pages. It was not Geoff Bailey's history that was up on the screen! He understood immediately.

'You fucking bitch!' he hollered, striking Jin in the face with the butt of his gun. The young woman fell and instantly lost consciousness. He disconnected the computer from the NSA server and seized the onboard telephone.

'Descend to 7000 feet, depressurise cabin, unlock doors.'

'Understood,' answered the captain.

Immediately after Song's orders, the plane dived to its new altitude. Song was furious, furious at himself. Furious for having given in to his vanity. He should have got it over and done with right away.

'Now that calls for a slight change of plans. What a pity! I quite liked my script.' He began to imitate a newscaster. 'After having betrayed his country, the fervent computer wonder avenges his father assassinated by the CIA. He guns down the director of the CIA's Asia Department who had come over specifically from Langley to collect him! Then he kills himself after leaving a message on the PC aboard the plane! Kind of neat, huh? But of course, there had to be that little Chinese spy to throw a spanner in the works of this master plan!'

The plane had reached its new cruising altitude. They were now flying level at 7000 feet.

Song unlocked the plane door and shifted the oblong release handle to the right. The door sprang open, sliding along the fuselage. There was a violent bolt of air entering with a deafening roar.

Jin was regaining consciousness.

'Welcome back among us, my little Chinese spy! I wouldn't have you miss the show! I've just made it up especially for you!'

He made her step back to the opposite partition of the plane.

'Now here's the plan: you're the one with the parachute but I'm afraid it isn't you who's going to jump!'

He burst out in a convulsive laugh.

'It's your friend Tom who's going to make the leap. That's right. He's going to give us a world exclusive demonstration of free fall from a wheelchair! Congratulations Tom, we're right behind you, old boy!'

Sheets of paper were whirling around them as the wind swept inside the cabin.

Bathing in a red pool, Lorna Green had lost an enormous amount of blood and felt her life ebbing away. She no longer had the strength to react.

Song pointed his gun to Jin.

'Farewell, little spy!'

He aimed at the heart and fired. She fell back with a heavy thud.

Song grabbed hold of the wheelchair by the two vertical bars behind the backrest, and wheeled it to the doorway. The front wheels were now balancing over the void below.

'You ready son? Today's your big jump! Look, doesn't the ocean look beautiful? It's inviting, it's all yours!'

The sea was lit by the last rays of the sun.

Tom was desperately thinking how to escape, but the leather belt held him too tight to the accursed chair. Where was the buckle? He found it, pressed to open it... Too late.

Song had taken two steps back to gain momentum and pushed the wheelchair beyond the plane's threshold. Tom disappeared in the next moment, sucked away by the speed and wind.

In the fraction of a second that followed, Song received a violent blow. He felt struck and immediately propelled towards the void in front. He tried to dig himself in, but the energy of the impact was too strong. Despite his attempts, he stumbled heavily towards the open door. He continued beyond, screaming in terror a he fell.

It was Jin.

The bullet had ricocheted against the heavy metal plate that held the straps of her parachute. She had leapt up and flung herself at Song with all her might. Her momentum accelerated Song's forward movement and expulsed him as he had toppled over Tom's wheelchair.

She was now floating in the air.

Straight away, she placed her goggles over her eyes. The plane was already far. Tom must have had half a second's lead on her.

She scanned around her for signs of Tom Bailey. She spotted two dark smears against the sky. Just two tiny dots. She darted down, arms placed straight along the sides of her body for maximum speed. She set her angle of penetration to about 40 degrees and headed towards her target, just the angle to give her sufficient vertical speed to catch up with Tom.

The spot was getting closer. It was Tom alright! It was him!

He had broken away from his wheelchair as soon as he fell off the plane and had taken the position of a freefaller, body horizontal and limbs spread out for maximum air resistance. Poor Tom! He must be writhing in agony with his injured shoulder! Was he even conscious?

She was now only about 100 metres from him. It was time to reduce her angle and slow down, decrease her relative speed and negotiate the final approach.

The gap was closing in. His hair flowing was now clearly visible. She approached in a quick succession of body flexions: 40 metres, 20 metres, 10 metres. Now she was over him.

She wrapped her arms round one of his legs.

Anchoring herself to his waist, she embraced his body, locking her limbs into his, arms welded round his torso... She knew it, the jarring effect was going to be terrible as the parachute opened. Tom was heavier than she. He could easily slip away from her clasp...

Suddenly, before their eyes, a few metres away... the face of the devil. Santana Song was there, he had joined them. He was in a body glide, gun in hand, hair straight, mouth distorted, cheeks and lips pulled back by the wind. He was a horrific sight. He pointed his gun to shoot.

Jin pivoted on her back, Tom above her, and tugged on the parachute's handle.

Song's face faded away, sucked down into the air. Then came the shock. Jin cried out to give herself courage. A wailing cry. Her body flipped round under the pull of her straps. She felt her hands slip, her legs uncross under the overwhelming force. But she held on fast. The parachute had done its job; it slowed down their fall, just in time, for they were now only 100 metres above the surface.

Song's body was about to hit the surface of the water. At that speed, it would be as hard as concrete. Song was going to cross the infinite mirror of the Ocean against which reflected the rays of the falling sun. He was going through the other side of that mirror, into the nether world, the world of legends and mermaids, a silent and muffled world, the original womb from which all life sprang.

But it would be another Song altogether; a pathetic heap of crushed flesh on which multicoloured fish would feed, nibbling at his venomous skin, his corrupt meat saturated with the toxins of the city, and a soiled soul which they'll leave aside.

Or rather, the fish will let nothing remain of the ignoble Song, because fish are oblivious to the soul's immortal nature. Fish are only concerned with the nutritional value of organic waste...

Jin no longer felt her exhaustion. She was cradling Tom in her arms as they were both descending, slowly, towards the silvery surface of the ocean, like a single being. She used that moment to activate the transponder on wrist.

They hit the surface with a fair bump and sank a few metres under the waves. She undid the straps of the parachute and pulled the cord that inflated the life buoy round her neck. She was propelled to the open air, still holding Tom in her arms. He had lost consciousness, probably when the parachute opened, or possibly even before... With his injuries, the young man was undoubtedly in a state of exhaustion.

She pushed away the white fabric of the large square parachute that saved their lives. Tom was breathing, slowly, feebly, but he was breathing. The temperature of the water did not exceed seven our eight degrees. All they could do was wait for the rescue team, assuming that the transponder hadn't failed... She chased that thought away from her mind.

Zeying pushed open the door of the control room where Zhou was sitting.

'Colonel, we've got it, we've found her. Jin's set off her transponder. She's just been located!'

'Where is she?' asked Zhou, torn between the hope of seeing Jin and the foreboding that she was in danger.

'At sea! Off Fuzhou.'

'What's she doing out there? Have you done everything?'

'Yes, a destroyer's less than 50 kilometres from her position, at the entrance of the Straits of Taiwan. It's going to their rescue.'

'Be careful, Zeying. She may still be with that American, and he may still have an electronic bug on him!'

'We've sent that information to the Navy!'

'We cannot take any risks.'

Tom's face now took on a violet complexion. His body temperature was dropping and his strength was ebbing away. It was now forty minutes since they had emerged to the surface. They must find them – quickly – if he were not to die in the middle of the ocean. Surely they could not have gone through all this simply to succumb, vanquished by that immense body of liquid?

Night had fallen and Jin suddenly felt extreme fatigue fall upon her. How were they going to find them in this darkness? Thanks to the white stain of the parachute in the sea? The waterlogged parachute had sunk ages ago. And how precise was this transponder? Enough to locate them to within a few metres?

With one hand, she felt the pockets of her suit. She hadn't yet done an inventory of everything that made up the standard commando kit. She found what she was looking for: a distress flare! It was just a small stick which gave out an intense light when the end cap was pulled off. That was enough to reassure her. The sea was calm and the absence of waves would simplify their recovery.

She hugged Tom harder still and kissed him once more on the mouth, as if that kiss could pump some heat into him. He opened his eyes for a moment and, upon seeing her, managed to utter:

'Jin, you're still alive!'

Those few words were her greatest reward.

'You too, Tom, you're still alive!'

He lost consciousness again...

She could clearly make out the sound of the blades of an approaching helicopter. Yes, there was no mistaking. She could now see the powerful vertical searchlight scouring the surface of the ocean. It was heading towards her at very low speed. When the cone of light embraced her, she waved frantically.

She had been spotted without her having to fire the rocket.

The helicopter canted slightly and hovered, creating tremors in the sea beneath it. It immediately dropped two harnesses from respective cables. Tom was the first to be hauled. Jin had hardly clambered on board that the helicopter pulled away.

The craft was not equipped for medical assistance, but the ship's doctor had come in person. He took Tom in charge and gave him a heart stimulant by intravenous injection. After having sounded him, he declared:

'He must be transferred urgently to a block. His body temperature's dropped. He's in a bad way!'

Jin sipped piping hot coffee from a metal mug, warming herself as best she could under a blanket thrown over her shoulders.

'Is your ship sufficiently well equipped?' she asked.

'Well, er... you're not going on board our destroyer. You're going back ashore in a submarine. The chiefs of staff are afraid your companion has a hidden electronic tag on him. They've therefore decided to isolate you from radio satellites by immerging you do a depth of 100 metres...'

They must have covered around 60 kilometres when arrived above the submarine. A few men were already on the bridge. They had prepared a stretcher which was hauled aboard the helicopter. Tom was placed on it and lowered down to the submersible. Jin thanked the rescuers and followed the same path, suspended from her harness. Then she slipped inside the conning tower, followed by the last seamen who closed the hatchway shut.

The craft was ready to submerge.

'Welcome aboard,' said the captain saluting her.

'Thank you captain. It's most urgent that you look after my American passenger, he's very weak...'

'Rest assured, he's been taken to the medical block. He's in good hands. Our medic had enough time to be briefed by the one who accompanied you in the helicopter.'

'I must immediately contact Colonel Zhou of the special services.'

'We're getting the radio link ready, it's a matter of a couple of minutes. Why don't you have a nice hot shower while you're waiting? We've prepared some dry clothes for you... You'd be surprised by the level of comfort of our PLAN submarines!'

She was adjusting the sweater she had just put on when a naval officer introduced himself.

'Miss Lao Jin, we've established a communications link with headquarters. Colonel Zhou, you must speak to him immediately!'

He regretted his choice of words himself as soon a he had finished, embarrassed at having given her orders. He attempted to soften his words.

'Of course, that's if you wish to...'

'I'll think it over,' she said coyly, getting up.

She followed him into the command room where the duty officers gave her a military salute. Her naval aviation adventures had undoubtedly gained her the admiration and respect of all those seamen!

The submarine was immerged to periscope depth for the duration of the communications link with the satellite. As soon as the communication was over, it was to plunge into the deep waters.

The radio operator handed her a two-way headset, which she put over her head.

'Jin, I want you to come home straight away...'

That was Zhou all right! She too would have preferred to be at home rather than going through these aerial stunts!

'Zhou, listen to me, it's very important. I managed to gain access to the NSA computers! I know everything. I know what the 'M-bomb' is! Zhou, it's simply beyond belief, the 'M-bomb', it's...'

In Beijing, Zhou was straining his ears, but some crackles made the end of the phrase inaudible.

'We've lost communication,' warned the radio officer, 'That's due to rolling motion.'

'Well do your damndest to get it back, and quick,' he ordered.

They had to wait a good five minutes. Jin resumed her debriefing.

'So, I had enough time to scan through several files concerning what the NSA calls 'Project M531'

She caught her breath back.

'Zhou, it's beyond all belief; they mention stem cells, molecular biology, DNA purification, cloning, transformant selection, plasmid preparation, hybridization, enzyme enhanced DNA sequencing; that's about all I could memorise. Baxter came over to China to hand over some stuff that was genetically modified in American labs.'

'Are you sure?'

'Absolutely certain. Zhou, we've been on the wrong track! The 'M-bomb' Baxter mentions in the mails found on his PC... it's in fact a microbial weapon! The figures '531' are no doubt the code for a gene...'

Zhou was staggered.

'A biological weapon! The Americans have constructed a bacteriological weapon on our soil!'

'My thoughts exactly! I had time to open half a dozen documents, all of them concerned genetics and manipulation. And it didn't begin with Baxter; he was only the last on the list. I saw other names with dates going back farther. They've been working on it for years on our territory. They're bound to have imported highly lethal strains of bacteria or viruses, with ten or twenty times the virulence of the SARS virus. And remember the havoc the SARS epidemic caused, the panic and disruptions which ensued. Well, it looks like the Americans learnt a lot from that and must have developed extremely pathogenic strains. That's what the 'M-bomb' is! It's the NSA that's behind all this, and the big offensive is imminent – at the end of the ultimatum!'

Zhou tried to collect his thoughts.

'And where are we to search, Jin? Where do we start our investigations? Did you see a name or any clue that could give us a lead?'

'Yes, I was lucky. I hit upon the name of a Chinese doctor. The very same one Baxter met during his stay. He works for the Americans. He's bound to be the one responsible for operations on our soil.'

'You've got his name, Jin?'

'It's a certain Doctor Wu Hanru...'

Zhou leapt from his chair.

'Doctor Wu Hanru! Are you sure?'

'No doubt whatsoever. Wu Hanru. I memorised his name and can even tell you he works at Central Hospital No.3 in Beijing. Zhou, you must arrest him, he's the one Baxter handed the samples to.'

Zhou had met Doctor Wu Hanru at the end of the afternoon, in a room of that very Central Hospital No.3 in Beijing. He was at the bedside of a lovable patient, the little Mok Lili.

So, Wu was a traitor who collaborated with the Americans in introducing pathogenic strains into China!

'Jin, I'll be meeting you in an hour's time.'

'On the subject, Zhou, I'm not returning alone, I have a passenger with me.'

'I don't want to know, Jin; you just return immediately, that's all. Consider it an order!'

Trying to take on a detached tone, she replied:

'Zhou, right now I'm inside a nuclear submarine in submersion! We're heading towards Fuzhou at a speed of 25 knots. So please don't expect me for dinner...'

She turned back towards the nurse and slumped down on the bunk facing Tom, who appeared to sleep peacefully.

She too had deserved a few hours' rest.

Zhou was paralysed. His brain refused to work.

His mind would not face the reality of these facts. He thrust it away desperately as soon as it neared his conscience. For this reality was so awesome and diabolical, repulsive and violent, that he simply could not grasp it.

The truth burnt him like a blinding light, the light of madmen, of those who pretend they can stare directly into the sun...

Capital 'M's were flashing before his eyes.

M for 'Microsoft' for the bomb he had invented three months ago and of which he had been so proud... and which now haunted his nights.

Or else the M followed by '531' that key element of software on which depended the whole security of China's computers?

Or again M for 'microbial' referring to the genetically modified bacteriological weapon Baxter had, according to Jin, introduced into China and was about to create millions of victims?

Or was it M for 'monetary' since such was the nature of the counterattack that President Ren had anticipated?

And then there was M for Mok. He uttered separately each syllable of that name, making the M resonate: Mok-Meng-Ma, Mok: the 'dazzling horse'!

The truth was there, staring straight at his eyes. But still he turned away from its blinding clarity.

Jin was wrong. There was no biological warfare. The solution was much simpler.

Because there was also the M of the block where little Lili happened to be treated.

And no matter how he tried to turn these 'M's around, all he could see was a single face, still and placid, smiling gently at him, the face of a child, the sweet face of little Lili.

There lay the key to the mystery.

Beijing

D-4 before expiry of the ultimatum, 8:30 am

Zhou entered the compound of Central Hospital No.3 where he had met Professor Mok the day before. This time he was escorted by two agents, two members of his team. He bypassed the reception desk and went directly to M block, into Dr. Wu's lab. They had no difficulty penetrating into the first room, where a dozen people in white laboratory coats were busy in front of computer LCD displays, drawing up the results of therapeutic experiments. The doctor was in a second room, a sterile chamber used for analyses and whose access was restricted. Zhou called for the doctor on the interphone.

He instantly recognised Wu when he appeared.

'I'm afraid you're unlucky, Professor Mok will only be here towards the end of the morning...'

Zhou cut him short briskly, without even a greeting.

'It's you I've come to see, Doctor Wu!'

'Me?' he retorted, taking on an air of utter surprise.

'We have a few questions to ask you. Show me the way to your office, please.'

Wu cast a sweeping look around him to make sure none of his collaborators had seen him being addressed so sharply. The Chinese are taught never to loose face. He eyed the two agents and sensed the threat.

'Very well, follow me,' he replied heading into the corridor.

He was beginning to get seriously worried. One of the two guards passed in front of him to prevent any attempt to escape. Zhou closed the door of the room behind him. It was a spacious office with a large French window giving onto the back of the building. Against the walls were tall bookshelves filled with books in Chinese and English, international reviews, theses and publications.

Dr. Wu immediately went in and sat down behind his desk, a derisory move, as if that piece of furniture could serve him as a shield.

'Well, gentlemen, I have to inform you my time is short,' he began, 'I have my visits to do. I'm listening!'

Zhou pulled out his gun. A simple gesture of intimidation, but which often gave results.

'Get on your feet, he ordered Wu. You, search him!'

The geneticist found it wiser to comply.

'Put your hands against the wall, legs spread apart,' enjoined the agent.

This psychological manoeuvre was particularly humiliating for the honourable professor, but always effective in softening up a customer. Being degraded in this way weakened the defences and served to gain time.

He was stripped of his mobile phone and pager.

'Unplug his fixed phone too.'

Dr. Wu, head of the molecular biology department at Central Hospital No.3, had turned pale.

'Right,' continued Zhou, 'You're now going to explain a few things to us. How did you obtain the genetic equipment you used on little Mok Lili?'

'I don't understand,' he answered feebly 'Everything comes from this laboratory, as you saw yourself. We're at the leading edge of research...'

'Do you know an American under the name Baxter? Ron Baxter?'

'Never heard of him. I go to quite a few international congresses, you know, I can't remember all the names...'

Zhou pulled out a photo from his pocket, taken by Jin's team during Baxter's visit at the beginning of the year. Wu cast a rapid glance at the picture and turned his look away. It was enough, he recognised the man. Almost despite himself, he again turned his gaze back to the photo, this time longer, more attentively.

Memories flashed back in his mind.

He shook his head.

'No, sorry, never met him,' he answered mustering all the composure he could.

'Well, it turns out that this American, whose name is Baxter, paid you a visit on January the 18th last and handed you over some therapeutic samples. We know these products were for treating Professor Mok's daughter.'

'But I told you, everything came from our own laboratory...'

Zhou rested a foot on the chair and adopted a friendly tone towards the doctor:

'Dr. Wu, I'll be perfectly honest with you. Baxter was an American spy well known by our services. He made a trip to Beijing last January supposedly for maintenance on a computer. But in fact he came over here to see you!'

The doctor remained silent.

'That meeting was so secret that no sooner than the next day the American special services thought it wise to eliminate Baxter, fearing the purpose of his visit might be discovered! In other words, Dr. Wu, Baxter was killed to cover up his meeting with you!'

Zhou got out the photo of the overweight American murdered in his room at the Great Wall Mirama hotel.

This time Wu had difficulty in recognising his American colleague.

'It took us months to crack the code protecting his laptop PC. We finally managed to and we now know the real purpose of his mission.'

He got up suddenly and uttered in an accusing voice:

'Baxter met you on the 18th of January, and he handed you over gene therapy equipment prepared specifically to treat Professor Mok Mengma's daughter.'

He continued in the same register, giving no time to let the doctor recover his wits.

'Do you admit having received genetic equipment from the hands of this man?'

Wu's expression collapsed and gave a glimpse into an intense inner conflict.

'I cannot... he muttered, I can't tell you anything, it's impossible...'

Zhou could sense it, his customer was ripe. He took on a conciliatory tone.

'Dr. Wu, as you know, we're at war. It happens that you got yourself involved in a matter that goes way beyond you. In fact the matter's so serious that it can decide on the outcome of this war.'

'You are aware of the importance of Professor Mok's work, aren't you?'

'Yes.' he uttered almost inaudibly from his lips.

'Dr. Wu, you are going to be charged with conspiracy against the interests of the People's Republic of China, intelligence with the enemy in time of war, and sabotage. You do know the verdict for that type of crime? It's death, Dr. Wu, and banishment for your family.'

Dr. Wu began to tremble throughout his body.

'This Baxter... I didn't know him under that name,' he whimpered.

'Under what name did you know him?'

He began to speak very fast, as if to relieve to relieve his conscience.

'He didn't give a name. He was a geneticist. He came over on January the 18th to bring some samples of stem cells to be introduced in the last phase of the treatment on Professor Mok's daughter. He insisted on being there because the protocol of administration was extremely complex.'

'He came in person to the hospital?'

'Yes, he entered discreetly by the back of the building, hidden inside an ambulance. We were able to work through part of the night.'

'Why didn't you tell anyone of all this?'

'They made me swear to keep it secret. It came from a private American laboratory. They were carrying out genetic manipulations on stem cells and foetal cells in total illegality. They told me they were risking a lot by supplying these products. As for me, my career would be ruined and I would be liable to criminal charges if the matter came to light. But I was so eager to learn, and they were so far ahead in their research...'

The explanations were consistent and smacked of sincerity.

'It was Professor Mok who introduced you to them?'

'No, it was me the Americans first contacted, during a congress in Las Vegas. They spoke to me about their research and – just in case – I sent them some sample genetic cells of little Lili. It was through me the whole story started, more than two years ago.'

'And Mok?'

'Oh, Mok wanted just one thing, having his daughter cured! When the Americans told him they had a solution, he begged me; he was crying out, he was ready to do anything...'

Zhou had everything he needed to know.

'Dr. Wu, tonight you're going to sleep in a rather special kind of hotel. But I must warn you, it's not like Las Vegas... there are bars against the windows.'

Beijing,

D-4, 15:30

Jin hardly had just a few moments to call at her flat for a shower and put on more feminine clothes. For had she followed Zhou's instructions to the letter, she would have turned up straight in the canvas trousers and thick blue sweater lent to her by the submarine crew.

They had docked at Fuzhou early in the morning, where a military plane immediately flew them back to Beijing.

Tom was allowed to be of the party, as in the submarine they had found implanted under his skin a microcapsule the CIA must have placed surreptitiously during a routine medical visit. He was now invisible to American satellites. Upon his arrival in Beijing, he was put into therapeutic sleep until the next day. His wound was starting to heal well and he would soon be back fit again, the military medics had promised.

Jin arrived at Professor Mok's home in the middle of the afternoon. It was a single-storey detached house with a large, gently-sloping roof. She spotted three unmarked cars of the military police guarding the house. The man was under house arrest since the day before. She entered the home accompanied by an officer. Her gaze turned instantly towards the furniture. It was very conventional Chinese style: a chest of drawers of lacquered wood, large porcelain vases, some classical paintings depicting traditional mountains emerging from the mist...

The entrance to the library was guarded by an armed man. That was where the Professor must be.

The officer knocked on the solid wooden door and opened it.

He was there, standing in front of his desk, his back turned to her, busy sorting out some papers, facing long rows of shelves filled with books and ornaments. Another guard carrying a machine gun was keeping watch inside the room.

'Good afternoon, Professor.' She wanted her tone to be neutral and composed.

'Hello, Jin.'

He turned round.

It was the first time in five years she had seen her Professor, the genius, the brilliant Professor Mok Mengma. More exactly since that April morning when she announced to him she would leave the lab because she had signed an eight-year contract with the army's computer services, a more elegant way of designating the counterespionage section.

She found him changed. In any case, he no longer corresponded to the image she had of him in her memory. Gone was the dashing, handsome academic, whom the People's Republic of China one day decorated for his contributions to National Defence and State Security.

He was not yet fifty, but his stoop, untidy hair and vacant look betrayed the state of dejection and self resignation he had slid into. The real Mok had vanished, he was gone.

'I knew you would come, I knew it would be you...'

She felt a lump in her throat but did not let anything transpire.

'Professor, I am empowered by the authorities...'

He did not let her finish her phrase.

'Such is our destiny. It was written that it would be you who'd come to execute me...'

She refused to be drawn into his pathos. But she too was striking a sentimental chord.

'Professor, our country is at war, I've come to ask for your help, in memory of our friendship, I beg of you...'

Was it because she evoked those very close links that bonded them in the past? He was taken over by sudden and violent fit of temper, agitating his arms before him.

'Friendship, how dare you speak of friendship! And for a start, get rid of these guards!'

He pointed his threatening finger to the officer and soldier in faction inside the room.

'If I speak, it will be to you and you alone. Get them to leave immediately.'

The young woman hesitated.

'Jin,' he growled, 'it's take it or leave it...'

She turned to the two military present.

'Could you please leave the room?'

The officer refused.

'That's impossible, Madam, I have orders...'

Jin wanted to waste no time. She gave her order to the two men in a curt tone:

'Please leave the room,'

'I have to warn...'

'Warn Colonel Zhou, but start by leaving the room.'

Reluctantly, they finally obeyed. This seemed to calm down the professor. He grabbed a half-empty cigarette packet from his desk and flicked his lighter open. He drew a long deep breath through his cigarette, bringing a scarlet glow to its tip.

Jin was seated on the sofa. There were just the two of them now. She wanted to know, she wanted to know how the man she admired the most in the world could have betrayed his mother country.

'Professor?' she asked in a calm voice. Why?

He drew again on his cigarette, blowing out a dense cloud of smoke which rose to the ceiling. He took on a sad, despondent expression which she had never seen in him before.

'Why, Jin? Why? Well, it's very simple, really.'

He went to sit in front of her on a wooden chair. He was slumped, heaped up on himself.

'My wife had left me... she was everything to me... I was nothing without her. I was lost. And then...'

He hesitated for the space of a second. Was he trying to hold back the tears welling up in him?

'And then, my darling little daughter, my little Lili fell ill. Her days were counted and I was alone to look after her, all alone. That was when the other woman that I loved so desperately also walked out on me...'

Jin had never realised how deep his distress had been. She asked innocently:

'And who was that woman you loved so much?'

He raised his head and looked at her with such intensity that she felt uneasy. He had got up from his chair.

'That woman, Jin, it was you!'

She could not help flinching upon hearing her name.

'Me?'

'Yes, you. I loved you from the very first day you came into my laboratory. Your boyish look, your hair, your face, and... you were the only person who understood me, we were the same, you and I, so much alike...'

She was struggling to sort out the flow of emotions that were rocking her. He had slumped down again, head bowed, as if resigned.

'When my wife left me, I began to entertain hopes, imagining that you and me... You understand?'

She remained silent. There she was, in front of him, unable to move. Mok Mengma was only fifteen years her senior, but the natural respect she had for the Professor and the void left by the absence of her parents made her incapable of seeing in him anything other than a father figure. She too had let her head sink.

After a few seconds, she managed to mutter:

'Why didn't you tell me all this?'

'I was afraid of your reaction. I was desperately trying to detect something in each of your words, each of your gestures, the tiniest sign of love, a simple mark of affection. But I saw nothing, nothing other than friendship. Friendship! How I hate that word!'

She did not answer.

'When you left me, Jin, I was at a complete loss, I had nothing to cling on to. And so I flipped over...'

He drew another cigarette from his packet and craned his neck to reach the lighter. His nervous lips squeezed the filter tip so hard that his mouth was just a horizontal line. There was a slight crackle as the tobacco touched the flame, then the end turned red. His face became surrounded by plumes of smoke.

'It was at that time when at the hospital Dr. Wu spoke to me about his American colleagues. He mentioned a team from Chicago which was leading far ahead in the field of genetic engineering. He met them at an international symposium in Las Vegas. They worked for a private firm. Wu took the initiative of sending a DNA sample from my little daughter Lili, just for an opinion. And then, three years ago, they discovered the gene responsible for her illness. An incurable disease.'

He cut himself short.

'Well?' she asked.

'Well, they got into contact with me. They were ready to spend a lot of money to modify that gene and develop a molecule from it. But the research was expensive, far too expensive, and that affliction was so rare the amount invested would never be recovered. Despite that, they were ready to go through with it, but there was a price to pay...'

'Which was?'

'During one of my trips to Europe, they were there. They explained to me that China had decided to impose its own software and get rid of Windows, and all this was dangerous for peace and the world balance. Peace had to be saved.'

Jin began to anticipate.

'You handed over to them the source code of your software?'

'No, I refused. But I wanted to save my child. They then revealed to me that there was a 'backdoor' tucked secretly inside Windows, allowing the American authorities to penetrate into a remote PC. That was compulsory in the United States. They had to provide the Federal agencies with a door into all the software on the market, so that they could fight effectively against organised crime, terror, or against an outside enemy... They told me all PCs in China equipped with Windows could thus be hacked by the NSA. And that this had been going on for years without anyone suffering from it.'

Jin listened to this fascinating account without interrupting.

'The United States would never attack China,' they explained to me. But they had a mission to accomplish as part of their established role as the world's police force, the defenders of peace and world stability. However, China's decision to boycott Windows constituted a grave menace, and was the first step in an escalation that would inevitably lead to a large-scale conflict. So, I accepted....'

He dipped his head even lower.

'Accepted what?' she asked harshly.

'I accepted to prolong what was already going on in all the computers in China! In other words, I accepted to introduce a secret communication module into our software system.'

'So that's what it was!' thought Jin.

'The United States had never in the past abused of this Windows back door. And so there was no reason to think that they'd act differently with the new system. They gave me their assurances. I trusted them.'

Jin had got up and now dominated over the man sitting on the chair.

'Professor, you have introduced a back door into China's own operating system!'

He got up in turn, but it was not out of defiance. Quite on the contrary, he stepped slowly to his desk.

'Yes, and I have no regrets. We are heading towards an inevitable and generalised confrontation between these two empires. Jin, are you so blind? Can't you see the tension rising, the skies darkening? It all starts with oil, then it'll be the other raw materials next, and then even the air we breathe... China will want to control everything, its supply sources, its maritime routes, its neighbours, and then it'll want to conquer space...'

'But it's our country's right!' she burst out. Why do you want the largest country in the world, with its billion inhabitants, to delegate its own security to someone else to the detriment of its own interests?'

'Because rivalry and confrontation lead inexorably to war, Jin. You have proof of this today. What kind of world are we going to pass on to our children? The Americans saved my little Lili; I want her to live in a world at peace. Do you think I did all this so that she'll grow up to discover terror and fire? Well no! I made sure she'd be able to live in a calm and serene universe.'

She had heard enough. It was time to get to the bottom.

'When and how did you implant the American module?'

'The operation began a bit over two years ago. It's not a black box if you want to be precise. It's lines of code that have been introduced into the central module of our operating system, the M531. This parasitic insertion is almost impossible to disentangle from the host code because they're so closely interwoven.'

Jin was thinking.

'The Americans have thus supplied you with the source code of their back door?'

'Yes, I've just told you, it's not a module, it's code. They wanted their software routine to go unnoticed and at the same time to be difficult to extract without risking serious damage to the entire system.'

'And they trusted you? You could have led them up the garden path!'

'They'd thought of everything. The delivery of the genetic equipment for treating my little Lili always followed closely the validation tests of the main phases in the integration of the routine. Last year, they checked that the operating systems installed in China's air and sea ports were indeed fitted with their back door and that it was operational.'

'What about your team, did they know about it? Didn't anyone notice anything?'

'I'm the only one to have pulled together the final version of the M531. I'm the one who compiled it. It's used in that form in all the versions of the operating system installed in the administrations and, just recently, in the CNOS.'

'And the last time the Americans got into contact with you was?...' YYy

'Back in January. The laboratory had already put me on the sidelines several months before and I preferred to resign from my post, which was a relief to everyone. So, in January, an American geneticist came specially to China to proceed with the last phase of the treatment himself.'

'Baxter?'

'I don't know his real name. He worked with Dr. Wu. He came to Central Hospital No.3 with his gene samples. The results were tremendous, truly amazing. Lili has pulled through, she's definitely saved.'

'Did Wu know about your dealings with the Americans?'

'No, he never found about it. He's a scientist. All he's interested in is technology; the Americans were ahead and he wanted to learn everything from them. I believe he also received some money to maintain absolute silence.'

He was on his fourth cigarette. She was looking at that man for whom she now felt nothing but contempt, the utmost contempt. He will be condemned to death for high treason. The People People's Republic of China which had awarded him all the honours was now going to execute him.

She felt no sadness at the thought.

And yet this was the man whom they now had to ask for help. To save what could still be saved, to counter the American manoeuvres and try to shut the back door that made China so vulnerable.

Mok felt the weight of the contempt expressed in the woman's face. But he was beyond caring; he was already dead. All that counted now was his little Lili, she alone was still holding back his final day on earth.

Jin wanted to leave the room, but it was impossible. She had to overcome her disgust and get that traitor to cooperate.

Fortunately, he took the initiative, and announced in a toneless voice:

'Jin, I'll give you a deal.'

'Go on...'

'I give you the source code from the Americans. I give you my entire set of comments I wrote when I was integrating the American code into the M531. With these comments, it's possible to trace through my work step by step and understand each stage of the procedure. With a team of the sharpest brains, it should be possible to develop an antidote, a piece of software that would come to inhibit the action of the American code...'

'Would they only have the time? The ultimatum was due to expire in four days!' wondered Jin.

'And what's on my side of the deal?'

'I want you to look after Lili. She has no family left; I'm an only child, like we all are in China, and my parents are too old. She needs someone young. I want you to find a foster family for her, to make sure she's happy, that she has the happiest possible life, that she does well at school, that she thrives...'

'My job's very demanding. I'm not able to look after a child...'

'No, Jin, she needs somebody to watch over her, someone she can count on for everything. When Zhou came to see me at the hospital yesterday, I understood it was all over. So I got my lawyer to prepare the legal documents by which Lili will be in your ward until she reaches her majority.'

He pulled out a cardboard folder from his office drawer. He drew out two copies of a document he held out to her.

'I want you to be her legal tutor. You see these two flash memories behind the computer? In less than a minute they'll be loaded with the American source code for the back door, together with my comments.'

She hardly had any choice. And in any case, even without this sordid dealing, she would not have refused that mission. She too had lost her parents at a very early age.

'How can I be sure that all this code is indeed there, in that memory? That you haven't blanked out a stage in the procedure, that you haven't hidden anything, that all you comments are there?'

He looked at her in the eyes.

'I give you my word for it, over the head of my little Lili. It's all that's left of my existence.'

She signed the two copies and placed one on the table.

Mok typed several commands on his computer and transferred the data into the flash memories connected to his PC's USB port.

'I was going to forget. The Americans also placed a bomb in the M531.'

'A bomb?'

The 'M-bomb'!

'Yes, because the American program doesn't serve just to penetrate inside our computers. It also contains a device that can be set by remote control and which triggers off several days later. At the set time, the procedure starts up and destroys all the data inside the computer...'

'Did they set the bomb so that it would go off at the end of the ultimatum in a few days?'

He lowered his head and finally admitted:

'It's more than likely.'

'That just leaves us four to deactivate the bomb!' thought Jin.

'Jin, be careful. You shouldn't try to disconnect the computers, nor try to replace the operating system with another. If you tamper with the M531, the bomb will go off and destroy the machine. Don't forget either that all these computers are now linked up to the NSA's computer systems. If the Americans observe any modifications, they'll take the initiative and create an all-out crash... There's only one solution, and that is to disable the program, but in no way attempt to destroy it.'

'Are you going to help us, we've only a few days left?'

'That's impossible. I'm under watch. If I collaborate, they'll know it, the bomb will explode and Lili will be in danger.... They'll kill her.'

He held the two memories in his closed hand and placed them in Jin's.

'Just one more thing...'

He was now right close to her, he could touch her. He could breathe in her fragrance, the scent of a woman who meant so much to him, and whom he had lost for ever.

'What else?' she asked.

Her question was purely out of form, for she had guessed... She had prepared herself for it.

'Jin, I don't want to loose face, I don't want my little Lili to know that her father was a traitor. I don't want her to feel guilty all her life thinking I did all that for her...'

She turned away.

'You can't refuse me this. A death from natural causes would suit everyone...'

She made her way to the door. She would have wanted to finish with this in the most normal way possible by calling the soldier to take him away... But he was right and she knew it.

'Jin!'

The call was now heart rending. As if he wanted to die in the hands of the woman he loved so much.

Jin grabbed the door handle.

She paused and slid her hand inside her coat pocket. She pulled out a small opaque plastic flask. It contained a hundred or so pale green oblong pills, synthesized vitamins mixed with plant extracts.

In the middle of the cluster was hidden another pill, grey and unlike the others. It was small and round, chilling and lethal.

She placed the flask on the chest of drawers. And, without even turning her head, without a word, she opened the door and left the room.

Beijing, Central Military Commission

President Ren was presiding over a crisis cell of the Central Military Commission.

But the term 'crisis' was far too feeble to describe the situation to which they were confronted. 'Natural catastrophe' would have been a more appropriate term, because the earth had virtually sunk beneath their feet.

By the end of the afternoon, the special services had discovered the unimaginable machination! Mok, the renowned Professor Mok, had betrayed his country... He had collaborated with the Americans.

And the operating system China had imposed on all its administrations, businesses and home users, that operating system which symbolised the country's thirst for independence and expressed its sovereignty, was now bugged by a program made in USA!

And this program gave the NSA, the United States' powerful intelligence agency, a privileged access to all the computers in the country! The program also contained a bomb set to trigger off in four days. And that wasn't all! It was impossible to stop that fiendish machine without causing it to explode.

They were all mad at themselves for having been so naive. They had acted in haste, neglecting to take the most elementary precautions. And the American agencies did not miss that extraordinary chance which opened up to them to acquire the key to all the computers in China!

They were ashamed. Ashamed to have been, in their innocence, the instruments of promotion and propagation of the poison.

For they had all become – albeit unwittingly – the zealous auxiliaries of the American administration. All of them had taken part: the government, the ministers, the civil servants, industry, private and public companies, and tens of millions of citizens. They had unwittingly helped install a malicious module in all the computers of the country. China was caught in a trap and, to cap it all, a trap of its own making!

For it was by wanting to free itself from the stranglehold of an American private company that it handed itself over fully bound to its worse enemy... China's information system, its nervous system, its neural network, was in the hands of America.

Ren had explored the situation from all angles. There was no way out. There was no chink in the NSA's plan. There only remained for the Americans to cast the final blow and finish off the animal caught in their nets.

'We have exactly four days left!'

'We must disconnect all these computers,' growled Liu Rong, the chairman of the CMC.

'I'm afraid that's impossible. If we do that, we'll set off the software bomb. Mok warned us. The United States are watching us. They mustn't know that we know.'

'From a technical standpoint, the options are limited. It's impossible for us to replace the software without alerting our enemy. And we simply don't have the time. The only solution is to make use of those four days to develop some form of antidote that will inhibit the action of the American program.'

Professor Shu, who succeeded Professor Mok as head of Software Research Institute, had formed a team of the brightest brains in China. He managed to find several programmers who had previously worked with Mok. They had already got down to the job.

'What if we inform the public of what we've just discovered? What if we put America under accusation in front of the world opinion?'

The general clearly did not mind loosing face.

'That's impossible, no-one would believe us. They'll see it as a paltry excuse to cover up technical problems encountered in setting up our operating system!'

'That's perverse to the nth degree! For if they manage to make our computing systems collapse, the Americans can pretend it's the proof of our incompetence. They'll say: China wanted to do without Microsoft, now look at the result!'

President Ren summed up the situation in a sombre tone.

'We have only three options. The first is to make use of the few days we have left to develop an antidote. Professor Shu is already working on it. If we opt for this solution, then we're condemned to be inactive while we wait for the results. I suggest we give him three days before talking about failure. That's the most favourable the – most satisfying – solution. But it rests entirely on the premise that Professor Shu will succeed.

'He shall succeed!'

The Prime Minister was optimistic.

'The second option consists in bringing forward the deadline date and declaring a state of emergency in the country. We will disconnect all the computers and replace their software. The country will cease to function for several days and will be completely disrupted for several weeks. America will take advantage of this to attack us. In concrete terms, that amounts to scuttling ourselves to prevent the enemy from sinking us. The third option privileges initiative. We secretly prepare back-up computers in the country's most strategic sites. We equip them with safe and reliable software. Then we go on to attack the US Navy before the end of the ultimatum.'

There was hardly any other choice.

'Gentlemen, I favour the first option. I suggest giving some time to Professor Shu, while preparing option three. If we don't have the antidote, we'll be left with twenty four hours in which to act...'

D-3 before expiry of the ultimatum

The plane touched down on the runway of Baltimore airport. The door opened and the stretcher on which lay Lorna Green was wheeled out. They had found the director of the CIA's Asia Department alone, inside the empty compartment of the Embraer 175, when it landed in Macao. She had lost a lot of blood but was still breathing. When she briefly regained consciousness, she asked to be taken back home to Baltimore, her town of birth. By chance, the hospital had one of the best teams for bone surgery.

Donald Chandler, head of the CIA, was there in the waiting room and accompanied Lorna into the ambulance. She had a drip feed and wore an oxygen mask over her face.

'Don't worry, we gave her some hypnotics and analgesics for the trip, but once she gets to the hospital, we'll wake her up,' indicated the doctor in a reassuring voice as they crossed the town.

'How had the NSA been able to infiltrate so easily into a plane chartered by the CIA? The National Security Agency benefited from protection at the highest level.' These were the thoughts churning over in Chandler's mind as he paced up and down the hospital corridor for hours, waiting for Lorna Green to emerge.

The nurse finally called him.

'Sir... she's asking for you.'

He was first of all struck by her extreme pallor. She was wan. Her skin was insufficiently irrigated and had lost all its coloration. He left leg was enclosed in a resin box frame. They had removed her oxygen mask to let her talk, but her breath was weak. She just managed a weak smile upon seeing her boss.

'Hi Don, I caught a sunstroke, but it's me alright...'

'Didn't they warn you about spending all your time on the beach, Lorna!'

He placed his hand affectionately on her shoulder.

She spoke fast in a weak and trembling voice, as if she were afraid her time would run short, as if she were afraid of dying before revealing the secrets of that extraordinary affair. She hurried out her words.

'Chandler, listen! It's Nimoy and Larson! They're the ones behind all this Chinese thing. It's the NSA. The NSA's the one pulling all the strings. Santana Song, Stenton's right-hand man out there... he was in fact the NSA's head of operations in China. Nimoy and Larson wanted a pretext to start off a war against China. They wanted to wipe out its economic and military power before it became a dangerous rival...'

He tried to slow her down.

'Take it easy, Lorna, take your time. Your life isn't in danger; the doctors are very optimistic and assured me you're already on the road to recovery...'

She attempted another smile, hardly more successful than the previous one, and took a succession of deep breaths.

'They've deliberately brought the American economy into chaos to justify a war against China... And they've introduced a secret weapon into China, something awesomely powerful they're about to trigger off when the ultimatum expires. They've decided simply to wipe China off the map! Chandler, you've got to warn the president! And the vice-president...'

'Was the president aware of all this? He was his friend, why didn't he put him in the know?

'Chandler, they're all little Hitlers. They pushed America into bankruptcy and then dragged it into depression, all this in order to declare their war, a war that's going to cause millions of deaths!

16. The Art of Peace

'There has never been a good war, nor a bad peace'

Benjamin Franklin

Beijing, Science Academy

Software Research Institute

Tom followed her reluctantly.

'Believe me, Jin, this isn't a good idea!'

'Come on, there's nothing to worry about. And in any case, you're dead as far as the United States is concerned, so you're free!'

But Tom would have none of it. He even found this a very, very bad idea.'

'Hey, I'm an American. I can't imagine these Chinese programmers wanting to have me around while they're desperately trying to neutralise the software bomb the NSA's dumped on them...'

'No, it's just the opposite, they'll really appreciate your moral support, you'll see.'

They got inside the lift and headed towards the 17th floor, the headquarters of the Software Research Institute, where the late Professor Mok Mengma had his office. He had been found dead at his home; a death from natural causes according to the police inquiry. The act of treason by the illustrious father of Chinese computer science had been kept a closely guarded secret. Even the team of twelve programmers, all hand-picked, had only received sketchy information, nothing tangible to compromise the state hero with numerous decorations. The group included members of Mok's old team, the ones who had worked on certain parts of the M531 module.

To secure Tom's entry into the holy of holies of Chinese computing, Jin had to obtain a visa from the Ministry of State Security, from which counterespionage depended. But the young woman had been over-optimistic about the way her colleagues would welcome the great American. Hostile looks greeted him as he entered the computer room, abuzz with programmers trying to fix of the M531 module.

She could guess their thoughts: 'What the hell is this stooge of the American enemy, that damn foreigner, doing there? And as we're frantically working against the clock to prepare an antidote!' The most hostile among them was clearly Professor Shu, Professor Mok's successor.

He went up to Jin and hissed angrily into her ear:

'You'd better know what you're doing!'

'Yes, I know exactly what I'm doing, don't worry!' answered Jin firmly, refusing to be disconcerted by the director of the research institute.

'He shouldn't be here, you know that full well! And neither should you.'

'Professor Shu, I've been appointed by the Ministry of State Security to follow the work progress. Don't forget I'm a computer scientist too and that I've worked with Mok Mengma for a long time. As for our American colleague, he's got all the security clearances.'

'Okay, but mind you don't get in our way,' warned the professor, disappearing as quickly as he came.

But Jin was not ready to give in. In fact, she had an idea in the back of her mind. A crazy idea. But she had to apply the soft touch for now. Tom wandered around the workstations, casting quick looks at the screens while Jin was discussing with the head of the development team. It would not be long before he got bored...

And indeed curiosity got the upper hand.

Tom came up to Jin and asked:

'I'm cleared, aren't I? So perhaps I could have a shot at this program too...?'

'Of course you can. That's a great idea, and don't hesitate to tell us what you think! Here, go in that little office and I'll get the access code for you.'

Professor Shu reappeared, fuming.

'I formally object to let this enemy of China poke his nose into our secure communication module. I'm calling the Ministry immediately.'

He could always call; it was Shan Yunli himself, the Minister of Information Industries, who had given her the go-ahead ...

Tom soon made himself at home. Settled comfortably in his chair, he tucked into the critical M531 module... He had had his fair share of challenges in his career with Microsoft. But here was the chance to gauge for himself what difficulties the Chinese team now had to face.

There were just three days left before the ultimatum expired, before the bomb exploded! And somewhere deep inside Tom envied these poor computer guys up against this inhuman countdown. They had no choice but to succeed; none other than China's destiny was in the balance.

The gravity and urgency of the situation at stake was way above his own challenge following the launch of Windows 95! A battle he had won and which took him to glory...

Beijing, Academy of Science

Software Research Institute,

D-day - 2 before the ultimatum

The next day, it was in fact Tom who had asked to accompany Jin to the Science Academy's Software Research Institute. The young woman wanted to be there with the team to live those last crucial hours before the fateful deadline. On the Institute's seventeenth floor, China's keenest computer brains were battling with lines of computer code in their drive to produce the antidote to the NSA's software bomb.

Absorbed in their task, the Chinese scientists no longer seemed bothered by the American's presence, and had even got used to crossing him in the corridors. Tom seemed to have developed a passion for that M531 module in which professor Mok had embedded his treacherous code. Towards noon, he snatched himself away from the manual.

'Jin, tell me about this professor Mok Mengma. I want to know everything about him.'

'I knew Mok well, you know, he was my tutor. Hey, why don't we go down to the restaurant and have something to eat, and I'll tell you everything you want...'

Washington, The White House.

Marion Stone was fuming. Hardly had The President's secretary announced her arrival that she stormed into the Oval Office.

'Why wasn't I informed?'

The Vice President had just learned from a CIA report – handed over to her personally by its director – that the NSA had led, in the utmost secrecy, an autonomous policy concerning China.

She was brutally challenged by the Secretary of State.

'You weren't informed because it wasn't any of your business. That's all.'

She really hated that Nimoy. How she would have loved to get rid of him, together with his henchman Larson, the National Security adviser.

'Excuse my insisting, but it's not the role of a federal agency to develop its own policy in opposition to the government's official line! And I'm in a good mind to inform Congress of this...'

President Walker could have done without this wrangle. He had far more important matters at hand. He had spent most of his time in the 'situation room,' keeping track of the deployment of American troops off the coast of China. He tried to assuage the Vice President. He needed her to win over the female and Hispanic voters.

'But Marion, the NSA didn't act against the interests of the United States, it simply obeyed my instructions.'

'So, unless I'm wrong, you've been scheming all this for the sole purpose of triggering off a war; am I right?' she insisted.

'Mrs. Vice President, you don't appear to be very familiar with the notion of a preventive war, from what I see!' said Nimoy in a condescending tone.

'A preventive war! In any case, I see you've resorted to the old tradition of the 'provoked incident'! You deliberately coaxed China into getting rid of Microsoft to justify you war!'

'You could see it that way. But we didn't provoke anything. We just seized the occasion! The nationalistic fringe of the Chinese administration always favoured domestic technologies. However, Microsoft came up against opposition from business circles which had up till then been more compliant and on the side of stability. We were aware of some undercover attempts by a few civil servants calling themselves the 'Lin Zexu Group' and trying to eliminate Windows. Lin Zexu was the name of Imperial Commissioner who banned the opium trade with China back in 1839. You see, these people have a deep-routed sense of history! It's always a pleasure to deal with them!'

Bob Larson, the dreaded adviser for National Security, had in turn just arrived.

'That's right, Madam, a 'preventive war'! We had been looking for an excuse to launch a preventive war against our No.1 rival! The 'Microsoft-bomb', to use their expression, with its devastating effect, alone justified US military intervention. This war, Madam, will see us into another century of domination!'

'And for that you sacrificed Microsoft, you abandoned the software industry to the Chinese! Can't you see the mess we're in, all through your fault!'

Nimoy was pulling a patronising smile.

'We haven't sacrificed anything at all! Microsoft was doomed in that country in any case. A powerful and ambitious China couldn't tolerate much longer to have its software under the control of a private company. It was only a question of time. But instead of believing naively, like Microsoft, that we could save the situation, we actually turned it to our advantage!'

She was almost about to choke.

'To our advantage! Are you kidding? Look at the state our financial markets are in, or our monetary system, insurances, pension funds...'

'That woman understood absolutely nothing. That's probably why she had so much appeal with women and Hispanics!' thought Nimoy, never really understanding what they could see in this Marion Stone...

'The software industry belongs to the past, can't you see! It's part of the old economy, it's no longer worth anything. So much so that we even left it to India! Today we're beginning a new chapter, for you've surely heard about nanotechnologies, artificial intelligence, genetics, biotechnologies, robotics, space exploration, renewable energies, and yet other technologies! And there, believe you me, the Chinese are stuck. And you know why? Because we have all the patents! Yes, it's as simple as that. Patents are the secret weapon we're going to use to impose America's domination in the twenty-first century and beyond! The United States has enough patents to make a good dozen new Microsofts prosper!'

Larson took delight at developing this strategic vision.

'In a way, we take up the Microsoft model and apply it to industries of the future. To this end, it's imperative for the United States to strengthen its monopoly on standards, protocols and regulations, and to enforce its patents to the world, as these secure monopolies on entire sectors of industry... Thanks to our patents and standards, we can control the technological development of our competitors at will. Thanks to those same patents and standards, we'll amass royalties for life from the world economy!'

Nimoy took over.

'But you see, Mrs. Stone, everything's not that simple. If we ambition to make the law, we must also give ourselves the means to enforce it. Because you'll always have renegades! Take China, for example. It doesn't want to depend on our patents; it doesn't want to pay for licenses. It even wants to take America's place and become the planet's centre of gravity, with all the advantages that go with it.'

So that was the secret plan they were putting into action.

'You'll easily understand that to enforce the law – ours, of course, not the UN's – we need to use force. And most fortunately, in the military domain, America still has total and absolute supremacy. It's by force and through war that we'll be able to exploit and enforce our patent portfolios!'

Marion Stone knew these arguments.

'I cannot accept that in this day and age we deliberately start a war to defend market shares. We're no longer in the nineteenth century!'

'Come, Mrs. Vice President, we've upheld the notion of a 'preventive war' ever since the beginning of the 1990s! The analysis is simple and the conclusions are easy to draw. China has four to five times the population of the United States. It's a stubborn county driven by strong feeling of revenge, a country that will inevitably want to dominate one day. For the last fifteen years, China's economy has been in an upward spiral. The country has begun a course of development at a rate of 10% per year, allowing it to catch us up and overtake us in all areas.'

The President backed this view 100%.

'We refuse to sit back and fall in decline. We may be 300 million against 1.5 billion, but we'll fight. Now is the time to act. We have military and technological superiority. Let's use it.'

Nimoy let the President speak and continued with the thread of argument.

'We have to contain China, if we are to avoid having to ward it off later. The longer we wait, the higher the price we'll have to pay.' He took a detached air to conclude:

'We're just applying straightforward economic arbitration. We're buying today at a reasonable price what we would be paying for very dearly tomorrow. That's good healthy management.'

It was Larson's turn to make his contribution to this unassailable argument.

'As soon as the idea of a preventive war became self evident, there just remained one question: how to draw America into an armed conflict with China? For as you know, it's always difficult to 'sell' a war to the people and the American Congress. This country is isolationist by nature and imperialistic by interest. We did have Taiwan... But the stakes are too remote however you look at it. No, what we needed was an extraordinary event, something dramatic, destructive, so that the country could accept to launch hostilities. Something awesome, like a new Pearl Harbor! And that's when the Microsoft opportunity came before use...'

'And was Microsoft happy to accept all that?'

'Microsoft didn't know about it. They genuinely believed they could remain in China! But rest assured, their problems are only temporary, for once we win that war, we'll have authority over China to make them go back on their position. And to start, their CNOS software happens to infringe a number of our patents!'

'And what if the rest of the world decided to side with China?'

The question managed to exasperate Nimoy. He retorted angrily.

'Because you imagine the world wants to live under yellow domination?' What are China's credentials? what did it do during its protracted history? Apart from inventing gunpowder and noodles? China in five thousand years produced fewer inventions than Leonardo da Vinci in one morning! It's the creative genius of the Western World we must protect, and if needs be by might.'

A few days before what was to him a certain victory, Nimoy ended up by showing all his pent-up hatred. 'This man is dangerous', said Marion Stone to herself.

'And you think all this makes it worth sacrificing human lives? Well I don't. Gentlemen, I feel obliged to inform Congress and the press of your goings on. It's a matter of exercising my duty.'

President Walker remained seated behind his desk and followed the debate in silence. But upon hearing these threats, he rose and went up to the Vice President.

He declared to her in a grave and solemn tone:

'Marion, I give you my word, there shall be no human losses.'

'Did you ever see a war without victims?'

'There won't be any with this one, I swear to you. We have a clean weapon at our disposal, a weapon that paralyses the economy, an awesome weapon, but one that will claim no victims!'

She had heard of that weapon, it was mentioned in the CIA report.

'And what is this weapon?'

'You'll find out live tomorrow afternoon. We'll organise a small function in the situation room for the occasion. It'll be midnight then in Beijing.'

'Walker, I hope for your sake that your bomb will work, because never will I ever accept making a conventional type of preventive strike on China causing victims. Have I made myself clear?'

Beijing, Science Academy

It was close to 5 pm when Tom's face suddenly changed expression. His eyes became bright and he wore a smile that couldn't hide his jubilation. He went out of the office and drew Jin away from the group. After an effort to keep the tone of his voice and breathing under control, he finally uttered:

'Jin, you won't believe this but I think I've actually cracked it!'

'Cracked what?'

'I think I've found the way to neutralise the NSA code! It's so simple! It's so incredibly simple.'

That was how he announced her the news, like a schoolboy who's just solved a maths problem. All it took him was two short days.

'Are you sure about what you're saying?' she asked, not daring to believe.

'Dead sure, absolutely no doubt!'

She remained silent for a few seconds, stunned by what she had just heard.

Now she understood!

She understood why the NSA wanted to eliminate Tom Bailey, because he was the only person capable of thwarting their sinister schemes. Why his mere presence in China threatened to jeopardise their plans!

Jin too had felt this deep down. With Tom Bailey passing over to the enemy, they were living through their worse nightmare, with the unacceptable risk of seeing this great brain at the service of their foe.

Tom Bailey, the man who had hitherto embedded the Internet protocol into Microsoft Windows! What irony! Without knowing it, Microsoft had brought to China the only man in the world capable of ruining the NSA's scheme.

And – for the sake of love – this providential saviour was going to rescue China from the precipice!

What sweeter sense of harmony can there be, when all the elements of the picture finally match together, each one finding its place and revealing its hidden meaning to the overall view.

Shu's team would get nowhere. Jin had surmised that straight away. Without quite knowing herself how she did it, she had got the greatest computer brain since ... Mok Mengma. Enrolled unwittingly, he was the only one capable of understanding the master's work, to limber up to his level and defy his supremacy by inhibiting the malicious code infiltrated into the M531.

Tom had already returned to his computer. She joined him with a quick step. They had to announce this tremendous news to all the team, to the President of China, to the military Commission. China may yet be saved! The solution came out of the blue, when all hope seemed lost, and when resignation had won over even the most valiant hearts.

'Tom, I knew it, you were the only one who could come up with the solution, I always felt it. I'm so proud of you!'

She was bursting with joy.

'I'll call professor Shu to put your findings immediately into action, there isn't a second to loose.'

In her bliss, she failed to notice the young man's closed face.

'Tell me, Tom, how did you succeed?'

He remained silent. Only then did she grow aware of the situation. The American had withdrawn into himself, looking sullen.

'Tom?' she enquired in an anxious tone.

He did not lift his eyes from the screen. She feared the worse.

'Tom, you were wrong... that's it, isn't it; you didn't find the solution? Speak to me Tom!'

He uttered in a toneless voice.

'No Jin, it's not that. I really did find the remedy against the NSA code...'

'So what is it, Tom?'

'It's that...It's that I can't go along with you. I cannot reveal anything. That's all.'

She couldn't believe her ears. She must have misunderstood.

'You want to say... you want to say... that you refuse to help us?'

'I can't help you, Jin, that's impossible. Forgive me.'

She was ready for anything but this unimaginable turn. How could he abandon her in such a dramatic moment?

He began to mumble:

'Jin, you must understand me, I'm an American... I can't be on the Chinese side, that's impossible!'

Some images came back in her mind. She had just leapt from that plane and searched through the air looking for Tom who was plummeting like a stone. She was flying towards him to save him from his fatal fall. And then she saw herself in the frozen ocean propping up his body so it wouldn't sink into the abyss. When you had lived through all that, didn't you seal the strongest, the most indestructible, of love pacts? So why now did he let her down?

He attempted an explanation, awkwardly.

'I'm not Chinese, I'm not from this country and I shouldn't even be here. In fact, I should be dead! It's only by fluke I'm in China, and it's only by a stroke of luck that hit I upon the solution. That doesn't give me the right to change the natural course of events.'

She felt overcome by tears. He continued in a peremptory tone.

'And the normal course of events is that the Chinese team continues to search.'

With his hand, he designated the dozen or so computer scientists in their last frantic efforts to fix the fateful code. She had trouble pronouncing her words:

'But Tom, you're not working for the Chinese, you're working to be at one with yourself and your conscience...'

It was only then that he realised the deep distress that gripped the young woman.

'Jin, don't make things even more difficult for me. Don't you understand, I cannot betray my country! Never.'

That wasn't the real Tom speaking. She couldn't believe that. There was something else, something deep down and buried, something huge and painful that paralysed him.

For almost three nights, Zhou couldn't get any sleep. At least not the restoring sleep, the one that overcomes tiredness. Each time he sank into a state of controlled hypnosis into which he floated with delight. He had thus got to like that deep reverie where absurdity reconstructed reality.

He had a constant feeling of guilt over his pride. That inflated pride which turned him into an unwitting auxiliary of the American policy of domination.

For it was he, Zhou, who had caused Microsoft Windows to be replaced by the national CNOS under the pretext that the former was insecure. But in so doing, he had become responsible for the spread of an even deadlier poison into China!

He felt like those missionary doctors working in remote areas and who, sure of doing the right thing, engaged in massive vaccination campaigns, inoculating unsuspecting populations with an affliction far more terrible than the one they came to fight.

Opium fumes were soaking his brain, his lungs, and even his very flesh. How could he know that forbidden fragrance when he never touched the stuff in his life? Zhou was not in an opium den. He was not, he repeated several times in his mind.

He was in London, in the early Eighties. He had just finished his university studies. He pictured Jane's face, his girlfriend at that time. It was the first time in twenty years she came across his mind! He saw her European figure, with fulsome breasts and a rounded figure that had always fascinated him. The blueness of her veins under the pale skin of her milky breasts. And the contours of her womb, scarlet even when bloodless, like a wound, one made by a knife or a soldier's bayonet. He could spend hours contemplating this gash, so different from the shells of Asian girls whose two mother-of-pearl halves spread apart gently with the passing tide. And then he left London and Jane, like lovers part when they don't yet see the outer reaches of their lives.

Why did his brain choose to bring to the surface those moments he thought were safely tucked away. His life was unfurling against the dark screen of his closed eyes, projecting a film of his own making.

He was suddenly struck with fear. Wasn't it when you were about to die that you saw all your life unfold before you? He was going to die anyway; he could not manage to wake up.

The girl near him turned over, showing the other half of her warm body. Her mass of black hair appeared like a dark and shimmering lake, reflecting the flickering light of the room.

Zhou had left his body and, from the ceiling, saw himself there, lying on that white bed near the girl's naked body. She moved again and snuggled against him. He had returned into his body and once more felt her tepid breath against his skin.

Zhou didn't see the slight movement of the curtains hanging in the shade, the cloth being skimmed, the window being opened.

But he felt there was an enemy present, hidden in a dark corner of the room. They had come to kill him. He had been drugged. He was defenseless and about to die. Who was in this room masked in black and ready to strike? Who was this enemy without name and yet knew him so well?

His breathing calmed down, his muscles relaxed. He evacuated his fretful nightmares. He had finally fallen asleep.

Beijing, Science Academy

Software Research Institute

D-1 before the ultimatum, 10am

Jin reported the conversation she had with Tom the day before. The American whiz kid may have found – or at least was capable of finding – the solution, but he refused to go any further. She had a briefing with Shan Yulin, the Minister of Information Industries who acted as intermediary between the government and the Central Military Commission. 'Can't we apply pressure on the American, or force him to cooperate?' asked the CMC's representative. Jin refused outright to put her lover under the slightest form of duress. 'Tom remains our guest and he's perfectly free to make his own choices' she maintained to the government military.

But the stakes were enormous and could well justify crossing the line.

Jin nevertheless remained steadfast. She had turned it over in her mind; there was something beneath that refusal. She needed to pick the lock. Her woman's instinct told her that Tom was in need of a word, an encouragement, or rather... an authorisation. But who could give it to him? And then she hit on an idea, but it required asking permission to break the radio silence. Tom had to signal his presence to the American authorities; that was the price to pay for this last-ditch effort.

It was nearly 10 pm when the young woman entered the office where Tom was surfing the net, waiting for her.

'Tom, you remember Lorna Green in that plane? Well, she survived her injuries; she's alive!'

He showed marked satisfaction, but added nothing more.

'In fact, our services managed to trace her. She's being treated in a hospital in Baltimore... don't you think it would be nice if you enquired after her?'

He seemed surprised by that somewhat strange suggestion. What a funny idea she had! But she hardly gave him the time to react.

She seized the cordless phone and uttered a short order.

He tried to protest.

'Are you really sure I should speak to her? The special services will know straight away I'm alive and where I am! I don't think it's wise...'

Too late, the phone was ringing already.

'Lorna Green?' asked Jin.

'Yes,' came over the voice at the other end, clearly surprised not to have the caller announced on the line. 'Who's speaking?'

'I'm passing you through to Tom Bailey...'

She handed over the receiver to him.

'Tom Bailey speaking,' he announced pressing the phone against his ear.

Jin had already left the room, leaving the American alone with his fellow countryman.

'Tom Bailey, is that really you? But it can't be! I saw you drop like a brick from that plane! This must be your second life!'

'Something like that! In fact, an angel appeared in the sky and took me by the hand...'

'An angel with wide wings!'

An angel with a parachute, but he refrained from saying more.

'And what about you, how's your leg?'

'I'm going to live with plates, rods and screws for the rest of my existence, but the surgeon's ensured me that after a good dozen operations, I'll be able to limp quite convincingly!'

'Lorna, I'm really glad to hear you escaped from the fate that monster had in store for you!'

'Thanks, Tom, I only hope your saving angel let him fall without holding out her hand...'

'He got his just deserts!'

She then sounded amused.

'Tom, the CIA's computers have just traced the route of your call; it appears you're now in Acapulco! Or else the Chinese have got a whole lot better at scrambling communications!'

'No, no, I'm in Mexico all right, can't you hear the sound of mariachis behind me?'

They laughed heartily, like two people who had both been a hair's breadth from death. 'How did they get hold of her phone number?' she asked herself. She was taken in to this hospital under the name of Virginia Langley! Not a very clever alias! They'll need to find some other pseudo next time.

She suddenly turned serious and grave.

'Tom, for your father... I wanted to tell you...'

He returned a deep silence, so thick it was almost palpable.

'Everything that man told you on the plane was a pack of lies. The documents he made you read were false, they were fabrications of the NSA...'

He remained silent. She could almost hear his breath at the other end of the line.

'We do indeed have a heavy file on Geoff Bailey at the CIA, but there's nothing in it remotely like what that bastard showed you. I knew your father well, Tom. That was back in 1974 and I had just begun my career, at the same time as Stenton, as a matter of fact. Your father was a very militant political activist. He was violently opposed to the Vietnam War and Nixon's policies. He wrote critical articles in several prominent papers and had the FBI and counterespionage at his heels. Tom, are you still there?'

He hadn't spoken a single word all that time.

'Yes, I'm listening.'

'Even the end of the Vietnam War didn't cause him to mellow down. He was doing investigative reporting for CBS. He wanted to show the determining role of the weapons lobby in the military escalation under Johnson and in the continuing hostilities under Nixon. He was obsessed about revealing the dirty tricks in the background, pointing his camera on what was being fomented behind the scenes. He was upsetting a lot of people...'

He asked in a voice that tried to sound neutral.

'Was he a KGB agent?'

'Tom, I was the one in charge of this enquiry and I'm perfectly knowledgeable to talk to you about it. Geoff Bailey never worked for the Russians. Never. That was a label some tried to stick on him to discredit him, and also no doubt because he was European. You hear me?'

'Very well.'

'Your father was anything but a traitor. He was in fact just the opposite of a traitor because deceit and hypocrisy were so alien to him. He was a real person who didn't cheat, neither with others, nor with himself. He felt very strongly that the Vietnam War was a mistake and did everything he could to oppose it. And he was right, as we came to know later. That war caused the death of millions...'

He then dropped the question she had been waiting for.

'And how did he die?'

'Tom, I was posted overseas at the time, but I often had access to his file. Now listen to me, neither the CIA nor any other American intelligence agency was involved in your father's death. That I know for certain. We may have kept close tabs on him, but he died in a road accident, just a dumb and tragic accident. You do believe me, Tom?'

She wondered whether she had convinced the young man. She owed him at least that after all he had been through with Santana Song. He had to learn the truth, and only she could reveal it to him.

'I believe you,' he answered after a pause.

'You know, his personality made him difficult to live with at times. He had an uncompromising, adamant and honest nature. And sometimes in life you have to give in a little and accept a few small concessions. But everything he did was for just one goal, and that was to serve peace.'

She decided to lighten the tone.

'By the way, Tom, we didn't kill John Lennon either, in case you were wondering!'

'Thanks, Lorna!'

'Hey, listen to this! Our electronic information department has just informed me your call is following a new route. You're now in Valparaiso, in Chile! Is it nice out there? These Chinese really are smart!'

They both burst into laughter.

She now became professional.

'I hope you're hosts are treating you to a nice stay?'

'I'm here of my own free will, Lorna.'

'And can you return on your own or would you like us to collect you?'

'I can find my own way, but I'll return when the time's right.'

'And it isn't the right time yet?'

No, the time to go home hadn't arrived. But he now knew what he had to do.

'Lorna, me too I've got to stop a war, and try to save the peace...'

'In that case, good luck Tom Bailey!'

It was soon after 8 pm when President Ren arrived at the entrance of the Beijing Science Academy building. His heavy armoured car, escorted by several security vehicles, passed through the gates and came to a halt in front of forecourt where stood waiting for him the Minister of National Defence and his colleagues, as well as the Ministers of Science, Technology and Information Industries.

The American countdown was due to expire in just over 24 hours.

He wanted to decide that night on the response to give to the ultimatum set by Washington.

He was once more with his back to the wall and going constantly through all the facts of the problem.

What could he do? Give in to the ultimatum? Never. That would make him the president who surrendered, who led China to a new era of submission. And in any case, things had gone too far, he couldn't backtrack.

Was he to wait, like a consenting victim, for the enemy to press the switch and plunge China into darkness and then swarm on her and tear her apart? That was hardly in his nature.

Well? It was time to take the initiative. With his general staff and the strategists of the Military Commission, he had set up that desperate, yet glorious, plan. In a few hours, he will be cutting off from the world 1 500 of China's most strategic sites: military installations, air and sea traffic control centres, power utilities, infrastructures... and switch them over to older, less sophisticated, but reliable computer equipment. China would run at a slow pace but retain a narrow margin for manoeuvre.

At the same time, he was to launch a strike against the American navy....

China was not surrendering. For even in the event of a military defeat, it would continue to resist and stand up to its aggressor with dignity, without letting itself be dictated by a foreign power.

But, before that, he wanted to make sure he had indeed used up all the possible options, and that there was no other way out of the crisis.

Judging from the defeated look of his comrade Shan Yunli, the Minister of Information Industries, he understood there was scarcely any hope left.

Accompanied by the Chairman of the CMC and Vice-Chairman Xie, the President took his seat in the small VIP lounge with the ministers and the Director of the Science Academy.

'Shan, the fate of China is in your hands!'

The information that filtered through the confines of the Academy in the middle of the day had bolstered their optimism. Professor Shu's team believed they had the solution, claiming to have the goal in sight. They expected to compile in the coming hours an antidote of reduced size – but still weighing 1MB – which they could then inject into the China's computer systems before the fateful hour.

But the Minister of Information Industries brought him back to the sad reality.

'Mr. President, Professor Shu's team was very confident up to the end of this afternoon. But our hopes were dashed. The candidate software module turned out to be extremely unstable and the equipment reacted badly.'

'What do you mean by... 'badly'?'

'Well... it ceased to function...'

'You told me you were right close to the goal,' broke out Ren Zhibang. 'In fact, you've been telling us you're close to the goal for the past four days...'

'Mr. President, I would prefer to let Professor Shu give you the rundown of the situation in his own words.'

The Chief of the Software Department entered the room, his head bowed low, the deep black circles under his eyes attesting to how little he had slept in recent days. But that was the common lot to them all.

'We thought we succeeded, Mr. President, but this software module is entangled in such a way that it's impossible to alter one element without affecting the way the others operate. The interactions are almost infinite and the results unpredictable...'

So there was no more hope. President Ren leant on the backrest of his chair and crossed his hands in front of him. He gazed fixedly into space for a few seconds.

'Professor, I doubt if there are many heads of state who had to take a decision as difficult as mine tonight. In any case, they weren't responsible for the fate of a billion human beings. At midnight tonight, China's information systems will collapse and the country will cease to function. Then, the enemy which has amassed its troops and its fleet at our doorstep will begin to march in. And we won't even have the option to surrender, for we shall be dead before the battle starts. Our only hope of escape from this awesome scenario is you. So I ask you to be totally honest and open with me. No-one is going to blame you because I'm sure you did your utmost. Tell me, Professor, do you believe it's possible to have an antidote before midnight tonight?'

The professor had raised his head and, as if he wanted to free himself from a burden too heavy for him, admitted forcefully what he had known for several days, what he had known from the start:'

'No, Mr. President. No. Not tonight, nor tomorrow. I think it would take us two weeks, possibly three, to succeed in this task...'

It was the first time since they knew of the presence of the bomb that Ren and the high dignitaries of the CMC were delivered the truth in its stark naked form. They had up till now been clinging on that senseless hope, the hope that the greatest brains in Chinese computing would be able to defuse the bomb, or in any case neutralise its effects...'

At first, no-one dared to move. They were all stunned by what they had just heard. The Chairman of the CMC, Liu Rong, was the first to react. He pushed back his chair and was getting ready to stand.

'Mr. President, please allow me to return to the Headquarters.'

Ren didn't reply, his eyes still gazing in the distance. It was then that Minister Shan turned to Professor Shu.

'Speak, Professor, tell them!'

All the looks turned again towards the Director of the Science Academy's Software Department. He stirred himself and uttered in a blank tone:

'Well, there is this American... He claims to have found the solution.'

'What American?'

'The one who was part of the Microsoft GSP delegation and fled for over a month.'

The CMC chairman was livid:

'What? You introduced an American spy into your team and revealed our computer secrets to him? Have you gone mad?'

Minister Shan immediately intervened to cut the argument short.

'It was I who permitted Tom Bailey to enter our premises. I did it so he could give us his opinion on the bomb his fellow citizens introduced into our operating system. I did it after receiving the endorsement of the Chiefs of Counterespionage and the Ministry of State Security. I remind you that Mr. Bailey is on the run, that the NSA has made several attempts at his life and that he is placed under the protection of our services. I would add that he is Microsoft's – and no doubt America's –brightest specialist.'

'Microsoft! You want to recruit a Microsoft employee to repair our national operating system? Have you lost your senses?' blurted out the Chairman.

'Firstly, he isn't a Microsoft employee! He's only a consultant. Professor Shu, let us have your thoughts on this.'

Mok's successor, head of China's highest computer science institute, had to overcome his reticence.

'I think... I think that he's no doubt someone brilliant... but personally I can't cast any judgement now...'

'What do you think of his solution? If he's on our side, all contributions are worth taking...'

'But that's exactly the problem. He's not on our side! He spent two days perusing the source code and – according to him – that was enough to lay claim to the solution. However, he obstinately refuses to reveal it!'

The President was losing his patience.

'That's quite enough! Does this American have a solution to offer, yes or no?'

'It's what he pretends. But he's imposed his conditions. He won't cooperate before meeting the President of the People's Republic of China...'

'That man wants to meet me?'

Minister Shan pleaded the cause of common sense.

'Mr. President, I suggest you grant him his request. We've got nothing to lose.'

'Alright, allow him in.'

The Minister left the room, and returned accompanied by a tall Westerner with long hair tied back in a pony tail, blue eyes and a smiling, relaxed face. His right arm was in a sling after the bullet wound he received a week earlier.

'Mr. President, Gentlemen, this is Tom Bailey.'

Tom immediately felt the hostile looks from the two Colonels whose features hardened at the sight of the American fiend.

The other participants, for their part, had the haggard looks of those resigned for the worst.

'So, Mr. Bailey, you wanted to see me... what have you got to say?'

'Good evening President Ren.'

He noticed that the Chinese supremo had managed to keep appearances in the face of adversity. He sat down and began to speak calmly:

'I wanted to know what someone capable of sending thousands of men to their death looked like...'

General Liu stiffened in his chair, as if ready to pull out his gun. The Minister of Information Industry jolted while the others turned ashen. So that arrogant American had come here to insult China and its President while his country's army was getting ready to strike?

Fortunately, Ren knew Westerners from having studied at their universities. He thus decided not to consider that remark as a crime of lese majesty. President Ren was living up to his reputation of being difficult to unnerve! On the other hand, he wanted to discipline that impetuous pacifist, that do-gooder idealist who probably imagined that life consisted entirely of good sentiments.

But life was a never-ending combat to defend your territory, rights and dignity.

If the ancestors of that Bailey hadn't battled in the past on the soil of the old Europe, would he even be here, sitting on that chair moralising to the President of the great Chinese nation? And what about China in 1840, unable to defend itself and having to suffer occupation, servitude and exploitation. China which paid so dearly that tough lesson of life.

And then Ren suddenly understood. The American was provoking him, testing him to see his reaction. So he responded in the exact same calm tone.

'Mr. Bailey, human life is the most precious thing on earth and I do everything in my power to protect it. If you imagined meeting a cynical and ruthless warlord, then you are deeply mistaken. Perhaps you know a little of the history of our country? China has never – I repeat never – been expansionist; it has never attacked its neighbours, it has never been belligerent.'

Spot on. Tom hadn't expected that. He thought he would have to joust with a leader who was as uncaring as perverse. The President immediately regained the initiative.

'I believe you have found a solution to inhibit the software bomb that the NSA managed to plant in our system? Mr. Bailey, if such is the case, I humbly ask for your assistance to free China from the grave situation it now faces.'

It was now Tom who had his back to the wall. He tried to counterattack.

'Can you give one good reason why I should want to help you?'

Ren pretended to ponder.

'You could help us because the Chinese services have saved your life on several occasions while your country tried to assassinate you! You could help us because China protected you, China gave you sanctuary and is now offering you its hospitality. Is this a good reason in your view? I don't know. But you know, Mr. Bailey, appreciation and gratitude are not contemptible sentiments!'

That man had an answer to everything!

'From a personal point of view, I know what I owe you, President Ren. But does that give me the right to change the course of history, to act against my country's interests for the benefit of a nation I don't belong to, and all this without any guarantee that my decision will serve the general good?... Do you understand the gravity of the choice I must make?'

'I'm quite aware of it, Mr. Bailey, although at this precise moment I'd like you to appreciate the gravity of the choice I'm confronted with too, with less than three hours in which to make up my mind. And what if I suggested you help the Chinese because that's the best way to serve peace? That in foiling the schemes of the NSA and the hardliners of the US administration, you're going to spare tens of thousands of human lives? That you're not doing this for me, nor for China either, but for peace!'

Ren had clearly figured out that Westerner.

'President Ren, can you give me your word that if America holds out an olive branch to you, you'll take it without hesitation, and that your one and only concern will be to preserve peace between our people?'

Ren was about to give his word as a professional politician having served the party for 25 years. He closed his hand and placed it over his heart.

'Mr. Bailey, you have my word.'

'And do these gentlemen share your commitment?' he asked, designating the two hostile generals.

'In China, Mr. Bailey, it's the president who decides. We're not at the White House; there's no dark closet. The Secretary of State and National Security Adviser stick to their appointed roles. Do you understand what I mean?

Tom could not ask for more.

So he dipped into his shirt pocket and fished out a tiny memory key, smaller than a lump of sugar. It was made of transparent violet plastic and bore the marking '128MB' on one side. He placed it on the table before President Ren.

'There you are, Mr. President. This USB key is the key that locks the great computer wall of your country. You now have twenty four hours to inject its contents into China's nervous system.'

Ren grasped the small memory and examined it as he turned it in his fingers. Could it be possible that such a minuscule object was capable of changing the course of history, of overturning a destiny?

Professor Shu broke the magic of the moment.

'Are you trying to have us believe that you wrote in just one night a complete computer program capable of blocking the malware code contained in the M531 module? You're taking us for fools, Bailey!'

The military man threatened:

'If that's the case, you'll be brought to justice, I'm warning you!'

Tom remained perfectly calm.

'Professor Shu, I didn't write an antidote software. As you quite rightly point out, I wouldn't have had the time to do that! In fact, this memory is almost empty; it contains a 19Kbit program, which is peanuts!'

'You've been messing us around, Bailey! I knew it! You're going to pay for it!'

Now it was Tom who was displaying a vaguely contemptuous smile. Some beings were on earth only to give others a glimpse of hell. He was going to have to explain to him.

'Professor Shu, you've been trying for three days to develop what is commonly known as an antidote, in other words a software module capable of inhibiting the computer code produced by the NSA and professor Mok Mengma. But did you ever query whether the solution Mok suggested to you was the right one?'

His challenger remained silent, visibly thrown off.

'Mok only lived for his daughter who, as you know, was in extremely poor health. He struck a deal with the NSA: he embedded the malware into the M531 and in return they saved his daughter's life. He knew he was under close watch from the US secret services. Do you think for one blind moment Mok was going to help you out, that he was going to break the agreement he had sealed with the NSA and put his daughter in danger? Human nature just doesn't work that way. When he knew he'd been unmasked, Mok had only one option left open to him: safeguard his daughter's life and then disappear. And that's exactly what he did. Mok deliberately led you up the garden path! He took you along the wrong track, making you believe he was handing over a guide rope. Not that his idea was bad, far from it. In fact, it was perfectly logical and rational. But it was quite simply unexploitable within such a short delay. Just think about it, Shu: your twelve-man team would have needed from one to two months to develop an antidote program! And all you had was four days!'

Tom could have put the scientist's integrity into question but thought better of it. Shu made an awkward attempt at defending himself.

'And, of course, you managed to succeed in one night!'

'No, I didn't succeed as you say, because I didn't try to develop that antidote. That was a dead end path and I didn't go along it.'

'So, what did you do, apart from acting smug?'

'What did I do? Oh, all I did was to spend two whole days plunged in studying the M531 module; a total immersion inside the subject. Fascinating reading, it really is! Because you see, the M531 is far more than a simple communication module. It's the heart and soul of the system. Professor Mok was a fantastic brain. Its architecture was superb, it had beauty, elegance. It was a marvel; you could say a work of art! And at the end of the journey, the reward wasn't just aesthetic in nature.'

He broke off to observe his audience.

'That was when the solution appeared before me. Simple and magnificent at the same time. Because if you want the truth to be revealed, you have to be ready to accept it, you have to warm to it before even knowing it.'

He pulled out from his shirt pocket a few loose leaves folded in four. He laid them out flat with his left hand and held them out to professor Shu.

'Look, professor, look at what you were unable to see. The solution was there, before your very eyes, but it escaped your notice. Professor Mok's architecture was so perfect, so accomplished, that it contained right from the outset the antidote against all poisons, the defence against all attacks, the cure against all ills.'

Shu was engrossed in the three sheets on which Tom had sketched: flowcharts, block diagrams each concentrating key points. Shu's expression was transforming as he began to grasp Tom's explanations. And then, taken over by a surge of emotion, he couldn't hold back the tears in his eyes.

'Now do you understand? All it takes is 19kB to activate the M531's built-in defence mechanism! Mok had indeed fulfilled his contract with the NSA by embedding the malware code, but kept his architecture intact. He left in place all the tools needed to block out the action of that poison easily and efficiently.'

President Ren held out the small plastic key to Professor Shu.

'Professor, I believe you have some meat on your plate.'

'Yes, muttered the scientist,' getting up. 'Please excuse me...'

He left the room, stiff as a terracotta warrior, incapable of uttering the slightest word, thinking no doubt of what the Japanese samurais called 'the code of honour'.

'Microsoft! How ironic!' thought Ren to himself. It was by pushing Microsoft out of the Chinese Market that he had allowed the American bomb to propagate. And it was that same Microsoft that sent a computer genius who administered the medication that was to save China!'

'Mr. Bailey, you are at home here. Be our honoured guest...'

Washington, The White House

Vice President Marion Stone turned up at 9 am in the situation room of the White House, its underground centre of operations beneath the West Wing. She wanted to see for herself the US task force on the giant-screen videos: the large aircraft carriers of the Pacific Fleet, the John C. Stennis, the Carl Wilson, the Abraham Lincoln, and even the ageing Nimitz, deep inside the critical zone, together with their escort vessels: frigates, cruisers and assault submarines. They controlled all the Sea of China, from Kyushu to the Philippines, going by Okinawa and the Ryuku islands.

They were to go into action at midnight Beijing time, midday Washington time!

They would begin by imposing a naval blockade on all Chinese ports, starting with Shanghai, Qingdao or Ningbo. At the slightest sign of resistance, they were to wipe out the military airports, missile launching bases and electronic warfare stations. And then there were those new weapons no-one ever mentioned, weapons of such advanced technology that the enemy could only speculate on their devastating effects.

But first of all, China had to implode, its computer systems had to collapse and in so doing freeze it in a blackout. It would then become like a ripe fruit fallen off the tree, just waiting to be picked up. That was the underlying condition to guarantee a striking victory in that lightning war, which alone would allow the US to place China under its thumb, to put it under close watch and finally control its economy and technological development. A sweeping victory that would annihilate the military threat of a rival turned too ambitious and allow Beijing to be vassalised. For with the massive crashout of its computer systems and the lightning strike by the US forces, China would be compelled to surrender by dawn.

That was if everything worked out according to plan, because otherwise... the war would be long, bloody and barbaric. Like all wars. And Marion Stone wanted none of that. She would not be an accessory to such a massacre. She would alert Congress, the press and the entire world. She would use all her powers and tools under the American Constitution. She would resort to an impeachment procedure if necessary...

Beijing, Software Research Institute.

15h00

The day had arrived. The American ultimatum was to expire tonight at midnight. Professor Shu had injected into China's computer systems the series of commands that were to defuse the bomb. Or at least make it perfectly harmless.

The team of programmers had developed a kind of counter that totalised the percentage of machines that received the update to neutralise the software weapon. At 15h00, almost two thirds of country's 100 million computers had been treated.

The update was swift and discreet. It went on unnoticed by the NSA's computers.

Washington, the White House

It was not yet midday in Washington. But there was already a festive air in the Situation Room under the West Wing, with French champagne uncorked and canapés for the twenty or so guests the President had already invited to watch the expiry of ultimatum imposed on China.

And at midnight Beijing time, the Chinese capital was slowly going to switch off. Live. The lights were to vanish one after the after, plunging the city into a blackout following the breakdown of country's computer systems. President Walker and his chiefs of staff wanted to view from White House headquarters their enemy slowly plunge into a deadly paralysis.

'It was the first time in military history that a country was to crumble by itself, under the eyes of its enemies,' expounded Jim Walker. The Chinese territory was slowly scrolling on the giant projection video screens as it was being scanned by the US satellites. President Walker was getting agitated, going from one group to another, glass in hand.

The large digital clock on the wall showed 11:57. That was when Beijing was coming into view. The NSA and the Pentagon had modified the trajectories of their spy satellites to make them pass more frequently over China.

When the clock displayed 11:59, Walker felt the urge to start the countdown of the seconds, just as he did with his family at the New Year! But he restrained himself.

Beijing, Software Research Institute

Tom and Jin had reached the roof of the building. From there, they commanded a view over Beijing, the Imperial City and the flickering lights of its countless buildings. The broad avenues were almost deserted save the odd cars whose headlights cut swathes in the darkness. It was as if the city was holding back its breath, a few minutes before the deadline. Beijing's inhabitants, like those of the rest of the country, were clustered in groups among neighbours, friends, and members of a same family. No-one wanted to live through that grave and tragic moment alone.

It was cold on the roof terrace, twenty five floors above the ground. Wearing just a heavy woollen sweater, Jin snuggled up in Tom's arms, nice and warm under his thick coat. She had found again the Tom she loved, the real Tom. She was so proud of him once more. He had outwitted the NSA's fiendish machinations and chosen to save the peace without reneging on his principles. He had even dictated his terms to President Ren!

Tom turned up his gaze to the starry night and tried to pick out recognizable patterns in the galaxy. He pointed his finger to a cluster forming a familiar group.

'Look at those stars just there, Jin, that's Orion, the hunter in Greek mythology; and there, on the right, it's the hare. You see that really bright star a bit farther along? Well, that's Sirius, Orion's faithful dog.'

How everything took on a different perspective when viewed against the infinite universe, the American ultimatum, the software bomb, the enemy ships ready to strike in a few minutes, possibly in a few seconds. How man seemed vain and insignificant, coercive and petty against the unfathomable beauty of the heavens!

He interrupted his reverie to look at his watch. It was midnight. The ultimatum had expired.

And then something extraordinary happened. Beijing, the Olympic city, became illuminated. Almost in concert, the great stadium, the 'bird nest' and the 'water cube' turned their projectors towards the sky, the main public monuments became flooded in light, and pencil beams from the Communications Tower, the capital's tallest building, traced out patterns in the sky. Within the space of a few short minutes, Beijing had become the brightest metropolis of the universe.

That was the message President Ren Zhibang was sending to Jim Walker, his American counterpart, his way of responding to the American ultimatum. Beijing was not plunged in darkness: the antidote had worked. They had succeeded!

And light sprang forth from shadows.

Washington, The White House

Midday. It was thus midnight in Beijing. The ultimatum had officially expired. The urban lights remained as before. Walker and his guests noted no difference. And then suddenly a corner of the screen showed a bright light appearing, then another, and yet another. The public buildings, skyscrapers, stadiums and telecommunications towers were are all blazing with a myriad of electric lights. Beijing was resplendent.

In the situation room, the canapés stuck in the revellers' throats. The bubbles were wafting up slowly in the filled champagne glasses lain abandoned on the tables. The military, the President and his Secretaries suddenly became silent. Arms crossed, they stood in disbelief as they watched the screen.

The image flickered and then disappeared completely. Only snow could be seen on the giant display. They had lost the signal as the satellite was leaving the zone. They had to wait until a second satellite flew over to re-synchronise.

'Wait, wait,' pleaded President Walker. Just wait and you'll see; the city's going to switch off!'

A new satellite took over from the previous one. The show it beamed down was breathtaking, and the White House was in a privileged position to view that celebration live. Bob Larson, the National Security Adviser, was on line with the Pentagon gathering information on the spot, calling for the rundown of the situation.

'Infrastructures?'

'We're seeing a sudden 4% rise in electricity consumption throughout the country, beginning at midnight. All public lighting is on.'

'Transportation?'

'Everything normal in seaports and airports. Traffic is slow but steady. Normal activity throughout the country.'

'Energy?'

'Normal.'

President Walker and his Secretary of State now had to face reality. And the reality was the euro was now worth two dollars, the Dow Jones fallen to 4 200 points, interest rates at new all-time highs and the bankruptcy of pension funds, the State and private individuals...

Then President Ren appeared on all CCTV channels. It was eighteen minutes past midnight. He showed before his fellow citizens a calm and serene face despite the tensions of the previous days. He was even smiling, almost warm. The ultimatum may have expired, he announced, there was every reason to be confident, peace would triumph in the end.

His speech was addressed to the world at large as well as China. He repeated that his country had never wanted that war, nor any war for that matter, that China was a peace-loving nation and was striving for close cooperation between nations. It was making a call to America, a friendly call to come and sit round the negotiating table.

Spontaneously, the population of Beijing, Shanghai, Canton, from all towns, suburbs and villages came out into the streets, filling the illuminated avenues as for a day of celebration. Hundreds, thousands, of cars took to the road, all their headlights mingling in the middle of the night.

That was the way they celebrated the end of the ultimatum! The Chinese wanted to put up a united front in the face of the threat, as if the better to dispel it...

'It's all over, Walker!'

The President of the United States of America did not want to accept the obvious truth. Marion Stone placed her hand on his shoulder and repeated:

'It's all over, Walker. There's nothing more to see...'

He locked himself in a stubborn silence.

'You played and you lost. It's over Walker. It's over for you and your two fiendish acolytes Nimoy and Larson.'

It was half past midnight in Beijing and the country was functioning normally in every way. So what happened? Why didn't the bomb explode? Who on earth could have defused it?

The Vice President went up with him back to the Oval Office. Now was the moment for some straight talk. And this time the buck stopped at Walker, for he was the one and only person responsible, the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces and the Head of the Executive.

'Walker, you'll come down as the worst president the United States of America has ever known! You have the most disastrous track record in history.'

She launched into a brutal attack.

'You've even managed to unite the European countries when they've been ripping each other apart for centuries. You've managed to succeed where Charlemagne, Napoleon and the Nazis failed. You did in record time what no-one else managed to. Congratulations Walker! You managed to make the euro the world reference currency together with the Chinese yuan. Nobody wants the dollar today. How are we going to finance our deficits, Walker? Did that so much as cross you mind, you who come from the leafy suburbs of Philadelphia? You can't even imagine what it's like having to find the money to pay your bills at the end of the month. And yet that's exactly what the federal budget and most States must do. You've sacrificed our information technology; you've pushed into bankruptcy not only the States of the Union, but companies and private individuals who've lost their jobs, their houses, their pensions, their dignity. You speeded up the delocalisation process and made China tomorrow's superpower when it was simply an emerging nation!'

'Marion, all this is the fault of a tiny grain of sand in the works. If everything had flipped at midnight, you wouldn't be here lambasting me! We would be sitting comfortably, celebrating the new American century.'

'There is no grain of sand, Walker. That's just an optical illusion. You played and you lost. That's all there is to it. From now on, I'm the one who's going to be in the driving seat. We have to quickly neutralise the two bombs that threaten our economy, the Microsoft bomb and the monetary bomb.

She rose and eyed him up and down with contempt.

'Walker, next year, I'll run for the Republican nomination!'

'You can't do this to me...'

'Oh yes I can, Walker. Because otherwise I'll tell the press and Congress how you and your two pundits threw the country into decline. You're going to announce your retirement, Walker, on the grounds of extreme fatigue. The call of the little white ball is simply irresistible. After all, an eighteen-hole golf course is where you'll be the least of a threat...'

The US Vice President had herself begun to conduct the negotiations China was proposing. She had wrapped everything up in less than three days. But she had to pay dearly for the errors of President Walker. The concessions were heavy even if the agreement package had a semblance of equity.

Starting with Microsoft.

China accepted to extend by three years the deadline for private individuals to switch to the CNOS operating system. This was purely a symbolic gesture, for there was hardly any chance of the software giant turning that to its advantage. Microsoft's R&D centre in Beijing was also awarded a large contract with the Ministry of Education. That would be enough to reassure analysts somewhat and improve their ratings of the stock value.

Now for the financial chapter.

China signed an agreement to buy 1 000 billion dollars worth US Treasury Bonds over the next five years. Nothing very constrictive there, just a declaration of intent sufficient to bring down the interest rate and restore a bit of confidence.

Finally, in the field of energy, the United States recognised China's right to safeguard its own oil supply sources.

These supply sources included, among others, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, the Caspian Sea rim, Iran, Burma...

Likewise, China was now to use its Pakistani and Burmese naval bases to protect its tankers crossing the Andaman Sea. The United States would see about obtaining approval from India.

All these measures endorsed China's decision to impose its own operating system and backed the country's new status as a great world power.

The Middle Empire had won the game, even if its opponent managed to save its face. China's industry was free again to take on the foreign markets. American and European companies had every reason to fear. In fact, the game had just begun and was going to lead to countless victims.

China was triumphant, but it owed its escape from total US domination entirely to the love two beings had for one another.

A nice little grain of sand, come to think of it!

Marion Stone was now in a favourable position to win the presidential elections. Her popularity overflowed beyond the confines of her traditional electorate. Mrs. Stone had conquered the hearts of millions of Americans, from the conservative Middle West to the more liberal East Coast. They were all eternally grateful to her for having pulled out the country from its deepest crisis since World War II. A multifarious crisis: economic, energetic, military, technological and human at the same time. A crisis that undermined the foundations of its great edifice, constructed collectively over two centuries. For that peculiar 'M-bomb' that China dropped over America had caused unprecedented damage, spreading unemployment, bankruptcy, chaos and destruction in its wake. And the American people felt – albeit confusedly – that behind the US's cosmetic patching up to save what could still be salvaged, their edifice was a ruin. Something had broken irreversibly.

They dreaded the future more than they dared admit, and this pushed them instinctively into the arms of that woman who offered them a brief moment of respite.

It was thus on the cards that Marion Stone would be the first woman President of the world's leading economic power! A woman! And what's more a sensitive, peace-loving and almost maternal woman.

With her in the White House, the world would enter a new era of peace!

In her Vice-President's office, Marion Stone closed the docket on monetary policy she had just finished reading. It was 7pm and darkness was gradually setting in the room, lit only by an art-deco lamp standing at a corner of the desk. She sank deeply into the cosy comfort of her armchair.

For several days, she had been feeling lonely. Dreadfully lonely. Something she never experienced before. A leaden, insidious and incommunicable loneliness. A loneliness she could not share, that neither her family nor her close friends, neither anyone nor anything could break.

For the peace she had clinched with China, and which restored the overall balance for a time, was in fact anything but.

And this she had now come to realise.

The clash of the empires was only just starting. The bite of the dragon was nothing more than a prelude to gauge the opponent's strength before the real assault...

And the next President of the United States could well be the one who will have to hold it back...

Tom and Jin left Central Hospital No.3 by the main door. They had come to collect little Lili who, for the first time in ages, was making her steps in the outside world. They halted at the top of the stairs for a moment, seized by the early November dry cold.

Jin squatted down next to Lili and tied around her neck the red Kashmir scarf she had bought her, and then closed the buttons of her small coat. She then slipped on her woollen gloves to protect her fingers.

The young woman stood up and took the child by the hand. The little girl instantly slipped her hand into Tom's. Despite the cold, the sky was bright in the sun. Life was at last flowing along its gentle course. And for Lili, life was about to start for good.

She cropped up her head and looked at her new friends. An idea sprang in her mind.

'Could we go to the zoo and see the monkeys and bears and pandas, uncle Tom?'

'Of course,' he answered, his face mimicking a baboon, causing the child to break into a sweet burst of laughter.

'And could we eat at McDonalds afterwards?'

'Sure we could, we'll have a burger before going to the zoo, and another after leaving!'

'Wow, super!'

The threesome walked down the stone stairs leading to the car park.

Ministry of Industry and Information

Tang Jinghua closed behind him the door of his twelfth-floor office in the Ministry of Information Industries building. The deputy manager of the 'software' section for the Policies, Law and Regulations Department was beginning to settle down again. China had accepted without batting an eyelid the conditions imposed by the US to bring their dispute to an end. In so doing, America had narrowly staved off a general bankruptcy that threatened its economy. In return, the White House had called back its task force, which was slowly moving away from the Sea of China.

In Washington, the Department of Defense made public the sonar recordings of the final heroic moments of China's Han submarine. It had not been sunk by US warships; it plunged to its doom owing to a technical failure at the term of a glorious combat. Both nations were able to unite around that highly consensual tragedy and pay tribute to the crew's courage.

For China, that was a small price to pay in view of its takings! All in all, the sacrifices it conceded were just a façade to save appearances and mask the crucial facts. Because in truth, China had surrendered nothing at all! It kept its policy of technological independence intact, and even managed – after the dramatic episode – to have it endorsed by the United States of America!

The telephone rang. The personnel department was sending him a new secretary. It was about time! Over two months had passed since Yaping's tragic murder, and temps came and went as opportunities arose. Another shining example of the administration's ineptness!

There was a knock on the door.

The young lady entered, smiling and hesitant. She was different from Yaping, more modest in her dress, more discreet and unassuming too... 'She must be from the country,' he thought to himself, noticing her hair tidily tied back, her reddish cheeks and that sincere look urban life hadn't yet corrupted.

'May I have your name, miss?'

'Yiling.'

'Hello, Yiling! I hope you're not allergic to filing? Because as you'll see, we produce thousands of pages of technical specification each year! Do you think you'll be up to it?'

'I know how to file, Mr. Tang. I used to work for a lawyer before coming to Beijing.'

'I'm really glad to have you here, Yiling! I've only had temps for the past two months. I couldn't trust them! I preferred to let my documents pile up rather than see them put away in the wrong place. Come, let me show you...'

He drew her to a part of the room cluttered with mountains of dockets stacked from the floor. He watched her from a corner of his eye, searching for a negative reaction on her face. But she retained that lovely smile exuding good will. Now there's an encouraging sign: she isn't frightened of filing!

He felt a pang as he saw the young woman sit down behind Yaping's desk. A sudden memory made him ask her:

'Yiling, what animal are you in Chinese astrology?'

The question seemed very funny to her. She turned to him, her smile broader than ever.

'I'm a dog.'

'Dog? I like that.' He knew nothing about astrology but the animal appealed to him!

He looked across the window at the drops which were beginning to fall.

He wished he hadn't taken his bike.

It was raining.

Special thanks to Vinton Cerf, David Clark, Bob Kahn, Ted Nelson, Tim Berners-Lee and Bill Joy, the 'inventors' of the Internet, without which I would not be what I am, to Sylvia and Dominic who encouraged me all the way, and to Tanguy Oliveau for his contribution to the naval combat scenario.

