BEIJING, CHINA
“LOOK OUT THERE. TELL me what you see,” said Jiang Julong with a sweep of his arm toward a broad window.
General Zhu Chi obeyed. “Not much, Mister Chairman. The pollution is very bad today. I had to wear a mask coming over here.”
The chairman of the Central Military Commission of the Chinese Communist Party smiled blandly and resumed his theme. “I will tell you what we both see, comrade general. Progress. We see large avenues filled with automobiles. Where once there were only bicycles, the Beijing area alone now has a thousand new cars on its roads every day. China leads the world in buying new Rolls Royces. We see women who used to wear peasant clothing now adorned with boutique makeup and buying designer label dresses. We see factories turning out products that are snapped up in foreign lands: Eighty percent of all toys and seventy-two percent of all shoes bought in America are made in China. Millions of Chinese workers are making money to spend at our own stores, which are stocked with consumer goods. We see a nine percent growth rate per year. Despite economic bounces, we see a new and strong and proud China.”
He paused. Enough statistics. He reached to a nearby shelf and carefully picked up a round-bellied 1000 milliliter Pyrex laboratory flask that was about half-full of a viscous liquid. Oil. A printed label identified it: Saudi Sweet. He handed it to the general. “Here is what will sustain our future growth.”
General Zhu had expected the private meeting to be a discussion about the deteriorating situation in Saudi Arabia, but wanted the chairman to broach the subject. It was unwise for a soldier to say too much to a politician. So he carefully returned the flask to its metal stand, put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, remaining silent.
Both were well aware that China’s main oil fields in Manchuria, the South China Sea, and the Bohai Gulf had not been keeping up with increased domestic demand since 1993. Those once-deep domestic fields were being rapidly emptied of the precious resource. Drilling in the Tarim Basin was difficult if not impossible. China was now the second largest oil importing country in the world and in a few years it probably would surpass the gluttonous United States.
“Half of our imported oil comes from the Middle East, comrade general.” The voice was silky, confident. “I have been asked to assess how the events in Saudi Arabia might impact our economy. At first, I believed it not to be our concern, because we do not need to meddle in the internal politics of other countries from which we purchase oil, as long as the oil flows.”
The chairman began to pace in measured steps as he read from a piece of paper. He stopped and dropped it on his desk. “Things have changed. The deaths of the king and his heir apparent have created a political power vacuum and now we have these intelligence reports that the Saudis possess some nuclear weapons. Suddenly it is an unstable and very serious situation for China. The delicate balance has been upset.”
“I agree, comrade chairman.”
“This information on the nuclear missiles is reliable?”
“Absolutely. It is not just street gossip, but was confirmed by well-paid sources inside the Saudi military itself and is also being discussed in Washington.”
“Nuclear weapons! If one of those weapons falls into the hands of those religious extremists it might be detonated in the gulf, ruining production for decades.”
The general wasted no time commenting on foreign and economic policies. That wasn’t his job. “Should we plan a military intervention?”
“Something might be needed,” Chairman Jiang said, returning to his window to gaze at the gray sky. “Of course, it is too far away and not enough time. What is your opinion of making such a movement?”
The general joined him at the window. Direct eye contact was to be avoided when speaking in such general terms, so they stared at the big, blank buildings. The ornate and distinctive Chinese architecture of ancient times had given way to monstrous, bland concrete boxes.
“Looking at it from a normal military perspective, it is virtually impossible. Xinjiang Province in our northwest shares borders with Afghanistan and Pakistan, but we cannot consider marching through either place. The Americans would stop us in Afghanistan and the Pakistanis would never agree. It would result in costly fighting and not get us much closer to the Saudi oil.”
The chairman noted that the window that had been cleaned last night was already sandpapered again by specks of soot and dirt. “No, that would not be the answer. Perhaps there is something smaller that could protect our interests?”
“The logical move would be to go through the United Nations and perhaps join, or even lead, an international coalition to protect one of the world’s major oil supply networks? We could also move units of the People’s Liberation Army to Africa, closer to Saudi Arabia, while the diplomats are debating.”
The chairman agreed. “We may, however, have to move without UN approval, by claiming that the imminent danger forced us to act. Once we are in, we would offer to help establish an international force.”
General Zhu Chi stiffened. “To be clear, comrade. We should consider actually capturing the Saudi oil fields?”
“Just consider all options, comrade general. The UN could be a useful ploy to delay a countermove by Washington. It should not ultimately determine our decision.”
“Then I shall leave you now, comrade, and order the planning staff to start working on possibilities.”
They bowed slightly to each other, and the general headed back to the elevator. As it descended, he found his handkerchief and mopped his brow. General Zhu had 2.3 million men under arms in the PLA, a total military head count of seven million people, and could get uncounted millions more if needed. He had a generous budget and could also get more money, if needed. Somewhere in the matrix had to be an answer that might stop short of World War III. The first need was to put some new eyes on the ground.