Authors: Richard A. Clarke
“I didn't give the order to evacuate camp yet!” Bowdin screamed.
“No, sir.”
“Then why did that destruct charge go off, Major?” Another loud eruption farther up the road answered him. They could see pieces of a building shooting up into the night sky. “We're leaving for Dulles now. Get everyone who's going into my Hummer now! Get on it!”
Within three minutes, the Hummer was rolling away from the cabin as the wall of flames moved closer. “No, Todd, not the front gate,” Bowdin directed the driver. “I don't know what's going on here. Take the side gate, the dirt road through the park.” Another loud explosion boomed behind them. Bowdin, sitting behind the driver, turned and reached back into the vehicle's third row. He lifted out a stubby Russian KBP light machine gun, the PP-2010. The man sitting next to the driver carried the same weapon. “Get ready. There's something more going on here,” Bowdin barked.
The guard at the side gate lowered the V barrier as the Hummer roared toward it. The driver shifted, and the Hummer growled as the rough dirt road ramped up the hillside. Looking across the hollow, Bowdin glared at the fire that covered the other side of the steep valley. The road leveled off and turned sharply left at a granite boulder. The driver shifted again, and again. Then the headlights and dashboard faded to black and the Hummer slowed and stopped. Bowdin leaned forward, next to the driver. “Todd, what the shit'sâ”
The total darkness around the Hummer abruptly became a ubiquitous blue-white light. “General Bowdin, Francis X. Bowdin, step out of the vehicle,” a voice boomed and echoed off the mountain walls. “You are under arrest. Do not resistâyour position is totally covered.”
Jimmy watched the screen in the step van. There were six triangles moving over the map. “Which ones are which, Sox?” he asked.
“The red ones are the laser shooters that lit the fires. The yellow ones have the halogen lights and the speaker systems. The black one shot the electromagnetic pulse at the Hummer. And they're all only ten feet long and can fly for four hours,” Soxster explained. “Ain't technology grand?”
“Very grand,” Jimmy said, blinking his right eye. “Now, don't get out of the van this time, Sox.” Foley climbed out and unholstered his weapon.
“Stay in the vehicle,” Bowdin instructed the three other men in the Hummer. “Get down.”
The General slowly opened the door and carefully stepped down, carrying the KBP gun. He walked forward with the light machine gun across his chest. Jimmy noticed the General was wearing an odd military-style vest, but it was not a bulletproof protector.
“Put down the weapon, General, or the sniper will do disabling fire. We're not going to give you a suicide by police,” the voice echoed from above. Bowdin looked up but could not see through the light. His walk slowed and then he stopped and dropped the weapon onto the dirt road. He stood still, his head bowed. Suddenly, he lurched forward, running like a cheetah toward the light. Three shots cracked and hit the dirt in front and to the right of the running man. He seemed to accelerate, a black covered ball topped by a crop of white hair, flying above the dirt. Then the State Police sniper shot out Bowdin's right kneecap, causing the General to fall backward. As he fell, the General pulled the rip cord attached to his vest.
The explosion was blinding. There was a ball of white light hanging above the middle of the road, then yellow flame falling onto the dirt. Most of General Francis X. Bowdin vaporized; some parts of him were thrown up into the trees and slowly drifted down. Jimmy Foley realized his ears were ringing and he could not make out what the trooper was saying to him. A few seconds later, Jimmy could hear the speaker booming again: “Step out of the vehicle without weapons. Walk in front of the Hummer and lie facedown on the ground!”
The three men left in the vehicle complied. “Can you dim the lights a little?” Foley asked. In a line with four uniformed Virginia State Police, he walked forward out of the dark. One of the troopers, a sergeant, carried a shotgun pointed at the prone men in the dirt. “Don't move your hands!” the sergeant yelled.
“I suggest we wait for a bomb squad before we check the Hummer, and that we get these guys behind our truck quick,” Foley suggested. He used his new eye in infrared zoom mode, scanning the road behind the Hummer for any follow-on traffic.
“Hands off me,” Foley heard one of the men scream. “I have diplomatic immunity!” That got Foley's attention, and he walked back to the front of the Hummer. As he approached the man, the trooper who had just cuffed him handed Foley an ID. It was a rich, red leather folder. Foley opened it and initially fixed on the Chinese characters, then the elaborate English script across the top: “Republic of China.”
“Take these cuffs off me. I am Ambassador Lee Wang. Taiwan.”
0905 Local Time
Office of the President
Taipei, Taiwan
“â¦but I was elected on an independence platform, Ambassador. I cannot do a volte-face,” the Taiwanese President protested. “You could just say these were rogue elements.”
“I am not here to negotiate, but to communicate the intent of the President of the United States,” Sol Rubenstein recited from his talking points. “That said, I would suggest that you say the autonomy is independence.”
“That will not work,” the President responded, looking at his shoes.
“Let me repeat. If you do not issue a declaration today that Taiwan is a Special Autonomous Region of China and offer to enter into negotiation about a written agreement with Beijing, the President of the United States will do two things. First, have the Attorney General charge Ambassador Wang with murder and release the details of the investigation. Second, the Secretary of State is in Beijing now. He would instruct her to tell the PRC government that we do not interpret the Taiwan Relations Act to require the use of force by the United States to defend Taiwan. She will add that the United States has no plans or intentions to move military assets to Taiwan or surrounding waters.”
Rubenstein was aware of the sound of the heating system kicking in, blowing air through the vents. Both men sat silently.
“When would these negotiations with Beijing have to be completed?” the President asked.
Rubenstein locked eyes with the man sitting opposite him. “China is over five thousand years old. The Chinese people have a longer time horizon than we do in the West.” Sol caught himself saying what he had heard from Chinese people so many times over the years. Then he played the card that he had persuaded the American President to give him. “Taiwan has accomplished many great things, including creating an Asian democracy. We do not wish to see it independent because of what that would force Beijing to do, but we also do not wish to see Taiwan's rule of law and civil liberties crushed. My talking points require that you âenter into negotiations about a written agreement.' They do not say how long those negotiations might last.”
There was another brief quiet.
“Mr. Ambassador, you will forgive me if I end this meeting,” the President said. “I have quite a speech to write and give on television tonight.” Both men stood and bowed.
1835 EST
Summers Hall, Allston Campus
Harvard University, Boston
“I'm sure you're right that substantively everything you say in this paper is not only correct but insightful,” Margaret Myers was telling a student in her office, “but if the reader is distracted by the writing style, they can't see that. English is supposed to have been your native language and you were supposed to have learned how to write it long before you came hereâ¦.”
Susan Connor did not feel badly about interrupting Myers's office hours; it sounded like both professor and student would probably welcome a way out of the conversation. “Next student,” Susan announced as she knocked on the half-opened door. Jimmy Foley and Soxster followed her into the cluttered office.
“Well, well. This is an honor,” Myers said as her student had quickly departed. “Shouldn't you three be writing your reports and doing debriefings? And such heroics, Susanâanalysts are not trained for fieldwork of that kind. Far too dangerous.”
“I've already had that reprimand from a number of âsenior Washington officials,'” Susan conceded.
“But they all then thanked her profusely,” Jimmy added. “And Soxster,” he said, draping an arm around the shorter man's shoulders, “who now actually has a consulting contract with us, backdated, and with appropriate security clearance.”
“We came to take you to dinner and to say thanks,” Susan explained. “And ask for help again.”
“Dinner I always accept, but we should all be thanking you. I didn't contribute,⦔ Margaret Myers protested.
“Facts, gaps, theory, analysis. We had some facts, but more gaps. We had theories, but they crumbled under analysis. The struggle between the Transhumanists and the Luddites was something Washington had entirely missed. And you told us to look for Layered Deniability. Then, of course, you told us about Soxster,” Susan said while playfully punching Soxster in the side, “and WillâWill Gaudium.”
The mention of Gaudium changed the mood from mutual appreciation of their success to a melancholy sense of regret. Myers broke the mood. “I think it was the right thing to keep his death at that camp quiet. The announcement from Jupiter Systems just said he passed unexpectedly on Sunday.”
“He never really knew what the General was doing with his money. He really just wanted to call attention to these big choices that we are making implicitly, to bring them out in the open, slow things down, cause a debate, and then make some decisions as a civilization,” Susan said. “He wasn't a murderer, and he put his faith in our electoral system.”
Jimmy looked at Myers and flashed his trademark smile. “Just for the record, Professor, Susan and I really disagree about Gaudium and about these issues. Also Jessica and I are now planning a trip to the Bahamas, to Man-O-War. But Susan and I already had our disagreement out, and it's over. And Soxster here, he's on my side and then some.” Soxster felt no need to go over his views of Gaudium again. Instead he just dropped into the reading chair by the window and began fishing inside his backpack.
“Gaudium really convinced you of some things, didn't he, Susan?” Myers asked, wondering how sensitive Susan was so soon after Gaudium's murder.
“I'm conflicted. He opened so many windows for me, showed me so much I didn't know was happening, caused me to think about questions that had never occurred to me,” Susan mused. “Apparently his estate creates a foundation that will promote education, debate, and discussion on these issues of technology and society, on what it means to be human. We need that.”
“And what about the help you wanted from me?” Myers asked.
“We need to understand more about the Transhumanists and the neo-Luddites,” Jimmy noted. “We want to keep their debate peaceful.”
On Storrow Drive, the cold rain had stopped and the rush-hour traffic was thinning out. The spotlit domes of the college house seemed bright across the darkened Charles. Soxster had quietly produced four stemless wineglasses and placed them on the desk. He poured the chardonnay and distributed the glasses. “Kistler 09,” he announced, and then toasted, “To humanity's evolution, even if we do direct the next steps ourselves.”
“And if we do,” Margaret Myers added, “may we do so wisely.”
“Well, then, let's eat!” Jimmy injected to lighten the mood. “Where's this place you made reservations, Sox? Hopefully not the Moskova.”
Soxster smiled as he poured out the last drops of the wine. “It's Chinatown.”
In
The Scorpion's Gate,
I projected a world in 2010, with the United States and China competing politically and economically for a dwindling supply of increasingly expensive oil and gas. That competition naturally took them to the Persian Gulf, where the largest oil deposits remained. The Persian Gulf of 2010 was unstable, with the United States threatening Iran, and fundamentalist Islamic forces emerging in Saudi Arabia. Corruption and giant corporations made Washington a political battleground. While I noted at the time of publication that the work was not meant to be predictive, many of the trends in the novel have already developed and are dominating the news.
Breakpoint,
set in 2012,
is
meant to be predictive, at least about technology. It may read to some like science fiction, but it is based on emerging technologies that are the subject of research today. Scientists and engineers differ in their views about when the research will result in deployed technology, but their differences are most often a discussion of “when,” not “if.”
This novel is intended to project you a few years ahead, to start readers thinking now about the political, social, and economic changes that technology is about to create. Those changes could be wrenching, creating tensions in our society. A woman's right to choose, the teaching of evolution, and stem-cell research have already created social and political discord in the United States. The coming technological events may make these current controversies seem like a practice round, a warm-up. For the next debate may be about “what is a human”: Should humans change the species with human-machine interfaces and genetic alterations?
The opening rounds have already occurred. The Transhumanist movement is real and has regular meetings around the country. In 2002, the National Science Foundation issued a stunning report, “Converging Technologies for Improving Human Performance: Nanotechnology, Biotechnology, Information Technology and Cognitive Science.” The report, which overall has an upbeat and optimistic tone, concludes that connections between the human brain and computers will transform the way humans work, other technologies will eliminate disabilities and diseases that have plagued the human condition for centuries, and human creativity will flourish due to both improved understanding of the human mind and enhancements to the brain. A year later, the President's Council on Bioethics issued its report. “Beyond Therapy: Biotechnology and the Pursuit of Happiness” which took a somewhat dimmer view of using technology to enhance human beings. Chaired by Leon Kass, a fellow at the American Enterprise Institute, the commission included conservative political figures such as Francis Fukuyama and Charles Krauthammer. They believe that genetic science should not be used to enhance human performance, only to fix mistakes that make some humans less healthy than the norm. In 2004, Californians voted on a referendum on stem-cell research and approved funding for research. Court fights have delayed the spending of state monies.
As to some of the specifics in
Breakpoint:
Sometimes you can tell more truth through fiction.