The Shadow Game (19 page)

The grey hull loomed like a nightmare on the water. Jay Bawani wiped his brow as he gripped the
Nenita
's wheel, his gaze shifting from the instrument panel to the steel monster closing in on his stern.

The Filipino captain had tried radioing the Chinese ship but the signal was jammed. He'd turned his small fishing vessel to port, but the frigate immediately followed.

Now it was just several hundred metres away.

Bawani checked his navigational aids again. The
Nenita
was one hundred and fifty kilometres west of Subic Bay, doing what it did most days, putting out its nets to fish the tranquil seas off the Philippines for the crab, tuna and squid that were sold to the tourist resorts scattered around his home city of Iba.

His modest boat was in international waters. Something wasn't right. He'd heard reports of fishing vessels being pursued,
but those incidents had taken place much closer to Scarborough Shoal.

Surely they were safe in these waters?

Chen Kuang-chi yelled instructions to his crew on the bridge. The captain of the
Yichang
had his orders and there was no room for sentiment. The Jiangwei II-class frigate was closing in fast, its twin diesel motors revving at a comfortable 450rpm, propelling it along at a shade over twenty-five knots.

The 112-metre
Yichang
was armed with sufficient firepower to sink a small armada, but Chen knew he'd have no reason to fire at the enemy. His plan was much simpler.

He checked his computerised screen, calculating he had another three to four minutes before drawing level. He scanned the horizon, half expecting to see another vessel, but there was none. On this bright crisp morning, this clip of the South China Sea was clear to the horizon.

His chief radio officer had done his job. The Filipino vessel would have no chance to issue a distress signal, its paltry communications system disabled by superior Chinese technology.

The
Yichang
had stalked its prey. Now the catch was within easy reach.

Chen calculated the fishing boat's length to be perhaps fifteen metres. The timber deck was cluttered with large containers, while a triangular crane jutted from its stern. He could see no
crew, and imagined they were huddled together in the cabin, desperately trying to radio for help.

The first deadly thud pitched the
Nenita
forward, the sound of splintering timber mingling with the whine of a small diesel engine labouring on overdrive. Bawani's hands were ripped from the wheel and he was nearly knocked off his feet. He broadened his stance and dug his soles into the slippery cabin floor, bracing for the next hit.

When it came it was overpowering. He turned in horror to witness the dull grey of the attack vessel's bow slicing through his deck with ease. He yelled to the four crew to man the lifeboat, but it was too late. The tiny vessel heaved to port, then it began to sink.

The late-model BMW slowed as a pair of imposing steel gates opened to reveal the prime ministerial courtyard. A group of bronze sculptures representing some ancient rock formation rose to Tian Qichen's right.

The driver opened the door and China's ambassador to Australia alighted from the vehicle, fastening the top button of his dark jacket. He could sense the shifting of the seasons; Canberra would soon greet its next barren winter.

Tian smiled stiffly as he was met by the deputy chief of staff before being ushered into an anteroom near the prime minister's suite.

‘She won't be long,' she said before leaving.

Tian opened his folder and flicked through his papers. He knew this would be a robust encounter, because he had been summoned like a naughty schoolboy for a dressing-down.

The previous day, the
Nenita
, a Filipino fishing vessel, had gone down with all hands, while in the proximity of the Chinese frigate
Yichang
. Beijing claimed its ship had gone to the aid of a sinking boat, but added that it was operating illegally in China's territorial waters. The US and the Philippines disputed that version of events, believing the Chinese had targeted the fishing boat and maintaining that China had no claim over the sea where the boat was sunk.

The two countries had directed their Beijing-based ambassadors to hand-deliver protest démarches to the head of the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Canberra had not gone that far. Instead it had summoned the Chinese ambassador to a meeting with the prime minister, but had yet to issue a formal statement.

The summons to Parliament House sent the message that Australia was taking the matter extremely seriously, as a dressing-down would usually be delivered by the Secretary of the Department of Foreign Affairs. But it also showed that Australia wanted to bargain in private, not lecture in public.

In a detailed cable to his ministry, Tian had noted that Canberra was torn because it relied so heavily on China to underwrite much of Australia's economic prosperity. The strain of trying not to offend its major economic partner while simultaneously trying to please its key ally, the United States, was showing up as indecision.

His instructions from Beijing were clear. He was not to take a backward step. It was time to turn up the heat on Australia and force it to make a choice – for the future or the past.

Scott emerged from the Situation Room in the Cabinet suite and bustled across the hallway to her office with her chief of staff and foreign policy adviser in tow. An emergency meeting of the National Security Committee had run over time. It had heard directly from the United States Under Secretary for Political Affairs, his image beamed onto the two room-length TV screens from Washington. He had shown the group pictures from a US spy satellite that appeared to show the Filipino boat being run down by a Chinese military vessel.

The under secretary was insistent that Australia should support a ‘determined and robust response' to show Beijing that it could not be ‘a global power of tomorrow by behaving like a regional cowboy today'.

It was a view that garnered the strong support of the defence chief, Jack Webster. He argued time was running out for the region to make a stand against China's aggressive expansion. Inside a year the islands would be fortresses. He again pressed for Australia to join an international flotilla.

‘Seven trillion dollars' worth of trade passes through the South China Sea every year,' he had thundered. ‘If we lose freedom of navigation, if it is rationed or we have to bargain for access, then we will become a vassal state of China.'

Scott had her doubts. The Americans had overplayed the analysis of their intelligence before and she wanted to take a more cautious approach. She thought that China could be persuaded that what it was doing was not in its national interest. The
business woman in her thought that ensuring the goodwill of the region was the best way to ensure the trade routes.

Webster had been terse.

‘This isn't about money. It is about a much more glittering prize. What matters is power. As a politician you should understand that.'

‘Ambassador.' Elizabeth Scott held out her hand, offering a firm grip and a stern expression.

She motioned for Tian to sit as she settled into a lounge chair. Scott had ordered her staff to leave the room. This meeting was just for two.

The prime minister poured a cup of tea. Just one. She sipped from the fine porcelain, slowly put the cup back in the saucer, then fixed Tian with a cold stare.

‘What exactly are you doing in the South China Sea?'

The ambassador leaned forward in his seat and motioned to the teapot.

‘I assume it is self-service.'

He slowly poured himself a cup, spooning sugar into the too-milky liquid before meeting Scott's gaze.

‘And good morning to you, Prime Minister.'

‘This is not a time for pleasantries, Ambassador Tian. Your country has made a grave error of judgement. Your aggression threatens to destabilise the region. You cannot expect my government to allow such action to go unchecked.'

Scott picked up a folder of papers, skimming its contents before returning her unwavering gaze to Tian.

‘My government—'

‘Prime Minister, before you go on,' Tian interjected, but Scott raised her hand before slamming it on the table.

‘You do not interrupt me, Mr Tian. Your bully-boy tactics might work at home, but they will not be tolerated in my country. Not now, not ever.'

Scott felt the blood rising in her face. One of the reasons for her anger was that she did not like being forced into this position. Nor could she make sense of Beijing's thinking.

She had always reasoned that the mercantile interests of China and the US would find their own level in the Pacific. They might elbow each other along the way, but would in the end come to an understanding.

The PM preached diplomacy over the ‘kinetic action' preferred by the US: the drone strikes, the weapons sales and the secretive arming of insurgent forces. But China's barbaric behaviour in the South China Sea could not go unchallenged.

It was one thing to push your elbows out across the ‘nine-dash line' that China claimed was the basis for its territorial sea. It was quite another to sink a small, unarmed fishing vessel that was harmlessly going about its business in international waters.

‘Mr Tian, my government joins with other nations in condemning in the strongest terms China's actions. You cannot possibly hope to gain global respect and credibility with such behaviour, behaviour that quite frankly belongs in the Middle Ages.'

Scott spoke firmly, without missing a beat.

‘If you persist in expanding and militarising those islands and enforcing an illegal interpretation of territorial waters you will provoke a region-wide backlash.'

Tian listened attentively, his expression almost indulgent. He contemplated his tea before placing it on the table.

‘First,' he said, ‘Beijing rejects the false accusation that we had anything to do with the sinking of that vessel. It was old and unseaworthy. It went down as so many of those fishing boats do and will. Our ship tried and failed to save those men.'

Scott rolled her eyes. ‘Please don't treat me like a fool, Mr Ambassador. I have seen the satellite photos.'

‘Madam Prime Minister, you can choose to believe me or the Americans. But let's not forget the many famous American intelligence slideshows that were more worthy of Disneyland than Maryland.'

He smiled at his wit.

‘But on this point let us be clear. Our rights over those waters go back thousands of years. If the boat had not sunk, its crew would have been arrested.'

Scott drummed her manicured nails on the armrest of her lounge chair.

‘I do not understand why you can't see that this unnecessary aggression is counterproductive. Economic power is Beijing's real might. Everything you want can be negotiated without building a fortress in the South China Sea. All you will do is ensure the region unites against you.'

Tian sat back in his seat and rubbed his right temple with his forefinger, as if the conversation was giving him a headache.

‘Madam Prime Minister, if you really believed that economic security did not need to be backed by military might then you wouldn't be signing agreements to buy submarines from Tokyo.'

Tian spoke the name of the Japanese capital with derision. Scott remained impassive as the diplomat continued.

‘You might decide to support America in a parade of military force, Madam Prime Minister. You might eventually purchase your next class of submarines from the Japanese. Both decisions are entirely yours to make . . . but, rest assured, they will be seen by my government as acts of aggression.'

‘Are you threatening me, Mr Ambassador?'

‘Certainly not, Prime Minister, just engaging in . . . well, what you Aussies would call “fair dinkum” talk.'

‘It sounds like a threat to me, Mr Tian, but then it seems you and your countrymen have become accustomed to issuing ultimatums. China has decided to play by its own rules, and to hell with the usual conventions.'

Tian gave a thin smile.

‘Conventions are such a moveable feast, don't you think? They vary from country to country and are so often ignored by those who preach them.'

Tian paused as he reached for a folder, taking out an A4 sheet of paper. He examined it before he continued.

‘For instance, in your country, politicians tell the public that they play by one set of rules when they do very dark deeds in private.'

Tian put the piece of paper down on the coffee table. It was a photograph of Scott's old Mercedes with two people sitting in it. She recognised the time and place immediately and her skin went cold. She had met with a private detective whom she had paid to clandestinely spy on Emily Brooks. The PI had installed cameras in her Liberal rival's bedroom and captured the bondage session that entered online folklore and finished Brooks as leader.

Scott tried to remain calm, but when she spoke her voice was high-pitched.

‘I have no idea what you are referring to, Mr Tian.'

‘I think you do, Ms Scott. And in case there is any doubt . . .'

The ambassador reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a USB. He held it aloft and gently shook it for effect.

‘The audio is very clear . . . and let me say your voice has never sounded finer.'

Tian rose suddenly and threw the USB on top of the photo on the table. He tucked his folder under his arm.

‘Keep them, we have many copies.'

He moved towards the door before turning back to a frozen Scott, her eyes locked on the photo and USB.

‘Think very carefully about what you do next, Ms Scott. My country is usually civil, but if we are forced into a battle . . . well, there are no rules in a fight. There is only the survivor and the defeated.'