The chairman’s control consul with the five red buttons had been placed in the middle of the table, directly in front of the his place at the head of the table, and the first course of the meal was served to the rowdy group. The chairman had placed his own satellite phone next to the display and none of the men had ever heard it go off, ever.

It was three hours later, and after the main course that Wang managed to leave the room and, with an escort who knew the ship, retrieve the extra phone from his stateroom. It took five minutes to turn on and he watched in horror as several messages arrived on the screen, all from Comrade Feng, the latest only an hour ago.

Comrade Wang climbed back up to the flight-deck with his escort to get perfect communications and he dialed Feng’s number—the red number written on all phones. A new phone, it took several seconds to patch itself through. Finally, at 11:15 pm he finally got a hold of Comrade Feng, who was in his office on the 18th floor of the smaller headquarters building.

“Feng, I apologize that I have not been in contact with you,” said Wang into the mouthpiece, “but I dropped my old phone earlier this afternoon and it took me several hours to realize that it was broken.”

“Comrade Wang, I don’t know where to start. We have had battles everywhere,” replied Feng, totally stressed and frustrated.

“Did the aircraft land, Feng?”

“Yes, Comrade, they are on the ground. They landed in America an hour ago. Twelve hours ago, I tried to call the termination squads at JFK, and the man who spoke was totally drunk. He shouted at me and told not to disturb him and I couldn’t understand why they had been drinking. That’s why I wanted to call you.”

“The men clearing the runway were drunk?” asked Wang, his mouth open and again his face was white with worry.

“The men were totally drunk! Next Comrade, Comrade Deng was attacked by two old World War II military aircraft. They were hit with machine guns and rockets in Alabama,” continued Comrade Feng.

“How could that happen?” asked Wang. “How could somebody know first of all that Deng was an enemy, and second, that Deng was in the middle of a state like Alabama? Are they continuing, Feng?”

“I lost contact with them. I’ve tried to contact them as well as Bo Lee Tang, but with no luck,” continued Feng.

“How could the Americans know that Deng was travelling towards North Carolina? Could Bo Lee Tang be captured? Has he told the Americans about Deng?” And then realization hit him so hard that the knot that had sat in his stomach for a couple of days rose upwards and he swallowed hard trying to keep the bile down. He suddenly remembered that voice. It wasn’t Bo Lee Tang! It wasn’t Bo Lee Tang’s voice, because his voice was deeper. It was a voice from the past—it was the voice of his nephew Lee Wang. Lee Wang wasn’t dead. Lee Wang must have survived the termination attempt in Salt Lake City. Lee Wang was alive and dangerous. He felt sick and moved to the side of the ship, hearing Feng ask him if he was still there. “Give me a second, Feng, I need to figure this out,” Wang replied, his face sickly white. He knew his life had somehow suddenly lost its remaining usefulness to the cause.

“I have more problems, Comrade,” Feng continued unabated. “I have seen transponders off the coast of Japan and Korea. Someone is flying aircraft in the middle of the ocean.”

“North Korea,” replied Wang still reeling over the first news. “Of course, the North Koreans are flying raids into American bases. They must be. I’m sure they are destroying everything American they can find. There are at least five or six American Air Force bases within bombing range of North Korea.”

“I agree Comrade,” answered Feng. “But the last transponders were over the China Sea coming from South Korea to here in China—directly towards Nanjing and Shanghai. There were four transponders at 300 miles an hour.”

“How long ago was this?” asked Wang.

“About thirty minutes ago, Comrade,” Feng replied. “I have also received the most puzzling news from the JFK airport in New York. It seems that the chairman himself is overseeing the disembarkation of troops at the American airport. One of our pilots called in on their phone to tell me that the chairman had arrived in his private jet and was controlling the refueling and unloading of the cargo from the transporter. How can he be there? Isn’t he there with you?”

“Of course he is here with us. I saw him just 30 minutes ago,” replied Wang, disbelieving what he was hearing. It was all too much to take in at one time. His mind was becoming blank. He was getting a brain freeze and unable to give orders. “Where are you now?” Wang asked Feng.

“I’m in my office in the new building looking at my screen. I have a full team of 20 men on the 29th floor control center, watching every screen and answering any calls to back me up,” Feng answered.

“Hang up,” Wang ordered. “Feng, give me five minutes to get back to the chairman. Then call him on his phone and tell him that he is in New York. I want you to find out where he really is, and then I want you to get back to the control center and tell all the pilots and soldiers at the American airport that they have been infiltrated and to shoot everybody, even our drunken termination squads—everybody who did not fly in with the aircraft to New York. I want that airport secure, understand?” And he hung up, wanting to be sick over the side. He did not have time, however, as he quickly made his way back to the party.

It was in full swing when he got there. It didn’t look like anybody had missed him. The chairman was looking over some maps with the admiral when the chairman’s satellite phone suddenly rang. It was set on a very shrill and loud tone—a tone only the chairman had so it would be clear whose phone was being called. The room quieted instantly as the chairman, rather shocked that his phone was actually ringing, put his hand up for silence. He answered the phone and put the phone on speaker and back down on the dining table so that the room could listen.

“Comrade Feng, this is Chairman Chunqiao. You are on speaker phone and talking to the whole Politburo. What is your problem?”

“Comrade Chairman, I need to speak with you privately, please,”

Feng begged.

“There is nothing that can’t be told to all of our members,” the chairman replied. “We are all one now, and our destiny cannot be changed. Where are you calling from, Feng?”

“I’m in my office in Building Two, Comrade Chairman.”

“Why are you calling me from your office and not your station on the 29th floor of the control center, Comrade Feng?” the Chairman asked.

“We are getting so many reports coming in, Comrade Chairman. I have a full staff of 20 operators manning every computer terminal, and I’m using the one in my office that oversees everything.”

“And Comrade Wang was worried that there were no communications,” smirked the chairman, looking over the Wang, who was seated motionless in his chair with a sickly-looking face. “So Feng, what is so important that you call me in the middle of the night?”

“Aircraft transponders and a second problem in New York, Comrade Chairman,” continued Feng. “For the last several hours, there has been a lot of aircraft activity over Japan and South Korea.”

“Of course there is,” laughed the chairman. “North Koreans are killing Americans for us. They will destroy over 500 useless aircraft and 10,000 American soldiers around the American bases in Japan and South Korea. I’m sure that the North Korean pilots are enjoying themselves, having the upper hand on two world powers at the same time.”

“I agree, but the latest four transponders are coming towards our mainland and directly towards Nanjing. We saw them 50 miles off our coast 20 minutes ago, and they were heading away from Korea and into China.”