Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan by Peter von Bleichert Page A

flesh—muscle, lung tissue, and the Chinese man’s
superior vena cava.   Thrown backward, he
fell to the floor inside the roaring fire.   To be alive just a few more moments, all he was able to summon was a
twisted chuckle.   He realized he had
landed beside his favorite chair and a picture of his mother. A cracked,
melting frame was his last blurred image.   He died quickly, thereafter.   His
purpose was done. His duty, complete. It was time to sleep.
    Along with this lone, wasted soul, other Chinese sleepers had
awakened that day.   He and his comrades
had conducted an orchestra of mayhem at Taiwanese surface-to-air missiles
sites, radar stations, and critical communications nodes.
    ◊◊◊◊
    North of the Mall’s Reflecting Pool, next to the stark
Vietnam Memorial, Constitution Garden was a serene respite.   It captured the city’s dirt and noise in a hedge
of mature maples that swished in the early-evening breeze.   Jade and Richard sat on a bench where they listened
to birds twitter about their day.   Richard
had had the idea of sharing some dinner before her night class.   He pulled two foil logs from a plastic bag
and declared them ‘the best burritos in all of DC.’
    “It’s huge,” Jade marveled at the ‘little donkey’s’ girth, and
accepted it with hesitation, placing it on a napkin.   Intimidated by the burrito’s heft, she grabbed
for a greasy tortilla chip instead.   “My
parents want me home,” she said with a crunch.   Richard took a big bite in hopes of escaping the need to answer.   “Would you ever come back to China with me?”
    “I would love to see the place someday,” Richard mumbled.
    “You know what I mean,” she continued, and shoved an entire
chip into her mouth.   Richard wondered if
that was her idea of a marriage proposal.   He shifted uneasily.
    “Jade, this is my home.”   Richard looked to the garden’s small lake and the island that memorialized
the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence.
    “You do not belong here.   You are Chinese,” Jade persisted.
    “No.   I am
Chinese-American.   Don’t confuse the
two.”
    “You’re not white enough to be American,” Jade stabbed.   Richard rolled his eyes.
    “Look.   Being American
is a state of mind; a culture of liberty.   It’s not about race.   Don’t let a
few ignorant people confuse you.   You can
only pity and try to educate them,” Richard lectured.   Jade believed he was referring to the drunken
college student they had encountered, but he actually spoke of her.   There was a long silence.   In that moment, Richard realized the crisis
might break them.   Already full, he took
another bite of the burrito to occupy his mouth.   Somebody nearby cursed their cell phone and a
car horn blared.
    They both squinted into the low sun.   Richard saluted to block the blinding
glare.   A black sedan honked again and weaved
across grass and sidewalk, drawing curses from the after-work crowd.   The car raced at Jade and Richard and then halted
before their bench.   A man in black with slicked-back
hair and sunglasses leapt out.   He greeted
Richard by name, flashed credentials, and apologized for the interruption.
    “Please come with me, sir,” the US Secret Service special
agent told Richard.   Richard wondered if
he had missed a call, and took out his cell phone.   It had no reception.   “ Now, sir.”   Richard stood and apologized to Jade,
saying he would see her at home. He was then nudged through the car’s back
door.   Jade watched the car swerve on the
grass and speed off again.   She placed the
unfinished remains of their picnic in a trash bin and started a lonely walk
back to campus.
    Instead of going up 23 rd Street, the car turned
onto Constitution Avenue.   Richard
realized they were not going back to the State Department.   He asked the driver where they were
headed.   The agent spoke to the rearview
mirror, stating they would arrive at their destination