Page 272 of Never

‘Go ahead,’ said President Chen.

Wang beckoned his men.

Everyone watched in hypnotic silence as the security men crossed the room and mounted the stage. Two stood either side of Kai and two beside Kong. Both men stood up and were held lightly by the elbows.

Kong spoke furiously. Looking at Fu Chuyu, he yelled: ‘You will destroy your country, you motherfucking idiots!’

Fu said quietly: ‘Take them both to Qincheng Prison.’

Wang said: ‘Yes, minister.’

The guards marched Kai and Kong down from the stage, across the floor and out of the room.

Chang Jianjun was in the lobby, by the elevators. He had stepped outside so that he would not have to witness the arrest.

Kai recalled a conversation in which his father had saidCommunism is a sacred mission. It comes above everything else, including our family ties and our own personal safety. Now he understood what the old man had meant.

Wang stopped and said uncertainly: ‘Chang Jianjun, did you wish to speak to your son?’

Jianjun would not meet Kai’s eye. He said: ‘I have no son.’

‘Ah, but I have a father,’ said Kai.

CHAPTER 42

Pauline had killed hundreds of people, perhaps thousands, by bombing North Korean military bases, and more would have been maimed by the blast and ravaged by the radiation. In her head she knew she had done the right thing: General Pak’s murderous regime had to be closed down. But no amount of reasoning could make her feel all right about it in her heart. Every time she washed her hands she thought of Lady Macbeth trying to get the blood off.

She had spoken to the nation on television at eight o’clock this morning. She had announced that the nuclear threat from North Korea was now over. The Chinese and others should understand that this was the fate that awaited any group that used nuclear weapons against the US or its allies. She had received messages of support from more than half the world’s leaders, she reported: a rogue nuclear regime was a threat to everyone. She urged calm but did not assure the audience that everything was going to be all right.

She feared the Chinese would retaliate, though she did not tell them that. The thought filled her with dread.

Telling people not to panic was never effective, and the flight out of American cities grew. Every major town centre was gridlocked. Hundreds of cars formed lines at border crossings into Canada and Mexico. Gun stores sold out of ammunition. At a Costco in Miami a man was shot dead in a quarrel over the last box of twelve cans of tuna.

Immediately after the broadcast, Pauline and Pippa got into Marine One to fly to Munchkin Country. Having been up all night, Pauline catnapped on the way. When the helicopter landed, she did not want to open her eyes. She would grab an hour or two of sleep later, if she could.

As the elevator took them down Pauline was grateful to be deep underground, but she felt cowardly for thinking of her own safety, then she looked at Pippa and was glad again.

The first time she had come to Munchkin Country she had been a visiting celebrity inspecting a showpiece. Everything had been pristine, the atmosphere calm. It was different today. Now the place was functioning and the corridors were bustling, mostly with people in uniform. Pauline’s Cabinet and senior Pentagon officers were moving in. Store cupboards were being resupplied, and half-empty cardboard boxes were everywhere. Engineers accessed environmental control machinery, checking and oiling and double-checking. Orderlies were putting towels in the bathrooms and setting tables in the officers’ mess. The air of brisk efficiency did not quite mask the undertone of suppressed fear.

Round-faced General Whitfield welcomed her, looking strained. Last time, he had been the amiable curator of a never-used facility; today he bore the crushing weight of managing what might be the last holdout of American civilization.

Pauline’s accommodation was modest, for a presidential suite: one bedroom, a sitting room that doubled as an office, a kitchen nook and a compact bathroom with a combined shower and bathtub. It was appropriately basic, like a mid-range hotel, with cheap framed prints and a green carpet. There was a constant background sound of blowers and the unnatural smell of purified air. Wondering how long she would have to live here, she suffered a pang of regret for the opulent palace that was the White House Residence. But this was about survival, not comfort.

Pippa had a single room nearby. She was excited by the move and eager to explore the bunker. ‘It’s like that moment in an old Western movie when they circle the wagons,’ she said.

She assumed that her father would be joining them later, and Pauline did not disabuse her. One shock at a time.

She offered Pippa a soda from the refrigerator. ‘You have a minibar!’ Pippa said. ‘All I have is bottled water. I should have brought candy.’

‘There’s a store here. You can buy some.’

‘And I can go shopping without the Secret Service. What a treat!’

‘Yes, you can. This is the safest place in the world.’ Which was ironic, she thought.

Pippa saw the irony too. Her elation evaporated. She sat down, looking pensive. ‘Mom, what really happens in a nuclear war?’

Pauline recalled asking Gus, less than a month ago, to remind her of the bare facts, and she felt again her own dread as he reprised the litany of agony and destruction. Now she gazed lovingly at her daughter, who was wearing an old ‘Pauline for President’ T-shirt. Pippa’s expression showed curiosity and concern rather than fear. She had never known violence or heartbreak. She deserves the truth, Pauline thought, even though it will upset her.