3 Hours: In the Balance Ch. 1

Jeffrey Hung, Chinese Ambassador to the United States lifted one eyebrow and squinted an eye. Sounding smart and trustworthy on cable news shows never used to be this easy for politicians, especially foreign counsels to the White House who were opposed to U.S. foreign policy with their country. Doing a show like The Verse used to feel like being a hockey puck at center-ice; dropped from the hand of God and thrown to the wolves of Winter. Not today, though. He was going to slam the host into the boards today and take the hardest shot he could at the net.

It also used to be that an Ambassador could schedule this show with only one hours notice. It was like offering a T-Bone to a Tiger. But the media has become soft since the President accused it of interfering in International affairs to the point of exposing the second Iraq War for what appeared to be a total sham. Hollywood fluff types carried a bigger payday for the networks anyway, so this interview had actually been a bit of work to schedule.

So here Hung sat on the set of MSNBC’s The Verse, hosted by Barry Leach, now answering diluted questions, not even leading ones, through three commercial breaks. They were gutless questions because Hung set them up that way. There was an agreement before the scheduling, and in exchange for this banter, Hung offered explosive news in return.

Leach was squirming in his pants because he was waiting for the big news the Ambassador promised. He was embarrassed to have sunken so low in Journalism as to make a deal like this, but he wanted to cover hard news so bad. Had wanted to since he graduated from Ohio University fifteen years ago. He felt like a teenage girl, frustrated because her boyfriend won’t get off her tits and make a move for third base. So he raised his voice a little and changed his cadence to make a little noise of his own, save a little face.

“Ambassador Hung, are you saying, definitively, that-your-government-is-prepared to take the option of peace with the U.S. off the table, out of the discussion?,” asked Leach.

Hung waited a moment then glanced over top his reading glasses and shook his head slowly. His wry smile was cute and he could disguise clever for expertise all day, but today he had business to take care of. Finally, he thought, Barry Leach will get to pay the bills.

“No, I’m not saying that all, actually”

“What are you saying then, sir? With all due respect, we the people of the United States deserve an answer to that question!” Leach knew what he was doing. Getting all heated when he knew damn well he’d get his answer in due time. But it was good for ratings, his occasional little rants. Pitch his voice a little higher hear, little deeper there, speed up his speech, and toss the audience a ‘well, I’ll be damned’ every now and again, and the sales staff would be busy selling airtime and banking cash for months in advance.

         “What I am saying, Mr. Leach is that peace with the U.S. never was and never will be on the table.  And that’s not up for a discussion. Peace with the United States never will be a priority of the Chinese people. Furthermore, I’d like to make my point very clear right now to the people in charge at your news station, and the other media outlets in this nation that your government has not responded to the Chinese governments’ formal request that U.S. troops leave Taiwan immediately. No matter what they are saying publicly, we hav”

         “Now wait just a minute, Mr. Hung, wait just a min”

         “No, you wait a minute.” The Ambassador sat up straight on the edge of his seat and pointed at Leach. We have been waiting for one hundred years for your country to cease it’s tirade of power all over the globe. We have been waiting for the rest of the world to realize that the United States is not truly acting in the best interest of all countries; it is not actually conducting peacekeeping missions in places such as Burma and Tibet, but systematically rigging the entire world with electronics for the sole purpose of executing extensive intelligence operations into the darkest cave of many countries. Europe and your North American neighbors Canada and Mexico have now seen the blood on the hands of America, thanks to the reporting by your network and others, of the cloaked operations in the Middle East. The Chinese government has told your government to act and we have seen no response. The Chinese, Mr. Leach, aren’t in the mood to talk anymore.”

Hung sat back. He wiggled in the leather recliner to regain his composure and folded his arms across his chest. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Leach, trying to gauge his response. He continued in a soft tone, and now stretched his arms out, palms up. “The people of the Far East are very patient Mr. Leach, but we will not wait forever for your government to answer our demands. I suggest that right now you contact someone in your government.”

Hung threw him. Leach had a look on his face as if the Ambassador had just tried to sell him some desert ice. “And what, exactly, am I supposed to say to the President when we have our morning coffee tomorrow? Hmm?”

“I’ll say it for you right now, Barry. I have full authority from my government to tell you that unless we see troop movement out of Taiwan within three hours, our Bombers will continue their current flight and Washington will be no more.”

         Barry Leach was speechless for the first time in his broadcast career. Here on his set was the Chinese Ambassador to the U.S. telling him that he needs to broker a message to his government and his people, and that unless action is taken right now, everyone within forty square miles of this place would be dead in three hours. His first reaction was to stone face him, but then Leach slowly warmed on the inside, and remained calm even though his blood was leapfrogging from chamber to chamber in his heart. He knew he needed to show dignity for his country, but then he remembered that they were live. Holy Shit! We’re live. This son of a bitch just declared war on America on live TV! Leach was going to reap this opportunity for every ounce of airtime he could.          

“Do I make myself clear, Mr. Leach?” Hung was irritated that the host was silent. He’d expected a little more of a jolt out of him.

         Leach looked off camera to Rachel Brown, the shows producer, standing twenty feet away in the shadows of the set. Silence in television news a no-no, but this was priceless, and he knew just how to handle it. “Uh, someone,” he cleared his voice. “Rachel…get me Frank Zimmer, President of NBC, Gerry Stiles, National Security Director, and Connor Advent, Communications Director to the President.” The entire crew was frozen as if the Ambassador was pointing a pistol. They were listening, but hadn’t actually heard what he said.

Hung actually broke the silence because he could sense Leach was going to make a circus of this moment. “NOW!”

         In a flicker, a dozen cell phones rang at once to media members and the crew of The Verse.  Rachel opened her cell phone. She had a call coming in. It was Dan Melton, reporter for The Wall Street Journal. Then another beep. This was Harold Jackoby, New York Times. “Shit.” She snapped it shut and dropped it in her suit pocket. Then she grabbed the only network landline available and dialed a switchboard bypass number at the National Security Administration.

“NSA,” a woman said. “Hi, Wanda? Can I have Gerry Stiles, its Rachel Brown at MSNBC? We have a situation over here.”

“Yeah, I heard, and I’m already on it. But Gerry is out of town, and I can’t reach him on his cell at the moment. I’ll try and get a hold of Assistant Director Vilsack and have him call you,” she said and hung up.

Wow, never got that type of service before, Rachel thought.

Leach swung his chair back in the direction of the Ambassador, lay his elbows on the glass desk in front of him, and clasped his hands together in a praying motion. He opened his mouth as if he was going to address him, but then looked directly into the camera, and every set of eyes in America waiting to see if what they just heard was what they thought it was. Thirty million American minds were thinking in unison, ‘what, Barry. Tell us what in the hell comes next.’

         “We’ll be right back, America,” and he cut to a commercial break.