Zuocheng watched the status screens running on side-by-side monitors.
After long negotiations with the President, they had reconvened the meeting aboard his 737 still parked at Rimba Air Force Base in Brunei. He didn’t lead them through the command-and-control section, of course, only admitting them into the luxury suite at the front of the plane.
Of them all, only the woman Susan Piazza had looked twice at the fine furnishings. How spoiled these Americans were.
“Not quite a poker plane,” Mike had told him as if that meant something, “but that’s not what we’re here for.”
Zuocheng hadn’t asked for an explanation.
Instead, he’d sat and watched the left-hand screen.
Neither satellite was technically against the 1967 Outer Space Treaty as neither was a weapon of mass destruction. There h
