Mike Maden: Drone Command

“Bah! You’re in my head!” Ito laughed again, stepping away from the ball.

Myers didn’t say a word. She just kept smiling.

“You’re more Japanese than I am, I think,” he said with an impish grin. “You never attack your foe straight on.”

“You know I’m not your enemy. We’ve been friends too long.”

Ito pointed a gloved finger at Myers. “You see? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. No self-respecting politician ever comes out and talks about politics directly. Maybe you should run for president of Japan.”

“But Japan doesn’t have a president,” Myers said, playing along.

“But if it ever did, I’d be the first to endorse you. After all, you were a magnificent American president. Don’t you agree, Katsu?”

Katsu Tanaka stood silent as a statue by the golf cart, his fingers laced precisely around the grip of his driver. His thick, well-groomed hair was perfectly kept in place. Wide shoulders and thick arms stretched the red polo shirt neatly tucked into his creased slacks, the collar buttoned up to the throat, hiding an old tracheotomy scar.

President Lane wanted Myers to meet with Ito, but Ito needed her to meet Tanaka, his most powerful political ally and a member of his cabinet. Tanaka was not only a member of Japan’s House of Representatives but also the parliamentary senior vice minister of foreign affairs. Whatever Myers and Lane had in mind, Ito knew Tanaka would eventually play a key role.

“Madame President was one of the most interesting presidents the Americans have ever had.” Tanaka allowed himself the slightest smile. “You’re even more popular since leaving office than when you were in it, despite your low profile. Perhaps your popularity is because your reforms proved to be the correct ones?” Tanaka’s English was Oxford accented owing to a study-abroad program he had participated in during his university days.

“The budget freeze was the most important reform I put in place. Congress still has yet to pass a true balanced-budget amendment, but neither presidents Greyhill nor Lane nor Congress has dared undo it.”

“Amending constitutions is a difficult task, but sometimes necessary, especially when they are horribly outdated, don’t you agree?”

Tanaka seemed pleased with himself. Myers had been briefed about him. In addition to his elected office, he also led the study group that wrote proposed legislation to change the Japanese Constitution to permit remilitarization of its purely defensive forces and change the strategic mission of the JSDF. Article 9, like the rest of the Japanese Constitution, had been imposed upon Japan by the United States after the war and technically forbade the Japanese from ever going to war to settle disputes or even maintain a navy, army, or air force. Recent “reinterpretations” of Article 9 loosened up some of the restrictions, but Ito and Tanaka were determined to rescind Article 9 altogether.

“It depends on the amendment, of course,” Myers said. “The balanced-budget amendment remains a popular idea with the people, but the lobbyists are still too strong to allow the Congress to act.”

“Of course, your ‘no new boots on the ground’ reform was also very popular. It seems isolationism is the majority sentiment in America these days. I wonder if your country will someday add its own Article 9 to your Constitution?” Tanaka grinned beneath his aviators. “After all, Article 9 is an American idea.”

“Mr. Tanaka, I assure you, the United States does not want to impose its will on you in these matters.”

“But it already has.”

“President Lane only wants to offer his assurances and advice. We don’t want the current tensions to escalate into a full-blown war with the Chinese, and neither do you. But aggressively expanding your conventional fighting capabilities is more likely to lead to war than prevent it.”

“And so you would suggest we simply give in to Chinese demands? Let them make their false claims on the Senkakus?” Tanaka was referring to the leaked drone video of the Chinese stele ceremony. It made national news. Myers had seen it privately but was stunned to also see it on airport television screens after she landed. The Japanese public was livid.

“Chinese expansion must be contained. But President Lane believes there might be a third way.”

“And if he’s wrong?”

“Katsu! Didn’t I just say that a good politician doesn’t come right out and speak his mind? Please, no more politics. It will ruin our golf game.” Ito shook his head, feigning disgust, but he and Tanaka were close political allies and friends. The two of them had forged a strong prodefense coalition that helped their party regain control of both houses of the Diet. Until recently, the majority of the Japanese population opposed remilitarization, but recent Chinese aggression had dramatically changed the political climate.

Tanaka laughed. “That’s why you’re the prime minister and I’m only a lowly legislator. I was never good at subtleties. Forgive me, Madame President.”

“What’s there to forgive? We’re all friends here. You both know I’m also friends with President Lane, and not to be too subtle about it, he wants you to know that he stands committed to honoring our mutual-defense treaties and that we will stand with you in the face of any aggression.”

“That’s very reassuring,” Ito said. “President Lane said the same thing to me in our phone call last month. It would be helpful if he would make that announcement publicly or at least on Chinese national television.” He laughed at his own joke as he addressed the ball again.

His grip tightened. The club turned. The ball cracked against the metal face and rocketed toward the fairway. It landed a yard behind Myers’s tee shot.

“The wind must have caught it,” Myers said. She found that male egos were more fragile on the golf course than just about anywhere else, especially when playing against women golfers. Good manners normally required that Ito and Tanaka allow their esteemed guest to win the round, but Myers and Ito had long since killed that custom on the fairways and putting greens in Colorado.

“The ocean winds around here are very problematic. But the truth is, I just missed the shot.” Ito laughed. “Or perhaps I should have let you hit the ball for me instead?” He pointed at his ball in the fairway. “But at least it’s safe, isn’t it? That’s the important thing.” The prime minister picked up his tee.

“Yes, it is. That’s why your plan to build a larger, more powerful navy isn’t in your best interest.”

“How does having a more powerful fleet make us less safe?” Tanaka asked. He lit a Marlboro.

“You know it will raise tensions all over Asia, especially with the Chinese. At best, you’ll provoke an arms race. The Chinese will match you ship for ship.”

Tanaka grunted. “Tensions, Madame President? The Chinese are always tense. It’s in their blood. They were tense when they started the First Sino-Japanese War in 1894. They became even more tense when we defeated them.” He took a long draw on his cigarette. “We haven’t built a navy since 1945, and yet, they are engaged in a massive shipbuilding program despite our lack of naval assets. We only spend one percent of our GDP on defense, less than Bangladesh and Burkina Faso in percentage terms. Simple observation leads to only one possible conclusion. China is the only threat to the region, and it is the Chinese who are raising tensions now, not us. And if you don’t mind my saying, a lack of U.S. leadership in the region isn’t helping to lower tensions, either.”

Myers bit her tongue. She didn’t need a history lesson or a lecture on the current state of affairs. When she was president, she read her Presidential Daily Brief first thing every morning before she sat through the oral presentation with her security team, peppering them with questions. She remained well versed in global politics and, by extension, history. But her mission over the next few days was to win over Ito and Tanaka, not assuage her own ego. “The Chinese naval buildup is a response, in part, to their concern about our navy, which safeguards Japan and all of our other allies in the region.”