It was eight-fifteen in the morning, and the secretary of defense was scheduled to begin a review of American military movements in the Pacific with the Joint Chiefs in fifteen minutes. That would have to wait. The urgency in Liu's voice persuaded Cunningham that he had to drop everything and get to the Chinese embassy ASAP. Mired in heavy rush-hour traffic Cunningham sat in the back of a black Lincoln Town Car on the tedious ride from the Pentagon into the city, trying to guess what new development had occurred. Was this more nonsense about Winthrop's murder? Or had the Chinese decided to ignore the agreed-upon December seventh deadline and attack Taiwan? Had Taipei, frightened by the reports of Chinese troop movements, decided to launch a preemptive strike? Each scenario he envisioned terrified him more than the previous one. His anxieties were increased when he was ushered by a secretary into the ambassador's office. Instead of the Liu he had come to know, cool and unflappable, the man looked distraught.
