Waiting behind President Ma Ching-te in silence were four of Taiwan’s most powerful defenders, summoned personally to attend this secretive meeting — a meeting that would decide the fate of their nation. Chief among them was Defense Minister Theresa Kao, a former flight pilot. As usual, she sat ramrod straight, waiting for their guests to arrive and the meeting to begin. Sitting next to her was his NSB Director Chao Ming-hsien, the head of his intelligence agency, scrolling through encrypted feeds on a hardened tablet, occasionally muttering darkly about mainland SIGINT reports. The PRC’s Ministry of State Security had been causing all sorts of problems for them on the islands of Kinmen and Matsu; the noose of the mainland constantly tightened around them. Standing hunched over, Admiral Han Ji-cheng, his naval chief, was studying nautical charts spread across the lacquered table while they waited, making pencil marks with surgical precision. Last but by no means least was Lieutenant General Wu Jian-tai, Commandant of the ROC Marine Corps. He stood near the wall-mounted display, his arms crossed, studying coastal defense overlays with the intensity of a man who’d spent his life preparing to repel the PRC’s version of D-Day, the eventual invasion of Taiwan.
“They’re almost here. They’re through the final checkpoint,” Chao announced without looking up. “ETA two minutes.”
President Ma turned from the window. The weight of twenty-one million lives pressed against his shoulders, a familiar burden that had aged him a decade in five years. “So, what are your opinions on the men we’re about to meet?”
“Solid. They’ve delivered on their promises so far,” Kao said evenly. “One hundred and twenty contractors embedded with our forces for the past eighteen months. The training quality offered has far exceeded our expectations.”
“True, but training isn’t fighting,” Admiral Han countered, not unkindly. “When missiles fly, mercenaries sometimes remember their bank accounts.”
Lieutenant General Wu’s jaw tightened. “These aren’t Wagner types, Admiral. These are vetted, highly trained operators. Many of them have decades of experience in the Middle East, Europe, and Africa. They also have personal stakes in seeing the mainland defeated.”
“Perhaps, but personal stakes don’t stop waves of hypersonic missiles and drones, do they?” Han replied coldly.
A knock interrupted their discussion. Ma’s security chief entered and nodded once. The Americans had arrived.
Marcus Harrington entered first — he was tall, six feet four inches. His weathered face moved with the controlled economy of a man who’d spent decades in hostile territory. Behind him came someone new. Ma noted his compact build. He was maybe five-ten, with the kind of dense muscle that came from swimming rather than weightlifting. The second man had a salt-and-pepper beard, trimmed tight. His eyes tracked every corner, every shadow, he looked like he knew how to wage violence if directed.
“Mr. President,” Harrington said, offering a crisp handshake. “Good to see you again. Thank you for making time for us. May I introduce Commander Ryan Mitchell, USN retired. He’s TSG’s new country manager for our growing Taiwan operations.”
Mitchell stepped forward, grip firm but not trying to prove anything. “Sir. Honor to meet you. Honor to be part of this mission.”
Ma smiled, noting the Bostonian accent — a reminder of his own Harvard days. “Commander Mitchell, the honor is mine. Your reputation precedes you.”
“All bad, I hope,” Mitchell deadpanned, then seemed to catch himself. “Sorry, sir. Nervous habit.”
The ghost of a smile crossed Ma’s face.
They arranged themselves around the table — Taiwan’s leadership on one side, the Americans on the other. It was just like negotiating a business deal, Ma thought, except the commodity was survival, and they came offering the means to ensure it.
Harrington slid a sealed portfolio across the polished wood. “Mr. President, I was instructed by National Security Advisor Jim Batista to share this with you and your team. It’s Presidential Finding 32–33, signed seventy-two days ago. It explains the surge in deliverables and activity of the past few weeks. Jim felt it was important you see this, and to leave no doubt in your mind about President Ashford’s commitment to Taiwan’s defense.”
Ma broke the seal and scanned the document. His English was flawless. Years of study at Georgetown had seen to that, but Harvard had taught him to read slowly, absorbing the details people often missed. “Am I reading this correctly? You are increasing your numbers from one hundred and twenty to six hundred contractors by the end of April. And you’ll have full autonomous weapons release authority. Expedited technology transfer.” He looked up in shock. “Jim was right, your president is serious.”
