The emergency meeting at the Project Chimera headquarters was a study in controlled chaos. The news from Beijing had arrived like a thunderclap, throwing all their carefully laid plans into disarray. Corporal Riley, the key to unraveling Yuan Shikai's secret war, had not been captured or killed by either of the forces hunting him. He had, in a desperate, brilliant stroke of improvisation, sought asylum at the American Legation.
The alliance now possessed a political bombshell of unprecedented power. The air in the London basement crackled with a mixture of triumphant excitement and profound anxiety.
"We have him!" President Roosevelt's voice, energized and aggressive, blasted from the secure telephone speaker. He saw the situation in the stark, simple terms of a big-game hunter who had just cornered his prey. "We have the Emperor's top man by the throat! Riley's confession will be our sword of Damocles. We leak it. We expose Yuan Shikai's treachery to the world. We demand his immediate removal. We'll shatter the Emperor's power structure, force him onto the back foot!"
Cutler, the senior American intelligence officer present in the room, nodded in agreement. "A public denouncement would put incredible pressure on the Qing government, Mr. President. It could force an internal collapse."
Michael Abernathy, however, listened to the Americans' aggressive, triumphant plans with a growing sense of unease. He saw not a simple opportunity for a knockout blow, but a complex, multi-layered game that required a surgeon's touch, not a butcher's cleaver.
"Gentlemen, I urge caution," Abernathy said, his calm, measured voice a stark contrast to Roosevelt's fire. "Your proposed course of action is… blunt. If we expose Yuan publicly, what is the most likely outcome? The Emperor, to save face, will simply have him executed. He will cut out the cancer and replace Yuan with someone more loyal, and perhaps, more competent. We will have removed a single corrupt minister, but we will have taught the Emperor a valuable lesson and healed the rift in his court for him."
He began to pace, his mind weaving a new, more intricate strategy. "We should not be trying to kill the patient. We should be studying the disease. For the first time, we have absolute, undeniable proof of a deep, profound division within the Emperor's inner circle. This is an incredible opportunity. We should not cauterize this wound. We should exploit it. We should widen it until it splinters their entire government."
"And how do you propose we do that, Abernathy?" Roosevelt asked, his voice laced with impatience. "With more whispers and anonymous notes?"
"No, Mr. President," Abernathy replied. "We do it on the world stage. We do it in your own country."
He gestured to a calendar on the wall, marked with a large, circled date. "In two months, the Louisiana Purchase Exposition opens in St. Louis. The World's Fair. It will be the largest international gathering of the year. Every major nation will be there, showcasing their industry, their culture, their power. It is the perfect stage for a new kind of diplomacy."
He laid out his plan. "We will not expose Riley publicly. We will do something far more effective. We will leak to the Qing court, through discreet channels, that we have him, and that his full, detailed confession will be released to every newspaper in the world… unless the Emperor agrees to send a high-level diplomatic delegation to St. Louis to discuss 'matters of mutual and urgent concern.' It forces their hand. They must come to us to negotiate for Riley's silence."
Cutler frowned. "So we get them to the table. What does that achieve?"
"It achieves everything," Abernathy said, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "First, who will the Emperor send to clean up a mess of this magnitude, a mess concerning a secret war against America? He will have no choice but to send the man who created it: Yuan Shikai himself. This gives us the unprecedented opportunity to meet the man, to assess him, to engage with him directly, away from the Emperor's protection."
"Second," he continued, "the presence of a grand Chinese delegation at the Fair allows us to play a powerful propaganda game. We can showcase the 'modernizing,' 'cooperative' China to the world, subtly positioning them as a reasonable power in Asia, a stark contrast to the aggressive, expansionist Japanese, with whom we are currently having our own difficulties."
He paused, saving his masterstroke for last. "But the true gambit is this. The 1904 Olympic Games are being held concurrently in St. Louis. A celebration of international athletic and military prowess. We will use this as our cover. We will not only demand a delegation from the Emperor. We will also extend a separate, formal invitation… to Meng Tian."
The name hung in the air. Meng Tian. The honorable general. The second dragon.
"We will invite the 'great hero of the Sumatra campaign'," Abernathy explained, "to be the 'honored international observer' from the Qing Empire at the Olympic military exhibitions and athletic contests. The invitation will come directly from the International Olympic Committee, of which we have… significant influence. It will be an offer of immense prestige, one a career soldier could not easily refuse."
The sheer, audacious brilliance of the plan settled over the room. They would use the World's Fair and the Olympics as a grand stage. They would lure both of the Emperor's top ministers, the traitor and the loyalist, the butcher and the hero, across the world and into their own territory. They could play them off against each other. They could attempt to turn the honorable Meng Tian against his tyrannical master, using Riley's confession and the proof of Yuan's treachery as their leverage.
Roosevelt was silent on the line for a long moment. Then, a low chuckle rumbled from the speaker. He loved it. It was bold, complex, and utterly audacious. It was a plan worthy of the Great Game.
"Abernathy," the President's voice boomed, his good humor restored. "That is a damnably fine plan. Make it so."
The decision was made. The new battleground would not be in the palaces of Beijing or the wilderness of Siberia, but in the heart of America, amidst the pavilions and stadiums of the St. Louis World's Fair.
The scene ends with two very different invitations being drafted by skilled diplomatic clerks. One is a stark, formal diplomatic demand, laced with veiled threats, addressed to the Imperial Court of the Qing Emperor in Beijing. It speaks of the urgent need to discuss the status of a 'captured American citizen' and the 'stability of international relations.'
The other is a beautiful, gilded invitation, engraved on heavy card stock. It is filled with flowery language about the Olympic spirit, international brotherhood, and the honor of showcasing military pageantry. It is addressed to His Excellency, Chief Strategist Meng Tian, a man currently wounded, trapped, and fighting for his life deep in the frozen Siberian wilderness. The global chess board was being set for a new and far more dangerous phase of the game.