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increasingly unpredictable as his power and popularity had grown. The state was in control, and he controlled the state.
    Not since Mao had a Chinese leader so dominated the party and combined power with the cult of personality. Since his ascension to the presidency just over two years previously, Meng had been sending an unmistakeable message that China was not ruled by a faceless party – it was ruled by a man.
    He was a Cult of One who made a display of his personal life and cultivated a connection with the masses to become the ‘People’s President’. He was married to a famous opera singer who travelled with him abroad. He sat cross-legged with rural peasants to eat dumplings, and carried his own umbrella. The People’s Daily had even given him a nickname reflecting his exalted status: Meng Dada or ‘Uncle Meng’. Some China observers in the West had adopted a more sinister translation: ‘Big Brother Meng’.
    Meng saw himself as greater than Mao because the founder of the communist state had done enormous damage by rejecting China’s richly embroidered history. This error, Meng believed, had stunted his country and he was determined to reconnect with that history, recreate it and bend it to his purpose.
    Part of Jiang’s role was to reinvigorate the belief planted deep in the souls of the Chinese populous that they were the centre of all things. Having that snatched away by the West during the ‘Hundred Years of Humiliation’ had created a deep sense of resentment. It was a powerful weapon, but it had to be wielded with great skill.
    â€˜History is created by the people and so is civilisation,’ Meng told Jiang during one of their many discussions. ‘We should be more respectful and mindful of five thousand years of continuous Chinese culture.’
    Following his president’s directives, Jiang revived interest in all things Chinese with a motto that Meng borrowed from the Ming Dynasty: ‘A society without ritual is like a plough without a blade.’ The people lapped it up and courses in Confucianism flourished.
    The defining moment of Meng’s premiership had been when he forced the retreat of the USS George Washington from its mission to sail the length of the Taiwan Strait. It drove his status and popularity to levels Western leaders could only dream of. It poured fuel on nationalistic fires and secured his freedom to make ever bolder moves in domestic and foreign policy.
    Chinese commentators had hailed it the definitive end of the ‘Hundred Years of Humiliation’. Meng was raised to the rarestatus of a leader who ushered in a change in epoch. The internal view was reinforced by the reaction of the rest of the world. Once again the world’s potentates were flocking to the Middle Kingdom, begging for an audience with its leader. In the minds of its people China had returned to its rightful place, but Jiang knew that, for Meng, there was still a reckoning to be had. The humiliation would not go unpunished.
    Jiang arrived to this morning’s meeting to find the president surrounded by a cabal of officials carrying notepads and architectural plans, and whispering in the presence of their master.
    Though Jiang dared not give voice to it, he had become fearful of what he saw in his President’s unstoppable rise. He believed Meng saw himself not as a president, but as an emperor.

CHAPTER SIX
Canberra
    Elizabeth Scott buried her expensively coiffured head in her manicured hands and uttered a long, low expletive.
    It had been the Australia Day from hell.
    Australia’s twenty-eighth prime minister reached for the television remote to banish the barrage of ridicule that had assailed her all day.
    Scott was alone in her parliamentary suite, having ordered her staff from the room. She didn’t need their reproachful looks and redundant advice on how to dig herself out of this latest deep hole.
    She’d disabled her Twitter