Chapter 65

Lin, you must understand that with the excuse of interfering with China’s nuclear testing progress, the IA will be more than happy to provide China with a large number of academic journals.

Not only will they be comprehensive in variety, but also the latest editions.

They will make this operation flawless.

This is a top-tier strategic maneuver.

Now it was Lin Ran’s turn to fall into the same confusion as John—he began to doubt the other’s true identity.

Only someone extraordinary could push the IA to carry out such a task.

If the other party works indirectly for the IA, then their immunity makes perfect sense.

He didn’t doubt how the other knew about China’s nuclear tests—America’s U-2s flew overhead daily, and American newspapers had already reported last year that U-2s had detected China’s nuclear tests.

Fortunately, he had only ever claimed to provide academic journals to improve the living conditions of China’s people, which still fell within acceptable bounds.

But who could guarantee this wasn’t a test?

Because if Lin Ran chose the third option, and he clearly knew that the data in America’s provided academic journals related to nuclear tests might be compromised,

once China learned that America knew China knew about their plan, Lin Ran would be the first exposed.

So Lin Ran dared not gamble, and didn’t want to gamble.

“Professor, I still prefer the second option—using Xiangjiang as a transit point works well.

The third option mainly considers China’s environment; if they discover the data is flawed, all academic journals provided by America will become untrustworthy.

The collapse of trust would render all our efforts worthless.

And I’m certain China’s scientists will eventually uncover it—it’s only a matter of time.

You’ve worked with Chinese students before; you know the academic caliber of the Chinese.”

John George said nothing more, only nodded: “Alright, I accept. I’ll send them to Zhao—he’s my friend.”

After returning home, Lin Ran broke into a cold sweat—he desperately wanted to know what role John George had played in history to propose such a unique Plan Three.

After carefully researching in 2020, Lin Ran knew the Nightingale Plan wasn’t exposed by American journalist Carl Bernstein until 1977; yet John George, as a professor at Mashengligongxue Academy, was far too familiar with it—this was clearly abnormal.

Lin Ran even began to feel anxious and uncertain, wondering if approaching John had been the right choice.

The other’s hidden identity was buried in historical fog; on the surface, he seemed friendly toward China, but was he truly so? Or did his friendliness conceal other motives? Lin Ran felt he had been too careless, too trusting of the information gap constructed by time.

Since America’s winter break wasn’t over yet, he met John Morgan, who had traveled all the way from his ancestral home in Hartford, Connecticut, back to New York, dusty and weary.

“Randolph, I’m afraid our collaboration can’t continue.”

John Morgan’s first words startled him—this time the shock was too much; Lin Ran didn’t understand what was happening.

“Why? Didn’t our proposal pass NASA’s preliminary review and move to the next round?” Lin Ran asked.

John Morgan looked at Lin Ran: “Randolph, don’t you know yet?”

Lin Ran thought his identity had been exposed, but he wasn’t afraid—he could always escape through the Door; as a great mathematician, he’d surely get some breathing room.

“Know what?” Lin Ran’s expression didn’t change.

John Morgan said: “Congratulations—you’ve been appointed Special Assistant to the President for Aerospace Affairs, and will be permanently stationed in the West Wing of the Bai Gong.

Kennedy has decided: for this position, he doesn’t need Congressional approval—only a single review. If you accept, you can assume office immediately.”

Information gaps are useful in technical fields, but in matters involving people, they may not function as you assume.

Historically, Hokehaime was just an ordinary professor in the philosophy department—well, as the founder of critical theory and the Frankfurt School, he wasn’t entirely ordinary.

But Lin Ran never imagined the man wielded such influence in Washington.

John Morgan’s words made Lin Ran instinctively believe this was the result of Professor Hokehaime’s influence, having pushed him into the role of Special Assistant to the President for Aerospace Affairs.

“No one notified me,” Lin Ran shook his head.

John Morgan explained: “Someone will contact you after the holiday ends. Once you become Special Assistant to the President for Aerospace Affairs, you can no longer serve as a consultant at Tongyong Hangtian.”

Lin Ran, half-skeptical, half-inquiring: “So you want me to decline this position?”

John Morgan shook his head: “No, no, no—I absolutely want you to take it. Accepting this role lets you exert far greater influence.

Though I still don’t know how much authority Kennedy will grant you, becoming Special Assistant to the President for Aerospace Affairs is undoubtedly a huge advantage for Tongyong Hangtian.

I’m giving you your 10% equity stake in advance—here’s the shareholding proxy document. Sign it, and 10% of Tongyong Hangtian’s shares are yours.

You can always return after leaving the Bai Gong.”

John Morgan pulled a document from his briefcase and handed it to Lin Ran. Lin Ran glanced at it and marveled at how smoothly America’s revolving door between politics and business operated.

With the matter urgent, after John Morgan left, Lin Ran called Professor Hokehaime to tell him. On the other end came Hokehaime’s voice:

“It wasn’t me who pushed for this—I can’t directly contact the Bai Gong.

Besides, I imagined you starting as an engineer at NASA, maybe rising to Senior Engineer with a specific project.

That’s a huge gap from Special Assistant to the President for Aerospace Affairs. Don’t rush—I’ll return to New York soon, and we’ll discuss it then.”

Beep-beep-beep—the transoceanic signal was poor, and the voice crackled. After hearing it, Lin Ran sat stunned on the sofa; one surprise after another made him feel things slipping from his control.

Special Assistant to the President for Aerospace Affairs—what a grand title, but what power did it carry? What did Kennedy want him to do? All unknown.

Lin Ran felt he needed to consult Li Xiaoman’s opinion now.

In 2020’s New York, the sunlight was bright. It had been a full year since 1960 passed on that side, yet here, only slightly over six days had gone by.

“Xiaoman, I’ve been reading up on the Apollo lunar mission. I’d like to ask—under the historical context of that time, was it possible for a Chinese person to hold a significant position in the Apollo program?”