The U.S. and EU arms embargo on China began in 1989. While European nations had no explicit treaty enforcing the embargo, their compliance operated within the framework of the Paris Coordinating Committee. That meant if the United States wanted to revive any cooperation projects from the "honeymoon era" with China, it would have to bypass the committee entirely. In other words, these matters couldn't go through official diplomatic channels—they had to be handled quietly by the CIA.
When Woolsey received the news, he was practically elated. This was the opening he had been waiting for—the opportunity to revive the Cold War-era strategy of supporting China as a counterbalance to the Soviet Union. Energized, he rushed to the White House, fully aware that a shift in Washington could reshape Langley's long-term direction.
Back in the 1980s, military cooperation between the U.S. and China had shown promise. The J-8 was outfitted with a new fire-control system—a modified transplant of the F-16's suite—boosting its air combat performance. Meanwhile, China's Defense Ministry proposed the "Fighting Falcon Corridor," a plan to request surplus F-14 fighters and retired U.S. personnel to establish a northern air defense zone. There were also the scrapped Jaguar tank program, the customized Harbin-class warship, and the artillery fire-tracking radar initiative.
Now Woolsey was digging through dusty shelves in Langley's archive room, poring over sealed project files, carefully picking out which ones might be revived—enough to make a persuasive case to the president. But more importantly, none of this could reach European ears. If Washington were found secretly trading with Beijing while its allies maintained embargoes, the backlash would be swift and bitter.
European leaders would cry foul: "Why should we be guarding against China and the Soviets—losing money in the process—while you Americans quietly profit behind the scenes?" It wasn't a baseless fear. Just look at the J-20's development, and one might argue that Europe's technological embargo ended up hurting only itself. Over time, its industries fell behind, leading some in the EU to suspect that the Paris Coordinating Committee was less a coalition and more a clever trap—one that kept Europe in check while the U.S. pulled ahead.
"Are you suggesting we restart the Black Hawk helicopter program with China—secretly?" President Mario was visibly stunned. The earlier Bush-era attempt to lure China with Black Hawks had ended in disappointment. China bought a few units, but the low price soured Sikorsky, whose CEO reportedly griped that the "CIA goons had cost them the deal."
"Yes," Woolsey replied. "Restart it. Push for at least 60 units. Based on our intelligence, China still lacks the industrial base to reverse-engineer high-altitude rotorcraft. They'll be reliant on spare parts from us to keep those helicopters operational."
That was the hook. By selling Black Hawks, the U.S. could secure long-term leverage. And compared to uncertain proposals like the Jaguar tank project, the Black Hawk was an ideal test balloon.
"Won't this compromise military secrets?" Mario asked, somewhat naively.
"With respect, Mr. President, every military partnership involves some degree of technology leakage," Woolsey explained patiently. "But reverse-engineering the Black Hawk isn't so simple. The platform reflects an entire nation's industrial ecosystem. By the time they replicate anything close, we'll already have next-generation transport helicopters flying."
Mario, reassured by the answer, gave a slight nod.
But Woolsey had more in mind. This wasn't just about helicopters. In the final months of the Bush administration, the U.S. had quietly sent China two refurbished J-8s, MK46-2 torpedoes, TPQ-37 artillery radars, and Black Hawk spare parts. Now Woolsey proposed handing that legacy to President Mario—and giving him credit for delivering it.
He also suggested reviving the shelved "Peace Model Project," offering China avionics upgrades and additional military samples. "We start with the Black Hawk systems and J-8 avionics. That alone signals our intent. If the Chinese respond positively, we can expand the cooperation," Woolsey explained.
"Either way, we win. And China will be glad to take these offers—they don't have anything comparable," he added confidently.
Mario leaned back, thoughtful, then signed his name on the CIA's special operation proposal. "Fine—but make sure this completely circumvents the Paris Coordinating Committee. No word of this must reach our European allies."
He paused, then added with a shrewd grin, "But this can't just be a gift. Use this deal as leverage. Pressure China into backing out of certain… let's say, cooperation initiatives that matter more to the Soviets than to them. Yes, that's the angle."
"I understand exactly what the President means," Woolsey replied. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that a couple of revived military cooperation projects would dramatically shift the balance of power. After all, these were things China had already paid for once. But if they could be used to irritate the Soviets—even just a little—it would be worth it.
"We haven't made any meaningful progress on the Soviet front for nearly a year. This time, we're depending on your strategy to help us build a broad coalition against them. Just do what you do best, Director Woolsey—and don't disappoint me." President Mario handed over the signed document with solemn weight, as though passing on a sacred mission.
"I won't let you down, Mr. President," Woolsey promised. While he might not be able to outmaneuver Yanayev—the man who always seemed one step ahead—he excelled in other areas, particularly when it came to seducing former adversaries with carefully tailored deals.
It took Woolsey just three days to craft a comprehensive strategy. The plan included resuming Black Hawk helicopter sales to China, reopening channels from the Peace Model fighter jet project, and offering a new batch of upgraded avionics tailored to China's current-generation aircraft.
But, of course, these offers came with strings attached. The United States made it clear: in exchange, China would need to quietly suspend certain economic cooperation initiatives with the Soviet Union—particularly in areas like agriculture and commodity trade. If Beijing didn't comply, the U.S. reserved the right to cancel all military cooperation without notice.
On one hand, there was a deal that could significantly boost China's military capabilities. On the other, some relatively minor economic partnerships. Woolsey was confident Beijing knew where its real priorities lay. The bait was tempting—too tempting, perhaps—for them not to bite.
Once the plan was finalized, the CIA began its outreach. Their first stop: Sikorsky Aircraft. With a mix of pressure and persuasion, Langley "encouraged" the company to reestablish ties with China. We're only coming to you, the CIA agents explained, because we trust your quality. We believe Sikorsky can deliver where others can't.
Cornered by the intelligence agency's charm and veiled threats, Sikorsky eventually agreed. A new delegation was assembled to travel to China for another round of negotiations. At the same time, the CIA quietly dusted off crates of equipment and documents left over from the original military cooperation programs, preparing to ship them across the Pacific once more.
Back in Moscow, Yanayev observed the renewed American enthusiasm with faint amusement. As the White House scrambled and whispered sweet deals into Beijing's ear, he watched like a man at a circus—smiling faintly, as though the entire show had been written for his private entertainment.