The walk to Shen's office was a lonely one. The corridor seemed to stretch into infinity as he stepped down it in his best suit and shiny black shoes. The building and its appointments were supposed to be imposing, to show representatives of foreign countries just how impressive the People's Republic of China was. Every country did it this way, some better than others. In this case the architect had earned his money, Kilmer thought. Finally-but sooner than he'd expected when he'd begun-he found the door and turned right to enter the secretaries' anteroom. Shen's male executive assistant led the American into a more comfortable waiting room and fetched water for him. Kilmer waited for the expected five minutes, because you didn't just barge in to see a senior government minister of a major power, but then the high doors-they were always double doors at this level of diplomacy-opened and he was beckoned in.
Shen was wearing a Mao jacket today instead of the usual Western-style business suit, a dark blue in color. He approached his guest and extended his hand.
"Mr. Kilmer, a pleasure to see you again."
"Thank you for allowing this impromptu audience, Minister."
"Please have a seat." Shen waved to some chairs surrounding the usual low table. When both of them were seated, Shen asked, "What can I do for you this day?"
"Minister, I have a note from my government to place into your hand." With that, Kilmer pulled the envelope from his coat pocket and handed it across.
The envelope was not sealed. Shen withdrew the two-page diplomatic message and leaned back to read it. His face didn't alter a dot before he looked up.
"This is a most unusual communication, Mr. Kilmer."
"Minister, my government is seriously concerned with recent deployments of your military."
"The last note delivered from your embassy was an insulting interference with our internal affairs. Now you threaten us with war?"
"Sir, America makes no threats. We remind you that since the Russian Federation is now a signatory of the North Atlantic Treaty, any hostilities directed at Russia will compel America to honor her treaty commitments."
"And you threaten the senior members of our government if something untoward should happen to Americans in our country? What do you take us for, Mr. Kilmer?" Shen asked in an even, unexcited voice.
"Minister, we merely point out that, as America extends to all of our visitors the protection of our laws, we hope that the People's Republic will do the same."
"Why should we treat American citizens any differently from the way we treat our own?"
"Minister, we merely request your assurance that this will be the case."
"Why should it not be the case? Do you accuse us of plotting a war of aggression against our neighbor?"
"We take note of recent military actions by the People's Republic and request clarification."
"I see." Shen folded the papers back up and set them on the table. "When do you request a reply?"
"As soon as you find it convenient to do so, Minister," Kilmer answered.
"Very well. I will discuss this matter with my colleagues on the Politburo and reply to you as quickly as we can."
"I will convey that good news to Washington, Minister. I will not take more time from your day, sir. Thank you very much indeed for your time." Kilmer stood and shook hands one more time. Kilmer walked through the anteroom without a glance left or right, turned left in the corridor, and headed toward the elevators. The corridor seemed just as long for this little walk, he thought, and the clicking of his heels on the tile floor seemed unusually loud. Kilmer had been an FSO long enough to know that Shen should have reacted more irately to the note. Instead he had received it like an invitation to an informal dinner at the embassy. That meant something, but Kilmer wasn't sure what. Once in his car, he started composing his dispatch to Foggy Bottom, then quickly realized that this was something he'd better report by voice first over the STU.
How good is he, Carl?" Adler asked the ambassador. "He's an okay kid, Scott. Photographic memory, talent I wish I had. Maybe he was promoted a little fast, but he's got the brains he needs, just a little short on field experience. I figure in another three years or so, he'll be ready to run his own embassy and start his way up the ladder."
In a place like Lesotho, SecState thought, which was a place to make "backwater" seem a compliment. Well, you had to start somewhere. "How will Shen react?"
"Depends. If they're just maneuvering troops on routine training, they might be a little angry. If it's for real and we've caught them with their hands in the cookie jar, they'll act hurt and surprised." Hitch paused for a yawn. "Excuse me. The real question is whether it'll make them think things over."
"Will it? You know most of 'em."
"I don't know," Hitch admitted uncomfortably. "Scott, I've been there a while, sure, but I can't say that I fully understand them. They make decisions on political considerations that Americans have a hard time comprehending."
"The President calls them Klingons," Adler told the ambassador.
Hitch smiled. "I wouldn't go that far, but there is logic in the observation." Then Adler's intercom buzzed.
"Call from William Kilmer in Beijing on the STU, Mr. Secretary," the secretary's voice said.
"This is Scott Adler," SecState said when he lifted the phone. "Ambassador Hitch is here with me. You're on speaker."
"Sir, I made the delivery. Minister Shen hardly blinked. He said he'd get back to us soon, but not exactly when, after he talked it over with his Politburo colleagues. Aside from that, not much of a reaction at all. I can fax you the transcript in about half an hour. The meeting didn't last ten minutes."
Adler looked over at Hitch, who shook his head and didn't look happy at the news.
"Bill, how was his body language?" Hitch asked.
"Like he was on Prozac, Carl. No physical reaction at all."
"Shen tends to be a little hyperactive," Hitch explained. "Sometimes he has trouble sitting still. Conclusions, Bill?"
"I'm worried," Kilmer replied at once. "I think we have a problem here."
"Thank you, Mr. Kilmer. Send the fax quick as you can." Adler punched the phone button and looked at his guest. "Oh, shit."
"Yeah. How soon will we know how they're going to react to this?"
"Tomorrow morning, I hope, we-"
"We have a source inside their government?" Hitch asked. The blank look he got in reply was answer enough.
"Thanks, Scott," Ryan said, hanging up the phone. He was back in the Oval Office now, sitting in his personally-fitted swivel chair, which was about as comfortable as any artifact could make him. It didn't help much at the moment, but he supposed it was one less thing to worry about.
"So?"
"So, we wait to see if SORGE tells us anything."
"SORGE?" Professor Weaver asked.
"Dr. Weaver, we have a sensitive source of information that sometimes gives us information on what their Politburo is thinking," Ed Foley told the academic. "And that information does not leave this room."
"Understood." Academic or not, Weaver played by the rules. "That's the name for the special stuff you've been showing me?"
"Correct."
"It's a hell of a source, whoever it is. It reads like a tape of their meetings, captures their personalities, especially Zhang. He's the real bad actor here. He's got Premier Xu pretty well wrapped around his little finger."
"Adler's met him, during the shuttle talks after the Airbus shoot-down at Taipei," Ryan said.
"And?" Weaver asked. He knew the name and the words, but not the man.