Cantonese accent, although the president knew he could speak perfect Oxbridge English. He had studied for years at Christ Church and the University of London. “You are aware, I’m sure, Mr. President, of the reason for my sudden alarm.” Despite the positive signs, the ambassador did not extend his hand.
The president gestured. “You know Charles Ouray, my chief of staff, don’t you, Mr. Ambassador?”
“We have had the pleasure many times,” Wu Bangtiao said, an edge to his voice to show he had noticed the change in subject.
“Then why don’t we sit down?” Castilla said cordially.
He gestured to one of the comfortable leather armchairs that faced his desk. As the ambassador settled in, the president returned to his large desk chair. Ouray took a straight chair against the wall some distance to the side. Ambassador Wu’s feet barely touched the floor; the chair was designed for far taller New Mexican ranchers, which, of course, was why the president had sat him there.
Hiding a smile, the president leaned back and said pleasantly, “As for why you’re here, Ambassador Wu, I haven’t a clue. Why don’t you fill me in?”
Wu’s eyes and smile narrowed. “One of our cargo ships on the high seas reports that your frigate, the USS John Crowe, has been keeping it under surveillance.” Charles Ouray said, “Are they sure the frigate isn’t simply on the same course, Mr. Ambassador?”
Wu’s gaze grew icy. He turned it onto Ouray. “Since your warship is far faster than a simple cargo ship but has maintained its current position behind it many hours, the conclusion can be only that the Crowe is shadowing the Empress.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s the only conclusion,” the president said evenly.
“May I ask exactly where this ship of yours is?”
“The Indian Ocean.” He glanced at the clock. “Or possibly the Arabian Sea by now.”
“Ah. And its destination is—?”
“With all due respect, Mr. President … that’s hardly relevant. The ship is on the high seas where the right of passage to any port belongs to every sovereign nation in the world.”
“Now, Mr. Ambassador, we both know that’s hogwash. Nations protect their interests. Yours does. Mine does.”
“And what interest is the United States protecting by harassing an unarmed commercial vessel in international waters, sir?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Ambassador Wu. Since I haven’t been informed about the Crowe, I have no details, not even that your freighter is anywhere near our frigate. But I assume that if you’re correct, the situation’s the result of some well-known, routine operation by our navy.”
“America routinely shadows Chinese ships?”
The president exploded, “That’s horseshit, and you damn well know it!
Whatever the reason for this alleged shadowing is, I’ll find out. Is that all, Mr. Ambassador?”
Wu Bangtiao did not blink. He stood. “Yes, Mr. President. Except that my government has instructed me to inform you that we will protect our right of free passage anywhere and everywhere on the high seas.
Including against interference or attack by the United States.”
The president stood even more quickly. “Tell your government that if your freighter is violating international laws, regulations, or accepted limitations, we reserve the right to intervene to stop such a violation.”
“I will present your view to my government.” Wu inclined his head to Castilla, nodded to Ouray, turned gracefully, and stalked out of the Oval Office.
The president studied the door that had closed behind Wu Bangtiao without really seeing it. Charlie Ouray was doing the same thing.
Finally, the president decided, “They don’t know what the Empress is carrying.”
“No. But does that change anything?”
“Normally, I’d say no.” Castilla rubbed his jaw. “Only there was more restraint there than I would’ve expected. You agree?”
Ouray clasped his hands between his legs and leaned forward, frowning.
“I’m not sure. That last sounded a lot like the standard warning, the same posturing as usual.”
“Pro forma. To be expected. But Wu’s a consummate master of the nuance, and I had the impression his delivery this time suggested that the warning was, indeed, pro forma. In fact, he intended it as a hint that he was posturing.”
“Maybe so. But he knows we were lying about the Crowe.”
“Of course he does, but there again he let me get away with it. Didn’t challenge me, and didn’t deliver the formal warning until I’d dismissed him, which forced him to make it or get the hell out with empty hands.”
“He didn’t come in firing all guns either, that’s for sure. But he was definitely wearing the Mao armor.”
“His presentation was ambiguous,” the president decided. “Yes, that was the message. Beijing, or at least a majority of the Standing Committee, is in the dark. Still, they can’t let China be pushed around with the world watching, no matter what the circumstances. On the other hand, I read it that they’re not looking for a confrontation. They won’t make the situation public, at least not yet. They’re giving us a little leeway and some time.”
“Yeah, but how much?”
“With luck, at least until the Empress gets so close to Basra that we have to make a move.” The president shook his head unhappily. “Or until the whole thing is leaked, blows up, or falls apart.”
“Then we’d damn well better keep it under wraps.”
“And get our proof.” “Yeah,” Ouray said. “But I have a suggestion.”
“What?”
Ouray remained hunched forward as if he had a sharp pain somewhere in his gut. His aging face seemed brittle. “After listening to you and Wu, I understand even more why this demands tight secrecy. Nevertheless, it’s time to bring in Defense Secretary Stanton, Secretary of State Padgett, and Vice President Erikson, because the Chinese government’s on to us. That means Stanton and Padgett need to be prepared. And if — God forbid — anything were to happen to you, the vice president will have to deal with this situation. We’d have to bring him up to speed instantly.
There might not be time.”
Castilla considered. “What about the joint chiefs?”
“For now, it’s probably enough that Brose knows. The others could get trigger-happy and complicate things.”
“Okay, Charlie. I agree. Set up a meeting. Include Brose.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Alone, the president swiveled to the high windows behind his desk. For a few seconds, he saw a little boy in his mind, and he smiled. The boy was like he had been, oversized for his age and with messy straw-blond hair.
He was raising his arms up eagerly to a man. The man bent low to pick him up, but the man’s face was hazy, out of focus. The child could not see the face, could not see his father.
Outside Donk & Lapierre’s building, Jon dodged through the crowds and traffic and crossed Stanley Street to a Dairy Farm ice cream parlor.
Blaring horns and Chinese curses punctuated the air. He ordered a cup of coffee and watched the entrance to the showcase building. When no uniformed guards or civilians came rushing out as if looking for someone, he finished his coffee and hailed a taxi to take him to his hotel.
Still vigilant, he watched all around as the cab wove through the congestion, turned into the tunnel that dove under the harbor to Kowloon, and at last pulled up to the Shangri-la. Once in his room, he dropped onto his bed and used his scrambled cell phone to report to Fred Klein. As usual, Klein was at his desk in the Anacostia marina.
“Do you ever go home, Fred?” Jon pictured the dim office, the shutters and drapes closed, turning day into perpetual night.
Klein ignored the question. “You got there safely, I take it.”
“So far, yes.” He hesitated, a sour taste in his mouth. “But I’ve made a mistake.”
“How bad?” “Hard to say.” He explained the phone call to Donk & Lapierre.
“Obviously, Jan Donk doesn’t exist, or the phone number was unlisted, or both. Maybe it was a special
