War of Eagles

“Edward Everett Hale,” came a soft voice from behind him.

Hood snapped around. Anita was standing there. She was holding a Coke and smiling. At least one of them was for him.

“Thank you,” Hood said as he took the glass.

“Philip Nolan, an American exiled for treason,” the woman went on. “Is that why you are here? Are you in exile?”

“Are you referring to here being outside or here being Beijing?” Hood asked. He took a sip of cola. There was no ice.

“Let’s take outside first.” She smiled.

There was no ice in Anita now, either. Hood was suspicious, though he liked it better on her than he did in the warm beverage.

“I came out to make a call,” he said, holding up the phone.

“Professional?”

He nodded.

“So you feel exiled in Beijing, then,” Anita said.

“Not really,” Hood told her.

Anita’s big, open forehead crinkled. “I’m confused.”

Hood smiled. “Me, too.”

“But you said—”

“It was just a reverie,” Hood said.

“Not a lament?”

Hood smiled. She was perceptive. But then, an interpreter would have to be. Many translations depended upon nuance, not just the literal words.

“Whatever it was, it’s passed,” Hood lied. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Accept my apology,” she said.

“For what?”

“For coming on a little strong earlier,” Anita said. “I am sure you are under a great deal of pressure here. I should not have added to it.”

“You did not upset me,” Hood assured her. “To the contrary. I was sorry the Asian stereotypes upset you. There is no defending them.”

“Time and perception change, and culture changes with them,” she said. “It is both fortunate and unfortunate that the works themselves survive. Unfortunate in that the stereotypes survive. Fortunate in that we can measure how much more enlightened we have become.”

“That is true,” Hood said. He glanced back at the canopy. “We should go back. We are probably missing your father’s toast.”

“Do you really want to hear it?”

“That’s a loaded question,” Hood said.

“Answer it truthfully.” She smiled.

“I want to show respect for the man and his position.”

“A perfect diplomatic response.” She laughed. “You do your president honor.”

“Thank you,” Hood said. “But before we go back, I would like to ask you something.”

“Certainly.”

“You don’t have to answer, if you think the question is out of line.”

“Lao-tzu once said, ‘There is no such thing as a stupid question. Only stupid answers.’ ”

“True enough.” Hood smiled. “I’m wondering what caused your attitude toward me to change.”

“May I answer freely?”

“Of course,” Hood said.

“You spoke to my father with great deference,” she replied. “You did not fawn or bluster the way other ambassadors do. In fact, you did not even act like someone from an embassy.”

“Diplomats have a job to do.”

“As I said, you do it differently.”

“Thanks,” he said.

Hood’s radar had picked up the blip. He had only sensed it a moment before, when she first complimented his manner, but now it was big and green and closing in. Anita had come out here to find out what exactly he was doing in China.

He offered her his arm. “Shall we go back inside?”

“I was thinking a walk might be nice.”

“All right,” Hood agreed. He continued to offer his arm. She took it with a smile. Now he knew Anita was playing him.

The woman was obviously inexperienced at this. But Hood would play along. He was certain that her father had sent her to talk with him. The prime minister might be angry or insulted if Hood brought her back too quickly. Even though it could hurt the launch, he might withdraw permission for someone to attend. However, if Hood and Anita stayed out for a short while, the prime minister might shift the failure of this maneuver from Hood to his daughter’s inexperience.

“I wonder. Did you ever think of writing a novel?” Anita asked.

“No.” Hood laughed. “I would be too self-conscious.”

“Why?”

“When I was a kid, I read Tom Sawyer and Treasure Island,” Hood told her. “When my parents weren’t looking, I read the James Bond stories. I loved them. Then I found out that Mark Twain and Robert Louis Stevenson and Ian Fleming made them up. They didn’t happen. There was no Huck Finn or Long John Silver. That really upset me. Not because they weren’t real, but because someone sat down and spent all that time to lie to me.”

“You felt betrayed?” Anita asked.

“Betrayed, cheated, and stupid,” Hood said. “Assuming I had the time and patience to write a novel, I think I would be distracted by the fact that I was lying to thousands and thousands of people.”

Anita laughed. “You are aligned with Confucius.”

“How so?”

“He did not like novels or novelists,” Anita replied. “He felt they were on the low end of society, the opposite of truth and honor. Fiction writers started with a lie and went from there. I maintain that fiction is an internal search for truth that the artist shares.”

“Well, that process doesn’t interest me as a purveyor or observer,” Hood said. “I prefer to read a newspaper and draw my own conclusions.”

“Then how do you relax?”

“I listen to music or go to a museum,” Hood said. “Until fairly recently I used to hang with my kids.”

“They are grown now?”

“I’m divorced,” Hood said. “I don’t get to see them very much.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I did not mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t. I offered,” Hood said, smiling at her as they continued to walk down the wide street. He was uneasy but willing to spend personal information to keep this conversation going. Besides, Hood knew what her eventual follow-up question would be. That part of the talk would be brief.

“What about nonfiction? A professional memoir?” she asked. “That would not be a lie, and I am certain it would be fascinating.”

“Why are you so sure?” Hood asked.

“A man does not reach your position without a certain level of accomplishment,” she said.

Hood chuckled. “Mr. Hasen’s brother-in-law was a stockbroker and a tennis buddy of the vice president. That was how he got into the diplomatic corps. He lasted about two years. Unlike your father, many Americans in government service are not professional leaders or emissaries.”

“Were you someone’s tennis buddy?”

“No,” Hood said. “I was dumb. I worked my way up the ladder.”