The Bear and the Dragon

anticipate not only the thoughts of her master, but also those of some of his colleagues. She was in effect, if not in fact, a confidant of her minister, and while she could not counsel him on his job, if he’d had the wit to appreciate the effect of her education and her time inside his head, he might have used her far more efficiently than as a mere secretary. But she was a woman in a land ruled by men, and therefore voiceless. Orwell had been right. She’d read Animal Farm some years ago. Everyone was equal, but some were more equal than others. If Fang were smart, he’d use her more intelligently, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t. She’d talk to Nomuri-san about that tonight.

For his part, Chester was just finalizing an order for one thousand six hundred sixty-one high-end NEC desktops at the China Precision Machine Import and Export Corporation, which, among other things, made guided missiles for the People’s Liberation Army. That would make Nippon Electric Company pretty happy. The sad part was that he couldn’t rig these machines to talk as glibly as the two in the Council of Ministers, but that would have been too dangerous, if a good daydream over a beer and a smoke. Chester Nomuri, cyber-spy. Then his beeper started vibrating. He reached down and gave it a look. The number was 745-4426. Applied to the keys on a phone, and selecting the right letters, that translated in personal code to shin gan, “heart and soul,” Ming’s private endearment for her lover and an indication that she wanted to come over to his place tonight. That suited Nomuri just fine. So, he’d turned into James Bond after all. Good enough for a private smile, as he walked out to his car. He flipped open his shoephone, dialed up his e-mail access, and sent his own message over the ’Net, 226–234: bao bei, “beloved one.” She liked to hear him say that, and he didn’t mind saying it. So, something other than TV for tonight. Good. He hoped he had enough of the Japanese scotch for the apres-sex.

You knew you had a bad job when you welcomed a trip to the dentist. Jack had been going to the same one for nineteen years, but this time it involved a helicopter flight to a Maryland State Police barracks with its own helipad, followed by five minutes in a car to the dentist’s office. He was thinking about China, but his principal bodyguard mistook his expression.

“Relax, boss,” Andrea told the President. “If he makes you scream, I’ll cap him.”

“You shouldn’t be up so early,” Ryan responded crossly.

“Dr. North said I could work my regular routine until further notice, and I just started the vitamins she likes.”

“Well, Pat looks rather pleased with himself.” It had been a pleasant evening at the White House. It was always good to entertain guests who had no political agenda.

“What is it about you guys? You strut like roosters, but we have to do all the work!”

“Andrea, I would gladly switch jobs with you!” Ryan joked. He’d had this discussion with Cathy often enough, claiming that having a baby couldn’t be all that hard-men had to do almost all of the tough work in life. But he couldn’t joke with someone else’s wife that way.

Nomuri heard his computer beep in the distance, meaning it had received and was now automatically encrypting and retransmitting the data e-mailed from Ming’s desktop. It made an entertaining interruption to his current activity. It had been five days since their last tryst, and that was a long enough wait for him … and evidently for her as well, judging by the passion in her kisses. In due course, it was over, and they both rolled over for a smoke.

“How is the office?” Nomuri asked, with the answer to his question now residing in a server in Wisconsin.

“The Politburo is debating great finance. Qian, the minister in charge of our money, is trying to persuade the Politburo to change its ways, but they’re not listening as Minister Fang thinks they ought.”

“Oh?”

“He’s rather angry with his old comrades for their lack of flexibility.” Then Ming giggled. “Chai said the minister was very flexible with her two nights ago.”

“Not a nice thing to say about a man, Ming,” Nomuri chided.

“I would never say it about you and your jade sausage, shin gan,” she said, turning for a kiss.

“Do they argue often there? In the Politburo, I mean?”

“There are frequent disagreements, but this is the first time in months that the matter has not been resolved to Fang’s satisfaction. They are usually collegial, but this is a disagreement over ideology. Those can be violent-at least in intellectual terms.” Obviously, the Politburo members were too old to do much more than smack an enemy over the head with their canes.

“And this one?”

“Minister Qian says the country may soon be out of money. The other ministers say that is nonsense. Qian says we must accommodate the Western countries. Zhang and the others like him say we cannot show weakness after all they-especially the Americans-have done to us lately.”

“Don’t they see that killing that Italian priest was a bad thing?”

“They see it as an unfortunate accident, and besides, he was breaking our laws.”

Jesus, Nomuri thought, they really do think they’re god-kings, don’t they? “Bao bei, that is a mistake on their part.”

“You think so?”

“I have been to America, remember? I lived there for a time. Americans are very solicitous to their clergy, and they place a high value on religion. Spitting on it angers them greatly.”

“You think Qian is right, then?” she asked. “You think America will deny us money for this foolish action?”

“I think it is possible, yes. Very possible, Ming.”

“Minister Fang thinks we should take a more moderate course, to accommodate the Americans somewhat, but he did not say so at the meeting.”

“Oh? Why?”

“He does not wish to depart too greatly from the path of the other ministers. You say that in Japan people fear not being elected. Here, well, the Politburo elects its own, and it can expel those who no longer fit in. Fang does not wish to lose his own status, obviously, and to make sure that doesn’t happen, he takes a cautious line.”

“This is hard for me to understand, Ming. How do they select their members? How do the ‘princes’ choose the new ‘prince’?”

“Oh, there are party members who have distinguished themselves ideologically, or sometimes from work in the field. Minister Qian, for example, used to be chief of railroad construction, and was promoted for that reason, but mainly they are picked for political reasons.”

“And Fang?”

“My minister is an old comrade. His father was one of Mao’s faithful lieutenants, and Fang has always been politically reliable, but in recent years he has taken note of the new industries and seen how well they function, and he admires some of the people who operate them. He even has some into his office from time to time for tea and talk.”

So, the old pervert is a progressive here? Nomuri wondered. Well, the bar for that was pretty low in China. You didn’t have to jump real high, but that put him in advance of the ones who dug a trench under it, didn’t it?

“Ah, so the people have no voice at all, do they?”

Ming laughed at that. “Only at party meetings, and there you guard your voice.”

“Are you a member?”

“Oh, yes. I go to meetings once a month. I sit in the back. I nod when others nod, and applaud when they applaud, and I pretend to listen. Others probably listen better. It is not a small thing to be a party member, but my membership is because of my job at the ministry. I am here because they needed my language and computer skills-and besides, the ministers like to have young women under them,” she added.