Wise and the other talking heads, who would tell the viewer what the visuals could not.
Then the coverage would shift back to CNN’s Washington studio, down the hill from Union Station, where other talking heads would discuss what had been leaked or not leaked to them, then discuss what they in their personal sagacious wisdom thought the proper course for the United States of America ought to be. President Ryan would see all this over breakfast, as he read the papers and the government-produced
The party broke up at the predetermined hour, and the Americans headed back to the embassy in their official cars.
“So, what can you tell us off the record?” Barry asked Rutledge, in the sanctity of the stretch Lincoln’s backseat.
“Not much, really,” the Assistant Secretary of State for Policy replied. “We’ll listen to what they have to say, and they’ll listen to what we have to say, and it’ll go from there.”
“They want MFN. Will they get it?”
“That’s not for me to decide, Barry, and you know that.” Rutledge was too tired and jet-lagged for intelligent conversation at the moment. He didn’t trust himself to speak under these circumstances, and figured Wise knew that. The reporter was leaning on him for just that reason.
“So, what are you going to talk about?”
“Obviously, we’d like the Chinese to open their markets more, and also to take a closer look at some issues we have, like patent and copyright violations that American business has complained about.”
“The Dell Computer issue?”
Rutledge nodded. “Yes, that’s one.” Then he yawned. “Excuse me. The long flight … you know how it is.”
“I was on the same airplane,” Barry Wise pointed out.
“Well, maybe you’re just better at this than I am,” Rutledge offered. “Can we postpone this discussion a day or so?”
“If you say so,” the CNN reporter agreed. He didn’t much like this preppy asshole, but he was a source of information, and Wise was in the information business. The ride was a brief one in any case. The official delegation hopped out at the embassy, and the embassy cars took the newsies back to their hotels.
The embassy had sleeping accommodations for the entire official party, mainly to ensure that anything they said wouldn’t be recorded by the MSS bugs in every hotel room in the city. This was not to say that the accommodations were palatial, though Rutledge had a comfortable room. Here protocol failed Mark Gant, but he did have a comfortable single bed in his small private room and a shared bathroom with a shower. He opted instead for a hot bath and one of the sleeping pills the physician who accompanied the official party had issued him. It was supposed to give him a solid eight hours or so, which would just about synchronize him with local time by the morning. There would then be a big working breakfast, much like the astronauts got before a shuttle launch, and as much of an American tradition as the Stars and Stripes over Fort McHenry.
Nomuri caught the arrival of the trade delegation on Chinese TV, which he watched mainly to hone his language skills. These were improving, though the tonal nature of Mandarin drove him slightly nuts. He’d once thought Japanese was hard, but it was a walk in the park compared to Guoyu. He looked at the faces, wondering who they were. The Chinese narrator helped, stumbling badly over “Rutledge,” however. Well, Americans murdered Chinese names, too, except for simple ones like Ming and Wang, and listening to an American businessman try to make himself understood to a local was enough to make Nomuri gag. The commentator went on to talk about the Chinese position on the trade talks, how America owed the PRC all manner of concessions-after all, was not China generous in allowing Americans to spend their worthless dollars for the valuable products of the People’s Republic? In this, China sounded a lot like Japan had once done, but the new Japanese government had opened up their markets. While there was still a trade deficit in Japan’s favor, fair competition on the playing field had muted American criticism, though Japanese cars were still less welcome in America than they had been. But that would pass, Nomuri was sure. If America had a weakness it was in forgiving and forgetting too rapidly. In this, he greatly admired the Jews. They still hadn’t forgotten Germany and Hitler. As well they shouldn’t, he thought. His last thought before retiring was to wonder how the new software was working on Chai’s computer, and if Ming had actually installed it or not. Then he decided to check.
Rising from bed, he switched his laptop on and … yes! Chai’s system lacked Ming’s transcription software, but it was transmitting what it had. Okay, fine, they had linguists at Langley to fiddle with that. He didn’t have the desire to do so, and just uploaded it and headed back to bed.
Damn!' Mary Pat observed. Nearly all of it was unreadable, but this was a second SORGE source. That was evident from the pathway it had taken through the ‘Net. She wondered if Nomuri was showing off, or had somehow managed to get in the pants of a second high-ranking Chinese government secretary. It wouldn’t exactly be a first for a field officer to have that active a sex life, but it wasn’t all that common, either. She printed it up, saved it to disk, and called for a linguist to come up and translate. Then she downloaded SONGBIRD’S current take. It was becoming as regular as
CHAPTER 23 Down to Business
Bacon and eggs, toast and hash-brown potatoes, plus some Colombian-bean coffee. Gant was Jewish but not observant, and he loved his bacon. Everyone was up and looking pretty good, he thought. The government-issued black capsule (they all called it that, evidently some sort of tradition that he didn’t know about) had worked for all of them, and the cookie-pushers were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Most of the talk, he noted, was about the NBA. The Lakers were looking tough again. Rutledge, Gant saw, was at the head of the table chatting amiably with Ambassador Hitch, who seemed a solid citizen. Then a more ruffled employee of the embassy came in with a manila folder whose borders were lined with striped red-and-white tape. This he handed to Ambassador Hitch, who opened it at once.
Gant realized at once that it was classified material. There wasn’t much of that to be seen at Treasury, but there was some, and he’d been screened for a Top Secret/Special Access clearance as part of his employment on Secretary Winston’s personal staff. So, there was intel coming in from Washington for the negotiations. Exactly what it was about, he couldn’t see, and didn’t know if he would see it. He wondered if he could flex his institutional muscles on this one, but Rutledge would be the one who decided if he got to see it or not, and he didn’t want to give the State Department puke the excuse to show who was the he-bull in this herd. Patience was a virtue he’d long had, and this was just one more chance to exercise it. He returned to his breakfast, then decided to stand and get more off the buffet. Lunch in Beijing probably wouldn’t be very appealing, even at their Foreign Ministry Building, where they would feel constrained to show off their most exotic national dishes, and Fried Panda Penis with candied bamboo roots wasn’t exactly to his taste. At least the tea they served was acceptable, but even at its best, tea wasn’t coffee.
“Mark?” Rutledge looked up from his seat and waved the Treasury guy over. Gant walked over with his refilled plate of eggs and bacon.
“Yeah, Cliff?”
Ambassador Hitch made room for Gant to sit down, and a steward arrived with fresh silverware. The government could make one comfortable when it wanted. He asked the guy for more hash browns and toast. Fresh coffee arrived seemingly of its own volition.
“Mark, this just came in from Washington. This is codeword material-”
“Yeah, I know. I can’t even see it now, and I am not allowed to have any memory of it. So, can I see it
