“Oh, yes. I do.” T’ing slid into his chair, then pulled the wine list from the center of the table. He glanced over at her. “The white or the red?”
“White,” she said. “If I can ever make up my mind which one, I’m going to have fish.”
He studied it for a moment, although there was no real need for him to do so. They both had the small but exquisitely chosen list memorized. T’ing closed the wine list and handed it back to the steward.
For a moment, Wexler panicked. How did their conversations usually start? She couldn’t exactly remember. They’d been so free and natural after the first couple of months that she’d quit thinking about how and what to say.
T’ing saved her from having to decide. “I have had quite a rewarding day myself,” he said. “Our good friend from the United Kingdom, one of your favorites, is he not?” He glanced over at her and smiled. Ambassador Wells had been a pain in the ass for both of them in his early days. He had come under orders to disrupt Ambassador Wexler’s relationship with T’ing. The plan might have worked had she not found him so consistently annoying. It had been the inconsistency between the face he presented to the world, that of a genial, bumbling fool, and what she knew must be true of any representative from the Court of Saint James. He consistently rang a false note, and it was only when they were forced to level with each other in the last Mid East crisis that he’d finally revealed his true colors. No, he was not the polished, elegant statesmen that his predecessor had been. Certainly he had all the right breeding, all the right connections, but his manner was less understated, more likely to attempt a sly, manipulative approach to a problem rather than the quietly elegant solutions of his predecessor. Nevertheless, once she had grown accustomed to his manner, he’d proven to be a fine representative of America’s oldest ally.
“And what is our dear friend up to these days?” she asked, grateful for the opening. “Still fuming over the fact that the British Empire no longer rules both of our continents?”
“That, always. He speaks quite good Mandarin, you know. I was most impressed.”
“You’re kidding. And just how long was he going to keep that a secret?” she asked.
T’ing shrugged, an oddly sinuous movement on him. Although he was dressed in a conservative western suit, elegant tailoring and fine fabric made it hang on him like robes. “I got him to admit it after I asked him about his studies at Sandhurst. He attended their specialized language institute, you know.”
“No, I didn’t. They normally keep that information rather classified.”
T’ing smiled and said nothing. It wasn’t the first time he admitted knowing more than anyone thought he should, but under the circumstances, it gave her a decidedly uneasy feeling. It would be foolish not to expect him to have considerable espionage resources at his disposal — indeed, he had been the first to clue her in on the fact that her aide, Brad, wasn’t all that he appeared to be. And although she considered T’ing a good friend, she did not believe that he would have any difficulty reconciling their friendship with having her office wired for sound.
“Have they declared war on China?” she asked lightly. Now wouldn’t that have been an interesting thing for someone to overhear? She wondered how long it would take to make it into a gossip column.
“Nothing so straightforward. Indeed, I’m not sure quite what to make of it myself. He is, I believe, quite concerned about China’s intentions regarding Taiwan. He conveyed a gently worded warning — but a warning nonetheless — that we take no precipitous action to disrupt the balance of power in our area of the world. Of course, we both know what that means.” He glanced over at her, mild curiosity in his eyes. “And he mentioned that your country is quite concerned as well.”
She knew what he was hinting at. If the United States was so concerned, why hadn’t he heard about it from her directly? She searched his face for a trace of hurt but saw only curiosity and perhaps a trace of disappointment.
“I wonder where in the world he got that idea?” she asked. “Did he say?”
“No.” He leaned over and placed his hand over hers, his palm cool and smooth. “Please do not misunderstand me. I know that the United Kingdom and America have a unique parent-child relationship. She fought on your soil, and yet even after your independence, your two nations have so much in common. But I must tell you, even the best of friends have interests that do not always completely coincide. And it would be worth considering that at times that may be the case with England and the United States.”
She leaned forward, matching his intensity with her own. “What are you getting at?” She made a motion to withdraw her hand, and his tightened on it.
“Just this. I suspect that our British friend has sources of information in your office of which you are not aware. He knows too much and there is no explanation for what he knows. And he was letting me know that. Why, I do not know. Any more than I would know why you would convey a message to me through him.”
“I didn’t. If I had something to say to you, I would say it directly.”
He regarded for her for a moment, then nodded. His pressure on her hand lessened. “Then you must consider the possibility that he has a spy in your office. That, or some way of intercepting your most confidential communications.”
A shiver ran through her. Why tonight, of all nights? There were too many possibilities.
First, T’ing, despite all the precautions, might know that they had detected the listening device. This was an offensive strike, intended to divert her suspicions to the British.
Second, that Wells had some plan of his own, still trying to disrupt her relationship with T’ing. She would not put that beyond him.
Or perhaps Wells was trying to give T’ing the impression that he did have confidential sources in her office. And why would he do that?
And the final possibility — that T’ing was right, that Lord Wells did have sources of information in her office that she was unaware of. Perhaps a back door, with the CIA and British intelligence cooperating through Brad. Perhaps the Little Insect listening device they had discovered. Or perhaps both.
And she was supposed to tolerate this? Not being secure in her very own office? The last time her life had been in danger, and she and T’ing had been on the run, they’d bolted to the security of the United Nations building as soon as they were able to. Brad had mobilized a strike force of people she had no idea he even knew.
And now this.
For a moment, she considered confronting him. Telling him about the listening device, and asking him bluntly whether or not China was responsible. But no, that would do no good. He was even better than she was at concealing his expressions, and she would know only what he wanted her to know. In the shifting game of alliances and deception, how was one to know who one’s allies really were? And despite her long-held belief that personal relationships were an important part of diplomacy, would their friendship have any effect on the conduct of affairs between nations?
“The mustard catfish, I suggest,” he said finally.
“What?”
“For your dinner. It is one of your favorites, and I noticed several others enjoying it tonight. Perhaps that would be a good selection.” He withdrew his hand, then picked up his own menu to study it.
She looked over at T’ing. He raised his head from his menu and smiled, a pleasant, genial expression that betrayed no hint of his real thoughts. And that he had some real thoughts, oh yes, she had no doubt of that. He always knew more of what was at stake than she did, and had a connoisseur’s appreciation for subtle layering of national interests and the complexities of international affairs.
She withdrew her hand from the table. “Yes. The catfish, I believe.”
TEN
With his makeshift staff assembled around his conference room, Batman opened the folder in front of him. He
