is supposed to be his liaison. The Taiwanese would not have put him here if they didn’t have some confidence in him.”
“So we let them work it out themselves?” the senior chief asked.
“Yes, but — it’s always ‘yes, but,’ isn’t it?” Lab Rat said. “We can’t afford to have any misunderstandings right now. Not when everything is about to break loose. So what do we do?”
The senior chief shrugged. “Above my pay grade, sir. But I’d sure as shit get in there with the admiral and tell him what’s going on. Then try to figure out what set this whole thing off. There’s got to be something.” The senior chief turned to Lee. “How about you hang out in combat for a few days, kind of listen in on what’s going on? I’ll have someone else cover your watches. You keep an eye on this major. Maybe you can pick up some clues from how he’s acting. Something’s gone and pissed him off, and we need to figure out what it is before it gets any worse.”
“Does Major Ho know you speak his language?” Lab Rat asked Lee.
Lee, who graduated first in his class from the Naval Language Institute, shook his head and smiled. Lee stood around six-foot-three and was a large black man. “No, he doesn’t. And I’m betting I’m not going to be his first guess.”
EIGHTEEN
T’ing had chosen traditional garb for the occasion, and the delicate silks with flowing lines were so much more natural on him that Wexler wondered he had ever worn a western suit at all. Behind him, his assistants and aides were similarly attired. There was a complete hush over the great hall as he stood.
“Mr. Secretary-General, members and delegates.” He paused, and let his gaze roam over the entire assembly. Not a seat was vacant. Those who hadn’t heard the rumors had obviously been alerted by his office. “I am deeply saddened to be here today under the circumstances. But the nature of this organization is such that these matters are often before us. Never, however, have I felt so personally distressed over what I must say today.”
He turned slightly, facing directly toward the American delegation. “As most of you know, over the last two weeks, the United States has committed acts of war against my nation. We offered the United States the opportunity to apologize and pay reparations without further action. That has been summarily rejected. Accordingly, we must now asked that the United Nations pass this resolution ordering sanctions against the United States, and condemning their action. The measures, I know, seem harsh. But they are no more harsh than the measures the United States has enforced against Iraq for the past ten years. Essentials would be permitted to enter the country, but nothing that could be converted to military use. All assets in China will be seized, and all American citizens and nationals expelled immediately.
“There is an American saying — what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander as well. I think that applies here as well.” He paused for a moment as countless translators attempted to render the idiom into something meaningful in their own languages. “I apologize for difficulty to the translators.”
Utter silence fell over the hall. Not a person moved, not even the Secretary-General. As the silence deepened, the Secretary-General finally broke it by asking, “Is there no hope of resolving this in another fashion? The United States has normally been amenable to compromises.”
The delegate from Taiwan stood then, his face a mask of anger. “No — never!” He pointed an accusing finger at T’ing. “That missile was aimed at my country as are the ones sitting on those ships right now. All of you know it. Only the United States had the courage to step in and prevent this genocide. And now you dare to consider sanctions? If you do this, you’ll completely destroy everything the United Nations stands for.”
“That missile was in international airspace,” T’ing said implacably. “We have conducted countless tests in the past, and there has never been any danger to your country.”
“We both know that this time was different,” the Taiwanese delegate shouted. “The beginning of the end — but we will not allow it. Oh no, we will not!” He slammed his hand down on his desk in frustration.
Wexler waited while the babble of voices around her crescendoed. Finally, she stood, and picked up her microphone. “We have no comment on this matter, Mr. Secretary-General. Everyone here knows the facts. I leave it to the sound judgment of the delegates to draw their own conclusions.” With that, she sat down, and a strange sort of quiet crept into her heart. She and the president had decided on the strategy late last night, finally figuring that it was time to call the world to account for its actions. No more would the United States be the whipping boy for every politically correct movement. No more would they scrape and bow.
The matter was tabled for discussion, with a vote set for two days hence. There was really no need for that — she was certain that every nation had already made up its mind how to vote. And, she suspected, if it were put to a vote today, China would win.
She made her way back to her office flanked by her aides, Brad just behind her right elbow. The new security measures were already in place, and he reached past her and punched in the security code to unlock the door. She swept through the administrative spaces, past the locked reception area, and into her own office. She shut the door in Brad’s startled face, and sank down on the couch. As with anything, waiting was the hardest part.
A knock on the door disturbed her. “What is it?” she snapped, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with her thoughts at this moment.
“Madam Ambassador — the Ambassador from Russia is here,” Brad’s carefully controlled voice said. In his tone she read the nuances of his thinking — that he knew she wished to be left alone, that the Ambassador had arrived suddenly, and that part of the plan she had hatched with Captain Hemingway was now coming to fruition. Cold dread coursed through her as the full implications of the situation sunk in.
“Tell him I’ll be just a moment,” she said. She took a deep, calming breath, and retreated to her private room behind her office for a moment to check her makeup and clothes. All in all, everything was in order. Another deep breath, and she crossed the room to open the door.
The Russian Ambassador was standing there, waiting for her, evidently not wanting to take advantage of the comfortable chairs in the waiting room. That would have implied that he was waiting to speak to her, when what he wanted to convey was some sort of immediate right or entitlement to her attention. It was a maneuver designed to intimidate her, to assert his power over her. In his eyes, she saw secret glee — glee, and determination.
“Please come in,” she said quietly. She stepped back to allow him to enter. “Just you, Mr. Ambassador. I think our aides can all find something else to do.” She saw the look of protest on Brad’s face, and heard the Ambassador’s aides start to protest. “Your English is certainly strong enough, and coupled with my meager Russian—” A lie; she spoke Russian quite fluently. “—we should be able to come to an understanding.”
The Russian hesitated for a moment, then barked out an order to his people. They stepped back from the door, although they were clearly determined to wait right there until the ambassador emerged. The ambassador entered alone, and immediately walked over to her favorite couch.
“Understanding… an interesting phrase,” the Russian Ambassador said. He settled himself into the couch, leaned back, and pulled out a cigar. “Do you mind?”
“Very much. I do not allow cigars in my office. Among other things,” she said, going on the offensive. If what she believed was true, then he would understand what she meant.
He met her eyes with his, and just for a few moments it was the test of wills. Finally, he put the cigar away. “It may not always be so easy to have the world cater to your every whim, Madam.”
“That applies to both of us, don’t you think?” she asked pleasantly. “But then, the art of diplomacy includes understanding each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and using a reasonable degree of civility in working out solutions, does it not?”
“Perhaps. And we all know that this is certainly the United States’s position, this business of civility.”
Wexler inclined her head ever so slightly. “As refreshing as it is to discuss diplomacy with you, sir, I wonder if we could dispense with the formalities and come straight to the point. After all, we understand each other all too well, and I will not think less of you for getting straight to the point.”
