have me do this?”
“Does it matter, Bau-bei?” he asked.
She actually hesitated, thinking it over a bit, and the second or so of uncertainty chilled the American spy. “No, I suppose not.”
“I need to get you some new things,” Nomuri whispered, taking her in his arms.
“Like what?” she asked. All his previous gifts had been noteworthy.
“It will be a surprise, and a good one,” he promised.
Her dark eyes sparkled with anticipation. Nomuri helped her on with her dreadful jacket. Dressing her back up was not nearly as fun as undressing her, but that was to be expected. A moment later, he gave her the final goodbye kiss at the door, and watched her depart, then went back to his computer to tell patsbakery@brownienet.com that he’d arranged for a second recipe that he hoped she might find tasty.
CHAPTER 22
The Table and the Recipe
Minister, this is a pleasure," Cliff Rutledge said in his friendliest diplomatic voice, shaking hands. Rutledge was glad the PRC had adopted the Western custom—he’d never learned the exact protocol of bowing.
Carl Hitch, the U.S. Ambassador to the People’s Republic, was there for the opening ceremony. He was a career foreign service officer who’d always preferred working abroad to working at Foggy Bottom. Running day-to-day diplomatic relations wasn’t especially exciting, but in a place like this, it did require a steady hand. Hitch had that, and he was apparently well liked by the rest of the diplomatic community, which didn’t hurt.
It was all new for Mark Gant, however. The room was impressive, like the boardroom of a major corporation—designed to keep the board members happy, like noblemen from medieval Italy. It had high ceilings and fabric-covered walls—Chinese silk, in this case, red, of course, so that the effect was rather like crawling inside the heart of a whale, complete with chandeliers, cut crystal, and polished brass. Everyone had a tiny glass of mao-tai, which really was like drinking flavored lighter fluid, as he’d been warned.
“It is your first time in Beijing?” some minor official asked him.
Gant turned to look down at the little guy. “Yes, it is.”
“Too soon for first impressions, then?”
“Yes, but this room is quite stunning ... but then silk is something with which your people have a long and fruitful history,” he went on, wondering if he sounded diplomatic or merely awkward.
“This is so, yes,” the official agreed with a toothy grin and a nod, neither of which told the visiting American much of anything, except that he didn’t waste much money on toothbrushes.
“I have heard much of the imperial art collection.”
“You will see it,” the official promised. “It is part of the official program.”
“Excellent. In addition to my duties, I would like to play tourist.”
“I hope you will find us acceptable hosts,” the little guy said. For his part, Gant was wondering if this smiling, bowing dwarf would hit his knees and offer a blow job, but diplomacy was an entirely new area for him. These were not investment bankers, who were generally polite sharks, giving you good food and drink before sitting you down and trying to bite your dick off. But they never concealed the fact that they were sharks. These people—he just wasn’t sure. This degree of politeness and solicitude was a new experience for Gant, but given his pre-mission brief, he wondered if the hospitality only presaged an unusually hostile meeting when they got to business. If the two things had to balance out, then the downside of this seesaw was going to be a son of a bitch, he was sure.
“So, you are not from the American State Department?” the Chinese man asked.
“No. I’m in the Department of the Treasury. I work directly for Secretary Winston.”
“Ah, then you are from the trading business?”
So, the little bastard’s been briefed... But that was to be expected. At this level of government you didn’t freelance things. Everyone would be thoroughly briefed. Everyone would have read the book on the Americans. The State Department members of the American crew had done the same. Gant, however, had not, since he wasn’t really a player per se, and had only been told what he needed to know. That gave him an advantage over the Chinese assigned to look after him. He was not State Department, hence should not have been regarded as important—but he was the personal representative of a very senior American official, known to be part of that man’s inner circle, and that made him very important indeed. Perhaps he was even a principal adviser