people there would wake up to find a firestorm. His job, he figured, was to verify what had happened so that he could make sure Washington had good information. But how the hell to do that? His best potential source of information was this Monsignor Schepke, but the only way to get him was to stake out the Vatican Embassy and wait for him to come home. Hmm, would the Chinese be holding him somewhere? No, probably not. Once their Foreign Ministry found out about this, they’d probably fall all over themselves trying to apologize. So, they’d put extra security on the Nuncio’s place, and that would keep newsies away, but they’re not going to mess with accredited diplomats, not after killing one. This was just so bizarre. Carl Hitch had been a foreign-service officer since his early twenties. He’d never come across anything like this before, at least not since Spike Dobbs had been held hostage in Afghanistan by guerrillas, and the Russians had screwed up the rescue mission and gotten him killed. Some said that had been deliberate, but even the Soviets weren’t that dumb, Hitch thought. Similarly, this hadn’t been a deliberate act either. The Chinese were communists, and communists didn’t gamble that way. It just wasn’t part of their nature or their training.
So, how had this happened? And what, exactly, had happened ?
And when would he tell Cliff Rutledge about it? And what effect might this have on the trade talks? Carl Hitch figured he’d have a full evening.
The People’s Republic will not be dictated to,” Foreign Minister Shen Tang concluded.
“Minister,” Rutledge replied, “it is not the intention of the United States to dictate to anyone. You make your national policy to suit your nation’s needs. We understand and respect that. We require, however, that you understand and respect our right to make our national policy as well, to suit our country’s needs. In this case, that means invoking the provisions of the Trade Reform Act.”
That was a big, sharp sword to wave, and everyone in the room knew it, Mark Gant thought. The TRA enabled the Executive Branch to replicate any nation’s trade laws as applied to American goods, and mirror-image them against that nation’s own goods. It was international proof of the adage that the shoe could sure pinch if it was on the other foot. In this case, everything China did to exclude American manufactured goods from the Chinese marketplace would simply be invoked in order to do the same to Chinese goods, and with a trade surplus of seventy billion dollars per year, that could well mean seventy billion dollars—all of it hard currency. The money to buy the things the PRC government wanted from America or elsewhere wouldn’t be there anymore. Trade would become trade, one of mine for one of yours, which was the theory that somehow never became reality.
“If America embargoes Chinese trade, China can and will do the same to America,” Shen shot back.
“Which serves neither your purposes nor our own,” Rutledge responded. And that dog ain’t gonna hunt, he didn’t have to say. The Chinese knew that well enough without being told.
“And what of most-favored-nation status for our country? What of entry into the World Trade Organization?” the Chinese foreign minister demanded.
“Mr. Minister, America cannot look favorably upon either so long as your country expects open export markets while closing your import markets. Trade, sir, means trade, the even exchange of your goods for ours,” Rutledge pointed out again—about the twelfth time since lunch, he reckoned. Maybe the guy would get it this time. But that was unfair. He already got it. He just wasn’t acknowledging the fact. It was just domestic Chinese politics projected into the international arena.
“And again you dictate to the People’s Republic!” Shen replied, with enough anger, real or feigned, to suggest that Rutledge had usurped his parking place.
“No, Minister, we do no such thing. It is you, sir, who tried to dictate to the United States of America. You say that we must accept your trade terms. In that, sir, you are mistaken. We see no more need to buy your goods than you do to buy ours.” Just that you need our hard cash a damned sight more than we need your chew toys for our fucking dogs!
“We can buy our airliners from Airbus just as easily as from Boeing.”
This really was getting tiresome. Rutledge wanted to respond: But without our dollars, what will you pay for them with, Charlie? But