was beckoned in.
Shen was wearing a Mao jacket today instead of the usual Western-style business suit, a dark blue in color. He approached his guest and extended his hand.
“Mr. Kilmer, a pleasure to see you again.”
“Thank you for allowing this impromptu audience, Minister.”
“Please have a seat.” Shen waved to some chairs surrounding the usual low table. When both of them were seated, Shen asked, “What can I do for you this day?”
“Minister, I have a note from my government to place into your hand.” With that, Kilmer pulled the envelope from his coat pocket and handed it across.
The envelope was not sealed. Shen withdrew the two-page diplomatic message and leaned back to read it. His face didn’t alter a dot before he looked up.
“This is a most unusual communication, Mr. Kilmer.”
“Minister, my government is seriously concerned with recent deployments of your military.”
“The last note delivered from your embassy was an insulting interference with our internal affairs. Now you threaten us with war?”
“Sir, America makes no threats. We remind you that since the Russian Federation is now a signatory of the North Atlantic Treaty, any hostilities directed at Russia will compel America to honor her treaty commitments.”
“And you threaten the senior members of our government if something untoward should happen to Americans in our country? What do you take us for, Mr. Kilmer?” Shen asked in an even, unexcited voice.
“Minister, we merely point out that, as America extends to all of our visitors the protection of our laws, we hope that the People’s Republic will do the same.”
“Why should we treat American citizens any differently from the way we treat our own?”
“Minister, we merely request your assurance that this will be the case.”
“Why should it not be the case? Do you accuse us of plotting a war of aggression against our neighbor?”
“We take note of recent military actions by the People’s Republic and request clarification.”
“I see.” Shen folded the papers back up and set them on the table. “When do you request a reply?”
“As soon as you find it convenient to do so, Minister,” Kilmer answered.
“Very well. I will discuss this matter with my colleagues on the Politburo and reply to you as quickly as we can.”
“I will convey that good news to Washington, Minister. I will not take more time from your day, sir. Thank you very much indeed for your time.” Kilmer stood and shook hands one more time. Kilmer walked through the anteroom without a glance left or right, turned left in the corridor, and headed toward the elevators. The corridor seemed just as long for this little walk, he thought, and the clicking of his heels on the tile floor seemed unusually loud. Kilmer had been an FSO long enough to know that Shen should have reacted more irately to the note. Instead he had received it like an invitation to an informal dinner at the embassy. That meant something, but Kilmer wasn’t sure what. Once in his car, he started composing his dispatch to Foggy Bottom, then quickly realized that this was something he’d better report by voice first over the STU.
How good is he, Carl?” Adler asked the ambassador. ”He’s an okay kid, Scott. Photographic memory, talent I wish I had. Maybe he was promoted a little fast, but he’s got the brains he needs, just a little short on field experience. I figure in another three years or so, he’ll be ready to run his own embassy and start his way up the ladder.”
In a place like Lesotho, SecState thought, which was a place to make “backwater” seem a compliment. Well, you had to start somewhere. “How will Shen react?”
“Depends. If they’re just maneuvering troops on routine training, they might be a little angry. If it’s for real and we’ve caught them with their hands in the cookie jar, they’ll act hurt and surprised.” Hitch paused for a yawn. “Excuse me. The real question is whether it’ll make them think things over.”
“Will it? You know most of ’em.”
“I don’t know,” Hitch admitted uncomfortably. “Scott, I’ve been there a while, sure, but I can’t say that I fully understand them. They make decisions on political considerations that Americans have a hard time comprehending.”
“The President calls them Klingons,” Adler told the ambassador.
Hitch smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far, but there is logic in the observation.” Then Adler’s intercom buzzed.
“Call from William Kilmer in Beijing on the STU, Mr. Secretary,” the secretary’s voice said.
“This is Scott Adler,” SecState said when he lifted the phone. “Ambassador Hitch is