Rich punched the air and sat down. “You and I are going to do at least one good thing before we go, Billy-boy,” he said conversationally.
Billy Kidd launched himself from Richard’s office. Billy knew that when Richard was on a tear you didn’t get many openings, so he bolted at the first one he saw.
An hour later Richard called Billy on the intercom. “Don’t we own a big piece of a direct TV company in Hong Kong?”
“That’s right. China Television, Limited. Very profitable.”
“Sell it as fast as you can. Maybe a competitor will buy it. Get what you can and let’s move on.”
“Richard, I know you’re angry, but China Television is worth serious money. Satellite television is here now; China is on its way to becoming the largest market on earth. Those little dishes are selling like Viagra.”
Richard Buckingham’s answer was matter-of-fact. “I’m going to piss on a lot of Commies, Billy. I don’t want something of mine hanging out where they can cut it off, throw it in the dirt, and stomp on it. Get rid of China Television — we’ll take the loss out of their hides.”
Billy refused to quit. “No one will pay what it’s worth,” he insisted.
Richard was patient. “Billy, with the Communists in power, nothing in China is worth real money. That’s the lesson the Americans and British and Japanese are going to learn the hard way.”
A man was waiting on the street when Jake stepped out of the hotel. He was standing under an overhang to stay out of the rain. As Jake walked along the sidewalk with Callie’s umbrella, the man got into a car that had been parked in the taxi space in front of the building.
Jake ignored the tail. He was acutely aware of the Chan tape in his pocket. For some reason he was relieved that he had ditched the wallet and pistol he had taken from the man who had followed him yesterday.
As he entered the ferry terminal, the car outside pulled to the curb, and two men got out of the rear seat.
Jake saw them board the Star of the West just before the gangplank came over. The second man aboard had a bandage on his head; this was the fellow whom Jake had relieved of wallet and pistol. He boarded on the lower deck. The other man came to the upper deck, where Jake was, but he stayed well away from the American.
Exiting the Central District ferry terminal, Jake hailed the only taxi he saw. He didn’t bother checking to see what the men following him did.
When Jake entered Cole’s office, Cole came around his desk and shook hands. “We have a choice,” he said. “We can have lunch served here, go to the cafeteria, or slip down the street to a restaurant with wine and all the trimmings. What will it be?”
“Here, if that’s okay with you?”
“Here it is. Have a seat and let me talk to the secretary.”
In a few minutes Cole was back. He sat in one of the black leather guest chairs beside Jake.
“I guess I should have leveled with you last night,” Jake said. “I’m here on official business. A lot of Washington bigwigs are getting nervous about the situation in Hong Kong. More to the point, they are getting nervous about China Bob Chan and your relationship to him. They managed to talk the White House into sending me over here to talk to you, see what I can find out, and report back.”
A look of puzzlement crossed Cole’s face. “Why you?”
“Someone found out that we flew together way back when, the politicians are embarrassed about China Bob, I was getting on a four-star’s nerves at the Pentagon, someone with some stroke at the National Security Council thinks I can work miracles. It all happened at once, so here I am.”
“Uh-huh.”
“When this trip got suggested, I initially said no. Then Callie was asked to do the culture conference, sort of as a cover …” He shrugged.
“Ask your questions.”
“Are you or your friends having me followed around town?”
“You’re being followed?”
“Two men followed me here this morning. Presumably they’re outside somewhere, waiting for me to come out.”
Cole looked genuinely surprised. “Jake, I have no idea.”
“I guess it all boils down to this: Are you or are you not a member of a conspiracy to overthrow the government of China?”
Cole whistled. “Jesus! You flew all the way over here from Washington to ask me that question?”
Jake Grafton scratched his head. “Well, I think the folks in Washington expected me to be a bit more circumspect, but, essentially, yeah. If the answer to that question is no, the next question is, Have you ever given advice or anything of value to anyone whose goal is the overthrow of the government of China?”
Cole pinched his nose, looked at Grafton, and grinned. The grin started slowly and spread. Jake knew he didn’t grin often.
Finally Cole broke into a laugh. He was still chuckling when the secretary came in with a tray. On the tray were two bowls of soup, several sandwiches, and a couple cans of Coke. Tiger Cole’s face returned to its normal detached expression. As the man left the room the consul general muttered, “I always serve American drinks to guests. Today is Coke day. Tomorrow is Pepsi.”
Cole tasted the soup. “You are a rare piece of work, Grafton. When they taught you to go straight for a target way back when, you learned the lesson well.”
Jake tried the soup himself. It was something Chinese, a watery vegetable, okay but nothing to write home about. No crackers in sight. He popped the can of Coke and took a sip. At least the drink was cold.
Cole pointed his spoon at Jake, then decided to use the spoon on the soup. Once a chuckle escaped him.
They ate in silence. Finally Cole finished soup and sandwich and leaned back in his chair to sip on the soft drink.
“Do you know how ironic this is, that of all the people on this planet, you, Jake Grafton, are the one who comes flying out of my past to ask about my future.”
“I haven’t asked about the future,” Jake shot back. “It’s the present the weenies in Washington are worried about.”
“Ah, yes. The present.”
Cole walked around the desk and stood at the window looking out. He couldn’t see much, merely a gloomy forest of skyscrapers with glass sides on a dreary, rainy day.
“This warm front is supposed to get out of here tonight,” he said. “The next three or four days will be bright and sunny.”
“Uh-huh.” Grafton finished his Coke and set the empty can on the tray along with the dirty dishes.
Cole returned to the desk, sat in his regular chair, folded his arms on the desk, and looked Jake Grafton in the eye. “Some ground rules. We’ll play this game my way or not at all.”
Grafton adjusted his position in his chair. “What are the rules?”
“I’ll answer your questions completely, frankly, truthfully, but you can’t tell a living soul for one week.”
Jake thought about that. “The problem,” he said after a bit, “is that you are in the diplomatic service of the United States. If a private citizen wants to saddle up and ride off to a revolution, that’s between him and whoever is running the universe this week. If a diplomat does it, that’s a different case altogether.”
“A point well taken,” Cole said. “I gave this some thought while we ate. Let’s do this: If you will agree to the conditions I stated, complete silence for a week, I’ll write out a letter of resignation, leave the date blank, and give it to you. You fill in the date anytime you wish and see that the people in Washington get it — no sooner than a week from today.”