Bamboo and blood

Chapter Three

"Somebody, surely, somebody stayed awake all the way through their presentation and took notes." The delegation head looked around the table. "If we don't have any notes, we can't send a report back. And if we don't send a report, there will be a nasty telegram tomorrow from the ministry. I don't like nasty telegrams on a Saturday."

The room was silent.

"The rule has always been that the youngest one, no matter what, fills that job. Miss Ho?"

"I got most of it."

"Most isn't all. What was the problem?"

"He was reading out loud from that document. He droned on and on. If he'd done it this morning, I might have been able to keep conscious the whole time, but after lunch…"

"Nobody else? What about you, Paek?"

"Paek was sound asleep," someone muttered.

"I got a good part of his opening remarks." Mr. Paek was an elderly man with a dignified bearing and doleful eyes. "But then I lost him. I think my hearing failed. I don't think I've ever been so bored. It was making me deaf."

They all laughed. "Well, patch together what you can and fill in the rest as needed." The delegation head took off his glasses. "I want the cable ready to go out before dinner. The ambassador will insist on seeing it. He's not in a good mood, and I don't want to give him any excuse to chew me out. What about you?" He turned to me. "What are your thoughts on what went on today?"

I didn't have any thoughts, at least not on today's proceedings. I was still thinking about yesterday and the morgue. I'd gone there not long after leaving the woman on the bench; she'd probably gone home and slept fitfully, dreaming of Mongolian herdsmen riding croissants, thundering across the steppes to attack the citadels of the West. M. Beret had let me in the back door of an old building, escorted me down dark corridors, and led me finally into a room with a single ceiling lamp hanging from a long cord. I didn't need more light than that to tell it was Sohn. For some reason, I was glad he was in a place with worn wooden floors.

"And what did you observe?"

"Observe?" I thought about it for a moment, until I realized the delegation leader wasn't asking me about Sohn's body. "Diplomatic fencing isn't exactly my specialty."

"Really, I would have thought human nature was something the police would follow very closely."

"It is, only we deal with people in a more natural habitat than this. We don't have to cope with quite so much honey on the lies."

"True, there is a lot of that. We honey the lies, and poison the truth. Odd, isn't it?" He idly flipped through his small notebook. "There isn't anything in here, did you know that, Inspector? I take it out and look through it when the other side starts trying to bully me. They think it has instructions in it. I select a page, remove my glasses and squint intently at this little piece of blank paper. They're not sure if I'm listening. Half the time it make them nervous. The other half, they get huffy. Once in a while, they even stop talking until I close the notebook and look up. Sometimes they're like young children, very self-important."

"Maybe you haven't frightened them enough."

"Ah, then it is true you subscribe to the position that these talks should resemble head-to-head combat, fiery speeches and table pounding? We've had some discussion among ourselves on where you stand on this question of tactics."

"Maybe a little table pounding wouldn't hurt."

"In a police interrogation, it might be perfectly well advised. Here, it must be like a rare spice-sprinkled into the pot once in a while, and then only a tiny bit at a time. If you use too much all at once, it ruins the flavor. And worse, when you need it next, there will be nothing left. At the end of the day, when we finally pack our bags, I'm supposed to get nowhere on missiles but come home with food from these people, Inspector. Food, boatloads of it. If I pound the table, what will it get me?

"And if they think we are weak, what will it get you?"

"Very good. Some people have that talent, pointing to the dilemma at hand. Would that they had the same talent for finding solutions. The dilemma is exactly as you describe, Inspector. If it were a wild boar, you would have shot it between the eyes. What next? We have identified our dilemma with precision, with superb intellectual acumen, with a political sense of balance and a depth of understanding beyond anything seen in history. We are brilliant. What next? No one has given me an answer to that. All I receive is competing and contradictory sets of instructions on alternate weeks. If you know the answer, I'm happy to listen. I'll fill this little notebook with page after page of your ideas. I'll buy another notebook. I'll buy two. Pencils galore. But meanwhile, meanwhile, I have to proceed the best way I know how."

No one seemed to know that a senior party official was in the Geneva morgue with a broken neck. There were no odd silences, no one hurrying down the hall holding specially marked envelopes, no worried looks. The security man, who should have been shitting bricks, seemed perfectly calm. The ambassador passed me as he turned the corner into his office. The frown he gave me was normal in all respects. Maybe the Swiss hadn't said anything to anybody yet. Even the ambassador didn't know, unless he'd known all along.