Dragon Fire

Foreign Ministry Building, Beijing

Jamie Song was driven out of his office compound with the pressing voice of the American Ambassador in his ear on his mobile phone: ‘Jamie, let’s keep it informal, but we must meet.’

‘Reece, it’s after midnight.’

‘Drop by the residence for a drink. Give me fifteen minutes of your time.’

‘Things are tricky at the moment.’

Jamie Song and Reece Overhalt trusted each other completely and that is partly why each had got his job. Overhalt was a key player in defusing the earlier Dragon Strike crisis, when both Washington and Beijing had gone on to nuclear alert. When he left as Chairman of Boeing, it seemed only sensible that he should go to Beijing as Ambassador. In the interim, he helped Song float Oriental Software successfully on the New York Stock Exchange, sealing an already longstanding friendship which stretched back to post-graduate days at Harvard. Both China and the United States were aware of the huge ideological and cultural chasms between them, and if any two men could keep the lid on simmering issues it would be Overhalt and Song.

Song hadn’t risen to the top of both global business and the last surviving Communist autocracy without an in-built safety valve that detected disasters. He sensed that while the new deal with Pakistan would largely go unnoticed, the mayhem which was mushrooming over Tibet and the Lama Togden could test the limits of their statesmanship.

‘Just what hell is going on in Lhasa?’ pressed Overhalt. ‘The networks are comparing it to Phnom Penh after Pol Pot took over.’

‘You want the truth, Reece?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I haven’t got a clue. Tibet comes under Tang Siju, a deputy chief of General Staff. You want his mobile number? I’m only the Foreign Minister.’

‘Jamie, don’t do this, for Christ’s sake. Drop by the China World Hotel, if you don’t want to be seen at the residence. You’ve got to fill me in.’