12

HOTEL MANILA
REPUBLIC OF THE PHILIPPINES
0841 HOURS ZONE TIME; AUGUST 8, 2006

Lucena Sagada was left handed. It was a useful trait in that she and Van Lynden could share the same legal pad set in the center of the U S delegation’s table. Now, although her face was impassive, her Parker ballpoint danced impatiently across the yellow facing sheet.

“I understand the preference for the oblique approach within Asian diplomacy, but couldn’t someone at least give us a hint about what they want!”

The Secretary of State let the corner of his mouth quirk up, and he replied with the Bic softpoint he was using.

“For the moment the primary players all have exactly what they want.”

A test pattern Vice Premier Chang of the People’s Republic had been the first up to the dais that morning. Now, half an hour later, he continued to speak, his voice pitched low, almost hesitant at times. His words, carried through the translator’s earphones, carried all of the old hard-line phraseology “the People’s struggle,” “capitalist aggression,” “Western imperialism.” However, his rambling narrative beyond a generalized condemnation of the wrongs being done to Communist China, seemed to have no goal, no real objective. That had been the standard for the first two days of the talks.

No one else seemed unduly perturbed over this state of affairs. The other delegations Japanese, Filipino Korean, the other Chinese factions, had, each in turn, added their own share to this growing pool of polite neutrality. Spaced around the conference room’s perimeter, the Asian statesmen sat listening, emotions carefully disengaged. It was an environment that the average Western diplomat might find daunting. However, Van Lynden had been here before.

“No one has said any thing yet because no one yet has any thing to say.” he continued on the notepad. “Everyone has been establishing and testing their channels of communication now, they’re in a holding pattern, waiting for the cue for the real show to start. The big fight building on the mainland!”

“I suspect that will be it.”

Suddenly, their full attention snapped back to the speaker’s dais. While the English translation had remained as blank as before, the first faint tinge of true feeling had crept into Premier Chang’s voice.

“I remind those who attend this conference and the world as a whole, of the triumphs and tragedies of the People’s Republic. We have risked all, we have overcome all, and we have defied all! As the other socialist states have lost heart in the struggle, we have persevered! It is our intent to continue to do so!”

Van Lynden watched the eyes of the small, heavyset man focus around the room, checking off the other delegates, lingering longest on the combined Nationalist/UDFC block. Beyond the neutrality of his features, those eyes glittered coldly.

Better tighten it up, Comrade, the secretary of state thought. Your mask is slipping. You really hate everyone else.

“In this room and you’re just dying to show it in the face of blind eyed rebellion, in the face of the thugs and gangsters of the Nationalists, in the face of this outside interference in the internal affairs of China. We shall persevere!”

Concluding, Chang turned away from the dais, moving abruptly. At the PRC table, General Ho looked on impassively, the tall soldier’s stone-planed features allowing not even a suggestion of what he might be feeling. To date, he had not yet made a presentation at this conference.

Ms. Sagdda’s pen flashed once more. “At least we know who the lead man of the Red delegation is.”

“No! Chang’s just pushing the line. Ho’s the key man. When he starts to talk we’d better be ready to listen.”

Jorge Apayo, the Philippine secretary of state and host chairman of the conference, assumed the dais and announced that the American representative had requested time to address the conference.

“Well, my turn now.” Van Lynden murmured to his assistant. Removing the translator phone from his ear, he got to his feet and crossed to the podium. He had opened the folder that held his notes and was just taking that first, deep speaker’s breath when he noticed something back at his table. Lucena Sagada had been wearing a second earphone, one that linked directly into the U.S. communications center in the hotel. Now she tilted her head and lifted her hand to the ear that held the link. A moment later, she picked up the marker pen that he had been using and scribbled furiously on their legal pad. Reversing it, she flashed Van Lynden the message “It’s happening now!”

The U.S. secretary of state replied with a minute nod. He took a second, deliberate breath and closed the folder that held the notes he had prepared. Leaning into the dais, he spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen. People are dying. It is time we set to work.”

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