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By Root 1219 0

carry rifles, and they did at least appear to be competent—and aboard one of the 89th Military Airlift Wings aircraft, which, Wise figured, was about as likely as having a pickpocket walk into the Oval Office and lift the Presidents wallet. But the military followed its own rules, senseless though they might be—that was something he remembered well from his time in the Corps. So, hed drive down, pass through all the checkpoints, whose guards knew him better than they knew their own CO, and wait in the plush Distinguished Visitors lounge at the end of Andrews Runway Zero-One Left for the official party to arrive. Then theyd board the venerable VC- 137 for the endless flight to Beijing. The seats were as comfortable as they could be on an airplane, and the service was as good as any airlines first class, but flights this long were never fun.

"Never been there before," Mark Gant said, answering George Winstons question. "So—whats the score on this Rutledge guy?"

The SecTreas shrugged. "Career State Department puke, worked his way pretty far up the ladder. Used to have good political connections—he was tight with Ed Kealty once upon a time."

The former stock TRADER looked up. "Oh? Why hasnt Ryan fired his ass?"

"Jack doesnt play that sort of game," Winston replied, wondering if in this case principle was getting in the way of common sense.

"George, hes still pretty naive, isnt he?"

"Maybe so, but hes a straight shooter, and I can live with that. He sure as hell backed us up on tax policy, and thats going to pass through Congress in another few weeks."

Cant wouldnt believe that until he saw it. "Assuming every lobbyist in town doesnt jump in front of the train."

That engendered an amused grunt. "So, the wheels get greased a little better. You know, wouldnt it be nice to close all those bastards down …

George, Gant couldnt say in this office, if you believe that, youve been hanging out with the President too long. But idealism wasnt all that bad a thing, was it?

"Ill settle for squeezing those Chinese bastards on the trade balance. Ryans going to back us up?"

"All the way, he says. And I believe him, Mark."

"I guess well see. I hope this Rutledge guy can read numbers."

"He went to Harvard," Secretary Winston observed.

"I know," Gant said back. He had his own academic prejudice, having graduated from the University of Chicago twenty years earlier. What the hell was Harvard except a name and an endowment?

Winston chuckled. "Theyre not all dumb."

"I suppose well see, boss. Anyway"—he lifted his suitcase up on its rollers; his computer bag went over his shoulder—"my cars waiting downstairs."

"Good trip, Mark."

Her name was Yang Lien-Hua. She was thirty-four, nine months pregnant, and very frightened. It was her second pregnancy. Her first had been a son whom they had named Ju-Long, a particularly auspicious given name, which translated roughly as Large Dragon. But the youngster had died at the age of four, bumped by a bicycle off the sidewalk into the path of a passenger bus. His death had devastated his parents, and even saddened the local Communist Party officials whod officiated at the inquest, which had absolved the bus driver of guilt and never identified the careless bicyclist. The loss has been sufficiently hard on Mrs. Yang that shed sought comfort in a way that this countrys government did not especially approve.

That way was Christianity, the foreign religion despised in fact if not exactly in law. In another age she might have found solace in the teachings of Buddha or Confucius, but these, too, had been largely erased from the public consciousness by the Marxist government, which still regarded all religion as a public narcotic. A co-worker had quietly suggested that she meet a "friend" of hers, a man named Yu Fa An. Mrs. Yang had sought him out, and so had begun her first adventure in treason.

Reverend Yu, she found, was a well-educated and -traveled man, which added to his stature in her eyes. He was also a fine listener, who attended to her every word, occasionally pouring her some sympathetic tea,