returned his attention to Lin Shoo.
“That’s
crazy
! You know that’s just plain dumb! What the hell are you talking about? Four thousand—
Mongolia
?” Devereaux’s attaché case fell out of his lap; he heard—again—the metallic click. “I mean, let’s be reasonable …” Devereaux’s words drifted off nervously. He picked up the leather case.
“These are the legitimate penalties for the crimes,” said Lin Shoo. “No foreign government has the right to interfere with the internal discipline of its host nation. It is inconceivable. However, in this particular case, perhaps, it is not entirely unreasonable.”
Sam paused before speaking; he watched the scowl on Lin Shoo’s face return slightly, ever so slightly, to its previous polite, unhumorous smile. “Do I detect the beginnings of an out-of-court settlement?”
“How so? Out of court?”
“A compromise. Do we talk about a compromise?”
Lin Shoo now allowed the scowl to float away. His smile came as close to being genial as Devereaux could imagine. “Please, yes. A compromise would be enlightening. There is strength, also, in enlightenment.”
“And maybe a little less than four thousand years in Mongolia—in the compromise?”
“Fraught with possibilities. Should you succeed where others have not. After all, it is to our mutual advantage to reach a compromise.”
“I hope you know how right you are. Hawkins is a national hero.”
“So was your Speeroo Agaroo, Major. Your President said so himself.”
“What can you offer? Dispense with the trial?”
Lin Shoo dropped his smile, too suddenly for comfort, thought Sam.
“We cannot do that. The trial has been announced. Too many people in the international community know of it.”
“You want to save face, or do you want to sell gas?” Devereaux sat back; the Chinese officer did want a compromise.
“A little of both is a compromise, is it not?”
“What’s your little? In the event I can get Hawkins to be reasonable.”
“A reduction of the sentence would be one consideration.” Lin Shoo’s smile returned.
“From four thousand to twenty-five hundred years?” asked Devereaux. “You’re all heart. Let’s start with probation; I’ll concede acquittal.”
“How so? Probation?”
“I’ll explain later; you’ll like it. Give me some real incentive to work on Hawkins.” Sam fingered the top of his attaché case, tapping his nails on the leather. It was a silly thing that usually split adversaries’ concentration and sometimes produced a hasty concession.
“A Chinese trial takes many forms. Long, ornate, and quite ritualistic. Or very short, swift, and devoid of excess. Three months or three hours. I can, perhaps, bring about the latter—–”
“That
and
probation, I’ll buy,” said Sam quickly. “That’s incentive enough to make me want to work real hard. You’ve got a deal.”
“This probation. You will have to define more legalistically.”
“Basically, you not only save face and sell gas, but you can show how tough you are and
still
be heroes in the world press. All at the same time. What could be better than that?”
Lin Shoo smiled. Devereaux wondered briefly if there wasn’t more understanding beyond that smile than the Chinese cared to show. Then he dismissed the thought;Lin Shoo distracted him by asking a question and answering it before Sam could speak.
“What could be better than that? Having General Hawkins out of China. Yes,
that
would be better.”
“What a coincidence. Because that’s one insignificant part of probation.”
“Really?” Lin Shoo looked straight ahead.
“You, I can handle,” said Sam, almost reflectively. “I’ve still got to worry about Brand X.”
CHAPTER SIX
The cell could be seen clearly through a single pane of unidirectional glass embedded in the heavy steel door. There was a western-style bed, a writing desk, recessed overhead lights, both a desk lamp and bedside light, and a large rug on the floor.
“That’s
crazy
! You know that’s just plain dumb! What the hell are you talking about? Four thousand—
Mongolia
?” Devereaux’s attaché case fell out of his lap; he heard—again—the metallic click. “I mean, let’s be reasonable …” Devereaux’s words drifted off nervously. He picked up the leather case.
“These are the legitimate penalties for the crimes,” said Lin Shoo. “No foreign government has the right to interfere with the internal discipline of its host nation. It is inconceivable. However, in this particular case, perhaps, it is not entirely unreasonable.”
Sam paused before speaking; he watched the scowl on Lin Shoo’s face return slightly, ever so slightly, to its previous polite, unhumorous smile. “Do I detect the beginnings of an out-of-court settlement?”
“How so? Out of court?”
“A compromise. Do we talk about a compromise?”
Lin Shoo now allowed the scowl to float away. His smile came as close to being genial as Devereaux could imagine. “Please, yes. A compromise would be enlightening. There is strength, also, in enlightenment.”
“And maybe a little less than four thousand years in Mongolia—in the compromise?”
“Fraught with possibilities. Should you succeed where others have not. After all, it is to our mutual advantage to reach a compromise.”
“I hope you know how right you are. Hawkins is a national hero.”
“So was your Speeroo Agaroo, Major. Your President said so himself.”
“What can you offer? Dispense with the trial?”
Lin Shoo dropped his smile, too suddenly for comfort, thought Sam.
“We cannot do that. The trial has been announced. Too many people in the international community know of it.”
“You want to save face, or do you want to sell gas?” Devereaux sat back; the Chinese officer did want a compromise.
“A little of both is a compromise, is it not?”
“What’s your little? In the event I can get Hawkins to be reasonable.”
“A reduction of the sentence would be one consideration.” Lin Shoo’s smile returned.
“From four thousand to twenty-five hundred years?” asked Devereaux. “You’re all heart. Let’s start with probation; I’ll concede acquittal.”
“How so? Probation?”
“I’ll explain later; you’ll like it. Give me some real incentive to work on Hawkins.” Sam fingered the top of his attaché case, tapping his nails on the leather. It was a silly thing that usually split adversaries’ concentration and sometimes produced a hasty concession.
“A Chinese trial takes many forms. Long, ornate, and quite ritualistic. Or very short, swift, and devoid of excess. Three months or three hours. I can, perhaps, bring about the latter—–”
“That
and
probation, I’ll buy,” said Sam quickly. “That’s incentive enough to make me want to work real hard. You’ve got a deal.”
“This probation. You will have to define more legalistically.”
“Basically, you not only save face and sell gas, but you can show how tough you are and
still
be heroes in the world press. All at the same time. What could be better than that?”
Lin Shoo smiled. Devereaux wondered briefly if there wasn’t more understanding beyond that smile than the Chinese cared to show. Then he dismissed the thought;Lin Shoo distracted him by asking a question and answering it before Sam could speak.
“What could be better than that? Having General Hawkins out of China. Yes,
that
would be better.”
“What a coincidence. Because that’s one insignificant part of probation.”
“Really?” Lin Shoo looked straight ahead.
“You, I can handle,” said Sam, almost reflectively. “I’ve still got to worry about Brand X.”
CHAPTER SIX
The cell could be seen clearly through a single pane of unidirectional glass embedded in the heavy steel door. There was a western-style bed, a writing desk, recessed overhead lights, both a desk lamp and bedside light, and a large rug on the floor.
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