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ment is far too self…centered to think much beyond his own lifetime； and men all over the world live roughly the same number of years。 For that simple reason； they all think in terms of programs that can be pleted in their own living sight； and little beyond； because they were all men who'd torn down the statues of others； and such men had few illusions over the fate of their own monuments。 It was only as they faced death that they considered what they had done； and Mao had conceded bleakly to Henry Kissinger that all he'd acplished had been to change the lives of peasants within a few miles of Beijing。
But the men in this ceremonial room were not yet close enough to death to think in such terms。 They were the magisters of their land。 They made the rules that others followed。 Their words were law。 Their whims were granted with alacrity。 People looked upon them as they once looked upon the emperors and princes of old。 All a man could wish to have； they had。 Most of all； they had the power。 It was their wishes that ruled their vast and ancient land。 Their munist ideology was merely the MAGIC that defined the form their wishes took； the rules of the game they had all agreed to play all those years before。 The power was the thing。 They could grant life or take it with the stroke of a pen…or more realistically； a dictated word； taken down by a personal secretary； for transmission to the underling who squeezed the trigger。
Xu was a man of average everything…height； weight； eyes； and face 。。。 and intellect； some said。 Rutledge had read all this in his briefing documents。 The real power was elsewhere。 Xu was a figurehead of sorts； chosen for his looks； partially； his ability to give a speech； certainly； and his ability to front the occasional idea of others on the Politburo； to simulate conviction。 Like a Hollywood actor； he didn't so much have to be smart as to play smart。
〃rade Premier；〃 Rutledge said in greeting； holding out his hand； which the Chinese man took。
〃Mr。 Rutledge；〃 Xu replied in passable English。 There was an interpreter there； too； for the more plex thoughts。 〃Wele to Beijing。〃
〃It is my pleasure； and my honor； to visit your ancient country again；〃 the American diplomat said； showing proper respect and subservience； the Chinese leader thought。
〃It is always a pleasure to wele a friend；〃 Xu went on； as he'd been briefed to do。 Rutledge had been to China before in his official capacity； but never before as a delegation leader。 He was known to the Chinese Foreign Ministry as a diplomat who'd climbed his way up the ladder of his bureaucracy； much as they did in their own…a mere technician； but a high…ranking one。 The Politburo chief raised his glass。 〃I drink to successful and cordial negotiations。〃
Rutledge smiled and hoisted his glass as well。 〃As do I； sir。〃
The cameras got it。 The news media people were circulating around； too。 The cameramen were doing mainly what they called 〃locator〃 shots； like any amateur would do with his less expensive mini…cam。 They showed the room at an artificial distance； so that the viewers could see the colors； with a few close…ups of the furniture on which no one was supposed to sit； with somewhat closer shots of the major participants drinking their drinks and looking pleasant to one another…this was called 〃B…roll；〃 intended to show viewers what it was like to be at a large； formal； and not overly pleasant cocktail party。 The real news coverage for the event would be by people like Barry Wise and the other talking heads； who would tell the viewer what the visuals could not。
Then the coverage would shift back to CNN's Washington studio； down the hill from Union Station； where other talking heads would discuss what had been leaked or not leaked to them； then discuss what they in their personal sagacious wisdom thought the proper course for the United States of America ought to be。 President Ryan would see all this over breakfast； as he read the papers and the government…produced Early Bird clipping service。 Over breakfast； Jack Ryan would make his own terse ments to be noted by his wife； who might discuss it over lunch with her colleagues at Johns Hopkins； who might discuss it with their spouses； from whom it would go no further。 In this way； the President's thoughts often remained a mystery。
The party broke up at the predetermined hour； and the Americans headed back to the embassy in their official cars。
〃So； what can you tell us off the record？〃 Barry asked Rutledge； in the sanctity of the stretch Lincoln's backseat。
〃Not much； really；〃 the Assistant Secretary of State for Policy replied。 〃We'll listen to what they have to say； and they'll listen to what we have to say； and it'll go from there。〃
〃They want MFN。 Will they get it？〃
〃That's not for me to decide； Barry； and you know that。〃 Rutledge was too tired and jet…lagged for intelligent conversation at the moment。 He didn't trust himself to speak under these circumstances； and figured Wise knew that。 The reporter was leaning on him for just that reason。
〃So； what are you going to talk about？〃
〃Obviously； we'd like the Chinese to open their markets more； and also to take a closer look at some issues we have； like patent and copyright violations that American business has plained about。〃
〃The Dell puter issue？〃
Rutledge nodded。 〃Yes； that's one。〃 Then he yawned。
〃Excuse me。 The long flight。 you know how it is。〃
〃I was on the same airplane；〃 Barry Wise pointed out。
〃Well； maybe you're just better at this than I am；〃 Rutledge offered。 〃Can we postpone this discussion a day or so？〃
〃If you say so；〃 the CNN reporter agreed。 He didn't much like this preppy asshole； but he was a source of information； and Wise was in the information business。 The ride was a brief one in any case。 The official delegation hopped out at the embassy； and the embassy cars took the newsies back to their hotels。
The embassy had sleeping acmodations for the entire official party； mainly to ensure that anything they said wouldn't be recorded by the MSS bugs in every hotel room in the city。 This was not to say that the acmodations were palatial； though Rutledge had a fortable room。 Here protocol failed Mark Gant； but he did have a fortable single bed in his small private room and a shared bathroom with a shower。 He opted instead for a hot bath and one of the sleeping pills the physician who acpanied the official party had issued him。 It was supposed to give him a solid eight hours or so； which would just about synchronize him with local time by the morning。 There would then be a big working breakfast； much like the astronauts got before a shuttle launch； and as much of an American tradition as the Stars and Stripes over Fort McHenry。
Nomuri caught the arrival of the trade delegation on Chinese TV； which he watched mainly to hone his language skills。 These were improving； though the tonal nature of Mandarin drove him slightly nuts。 He'd once thought Japanese was hard； but it was a walk in the park pared to Guoyu。 He looked at the faces； wondering who they were。 The Chinese narrator helped； stumbling badly over 〃Rutledge；〃 however。 Well； Americans murdered Chinese names； too； except for simple ones l