tc.thebearandthedragon-第97部分

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d　carried　were　soon　left　behind；　but　the　sun　outside　was　just　one　more　thing　that　intruded　on　what　ought　to　have　been；　and　what　needed　to　be；　a　day　of　peace　and　lonely　prayer　to　a　God　whose　mercy　was　not　very　evident　at　the　moment。　Instead；　the　brightness　of　the　sun　defeated　her　eyelids；　bringing　unwanted　brilliance　into　the　darkness　that　might　have　simulated；　if　not　exactly　granted；　peace。　She　had　a　flight　booked　back　to　Hong　Kong；　and　from　there　back　to　Taipei；　where　she　could　at　least　weep　in　the　presence　of　her　mother；　who　was　awaiting　her　death　as　well；　for　the　woman　was　over　ninety　and　frail。
　For　Barry　Wise；　the　day　had　long　since　begun。　His　colleagues　in　Atlanta　had　praised　him　to　the　heavens　in　an　e…mail　about　his　earlier　story。　Maybe　another　Emmy；　they　said。　Wise　liked　getting　the　awards；　but　they　weren't　the　reason　for　his　work。　It　was　just　what　he　did。　He　wouldn't　even　say　he　enjoyed　it；　because　the　news　he　reported　was　rarely　pretty　or　pleasant。　It　was　just　his　job；　the　work　he'd　chosen　to　do。　If　there　was　an　aspect　of　it　that　he　actually　liked；　it　was　the　newness　of　it。　Just　as　people　awoke　wondering　what　they'd　see　on　CNN　every　day；　from　baseball　scores　to　executions；　so　he　awoke　every　day　wondering　what　he'd　report。　He　often　had　some　idea　of　where　the　story　would　be　and　roughly　what　it　would　contain；　but　you　were　never　really　sure；　and　in　the　newness　was　the　adventure　of　his　job。　He'd　learned　to　trust　his　instincts；　though　he　never　really　understood　where　they　came　from　or　how　they　seemed　to　know　what　they　did；　and　today　his　instincts　reminded　him　that　one　of　the　people　he'd　seen　shot　the　other　day　had　said　he　was　married；　and　that　his　wife　was　on　Taiwan。　Maybe　she'd　be　back　now？　It　was　worth　trying　out。　He'd　tried　to　get　Atlanta　to　check　with　the　Vatican；　but　that　story　would　be　handled　by　the　Rome　bureau。　The　aircraft　containing　Cardinal　DiMilo's　body　was　on　its　way　back　to　Italy；　where　somebody　would　be　making　a　big　deal　about　it　for　CNN　to　cover　live　and　on　tape　to　show　to　the　entire　world　ten　times　at　least。
　The　hotel　room　had　a　coffeemaker；　and　he　brewed　his　own　from　beans　stolen　from　the　CNN　Beijing　bureau　office。　Sipping　coffee；　for　him　as　for　so　many　others；　helped　him　think。
　Okay；　he　thought；　the　Italian　guy；　the　Cardinal；　his　body　was　gone；　boxed　and　shipped　out　on　an　Alitalia　747；　probably　somewhere　over　Afghanistan　right　now。　But　what　about　the　Chinese　guy；　the　Baptist　minister　who　took　the　round　in　the　head？　He　had　to　have　left　a　body　behind；　too；　and　he　had　a　congregation　and…he　said　he　was　married；　didn't　he？　Okay；　if　so；　he　had　a　wife　somewhere；　and　she'd　want　the　body　back　to　bury。　So；　at　the　least　he　could　try　to　interview　her　。　。　。　it　would　be　a　good　followup；　and　would　allow　Atlanta　to　play　the　tape　of　the　killings　again。　He　was　sure　the　Beijing　government　had　written　him　onto　their　official　shitlist；　but　fuck　'em；　Wise　thought　with　a　sip　of　the　Starbucks；　it　was　hardly　a　disgrace　to　be　there；　was　it？　These　people　were　racist　as　hell。　Even　folks　on　the　street　cringed　to　see　him　pass；　with　his　dark　skin。　Even　Birmingham　under　Bull　Connor　hadn't　treated　black　Americans　like　aliens　from　another　goddamned　planet。　Here；　everyone　looked　the　same；　dressed　the　same；　talked　the　same。　Hell；　they　needed　some　black　people　just　to　liven　up　the　mix　some。　Toss　in　a　few　blond　Swedes　and　maybe　a　few　Italians　to　set　up　a　decent　restaurant。　。　。　。
　But　it　wasn't　his　job　to　civilize　the　world；　just　to　tell　people　what　was　going　on　in　it。　The　trade　talks　were　not　where　it　was　happening；　not　today；　Wise　thought。　Today　he　and　his　satellite　truck　would　head　back　to　the　home　of　Reverend　Yu　Fa　An。　Wise　was　playing　a　hunch。　No　more　than　that。　But　they'd　rarely　failed　him　before。
　
　Ryan　was　enjoying　another　night　off。　The　following　night　would　be　different。　He　had　to　give　another　goddamned　speech　on　foreign　policy。　Why　he　couldn't　simply　announce　policy　in　the　press　room　and　be　done　with　it；　nobody　had　yet　told　him…and　he　hadn't　asked；　for　fear　of　looking　the　fool　（again）　before　Arnie。　This　was　just　how　it　was　done。　The　speech　and　the　subject　had　nothing　to　do　with　the　identity　of　the　group　he　was　addressing。　Surely　there　had　to　be　an　easier　way　to　tell　the　world　what　he　thought。　This　way；　too；　Cathy　had　to　e　with　him；　and　she　hated　these　things　even　more　than　he　did；　because　it　took　her　away　from　her　patient　notes；　which　she　guarded　about　as　forcefully　as　a　lion　over　the　wildebeests　he'd　just　killed　for　lunch。　Cathy　often　plained　that　this　First　Lady　stuff　was　hurting　her　performance　as　a　SURGEON。　Jack　didn't　believe　that。　It　was　more　likely　that　like　most　women；　Cathy　needed　something　to　bitch　about；　and　this　subject　was　worthier　than　her　more　pedestrian　plaints；　like　being　unable　to　cook　dinner　once　in　a　while；　which　she　missed　a　lot　more　than　the　women's　lib　people　would　have　cared　to　learn。　Cathy　had　spent　over　twenty　years　learning　to　be　a　gourmet　cook；　and　when　time　allowed　（rarely）　she'd　sneak　down　to　the　capacious　White　House　kitchen　to　trade　ideas　and　recipes　with　the　head　chef。　For　the　moment；　however；　she　was　curled　up　in　a　fortable　chair　making　notes　on　her　patient　files　and　sipping　at　her　wineglass；　while　Jack　watched　TV；　for　a　change　not　under　the　eyes　of　the　Secret　Service　detail　and　the　domestic　staff。
　But　the　President　wasn't　really　watching　TV。　His　eyes　were　pointed　in　that　direction；　but　his　mind　was　looking　at　something　else。　It　was　a　look　his　wife　had　learned　to　understand　in　the　past　year；　almost　like　open…eyed　sleep　while　his　brain　churned　over　a　problem。　In　fact；　it　was　something　she　did　herself　often　enough；　thinking　about　the　best　way　to　treat　a　patient's　problem　while　eating　lunch　at　the　Hopkins　doctors'　cafeteria；　her　brain　creating　a　picture　as　though　in　a　Disney　cartoon；　simulating　the　problem　and　then　trying　out　theoretical　fixes。　It　didn't　happen　all　that　much　anymore。　The　laser　applications　she'd　helped　to　develop　were　approaching　the　point　that　an　auto　mechanic　could　perform　them…which　was　not　something　she　or　her　colleagues　advertised；　of　course。　There　had　to　be　a　mystique　with　medicine；　or　else　you　lost　your　power　to　tell　your　patients　what　to　do　in　a　way　that　ensured　that　they　might　actually　do　it。
　For　some　reason；　that　didn't　translate　to　the　Presidency；　Cathy　thought。　With　Congress；　well；　most　of　the　time　they　went　along　with　him…as　well　they　ought；　since　Jack's　requests　were　usually　as　reasonable　as　they　could　be…but　not　always；　and　often　for　the　dumbest　reasons。　〃It　may　be　good　for　the　country；　but　it's　not　so　good　for　my　district；　and。。。〃　And　they　all　forgot　the　fact　that　when　they　had　arrived　in　Washington；　they'd　sworn　an　oath　to　the　country；　not　to　their　stupid　little　districts。　When　she'd　said　that　to　Arnie；　he'd　had　a　good　laugh　and　lectured　her　on　how　the　real　world　worked…as　though　a　physician　didn't　know　that！　she　fumed。　And　so　Jack　had　to　balance　what　was　real　with　what　wasn't　but　ought　to　be…as　opposed　to　what　wasn't　and　never　would　be。　Like　foreign　affairs。　It　made　a　lot　more　sense　for　a　married　man　to　have　an　affair　with　some　floozy　than　it　did　to　try　to　reason　with　some　foreign　countries。　At　least　you　could　tell　the　floozy　that　it　was　all　over　after　three　or　four　times；　but　these　damned　foreign　chiefs　of　state　would　stay　around　forever　with　their　stupidity。
　That　was　one　nice　thing　about　medicine；　Professor　Ryan　thought。　Doctors　all　over　the　world　treated　patients　pretty　much　the　same　way　because　the　human　body　was　the　same　everywhere；　and　a　treatment　regimen　that　worked　at　Johns　Hopkins　in　east　Baltimore　worked　just　as　well　in　Berlin　or　Moscow　or　Tokyo；　even　if　the　people　looked　and　talked　different…and　if　that　was　true；　why　couldn't　people　all　over　the　world　think　the　same　way？　Their　damned　brains　were　the　same；　weren't　they？　Now　it　was　her　turn　to　grumble；　as　her　husband　did　often　enough。
　〃Jack？〃　she　said；　as　she　put　her　notebook　down。
　〃Yeah；　Cathy？〃
　〃What　are　you　thinking　about　now？〃
　Mainly　how　I　wish　Ellen　Sumter　was　here　with　a　cigarette；　he　couldn't　say。　If　Cathy　knew　he　was　sneaking　smokes　in　the　Oval　Office；　she　didn't　let　on；　which　was　probably　the　case；　since　she　didn't　go　around　looking　for　things　to　fight　over；　and　he　never　ever　smoked　in　front　of　her　or　the　kids　anymore。　Cathy　allowed　him　to　indulge　his　weaknesses；　as　long　as　he　did　so　in　the　utmost　moderation。　But　her　question　was　about　the　cause　for　his　yearning　for　some　nicotine。
　〃China；　babe。　They　really　stepped　on　the　old　crank　with　the　golf　shoes　this　time；　but　they　don't　seem　to　know　how　bad　it　looked。〃
　〃Killing　those　two　people…how　could　it　not　look　bad？〃　SURGEON　asked。
　〃Not　everybody　values　human　life　in　the　same　way　that　we　do；　Cath。〃
　〃The　Chinese　doctors　I've　met　are…well；　they're　doctors；　and　we　talk　to　each　other　like　doctors。〃
　〃I　suppose。〃　Ryan　saw　a　mercial　start　on　the　TV　show　he　was　pretending　to　watch；　and　stood　to　walk　off　to　the　upstairs　kitchen　for　another　whiskey。　〃Refill；　babe？〃
　〃Yes；　thank　you。〃　With　her　Christmas…tree　smile。
　Jack　lifted　his　wife's　wineglass。　So；　she　had　no　procedures　scheduled　for　the　next　day。　She'd　e　to　love　the　Chateau　Ste。　Michelle　Chardonnay　they'd　first　sampled　at　Camp　David。　For　him　tonight；　it　was　Wild　Turkey　bourbon　over　ice。　He　loved　the　pungent　smell　of　the　corn　and　rye　grains；　and　tonight　he'd　dismissed　the　upstairs　staff　and　could　enjoy　the　relative　luxury　of　fixing　his　own…he　could　even　have　made　a　peanut　butter　sandwich；　had　he　been　of　such　a　mind。　He　walked　the　drinks　back；　touching　his　wife's　neck　on　the　way；　and　getting　the　cute　little　shiver　she　always　made　when　he　did　so。
　〃So；　what's　going　to　happen　in　China？〃
　〃We'll　find　out　the　same　way　as　everybody　else；　watching　CNN。　They're　a　lot　faster　than　our　intelligence　people　on　some　things。　And　our　spooks　can't　predict　the　future　any　better　than　the　TRADERs　on　Wall　Street。〃　You'd　be　able　to　identify　such　a　man　at　Merrill　Lynch　easily　if　he　existed；　Jack　didn't　bother　saying　aloud。　He'd　be　the　guy　with　all　the　millionaires　lined　up　outside　his　office。
　〃So；　what　do　you　think？〃
　〃I'm　worried；　Cath；〃　Ryan　admitted；　sitting　back　down。
　〃About　what？〃
　〃About　what　we'll　have　to　do　if　they　screw　things　up　again。　But　we　can't　warn　them。　That　only　ma