The Guest of Honor

by Irving Wallace

  Underwood nodded. “You were right, Paul. I did need more time to think it through, and I have.”

  “Well, sir, what are your feelings now?”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Blake sat up. “You’re going to China?”

  “Definitely. The vice-president doesn’t have enough clout to handle a meeting like that. As for the festivities, I don’t want to insult our Chinese friends. We must remain on the best of terms.”

  “Good. I’m glad you see that, Matt.”

  “You can schedule me for two days in Beijing.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “Another thing, Paul. Something just as important to me personally.” He could see from the expression on Blake’s face that his chief of staff had already anticipated what he would say next. Nevertheless, he said it. “I want to get an early start to Beijing. En route, I want to stop over in Lampang for two days to straighten out the misunderstanding with Madame Noy Sang.”

  It was what Blake had expected, but he offered no reaction.

  “I want you to inform Madame Noy Sang that I’ll be in Visaka for the express purpose of meeting with her privately. Will you arrange the meeting?”

  “At once.”

  “But before my meeting with Noy Sang, I want you to allow time for me to have another conference, also in privacy, with Percy Siebert, the CIA station head at our embassy in Visaka. I want him to report to my suite at the Oriental Hotel as soon as possible after my arrival. Tell him he is also to accompany me to an engagement I’ll have after that.”

  “I’ll see that Director Ramage makes the arrangement for Siebert immediately.”

  “Thank you, Paul. Get on with it.”

  After Blake left, Matt Underwood stood up and stretched and felt better. It was a rocky road ahead, he knew. Siebert wouldn’t be easy and Noy might be even more difficult.

  But it had to be done.

  Damage repair, it might be called.

  Damage from the first lady.

  Or the CIA.

  A week later, President Underwood in Air Force One was en route to the People’s Republic of China, with a detour first to the island of Lampang.

  Having landed in Visaka, Underwood, with Marsop beside him as an escort, was driven to the Leader’s Suite in the Oriental Hotel. Marsop had been sent by Noy Sang to meet him and escort him as a matter of formality. Marsop had volunteered nothing about Noy except to say that she expected to comply with his request for a meeting in her office at Chamadin Palace.

  Unable to get anything more promising from Marsop, Underwood separated from him at the Oriental Hotel, and, surrounded by his Secret Service detail, he entered for a meeting even less promising and more difficult—one with the CIA station head in Lampang, Percy Siebert.

  The meeting with Siebert was as difficult as Underwood anticipated. Only by invoking the power of his office was he able to overcome the CIA agent’s reluctance to cooperate. In the end, Underwood won the strenuous confrontation, and after an hour and a half of persuasion—actually of command—he was able to force Siebert to accompany him to the meeting with Noy at Chamadin Palace.

  Underwood and Siebert were waiting in Noy’s office when she entered.

  She acknowledged Siebert and she greeted Underwood coolly. “I’m surprised to see you here again so soon,” she said to Underwood. “Please, be seated.”

  After Underwood and Siebert sat down, Noy went around her desk to her chair.

  “Why are you here?” she said directly to Underwood.

  “You had accused me of being responsible for your husband’s death,” said Underwood. “I told you I would investigate the accusation and get to the bottom of it.”

  “I really think there’s no more to discuss about that,” said Noy.

  “There is much to discuss,” said Underwood, “especially when you are not in possession of all the facts. Will you please hear me out?”

  “Of course,” said Noy wearily, “if you have something to add.”

  “I had told you I would uncover the truth about your husband’s assassination. I had been wrongfully blamed for it. I tried to tell you I don’t like blood on my hands, especially when it doesn’t belong there. Now I want to straighten all this out. Percy Siebert is a member of our embassy and, as you no doubt know, station head for the CIA in Lampang.”

  Noy moved her head. “I’m aware of that, Mr. President.”

  “Well, Mr. Siebert, in a secondary way, was involved in your husband’s death, and after learning that I came here to see him, talk it out, and I am now forcing him against his will to let you know what really happened.”

  Noy’s attention swiveled to the CIA agent. “Yes, Mr. Siebert?”

  “You understand, Madame Sang, that I am not the main player in this unhappy affair,” Siebert began. “I had a role because I was in Lampang. But the orders came from Alan Ramage, the director of the CIA. He informed me that President Prem Sang was obstructing United States policy in Southeast Asia. I was told to find a means of making him a closer ally to the United States—”

  “He was an ally,” Noy blurted.

  “Not quite, Madame. The United States and Lampang had different goals,” Siebert replied.

  “And assassination was the means of achieving your goals?” Noy wanted to know.

  “I never heard that word in my instructions. I was advised to find a nonviolent means. Perhaps a scandal. It is important for you to know that President Underwood had no knowledge of this undertaking, none whatsoever. He was totally innocent of my orders. They were not shown to him. Not even in the FTPO—For the President Only—report. It was anticipated that he would object. Director Ramage urged secrecy, and I followed the director’s orders.”

  Noy turned her head toward Underwood, and for the first time since they had parted at Blair House, the expression on her face softened and it was friendly.

  “It’s—it’s good to hear that, Matt.” Underwood said nothing to Noy, but gestured to Siebert. “Go on, Percy.”

  “I tried to imagine whom I might turn to, and finally I chose General Samak Nakorn. I met with him. I briefed him on the wishes of my government. I did not tell him to harm President Prem, certainly not to kill him, but to find some means of shutting him up or driving him from office as soon as possible. I may even have used language like trying to find out if President Prem was involved in some government scandal. General Nakorn promised me that he would see what he could do. He would, he said, find some of his army intelligence staff to look more deeply into President Prem’s affairs. In any case, he would see that Prem’s resistance to American policy would be taken care of.” Siebert caught his breath. “The next thing I knew, several weeks later two men had entered this office and shot your husband. It was not our design or wish. The president was totally unaware of what had been going on. He was not inattentive. He simply did not know.”

  Noy’s gaze settled on Underwood. “I’m sorry, Matt, to have blamed you. I apologize.”

  “That’s all I wanted to hear from you,” said Underwood. “That you are satisfied I had no part in this.”

  “I am assured of that now,” said Noy.

  Siebert concluded. “The assassination was not the CIA’s wish. But it happened. That’s all I know.”

  Noy eyed Siebert closely. “Do you believe it was done on orders of General Nakorn?”

  Siebert shrugged. “Possibly. I haven’t an iota of proof.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Noy, “I think General Nakorn should undergo a public investigation. He may be the only one who can tell us how the assassination took place. Mr. Siebert, will you cooperate?”

  Siebert shook his head slowly, regretfully. “I cannot cooperate, Madame Noy, as much as I’d like to. I’ve given my allegiance to the CIA and taken an oath of office. I cannot tell my story in public—and I can’t be made to. As a member of the United States Embassy, I have diplomatic immunity. I simply cannot reveal what is done in the CIA. I hope you understand that, M
adame Noy.”

  Underwood interceded. “Perhaps an exception can be made in this case, Percy.”

  Siebert shook his head again. “You know that is impossible, Mr. President.”

  “Never mind, Matt,” Noy interrupted. “I understand his position. Without a trial, a hearing, I will have to do the next best thing.”

  “What’s that, Noy?” asked Underwood.

  “Tomorrow, I am going to announce that I plan to run for election on my own against General Nakorn. He announced his candidacy one week ago. The United States believed that if I replaced Prem in office, I would be too weak to beat Nakorn in an election. That has been proved to be wrong. There have been no objections to the air base. It is looked upon as a protection of our democracy. And people are willing to let me meet with the Communists, fellow Lampangians after all, and bring them into our system. As a result, the latest polls show that I am far more popular than General Nakorn. I’ll run against him, and I’ll defeat him. That is my one ambition now. To retire our ambitious general from public life. Do you approve, Matt?”

  “I approve, Noy. I heartily approve.”

  Noy rose and came around the desk to take Underwood’s hand in both of hers. “Forgive me, Matt. I should have known we were on the same side. Have a success in China. Thank God you came here first, and be sure to come here again soon, as soon as possible.”

  When Underwood returned to his suite in the Oriental Hotel, Paul Blake was already there, packed and ready to leave with him for China.

  As Underwood changed into a fresh shirt and a gabardine suit, and watched his valet repacking for the last leg of the journey, Blake stood behind him to question him.

  “From your cheerfulness, I gather you had a satisfactory meeting with Madame Noy Sang,” Blake said.

  Underwood smiled. “Very. With Siebert there I was able to clear up the whole thing, and Noy apologized for blaming me for anything.”

  “Does she blame General Nakorn?”

  “She suspects him,” the president said. “She can’t prove he was responsible for Prem’s death, but she does want Nakorn out of the way. In fact, she’s decided not to retire after this term. Tomorrow she goes on national television to announce she will run for election. She expects to beat Nakorn, and, if she is elected, she’ll get him out of the way.”

  Blake watched in silence as the valet finished repacking.

  At last Blake spoke. “Matt—”

  “Yes, Paul.”

  “You know, Nakorn is our man in Lampang. We can depend on him.”

  Underwood locked his bag and lifted his head. “I don’t trust him,” said Underwood. “I trust Noy Sang.”

  “Ezra Morrison is already in Beijing. He won’t be happy.”

  “I’m his commander in chief,” said Underwood. “I’m the only one who should feel happy.” He paused. “And right now I do.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Great Wall Hotel rose imposingly at the outskirts of Beijing. Arriving at its entrance, President Underwood had been impressed by the hives of Chinese heavily cordoned off along the way, their bicycles lined up neatly in row upon row of chromium racks. When he and his retinue entered the hotel he was even more impressed by the size and glitter of its vast lobby.

  The hotel manager and Chinese Politburo members tried to lead Underwood to the glass elevators, but when he saw the broad, richly carpeted staircase nearby, he insisted upon walking up to the third floor, where he and Ezra Morrison would occupy adjoining suites. Underwood wanted to walk because he was tired of the cramped feeling he had from the airplane flights, and he wanted the exercise and resultant energy it would induce.

  He was feeling somewhat more limber and invigorated when he reached the third floor. Half of his contingent of Secret Service men had come in earlier with Morrison on the press plane, and they were already in position.

  Underwood was shown into his suite, and his valet had gone directly into the bedroom to unpack.

  Dutifully, Underwood allowed himself to be led about the suite.

  When this was done, the manager said, “Sir, Secretary of State Morrison is in the adjoining suite awaiting your arrival.”

  “Good,” said Underwood. “I’m eager to see him.”

  Tactfully, the manager and Chinese officials withdrew, and once his valet had left also, Underwood knocked on the connecting door between the two suites.

  The door opened and Morrison appeared. They shook hands.

  “Good flight?” asked Morrison, coming into the president’s suite.

  “Perfect. What have you been up to?”

  “This morning I went first to Tiananmen Square. It’s still spectacular—and then I had a preliminary meeting with Premier Li Peng in the Great Hall of the People, and we reviewed tomorrow’s program. There will be several speakers, but you will be the principal one. Peng will introduce you in the Great Hall, and you’ll address the nineteen hundred delegates, and then Peng will close down the ceremony. That’s tomorrow. This afternoon is photo-session time around the city. You’ll be taken around to see all the sights you’ve seen dozens of times before. The Chinese press and the American press will love it.”

  “Sounds easy enough. Let’s have a drink.”

  They were both standing at the small bar before Morrison resumed. “How was your detour to Lampang? Did you get to see Noy?”

  “I did, and brought Percy Siebert with me. We were able to resolve everything. Noy and I are on friendly terms again.”

  “I gather that,” said Morrison. “I just saw Noy.”

  “You saw her?” asked Underwood, startled. “On television. On Chinese television. I could understand her because she spoke in English.

  The Chinese used subtitles for her speech.”

  “How was she?”

  “Very effective, I thought,” said Morrison. “She announced that she was running for election. I figured you might have had something to do with it. Until now only General Nakorn had announced. Up till now Noy had denied any intention of running. Then you drop in and see her —and suddenly she is going to run.”

  Underwood nodded. “I may have had a little to do with it, but the decision was her own. After Siebert had finished his explanation of events, she was just about convinced that Nakorn was responsible for her husband’s death.”

  “Surprising, but possible.”

  “She can’t prove it, Ezra. So she wants to crush him in an election, remove him as head of the army, and reduce him to a nobody.”

  Morrison busied himself with a cigar. “Understandable.” He had the cigar ready and lit it. “At the same time, Matt, you know General Nakorn is our man.”

  “Of course I know. Blake reminded me of that in Lampang.”

  “We wouldn’t want to see him defeated,” said Morrison. “We know he’s dependable. He believes in the Stars and Stripes.”

  “So does Noy Sang,” Underwood said earnestly. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m not,” said Morrison abruptly. “Your feelings about her may be colored by—by her personality. She’s soft on Communists. We need someone who is hard on Communists.”

  Underwood snorted. “You see Communists under every bush. Joe McCarthy is long dead. Let him rest.”

  “It’s my job, Matt. I’m your secretary of state. I don’t trust them here, there, anywhere.”

  “I’m your president, Ezra. I trust them more than I ever did now that we’re in a world where we can obliterate each other.”

  Morrison persisted. “I’d feel safer, much safer, with Nakorn in office.”

  “Noy’s ahead in the polls. I’m certain she’ll be in office on her own. We’ll have to trust her, and I assure you that we can.”

  Morrison sighed. “I hope you’re right. We can’t afford to be wrong. We need strength in Southeast Asia. Which brings me to another thing. I’ve read the Chinese speech the staffers wrote for you. I presume you have, too.”

  “You know I have. Carefully.” He hesitated. “I toned it down a bit.” />
  “Why did you do that? I liked it the way it was.”

  “The Chinese are moving toward capitalism and democracy. I’m betting on that. I don’t want us to forever treat them as enemies.”

  Restlessly, Morrison stepped away from the bar. “I hope you’re not making a mistake, Matt. We don’t know where China will be in the long run. In the short run, right now, China is a Communist state. And the way you’re playing it, Lampang could be, too.”

  “You’re too pessimistic, Ezra.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no,” said Morrison, sucking on his cigar. “My real immediate concern right now is Lampang. At the risk of offending you, Chief, I’d hate to lose a sure thing because you’re smitten by someone with great tits in a sarong.”

  Underwood grinned. “You aren’t offending me, except that you sound like my wife. You’re absolutely right. Noy is something in a sarong. And yes, I’ll bet she has great tits without a sarong. I’d rather bet on tits than on someone who carries—and rattles—a saber.”

  “I’m not sure love conquers all.”

  Underwood joined Morrison. “I’m not sure this has anything to do with love. Only that, historically, love does conquer all. Let’s give it a chance, Ezra. Let me do it my way. I know what’s at stake, but let’s do it my way.”

  Noy Sang had not anticipated that her announcement on television that she was running for election would cause such a furor. General Nakorn had announced the week before, after a convention of the National Independent Party, and there had been little excitement. It had been taken for granted that Noy would not run, and therefore Nakorn had the presidency almost as an automatic matter.

  Noy’s own unexpected announcement of her candidacy had exceeded every expectation she’d had. Phone calls, press support, and cheering demonstrations throughout the country had followed it.

  She had been so caught up and occupied by the excitement that by this morning she’d had a feeling of guilt that she was neglecting those around her. The one she had been neglecting the most, she felt, was her six-year-old son, Den.