Free The Mandarin Club by Gerald Felix Warburg Page A

Will this administration continue to turn a blind eye to China as it arms our sworn enemies?”
    Then, to Booth’s amazement, Smithson bailed. The senator cut Booth’s prepared text abruptly, wrapping up the statement without mentioning evidence of renewed Iranian missile imports from Beijing, then calling on Hollandsworth. The soldier-turned-diplomat began to serve up pablum, reciting what he maintained was a string of White House successes in Asia.
    “Why did you kill it?” Booth whispered into Smithson’s ear. “The Iran stuff is solid.”
    Smithson rocked back in his thick leather chair, whispering to Booth: “I decided to punt. It was just too hot, too soon. Better in the Q&A.”
    Booth sat and stewed, watching the press corps as they followed the text of Hollandsworth’s prepared statement. It was milquetoast, deliberately long enough to limit time and energy that might remain for critical questioning. Of the twenty or so reporters at the rectangular press tables, at least two-thirds were Asian. The hearing was probably news back home for some, Booth reflected. But, without the Iran missile hit, it wouldn’t even make filler in the Post .
    The room was still as Hollandsworth’s monologue rolled on. The ceilings were far too high for an office building. Harsh shafts of light leaked between forty-foot tall curtains. In the distance, Booth could hear a wailing siren. To his right, a couple of Republican staffers were sharing a private joke, oblivious to the set piece being performed before them. Another morning of fruitless toil in the United States Senate.
    Smithson pulled his punch once again in his opening question round, using his five minutes on some queries about the Japanese economy before reserving the balance of his time. Then, finally, at the very conclusion of the hearing, he had his inning.
    “Mr. Secretary, I have one last line of questioning before we adjourn,” Smithson said. There were only two senators left in the room now. The balance had been chased by a series of bells, beepers, and anxious aides summoning them to other business. “It relates to Chinese export practices.”
    “Yes, sir.” Hollandsworth’s voice betrayed no reaction, though he pulled forward just a bit in his chair.
    “Am I correct in my understanding that, while the Chinese have not formally acceded to the minutes of the Missile Technology Control Regime, China has nevertheless committed to abide by these ‘MTCR’ standards in its export practices?”
    “There have been certain diplomatic assurances in that regard.” Hollandsworth shifted in his chair, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
    “I can interpret that as a yes ?”
    “Affirmative.”
    “These MTCR assurances coincided with American approval of the trade agreement with China?” Smithson pressed.
    “Yes.”
    “Actually, it was how the Senate came to approve their joining the World Trade Organization, was it not?” Smithson was looking up pointedly from his reading glasses. Booth was motionless behind him, waiting for the hook.
    “Well, to be precise, Senator,” Hollandsworth began to reply, “there were a number of conditions both sides mutually agreed to.”
    “But MTCR export standards were the central issue, Mr. Secretary—the quid pro quo, if you will. The point was that China would get the trade deal only if they stopped spreading missile technology around to the so-called ‘Axis of Evil.’” Smithson smirked ever so slightly in a gentle dig at the shopworn phrase.
    “Well, Mr. Chairman, there was no explicit linkage. Thus, some could argue otherwise.”
    “For this senator, that was the central reason.” Booth noticed Hollandsworth stealing a glance down at his watch as Smithson continued. “These Missile Control standards bar assistance in the development of delivery systems for weapons of mass destruction to nations outside the nuclear nonproliferation treaty—so-called ‘rogue nations’ like North Korea, Cuba, Iran. Is my understanding