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Back A Firing Offense Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Prologue
  6. I: PARIS (MAY–JULY 1994)
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. II: WASHINGTON (JANUARY–MARCH 1996)
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. III: WASHINGTON–BEIJING (MARCH–MAY 1996)
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. IV: WASHINGTON–BOSTON–MONTREAL (MAY–JULY 1996)
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. V: SANTA ROSA, CALIFORNIA (OCTOBER 1996)
  53. 43
  54. Acknowledgments
  55. Author’s Note
  56. Praise
  57. Also by David Ignatius

“And after that, the slide downhill was easy. Salan knew that I would take money, so he offered it. And I took it. Washington had become so expensive, and the more Mara had, the more she wanted. You buy the dress, so you have to buy the shoes and the handbag; then you have to buy the pearls, and the diamond earrings, and the coat. And then you can’t drive up in the same old car, so you need a new BMW.

“Salan proposed the consulting arrangement with Bézy as a cutout. But what you said at the Athenian Club about a numbered account in Geneva was right. They paid the money in, and I withdrew it to pay my bills. And guess what: as I took more and more of their money, they began to expect something for it. I tried to cooperate. And I did some other things—to help Sellinger—that I’m not going to talk about, even with you, even as drunk as I am. But I thought I could handle it, Eric, until this China business came along. And you came along. And here we are.”

28

28

Bowman and I parted company at the airport, which was just as well, because I feared that if I had any more to drink, I would die. He was staying at the fanciest place in town, naturally, a place called the China World Hotel, where Unetat was holding its conference. I was lodging at the humbler Great Wall Sheraton on the Third Ring Road. We said our good-byes like two old drunks and pledged to meet in twenty-four hours, after we had slept off the effects of the trip.

The last time I had visited Beijing was in the late eighties. Back then, the loudest sound on the main boulevards had been the gentle whirring of bicycle wheels; now the streets were clogged with cars, motorcycles, trucks and buses. It was rush hour all day long. The trip in from the airport had once been a soothing passage through parklands and fields shielded by neat rows of trees. Now it was a long traffic jam, past acres of new construction being thrown up in the race to make money. Seeing the frantic pace of commercial activity, I understood better why the French and Americans were at each other’s throats over the communications contract. China was the future of capitalism. It was that simple.