“She’s been missing for four days! Can you believe it? A woman whose face and voice are recognizable the world over, with two governments searching for her, and poof! Vanished into thin air. Now what do you think this means? Is she on a honeymoon with that baby on some snowy mountaintop, an honored guest of the Chinese? Let’s call the White House. President Corwith himself sent Nola as our Friendship Ambassador. You should have been at that party. I was there. But did Core ask me to dance? No, sir. He had eyes for our gorgeous Nola. And let me tell you, she has grace, our Nola—

“Whoops! It’s ring-ing-ing-ing! May I speak to President Corwith please? This is Roberta Fisher, and I’ve got ten million listeners—your basic American commuters, your beloved constituency—holding their collective morning breaths. Thank God they are all in the enclosed privacy of their cars, or the ozone layer would be like Swiss cheese.”

Nola laughed softly. “She has guts.”

“How come the president hasn’t issued a statement yet?” Roberta demanded of the White House spokesman. “Isn’t he a bit concerned? Nola might be dead!”

“We’re sure she’s fine—”

“Look. The Los Alamos spying scandal breaks amid a flurry of prior accusations of China stealing military secrets. Kong Ruiji comes here to clinch China’s entry into the World Trade Organization. He agrees to all the concessions requested of China—and it costs him oodles at home—but what does America do? We bomb the Chinese Embassy in Belgrade—”

“Ms. Fisher— Roberta—” the spokesman tried to break in, but she gushed on.

“A tragic mistake, but that’s not how our Asian friends see it. Anyway, as they get over the shock, Taiwan makes noises about independence. So what do we do? Send our Navy to meddle in what China sees as an internal affair. This fracas is not yet over when we down their plane at their own coast. We proceed to protest their sales of missiles to hostile nations, when China accuses Nola of sticking a dagger into its collective pride.” Roberta paused. “And you want to tell me you’re sure they didn’t kill her?”

On the wall, a world map sported three clocks set to Manila, London and Washington, D.C. time. “May I use your phone?” Nola asked Sharon. She must get to Roberta before her hour was up.

She hadn’t noticed that the press secretary, Trentafillos, had entered the room, but at the sound of his cough she turned around. She flashed a smile. “Thanks for sending the doctor,” she mouthed. In the background, Roberta's voice droned.

Trentafillos motioned toward the phone Nola was holding. “You haven’t talked to the ambassador yet.” There was an edge in his voice, an accusation.

“I will. Just as soon as she’s back,” Nola replied sweetly. “I expect to be on a plane by tomorrow afternoon.”