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left for a combover should he have even wanted one. The two men had met regularly since Haskell arrived at the US embassy and generally they got on pretty well. Wu had a good sense of humour and was fairly open and pragmatic. He had been around American diplomats and politicians for so long that he was realistic about what could be achieved and how best to go about it. Steve Haskell liked to think he was fairly pragmatic as well.
    He knew, however, that this wasn’t going to be an amicable conversation. He imagined there must have been much discussion in the Chinese government compound in Beijing, the Zhongnanhai, over the two days since the president’s announcement of Jungle Peace. Whatever Wu privately felt, Haskell knew that the Chinese vice-minister had a message to deliver, and it was one that would have come from a lot higher up in the hierarchy than his vice-ministerial department. Haskell just wasn’t sure how hard the message was going to be.
    The president’s announcement had received generally positive coverage in the American press, and the US blogosphere was largely supportive. Most Americans seemed to see the action as a disinterested mission by the US to liberate a long-suffering part of the world from a resident evil. Steve Haskell himself saw the mission in this light, but he was well aware of Chinese sensibilities on the matter. He could hardly fail to be – not from the noise being made in China, but from the silence. The Chinese media was virtually ignoring the issue and very little in the way of blogosphere comment was being allowed past the government censorship operation on the net. The Security Council vote had received only perfunctory mention and the president’s announcement had passed without notice. Haskell had been around China long enough to know what that meant. When the regime felt that it had been attacked and could turn injury to its advantage, it whipped up a fury. He had been in Shanghai in the late nineties and had seen the government-sponsored demonstrations after the accidental bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade. Chanting crowds had thundered past the Spearman Maybury building and he and his staff had been trapped for two days, having to spend a night in the office. But everyone knew the anger was largely manufactured and the staged demonstrations were under close government control. When there was public anger in China, you knew where you stood. Silence was something else. Silence was more ambiguous, threatening. When the Chinese government clamped down on news reporting from abroad, it usually meant it was seriously scared of losing face. That was when it was at its most dangerous.
    Wu spoke in Mandarin. He had a note for the United States government from the government of the People’s Republic. He handed Haskell a sealed envelope.
    ‘This note refers to the recent commencement of hostilities by American forces in Uganda,’ said Wu. ‘My government wishes to ensure that we have clarity between our two governments on our expectations in this issue.’
    Haskell’s aide translated the words, although Haskell’s Mandarin was pretty sharp. He responded in English. Normally he was comfortable conversing in Mandarin, but for certain conversations he wanted to be sure he was entirely in control of the nuances in his speech.
    ‘I’m certain that clarity is critical and whatever we can do to achieve that will be a good thing.’
    Wu nodded. ‘My government, as you know, does not oppose your mission. If we oppose your mission we would have voted against resolution 2682.’
    ‘And the US government is grateful that you didn’t.’
    ‘We will, however, oppose anything that goes beyond the provisions of the resolution.’
    ‘We would not anticipate taking any action that goes beyond the resolution,’ replied Haskell.
    ‘The resolution refers only to Uganda.’
    ‘And to other countries who may invite member states to assist them in bringing the actions of the LRA to