Authors: Eugene Burdick,William J. Lederer
The Ambassador and the Working Press
It was a year after Ambassador Sears had arrived in Haidho, and it was the Month of the Boar, the middle of the wet season. All day and all night the tropical rains fell with a steady drone. The only people out were the peasants, who splashed through the muddy streets in straw raincoats and enormous straw hats. The smell of dampness—like the odor of mushrooms—was everywhere. Even the air-conditioned rooms of the American Ambassador were not truly dry.
In the wet season foreigners wearing tight western clothes suffered from various skin irritations, mostly a kind of fungus growth. Tempers became raw. In this particular wet season occurred the incident of the Royal Sarkhanese Air Base.
About fifty years before the United States government had purchased a thousand acres on the outskirts of Haidho. What the plans had been for the tract, no one remembers; and the land lay idle until 1947. During the rainy season of that year the Sarkhanese Air Force had requested the use of the property for a training area; it was high, hard, flat ground which could be used all year round. Permission was granted and the Royal Sarkhanese Treasury spent many millions improving the land. It was only natural for fashionable suburbs to spring up around it; and the American tract came to be one of the most valuable pieces of real estate in Sarkhan.
The incident began when a newspaper hostile to America printed a rumor that the Royal Sarkhanese Air Force was to be evicted from the American property, so that American land speculators could sell it for building lots. The next day every other paper in Sarkhan picked the story up. So did the Pan Asia Press, the United Press, the Associated Press, the International News Service. So did Tass, Reuters, and Press France.
The hostile paper kept the story alive in its headlines day after day.
"Our tip must be true," they wrote, "because no one at the American Embassy denies it."
The editor of the English language paper, an American, called up the USIS.
"Look," he said, "this silly story—which I know must be a lie—is hurting the United States. This afternoon I'm going to round up the editors of the four leading dailies and bring them to see the ambassador. I'm going to ask him point blank about the Air Force Training Area. The minute he says it's untrue, the story will die. Also, it will make the Commie press lose a lot of face. Okay for two o'clock?"
Joe Bing, the new public affairs officer, was on a cultural trip to Hong Kong; and his assistant, the press attaché, had to carry the ball. When he told Ambassador Sears that he would be interviewed that afternoon, the ambassador's face got red, and his eyes bulged.
"No, by God!" he shouted, banging the desk, "you're not going to foul me up at this stage of the game. You see this?" he yelled, holding up a letter. "This is from the President. And he says that a federal judgeship will open up in four (months and he would be pleased if I took it. And I intend to. And I don't intend to get mixed up with a bunch of skunks between now and then. Tell Joe Bing to handle it!"
"He's in Hong Kong, sir."
"Then you take care of them."
"They want to see you, sir. I've already tried to stall them." The ambassador flopped back in his chair and a cunning look came into his eyes. "All right," he said. "Let 'em come. You can bring your radical friends here at two. I'll be ready." At two that afternoon the five editors entered the ambassador's office.
"Sit down, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"
The American editor said, "Mr. Ambassador, there's a story making the rounds that the United States is about to evict the Air Force from land lent them by the United States. This would mean that all their millions of dollars of building would have to go. The property is supposed to be turned over to American real estate salesmen to sell as subdivisions."
"Yes, gentlemen. I've read the story."
"Well, sir, is it true or is it a lie?"
The ambassador hesitated for a moment. He poked the end of a pencil into his ear, then smoothed his gray hair, then looked at the ceiling.
"Gentlemen," he said finally. "I have no comment to make."
The four Asian editors looked at each other in amazement, thanked the ambassador, and left. The American remained behind. When they were gone, he shouted, "For God's sake, you've got to comment. This is the same as saying it's true. Hell, it'll be all over the world. You know that eviction story is a goddam lie."
"Tell you the truth, son," said the ambassador, "I don't know if it's true or not."
"Then cable to Washington and ask them if it's true!" The ambassador pressed a button on his desk. A moment later the deputy chief of mission came in.
"Yes, sir?"
"Say, Charlie," said the ambassador. "Smith here has a dam good idea. . . ."
On February 13th the following message was received at the U. S. Embassy in Sarkhan.
Personal for Ambassador from Dexter Peterson X This will be advance notice to you that your judgeship has been approved by the President and will become effective immediately on your return X Believe your replacement will be Gilbert MacWhite X Congratulations
Once his judgeship was assured Lucky Lou was somewhat saddened at having to leave Sarkhan. Almost at once he felt a warm glow of affection for the place.
His affection was not so intense, however, that he forgot practical political matters. He did the following three things before throwing one of the most liquid parties in the history of Haidho.
He refused to extend protection to one Father Finian on the grounds that he intended to "participate in the domestic politics of another power."
He again recommended to the Sarkhanese government that they refuse a visa to one John Colvin, who, having recuperated at Johns Hopkins Hospital, now wanted to return to Sarkhan. He did this by phone, as he did not like matters such as this to become a part of the official record. They never did anyone any good.
He wrote a long careful report to the State Department pointing out the gains which had been made in Sarkhan during his tenure in that country. He pointed out that "there are always those who pick away at sound policies or tend to exaggerate normal internal political frictions. Sarkhan is more firmly than ever on the side of America."
Everyone Has Ears
The Honorable Gilbert MacWhite, Ambassador to Sarkhan, was a fit man. At the age of forty-four he weighed exactly the same as he had when he graduated from Princeton with the class of 1934. He had red hair; his body was hard and muscular. When he was in the States or in England he played squash at least three times a week, and in other countries he always managed to play tennis. He smoked little, and always fine, thin, handrolled Havana cigars. He held his liquor well. He preferred martinis, and only one or two each evening. But he could, if he had to, drink immense quantities of vodka, sake, or Scotch; and his tongue never thickened and his mind seldom dulled.
MacWhite was, from his first day in the State Department, a professional foreign service officer. He needed no breaking in. He was competent, exact, and highly efficient. He also was courageous and outspoken, and he had imagination. During the McCarthy excitement he kept his head and ran his desk smoothly. By 1952 he had served as Consul General in four large foreign cities, as Deputy Chief of Mission in two cities, and was regarded by his superiors as a comer.
In 1954, the Honorable Gilbert Mac White was made Ambassador to Sarkhan. It was an assignment that pleased him deeply. He knew that the Sarkhan government was new, inexperienced, and shaky, and that the eighteen million Sarkhanese were restless. He knew that the Communists in Sarkhan were strong, competent, and well organized; he had not the slightest doubt that they would attempt a coup against the government. MacWhite's knowledge of Marxism and Leninism, and the Titoist and Maoist versions of the faith was enormous. He was a recognized expert on Soviet theory and practice.
Ambassador Mac White prepared for his new assignment with a thoroughness in the best traditions of missionary faith. He learned the Sarkhanese language in fifteen weeks of incredibly difficult work. He read every book he could find on Sarkhanese history and political life. He talked to anthropologists, sociologists, political scientists, diplomats, and businessmen who had visited Sarkhan in the last several years. He read the reports of his predecessor, Louis Sears.
Haidho is almost unbelievable. The city rests on a high plateau which overlooks the Pacific; although the forest presses in around the buildings with a heavy green persistence, each of the buildings is distinct and intact. The people of Sarkhan did not erect monumental buildings. Most of the public buildings and almost all of the private homes were made of a light yellow volcanic stone, which the tropical climate and the constant jungle rainfall covered with a light green patina. The effect was subtle, subterranean, almost a vision of a city seen under the sea.
Haidho was hot, but neither Gilbert nor his wife Molly were dismayed by this. They were prepared to endure the heat of the tropics, and neither they nor their boys had ever complained of hardships. Indeed, as the Honorable Gilbert MacWhite looked from the upper window of his embassy out over the plateau and the ocean beyond, he was aware of how absorbed he had become in his job. In the six months he had been at Sarkhan he had hardly noticed the climate. In those six months Ambassador MacWhite had drawn his lines of battle against the Communists—shrewdly, patiently, with infinite imagination, after almost endless consultations with native leaders, and, he thought, with a certainty of victory. The planning had been in absolute secret; in fact, only three members of the U. S. Embassy staff knew about the swift, ruthless campaign which would soon take place. To ensure maximum security, MacWhite had had all his secret discussions in the privacy of his residence.
MacWhite was enthusiastic about the battle. He did not underestimate the strength of the Communists in Sarkhan, but neither did he underestimate his own strengths and capabilities. In fact, Ambassador MacWhite regarded his anticipated combat with the Communists as the capstone of his career. He saw it as a battle in which the shrewdness of the businessman, the tactical ingenuity of the military man, and the intelligence and persistence of the diplomat would all be combined to achieve a victory which was, although Ambassador MacWhite would never have said it in so arrogant a way, almost a personal victory.
This afternoon he meant to cement another fragment into the wall of his strategy against the Communists. He was waiting for the Honorable Li Pang. Mr. Li was a representative of Generalissimo Chiang Kaishek. Ambassador MacWhite had invited Li to come to Sarkhan to meet with the local Chinese leaders. Most of the local Chinese had lived in Sarkhan for five generations. They considered themselves native Sarkhanese and highly patriotic. And in a way which was baffling to the Occidental mind, they also considered themselves patriotic Chinese, and saw no conflict in this dual obligation.
Li and MacWhite were old friends. They were both businessmen; and although they had left business for quite different reasons, they both left rich. They were both soldiers. And, by a curious coincidence, they were both Episcopalians. They understood one another. MacWhite was sure that Li would help commit the local Chinese to the battle against the native Communists. When he was sure of this, MacWhite was ready to move.
As he looked out of the plateglass window of the Embassy Residence, Ambassador MacWhite was aware of the fact that Donald and Roger were in the room behind him. Somehow the small pitter-patter noises that they were making were a comfort to him. Donald and Roger were both elderly Chinese. The only English words they knew were the names given them by their American employers and a few necessary household terms. They had been trusted servants of the Embassy since an American ambassador to Sarkhan had hired them in 1939. They worked with an efficiency, dedication, and kindliness that never failed to touch Ambassador MacWhite. They often helped Molly with the boys. They were both excellent cooks and superb butlers. They were, somehow, a symbol of the decent Asian, and they made the entire struggle in which Ambassador MacWhite was engaged meaningful and important. They represented the honor and morality which had been taught by Confucius.
Ambassador MacWhite turned and walked toward the stairs as Mr. Li approached.
"Your Excellency, I have prepared a pitcher of very dry and cold martinis in your honor," MacWhite said, smiling.
"Your Excellency, I am prepared to drink the entire pitcher," Li said and smiled back. "Did I ever tell you, Ambassador MacWhite, the story of the woman who got stuck in the lavatory on the thirty-fourth floor of the Waldorf-Astoria, and who lived on martinis because they were the only things that could be siphoned in through the keyhole?"
Ambassador MacWhite laughed, and poured martinis into extremely large and cold glasses. They drank and talked quietly for ten minutes. In another half-hour Molly would join them and they would have a long and pleasant dinner. Before Molly came down, MacWhite had to talk to Li. When Li had finished a story he was telling, MacWhite leaned toward him.
"Li, I have been frank with you and you have, I think, been frank with me," MacWhite said. "I should like to discuss with you a subject which I think is of the utmost importance."
"If it's anything I can do for you, Gilbert, you may be sure of it." Li said. MacWhite paused while Donald filled their glasses with martinis; then he spoke.
"The problem is simple, Li. With your military background, you'll understand it quickly," MacWhite said. "It's a matter of strategic intelligence. I should like to know which of the Chinese leaders are sympathetic to the Communists. I have an absolutely flawless plan for getting them out of the country..."
Li did not stop smiling; but in some subtle, quick way his entire expression changed. He was still smiling, he was still sipping the martini, he was still poised. But his eyes had gone icy hard, and he was looking over MacWhite's shoulder at Donald and Roger who were standing at the serving table about fifteen feet away. He laughed softly, but MacWhite was aware that there was a warning in the laugh. The entire mood of the conversation had changed. MacWhite, a sensitive person, knew that he was in trouble.
"Now please understand me, Li, I would not use this information to hurt any good Chinese in Sarkhan," MacWhite said. "It would be for my ears only; but I think you can see that it would be critical in the coming struggle against the Communists in this country."
"I am aware of that, Gilbert," Li said. "I can see at once the importance of the question."
"But somehow it disturbs you?"
Li finished his martini in a long slow steady sip, and put the empty glass on the table. Then he lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and ground the cigarette out in the ashtray. When he looked up his face was utterly foreign to MacWhite. For the first time in his life MacWhite saw a completely furious Oriental. MacWhite was shaken.
"Gilbert, you are a fool. A great fool," Li said. "I am speaking softly so that only you will hear my voice. But to discuss matters of such importance with servants in the room . . ."
MacWhite interrupted him, "Donald and Roger are old and trusted. They don't understand a word of English. And they're on the other side of the room behind the pantry screen."
"No one, Gilbert, is to be trusted, whether he is an old servant or not," Li said. "Whether he is next to you or in the basement."
From the white marks around Li's nose and mouth Mao-White knew that he was not joking.
"Let me reassure you, Li," MacWhite said. "Neither Donald nor Roger can understand a word of English. Before I hired them I had their credentials checked with the Sarkhan national police authorities. My predecessor vouched for their integrity and honesty. In 1941, these men buried the Embassy valuables when the Japs came. After the war they came back and returned them. That silver service over there is one of the things they saved."
When Li spoke his voice was still flat and cold and the lines had not vanished from his nose and mouth. "Gilbert, I must say it again, I have just seen you do a foolish thing."
There was nothing that Li could have said that would have been more offensive to MacWhite. Li was accusing MacWhite of being neither tough-minded nor security conscious, things that he prided himself he was. In fact, although he would not tell Li this, MacWhite had laid elaborate traps to see if Donald and Roger spoke only Chinese. He had often called peremptory commands to them in English; when their strides never broke, and their faces never changed expression, he had been satisfied that they knew no English. He was also certain that they could not write. He had never seen either of them with a pen or pencil in his hand, nor had either ever sent a letter from the house.
MacWhite scowled, his face reflecting his thoughts.
These two Chinese are my friends. They have served America for almost twenty years. During the 'war they risked their lives for us.
The expression on Li's face did not change in the slightest. He walked up to the bar, picked up the pitcher of martinis, and refilled MacWhite's glass and his own. Then he sat down and faced MacWhite.
"You are a clever man, Gilbert," Li said. "Now, if you wanted information from the American Embassy, where would be the perfect place to have your spy?"
"As the ambassador's secretary."
"And next?"
"As his valet," said MacWhite with reluctance.
"And after that?"
"As his switchboard operator."
"Would your spy be a suspicious character, or someone who would earn his boss's trust and confidence?"
MacWhite looked up sharply. For the first time he felt a flash of doubt, a tiny gnaw of anxiety. All of these positions in his embassy and many more—the translators, the messengers, the chauffeurs, the clerks—all were filled by Asians. And he suddenly realized that in every U. S. Embassy in the world, and in all the USIS offices, the military assistance missions, the economic missions, these vulnerable positions were held by aliens. He began automatically, but with panic, to analyze how he allowed this to happen in his embassy.
"How much time do we have before Molly will join us?" Li asked softly.
"Almost twenty minutes," MacWhite answered.
Li leaned back in his chair and roared a command in Chinese. Almost at once Donald and Roger came trotting forward. Donald looked quickly about the room for the martini pitcher, picked it up, and splashed gin and the barest suggestion of vermouth into it. Then he stood in front of the two men and quietly filled their glasses. Li finished half of the fresh martini, placed it on the coffee-table, and stood up slowly. Something about his posture, some slight menace in his face, caused both Donald and Ambassador MacWhite to watch him closely. And as he stood up, Li changed. The smile fell away from his face, his body tensed as if under some enormous strain. Although he was six inches shorter than Donald, Donald drew back sharply as if he had been threatened. Speaking in Sarkhanese, Li ordered Roger to leave the room. Then, with eyes as black and hard as bits of chilled steel, Li turned to Donald. He spoke in Chinese, slowly, and MacWhite was able to follow the conversation easily.
"The American Ambassador tells me that things are being stolen from this embassy," Li said in a low, hard voice. "A valuable wristwatch is missing. Four bottles of Scotch whiskey are missing. The Ambassador is determined to find the person that stole these things, and we know, you cunning scum, that you are the thief."
Donald protested shrilly. He had never stolen anything, he wailed, and he looked beseechingly at MacWhite. Li stepped forward and slapped Donald across the mouth.
MacWhite was shocked. Li's fingers left four red marks on Donald's cheek. Donald's old and kindly face was twisted in surprise, his jaw open.