China Gate: A Novel of Taiwan by William Arnold

China Gate: A Novel of Taiwan by William Arnold

Author:William Arnold [Arnold, William]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: William Arnold
Published: 2024-04-27T00:00:00+00:00


W HYTE RETAINED AN OMINOUS AND insecure feeling all the rest of his stay in Washington and all the way back across the Pacific. He sat in the rear of the first-class section of the plane making copious notes and pondering everything he’d experienced over the last three tumultuous days. The more he thought about it, the more he saw that Phillips was absolutely right—he had seriously, tragically underestimated the depth of the resentment against the Vietnam War in America and what its effect would be on them personally.

His angry defense before the committee had been carried in the next day’s Washington Post and it made him an instant celebrity in the Capitol. He’d presented the American policy position in the best possible light just when the administration was about to announce another major escalation of American ground troops. He received dozens of telegrams along with a flood of phone calls congratulating him and inviting him to weekend social functions and begging him to speak before various luncheons and youth conferences and women’s service organizations.

The night before he left, he went with Congressman Laughton to a black-tie reception at the White House welcoming the new ambassador from South Vietnam. There he was introduced to the coterie of professors, admirals and State Department whiz kids who were the real architects of American foreign policy. While the party was going on inside, several hundred demonstrators gathered outside the White House gates chanting slogans and screaming obscenities. Periodically pulling back the curtain to glance down on the spectacle below, he felt like some Versailles aristocrat on the eve of the French Revolution. It made for a bizarre evening.

Whyte found himself very much the party’s center of attention. Administration officials crowded around to shake his hand while their wives flirted with him behind their backs. “You’re the star of the show,” said one aging coquette with a wink. “They think you’re a gangster. Everyone loves a gangster. Especially when they happen to be as handsome as you.”

“I’m not a gangster, ma’am.”

“Senator Kennedy told my husband he thinks you’re a gangster. I think it’s very exciting.”

He arched his eyebrow and looked for a way out. “Senator Kennedy is mistaken.”

Whyte left the party as soon as he could. He ducked out on the meaningless flirtations and the idle banter about the war and the contemptuous jokes made about the demonstrators outside. He walked to the gate on Pennsylvania Avenue where the demonstration was taking place. As he passed through it, a demonstrator with an extraordinary mass of curly hair recognized him from his picture in the paper. “Look, it’s the self-righteous war profiteer!”

Whyte stopped and turned threateningly to the boy. “What’d you say?”

“Baby-killer!”

Their bodies were now separated by only a few inches and a thin police cord. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know they’re burning children in Asia and you’re getting rich off it, fuck-face.”

Whyte restrained his impulse to pound the boy into hamburger. “If you believe that, you’re an even bigger fool than you look.



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