Dar al Salaam: The UNCTC Files, #1

By Douglas Blackburn

In today's world fractured states and civil war have become the unsettling norm. In the midst of this chaos, the Secretary-General of the United Nations faces an extraordinary challenge: to gather a team of brilliant minds capable of detecting and intervening in the most urgent global crises. "Dar al Salaam", the first in a series, takes you on an exhilarating journey alongside Li, a Cambridge-educated senior Chinese official entrusted with this near-impossible task.

As the world teeters on the edge of an unprecedented crisis, a clandestine plot emerges to sabotage the world's oil supplies, fuel conflicts among superpowers, and resurrect the glories of a medieval Caliphate. Li sets out to recruit an international team of extraordinary individuals, each of whom possesses remarkable gifts and talents. 

In 'Dar al Salaam,' where heroes and villains blur and alliances are ever-changing, can anyone survive the unimaginable consequences of failure? Uncover an epic tale that dares to confront the darkest threats—before it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherlock Press
• Release date: Oct 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781739088118

Book preview

Acknowledgements

To my amazing wife Cristina, for her boundless love, patience, advice and encouragement.

Preface

The story this book tells, is of of a diverse group of extraordinarily talented people from rival nations who are unwillingly drawn together through political expediency and mutual mistrust, to create the core of a newly-formed institute within the United Nations. This new team will have to quickly learn to put aside their own personal issues and national agendas if they are to stand any chance of averting a near-total collapse of the world order as we know it today.

Between May 2016 and September 2017, a series of orchestrated events unfolded that came close to bringing the global order, as we know it, to its knees. An unseen hand unwittingly drew the world’s superpowers, including China, Russia, the USA and Europe, into a frenzied escalation that threatened to plunge humanity into all-out war.

A malevolent plan lays behind this downward spiral, beginning with an exquisitely orchestrated series of daring attacks on strategic oil reserves, dealing crippling blows to the great powers and igniting a chain reaction of retaliatory strikes. As well as delivering a crippling economic blow to these great powers, these daring strategic attacks initiated a chain-reaction of retaliatory counterattacks, culminating in an attempted tactical nuclear strike on the United States of America.

As you embark on this thrilling journey, the narrative seamlessly weaves together historical events spanning centuries. Beginning in the thirteenth century during the reign of the last great Arabic Caliphate in Baghdad, the story unveils how pivotal moments from World War II contribute to the ambitions of an Iraqi scientist at the University of Baghdad. Motivated by her family’s ancient plan, she seeks to reinstate her people as leaders of the Arabic world.

While Dar al Salaam is a work of fiction, its historical backdrop is meticulously researched, grounding the narrative in accuracy. Moreover, the technological advancements depicted throughout the story mirror real-world developments currently underway. Although no such United Nations Institute exists, I hope that, by the time you finished reading this book, you will agree, that just maybe, it is time that it was considered.

Prepare yourself for a gripping and enlightening experience as you delve into the pages of Dar al Salaam, a riveting exploration of personal sacrifices, international intrigue, and the urgent quest to preserve the fragile fabric of our world.

Chapter One

Latitude 53° 54’ 5.421’’, Longitude -166 ° 31’ 40.854’’.

Lliukliuk Bay, Amaknak Island, Unalaska – May 2016.

Gone Fishing

The wind sliced across the sheet ice whipping and stinging at Matthias’s face. Despite having sailed and built boats since he was a little boy, both with his father and with his grandfather before that, he had never before sat in a craft that seemed so unsuited to its task, as the one in which he now found himself. The sun appeared, briefly, though a rare gap in the clouds. It was at its zenith, Matthias noticed. It was still several degrees below freezing, and he knew that in less than two hours the faint northern sun would begin to lose its power, and once more transform this barren stretch of Pacific coastline into a dark, freezing, inhospitable place.

What the bloody hell am I doing? Matthias mumbled to himself, peering back over his shoulder from his seat in the front of the boat to glance at the giant of a man standing on the sheet ice behind him. The boat, a baidarka, as the locals called it, was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The primitive kayak had taken almost six months to build, an activity which had involved every man and woman in the small Inuit community. The dried and cured sealskins, stretched taut over the wood and bone skeleton of the boat, seemed to glide effortlessly over the ice, as the slim hunting vessel was launched by the giant man standing behind the boat, into the freezing waters of the protected bay.

Philippe, a natural outdoorsman and a close friend of Matthias, looked relaxed in the stern of the boat. His full dark beard, broad back and hands that seemed as big as shovels had been formed through years of tough manual work and life in extreme environments. Using his powerful body to paddle the boat, he smoothly guided it away from the packed ice on the shoreline and into the open bay. He grinned inwardly as he glanced forward at his new friend, the professor. Matthias sat precariously, his not inconsiderable bulk balanced on the thin wooden rail that served as a seat at the front of the boat. His portly frame and bespectacled face somehow seemed comically incongruous in this harsh, near-Arctic environment. Once their paddling began to synchronize and the boat started to glide forward in smooth rhythmic pulses, they both had time to look up and acknowledge the people in the other similarly fragile craft around them.

They knew that this was going to be no ordinary boating trip. For Matthias, the world-renowned Danish professor of anthropology, it was a once in a life-time opportunity to participate in a traditional hunt with the Inuit of Unalaska. For Philippe, who was married to Elisapie, an Inuit woman from this very community, it was a rite of passage. Glancing over at the other boats bobbing around them, they could see the two brothers, Tulugaq and Tikaani, to their left, smiling back across at them.

Despite being more heavily laden than the other boats the two brothers’ boat seemed to be able to move effortlessly across the light swell which was being kicked up by the easterly breeze. In the distance, Taliriktug and Uki could just be seen as they rounded the headland into the open sea. The sun was high in the cloud-filled sky, but the relentless easterly wind maintained a menacing presence, cutting and slashing mercilessly at any exposed areas of skin. As the small flotilla of boats left the harbour, it made a queer sight, juxtaposed as it was with the fleet of monstrous industrial trawlers currently disgorging their cargo into towering row upon row of plastic ice-filled containers. The wind still just carried the faint sound of the forklift trucks, scurrying back and forth, between the huge iron trawlers, groaning and straining at their anchors, to the stark tin-walled edifice which was the fish processing plant.

Back in the late eighteenth century, before the Russian fur traders had come to the Islands and ‘discovered’ the Aleutian Inuit, hundreds of boats, such as the ones that now carried Matthias and Philippe out into the open sea, could have been observed leaving the once pristine shoreline, from the many tens of communities which relied for their livelihood on fishing and hunting, all along the archipelago.

The two-man crews sat hunched against the wind in their long fur parkas and strange wooden hats, peering into the open bay, as their sleek, delicate craft bobbed and weaved their way silently through the waves. The small hunting party had been paddling for almost an hour. Mathias was beginning to reassess the merits of conducting applied field research. In January, when the invitation had first come through to his warm, book-lined office at the University of Copenhagen, the idea had sounded like a good one. Right now, however he thought, What the hell ever possessed me? With the wind and saltwater slashing viciously at his burnt and chapped face, he found himself straining every fibre of his being, in a vain attempt to maintain pace with Philippe’s unwavering and unnervingly deep paddle strokes.

Suddenly, from the front of the lead boat, Uki, the hunting party’s leader, stopped paddling and began to wave his short, blade-like paddle in the air. The two scouts had spotted a large family group of walrus swimming together near a kelp bed.

Philippe whispered to Matthias, Look, my old friend. It’s started. The hunt is on. Unable to speak, Matthias simply nodded vigorously, and thought that his heart was going to burst out of his chest with the effort, as they both picked up the pace and tried to steer the boat into its blocking position. Matthias finally replied with a grunt, Yes! At last, it’s happening. Let’s hope we both survive, so that I can tell my students all about it.

The trio of fragile boats had now fully encircled the walrus herd, and it was Tikaani who was preparing his harpoon and the bladder-like float that would be used for the kill. His brother tapped him on his left shoulder, and silently indicated their target with a subtle head gesture. The old cow was on the outside of the group with another younger cow and her calf. Matthias and Philippe were now only a few yards away from the group. Matthias noted how the other boats had formed an open box shape around the Walrus, which gave the animals only one opportunity to escape through the open side. Tikaani was ready, harpoon in hand; his powerful frame was coiled tightly, like a baseball pitcher ready to hurl the ball, the harpoon held high above his head, ready to stab and strike the animal as it swam past.

At that moment, Matthias’ boat was caught by a strong swell and perched precariously as he was on the thin wooden strut; he started to lose his balance. He feverishly slapped the water with his paddle to try to remain upright. The sound and energy waves from his panicked paddle slaps pulsed through the water, shocking the senses of the grazing walrus, and spreading fear and panic throughout the family group. The large bull, recognizing the need to protect his group, charged the nearest baidarka, which held the two foreigners. As the giant creature struck the delicate kayak, the thin boat, made from bone and seal skin, was driven high into the air, before crashing down on to frothy, heaving water. By now, the boat was listing precariously on its side, Paddle, man, paddle! screamed Philippe. Unable to gain any purchase on the foamy water with his paddle, Matthias tumbled from the boat into the icy water. Matthias’s attempt to scream as he hit the ice-cold water was immediately cut short, as the air was viciously sucked out of his lungs, seeming to draw the very life force out of him, as the cold frothing water began to engulf him. Noticing the two Westerners in danger, Taliriktug and Uki deftly turned their sleek long boat, and began paddling quickly to the rescue.

Meanwhile, Tikaani had speared the cow, and after a brave fight, despite her efforts, the old cow could not drag the float that was attached to the harpoon under the water. The harpoon had dug deep into the animal. Tikaani tugged at the spear, and it twisted, ripping deeper into the flesh and embedding itself further into the animal’s back. In a well-practiced and rehearsed manner, his brother, Tulugaq began to paddle the boat backwards, whilst Tikaani secured the harpoon rope to the bow of the boat.

The female had been selected by the Inuit hunting party because she was old. Sensing that she had only minutes to live – the deep wound in her back draining her of blood and oxygen – she tried one more dive, but by now she was too weak, and, although the float briefly disappeared under the surface, it quickly bounced back up to the surface, with the now still and lifeless body of the female walrus firmly attached to it. Tulugaq looked to his brother, Tikaani, and they both whispered a prayer for the female walrus as they secured her to the side of the boat.

Hold on to the boat, Matthias, shouted Philippe.

It’s cold, I can’t breathe, spluttered Matthias, as his numb hands began to lose their grip on the side of the boat. Just then, Taliriktug and Uki pushed their boat up beside the other boat trapping the professor between the two craft.

Grab my paddle, shouted Uki, placing it along the rails of both boats; as he did so, both Philippe and Uki grabbed the professor’s fur skin parka, and hauled him out of the water and back into his boat.

The house, half built into the side of the bluff, had a timber frame and sods of earth on its sloping roof. It was small, dry and extremely cosy. Towards the back, close to the granite wall of the cliff face, that served as the main supporting wall for the building, stood a fireplace. It was essentially a large pocket that had been hewn out of the granite wall; a chimney had been fashioned using a dry stone wall technique, and it rose up the granite wall until it disappeared between the wooden beams and sods of earth which formed the house’s roof. Looking up at the disappearing chimney, Matthias was fascinated by how they had managed to create a weather-proof seal between the granite cliff wall and the timber frame. It was his nose, rather than his eyes, which drew his attention back down the chimney breast, to focus on the huge metal tripod from which hung a heavy iron cauldron. A rich meaty stew was steaming inside the cauldron. Stirring the blackened cooking pot was Tapeesa, the Inuit wife of the man who only two hours earlier, balanced precariously in a fragile canoe, had thrust a wooden and bone harpoon into the flesh of a walrus weighing nearly a thousand pounds.

With a scowl, Tapeesa interrupted her stirring, and turned to her husband, Tikaani. What were you doing taking the professor out in the baidarka in this weather?

He’s a grown man; he is big enough to make his own decisions, and you know how long he has been pestering us to go out in the boats, answered Tikaani, handing Matthias some spare clothes and a hot bowl of stew.

Still a little hoarse from his involuntary immersion in the chilling waters of the North Pacific, Matthias murmured in his lilting Danish accent, You know, when that bull charged our boat, I thought that I would drown.

Philippe, who was sitting by the fire, looked up from his steaming bowl of meaty broth. I guess you need a little more practice, old man.

I’ll have you know that I’m a perfectly capable seaman. I won best in my class in the Helsingborg to Kobenhavn yacht Regatta, retorted Matthias, indignantly.

I bet, interrupted Tikaani, Tell me, how many deranged bull walruses did you have to sail past in that race?

The group laughed heartily, and Philippe raised his glass in a toast. Here’s to many more years of hunting.

Nodding and smiling, Matthias raised his glass, and said to Philippe, Let’s hope the electricity project works.

Tapeesa looked at her husband and said, Dux suxtasaq?

No, he replied. Not wind power, but suxtasaq miduq.

She raised a quizzical eyebrow at the assembled group, reiterating, this time in English, Energy from the air!

Philippe stood; as he did so, his head nearly touched the pine beams supporting the roof of the house. Yes, he explained, there is a team at the professor’s university in Copenhagen who have developed a way of filtering the charged ion particles in the air to remove the static electricity. This is then stored in large capacitors until it is needed.

Tapeesa still looked puzzled. Tikaani turned to her and said, It is fishing for electricity. With this technology, we can not only continue to live here, but also you can have enough power to use a computer and telephone here in our house. It means you can Skype our daughters in Anchorage whenever you like, without needing to go all the way into town. Maybe they will make them the generation that decide to return to us and help keep our traditions and customs alive.

After the meal, Philippe stood up. My friends, I fear I must go; my wife, Elisapie, will wonder whatever happened to me, and I only have three more days before I fly back to Quebec, to the oil fields.

I thought you had given that up, said Matthias.

I take early retirement this October. Then I will be back here for good, and Elisapie and I can start building our own Aleut Inuit house. Maybe we will even be neighbours, Tikaani, he said, with a huge grin on his face.

Hey! cried Tikaani, if you do come to live here, you’d better not speak any of that Quebec French. It’s Unangax or, at a push, English only here!

Philippe was still laughing as he trudged down the path to his jeep. Matthias, who, as usual, had drunk a little more than his share of the red wine, made to stand as well. I suppose I should go as well. Although, I can’t wait to try some of Taliriktug and Uki’s cured walrus meat, the next time I visit.

With a slight grin beginning to play at the corner of her mouth, Tapeesa placed one hand on Matthias’s arm. Not so fast, professor. We have a little memento for you to show your students. Tikaani emerged from the gloom of the rear of the house, holding a long, pointy wooden hat. It was a qayaatx ux, an Aleutian hunting hat only bestowed upon the bravest hunters or village chiefs. Trembling slightly, Matthias accepted the hat from his friends, and, with a trace of a tear in his eye, he held it to the light of the fire, taking in the elegant craftsmanship. The hat was decorated with bright wave-like patterns, which appeared to swirl around its base and reach, tentacle-like, towards its pointed tip. It was crowned with long dark walrus whiskers. He knew with certainty that the hat had once belonged to Tapeesa’s father, and maybe even to his father before him, and that it meant a lot to them.

Nodding reverently to his hosts in acknowledgement, he turned, wiped a tear from his eye, and said, That is so kind, I really don’t know how to thank you.

Professor, Taliriktug said, you have already done so much for the future of our community and way of life. This is a small token of our thanks. Mathias was smiling as he left the house; setting the hat on his head, he began softly whistling to himself, as he headed on down the path to his car.

Chapter Two

Latitude 40° 44’ 54.8658’’, Longitude -73° 58’ 4.674’’. 760

United Nations Plaza, Manhattan Island, New York – January 2017.

Eternal Compromise

Guilherme Oliveira was sixty years old. A tall, handsome man, with a well-groomed beard, and large bushy eyebrows, he was acutely aware that he had not been selected as the Secretary-General of the United Nations by the Council of the Permanent Five because he was the most experienced diplomat on the shortlist, and certainly not even because his country was seen as one of the new world emerging powerhouses. As long as Guilherme could remember, his country had been cited as the ‘next big thing’; it was known as a nation with a bright future, and to be on the cusp of achieving its potential.

Smiling cynically to himself, as he looked out his office window across the Manhattan skyline, he muttered to himself, "Ordem e Progresso." These words that were written on his country’s flag pretty much summed up his own frustration. With order, progress would come, he knew. The problem was, how the hell was a country like Brazil, which had only experienced thirty years of real democracy since the harsh military Junta had collapsed, going to achieve order? Whatever the political parties proclaimed, he knew that his country had gone from being run by a cruel and inept dictatorship, to one which was controlled by huge multinational corporations and corrupt bureaucrats and politicians. No, Guilherme knew very well that his nomination for the top job at the UN was clearly and simply because he was seen as a safe and neutral nominee. Unless mandated to do so by the UN, Brazil interfered very little in the foreign affairs of other nation states. It was located far enough away from the US and China not to be perceived as a threat or particular ally to either, and it carried none of the historic colonial baggage that most European nations had.

As he descended in the elevator down to one of the more discreet meeting rooms in the UN Headquarters building, he thought about the people he was going to be addressing today. His audience comprised of a representative of each of the Permanent Five members of the UN Security Council, as well as representatives from the World Health Organisation (WHO), World Bank and Interpol. They stood as he entered and he smiled whilst taking his time to greet them all individually. He was good with names. In fact, it was his remarkable memory and ability to never forget a face that had allowed him to rise so quickly through the ranks of the Brazilian Diplomatic Corps or Itamaraty, as it was known inside Brazil.

Ladies and Gentlemen, he said, in his rich, earthy baritone voice. The P5 members know why we are assembled today, and knowing, as I do, how difficult it is to keep anything secret in this building, I am sure that our colleagues from the WHO, World Bank and Interpol also, by now, have a fair idea about this meeting’s agenda. A hushed chuckle rippled around the room. OK, I’ve broken the ice, Guilherme thought, now it’s time to deliver the news.

It had taken Guilherme weeks of wrangling and negotiating to get these people sitting around this table for this meeting. As with all things the UN did, it had been a compromise. Everything has a price, Guilherme thought to himself, as he shuffled his notes. Dear colleagues and friends, today I announce the inauguration of a new UN affiliated body. He scanned the room for reactions as he spoke. Chuck Henderson, the US ambassador was glancing absent-mindedly at his watch, probably wondering when the meeting would end, so that he could get on with dealing with some of the more pressing ‘real world’ issues. Yes, thought Guilherme, those had been his exact words when he had first spoken with the ambassador about setting up the new agency.

After an intensive period of lobbying and bargaining, Guilherme knew that he already had everyone’s agreement in principle, even if he didn’t have their full support. So, the Secretary-General of the UN started to speak.

"The nation state system, despite first having been conceived of at the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648, was only truly policed and properly enforced after the tremendous destruction and carnage of World Wars One and Two. In an attempt to reorder and restructure the world following the dismemberment of various European and Asian Imperial orders, it was seen as a way of establishing a new unit of ‘currency’, an identifiable entity, with discrete borders and a functioning government. Its intention was to allow for greater political control for each member country, without any country being subject to external interference by other nation states or external actors.

This organisation, the United Nations, which I now have the privilege to head, was established as a greater World Council, where each member state could be represented and have an equal voice. Ladies and gentlemen, I contend that in our haste to develop a system that would prevent future world wars, this system was established too quickly. As old Empires crumbled and dissolved, defined borders delineating new states were, in some cases, hurriedly drawn on maps after World War One and Two, and no consideration was given to the cultural identity of the populations living within the borders of these states."

He noticed that the French and British Ambassadors had both raised more than an eyebrow at his mention of how their governments had been particularly responsible for carving up large swathes of Africa and Asia by the end of World War Two.

Now comes the difficult part, he thought. How do I tell them that they are a bunch of dysfunctional neo-imperialists whilst securing their agreement to fund and support this new agency, that would, on the surface, at least, seem to act against their own national interests?

This system has succeeded in preventing the world from spiralling into another world war. However, in a more important way, it is failing! Instead of great wars between nations, conflict has shifted to dozens of smaller wars within nation states. Since 1945, depending on your interpretation of the definition, there have been over eighty-two civil wars or cases of intrastate conflict, with at least seventeen conflicts currently on-going. But even this statistic does not fully explain the problems we are facing today, with a system whereby members of a religious sect or ethnic group or caste have merely taken over the role of the old imperial masters and continued to subjugate members of their own state; and whereby they continue to disproportionately apportion the state’s wealth and resources to their own kin. Indeed! This very organisation, the UN, which was established to protect these people, has become its own nemesis. I would remind you all of our overarching commandment here at the UN: ‘Non-intervention in the affairs of a sovereign nation state.’

Now that he had their attention, it was time to soften the rhetoric a little, and engage the other members from the WHO, World Bank and Interpol who were sitting around the table.

Dr Kim, Guilherme said, looking for support over to the older Korean, the Head of the World Bank. What figures does the World Bank have to quantify the negative effect of the Arab Spring on the World economy?

Well, began Kim, in his soft voice. In terms of industrial output, we calculate a global decrease of around fifteen per cent; most of this is due to uncertainty in the markets.

OK, said Guilherme. Any other effects?

Well, Kim continued. Of course, you have to factor in the additional costs of security relating to all of the refugees, social and welfare payments made by other governments, not to mention the increased burden on the health systems of the mainly EU member States.

Helen Woo, Head of the WHO, raised a hand, and Kim stopped speaking to allow his old colleague and protégé to speak. She said, You know, Kim is only speaking about the economic cost of this instability. At the WHO we have been overwhelmed with requests for support in combatting serious outbreaks of diseases that have long been eradicated in Europe, but which have been brought back into the EU with the influx of refugees. The EU health systems do not have the knowledge, capacity or experience to mount a coordinated campaign to prevent these diseases from spreading.

Thank you, Helen, said Guilherme. You know, this problem does not limit itself to what we like to term the ‘developing world’. This problem, with the current nation-state structure, exists in the ‘developed world’ too. The most recent member of the UN was South Sudan, born out of bitter war and rivalry with the North. The Balkans remain fractured after the conflict that ripped apart Yugoslavia. Both Iraq and Libya have effectively been split into three political entities through internal conflict. Ukraine remains divided and is still volatile since the Russian-sponsored war. Spain, Britain, Belgium, France, Italy, Russia and China all have elements and regions within their current borders who are pushing for devolution through political means.

Stijn Mertens, the Belgian-born head of Interpol, interjected. Mr Secretary-General, are you not painting a rather bleak picture? Interpol monitors all of these groups, and we have come a long way since the Chechen wars, the heyday of the IRA or the bombings and executions of ETA in Spain.

Maybe you are right, Stijn, replied Guilherme. "But if history teaches us anything, it is that whenever we try to resolve one issue, we create the conditions for a new one. Looking around the room, Guilherme realised that he wasn’t going to convince the representatives of the world’s most powerful countries and international organisations that their view of the world was flawed; however, he did sense that, because everyone represented had a stake in trying to resolve wars within their own national borders, he would be able to seal the deal, and gain their tacit support for the new agency.

So, down to business; I hereby announce the formation of the United Nations Centre for Technology and Culture, the UNCTC for short. This agency, which begins its preparatory organisation and training phase next month has the following mission statement. Guilherme clicked the mouse, and the screen was filled with a simple statement outlining the purpose of the new organisation. "To develop stable conditions for coexistence and development between different cultures, and to support the development of autonomous regions not subservient to a nation state through the supply and use of pertinent technologies." Not sure whether the lack of reaction from the assembled group was a sign of their indifference or their apathy, Guilherme pressed on.

And, of course, every organisation needs a leader. I am proud to introduce Mr Li Qiang Wu. Subdued applause stuttered, rather than rippled, around the room. Most notably, observed the UN Chief, the Russian and US ambassadors were not clapping. Guilherme knew that both men had voiced strong opposition to having a Chinese head of this new organisation. It had taken some considerable time, patience and much convincing to persuade the two ambassadors to support the new agency. The Americans had been given the nominee for Head of Operations, effectively the UNCTC’s second-in-command, and the Russians had been happy to be able to nominate their man for the lead agent position. Effectively, this meant that both countries would have their ‘own’ people high up in the UNCTC, and that they would receive full disclosure of any future operations undertaken by the organisation.

Li Qiang Wu was a pencil-thin man with stooped shoulders; he was unusually tall for a Han Chinese and spoke in clipped but fluent English. His years of study on his Chinese government sponsored Ph.D. programme at Cambridge University had allowed him to develop a very cultured English accent. Li rose to the stuttering applause and took in the assembled group. His face betrayed no emotion. He knew very well how much opposition there had been to his appointment. Standing erect and proud, he affected a humble tone. I am most honoured to have been given the opportunity to lead this prestigious organisation. It is encouraging for an Asian nation to be given such responsibility and reflects the changing geopolitical focus in today’s world.

Guilherme winced inwardly at these words; he knew that Li would use the opportunity to stick it to the Americans, but thought that he could have been subtler about it. As the meeting drew to a close, and Guilherme was saying farewell to the attendees, Sir Richard Belmarsh, the British Ambassador, squeezed Guilherme’s hand tightly and whispered, "You do know what happened the last time an Asian had the opportunity to exercise some power? His name was