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Sihanouk served. The shuttlecock went high and long with the wind, then dropped suddenly. Ted back-pedalled and hit his return hard and flat, just missing the head of the Soviet pilot. Sihanouk dived full-length onto the tarmac but hit the shuttlecock into the stomach of one of his aides.

‘Are you hurt, Your Majesty?’ Ted said.

‘You think this coup is a good thing. Don’t deny it. I can feel it in the sudden finesse with which you hit the shuttlecock and the way your feet dance.’

‘Your Majesty, I protest.’

‘You think I will embrace your friends the communists now. You think Sihanouk will make a fine Khmer Rouge king, swathed in red and doing what he’s told? 14-5: come on, let’s play.’

‘It’s 12-6, Your Majesty. I
do
think you would be wise to ally yourself with the resistance movement, if you will permit me to say it. I believe that you and the Khmer Rouge could be formidable partners for the common good. But I beg you, please believe me when I say that this coup is unacceptable. Unforgivable. Unconscionable. Unbelievable. I—’

‘You once told me that politics is getting the right result by any means.’

‘I don’t support the coup, Your Majesty. Please do not say such a thing. But—’

‘Aha! But what?’

‘But there is such a thing as an arranged marriage. Maybe now you and the Khmer Rouge might learn to love each other.’

Sihanouk served. Ted closed his eyes and swung madly. He missed the shuttlecock entirely.

‘Game!’ Sihanouk cried out triumphantly, hopping about waving his arms.

‘Oh, thank God,’ Monique said. ‘Can we please go now?’

‘Sihanouk wins again. Sihanouk wins again,’ Sihanouk called.

Sihanouk hopped all the way to the plane, his entourage trailing along behind, some of them weeping, some of them dumbstruck. Ted boarded last. He knew that Sihanouk was right about him. He felt a surging, tingling optimism and all sorts of plots began fermenting in his head. It was a feeling he knew well, and he had long ago stopped bothering to be ashamed by his capacity to revel in bad news.

Ted entered the plane at the rear. He ran down the aisle until he found Sihanouk, who sat whimpering, his head buried in Monique’s lap.

‘I’ll write a book about it,’ Ted said. ‘The whole sordid thing.’

Sihanouk looked up. His eyes cleared. ‘We’ll write it together. Yes, yes. Sihanouk and Whittlemore: two for the price of one. Move out of the way, my gorgeous fruit salad. Give your seat to Ted. We have work to do. Have you got pen and paper, Ted? Come on, come on, I am ready to write our book . . . Now, first things first: what shall we call it?’

I honestly believe that sovereignty rests with the people: remember that in
1955 I abdicated as king so that I could rule as head of state. There have
been many wildly inaccurate accounts of the coup d’état that deposed me,
the rightful leader of the Kingdom of Cambodia. What we can say for certain,
despite the prevarications of the tame Western media, is that the
United States of America intervened deliberately in the internal affairs of a
tiny, defenceless Asian nation. I have no doubt that CIA operatives planned
and helped carry out the coup, replacing strong and independent Sihanouk
with the compliant traitors Lon Nol and Sirik Matak. I responded by
accepting the hospitality of my fraternal hosts, China, and by forming, not
out of mere necessity but with pride and hope, an alliance with the left-wing
patriots, who already have liberated vast numbers of grateful rural Cambodians
from the imperialist Lon Nol-ists.

For forming this alliance the West castigates me but I make this promise:
after we save the country from the Yankee imperialists our internal policy
will be socialist and progressive but never communist. Private enterprise
will work in partnership with state monopolies. There are Marxists and
non-Marxists amongst my new allies and supporters but all of us agree on
the principles of social justice, equality and fraternity. All of us agree that
the corrupt Lon Nol-ists, who love American dollars but care nothing about
the fate of ordinary Cambodians, must be excluded from public life until
they reform.

I have chosen to tell my story to a marvellous Western writer who understands
Cambodia. In contrast to so many of his peers, who refuse to comprehend
that non-alignment is a matter of the greatest national necessity and
pride because our needs do not coincide with America’s needs, Edward
Whittlemore shows the greatest concern for the hopes and dreams of ordinary
Cambodians. He has been a loyal and passionate advocate of my position.
He is my dear friend.

—from the preface to
The CIA Ambush of Cambodia
by Prince Norodom Sihanouk as told to Edward Whittlemore

1971

In the elevator of the United Nations, rising to the twenty-eighth floor, a grey-suited American leaned close, his peppermint breath all about, and said in a firm voice, ‘Mr Edward Whittlemore?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On what you want me for.’

‘Yes, please excuse me. My name is Larry Phillips. I am a senior aide to Dr Henry Kissinger, the US national security advisor.’

‘Thank you, I know who he is.’

‘Excellent. Dr Kissinger would be delighted if you would join him for lunch tomorrow. He understands that you have no pressing engagements.’

‘Does he indeed?’

‘He means no offence. He knows that you are a busy man.
Very
busy. But he would be delighted if you could fit him into your schedule. Will you meet him?’

‘Here?’

‘No, I should have made that clear. He would like to see you in Washington DC. Will you go?’

‘I don’t believe I can.’

‘No?’

‘It’s nothing personal, of course—’

‘Of course.’

‘But given that Mr Kissinger is so well informed about my movements he must also know that my visa stipulates that I stay within thirty miles of the UN building.’

‘Ah, yes. That.’

‘All because of the disturbance at that university last time I was in the US.’

‘The New Haven riot?’

‘“Riot” is a very strong word. But, anyway, that had nothing to do with me. I was inside a basketball stadium giving a speech.’

‘The decision regarding your visa was not mine. Nor Dr Kissinger’s.’

‘No, of course: I suspect your Senator Jackson is behind it.’

‘Senator Jackson does not speak for the Nixon administration.’

‘What do you suppose he and Nixon discussed last week at the Washington Redskins game?’

‘I can assure you, President Nixon never mixes politics and sport. As I understand it, he spent the whole game designing plays and eating hotdogs.’

‘Well, it’s very disappointing, this thirty-mile thing. I was so looking forward to visiting Las Vegas this time. I understand that the showgirls are a sight to behold. And the neon lights. On top of that, now to miss the chance to meet the national security advisor.’

The lift doors opened. The speechwriter to the president of Zambia and an aide to the UN ambassador to Sri Lanka entered the lift. Ted greeted them effusively while his new friend retreated and hung his head. For an American, Ted thought, he shows admirable restraint.

Five floors later, when the two of them were alone again, Larry Phillips continued talking as if he had never been interrupted.

‘
Dr
Kissinger feels certain that if you were to catch the 7.15 train to Washington, no adverse consequences regarding your visa would eventuate.’

‘7.15 . . .What, in the morning?’

‘Will you go?’

‘Would he consider sending a car for me? And a driver?’

‘Dr Kissinger feels it would be an excellent opportunity for you to see some of our great wide land. And to gain some insight into the travelling habits of everyday mom and pop Americans.’

Ted peered closely at Larry Phillips’ face but the American betrayed no hint of humour. Ted caught the 7.15 train. He demanded a window seat and then slept the whole way, his head resting on the shoulder of a retired farmer from Ohio who peered past him, enthralled by the landscape.

I suspected Kissinger was not a man at all but some sort of top-secret committee.
When I went to Washington I imagined a posse of Henrys would
encircle and interrogate me, all high and mighty and intimidating with
their wacky hairdos, their ill-fitting suits, their low centres of gravity.

‘What’s the capital of Botswana?’ these Kissingers would yell at me. ‘Do
you prefer your bread rolls cold or at room temperature?’ ‘Do you think that
Le Duc Tho is the best person to negotiate for the North Vietnamese?’ ‘Rank
Stalin as a leader out of one to ten. Come on, hurry up. Now Hitler. Now
Idi Amin. Now Nixon.’ ‘Do you honestly believe that there is any way other
than the American way?’ ‘Why do you swear and curse so much? Did you
have a traumatic childhood?’ ‘What sort of Australian are you to be so anti-
American?’

But up close Kissinger resembled a normal human being. Only so much
smarter. His eyes were creased not by tension or sarcasm but by a playfulness
I was befuddled to find alluring. When he smiled, which he did often, he
exposed slightly crooked teeth. This utterly disarmed me: why, given the
power he wielded, didn’t he get them straightened? And whitened?

But then – not a moment too soon – I realised that Kissinger was seducing
me and I settled back to give as good as I got.

‘I hate formalities. I’m going to call you Henry,’ Ted said.

‘Welcome to the White House. And thank you for coming.’

‘I’ll eat with anybody if it’s free.’

‘Ha! You should be a diplomat. I thought we might chat for a while before lunch,’ Kissinger waved Ted to an armchair. ‘Do you agree?’

‘All right.’

‘You must allow me to apologise for the quality of the coffee. It’s true what they say.’

‘
They?
’

‘That American coffee is the worst in the civilised world.’

‘Surely you’re in a position to do something about that.’

‘
Me?
What can I do about entrenched historical mediocrity?’

‘The Vietnamese make fine coffee.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Actually, they do many things well.’

‘Yes, I agree. It’s a pity that they – let me clarify: it’s a pity that some of them – say one thing when they mean another. It makes it hard to praise them for all those things they do well. Such as coffee.’ Kissinger paused, then said, ‘You understand that this is a private conversation, not an interview?’

‘I assumed as much. Well, I won’t tell anybody that I was here.’

‘Well, I certainly ask that you don’t write about today. But feel free to recount our conversation to any relevant third party.’

‘Did you have any particular third party in mind? I’m not sure I’m privy to whatever inference you’re making. Remember, I’m no diplomat.’

‘No?’ Kissinger laughed. ‘Well, allow me to put it like this: should you happen to find yourself amongst your North Vietnamese friends, you can tell anybody you deem it worth telling that I am open to the possibility of talks.’

‘The possibility of
further
talks, you mean?’

‘Quite so.’ Kissinger sipped his coffee and grimaced.

‘Then I must tell you that I have a great deal less influence than you imagine. I’m a simple reporter who happens to go to the North Vietnamese briefings instead of yours.’

‘Oh come now, you’re too modest. Simple? I read your column all the time. You have access at the highest levels.’

‘That’s true. I’m here, aren’t I?’

‘Do you know the problem with the Vietnamese? I’ve been giving this a lot of thought.’

‘The North Vietnamese, you mean?’

‘Quite so. The problem with the
North
Vietnamese,’ Kissinger said, sweeping his arm in such a way that he implicated Ted, ‘is that they are impatient. They are extreme. They want everything all at once. They want the south handed to them as if it was theirs by right.’

‘Many people – most people – agree that it
is
theirs by right.’

‘But the Viet Minh won’t concede a thing. And the way they talk: “You must do it this way” and “We expect this of you.” That is not the appropriate language to use with a great democracy such as the United States of America. Why don’t they understand that? Why not say “We prefer” or “Would you possibly consider” or “We humbly submit” or—’

‘How about “With your permission”?’

Kissinger’s eyes narrowed and then he leaned back and laughed. ‘That’s the sort of thing. That’s it, exactly. But, really, all we want is a fair settlement. We will not capitulate, no matter how many hippies march and refuse to cut their hair, because we want a real peace for
all
the people of Indochina, including those who have put their trust in us.’

‘What about Cambodia?’

‘What about it?’

‘Prince Sihanouk sits in exile waiting for the chance to fix things in his country. Would you be prepared to meet him also?’

‘Such a stock-standard question, Ted, you disappoint me. Very well, let’s get our little press conference over and done with so we can enjoy our lunch. Yes, of course I would meet Sihanouk. Under certain circumstances.’

‘There’s always “certain circumstances.” You know your problem, don’t you?’

‘America’s problem, you mean?’

‘Exactly. You’ve picked a loser in Lon Nol. And now you’re stuck with him.’

‘But we didn’t pick Lon Nol. We were as shocked as anybody by the coup that deposed Prince Sihanouk. We have maintained open lines of communication with General Lon Nol and his forces because circumstances have forced our hand.’

‘Oh come on, don’t give me the official line. They must be the dirtiest bunch of cronies you’ve ever jumped into bed with.’

Kissinger failed to suppress a grin. ‘Obviously I am unable to respond to such a provocative statement. But if – if – I was to reply, I might ponder aloud the wisdom of you denouncing Lon Nol while extolling the virtues of the Khmer Rouge.’