Never, p.33
Never, page 33
“Yes, indeed.”
“But you will have to take great care.”
“I always do,” said Wang, still bewildered and troubled. “But what, in particular, are you thinking of?”
“The danger of the story being seen as a satire on health care in contemporary China.”
“Oh, my God!” This suggestion frightened Wang. “How could that happen?”
There was even a tremor in his voice, Kai noticed.
It was not difficult to scare such men. They were terrified of seeming unfaithful to the Party line. Kai said: “There are only two ways this story could go. Either the doctors are incompetent and she dies, or the doctors are incompetent but she survives by a miracle. Either way, the doctors are incompetent.”
“But doctors knew nothing in the eighteenth century.”
“All the same, I don’t think the Party wants to see the subject of incompetent doctors raised in a popular television drama.” In township health centers only 10 percent of doctors had formal medical education. “I think you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do, of course.” Wang was now in more familiar territory, and he cottoned on fast. “Someone might post on social media: ‘I had a lousy doctor once.’ And another person could say: ‘Me too.’ And before you know it there’s a national discussion about the competence of our doctors, with people reporting personal experiences on the internet.”
Kai said: “You’re a very intelligent thinker, Wang Bowen, and you have immediately seen the dangers.”
“Yes, I have.”
“The production team look to you for guidance on such questions, and you’re well able to help them. It’s a good thing the Party has you to rely on.”
“It’s always helpful to talk to you, Chang Kai. Thank you for your input.”
Pride was satisfied. Wang had saved face. Kai went back to Ting. “I don’t think they will use that story line,” he said. “Wang has realized that it has unwelcome political implications.”
“Oh, thank you, my darling,” she said. “But do you think they’ll try something else?”
“I’m hoping my enemies will decide that it’s simpler to go straight for me, rather than attack me through you.” He did not have high hopes of this. The use of threats to the family as a way of keeping people in line was a standard Communist Party tactic. It was how the government controlled Chinese people abroad. Threats to the individual himself were much less effective.
“People are starting to leave,” Ting said. “Let’s slip out.”
They left the studio and got into the car, and Monk pulled away. Ting said: “We’ll buy something nice for dinner and have a quiet evening.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“We could get deep-fried rabbit ears. I know you love them.”
“My favorite.” Kai’s phone sounded the bell-like tone that indicated a text message. He looked at the screen and saw that the caller was unidentified. He frowned: few people had his number, and even fewer were allowed to contact him anonymously. He read the message. It was one word: IMMEDIATE.
He knew right away that it was from General Ham in North Korea. It meant that Ham wanted a meeting as soon as possible.
Ham had been quiet for almost three weeks. Something important must have happened. The country’s economic crisis was old news: there must have been a new development.
Spies often exaggerated the significance of their information in order to pump up their own importance, but Ham was not like that. Perhaps Supreme Leader Kang U-jung was about to test a nuclear warhead, which would infuriate the Americans. Perhaps he was planning some violation of the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea. He had many ways to make life difficult for the Chinese government.
There were three scheduled flights per day from Beijing to Yanji, and in an emergency Kai could use an air force plane. He called his office. His senior secretary, Peng Yawen, was still at her desk. He said: “What time is the first flight to Yanji tomorrow?”
“It’s early. . . .” Kai heard her tapping her keyboard. “Six forty-five, and it’s nonstop.”
“Book me on it, please. What time does it land?”
“Eight fifty. Can I order a car to meet you on arrival at the Chaoyangchuan airport?”
“No.” Kai preferred to be unobtrusive. “I’ll get a taxi.”
“Will you stay overnight?”
“Not if I can help it. Book me on the next flight back. We can change it if necessary.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kai hung up and calculated timings in his head. Meetings were held at Ham’s unfinished house, unless otherwise agreed. Kai should be there at about half past nine.
He replied to Ham’s message with one equally terse. It said simply: 9:30 a.m.
* * *
A cold, hard rain was falling on the airport at Yanji next morning. Kai’s plane had to circle for fifteen minutes while an air force jet landed. Civilian and military terminals shared the runway, but the military had priority—as always in China.
It was only mid-October, but Kai was glad of his winter coat as he stepped outside the terminal and queued for a taxi. As usual he gave the address of the Wumart supermarket. The driver had the radio tuned to a Korean-language station that was playing “Gangnam Style,” a familiar K-pop classic. Kai sat back and enjoyed the music.
From the supermarket Kai walked to Ham’s house. The site was a sea of mud and little work was getting done.
“I’m risking my life by seeing you,” said Ham. “But I’m probably going to get killed in the next few days anyway.”
This was startling. Kai said: “Are you serious?”
The question was superfluous. Ham was always serious. He said: “Let’s get inside out of the rain.”
They entered the unfinished building. A decorator and his apprentice were working in the grandchildren’s bedrooms, using bright pastel colors, and the distinctive smell of fresh paint filled the house, pungent and caustic, but also pleasantly suggestive of newness and smartness.
Ham led Kai into the kitchen. On the counter stood an electric kettle, a jar of tea leaves, and some cups. Ham switched the kettle on and closed the door so that their conversation could not be overheard.
The house was cold. The two men kept their coats on. There were no chairs: they leaned on the newly installed kitchen counters.
Kai said impatiently: “What is it? What’s the emergency?”
“This economic crisis is the worst since the North-South war.”
Kai already knew that. He was partly responsible for it. “And . . .”
“The supreme leader has squeezed the military budget. The vice marshals protested, and he fired them all.” Ham paused. “That was a mistake.”
“So now the military is run by a new, younger generation of officers. And . . . ?”
“For a long time the military has had a strong ultra-nationalist reformist element. They want North Korea to be independent of China. We should decide our own fate, they say; we should not be China’s lapdog. I hope I don’t offend you, my friend.”
“Not in the least.”
“In order to sustain independence they would have to reform agriculture and industry, loosening the constraints of Communist Party control.”
“As China did under Deng Xiaoping.”
“Their views have always been muted—if they were openly critical of the supreme leader they wouldn’t be officers very long. Such opinions are always stated in hushed voices, among trusted friends. But that means the supreme leader doesn’t always know who his enemies are. And many of the new cohort of leaders secretly belong to the ultra-nationalist group. They think nothing will ever improve under Kang U-jung.”
Kai began to see where he was going, and he was worried. “What are they going to do about it?”
“They’re talking about a military coup.”
“Hell.” Kai was rocked. This was serious, much more so than a Vietnamese ship near the Xisha Islands or a United Nations resolution about arms sales. North Korea had to be stable: that was a keystone of China’s defense. Any threat to Pyongyang was a threat to Beijing.
The kettle boiled and switched itself off. Neither man moved to make tea. “A coup when?” said Kai. “How?”
“The ringleaders are my colleagues, the officers at Yeongjeo-dong. They will certainly be able to take control of their own base.”
“Which means they will have nuclear weapons.”
“They consider that essential.”
Worse and worse. “How much support do they have elsewhere?”
“I don’t know. You must understand that I’m not part of the core group. They consider me a supporter, reliable but peripheral. I probably would be an enthusiastic ally, except that I chose my own route years ago.”
“But if the conspirators are serious they must be spread fairly widely.”
“I assume they’re in touch with like-minded senior officers at other army bases—but I don’t know for certain.”
“So you probably don’t know when they will make their move.”
“Soon. The army is running out of food and fuel. Perhaps next week. Or it could be tomorrow.”
Kai had to get this news to the Chinese president fast.
He considered giving the information to Beijing over the phone but immediately rejected that idea as a panic reaction. His calls to the Guoanbu were encrypted, but no code was unbreakable. Anyway, if the coup was today he was already too late, and if it was even as soon as tomorrow he had time to give warning. He would go back to Beijing immediately and report within hours.
He said: “You’d better give me some names.”
Ham stood still for a long moment, looking down at his feet on the newly tiled floor. After a while he said: “The government of North Korea is brutal and incompetent, but that’s not the problem. It’s that they lie. Everything they say is propaganda, nothing they say is true. A man can be loyal to bad leaders, but not to dishonest ones. I have betrayed the leaders of my country because they lied to me.”
Kai did not want to listen to this. He was in a hurry. But he sensed that Ham had to say it, so he remained silent.
“A long time ago I resolved to take care of my family and myself,” Ham said in the heavy tones of an older man reflecting on the choices that had decided the course of his life. “I encouraged my daughter to move here, to China. I began to spy for you and accumulate money. Eventually I started to build my retirement home. In all of that, I did nothing that made me feel ashamed. But now . . .”
Kai said: “I get that. But you’re following your destiny now. As you said, you made the key decisions long ago.”
Ham ignored that. “Now I’m about to betray my comrades in arms, men who only want their country to be truly independent.” He paused, then said sadly: “Men who have never lied to me.”
“I understand how you feel,” Kai said quietly. “But we have to stop this coup. We can’t tell how it will end. We must not allow North Korea to spin out of control.”
Still Ham hesitated.
Kai said: “What was the point of telling me about the plot, if not to put a stop to it?”
“My comrades will be executed.”
“How many people do you think they would kill in their coup?”
“There would be casualties, of course.”
“You bet. Thousands. Unless you and I prevent it by taking action today.”
“You’re right. We’re all in the army, we signed up for battle. I must be going soft in my old age.” Ham shook himself. “The rebel leader is the base commander, my immediate superior, General Pak Jae-jin.”
Kai wrote the name in his phone’s clipboard.
Ham gave him six more names, and Kai noted each one.
Then Kai said: “You’ll return to Yeongjeo-dong today?”
“Yes. And I probably won’t be able to come to China for the next few days at least.”
“If you need to report to me, we may have to talk openly on the phone.”
“I’ll take precautions.”
“What precautions?”
“I’ll steal someone else’s phone.”
“And after you’ve called me?”
“I’ll throw the phone in the river.”
“Good enough.” He shook Ham’s hand. “Be careful, my friend. Survive the emergency, then retire and come back here.” He looked around the gleaming modern kitchen. “You deserve this.”
“Thank you.”
He left the site and walked toward the supermarket. On the way he called a cab. Stored in his phone he had a list of all the taxi firms in Yanji, and he had never used one twice. No driver got the chance to notice the pattern of his movements.
He dialed the Guoanbu and spoke to Peng Yawen. “Call the office of the president,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she said crisply. Nothing flustered her. She probably could have done Kai’s job.
“Say it’s vital that I speak to him today. I have extraordinary intelligence that cannot be mentioned over the phone.”
“Extraordinary intelligence, yes.”
Kai could imagine her pencil racing across the page of her notebook. “Then call the air force and tell them I must have an immediate flight to Beijing. I’ll be at the air base within half an hour.”
“Mr. Chang, I’d better tell the president’s office that you need an appointment this afternoon or this evening. You won’t be back before then.”
“Good thinking.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“As soon as the president’s people give you a time when he can meet me, call the Foreign Ministry and say I would like Wu Bai to attend the meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Keep in touch with your progress.”
“Of course.”
Kai hung up. A minute later he arrived at the Wumart store to find a taxi waiting for him. The driver was watching a South Korean television drama on his phone.
Kai got into the back and said: “Longjing air base, please.”
* * *
The headquarters of the Chinese government was a fifteen-hundred-acre compound known as Zhongnanhai. In the old heart of Beijing, it was adjacent to the Forbidden City and had once been the emperor’s park. Kai’s driver, Monk, went in by the south entrance, called the Gate of the New China. The view from the gate to the interior was hidden from prying eyes by a screen wall with the giant slogan serve the people written in the distinctive calligraphy of Mao Zedong, a stylish cursive hand that was recognized by a billion people.
The public had been admitted to Zhongnanhai for a brief period in the let-it-all-hang-out atmosphere of the Cultural Revolution, but now security was massive. The firepower at the Gate of the New China might have withstood an invasion. Helmeted troops with bullpup rifles stared menacingly while guards examined the underside of the car with mirrors. Even though Kai had visited the president before, his Guoanbu identity card was carefully scrutinized and his appointment double-checked. When his bona fides had at last been established, tire-shredding obstacles sank back into the tarmac so that the car could go forward.
Two lakes took up more than half the area of Zhongnanhai. The water bleakly reflected the gray sky. Just looking at it made Kai shiver. It would freeze in a hard winter. Kai’s car circled the southernmost lake clockwise to the northwest quarter, where most of the land was. The buildings were traditional Chinese palaces and summer houses with swooping pagoda roofs, suitable to the pleasure garden this had once been.
The compound was the official home of members of the Politburo Standing Committee, including the president, but they were not obliged to live there, and some chose to stay in their homes outside. The grand reception rooms were now used for conferences.
Monk parked outside Qinzheng Hall, on the far side of the first lake. This was a new building on the site of what had once been an imperial palace. The office of the president was here. There were no helmeted infantry, but Kai noticed several burly young men in cheap suits that bulged with ill-concealed weapons.
In the lobby Kai stood at a desk where his face was compared with an image on record. He then stepped into a security booth and was scanned for concealed weapons.
On the other side he met the head of presidential security, who was on his way out. Wang Qingli was a crony of Kai’s father, and they had met at Chang Jianjun’s house. Qingli was part of the conservative old guard but smarter, perhaps because he was often with the president. He was well groomed, his hair brushed back and neatly parted, his navy blue suit well cut in the European style—in fact, very like the man he guarded. He greeted Kai with a smile and a handshake and escorted him up the stairs. He asked after Ting and said that his wife never missed an episode of Love in the Palace. Kai had heard that from a hundred men, but he did not mind: he was happy that Ting was so successful.
The building was furnished in a style Kai liked. Traditional Chinese sideboards and screens were carefully mixed with comfortable modern seating so that neither looked out of place. This contrasted with many of the other buildings, which were still stuck with the splayed-leg furniture and atom-inspired fabrics that had once been chic and now looked awkward and shabby.
In the president’s waiting room Kai saw Foreign Minister Wu Bai, lounging on a couch with a glass of sparkling water. He was immaculate in a black suit with a herringbone weave, a gleaming white shirt, and a dark gray tie with a faint red stripe. “I’m glad you showed up,” he said sarcastically. “In a few more minutes I would have had to tell President Chen that I don’t know why the fuck I’m here.”
He was Kai’s superior, so Kai should have been here before him, not the other way around. “I just flew back from Yanji,” Kai said. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
“You’d better tell me what the hell you’re up to.”
“But you will have to take great care.”
“I always do,” said Wang, still bewildered and troubled. “But what, in particular, are you thinking of?”
“The danger of the story being seen as a satire on health care in contemporary China.”
“Oh, my God!” This suggestion frightened Wang. “How could that happen?”
There was even a tremor in his voice, Kai noticed.
It was not difficult to scare such men. They were terrified of seeming unfaithful to the Party line. Kai said: “There are only two ways this story could go. Either the doctors are incompetent and she dies, or the doctors are incompetent but she survives by a miracle. Either way, the doctors are incompetent.”
“But doctors knew nothing in the eighteenth century.”
“All the same, I don’t think the Party wants to see the subject of incompetent doctors raised in a popular television drama.” In township health centers only 10 percent of doctors had formal medical education. “I think you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do, of course.” Wang was now in more familiar territory, and he cottoned on fast. “Someone might post on social media: ‘I had a lousy doctor once.’ And another person could say: ‘Me too.’ And before you know it there’s a national discussion about the competence of our doctors, with people reporting personal experiences on the internet.”
Kai said: “You’re a very intelligent thinker, Wang Bowen, and you have immediately seen the dangers.”
“Yes, I have.”
“The production team look to you for guidance on such questions, and you’re well able to help them. It’s a good thing the Party has you to rely on.”
“It’s always helpful to talk to you, Chang Kai. Thank you for your input.”
Pride was satisfied. Wang had saved face. Kai went back to Ting. “I don’t think they will use that story line,” he said. “Wang has realized that it has unwelcome political implications.”
“Oh, thank you, my darling,” she said. “But do you think they’ll try something else?”
“I’m hoping my enemies will decide that it’s simpler to go straight for me, rather than attack me through you.” He did not have high hopes of this. The use of threats to the family as a way of keeping people in line was a standard Communist Party tactic. It was how the government controlled Chinese people abroad. Threats to the individual himself were much less effective.
“People are starting to leave,” Ting said. “Let’s slip out.”
They left the studio and got into the car, and Monk pulled away. Ting said: “We’ll buy something nice for dinner and have a quiet evening.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“We could get deep-fried rabbit ears. I know you love them.”
“My favorite.” Kai’s phone sounded the bell-like tone that indicated a text message. He looked at the screen and saw that the caller was unidentified. He frowned: few people had his number, and even fewer were allowed to contact him anonymously. He read the message. It was one word: IMMEDIATE.
He knew right away that it was from General Ham in North Korea. It meant that Ham wanted a meeting as soon as possible.
Ham had been quiet for almost three weeks. Something important must have happened. The country’s economic crisis was old news: there must have been a new development.
Spies often exaggerated the significance of their information in order to pump up their own importance, but Ham was not like that. Perhaps Supreme Leader Kang U-jung was about to test a nuclear warhead, which would infuriate the Americans. Perhaps he was planning some violation of the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea. He had many ways to make life difficult for the Chinese government.
There were three scheduled flights per day from Beijing to Yanji, and in an emergency Kai could use an air force plane. He called his office. His senior secretary, Peng Yawen, was still at her desk. He said: “What time is the first flight to Yanji tomorrow?”
“It’s early. . . .” Kai heard her tapping her keyboard. “Six forty-five, and it’s nonstop.”
“Book me on it, please. What time does it land?”
“Eight fifty. Can I order a car to meet you on arrival at the Chaoyangchuan airport?”
“No.” Kai preferred to be unobtrusive. “I’ll get a taxi.”
“Will you stay overnight?”
“Not if I can help it. Book me on the next flight back. We can change it if necessary.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kai hung up and calculated timings in his head. Meetings were held at Ham’s unfinished house, unless otherwise agreed. Kai should be there at about half past nine.
He replied to Ham’s message with one equally terse. It said simply: 9:30 a.m.
* * *
A cold, hard rain was falling on the airport at Yanji next morning. Kai’s plane had to circle for fifteen minutes while an air force jet landed. Civilian and military terminals shared the runway, but the military had priority—as always in China.
It was only mid-October, but Kai was glad of his winter coat as he stepped outside the terminal and queued for a taxi. As usual he gave the address of the Wumart supermarket. The driver had the radio tuned to a Korean-language station that was playing “Gangnam Style,” a familiar K-pop classic. Kai sat back and enjoyed the music.
From the supermarket Kai walked to Ham’s house. The site was a sea of mud and little work was getting done.
“I’m risking my life by seeing you,” said Ham. “But I’m probably going to get killed in the next few days anyway.”
This was startling. Kai said: “Are you serious?”
The question was superfluous. Ham was always serious. He said: “Let’s get inside out of the rain.”
They entered the unfinished building. A decorator and his apprentice were working in the grandchildren’s bedrooms, using bright pastel colors, and the distinctive smell of fresh paint filled the house, pungent and caustic, but also pleasantly suggestive of newness and smartness.
Ham led Kai into the kitchen. On the counter stood an electric kettle, a jar of tea leaves, and some cups. Ham switched the kettle on and closed the door so that their conversation could not be overheard.
The house was cold. The two men kept their coats on. There were no chairs: they leaned on the newly installed kitchen counters.
Kai said impatiently: “What is it? What’s the emergency?”
“This economic crisis is the worst since the North-South war.”
Kai already knew that. He was partly responsible for it. “And . . .”
“The supreme leader has squeezed the military budget. The vice marshals protested, and he fired them all.” Ham paused. “That was a mistake.”
“So now the military is run by a new, younger generation of officers. And . . . ?”
“For a long time the military has had a strong ultra-nationalist reformist element. They want North Korea to be independent of China. We should decide our own fate, they say; we should not be China’s lapdog. I hope I don’t offend you, my friend.”
“Not in the least.”
“In order to sustain independence they would have to reform agriculture and industry, loosening the constraints of Communist Party control.”
“As China did under Deng Xiaoping.”
“Their views have always been muted—if they were openly critical of the supreme leader they wouldn’t be officers very long. Such opinions are always stated in hushed voices, among trusted friends. But that means the supreme leader doesn’t always know who his enemies are. And many of the new cohort of leaders secretly belong to the ultra-nationalist group. They think nothing will ever improve under Kang U-jung.”
Kai began to see where he was going, and he was worried. “What are they going to do about it?”
“They’re talking about a military coup.”
“Hell.” Kai was rocked. This was serious, much more so than a Vietnamese ship near the Xisha Islands or a United Nations resolution about arms sales. North Korea had to be stable: that was a keystone of China’s defense. Any threat to Pyongyang was a threat to Beijing.
The kettle boiled and switched itself off. Neither man moved to make tea. “A coup when?” said Kai. “How?”
“The ringleaders are my colleagues, the officers at Yeongjeo-dong. They will certainly be able to take control of their own base.”
“Which means they will have nuclear weapons.”
“They consider that essential.”
Worse and worse. “How much support do they have elsewhere?”
“I don’t know. You must understand that I’m not part of the core group. They consider me a supporter, reliable but peripheral. I probably would be an enthusiastic ally, except that I chose my own route years ago.”
“But if the conspirators are serious they must be spread fairly widely.”
“I assume they’re in touch with like-minded senior officers at other army bases—but I don’t know for certain.”
“So you probably don’t know when they will make their move.”
“Soon. The army is running out of food and fuel. Perhaps next week. Or it could be tomorrow.”
Kai had to get this news to the Chinese president fast.
He considered giving the information to Beijing over the phone but immediately rejected that idea as a panic reaction. His calls to the Guoanbu were encrypted, but no code was unbreakable. Anyway, if the coup was today he was already too late, and if it was even as soon as tomorrow he had time to give warning. He would go back to Beijing immediately and report within hours.
He said: “You’d better give me some names.”
Ham stood still for a long moment, looking down at his feet on the newly tiled floor. After a while he said: “The government of North Korea is brutal and incompetent, but that’s not the problem. It’s that they lie. Everything they say is propaganda, nothing they say is true. A man can be loyal to bad leaders, but not to dishonest ones. I have betrayed the leaders of my country because they lied to me.”
Kai did not want to listen to this. He was in a hurry. But he sensed that Ham had to say it, so he remained silent.
“A long time ago I resolved to take care of my family and myself,” Ham said in the heavy tones of an older man reflecting on the choices that had decided the course of his life. “I encouraged my daughter to move here, to China. I began to spy for you and accumulate money. Eventually I started to build my retirement home. In all of that, I did nothing that made me feel ashamed. But now . . .”
Kai said: “I get that. But you’re following your destiny now. As you said, you made the key decisions long ago.”
Ham ignored that. “Now I’m about to betray my comrades in arms, men who only want their country to be truly independent.” He paused, then said sadly: “Men who have never lied to me.”
“I understand how you feel,” Kai said quietly. “But we have to stop this coup. We can’t tell how it will end. We must not allow North Korea to spin out of control.”
Still Ham hesitated.
Kai said: “What was the point of telling me about the plot, if not to put a stop to it?”
“My comrades will be executed.”
“How many people do you think they would kill in their coup?”
“There would be casualties, of course.”
“You bet. Thousands. Unless you and I prevent it by taking action today.”
“You’re right. We’re all in the army, we signed up for battle. I must be going soft in my old age.” Ham shook himself. “The rebel leader is the base commander, my immediate superior, General Pak Jae-jin.”
Kai wrote the name in his phone’s clipboard.
Ham gave him six more names, and Kai noted each one.
Then Kai said: “You’ll return to Yeongjeo-dong today?”
“Yes. And I probably won’t be able to come to China for the next few days at least.”
“If you need to report to me, we may have to talk openly on the phone.”
“I’ll take precautions.”
“What precautions?”
“I’ll steal someone else’s phone.”
“And after you’ve called me?”
“I’ll throw the phone in the river.”
“Good enough.” He shook Ham’s hand. “Be careful, my friend. Survive the emergency, then retire and come back here.” He looked around the gleaming modern kitchen. “You deserve this.”
“Thank you.”
He left the site and walked toward the supermarket. On the way he called a cab. Stored in his phone he had a list of all the taxi firms in Yanji, and he had never used one twice. No driver got the chance to notice the pattern of his movements.
He dialed the Guoanbu and spoke to Peng Yawen. “Call the office of the president,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she said crisply. Nothing flustered her. She probably could have done Kai’s job.
“Say it’s vital that I speak to him today. I have extraordinary intelligence that cannot be mentioned over the phone.”
“Extraordinary intelligence, yes.”
Kai could imagine her pencil racing across the page of her notebook. “Then call the air force and tell them I must have an immediate flight to Beijing. I’ll be at the air base within half an hour.”
“Mr. Chang, I’d better tell the president’s office that you need an appointment this afternoon or this evening. You won’t be back before then.”
“Good thinking.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“As soon as the president’s people give you a time when he can meet me, call the Foreign Ministry and say I would like Wu Bai to attend the meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Keep in touch with your progress.”
“Of course.”
Kai hung up. A minute later he arrived at the Wumart store to find a taxi waiting for him. The driver was watching a South Korean television drama on his phone.
Kai got into the back and said: “Longjing air base, please.”
* * *
The headquarters of the Chinese government was a fifteen-hundred-acre compound known as Zhongnanhai. In the old heart of Beijing, it was adjacent to the Forbidden City and had once been the emperor’s park. Kai’s driver, Monk, went in by the south entrance, called the Gate of the New China. The view from the gate to the interior was hidden from prying eyes by a screen wall with the giant slogan serve the people written in the distinctive calligraphy of Mao Zedong, a stylish cursive hand that was recognized by a billion people.
The public had been admitted to Zhongnanhai for a brief period in the let-it-all-hang-out atmosphere of the Cultural Revolution, but now security was massive. The firepower at the Gate of the New China might have withstood an invasion. Helmeted troops with bullpup rifles stared menacingly while guards examined the underside of the car with mirrors. Even though Kai had visited the president before, his Guoanbu identity card was carefully scrutinized and his appointment double-checked. When his bona fides had at last been established, tire-shredding obstacles sank back into the tarmac so that the car could go forward.
Two lakes took up more than half the area of Zhongnanhai. The water bleakly reflected the gray sky. Just looking at it made Kai shiver. It would freeze in a hard winter. Kai’s car circled the southernmost lake clockwise to the northwest quarter, where most of the land was. The buildings were traditional Chinese palaces and summer houses with swooping pagoda roofs, suitable to the pleasure garden this had once been.
The compound was the official home of members of the Politburo Standing Committee, including the president, but they were not obliged to live there, and some chose to stay in their homes outside. The grand reception rooms were now used for conferences.
Monk parked outside Qinzheng Hall, on the far side of the first lake. This was a new building on the site of what had once been an imperial palace. The office of the president was here. There were no helmeted infantry, but Kai noticed several burly young men in cheap suits that bulged with ill-concealed weapons.
In the lobby Kai stood at a desk where his face was compared with an image on record. He then stepped into a security booth and was scanned for concealed weapons.
On the other side he met the head of presidential security, who was on his way out. Wang Qingli was a crony of Kai’s father, and they had met at Chang Jianjun’s house. Qingli was part of the conservative old guard but smarter, perhaps because he was often with the president. He was well groomed, his hair brushed back and neatly parted, his navy blue suit well cut in the European style—in fact, very like the man he guarded. He greeted Kai with a smile and a handshake and escorted him up the stairs. He asked after Ting and said that his wife never missed an episode of Love in the Palace. Kai had heard that from a hundred men, but he did not mind: he was happy that Ting was so successful.
The building was furnished in a style Kai liked. Traditional Chinese sideboards and screens were carefully mixed with comfortable modern seating so that neither looked out of place. This contrasted with many of the other buildings, which were still stuck with the splayed-leg furniture and atom-inspired fabrics that had once been chic and now looked awkward and shabby.
In the president’s waiting room Kai saw Foreign Minister Wu Bai, lounging on a couch with a glass of sparkling water. He was immaculate in a black suit with a herringbone weave, a gleaming white shirt, and a dark gray tie with a faint red stripe. “I’m glad you showed up,” he said sarcastically. “In a few more minutes I would have had to tell President Chen that I don’t know why the fuck I’m here.”
He was Kai’s superior, so Kai should have been here before him, not the other way around. “I just flew back from Yanji,” Kai said. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
“You’d better tell me what the hell you’re up to.”
