The Ninja and the Diplomat, page 2
part #2 of The Chinese Spymaster Series
Wang smiled, nodded, and as the conscientious chief that he was, probed, “Is there any particular aspect of agency work that troubles you?”
“All of it,” Ma grumbled. “When I was an operative,” he continued with nostalgia in his voice, “I usually had only two or three crises, at the most, to deal with at any one time. By the way, how is it that in the movies and western novels, the good guys only fight one set of bad guys at a time?”
“The tyranny of Aristotelian unities,” mumbled Wang in a voice so low that Ma concluded he was talking only to himself and did not require a response.
The younger man continued, “We seem required to emulate the acrobats and jugglers we send on cultural missions and have to keep at least a couple dozen balls or plates in the air.”
You have no idea, thought Wang, as he recalled his own struggles with competing demands. Priorities set by his then chief, queries raised by the police or the army or the Foreign Ministry, operational questions brought up by his agents, and political imperatives set by this or that committee of the Party. They had multiplied when he was promoted to the Party Politburo. Now that he had to fill in for Senior Commissar Cai, he had to travel to new galaxies of state and party bureaucracies.
He announced aloud, “And we never find closure for all of them. It is real life, young man.” Standing and thus indicating that their meeting was over, he said, “Be sure to review all Kim’s movements and contacts over the past month. I’ll see you at the CPS meeting in a few minutes.”
As Ma left, Wang pressed a speed dial number on his cell phone. He was troubled that Ma should be so rattled and wondered if Hu, his former head of operations, might have personal insight into Ma’s nervousness. His call went to voicemail so he left a brief message and proceeded to the meeting of the Committee on Public Safety.
This required him to climb a flight of stairs to the next floor and to pass through another security check, a measure he himself had instituted. The room he entered held a round table around which seven could sit comfortably, a representative each from the Army, Police, Intelligence Agency, Foreign Ministry, Finance Ministry and two from the party leadership. Along the walls were more chairs in the event any member brought aides along. A map of China nearly covered one wall; Wang knew it was a relic of a previous era but was not ready to see it replaced by the flat panels that covered two other walls. Any image could be displayed on them as the need arose. But Wang thought the old map on the wall would serve to remind the committee of its unchanging mission. Seven flasks containing hot tea had been placed around the table. Seven ash-trays had been placed on the table; senior commissar Cai’s had usually been overflowing by the end of each meeting and his enthusiastic chain-smoking had influenced others. Wang expected that Cai’s absence today might discourage them.
The spymaster congratulated himself on completing a mental checklist of the members of this committee and their likely questions and answers. It was a familiar task as he had attended the meetings for more than a decade. Today, however, he would chair the meeting. The thought did not daunt him since he was familiar with the kind of issues brought to this committee. But he noticed a shift in his own perspective. He was not the representative of the intelligence agency; he had to think of the mission of the entire committee.
It was a small intellectual leap for him to imagine similar shifts of perspectives in every other committee. Most committee members represented the interest of some part of the government. Did the senior member of the politburo chairing those meetings think of the work of the committee as a whole and, by extension, did they dedicate themselves to the entire enterprise of governing the People’s Republic? If every representative to a committee or assembly faithfully championed the interests of his ministry or organization, Wang wondered, who espoused the good of the whole?
At this meeting of the CPS, the finance ministry representative, Assistant Minister Zhang, asked the most salient question. “How would the PRC react in the event that a country purchasing arms from China discovered that similar arms had found their way into rebel or dissident hands?” Essentially, he questioned if the state’s control of arms dealers, who might be in competition with the state, was secure. An intense and stern-looking man, he had been on the committee for over two years and was rumored to be in line for promotion within his ministry in a year, pending review by the party’s department of organization. He did not usually ask many questions. The question he posed on this occasion, as usual, challenged an existing practice.
Wang had long concluded that Zhang carefully cultivated his dour demeanor to disguise an impish humor and a politically risky willingness to follow the logic of his thoughts wherever it led.
“A very good question,” agreed the representative from the MFA, the newly appointed deputy minister Yu who had served many years as a brilliant diplomat dispatched to the United Kingdom and other countries critical to China’s interest. Despite many years on the ‘embassy circuit,’ he had succumbed neither to its calories nor its cynicism. At fifty, he retained a youthful trim as well as the same enthusiasm in the search for reason and agreement despite the opacity and hollowness all too common in diplomacy. This enthusiasm, even passion, was reflected in his intense, dark brown eyes. His recent appointment to the CPS was a relief to the other members of the committee who had long tired of the uncommunicative presence of the previous MFA representative.
Yu continued, “I can assure this committee that countries who purchase arms from China or receive weapons from us as a form of aid, are well aware that arms dealers are very competitive and do not care what countries provide their inventory. At the same time, countries where arms are manufactured are not generally held responsible for such instruments of destruction. Much inventory, for example, was left by the Americans in Iraq and Afghanistan, but the United States is merely embarrassed, if that, when the same weapons show up in the hands of al-Qaeda or the Islamic State.”
Wang reflected on the refreshingly direct answer and expected the army representative would be similarly forth-coming. General Deng, freshly minted as major-general of the People’s Army and also the acting national director of military logistics and supplies, responded by holding forth on the integrity of the procedures he had put into place as chief of security for the arms manufacturing sector. He was ruggedly handsome although only of medium height, and was dressed as usual in what broadly hinted at designer fatigues. He concluded by stating, “We are acutely aware of the importance of keeping Chinese inventions and supplies secure. The Army has consulted with other institutions, both in China and overseas, to determine ‘best practices’ and to establish protocols for security of our factories and storage depots.”
The old spymaster smiled in recalling how Deng had not hesitated even at the first meeting he attended to speak his mind. He had thought then that the CPS had seen the last of the general. Yet here he was, his blunt honesty having won wide respect even when he spoke out of turn.
“Does China knowingly sell arms to both sides of a conflict?” asked Zhang, following up on his initial enquiry. “I ask because our sales, though only a small fraction of the $85 billion global market, are growing. I wondered if any of our buyers might have qualms.”
“The Foreign Ministry would probably block the sale of arms to the rebels and separatists against our allies,” replied Yu. “It would be unfortunate if arms were to be stolen from our military warehouses and sold to such groups. Speaking hypothetically, the reaction of our allies would be tempered by a sense of realism.”
“I hope to preside over a logistics department in which such accidents will be rare,” declared Deng.
“It would still be a good idea to accept an oversight committee from the party secretariat,” urged Commissar Long, who was attending his first meeting as an alternate representative from the politburo sent to maintain its representation on this vital committee at two, twice that of any one service branch. He himself had served in the party secretariat for nearly two decades before promotion to the politburo.
“I agree, but must say that the Army leadership is very sensitive to any suggestion that it might be in need of supervision,” replied Deng.
“No need to disclose internal debates, General,” said Wang companionably, to close the discussion. Everyone on the CPS knew that Deng was inclined to be more outspoken than circumspect. Wang was relieved that the meeting ended without introducing any other pressing matter.
At the end of the meeting, Acting Commissioner Wen, the police representative and an old friend of Wang’s, slipped him a note. It simply read, “Kim.”
Wang nodded and scribbled on it, “Red Pagoda,” before returning the piece of paper. When he was back in his office he used his red telephone to reach Wen. The red phone belonged to a communication system, limited to about four hundred instruments, installed by the Party for greater ease of conversation among the country’s elite. It was their private phone network.
“Can you arrange for him to be brought here or should I be ready to travel?”
“It would be best if you could meet him at the usual military base.”
“Very well. Sometime this evening if possible, yes? I can leave in an hour. Just have his escort from the prison bring him a packet of those Chinese-made cigarettes. It might reassure him.” About two years ago, Wang had recruited Kim, the North Korean arms dealer, and discovered that the latter cherished boyhood memories of the heavy and sweetish cigarettes sold under that brand. He planned only to spend an hour or two with the North Korean and hoped the cigarettes would help to re-establish rapport.
“Don’t forget our family dinner this Friday. Our mother-in-law is particularly anxious to celebrate the first birthday of her new grandson, an old Chinese custom you know.” The two men had married sisters and Wen could not entirely keep the hint of gloating from his voice as Wang resisted his friends attempts at match-making and had only two years ago married the younger sister.
At that time, neither Wang nor younger sister Shu, then turning forty, had planned on having any children, but there was never any question of not having this one when the pregnancy surprised them. Social pressure, the pure delight of prospective aunt and grandmother, and the sheer challenge and adventure of such an undertaking had decided the matter for them. Besides, they reasoned that, in addition to the support of doting members of the extended family, there was always the option of a boarding school should the task of parenting a teenager threaten to overwhelm.
As Wang hung up the red phone, his mobile phone rang. He responded without greeting, “Just don’t call me the spymaster.”
Hu, the former head of operations and administration at Wang’s agency, chuckled and remarked, “I am only returning your call.”
“Actually, my original question has been answered, but I have many more. How are you?” Wang decided that he would keep his concern over Ma to himself but was genuinely interested in the career of his former associate.
“I am well, thank you. I am not far from Beijing right now, just visiting my capitalist empire,” said Hu referring to the small-town herbal medicine business he had launched for his friends in a small village.
“Ah, you will be well rewarded, I am sure. It will bring very good karma,” pronounced Wang, in the mood for light-hearted banter. “Would you be able to come for dinner this Friday? It will be at the Wens’. My sister-in-law and mother-in-law, the grandmother of my son and heir, will be there as well as many family members, but we can talk.” A lifetime in intelligence gathering, not to mention recent international news headlines about data-mining by a certain foreign security agency, had encouraged even greater caution upon Wang, who did not completely trust even the red phones to be secure.
“Thank you. I can stretch my leave that little bit and would be delighted to see you again.”
“Our family has been commanded to appear at six but you should feel free to come whenever you can. We’ll eat at seven.”
After Hu hung up, Wang sent a message to Ma, “Kim located,” referring to the intelligence asset who had sent the enigmatic message that had agitated Ma. Then he called his wife to let her know not to expect him that evening. It had been one of the things they had lingered over as they considered marriage. Both had jobs that often required monomaniacal focus and each needed to be sure the other would be supportive during these emergencies.
Xiao Shu (the younger Shu sister), as Wang often called his wife in the peculiarly detached fashion of Chinese forms of address, knew that such calls would be more frequent for her husband but had persuaded him that their commitment to each other would survive these demands.
***
Wang then left for the special plane that would take him to the military base where he would tease whatever intelligence he could from the arms dealer.
Inspector Chen was the acting police commissioner’s personal aide sent to accompany Wang and to brief him on the details of the arrests made the previous day. He was nearly thirty years old with a positive, practically sunny, outlook on life in the police force. He introduced himself with typically Chinese self-deprecation.“Chen is my family name, one of the most common in China. There might be fifty million of us with that name. In the old days, we would be distinguished in our home village as butcher Chen or shoemaker Chen. Nowadays, it might be army general Chen or policeman Chen or Shanghai real-estate Chen.”
Wang nodded then responded by addressing the security situation warily, “The police station is very likely to have been infiltrated by Viktor’s local associates.”
“The vice unit in Macau is well-aware of that and made arrangements to have the prisoners taken out of the local prison and interrogated separately at a military base and then to an army hospital,” responded Chen. “Different teams from the police and the army were used at each stage and for each of the prisoners. Although their cells are within sight and sound of each other in the police station, we are reasonably confident that the ‘cut outs’ have made it difficult, if not impossible, for Viktor to find out about Kim’s relationship with us.”
Wang thought aloud, “These tactics are extraordinary enough that they might also have exactly the opposite effect, alerting our enemies to some unusual situation.”
As Chen appeared startled by that thought, Wang continued, “Ah, don’t mind me. We old spies think too much and suspect everything.”
The young policeman paused and reflected with relief that his work seemed more straightforward as he reported, “I understand that Viktor and his men have been interrogated and the treatment was not particularly gentle. Perhaps that will preoccupy their thinking for a while. I understand also that they have been injected with something that is almost impossible to trace but will allow us to track them. It is still experimental and expected to work only for about a month.”
Wang nodded and grumbled, “Biotechnology to supplement our inadequate spy-craft in certain countries. We need to find out more about Viktor’s background and associations in Eastern Europe. I would guess that his people or his money will get him out of Macau in a few days. Fortunately, we do not need that to track Kim wherever he is likely to travel.” The old spymaster made a mental note, however, to follow up with Ma and to review personally everything he and the agency found about Kim’s movements and contacts for the past month. He trusted the agency’s work and had a growing respect for Owyang, the head of the analysis department, but old habits die hard and he needed the reassurance of a personal review of the files. Then he changed tack and asked,
“Where is your hometown?”
“Zhangzhou in Fujian province,” replied Chen.
“Ah, many left from that part of China for Nanyang, the South Sea, at the end of the nineteenth century, during the Qing dynasty troubles.”
“Actually, many left for the Philippines hundreds of years before that, although the Spanish sent them back from time to time,” declared Chen.
“Really?” asked Wang. “They did not write about their voyages.” His library contained many works by Chinese travelers abroad. It was his passion to learn about the world around the Middle Kingdom, and he was particularly interested in the observations and reactions of previous generations of Chinese wanderers.
“No, they were fishermen and travelling tradesmen, not literate religious pilgrims,” responded Chen, referring to what he had heard was Wang’s favorite reading material, the memoirs of Buddhist pilgrims from China abroad. It had dovetailed with the spymaster’s chosen operational cover when he was beginning his career at the agency, a schoolteacher whose hobby it was to visit old Buddhist sites. It also led him to the discovery of the reflections of Chinese who journeyed outside China.
Chen continued, “They sailed south with the monsoons and conducted their business before returning with the opposite monsoons. Most only stayed the few months between the changing of the winds. Some stayed a few years. Others only returned to China when the Spanish threw them out.”
“Fascinating,” responded Wang. “Silly of me to have ignored their history.”
“We have had visitors from there too, including a former lady president on a visit to her ancestral village. I have myself visited the islands on holiday.”
“Would you say you know the country well?”
“Oh, no. I know enough to recognize that there are over 7,000 islands, all very different from each other and even parts of some islands have their particularities,” observed Chen. “I have also been impressed by how different the Filipinos are from us Chinese. They are so open with their emotions,” declared Chen with wonderment. “Family and friends publicly and frequently hug each other.”
“We Chinese are embarrassed by such things even though the expression of affection is probably a necessary aspect of affection itself. It is not a bad thing to recognize one’s feelings,” said Wang. “I must admit that I personally would not know how. I guess the Filipinos are culturally very different from us, even though we both eat rice.” Wang noted that the younger man frankly wondered if he had intimacy issues and decided that a confession then might be helpful to the young policeman. “I don’t remember my parents ever touching me or even showing each other much affection. Once, I witnessed the father of a schoolmate giving his wife a hug. I had visited them during the Spring Festival and was touched at this display of affection but the mother just shrugged off the embrace as if he was doing something silly.
