The Ninja and the Diplomat, page 3
part #2 of The Chinese Spymaster Series
“I myself didn’t feel comfortable showing affection to my wife, when we were married. Fortunately, she is of a later generation and persuasive as well as persistent. She has helped me see the comfort that affection conveys even if I still can’t bring myself to demonstrate my feelings publicly such as you witnessed in the Philippines. Your generation and the one to follow will probably deal more smoothly with this.”
Chen nodded in appreciation of this confidence shared by the older man. The plane ride, in an exclusive security forces aircraft that smelled of jasmine air freshener over cigarette smoke, was otherwise comfortable and uneventful.
Contents
CHAPTER 3
“Hello, Mr. Kim,” Wang called out as the arms dealer was brought into his small temporary office at the army base. It was a neat and clean room that retained the scent of cigarettes and disinfectant.
“Commissar, you remembered my cigarettes. How thoughtful.”
“And you have learned that I am no longer the spymaster.”
“Such promotions are meaningful in my country too, although I suspect you are not entirely free of your duties in intelligence,” said Kim with a smile. He had lost a few pounds since their last meeting. It might have made him look more debonair, with his usual good grooming and the well-tailored suit that his Chinese jailers allowed him to retain. But he now wore a new sense of seriousness. Wang did not consider it polite to comment on this noticeable change.
Kim, on the other hand, had no qualms voicing his opinion on what he observed of Wang’s physical and mental demeanor and stated effusively, “Family life agrees with you!”
Waving off the implied compliment, Wang entreated the arms dealer, “Please, make yourself comfortable. I need to know precisely what you meant by your message.”
“I hoped you would get my meaning but I understand your need to be precise. My most recent customer is from an ASEAN country, what you call the South Sea. When I delivered the arms to him, I noticed that although my supplier is not from your country, the arms were clearly identified not only as manufactured in your country but they also had the People’s Republic of China army markings.”
“Was that what your customer ordered?”
“No. He simply wanted portable air defense systems, like those Stinger missiles used in Afghanistan against the Russians. They are sometimes called MANPADS in the jargon of the arms trade. He wanted as many as he could get for a certain amount of money. There are thousands of these in inventory all over the world and about twenty countries actually manufacture them. Your country makes a very competitive product,” commented Kim. “When I communicated with my supplier, I only specified that I needed them at the best price possible.”
“How was Viktor involved?”
Kim made a face and declared, “That man is a greedy parasite. He introduced the customer to me. I found that somewhat unusual since my customers never use anyone like Viktor as a middleman. The buyer had probably talked at a bar about needing some arms and Viktor had overheard and thought he could make some easy money. I had no objection to Viktor getting a commission, but I made it clear to him that he would have to negotiate that with the buyer. The price I negotiate with any buyer never includes any provision for a ‘finder’s fee.’ Last week, when the goods were delivered and I was paid, Viktor made a scene. I guess the buyer had used all his money for those devices or simply wouldn’t pay Viktor.”
“Was that at the hotel?”
“No, the hotel incident happened two days later. When Viktor knocked on the door then, I thought he had come to apologize for nearly starting a fight at the delivery point. It could have been ugly.”
“Well, I’m glad it was a success for you. Did you know the buyer well?”
Kim paused to reflect that his agreement with the Chinese did not oblige him to discuss his buyers or suppliers unless they posed a threat to the Chinese. He was inclined to be tenacious, a stickler, on such details like most of the natives of the Korean peninsula. On this occasion, however, he did feel some obligation since the Macau (Chinese) police had most likely saved his life from the impending shoot-out at his hotel with Viktor. He answered, “No, this is the first time we have had dealings. As soon as I found out that the buyer is a Filipino rebel, I guessed the weapons would be used internally. The man himself seemed very self-assured and intelligent but a little young. I doubt that he or the rebels who sent him believe they could topple their government with this order of arms, therefore they must be intended to attract attention.
“I am speculating, of course, and all this may be completely wrong, but you asked for my judgment regarding events that could possibly harm Chinese interest. The highest profile opportunity for an attack would be when the Philippines host the ASEAN ministerial conference in a few months. The danger to China lies in the linkage anyone might insist on making between the source of the goods and the intentions of the terrorist attackers. Perhaps I let my imagination run ahead of itself but it seemed to me that the missile remnants could and would be traced to China. Hence my message. I might have composed a haiku but I am out of practice. Naturally, I hope you will not press me on who my supplier was.”
Wang smiled and remarked, “If you tell me, you would be taking all the drudgery out of our work. That’s what we live for, you know.”
Kim bowed in acknowledgement of the Spymaster’s scruples in not asking for the name of his Chinese supplier. He continued earnestly, “In fact, I requested that our meeting now be kept absolutely secret so he would not find out that we have spoken.”
“He is not a threat to you, I hope,” asked Wang with a searching look at Kim before continuing. “Of course, your participation in our discovery is a secret I can keep. You will be released in Macau, very discreetly and very soon. But I am interested in the markings you noticed on the items sold and also about the delivery incident.”
“It is easier for me to write down what I saw. A picture is worth a thousand words as they say,” explained Kim. Wang called out for a pen and paper. Kim quickly wrote down the name and location of an army depot that had been stenciled on each of the crates containing the devices. Koreans generally knew as much Chinese calligraphy as the average Chinese, despite the invention of a Korean form of writing that replaced Chinese ideographs five hundred years ago. “As for the details of the delivery…” he intoned with mock theatrics.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Wang rolled his eyes but said nothing.
I had sent my bodyguards to check the site for the exchange of goods and payment. They found nothing out of the ordinary and armed themselves accordingly, with automatic pistols and lots of ammunition. Even I was given a handgun and several spare clips, plus half a dozen grenades. We each wore bullet-proof vests.
Three Filipinos arrived on time. I assumed they were all Filipinos, at any rate. One of them was my customer, Carlos. He also has the name Hashimthat he uses among Muslims; at least he told me all this and I made a remark about how I would remember him that way if our paths ever crossed again. He seemed pleased at that thought. He also appeared to be quite knowledgeable about the devices and was satisfied with them. I don’t think he noticed or cared about the Chinese characters. At least, he did not react to them in any way that I noticed.
Viktor and two others that looked like him arrived shortly after and stood to the side while the weapons were inspected. When the money was brought out, Viktor walked up to us brazenly, as if he was entitled to be paid. I looked at the money and asked Carlos, “Is this the price we agreed on?”
“Yes,” he replied, not looking at Viktor.
“I told Viktor that any arrangements he makes with you are strictly between you and him,” I stated. “He and I have no agreements about money.”
“Hey,” Viktor cried. “I brought the two of you together. Doesn’t it count for something? Are you men of honor or what?”
“You don’t talk to me about honor, man,” growled Carlos.
“So, Kim,” Viktor persisted and turned to me, “all these years of business means nothing to you?”
“It means I have paid you a lot of money, always in accordance with whatever arrangements we made in advance.”
“You are taking advantage of me, Kim!” he yelled. His associates brought their guns out. The Filipinos already had their guns out.
My bodyguards did not need to draw their guns. I was confident they would not let the East Europeans fire without simultaneously returning fire. After a tense minute or so, during which Viktor was perhaps hoping that the Filipinos might turn to his support, he uttered what sounded like a lot of rude words in his native tongue and stomped out of the building.
“I wonder what motivates men like him and what pies he has his fingers in,” remarked Wang. Actually he had wondered for two years since Kim and he had dealt with each other in Shanghai and Viktor seemed to Wang a loose end that needed to be tracked down. When Kim failed to respond, he remarked, “Thank you for this.” He waved the paper that bore the copy of the inscriptions on the arms sold. “I should tell you that your next personal contact will most likely not be with me but with someone who is actually from the intelligence agency.”
“That’s okay,” replied Kim. He looked up at Wang almost mischievously, as if he was thinking of a comical or ironic situation. “It is possible that there won’t be a next time. I am seriously thinking of retirement.”
“Is that allowed?”
Kim chuckled. “Arms dealers don’t usually have as long a career as I’ve had. I think I was very lucky when I was just starting out. That is when most ‘accidents’ happen. After a few transactions, dealers rarely transact with their customers in person. Assignments may get more complicated but the, ah, volatility of transactions decreases dramatically. Buyers and sellers quickly adjust to each other’s preferences and idiosyncrasies. Deliveries develop an established pattern and payments are made following the usual procedures.”
The North Korean smiled and continued, “Anyway, there is probably a desk job somewhere more suitable for me. Perhaps I shall be training a new generation.”
“By the way,” asked Wang, “how many of those devices did you sell?”
“Twelve,” replied Kim after only a slight hesitation. He was obviously uncomfortable parting with any information not included in what he understood to be the contract or the bargain.
“Hmm,” noted Wang. “The Pashtuns only wanted one.”
“Yes, but that was a nuclear device,” remarked the arms dealer.
Wang said nothing but thought grimly that the MANPADS could probably be fitted out with small nuclear heads. He made another mental note. Then a thought occurred to him and he asked Kim, “What might your army counterparts think of our lax security?”
“You are not asking for my advice on this matter I assume?”
“Just making conversation. I won’t hold anything you say against you.”
Kim guffawed at the thought. He has a sense of humor, mused Wang. “It is our concern not to lose any inventory since those supplies have value to us as well as to others.” Slyly he added, “We do not have nearly as much as the PRC. Scarcity makes for increased value.”
Wang rose and offered a farewell salutation, “It has been said that either every event in the whole universe is a miracle or that nothing is. Well, I am of the opinion that one should treat meetings like ours as if they will never recur or that they will continually recur.”
“I think I read something like that in one of the books you gave me, Spymaster,” said Kim. “In any case, let me congratulate you on the one-month celebration of your son’s birth.”
Wang suppressed the surprise he felt that the North Koreans, impoverished and ostracized, still managed to keep themselves well-informed about their main ally, then remarked, “So you have read some of those books I gave you. No problems with your state censors, I take it.”
“They trust the source.” Kim smiled impishly.
“Not more than they trust you, I am sure. Anyway, thank you and good luck.” In response, Kim gave him a wave that almost appeared to be a mock salute.
***
Wang relaxed on the trip back to Beijing and encouraged Inspector Chen to tell him about his early career in the police force.
“There was more paper-work than I expected when I joined the police academy. I signed up with the police partly to get away from books and writing. I wanted to fight crime and criminals. It turns out that book work occupied two-thirds of our waking hours and physical fitness the other third.”
He complained like a college student even though he must have graduated from the police academy, Wang guessed, seven or eight years ago.
“Our martial arts trainer even said that few of us would be able to hold our own against the ‘soldiers’ of the underworld. He explained that the ninjas of Japan set the bar for them all. They are reputed to train at least four hours a day, strenuously. What we did, he pronounced, would prepare us to deal with civilians concerned about physical fitness and the riff-raff of the gangs, but would not prepare us for special operations or the undercover stuff.
“Then the paper-work. Legal checklists and administrative forms! There is a saying in the canteens that it takes two policemen to catch every criminal because those who break the laws don’t have any paper-work to shuffle.”
“How does working with Commissioner Wen compare?” asked Wang innocently.
“Ah, at least he has secretaries! If not we could not possibly swim through the forms and memos,” responded the aide good-naturedly.
“What about the undercover officer working on Kim’s case?” inquired Wang.
“He will have to prepare his share of reports and debriefing forms,” stated the aide sympathetically.
“Did he cover only Kim or did he have time enough to follow up on Kim’s customer?”
“You mean the Filipino, not Viktor, right?” Wen’s aide was a sharp young man as well as affable, Wang decided. He was reminded of Old Ma as a young recruit at the intelligence agency.
“Yes, did he or anyone else follow up on the Filipino?”
“I don’t know. It would be crucial to learn how the goods were taken out of China or at least where they are,” mused the aide. “I will check as soon as we land and get back to you, Comrade Commissar.”
“I would be very interested to learn if a crate containing twelve MANPADS could NOT be tracked leaving Macau.”
“Perhaps they did not leave in one crate.”
“Yes,” agreed Wang. “We cannot assume that the Filipino took all, or any, of the devices. It would be important to know what he did take and who, if anyone, took the rest.”
The inspector nodded and added, “We should also determine who provided the money. I’m assuming that Filipino rebels do not normally have access to such funds.”
The spymaster indicated his concurrence. Financial transactions were, in general, impossible to hide for long, unless the transaction used only cash. Changing the subject, he asked, “What do you do for fun?”
“Like many of my cohorts, I am addicted to computers and computer games.”
“You are capable of hacking into secure systems?”
“Modestly speaking, I am as good as the average teenager.”
Wang suspected that, realistically speaking, Chen was probably exceedingly good. “Can I assume you will be following up with the Macau police on this whole matter?”
“Until my boss finds something else for me to do,” Chen replied cheerily.
The young man impressed Wang further with his discretion. He initiated no further conversation, thereby allowing Wang to ponder the likelihood that the discussion in the morning’s meeting of the CPS was fatefully timed.
Contents
CHAPTER 4
Earlier on the Monday that Kim met with the former spymaster, undercover agent Wong (the Cantonese vocal and written equivalent to the Mandarin for Wang) from the Macau police walked towards a warehouse in a less desirable area of that World Heritage City. The nearest casino was ten blocks away and the nearest restaurant five. On the other hand, there was a small liquor store, a sundries shop, or a flophouse on every other block. The streets were lined with buildings two to six stories high, tired warehouses most of them. He saw men and women in ones and twos. No one sought him out and none stood out in any way that he could tell. The ‘colorless and odorless’ undercover policeman himself did little to attract attention. Years working undercover honed his walk and appearance from a man of medium height and slim build into someone even less likely to attract attention.
He stopped once to tighten his shoelaces, and another time to ask a passer-by for a light. These were actions taught to him in the police academy and allowed him the pretext for more leisurely assessment of his surroundings and of the other people on the street. Years ago, he had found himself tailed by a drug gang he was trying to infiltrate and a similar maneuver saved him from a surprise confrontation with a vice squad partner who had infiltrated a rival gang. Now it was a habit, like waving joss sticks. Wong noticed the familiar smells of this part of the city, a salty tang blended with the mustiness of old buildings. He loved it.
He passed a few storefronts with glass windows and seemed to ignore them while, from the corner of an eye, taking note of the reflections of everyone as possible persons of interest. It was a warm and humid afternoon, not as hot as it would get in a month. Wong was dressed for casual, nondescript comfort in light, sensible shoes, slacks, a cotton-knit turtleneck and a shirt casually slung over his shoulders.
