The Ninja and the Diplomat, page 8
part #2 of The Chinese Spymaster Series
The cleric, not quite old enough to be father to the antagonists, nevertheless commanded sufficient strength of character and moral authority to insist that the crowd disperse. He motioned to followers of the fallen man to pick up the body and prepare it for burial.
“What could be worth the killing of a brother?” demanded the imam even though he had heard enough to know it had been a matter of honor.
“Nothing,” Hashim stated hesitantly, “except perhaps self-defense.” The imam looked at him intently.
“I have met you once before, and I have heard of your moves among the Bangsamoro. What is it that you want?”
“I want the Moros to unify, to include non-Muslims, and to fight for social justice.”
The imam snorted. “You cannot be serious. It is against Islam to join with infidels.”
“It is not when we fight in a common cause. The caliphs in history often had whole regiments made up of Christians.”
“Who taught you such things?”
“I studied the Quran with a village teacher named Bakil but he is not responsible for my ideas. I personally do not think much of the kind of Islam that excludes, that makes much of what gives rise to differences among men instead of what helps them join together.”
“Then why do you want the Moros to unite?”
“Because we are already different and made to suffer injustice. We should unite and find common ground with those who are not Moros who also feel oppressed. There are Moros who do not feel this and will never join us. They have already made their bargain with the powers that be.”
“You want to stir up a revolution?” challenged the imam.
“Are you afraid of one?” asked Hashim. “The Moros will not succeed in a revolution. But we can prevail in rallying the poor, those who are poor even in comparison with the Moros.”
“You think the Moros are hard to unify? It is even harder to gather the poor to move on their own behalf,” asserted the imam.
“I know. Perhaps they need hope. They are afraid of losing even what they have. But the Moros are not afraid. If we are united, there will be five million of us. If we rally all the poor to our flag, we will be thirty million,” declared Hashim.
“You sound like the communists!” pronounced the imam.
“I hope I don’t think like the New People’s Army. But why do you think they exist? They believe the rich and the powerful have ignored them. I do too. They believe that the national elite have shown itself to be willing to eat its young to maintain its hold on power. I believe there is something to that. But I do not believe in violence as a way of life. It may be necessary, in self-defense or to get the attention of those in power, but I do not believe we should fight for the sake of fighting.” Then he pleaded with the imam, “Will you help us?”
“I will think about this. Your dreams are good but I do not think they are practical,” pronounced the older man. “What will you do in the mean time?”
“I will show the Moros we can make our national leaders pay attention.”
“Please do not kill any more of your brothers.”
“I do not kill willingly.”
Contents
CHAPTER 9
Friday in Beijing
The spymaster and senior staff of the agency were gathered in one of their conference rooms. Recent renovations had brought a warmer feel to the rooms; the light was not the harsh fluorescence of thirty years ago when Wang joined the agency, and the furniture was now more comfortable in the name of ergonomic correctness.
Have we grown soft, the spymaster wondered.
“I still don’t understand the Filipino’s motive,” declared Second Brother Ma. “Among our assets, there are two Filipinos who replied to our recent urgent inquiries. Hashim is well known to them. They report that he is trying to unify the rebels in the Bangsamoro, the people of the Muslim South Philippines.”
“Those people make up about five percent of the population out of a little over a hundred million in the country. A separatist movement is unlikely to succeed,” added Owyang, the head of the analysis department. Unlike the previous head of analysis, who had been an field agent, Owyang had joined the department ten years ago upon transferring from the police, where she had shone in investigative work in the white collar division.
“Their position appears to be like that of the Uyghurs in China,” declared Old Gong, a former police inspector who transferred to the intelligence agency to assume the leadership of its operations department.
“The Uyghurs are more distinct from the Han majority in China,” asserted Owyang. “They speak a language related to Turkish. Some of them have historically claimed independence from China as East Turkestan, and of course they are Muslims. The Moros differentiate themselves primarily as Muslims among a Christian majority.” Though she had spoken softly, Gong did not challenge her views. It was as clear to him as it was to everyone else in the agency that she was deeply knowledgeable and brilliant at piecing together fragmented, seemingly unrelated, information.
“He may not have told his friends but can we not put together the arms purchase, the source of his financing, and his recent actions into a picture of what he is likely to do?” asked the spymaster as the analyst pursed her lips.
“What about Kim’s supplier? Does he play a role?” questioned Ma, looking at Wang.
“Kim did not tell me who the supplier was,” stated his chief, “but he thought the ultimate supplier might be the People’s Army, unknowingly of course. That much was in my report earlier this week. Yesterday, the Army confirmed that a manager in its supplies department, under military police suspicion and surveillance, had been found murdered.”
“The funds required for the purchase of twelve portable missile launchers are difficult to trace because it is a small amount, less than a million American dollars. Money to purchase nuclear devices, which the Macau crime scene report suggests, on the other hand, should be quite visible and traceable,” explained Owyang, finally addressing the question of the monetary trail.
“We must integrate what we know with what the police in Macau have discovered, as well as what the military police have uncovered about the thefts,” declare Ma. “As for Kim’s suppliers, we may find something in his phone records. How has the analysis progressed?”
“It is almost complete,” replied Owyang.
“I suggest we break for lunch and meet again early this afternoon,” declared Wang. “By then, we should have the complete analysis of Kim’s communications.” Wang directed this to Owyang. “Would you also integrate that with what the police have learned about the Macau investigations?”
Then, turning to his assistant, he suggested, “Old Ma, please see what the Army has concerning the thefts from their inventory as well as what they and the police have discovered about the murdered man and his connections. Let us resume our meeting at two.”
***
The spymaster secluded himself behind closed doors to think. The Filipino’s purchase of MANPADs and Kim’s cryptic message amounted only to minor problems. On the other hand, the theft of nuclear devices from the army depot presented a task of utmost urgency. It was critical for the agency to locate them and understand who had planned the theft as well as the reasons why. The question nagging at him was whether these two incidents were related.
Beyond that, Wang worried about the issues that had a broader scope than intelligence or security. He now sat on committees that were concerned with China’s foreign policy, and he reflected anxiously on actions by its armed forces that might provoke its neighbors in the Northern Ocean or the South Sea, in particular Japan, Taiwan, Vietnam, and the Philippines. As for Taiwan, he could not find anyone that would speak openly and clearly on China’s ultimate goals. He reflected on his access to the highest circle of security discussions and near the highest circle that debated party views on foreign policy. The fact that he had no answers disturbed him. Whatever the political end-game in these matters, he knew there were certain to be ramifications of a security nature. Idly, he wondered if Kim’s message and recent arms deal might have a bearing on these matters.
***
Back at the agency that afternoon, Wang, Ma and their top aides, confronted the gaps in their intelligence gathering.
“The most recent calls Kim made include several to a number in Taiwan,” related Owyang. “Meanwhile, the police in Macau are flagellating themselves for losing the trail of the truck with the goods. Furthermore, it is clear that the nuclear devices were not part of the transaction in the building where Kim concluded his arms deal but were brought to the warehouse that served as a staging point for both. We do not know if they were taken out of Macau together or by what routes.
“There is one detail that sticks out. According to Wong, the undercover agent who first examined the warehouse in which traces of radioactive material were found, he was confronted there by a ninja.”
“Did he make this up?” demanded Gong.
“No. His back-up partner was killed with a typical ninja-style throwing star and the other policeman found Wong bruised and battered.”
“Why didn’t the ninja kill him as well?” questioned Ma.
“Wong’s captain thought there might be something fishy about his survival and recorded this suspicion in his report,” stated Owyang as she turned around, offering a hefty sheaf of paper, neatly stapled, to all present. “But the hospital confirmed that Wong’s wounds could not have been self-inflicted and the man has a clear record for superior performance while working undercover over ten years.”
“What does he say for himself?” persisted Gong.
“He thinks the ninja was intrigued by his eclectic fighting style, something which he concludes is the result of his participation at several regional conferences that his superiors had sent him to attend partly for the sake of international bridge-building among undercover police,” reported Owyang. “I was not aware of any such thing.”
Wang filed this bit of information for possible future use and turned to Ma, asking in his grumpiest tone, “Do you have better news?”
“Not really,” conceded the acting chief. “The Army has a long list of items that are missing and both the missile launchers and the tactical nuclear devices are on that list. But the thief worked very carefully and there is no trace of anyone he may have visited or telephoned that they or the police could find.”
“How long have they kept their eyes on the man?” wondered Wang, thinking aloud. “Could you persuade them to let us review any notes they have on file for this character and see if there was anything they might, just might, have overlooked?”
“We could also ask our Taiwan assets to trace the number Kim called,” remarked Owyang.
“Yes,” agreed Ma. “They or we should analyze his communications over the previous months for links to China or to the Philippines or to …”
“I’ll start on this right now,” cut in Gong. As head of operations, he had charge of all the agency’s foreign informants and information gatherers.
“How about also putting some effort into finding out if anything landed in the Philippines?” asked Wang. “Assuming Hashim/Carlos made a purchase, where would it land? Perhaps we can find out what got delivered to him.”
“We are spread a bit thin,” commented Ma. “I would hate to send a fresh recruit on such a mission.”
“Let’s send someone from outside the agency,” suggested Wang. In an instant he had all eyes on him and he raised his hands with his palms out.
“Don’t get too excited. I met a very capable policeman recently who is familiar with this case and has travelled to that country. Old Ma, perhaps you should flex your muscles as acting spymaster and ask the deputy commissioner of police if we could borrow his aide, Chen, for this mission.”
“Right, I’ll do that. But one more thing,” replied Ma. “Do we think Viktor is somehow a clue or a link? Should we keep him in prison forever?”
“No,” remarked Wang. “I think he might lead us somewhere, but only if he is released. We should let him bribe his way or whatever it is he does to get out of prison, only it should not appear too easy. You might mention that in your call to Wen.”
“Thank you for giving me opportunities to take the initiative, spymaster,” said Ma. “But I get the feeling that you are easing yourself out.”
“Don’t you feel ready to take my place, Old Ma?” asked his chief.
“Only when you are around to advise and support.”
“As they say, life must go on. The training wheels must come off at some time. This is probably the last operation I shall take such a direct role in. I shall be spymaster in name only for a while longer. Can you be patient with an old man?”
“You’re not old!” cried Ma. “We will all miss your hourly guidance.”
***
“Mama, Older Sister,” cried Xiao Shu later that day as she maneuvered through the doorway to her older sister’s house with her month-old son in her arms.
“Younger Sister,” beamed Mrs. Wen. “Mama is waiting in the sitting room. Your husband looks very dashing, as always.”
“I don’t deserve such praise, Mrs. Wen,” protested the spymaster as he made his way past the huddle at the door to reach his mother-in-law and greet her formally.
Traditionally, the one-month celebration marked a milestone for both the mother and the child. The mother would be coming out of a taboo-ridden ‘rest’ period after having given birth and everyone would celebrate the survival of the child through a critical period which, during the pre-modern period, witnessed a high rate of mortality.
General Chen who, together with commissioner Wen, was Wang’s oldest of old friends, arrived soon as the self-appointed big uncle of the baby. His wife exchanged smug, knowing smiles with Mrs. Wen. They had doggedly campaigned to end the bachelorhood of the spymaster. This day was as much theirs to celebrate as anyone else’s.
Chen’s daughter, the oldest of her generation present, took countless pictures of baby, mother, grandmother, and everyone else. The Wen youth deferred to her as she was older and already employed, even though only as a petty bureaucrat in the Ministry of Commerce. She rallied them to a side table for talk among ‘the young people.’ Spymaster Wang allowed himself the luxury of putting his thoughts on hold and made frequent solicitous visits to his wife’s side.
“Thank you for bringing both joy and normalcy into my life,” he murmured into her ears.
“Look at them,” accused Mrs. Chen playfully, “whispering sweet nothings to each other!”
“It was sweet, but it was not ‘nothings,’” retorted the feisty Xiao Shu.
Hu appeared a few minutes before dinner began. He had been head of operations at Wang’s agency and was in Beijing briefly to visit before heading back to Central Asia. Wang introduced him. “Ladies and gentlemen, Commander Hu, an old friend who wanders the Old Silk Road to make it safe for all of us.”
“Come sit with us and tell us your stories,” invited General Chen’s daughter as the older adults looked on, scandalized by her initiative. “It is the twenty-first century, Papa.”
Wang grinned at his old friends and announced, “Remember, when I am baffled by the behavior of families and children, I look to you for guidance, you who have gone before me.” He also reminded Hu, “Don’t forget, I’d like to hear about your capitalist empire before you leave.”
***
After dinner, Hu approached and announced, “I am expanding the business.”
“Wonderful. I take it that Old Bo and his wife flourish where they are and are anxious to move on.”
“They are,” replied Hu with a somber look. “But Bo’s mother-in-law was hit and killed by a speeding truck. His wife would like to move from the village to escape the constant reminder and also to be closer to the hospital for Old Bo and his mother.”
“Did they arrest the truck driver?” Wang demanded.
Hu nodded and explained,
“The truck driver stopped to find out who he had hit. Neighbors had seen him so he couldn’t run away anyway. It turns out that he and his family live in the city but are from a nearby village and are actually acquainted with the victim. They came to the funeral with their two young daughters. They kow-towed before the coffin until Bo’s wife begged them to get up. Weeping, the man said he had no money.”
“What about the owner of the truck?” persisted Wang.
“He is a local party official in the city and refused to hear about any complaint. Bo and his wife cannot afford to offend this man if they are to move into the city.” There was a pause as both men stared at each other and shook their heads grimly.
“Let me have his name,” asked Wang. “I promise not to do anything rash.”
Hu nodded then resumed his original narrative,
“Bo’s wife has calculated that with sales in the town and the village, they will be able to afford an apartment near the hospital. They needed an advance that was a little beyond me but we ran into an ‘angel’ who gave me the money.”
“Really?” marveled Wang.
“Yes,” exclaimed Hu, “and you’ll never guess who.”
Wang kept his counsel, so Hu continued and burst out, “Ambassador Yu! We met last week at the SCO meetings and when I told him the story, he told me he had some money burning a hole in his pocket and immediately handed me an envelope with a million yuan. I told him that red packet would get him fifty percent of the company and he just laughed.”
“Wonderful,” pronounced Wang, before changing the topic to a question that frequently nagged at him. “Are you happy with the SCO intelligence operations? I get the reports but want to hear from you in person.”
“It is a work in progress,” replied Hu with a sniff. “Our allies are as devious and secretive as our enemies.”
“Soldier on,” urged Wang fervently. “What you are doing is exceedingly vital.”
Hu nodded and sighed. “I will, for another year or two, I think. Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”
