China Hand, page 11
What he saw instead was the inside of a Chinese prison—officials arrested him as a suspected spy for the Soviets or the US. They didn’t seem to know or care which.
But Tom’s faith in the Communist cause never wavered, and it paid off handsomely. He joined the IAU faculty in the eighties, then became a foreign policy advisor to the Chinese government and the author of the standard high school and university propaganda textbooks on American history. Growing fame helped him promote his lucrative private English school on the side. That profitable enterprise didn’t strike me as good Communist behavior, but I was learning there were many contradictions inherent in “Socialism with Chinese characteristics.”
“You never married?” I asked, noticing how Blum hadn’t uttered a word about his personal life. He’d arrived alone—and who could suffer a guy like him for more than a few hours, much less a lifetime? He confirmed my assumption.
But the Chinese state-run media loved Tom. Despite the long-time presence at the IAU of bona fide scholars like the tweedy Professor Paul MacDonald, with his doctorate in history from Yale, reporters flocked to Tom. He was always ready with a quote that could be summarized as “Why America Sucks and China is Awesome.”
Will and Professor MacDonald evidently took pity on me and joined us. I thought Tom had finally exhausted even his keenest listener—himself—when he piped up again like a propaganda-spewing Energizer Bunny.
“It has been my great pleasure to watch China’s development, achieved entirely through its own efforts. The secret is Confucianism and the government’s unrelenting focus on the common good.”
“This is such nonsense.” Swept up by the passions of the moment, I forgot about the possibility of listening devices. “‘Entirely through its own efforts’? China sends more foreign students to the US than any other country, and it’s gotten huge benefits from our open economy. What if the US had embargoed China the way it did the Soviet Union?”
Will piled on. “‘Unrelenting focus on the common good’? The Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution were disasters, and if everything is so great, why the need for all this surveillance and iron-fisted control?”
Tom was undaunted, condescendingly patient, as if used to dealing with people brainwashed in the West. “Mao knew that to build Chinese society, he first had to tear it down. And human rights—like Einstein’s physics—are about relativity, balancing the needs of the individual against the group. I’ll bet you’d rather walk through downtown Beijing right now than any major American city—at least you won’t get shot. And even if troublemakers are dealt with harshly, the average person in China is getting a lot richer while the so-called American Dream disappears. Someday, it’ll be the Chinese Dream we talk about.”
By the time I returned to my apartment, head throbbing—and already anxious about the need to make a good impression at White & McInerny’s party the next night—I found that a message from Lily had been slipped under the door. It noted the location of a hostel where we could meet after the W&M event. Her suggestion sparked my biggest smile of the evening, and pushed aside any concerns about what could happen with my powerful future colleagues.
CHAPTER 18
The elevator doors opened directly into White & McInerny’s wood-paneled reception area, alive with the sounds of the party. A tall woman with a bobbed hairstyle in a red qipao greeted me with a smile and ushered me into a room where a hundred and fifty or so well-dressed guests mingled, a mix of Asians and Westerners. The wall to my left was a floor-to-ceiling window, providing a brilliantly illuminated panorama of Beijing. A Filipino band was playing the Rolling Stones’ “Start Me Up” on a small stage to the right.
Ed Lee approached quickly. “Andrew, great to see you again.” He shook my hand heartily. “Drink?”
I looked down at his Heineken. “Beer, thanks.”
He signaled a waiter carrying canapés and drinks, who handed me one from his tray. “How have you been?”
I told Ed I was settling in and exploring the city. “Taken up boxing, too.”
“In a gym, I hope.”
“Of course.” I laughed, though his joke was more on point than he could have realized.
“I imagine China’s changed a lot since you first came,” I said. “I’d love to hear about your experience.”
“China’s so different from when I first got here. It still gets a lot of bad press, but it’s improved. Hopefully, the liberalization will continue.”
“Is your work as a consultant here any different from what you’d be doing in the US?”
His brow furrowed for what might have been a revealing second. “Our clients here want help on much more strategic questions, like how to enter the market or how to expand overseas. The Chinese government also engages us on research and public relations—some top officials are even here tonight.” He sipped his beer. “We joke that with all the high-ranking Party members coming through we’re almost a second Zhongnanhai,” the Chinese leadership complex. “I should give you a tour—we can chat more comfortably where it’s quieter.”
He led me through a sliding glass door into the main office area, handsomely appointed with minimalist furniture and contemporary Chinese paintings.
“W and M seems to be doing well.”
“An RMB here, an RMB there, and the renminbis add up to real dollars.” He laughed as he led me down a hallway and into his own impressive office.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, closing the door behind us.
I took a seat across from a tufted leather couch where Ed crossed his legs. My eyes drifted behind him to another majestic scene—this time down Chang’an Avenue, all the way to Tiananmen Square and the Imperial Palace. I wondered if he’d designed the seating according to feng shui principles, or simply to dazzle visitors with the view and, by implication, W&M’s own lofty position in the Chinese and global economies. I had already signed on the dotted line, but if I hadn’t I would need no more convincing. I tried to imagine myself one day having an office like this—not to mention whatever ungodly salary they paid Ed.
He rested his beer on a marble coffee table. “Andrew, I was hoping we might get to know each other better. And I wanted to make myself available in case there is anything I can do to help you while you are here in China.”
Ed opened up about his own background. Turned out he was from Arkansas. His parents were born in mainland China but fled to Hong Kong during the revolution before immigrating to the United States in the early fifties. “You know, it wasn’t always easy being the only Chinese growing up in a small Baptist town in the middle of the Cold War, speaking Mandarin at home. But I can tell you, my parents, with their experience, were the most rabid anti-Communists within a hundred miles.”
I appreciated his candor, but still didn’t quite know what to say. And with all the surveillance I’d seen at the IAU, I wondered if there weren’t also listening devices here. “So how did you end up with W and M?”
“I studied Electrical Engineering at MIT—like all the other Asians,” he added with a wide smile. “Then one of my professors asked me if I’d considered joining W and M. Said they were looking for people with my profile. And I guess the rest is history. And what about you?” Ed asked politely. “I’m familiar with your outstanding resume. But how has your experience been in China so far?”
“Well, I admit there’s been a settling in period at the IAU.” I sensed that I couldn’t bullshit him. He already seemed to know everything about me.
“Settling in period?”
“Well, there’ve been a few weird…I don’t know what you’d call them…misunderstandings about—”
“That sounds diplomatic,” he interrupted.
“I’m trying,” I laughed.
“Don’t try so hard. Just say what happened.”
I saw no reason to mention the awkward questioning about the condom by Dean Chen. And I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about Lily. I did describe getting hauled out of the club with Will and a little of what we went through at the police station.
Ed sat forward, showing a level of interest that worried me.
“And did your colleague—’Will’—did he get the same treatment?”
“Yeah, he did.” I remembered how cool he had been about it. “The thing is, the cops didn’t leave any bruises on us.”
“But they scared the shit out of you, right?”
“Yeah they sure did.”
“You know, that whole ‘confess your crimes now or we’ll make it really hard on you’ act is par for the course here. And the cops take special pleasure in foreigners with Chinese girls. Have you gotten any grief about that?”
Is he guessing about Lily? I hedged. “At orientation, the dean pointed right at me when he told us all not to ‘fraternize’ with students—which I would never do—or colleagues.”
“So you would ‘fraternize’ with a colleague?” Ed’s expression was blank for the first time.
Neither of us spoke, and I now feared I’d really fucked up. And I knew lying wouldn’t help. “Yes, I am.”
“And how’s that going?”
“She’s a really, really nice woman.”
“So we’ve heard. But you’re taking a big risk. You understand that, right?”
“Yes, sir.” I had thought about this before, of course, but now it was really hitting home.
“You seem like someone who’s not afraid to take a risk, Andrew.”
I couldn’t read him. I felt like I’d dropped down a rabbit hole. “I’m certainly not reckless, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“Definitely not. But you’re not afraid to take chances if something important is on the line. Like being with this woman.”
While I paused over a reply, he went on.
“Have you noticed all the surveillance around you?”
“Of course.” I hoped he was changing the subject.
“Are you comfortable operating in this sort of environment?”
“It’s like living in a straightjacket, to be honest. I feel like I can never really relax and just be myself.”
Ed uncrossed his legs and leaned back. He’d put aside his beer. I hadn’t touched mine since we walked into his office.
“That’s well put,” he said. “We’ve been reviewing your files.” I swallowed deeply. “Phi Beta Kappa, fluent in Chinese, invitation to try out for USA Rugby.”
What the hell does rugby have to do with W&M?
“Your major was ‘government’ but you’ve taken so many extra classes you’re only a few credits shy of a degree in computer science.”
“I wanted to get my money’s worth while I—”
Ed cut me off. “You like challenges. You achieve your goals. You can handle pressure. From what we’ve seen—”
“Seen?”
“We have lots of eyes at W and M. We knew about your arrest and, as you’ve probably surmised, we know about your colleague Lily Jiang. It seems you’re learning fast how to operate even in a straightjacket.” He stood. “Let’s finish our tour.”
He locked up behind us and led me down the hall to a steel door. “Welcome to our SCIF. Our sensitive compartmented information facility.” Ed used a plastic keycard to trigger the automatic door. “I think you know someone else who’s visiting us tonight.”
“Oh my God.”
Professor Lin was sitting at a conference table only a few feet away.
CHAPTER 19
Lin smiled as calmly as he had during office hours back in Cambridge. “Hao jiu bu jian.” Long time no see. He stood and extended his manicured hand. “So wonderful to see you, Andrew. How are you?”
“I’m…shocked.” Here was my senior thesis adviser and the man who’d urged me to apply to W&M before suggesting I first spend a year teaching in Beijing.
“Take a breath, Andrew. We’ll explain.” Lin sounded more informal than he’d ever been at Harvard as he ushered me to a chair.
Ed sat across the table from me. “What I’m about to say can never leave this room,” he said. “If you want to walk away, you can.” I glanced at the sealed door. “But if you stay, you cannot tell a soul or there will be grave consequences. Understand?”
My breath caught in my throat. “I do.” I understood his words but not where he was headed, which made me uneasy—but also deeply curious.
“Good. In addition to working for W and M, I’m also an intelligence officer with the Central Intelligence Agency,” Ed said.
What the—?
“I’m also with the Agency,” Lin added, “and sometimes that involves identifying talent at Harvard. Obviously.”
As I looked from one to the other, my molars clamped together, superglued by shock.
“The professor and I—and others—are involved in a critical US intelligence operation, right now, here in China,” Ed continued. “You are here because you may be in a position to help Lily, her parents, and the United States of America.”
Help Lily? The US? I studied Lin and Ed. I’d read about false flag operations, where spies from one country pretend to represent another. What did I really know about my former professor—the one noted for his close relations with the Chinese Communist Party—and this man from W&M?
“Are you serious?”
“As life and death.” Ed let that sink in. “For two years, we’ve been meeting with General Jiang. At first, just casual get-togethers to exchange views without the diplomatic posturing. But then he said he wanted to defect.”
“Defect?” I’d heard about Soviets defecting to West Berlin in hidden car compartments. But how the hell would someone escape from China’s surveillance state?
“That’s right. We asked the general why, and at first he fed us the usual ‘democracy’ line. But as we pushed him, he revealed that there’s a Maoist ‘New Left’ faction within the Chinese government that’s trying to seize power, through a coup if necessary. He thinks they could succeed, and if they do, it’ll be disastrous for him and his family, and for China—and the US, too.”
“He wants to defect to flee a potential coup?” This wasn’t the badass General Jiang I thought I had met.
“The general is a patriot and wants to stop this, but he says he can’t from within China—it’s too dangerous. The leader of the New Left, Bo Zhongqi, is the son of an ‘untouchable,’ a close former comrade of Mao’s. Bo and Jiang despise each other. Bo would love any excuse to lock up the general and his whole family for good. We want to help Lily’s father get out of the country, and we need to move fast.”
“Why should we…” I thought again about false flags. “Why should the US meddle in all this?” We didn’t have a great track record when it came to interfering in other countries.
Lin stepped in, assuming his familiar, professorial role. “Since the 1980s, under Deng Xiaoping, China has been moving toward a more open economy and better relations with the US. The New Left Maoists don’t want any part of that. They think market reforms have been a disaster for the average worker, and they see America’s post-Tiananmen Square sanctions and military protection for Taiwan as attempts to bully China or even overthrow the government.”
“So they want to fight the US? They couldn’t possibly win.”
“Not right away,” Ed clarified. “But they view conflict as inevitable, and they want to choose the time and conditions.”
I wanted so much to be with Lily. If she and her family could get out, maybe we could be together in the US. But a cloak-and-dagger exfiltration of one of China’s most important generals was a magnitude beyond what I’d ever thought I’d have to do to be with the woman I loved. And I was still dubious. “You’re actually saying these Maoists are so powerful that General Jiang, the leader of the People’s Liberation Army, can’t stop them without leaving China?”
“These Maoists have more support than you might think. Bo Zhongqi is a charismatic leader, and his influence and patronage networks are strong, especially with key factions in the military. The current government’s hold on power is tenuous. If there’s a crisis, a recession—if millions of laid-off workers and farmers take to the streets—many people believe Bo could rally the country behind him, consolidate power, and take China in an aggressively nationalistic direction.”
“We need to act—and soon,” Lin said. “The New Left Maoists are already conspiring with Middle East terrorist organizations to directly threaten the US. Their intent is to suck the US into a conflict that will tie us down while China ‘breaks out’ to become the dominant global power.”
“Conspiring with Middle Eastern terrorists?” The specter of a nationalistic China aligning with the Middle East made me think of Samuel Huntington’s Clash of Civilizations, which I’d studied in Professor Lin’s class. “You mean these Maoists want to arm anti-American militants in the same way that we backed the mujahideen against the Soviets in Afghanistan?”
“Yes, but with much more far-reaching consequences,” Lin said. “Think about what the US would do if terrorists smuggled nuclear devices onto cargo ships and set them off in Los Angeles or New York? China will soon be the largest operator of container ships and ports worldwide, and rogue factions in their military could easily make this happen. Or if they helped terrorists blow up dozens of US airliners simultaneously? If China could keep its role hidden and we were convinced that these acts were done by Islamic extremists, we’d send our whole army to occupy the Middle East and they’d be stuck there for years.”
“That’s hard to conceive.”
“Not according to General Jiang,” Ed said. “He says that elements in the Chengdu Military Region provided funding, training, and material to Egyptian Islamic Jihad and Al Qaeda to bomb our embassies in Kenya and Tanzania in August. And reliable sources say a Chinese military lab is trying to engineer a bioweapon—a virus—for Al Qaeda. We’re investigating now.”
I was stunned as I realized how easily China could carry out these plots—and how catastrophic they would be. “If the general and China’s current leadership know about these plots, why don’t they stop them?”
