China Hand, page 13
I hurried to the bathroom to clean up. W&M didn’t officially open until nine, so I had time.
A bare bulb burned above me, casting harsh light as I wet half the towel and used it on my face and armpits. In the mirror, I noticed my chest and abs, shoulders and arms, muscles standing out in shadowy relief. I’d always been fairly lean, but training had thickened my body in all the right places.
It had only been about a month since I started going to the Fight Club, and I doubted I’d have many more days there. That also went for the mixed martial arts lessons that Will had been teaching me in the weed-choked enclosure behind the Foreign Experts Building. Will was an efficient, systematic instructor. We’d progressed from fundamental strikes, holds, and submissions to escapes and reversals—repeating each until they became second nature. The biggest difference from the boxing sessions was Will’s singular focus on lethality.
“In a real fight, if you’re not ruthless, you die,” he’d said. “Grab a brick, gouge somebody’s eyes, headbutt.”
That was the philosophy we trained with—and which had left my body peppered with scrapes, cuts, and welts. We’d only had about ten lessons so far, but my new skills were already raising my confidence.
Now, as I toweled off in the hotel bathroom, I caught myself in the mirror unconsciously lowering and swiveling my hips as if to execute a simple judo throw.
I threw on my shirt, shut off the light, and headed downstairs to the lobby. I peered around. None of the other guests were there. Before slipping out the door, I paused to look out. The street pulsed with people, but all of them appeared to be moving with purpose. I noticed nobody standing around smoking or staring at the hotel.
Why would they? They already got what they came for.
I checked my watch as I started down the white stone steps outside and hurried to my apartment. I wanted to grab a clean shirt to wear to W&M, but I also wanted to check for messages. What I wanted most was to find a note under my door saying I’d flunked the CIA’s first field test by failing to spot the agent on the balcony before it was too late.
I wish.
I grabbed the shirt, listened to my voicemail—nothing—and headed back out, making it to the China World Trade Center by 8:15.
An empty elevator spirited me to the thirty-eighth floor. I stepped into W&M’s lobby, where two burly men in suits were waiting by the receptionist’s desk. One spoke into a headset and reported, “He’s here.”
A third man came out less than thirty seconds later, his face taut, his voice urgent. “This way.”
Once more, I was led to the SCIF. And, once more, I was shocked by who would meet me there. My silent escort opened the door to reveal not just Ed, but also General Jiang.
What the hell is going on?
The general didn’t offer me a greeting, or even a friendly nod. Ed rose, but only to lock the door after my guide had left.
“Can you give us a moment?” he asked the general, who nodded grudgingly.
Ed led me to the far side of the SCIF, opening a door set almost seamlessly into the wall. It led into a room as spartan and small as a prison cell. An overhead light came on automatically. Ed bolted the door and turned to me.
“We obviously have a mess to clean up.” His words only confirmed what I already knew, adding to the chill I felt in that tightly confined space. “But first, I need to know. Are you in or not? If the answer is yes, we need to start moving forward right now with General Jiang.”
“I’m in. But doesn’t the general want to kill me now?”
“I don’t know. But I’m glad you’re joining us. We need you.”
We headed back out to the general. Ed pointed to the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”
The general didn’t acknowledge me with so much as a glance. Then Ed stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat.
“General Jiang, Andrew, let’s get started.”
CHAPTER 22
General Jiang leaned toward me and clasped his hands tightly together on the table, as if to stop himself from lunging across it to wring my neck.
“He’s here to clean up last night’s mess,” Ed said to me.
“I’m sorry. I never—”
The general slammed his fist down.
“Gentlemen, please.” Ed held a palm out to each of us, as though to break up a fight. I took the longest breath of my life. Lily’s father put his own hands back together into a fierce grip.
Ed continued, “The general just briefed me. His security team was aware of a rumor, started by a housekeeper, that you and Lily were intimate. A couple New Leftists on campus heard about your liaison and hatched a plan—”
“To humiliate me,” the military man interrupted. “Those radicals know I will stop them.”
“Fortunately, the general’s men followed Lily and were outside the hotel last night and grabbed them.”
I sighed with relief. “So there’s no video of—”
“None,” Lily’s father declared, cutting short what might have proved an awkward acknowledgment. “I destroyed it. And the two perpetrators have been disappeared.”
I had heard that chilling expression used before in China but didn’t dare ask exactly what it meant.
The general went on. “Their tongues are loosening up quickly. Those two ‘boys,’” he said with obvious disdain, “are not military men. They will be reeducated.”
“Lily knows about this,” Ed said to me.
“I told her that my men captured a known blackmailer and the video was incinerated,” the general added without sparing me a look. “That’s all she needs to know right now.”
“We think you and Lily need to lie low for a little while,” Ed said.
The general grunted his agreement. “Keep your distance from my daughter until it is time to go. We cannot have a discussion like this again. We will not.” His fist landed on the table a second time, so hard I flinched. “I will tell my daughter to stay away from you. I hate having to accept that her fate will end up in your hands,” he added, with the same disgust that he’d shown when he spoke of “those boys.”
“I won’t let you down. I adore your daughter and will do anything to help her.”
He shook his head, as if my feelings were an affliction, then stood and left without a word.
Ed locked up after him. “You realize we might have just dodged one helluva bullet?”
“Might have?”
Ed raised both hands in a “who knows?” gesture. “All we can be sure of is that any other man in his position would have had you in chains by now and washed himself of this mess.”
“Isn’t he in too deep to back out? He’s already working with you—given you intelligence.”
“Yes, but we know he’s holding back on the really sensitive stuff until his family is safe. He could still be working with Beijing to entrap us all.”
“I don’t think Lily’s lying to me about wanting to go to the US.”
“And I don’t think her father’s lying to me, either. But I also know that none of us feels that way until a foreign operative you’ve put all your faith in slashes your throat. I’m just saying—caution has to be your top priority, Andrew. We can’t let our guard down until all three of them are out of this country.”
Ed’s about-face made me dizzy. The day before, he was trying to convince me to support this critical operation. Now he’s telling me it all might be a trap? “If this is a setup, either Lily’s the world’s best actress,” the thought of which sickened me, “or he’s been grooming her with a love of Western society since she was a little girl, just for an operation like this.”
“KGB agents have had children born in the US and raised them to be American spies to gain any advantage over us,” Ed said. “And General Jiang is very smart.”
“If you really suspect this, we can’t possibly go ahead, can we?”
“Look, in this business, if you don’t think of every dire possibility, you could end up dead—or wishing you were.”
Those last words made me worry again what the hell I’d gotten into, and who we were dealing with. “So what makes you want to give General Jiang the benefit of the doubt here?”
Ed looked away, slumping slightly for the first time. Silence seemed to hang from his shoulders like a funeral cloak. He turned back to me. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“So when will we go?” I just wanted the mission over. I wanted to be safe with Lily in America.
“We need to wait until the time is right, and this close call with the video has obviously shaken the general. My gut says we’re facing a delay, but you should prepare now and be ready to go when we give the word. Pack a bolt bag with a few very different looks.”
“Meaning?”
“Make sure you bring a couple changes of clothing in sharply different styles, as well as some thick-framed glasses and a hat. Changing your outfit and grooming can throw people off without a fancy disguise. Oh, and hide some black hair dye in your shaving kit. Your passport photo will have digitally darkened hair.”
“What about Lily?” I asked.
“She’ll be prepared.”
“I hope no one notices the bag,” I told him. “Housekeeping’s already busted me once.”
“Keep the bag open in your room, like you’re a sloppy guy living out of it, but close by so you can scoop it up and go when needed. Don’t overdo it—just a light bag with basics. It’ll get a little heavier soon, anyway.”
“What does that mean?” A gun?
“We’re working out critical details as we speak. We can brief you at another meeting tomorrow. I’ll let you know where and when. In the meantime, keep your distance from Lily and don’t do anything else stupid.” He paused to let that sink in. “You’ll hear from us after class tomorrow.” Ed checked his watch. “Speaking of class, you better get going.”
I left W&M feeling drained. I grabbed a taxi to campus and hurried into my classroom.
For the first time, most of my students had arrived before I did, including Rick. The sight of him made the hairs on the back of my neck come alive. He always seemed to be watching me. I wondered whether he knew the guys who’d “been disappeared.”
I looked at the rest of my students. “Shall we get started?”
Several nodded and smiled. They’d never know how much I appreciated their friendliness after what I’d just been through.
And then I wondered how Lily was conducting herself around Dean Chen, and whether she was following the same advice that Ed and the general had given me.
Lie low.
CHAPTER 23
Rick pushed the audio-visual cart into the classroom, sending a sour look my way—disdain which I welcomed for its normalcy after hearing the gritty details of the impending mission. I guessed his scorn was rooted in what I planned to show his fellow students.
“Have any of you ever seen American television commercials?” I asked them.
No hands went up, though I realized that anyone who had seen American TV might not want to admit it publicly.
I’d brought tapes of commercials I’d recorded in the US as potential teaching aids because, in their own lowbrow manner, they spoke to the “distorted values of American society.” That’s how I pitched it to Dean Chen, in any case, which secured his quick approval.
After setting up the video player and screen, Rick handed me the remote. “Do you think you can operate this? Or do you need me to press ‘play’ for you, too?”
A couple students laughed, but a larger number frowned at Rick’s sarcasm. Did that mean my efforts were generating at least some goodwill? I hoped so, but I also knew that whatever bonds I’d formed would be destroyed when I vanished with Lily, their assistant dean.
“The first commercial is for a breath mint.”
“A breath mint?” Qianyi asked, her face wrinkling in disbelief.
“I know that sounds strange, but let’s watch and then we can talk about it afterward.”
Rick flicked off the light switch. I pressed the play button, hoping to God the tape would play because I didn’t want to give him another shot at trying to humiliate me.
The screen came to life with blond female twins staring at each other. The one on the left said that Certs was a “candy.” Her sister replied that it was a “breath mint.” Then a booming male voice announced that they were both right and, over footage of a stream burbling past a snowbank, extolled Certs’s ability to stop bad breath “in seconds” while also being the most delicious mint of all. The commercial ended with the young twins stepping into the arms of two handsome men who kissed them.
“That’s stupid,” said Rick without raising his hand. “Suck on candy and get a boyfriend.”
“They do say ‘sex sells,’” I added.
The others laughed.
“You’re right, Rick, it is stupid, but apparently it works, because Certs sells millions of those mints.”
He shook his head once more.
“Let’s focus on the language used by the actors. Did you notice how the two women spoke to each other? Each made a distinct claim, arguing in black-and-white terms. That’s the nature of commercials and dramas on American television. Good guys, bad guys, no in-between guys. Cowboys and Indians. Cops and robbers.”
Even as I offered this mild critique of America, I thought about how Chinese history is taught and the government’s blatant propaganda. The good-bad dichotomy was even more extreme there.
“American people believe that if they eat this candy, they’ll have sex?” asked Dolly.
I was grateful she’d changed the subject. “Let me put it this way: they think they’ll be sexier if their breath smells good.”
“And they think that mountain stream smells good, too,” Qianyi snorted. “It’s probably full of animal poop,” she said to even louder laughter. The Chinese generally enjoyed scatological references.
I gave up on Certs and played a Coke commercial. My students, like most American viewers, looked mesmerized by the long-legged women roller-skating in skimpy shorts, while tanned, well-muscled males swigged the soda.
“What are your observations about this ad?” I asked.
Qianyi jumped in again. “We have Coke in China, too, you know.”
“It seems maybe Coke in America is different,” said Michael, the tall fan of US basketball. His eyes were still on the screen, where an attractive couple had been caught mid-cavort by the pause button.
Qianyi still didn’t look convinced. Dolly checked her watch.
I gave up and asked Rick to put the lights back on.
“What about movie night?” asked Rose, typically the quietest woman in the class, though always ready with a smile for me.
I looked around and saw lots of nods. “Is there a movie you have in mind?”
“Casablanca with Henry Bogart,” she replied.
“Humphrey Bogart. That’s a good idea,” I said, before worrying about the film’s politics. But Communists are anti-fascist, too, right? All I recalled clearly about the movie was Bogart on the tarmac telling Bergman that they’d always have Paris.
I thought of Lily—We’ll always have Beijing—as I glanced at the door, hoping she’d make an unannounced appearance.
We discussed other classic American movies. I mentioned Citizen Kane, thinking the story of a capitalist tycoon dying sad and alone might meet Dean Chen’s approval, but a consensus emerged for Casablanca. Rick surprised me by volunteering to find a bootleg copy.
“Maybe I should clear it with Dean Chen first,” I said.
Rick shook his head. “I’ll do that, too.”
I nodded, even as I knew I’d run it by Chen myself, to be safe. Or his assistant.
The class ended with smiles and tentative plans to get together at my apartment on Thursday night. I felt guilty knowing I might not even be in in Beijing by then.
Will was waiting in the hallway for me. Yet another person I needed to pretend with.
“Your girlfriend just went by,” he said. “Didn’t give me the time of day. Just letting you know she’s not playing the field, even for me.”
“Even for you? Wonders never cease.”
“I made my play last year but she never warmed up to me, for what it was worth.”
I didn’t know why he suddenly felt compelled to tell me that. Jealousy? Could it affect the mission—or my friendship with him? I obviously couldn’t ask any of this. “How’d your class go?” I asked as we started down the hall.
“Same ol’ thing, man. Caught one of my students cheating on a quiz.”
The pressure to score well on tests was immense. Will and other teachers often talked about intercepting crib sheets or other elaborate schemes, though I never noticed anything with my students. But as I listened to him explain what happened this time, it hit me that I’d probably never make the grade as a spy if I was blind to cheating going on right under my nose.
We crossed the quad to the mailroom, where all the foreign teachers shared a single mailbox. Our letters and packages had typically already been opened by government inspectors. No mail for me, but I grabbed a complimentary copy of the China Daily, full of the usual black-and-white Chinese propaganda. “Splittist Dalai Lama’s Lies Exposed” attacked the Dalai Lama for supposedly fighting for Tibetan independence. Another article explained that while the rest of the world may have descended from Africans, the Chinese had evolved separately from Peking Man and were a distinct, superior race. But the headline that seized my attention was near the bottom of the page: “China and Middle-Eastern Friends Will Never Tolerate US Hegemony.” Christ! Ed’s description of a political coup and alliance with Middle Eastern terrorists might be edging toward reality.
“Fight Club or martial arts in the backyard?” Will asked as we headed toward the Foreign Experts Building.
“Martial arts.” I wanted to stay nearby in case Ed sent a message about where tomorrow’s meeting would take place.
