China Hand, page 7
He snatched my passport, stepped into the guardhouse, and picked up the phone.
I looked at my watch. The event was to begin in three minutes. I glanced around to see if I could find Lily or someone else to help. Right then the guard returned, head slightly bowed. “Excuse me for the delay. Please follow the signs.” He pointed the way.
“Xie xie.” I thanked him as I hurried through the gate and along the tree-covered path.
I didn’t want to offend the general by showing up late. He was a legend in China, with hundreds of internet citations. He’d fought in China’s 1979 conflict with Vietnam, and in the eighties had directed military intelligence efforts that successfully stole US submarine, stealth, and radar technologies—thefts so compromising to American security that they hadn’t been revealed to the US public until recently. By the early nineties, he was in charge of the Nanjing military region across from Taiwan, a highly prestigious command, before being tapped to lead the Army General Staff.
I crossed a stone bridge over a slow-moving stream as weeping willows swayed on both banks. Then I saw Villa 18, the exterior beautifully lit for the banquet. The building was a classic Chinese design: broad and symmetrical, with red and green trim and a yellow-tiled roof that swept up at the corners to encase golden gables.
I approached the end of a line, behind the well-heeled dignitaries. A young man in a black suit came out, pulled me aside, and led me through a side entrance to an ornate bathroom. Handing me a small white towel, he pointed to my sweaty face and dusty shoes.
After sorting myself out, I followed the attendant across a fine blue carpet to the main ballroom, which was framed by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking an illuminated lake.
I checked around for Lily among the fifty-plus Americans and Chinese in attendance, about a quarter of them military officers. I didn’t see her but did spot General Jiang at the center of the room. He looked like photos I’d seen of him online, right down to his dress uniform. Unlike the American officers, whose chests were adorned with a fruit salad of ribbons and medals, the general’s uniform was plain, save for the yellow epaulets and red and yellow pins on the lapels of his dark green jacket. He was leaning close to the US ambassador, a man whom I recognized as the former Democratic senator from Tennessee.
I also spotted a woman from the US Embassy who’d hosted a party after our first night boxing. I hadn’t caught her name, but she worked for the Commercial Service, helping American companies sell into the local market. She’d been charming two Chinese gentleman, gently touching their arms. When she had excused herself to greet several late arrivals, one of the guests beside me had whispered that he’d heard a rumor she was actually CIA and organized these events to cultivate contacts from the nearby Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Now, as I watched her and the ambassador and so many others attired in the crisp creases of the deeply influential, I could almost feel the undercurrents of spy craft swirling throughout the room in real time. It felt surreal, as though I’d stepped into a grand scene from a Cold War movie.
At that moment, Lily walked into the Great Hall in a long red dress and heels. She wore pearl earrings, which for the first time appeared quintessentially Chinese to me. Her elegant presence only contributed to my own sense of not belonging. But then she waved at me with such a welcoming smile that it washed away my misgivings. She motioned to meet her beside her father.
The general’s gruff expression softened as she approached him, and I could see adoration in his eyes. I wondered if I would one day feel the same about a daughter of my own.
Lily might have been whispering my name in her father’s ear because as I drew near, he put out his hand and in a booming baritone said, “Gao Laoshi!” Teacher Gao.
“Andrew, this is my father.” I heard pride in her voice and found it endearing as the general held me firmly in his grasp.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” I said in Chinese, concerned about how I should converse with a general. He exuded power and was physically intimidating. A few inches shorter than I was, he had broad shoulders, a bristly military haircut, and a long scar below his right eye. I doubted it stemmed from a gardening mishap.
The ambassador filled the conversational void by introducing himself to me in his gentlemanly Tennessee drawl. His grip provided only the slightest pressure, as if a diplomat’s understated strength extended to the most quotidian gesture. Then he turned to his blond daughter Elizabeth and introduced her, adding that I was teaching IAU students about American society.
“I’m really enjoying it,” I said, surprised that he knew who I was. Was there an American Embassy dossier with my name on it? Perhaps it wasn’t just the Chinese keeping tabs on me.
General Jiang added, “My daughter told me that Professor Gao is an excellent teacher.” Professor? Hardly. But I wasn’t about to correct him.
A slender woman with a delicate face and sharp cheekbones stepped to the general’s side. He introduced his wife, Lily’s mother, Jiang Xin, to me. She belied her apparent frailty by looking me in the eye and shaking my hand firmly.
“Lily tells me you went to Harvard,” the general said, looking me up and down. “You must be very…intelligent.”
“I don’t know about intelligent,” I said. “I had to work very hard at Harvard.”
“Modest, that’s good—not very typical for Americans.” The general squeezed my arm tightly. I instinctively flexed it, sore after lifting weights only hours earlier at the Fight Club. I’d been careful not to spar, however, for fear of showing up with a swollen eye or crooked nose.
General Jiang spoke quickly in Mandarin to Lily. I didn’t catch what he said, so I looked at her for help. She smirked. “My father said that in China, bookworms aren’t usually as big and strong as you.”
Coming from a military man, I took that as a compliment. I didn’t mention that my boxing record consisted of one loss by knockout at a bar and several more defeats at the hands of Coach Liu, an over-the-hill chain-smoker.
Lily guided the conversation with ease, pausing only when guests were asked to take their assigned places for dinner. A half-dozen notable Americans, including the ambassador, defense secretary, a high-ranking admiral, and a few Fortune 500 executives sat at the head table, along with their Chinese counterparts, with General Jiang and his wife at the center. Lily and I settled at one of several smaller tables beside a handful of others. I was awestruck to find myself at a momentous bilateral summit, and couldn’t help but selfishly think, These are exactly the sort of business contacts I hoped to make in China. Professor Lin was right about teaching at the IAU. And that was before I ever met Lily.
“Thanks again for inviting me,” I told her.
She surprised me by discreetly pressing her leg against mine under the table. She didn’t say anything, just locked onto my gaze, but there was no mistaking her overture.
I held my leg against hers for another moment before pulling back, worried that her parents could see us. I breathed a sigh of relief to see that the tablecloth blocked the view.
A staff member served each of us a plate of what the menu called, in Mandarin, a “garden full of spring blossoms,” a colorful dish of ham, salted duck eggs, carrots, snow fungus, oranges, sweet beans, and other garnishes served on blue and yellow china. I asked Lily about the origins of the dish’s name, which seemed to have little to do with the ingredients or taste. “We often place more emphasis on the overall appearance or sensation,” she said as her fingers gently touched the back of my hand.
I smiled, while desperately trying to control the chemicals coursing through my body, a mix of desire and fear. My rational side was telling me this general’s daughter was off-limits, which seemed to make me want her even more.
I attempted to focus on the food as another appetizer was served—“three flowers competing with each other,” delicately arranged pieces of shrimp, pig ear, and a mystery item I couldn’t even recognize. As I sampled the succulent dishes, their delicious aroma almost overwhelmed the entrancing perfume Lily wore.
I asked her about the Chinese dignitaries, particularly an Asian man at the head table, who looked familiar.
“That’s Ed Lee, the Managing Director of White and McInerny in China,” Lily said.
“Really?” I recalled her saying she had met the head of W&M at the recruiting event.
“Yes, you should introduce yourself to him tonight.”
After several more delightful cold appetizers, the hot dishes began to arrive in small portions, starting with a variety of soups, including one made from chrysanthemums and tofu. Then crispy fried mango and quail rolls appeared before king crab, baked snails, black pepper beef, and what they called “shrimp and dragon ball dumplings.”
As I enjoyed the Chinese haute cuisine and unique company, I learned that the dinner had two purposes. Officially, it was part of a series of meetings to improve US-Chinese relations, which had been on rocky terms since 1996, when America sailed the USS Nimitz aircraft carrier right through the Taiwan Strait. China’s humiliation might have been on the mind of two US military delegates at my table who were discussing the need to avoid a “Thucydides Trap,” a historical tendency for established and rising powers to go to war.
Unofficially, the evening celebrated General Jiang’s recent return from the United States, where he’d been part of a delegation negotiating China’s entry into the World Trade Organization.
Even without such a high-stakes backdrop, the dinner would have been a memorable event. The glasses of baijiu, a Chinese rice wine, came one after the other in quick succession, and so did the general’s stories. His parents, he lamented, must have wanted to prevent him from having a successful military career because the “kai” character in his name (凯) was the same as that of an infamously ambitious general from Chinese history, Yuan Shikai, who was tasked with suppressing a revolution but then took the opportunity to install himself as president. “Were my parents trying to signal that I could not be trusted?” he joked to wild laughter—as I took his daughter’s hand under the table.
The general looked over at Lily, who then added the most encouraging pressure to her touch. I could feel my heart pumping faster as I tried to reassure myself that our flirtations remained hidden.
The general continued his storytelling, saying that he’d always wished he’d played an instrument. “I tried to encourage my daughter Lily—” Her hand froze on mine. “—to play the piano, but she was too stubborn.” He looked at her with open affection. “I have commanded great armies but cannot make my own daughter obey a simple order.”
Everyone roared once more. Lily’s hand relaxed and she smiled, I suspected for more than one reason.
As the banquet wound down, we enjoyed a “coffee oil mousse cake,” a plate of kiwi, dragon fruit, and ice cream, and a custard pastry. After the general signaled an end to the event, guests started milling around as they prepared to depart. We had just left our table when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Andrew Callahan?”
I turned and nodded.
“Ed Lee, from White and McInerny.” He reached out to shake my hand.
That’s when I recognized him as the man in the Department of Government building at Harvard, the one I’d seen while visiting Professor Lin. What had Lee been doing there? W&M recruited at all the Ivies, but I wasn’t aware of any formal events at the time. Maybe he’d been following up on prospects, though clearly those efforts hadn’t included me.
“Great to meet someone from W and M.” Feeling a reminder was in order, I added, “I’m supposed to start working there next year, actually.”
“Yes. I heard it through the grapevine and I wanted to say hi.”
The grapevine includes a new hire like me? I recovered enough to thank him and add, “It’s good to meet you, too.”
“It’s great that you’re spending some time in China first, learning fluent Mandarin,” Ed said. “I can think of some situations where we could really use someone with your profile.” I smiled, unsure of how to respond. Ed appeared Chinese, but he sounded as if he had been raised in Texas or Oklahoma. “That’s very reassuring,” I answered finally. “I wasn’t sure if I was making a mistake, taking a year off to teach in China, of all things.”
“No, not at all,” he replied. “Back when Japan was booming, we hired a number of people like you. Guys who’d spent a year or two teaching English there, learning the language.” He glanced at Lily, who was talking to Elizabeth. “Maybe meet a girl.”
Ed was a senior partner at my future employer. I thought it best not to pick up on his comment.
“We should speak more, but not here,” he said. I was curious about his need for discretion. Then he smiled and nodded in Lily’s and Elizabeth’s direction. “You probably have other things on your mind. But next month, we’re having a cocktail party to celebrate the opening of our new Beijing office. You should come.”
“I’d love to. Thank you.”
He handed me the address. “Thursday, October 8th, seven p.m. See you then.”
I went over to say goodbye to the general and to thank him for the evening. He pumped my hand, even friendlier after all the food and wine.
“I am pleased Lily has an opportunity to work with such a smart, strong colleague as you.” His eyes shifted to Ed Lee, who’d stopped to talk to the ambassador. I thought I saw the general stiffen. He turned back and appeared suddenly sobered. “Please look after her for me.”
“Yes, of course,” I assured him, perplexed by his abrupt change in demeanor. I was tempted to ask if he was okay but felt that might be presumptuous.
Besides, he was already walking away. Not toward the ambassador or his own daughter, or to his wife, who was making her way slowly from the head table, but toward the door. Suddenly, he seemed strangely alone amidst the celebration.
CHAPTER 11
Lily asked me to walk her home, a welcome sign that she didn’t want the evening to end. An even stronger signal came when her hand slipped into mine as we passed over the stone bridge bookended by those lovely willows.
“How about stopping for a drink?” I asked. It was only eight thirty, and I wanted to make the most of our unexpected time alone before her ten o’clock curfew.
Lily snugged her silver merino shawl tightly across her chest, which was all the answer I needed—and a great excuse to put my arm around her. She pressed closer and offered a theatrical shiver and a smile.
“Did you enjoy the dinner?” she asked as we approached the main gate.
“The food was every bit as delicious as you said it would be. I just hope I acted appropriately.”
“You were perfect,” she said. “My father quite liked you. He said you were just as described.”
“Thanks for putting in a good word for me.”
“I did, but I think it was mostly Ed Lee, from your company. My father said Mr. Lee had told him a lot about you yesterday…said you were quite the ‘outstanding young man.’”
Really? It seemed a lot of flattery to pass along from the “grapevine.”
Lily and I maneuvered carefully past dozens of uniformed security officers stationed side by side on the road fronting the compound, then meandered—still arm-in-arm—toward a little restaurant bustling with locals eating and sipping beers in small groups.
“Let’s stop in here,” Lily said, nudging my lower back.
Two young women in bright red qipaos, the tight-fitting traditional Chinese silk dresses with seductive slits running to mid thigh, greeted us by announcing that their “foreign friend” had arrived. This was a common expression; it didn’t necessarily denote familiarity.
“This place is like a zoo.” I was commenting not on the patrons toasting one another, but on the posted menu. Most of the items were still alive in cages and tanks. I saw nearly every creature you’d possibly want to eat—chickens, fish, shrimp and other shellfish—and a fair number you might not: turtles, eels, and snakes, not to mention other critters I couldn’t readily identify. A gray cat and a white Pekingese dog scurried about the feet of the diners.
We were shown a table in the back corner, just below a television playing a hit music video by A-Mei, a Taiwanese singer. Wearing black latex pants and a red sequin shirt, she repeatedly returned to the hook and pointed directly into the camera to declare that he really was a bad boy.
It was easy to find meaning in coincidence when I saw Lily smiling at me.
A waitress in a green skirt handed us menus. “Beer?” I asked Lily. She nodded.
“Two draft beers,” I said in Mandarin to the waitress.
“We have a six-day holiday coming up for National Day and Mid-Autumn Festival,” Lily said. “Do you have any plans?”
“I completely forgot about it.” The Chinese National Day was October 1 each year. Mid-Autumn Festival was a Thanksgiving-like celebration always held on the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the lunar calendar, which this year happened to fall on Monday, October 5. “I don’t know. You?”
“I was thinking of taking a trip to Shanghai.” She took a breath, then spoke quickly. “Want to come with me?”
“Lily…you know I can’t,” I said, though my emotions were telling me the exact opposite. “It would look bad—terrible. Dean Chen definitely would fire me and kick me out of China.”
“I guess I thought American guys were a little more…adventurous.” She looked me in the eye. Does she realize how provocative she’s being?
“You really should go with some of your other friends.” I ached saying that.
“Would you go if you weren’t my colleague?”
“Lily…”
“Just tell me.”
“Yes.”
