“There’s an extended Uigher family that lives here and farms. We take cover, and they do the meet and greet. Everyone knows the family.” Jon followed Asgar down a cleverly hidden narrow staircase into a cellar illuminated by bare lightbulbs. Rows of pallets held sleeping men and women. Asgar pointed to the empty one next to his, lay down, and was snoring instantly. Jon stretched out, tensing and relaxing his muscles.
He told himself he felt better. In any case, he was certain he would feel better when he awoke. As he tried to drift off, his mind kept returning to the problem of David Thayer. The potential for trouble and failure at the Sleeping Buddha less than twenty-four hours away was enormous enough. Any glitch in the attempt to free Thayer could ruin the entire mission. He rolled over, tried one side then the other. At last, he fell into a restless sleep.
Beijing It was late morning, and usually the Owl would have been in his office at Zhongnanhai for hours by now. Instead, he worked at his desk in his home study. He was smoking one of his favorite Players cigarettes and putting his chop to security documents when his wife ushered in Ambassador Wu Bang-tiao.
The Owl immediately put down his cigarette and stood to greet him. For once, there was a broad smile on his face. The ambassador was an ally and friend, who owed his post in Washington, D.C. to the Owl’s influence and discreet lobbying. As his wife disappeared out the door and closed it, Niu said, “Welcome, my good friend.” He grasped Ambassador Wu’s small hand. “This is a surprise, especially considering the difficulties between us and the United States.” A slight rebuke in his tones: “Until I received your message this morning, I’d no idea you were returning.”
The ambassador acknowledged the admonition with a flicker of his eyes.
“I slipped into the country quietly, leader, because of the difficulties. I needed to consult with you privately about your wishes.
Naturally, I came directly from the airport, and I’ll return directly to the airport.” Niu’s shoulders tightened at the enormity of what would bring the ambassador here so covertly over such a long distance, but again he offered a rare smile. “Of course. Sit. Relax.” Wu sat, his back barely touching the chair. He made no effort to relax, and Niu had not expected him to. “Thank you,” Wu said. “May I speak frankly, leader?”
“I insist. Whatever we say will remain here.” Niu picked up his ashtray and walked around to sit in the chair beside the ambassador, again in an act of friendship. Still, he did not offer Wu a cigarette. That would be going too far. “Tell me.” He smoked. “I believe I’ve been delivering the messages to the American president exactly as you wanted … which was, and I’m sure still is … that China must stand firm against any invasion of our sovereign rights. At the same time, China doesn’t seek an incident or confrontation that might escalate beyond anyone’s control.” Niu simply nodded. With even the closest ally, verbal commitment was not the way until absolutely necessary. Wu gave his tiny smile in return. “The American president indicates he understands that.
As I’ve said before, he’s unusually subtle for a Westerner. He reads nuances. I detect sincere concern that the standoff could escalate into war. Unlike others, when he says he doesn’t want war, I believe he means it. He confirms that with word choice, emphasis, and etiquette.”
“Impressive.” Niu controlled his impatience.
“As unusual as that is for a Western head of government, he’s done something even more unusual: He’s revealed what he’s doing and why.”
The Owl’s eyebrows rose. “Explain.”
As the ambassador recounted the most recent conversation in the Oval Office about The Dowager Empress, Niu listened in silence, mulling uneasily. Suddenly he realized-what was disturbing him: The U.S. president had unwittingly given him the correct question to ask. If the United States did not want the confrontation, and China did not want it, who did? Why did it continue? At the moment, the crisis seemed completely unnecessary, almost as if it had not only been staged, but its escalation orchestrated.
He considered what he had learned from Major Pan, and he recalled the discussions of the Standing Committee. Among the hawks, Wei Gaofan again stood out. It was true that through the alliance with Li Aorong and Li’s son-in-law, Wei could expect to make a profit from the shipment. Perhaps he had been making profits from such shipments for quite a while. But was that Wei’s ultimate goal now that news of it had reached the upper levels of government in both China and the United States?
No. The Owl was certain Wei would sacrifice profit instantly if he could take China back into the past. At heart, Wei was an ideologue, a true hardline Communist who had never gotten over Mao, Chu Teh, or Tiananmen Square. To go back to those days was his dream. His sending the Zhao Enlai submarine to threaten the Crowe proved that. He would encourage the confrontation to escalate into violence to force his point. To win, he might even go to war.
The Owl remembered Confucius’s two definitions of disaster: One was “catastrophe,” the other “opportunity.” Wei had seen the discovery of the Empress’s true cargo not as a catastrophe but as an opportunity to achieve something far more important to him than money.
“The president asks,” Ambassador Wu continued, breaking into the Owl’s thoughts, “whether concrete proof, in the form of the actual invoice manifest, would be enough for you to defuse the situation with the Standing Committee. Would the committee allow Americans to board, perhaps in conjunction with our submarine crew, or, alternately, would the committee end the situation by ordering the cargo destroyed in such a way that the Americans could confirm it? In short, would you be willing to work with our people as President Castilla works with his, to end this dangerous problem?” Niu inhaled his cigarette thoughtfully. While Wei saw the past as the future, Niu was comfortable with the unknown, with a future based on ideals like democracy and openness. The choice was stark: If he did not risk all, Wei would win. On the other hand, if he risked all and won, Wei — the preeminent hawk on the Standing Committee — would be brought down by his own deeds.
“Leader?” the ambassador asked, his face concerned at the long silence.
“Would you like a cigarette, Ambassador?”
“Thank you. Yes, I’d like one very much.” A moment of gratitude softened the ambassador’s worried face.
The two men smoked companionably. Crucial decisions must not be rushed.
“Thank you for bringing me this news,” Niu said at last. “I haven’t been wrong in my choice of ambassador. Return immediately to Washington and tell President Castilla I consider myself a reasonable man, while, of course, continuing to warn of the dire consequences should any Americans attempt to board.”
Wu put out his cigarette and stood. “He’ll understand. I’ll convey your exact words.” They exchanged a determined look. With a rustle of his long coat, Wu left.
Smoking furiously, Niu jumped to his feet and resumed pacing. The Americans clearly did not have proof of the cargo yet. That was most disquieting. Proof was essential. He stopped in the middle of the floor, wheeled on his heel, and marched back to his phone.
Standing over his desk, he dialed.
As soon as Major Pan answered, the Owl demanded, “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
Without prompting, Pan revealed the taped telephone conversation between Feng Dun and Wei Gaofan. “Only one of the original invoice manifests of the Empress’s true cargo still exists — in the hands of Yu Yongfu and Li Kuonyi.”
Niu caught his breath and stubbed out his cigarette. “Yes. What else?”
“Ralph Mcdermid is going to pay two million dollars to buy it from them.” He described the arrangements at the Sleeping Buddha.
The Owl listened carefully, his mind accelerating as the fog that had obscured the situation evaporated: This was what the president wanted, and what he wanted … the objective proof. Wei Gaofan knew this and wanted the manifest destroyed. At the same time, the Shanghai couple — Yu and Li — were pawns, trying desperately to survive. Then there was the rich American businessman Ralph Mcdermid, who must also want a confrontation, although Niu was not sure yet exactly why or how far he would allow it to escalate. Mcdermid was willing to pay a small fortune to keep the manifest out of anyone else’s hands. The rat who ran among all three was Feng Dun … pretending to work for Mcdermid and Yu Yongfu while his ultimate allegiance belonged to Wei Gaofan.
Feng was filth. Ralph Mcdermid and Wei Gaofan were worse. All must be stopped before they reignited the Cold War or started a hot one.
Thinking rapidly, he listened as Major Pan finished his report. Pan’s willingness at last to hold nothing back told Niu that the spycatcher had finally committed his loyalty to Niu. In their culture, it was the ultimate compliment, and also the ultimate vulnerability.
Could he do less? “I understand, Major,” Niu told him. “Perhaps more than you realize. Thank you for your
