private clubs in Beijing where the wealthy gathered. But they knew China had left them behind. Fewer and fewer of them were willing to accept their fate. All over China the pot was boiling up. In southwest China, farmers had attacked police stations over land seizures. In north China, coal miners had rioted to demand safety equipment after an explosion at a mine in Hebei killed 180 men.
Even worse, the economy wasn’t booming anymore. So far, the government had hidden the slowdown from the outside world. But Li knew the real numbers. Growth had slowed month after month, from ten percent to eight to five and now to three. And no one, not the economic minister or the governor of the Central Bank, could explain what was happening, not in words that made sense to Li. They said the economy needed more reform, not less.
But Li spent more time outside Zhongnanhai than the other senior leaders combined. He might not be an economist, but he had eyes. He saw old women with bowed heads begging for help, their clothes dirty, empty bowls between their hands. He saw the peasants lined up in Tiananmen to plead for work, even though the police beat them just for being there.
The poet Du Fu had written, 1,250 years earlier, “Within red gates, wine and meat rot, while on the street outside people starve.” Dynasties crumbled when emperors forgot their subjects. Inside Zhongnanhai, life was sweeter than ever. The men around him imagined they could call in the tanks again if they needed to. But this time the rebels wouldn’t be students. They would be miners and peasants and factory workers. They would be men, not boys, and this time they would fight.
Li wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t use the People’s Liberation Army, his army, against civilians. He would take control of the situation, not for his own glory, of course, but to save the nation from the greed of its rulers.
BUT TAKING CONTROL WOULDN’T BE EASY. Li couldn’t openly challenge Zhang Fenshang, the economic minister and the most powerful man on the Standing Committee. Zhang was supposedly ranked second-in- command, behind the general secretary, Xu Xilan. In reality, Zhang was the most powerful man in China. Xu was eighty-two and feeble, a figurehead who “consulted” Zhang before any important decision.
Together, Zhang and the other liberals — Li gritted his teeth to think of the word — held six seats on the nine-member committee. To defeat them, Li needed to outmaneuver them. If he could take control of the committee, the people would rally around him. The rich businessmen might protest. But eventually even they would understand that Li didn’t want to destroy them, just make them share some of their wealth.
Li knew he would have only one chance to take power. If he failed, he wouldn’t just lose his spot on the Standing Committee. At best, he would spend the rest of his years under house arrest. At worst, he would suffer a tragic accident, and his death would be announced to the people in somber tones.
No, he couldn’t fail. And he needed to move quickly, before the people grew so angry that even he couldn’t calm them. In the last few months, he’d put a plan together. And now, after his visit to Iran, he believed he’d found the key to making it work.
Li knew his plan was dangerous. But not acting would be even more dangerous.
DESSERT — A RICH PEAR CAKE with ginger ice cream — was served, and the plates cleared. The waiters poured cognac. Then they disappeared, leaving the nine men at the table to the country’s business.
Zhang, sitting beside Xu, the general secretary, raised his glass. “To the glory of the new China.”
“And to the people,” Xu said. “To the wisdom of the Chinese people.”
“Of course, Comrade Xu,” Zhang said. “We must always serve the people.”
Li sipped from his snifter, feeling the glow of the golden liquid in his mouth. Cognac was one of his indulgences. A glass before bed made his sleep pleasant.
The Standing Committee met for the banquets once a month. The dinners always followed the same script. Only when the waiters had left the hall did business begin. Of course, the committee met in regular sessions several times a week, but the truly important decisions were made at this table — with no aides to overhear or record the sessions. Even in here, even speaking only to one another, committee members chose their words as carefully as Mafia dons on a phone line tapped by the FBI. Speaking too clearly signaled weakness, not strength.
“Comrade Zhang,” Xu said. “Please begin.”
“The economic situation has not changed,” Zhang said. “The transition period”—what the liberals called the economy’s slowdown—“is continuing. But there’s no reason for concern. The will of the people is excellent. Business conditions are good.”
Zhang had said the same thing the month before, and the month before that. How much had Zhang stolen from the national treasury and hidden in banks in Singapore? Li wondered. How many bribes had he taken? Five hundred million yuan—$60 million? A billion yuan? Two billion?
“Then what is the problem?” Xu said.
“General Secretary,” Zhang said, “just as a farmer must let a field lie fallow from time to time, the economy must slow occasionally before it grows again.” Though he’d lived most of his life in Shanghai, Zhang liked to use farming metaphors with Xu, whose parents had been peasants. “We’re pruning the deadwood so saplings can prosper. If the young trees aren’t rising fast enough, we must prune more vigorously.”
To the men at the table, Zhang’s meaning was clear. The government should close more state-owned factories, like the tire plant where Li’s father had worked. Li couldn’t believe that Zhang had the audacity to propose more layoffs with so many people already jobless. But arguing openly with Zhang would be futile.
“Yes,” Xu said. “I see.”
“I’ll propose a plan for the Congress next month”—the annual Communist Party Congress, which would officially ratify the decisions these nine men made.
“Does anyone else have thoughts on Comrade Zhang’s view?” Xu said. Li held his tongue. Then Xu turned toward him.
“Comrade General Li. How was your visit to Tehran?”
Now or never, Li thought. “Very productive, General Secretary.” He outlined the oil-for-nuclear-help deal he’d discussed with the Iranian president. Li could see that he’d caught Zhang by surprise, as he’d intended.
“Zhang, what do you think?” Xu asked.
Zhang sipped his cognac, trying to buy time. Li could imagine his calculation. An open alliance against the United States would have enormous risks. On the other hand, a confrontation with America would buy time to right the economy. And Zhang didn’t want to appear as though he feared the United States.
Zhang looked at Li. “What’s your view, Comrade General?”
Zhang was hoping to force the responsibility for the decision back on Li. In doing so, Zhang had slipped into Li’s trap. Zhang had never before given up control on an important issue. He would find retaking it more difficult than he expected, Li thought.
“My view, Comrade Zhang?” he said. “Let’s seize this opportunity. The Iranians can give us leverage against the hegemonists”—the Americans. “Our industries will benefit from a guaranteed supply of oil. And the Persians will be a new market for us. They see all that we’ve done. They can help us through the transition period. Anyway, why should we let the Americans decide what nations have certain weapons?”—nuclear bombs. “The Persians don’t threaten us.”
“And the Americans? What will they say?”
“Let them talk,” Li said. “Talk does not cook rice.”
“It isn’t their talk that concerns me,” Zhang said. “What if they misunderstand our peaceful intent?”
Li had to admit that Zhang could turn a phrase. Of course the United States would “misunderstand” if China allied with Iran, America’s biggest enemy.
“The hegemonists aren’t interested in any more wars.”
“You’re certain.”
“Nothing is certain, Comrade Zhang. But they are distracted now, and our army and navy are valiant.”
