‘Good afternoon. I’m Phillip Moy.’
Kang Fa smiled and introduced himself under his current alias. ‘My name is Deng Cho-Nam. I have come from Hong Kong with news of your uncle, Moy Huian.’
The mention of his uncle’s name stunned Moy momentarily as memories of a man he hadn’t seen since he was a small boy flashed across his mind. He now understood his wife’s distress. Moy Huian had served over four decades in a Chinese reeducation camp, a surrogate prisoner for Phillip Moy’s father. The hairs on the back of Moy’s neck bristled.
‘What is the purpose of your visit, Mr Deng?’ Moy asked with cool suspicion.
Kang unbuttoned his double-breasted blazer and sat in a black leather chair. Moy sat opposite him on the couch, next to his father, who looked unusually old tonight.
‘I am here for humanitarian purposes.’ Kang spoke like a diplomat. ‘I’ve brought word from Guangdong Province regarding Moy Huian. The Chinese government is preparing to release certain political prisoners to appease the West. I have well-placed contacts in Beijing that can ensure Moy Huian’s name is on the list of those to be released.’
‘Here is a letter from my brother,’ his father said, offering several pages of Chinese characters with a black- and-white photograph; it was the first direct communication they’d received from Huian in over forty years.
Moy scanned the letter, which told briefly of the years following his father’s escape to Hong Kong. Moy Huian had stayed behind with his parents, who were too old and sick to make the journey to the West with their eldest son. Two months after his father’s defection, Moy’s grandparents had died and Moy Huian was imprisoned. For the past forty years, Moy’s father had carried the guilt of abandoning his family and leaving his brother to face the punishment for his defection.
The letter showed no sign of censorship, and the characters told of Huian’s longing to see his brother again. The photograph showed a man who had aged well beyond his years while imprisoned.
Moy was still skeptical. He had heard of con men selling promises to the families of those trapped in China, men who would disappear once the required bribes and fees had been paid by the family.
‘Father, are you certain that this letter is from Huian?’
‘This is my brother.’ Moy’s father pointed to the photograph. ‘The handwriting in the letter is his, and he refers to things that only he and I would know.’
Moy accepted his father’s confirmation and turned back to Kang. ‘What is your interest in this matter?’
Kang looked directly into Moy’s eyes and spoke sincerely. ‘I enjoy helping people.’
Moy’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took his measure of the man. ‘Thank you for bringing my father some measure of happiness in his old age. I do hope that it is not a false happiness.’
Kang picked up on the wariness in Moy’s voice, a distrust that was understandable. ‘It is no false hope,’ he replied confidently. ‘My contacts inside the PRC can get your uncle out, but the price will be very high.’
‘Let us talk in private.’ Moy motioned toward a pair of French doors off the living room. ‘I wouldn’t want my father to think that I would haggle over his brother’s freedom.’
Moy’s study was furnished in an eclectic mixture of traditional Oriental furnishings and artwork combined with pieces from the Arts and Crafts movement. Strangely enough, the chairs by Charles Rennie Mackintosh worked quite well with the sixth-century urn. Moy’s wife brought in tea before returning to the living room.
Both men studied each other for a few moments and Moy found Deng’s expression unreadable. The man appeared totally unconcerned about the deal he was brokering.
‘You come here tonight in a position of strength. If you truly have the ability to extract my uncle from the PRC, please tell me how this feat will be accomplished and what it will cost me.’
Kang took a long sip from his teacup, swirling the brew lightly in his mouth before quietly swallowing. He wiped his mouth clean with his napkin in an effort calculated to intensify Moy’s anxiety. ‘My fee is nominal, a mere one hundred thousand dollars for arranging this exchange. The people who control your uncle’s fate require something more.’
‘Bribes for the officials, I presume,’ Moy replied.
‘In most cases, that would be true. But not in this case.’ Kang set his teacup down on the side table and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and drawing closer to Moy. ‘You know as well as I that the Chinese are a patient people who remember disturbing events for a long time. Beijing still remembers the sting of your father’s defection, and they do not forgive such actions quickly or easily. Moy Huian has served as a surrogate in your father’s place. To win his freedom, I must deal with the Chinese security apparatus directly. They have agreed to your uncle’s release, conditionally.’
The last word hung in the air like a sword waiting to fall. ‘And what are their conditions?’
‘What your father stole from them, they were able to replace many years ago. There is nothing that he could now offer that has any interest to them. Beijing wants you to provide them with something of equal value to the knowledge they lost when your father defected; they want information. Your company developed the ciphering system currently in use by the American government. They want the keys to break this system.’
Moy felt his blood pressure rise twenty points in a single heartbeat. His father had been branded a traitor for following his conscience and defecting. Now he was being asked to betray the country that had welcomed his family, the country that he’d called home for most of his life, to repay the crime of his father’s defection. Phillip Moy fought back the urge to remove this man bodily from his home for making such a request. He had no doubt that Deng Cho-Nam worked with PRC Intelligence to prey on the guilt of Chinese emigres who’d left family members behind.
Moy maintained a calm, receptive expression in spite of the troubling and violent emotions that boiled within him. ‘Your contacts in Beijing are correct; I did develop the ciphering system now in use by the American government. Unfortunately, I no longer have access to the specific details of that project.’ Moy was bluffing, hoping that Deng would counter with a cash offer. ‘It is common practice for all materials relating to a highly classified government project to be turned over once the project is complete.’
Kang topped off his teacup and eased back in his chair. ‘That may be a common practice for most government projects, but not in this case. The hardware, engineering data, and the ciphering programs are maintained on a special-projects computer housed at your Chicago facility. Access to this computer is strictly limited, but the information can be retrieved on your personal authority. The ciphers are the price of your uncle’s release; anything less would be unacceptable to my clients.’
Everything this man had said was true. The thought of an informer inside his company, a spy supplying the PRC with classified information, caused Moy’s anger to swell even further. Moy fought hard to keep his head clear of emotion.
‘Assuming that you are correct and I still have access to the ciphering information, how could I turn it over to you? I am subject to the same security measures as my employees. I can’t simply make a copy of the files and walk out of my office with them.’
‘I am surprised at you.’ A thin smile curled on Kang’s face, the look of a cat toying with its prey. ‘Is this not the information age? There is no need for you to risk yourself in this exchange. All that my clients require is the exact date and time of your next data transfer to the government. That information, and the access codes to your computer, will allow them to retrieve what they desire. Once they have the ciphers, your uncle will be turned over to you.’
The smile then disappeared and Kang changed his expression to one of deadly earnest. ‘There are two other points that I must make very clear to you. First, if you do not accept these terms, your uncle will be killed. Second, if the Chinese are unable to break the American codes with the information from your computer, they will assume that you have betrayed them. For that betrayal, your family will be killed. You see, the factor that determines whether a piece of information is priceless or worthless is time. Beijing must have the time to make use of the cipher information; otherwise, this effort is futile. Once the American government discovers that their codes have been broken, they will immediately alter their method of encryption. For you and your family’s sake, that event must be pushed as far into the future as possible. Do as I have instructed and you have nothing to fear.’
Nothing but a lifetime of looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next time your clients in Beijing want something from me, Moy thought. As in many difficult negotiations, Moy’s poker face held. Deng was equally calm and unreadable.
‘Since you leave me with no alternative, I accept your conditions.’ Moy looked Deng directly in the eyes. ‘But I do have one condition of my own.’
