“Thanks.”
She walked toward the door, stopping beside Hood. “If you do that again, I’ll feed you to General Carew. I swear it.”
“Are you working for him? Should the president be concerned?”
“No,” she replied thickly. “I just happen to know the general likes chewing up starchy little bureaucrats.”
She crossed the blue carpet with its gold symbol of the presidency, leaving Hood alone for a moment in the Oval Office. He had always understood why presidents became paranoid, why they installed recording devices in the West Wing. He just hated being a part of that intrigue. The people at Op-Center had always pulled together toward a single goal: protecting the United States and its interests from chaos. Here, they helped to create it.
As he left the Oval Office and the pointedly averted eyes of Ms. Kubert, Hood was suddenly more afraid of his own team than he was of the Chinese.
NINETEEN
Li-Li would be proud. The prime minister arrived at his office shortly after three A.M. His visitors were already there. Le Kwan Po had made them wait.
Blinking hard to chase away the fog of exhaustion, he looked over data that had been sent from the Xichang space center, hand-carried by his aide and placed in a safe. Against opposition, Le Kwan Po had supported international involvement with the project. It was not just a matter of having a sophisticated communications satellite at their disposal. It was a question of being able to deconstruct the technology, study it, and build the next generation of homegrown Chinese satellites.
A number of old-school members of the government did not like the idea of commissioning work from other nations. Stealing blueprints and technology was acceptable, a legitimate function of the state. Paying for it was to admit a need, to show weakness. A technologically advanced satellite could not compensate for a bowed head. Men like Chou Shin were unyielding in matters like that. What Le did not know was whether they were willing to promote internecine warfare.
The security arrangements were no different than they were for other launches. Unless he could forge some kind of peace very soon, that would have to change. Chou and Tam Li both had access to the old codes. They knew the standard distribution of manpower throughout the site and what areas engineers would be watching as the countdown progressed.
They knew that this was the centerpiece of the National Day celebration honoring the founding of the People’s Republic of China.
Something would have to be done about this. Le would try reasoning with the men, though that had never worked in the past. Perhaps now, with their feud becoming public, their attitude would be different. A news report from Taiwan had just arrived. It underscored the need for someone to take control of this situation. Bulletins from the breakaway republic were automatically sent to all Chinese government officials. Le read about the attempted arrest at the Taipei hotel. The Cho-Chiun was a safe house for Chinese spies. There was no doubt in his mind who the police had been pursuing. He would be interested to find out how they tracked the men there. He called the vice chairman of the Standing Committee on Regional Security to see if he knew anything more. The vice chairman had been up since hearing of the nightclub bombing. He had confirmed through intercepted radio transmissions what Le had suspected, that the Taipei Municipal Police had been given assistance by Interpol. The SCRS did not know who had provided the international police with their information.
To clear his mind, the prime minister also reviewed an updated guest list for the reception he would be hosting the following evening. A few ambassadors had been added, and several journalists had been removed. Leading academics in the sciences and arts would also be attending. Le’s daughter Anita was among them. The forty-year-old woman was a professor of literature and head of the doctoral arts program at Beijing University. Poised, articulate, and lovely, she was a favorite of the premier. Le often said, only partly in jest, that it was her status that had given him job security rather than vice versa. The cocktail party was in honor of the fifty-eighth National Day. The reception was an opportunity for people to mingle and exchange ideas.
At least, on the surface.
When he was ready, Le Kwan Po lit a cigarette and went to the sitting room adjoining his office. The foreign minister was pacing, Chou Shin was sitting in a red leather armchair with his chin on his chest and his eyes shut, and General Tam Li was tucked against one side of a white sofa, his right arm poised on the armrest as he stared straight ahead. He was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette stuffed with strong Hongtashen tobacco. He was catching the ashes on a copy of the newspaper resting under his elbow. Only the foreign minister reacted to the prime minister’s arrival.
“Is everything all right?” De Ming asked solicitously.
“We would not be here if it were,” Le said as he shut the office door. He walked toward the men. The prime minister did not apologize for making them wait. General Tam Li continued to stare ahead. Chou woke and sat up straight. “Did any of you see the latest report from Taipei?” Le knew they had not, since the time stamp was 4:29 A.M. They all looked over.
“What has happened now?” De Ming asked. The man’s hovering attentiveness was replaced by real concern. Not just about the event but for knowledge the prime minister possessed that he did not.
Le sat in a rocking chair. He leaned forward and took an ashtray from the coffee table by the sofa. He told the three men about the explosion at the Taipei hotel and the subsequent escape of the bombers.
The men seemed surprised by the news — for different reasons, the prime minister suspected.
“Do the Taiwanese police know who the hotel guests were?” Chou asked.
“Which information is the director of the Guoanbu concerned about?” General Tam Li asked as he blew smoke from the side of his mouth. “The names of the men or the fact that Taipei might have identified them?”
Chou did not reply.
The prime minister regarded the spy chief. “I would like to know the answer to that, Director Chou.”
The seventy-one-year-old hard-liner snickered. “Is that why we were called from our beds? To be interrogated by an amateur?”
“The technique is not important. The information is,” the prime minister replied. “It is no secret that the distinguished director of the Guoanbu and one of our most honored soldiers are not getting along. The foreign minister has kept me informed about attacks against Chinese interests abroad. These incidents do not seem to have been random. I hope both of you can tell me more about them.”
The foreign minister did not look happy. The prime minister did not care. Le wanted these men to know that De Ming Wang was a self-serving opportunist and not a potential ally.
“My interest in Taipei is professional,” Chou replied. He regarded Tam Li for the first time. “As for this honored soldier, the general and I have a very different vision of China and its place in the world. My views are in accord with the values and policies of the
Chou was near reverent when he mentioned the Communist Party of China. The spy master obviously did so to suggest that an attack on him was an attack against the nation itself.
“General?” Le asked.
“I do not intend to sit here as my devotion to our nation and its party are questioned,” Tam Li replied. His mild surprise at the news from Taipei had diminished. He continued to look ahead and not at anyone in the room. “Director Chou has failed to answer the prime minister’s question. I would like to know the answer as well. I would also like to know whether the resources of the Guoanbu are being used in ways other than their regulations permit.”
“Is there evidence of this?” the prime minister asked. He looked from the general to the spy chief. Until Le had more information—
Neither man spoke. Le did not bother asking the foreign minister. De Ming would not say anything, even if he knew.
The prime minister drew on his cigarette. He exhaled slowly. He had the authority to empanel a Special
