by Hock G Tjoa
Both Najmudin and Ali knew that this was the greatest weapon against the mountain people. Neither of them was convinced that the new talisman, any talisman, could conjure up the necessary unity of the tribes.
It is mountain gossip, thought Najmudin, the Soldier.
It will keep the ISI happy for months, thought Ali, the Spy.
“We should go down into this shallow valley and find a place suitable to camp.”
“I wouldn’t complain if we found a lost lamb.”
“God willing.”
“God willing.”
The two did not find a lamb that night, nor during the next two days that they spent looking for the Soldier’s brother. A small, wild fowl made for a meager meal. Thus hunger, as much as lack of success in finding the Soldier’s brother, determined the end of their search. The Soldier said, “Let’s go back to the village. I want to search in the opposite direction. I’d be grateful for your company if your uncle can spare you.”
The morning after they returned to the village, Ali appeared at the Soldier’s doorstep as he was saying goodbye to his uncle.
“You look different. What are these clothes?” the Soldier asked with curiosity and suspicion.
“Ah, my city clothes,” grinned Ali. “They are not so different from ours up here, are they? Anyway, they were a gift from the Shopkeeper’s friend in the city. He took pity on a country mouse.”
The Soldier laughed and asked, “You are leaving the mountains for the city then? Is anything wrong?”
Ali’s countenance darkened as he replied, “My sister’s third child has taken ill, and the mullah took them into the city because no one could cure my nephew in that village. It has been more than three months, and he has not been back to pick them up.”
“I shall miss your company on the other side of the hills then,” said the Soldier. “Go in peace.”
Ali nodded. “Go in peace.”
They walked a few paces together before the Soldier turned uphill and left the Spy to continue down the hill toward the road that led to the city. The Soldier did not wish to meet any army or intelligence units. His ten years in the camps of the rebels taught him that much.
3: THE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY
Spymaster Wang arrived at his office at eight.
The Chinese Intelligence Agency occupied a large, modern, nondescript building in an ordinary suburb of Beijing. Far away enough from the newer parts of the capital, this suburb even boasted trees along the streets. Over the past decade, the agency’s need for space had grown to include adjacent buildings. Recently, all the buildings were connected to each other by unobtrusive underground tunnels.
When the service began, as a specialized branch of the Army, it shared a building in the Army headquarters. But even twenty-five years ago, Wang’s predecessor had foreseen the need to obtain physical distance from the Army so that his organization could develop its own mission and capabilities. The bureaucratic, and sometimes ideological, battles had been long and hard-fought.
When Wang became his assistant, it was not only because the then spymaster had chosen him, but also because he had the blessing of China’s Supreme Leader. Wang had impressed the latter with his intelligence and supple thought as well as his ruthless efficiency as a bodyguard.
After the roiling of Chinese institutions during the Cultural Revolution, the old spymaster worked to reorganize the agency. He selected Wang together with others from a pool of army and police cadets in this effort. In his first fifteen years at the agency, Wang distinguished himself in covert operations, spy craft, and especially in analysis.
He showed particular courage and skill when a political faction tried to assassinate the Supreme Leader at his country retreat. To disguise their attack, the faction had used members of a criminal gang, whose numbers quickly overwhelmed the bodyguards.
Wang had just driven the spymaster, who wished to confer with the leader. Together, the two fought their way into the small cottage and defended his safe room. The attackers succeeded in wounding the spymaster critically, but Wang ran through the garden as if on an extreme Parkour workout. Using rocks and fence-posts to change the speed or direction of his approach, he shot at the remaining six men. By the time he dived into the cottage through a window, he had killed three of them, and the others surrendered in shock just as the police arrived.
“Remember, Wang,” said the spymaster from his hospital bed, “this sort of rough stuff attracts everybody’s attention, but the core purpose of the agency is to get the best intelligence. Do not let the heroics of a single agent or group of agents distract you. You cannot decide what to do if you do not understand the intentions of the other participants in any situation. It is as dangerous to China if we overreact as if we do not act. I think the classics may have been right when they stressed the supreme importance of finding the most appropriate response in any particular situation. The most dangerous thing to do is to act when you are not aware of your real goals—why you act.”
As Wang left, the Supreme Leader who was also visiting the stricken spymaster, said to him, “During the civil war, the Nationalists were better equipped, better financed, and had superior numbers; but we fought like fish in the sea, gathering intelligence from the peasants. It was the best time of my life. The intelligence, accurate and timely, that we were able to gather was worth several divisions.”
The spymaster never fully recovered from his wound, and although he lived eight more years, he appointed Wang to act as the spymaster.
Both men who had sponsored him had since passed away, but Wang had developed his own reputation. He was a fearless, resourceful, and effective operative, and when he moved behind a desk, he proved to be a shrewd and efficient administrator. He was also a thoughtful man and saw the mission of his organization within the context of the country’s requirements. Party leaders marked him down as one likely to rise above his own turf.
He walked briskly along the corridors to his office, yet as his staff eventually noticed, he walked without making much of a sound. This was even more remarkable as his customary footwear for the office was a pair of leather dress shoes, invariably with a good shine on them. The Spymaster managed to stride confidently and with purpose without doing so noisily.
Some among his staff remarked that that was exactly how he moved along the corridors of power, with a sureness of direction and catlike grace. Those with a taste for the lore and history of the martial arts noted that legendary Shaolin monks had the ability to walk on rice paper without leaving a trace.
Wang’s own office was remarkable for the great number and variety of books in it. Nearly half were in English and included many works of history, biographies of political leaders and of those who had served by giving policy advice. Of the Chinese books, many were by or about Chinese who had traveled abroad, including several on religious pilgrimages. This had been Wang’s preferred cover when he was an operative. He pretended to be a school teacher with a personal interest in Buddhist shrines and holy places. Once he got his cover established, he found it gave him great freedom to travel. There were many such shrines all over Asia.
Born in the early sixties, Wang had personally experienced the transformation of China. The Cultural Revolution had not affected him much. He was a rebellious, distant, young teenager as it ravaged his family. The radicals accused Wang’s father of a lack of fervor, and their kangaroo courts sent him to a harsh prison. Wang’s older sister suffered much collateral trauma. But he escaped criticism and harassment; he considered himself too young to be able to respond to his mother’s pleas to help the family.
Much later, when he thought about this period, he often regretted that he had not done things differently, but he did not dwell on the past often. He joined the army and then the intelligence service, as well as the Party after those upheavals, and he found his duties fulfilling. He read widely in Chinese and English to satisfy an urge that he did not fully understand—to extend his knowledge and sympathies beyond his personal
experience. His friends gave up trying to encourage prudence in conversation long before he came to the same conclusion.
Most of those who worked for him admired him for dealing fairly with them and for being willing to consider different analyses and solutions to opinions that conflicted with his own. A few found him arrogant and intimidating. He had never married; no one ventured to speculate about his sex life.
As usual, upon arrival at his office, he went through his in-basket and checked his email. Even before he arrived, Wang had already read the daily brief regarding the latest security threats and counter-measures. This day, it had included a special analysis of Operation Kashgar, triggered by the message from the latest asset acquired in Pakistan. He buzzed for his two top aides to meet him at their usual meeting room.
Administrator Hu, fortyish and of a muscular medium build, had been in the People’s Army until he volunteered to join the intelligence service. As an operative, he gained a reputation for daring and was notably successful working with other services or operatives. The Spymaster put him in charge of operations ten years ago. His family lived in the far northeast of China, in an area with many Koreans and Russians. He spoke enviable Russian and had learned serviceable English; his martial arts skills reflected exposure to Korean street fighting.
As a teenager, decades ago, Hu was streetwise and perpetually in trouble at school and with his parents. While involved with a street gang, he suffered a severe beating from rival organizations. Army recruits on a weekend pass rescued him. One of the army men, a few years older, became a friend and remained supportive even as Hu continued to act out his teenage rebellion. Two or three times, this friendship involved smuggling food into Hu’s solitary confinement cell or staying by his hospital bed while he recovered from a particularly brutal beating.
“Older brother,” Hu had asked him, “why do you do this for me?”
“Somebody should, younger brother, or you will waste your life,” Old Bo replied. “You are so much smarter than I, and when you discover your purpose in life, you will be a great soldier or leader. Otherwise—”
“Otherwise what?” demanded Hu.
“Ah, you are so clever and brave. It is such a waste.”
A few months later, Old Bo had been thrown out of his truck as it rounded a crowded part of town and his legs were crushed. He survived but had to leave the army. Hu met his parents as they came to take him home. They were overworked peasants, prematurely aged by the hardship of their lives.
That was Hu’s wake-up call. His new application to army classes soon amazed his instructors. He also paid more regular visits to his parents, much to the relief and delight of his mother. His father spoke to him of the family business; they sold traditional Chinese herbs. In a traditional Chinese family, this would make up most of the “communication” and “sharing” or “parent-child bonding” that some cultures prize. Hu learned that his grandfather had gathered these herbs the old-fashioned way: on long hikes, for days and sometimes weeks, in the hills. Hu’s father, however, obtained supplies from small distribution companies that specialized in various regional herbs and was thus able to keep a more extensive inventory.
Hu proved Old Bo right and obtained several quick promotions before he joined the intelligence service. When Bo’s father died, Hu went with his old army friends to the funeral. Old Bo’s companions took up a collection for him and his mother as a ceremonial gift. Hu personally sent the same amount every month thereafter and continued to visit his old army comrade.
The village where Old Bo lived took on the aspect of a ghost village as its inhabitants aged and the younger generation moved to the city. Because it lurked in nondescript hardscrabble foothills, it did not attract the avarice of urban developers. As a covert operative, Hu found it the perfect escape in between missions. The cover, naturally and cleverly constructed, was the delivery man for herbal supplies.
Hu and Analyst Tang were Wang’s most senior assistants and had helped him transform the agency over the past twenty years. At first, files of paper and bulging cabinets seemed to fill every room that could be spared from the need for office space where many desks were crammed with the analysts sorting information. Now all operatives and support staff were computer literate, and amazing, almost incomprehensible, feats of identification and analysis were accomplished routinely. It is impossible to imagine how the work of the agency or of governing China, like the reservation systems of airlines, could take place using the old ways.
As usual, Tang and Hu entered Wang’s office together. They sat at a small round table and moved the inevitable cups of tea to a side table. The senior staff of the agency used that room often to plan operations. The Spymaster raised an eyebrow toward the Administrator who nodded and said, “The Chief of Security herself sweeps this room at random intervals to thwart enemy surveillance. The last sweep was two hours ago. I was with her.”
“Then, let’s begin.”
“We’ve received a message coded ‘Operation Kashgar,’” announced Tang, who supervised the analysis of all intelligence gathered by the Spymaster’s domain. “We agreed early this year to designate any activity that attracts our attention to Central Asia under that name.” Wang and Hu nodded as she continued.
“Our asset in Pakistan reports that the Pashtuns expect a nuclear weapon soon. They are said to view this as a ‘talisman’ to unify them and ensure the acquiescence of the Afghan and Pakistani governments. This information ties many loose ends that we began to collect and analyze over the past weeks.”
Wang got up to stretch his arms and roll his shoulders and asked, “So, you are certain that the arms deals are part of the attempt to unify the Pashtuns?” The chief of analysis nodded, and Wang continued as he walked around the room. “Do you think it likely they will use the nukes as leverage to get Afghanistan and Pakistan to negotiate with them?”
The Analyst nodded again, and the Spymaster sat down before asking. “Do we have any information locating such a weapon?”
“No,” replied Tang.
“I shall have to brief the Committee on Public Safety tomorrow, but we should have a solution as well as a problem to report,” said Wang. Hu and Tang exchanged a quick glance. This had been the Spymaster’s mantra for as long as they worked with him. When reporting a problem, one should also recommend a possible solution or two.
“It seems premature to set into motion a reaction when we do not fully understand the nature of the problem, and there appears to be no immediate threat to China,” Wang continued thoughtfully. “But it might be too late for any action if we fail to anticipate the threat. What are the options?”
“Our intelligence regarding Afghanistan and the Pashtuns is very sketchy,” said Tang. “So, the Analysis Department developed a hypothetical and tentative scenario. We concluded that any activity in that part of the world would cause a realignment of the borders of Afghanistan and Pakistan, most likely involving great upheaval and possible military action. This will inevitably involve their neighbors, India, Iran, and the members of the Shanghai Cooperation Commission—China, Russia, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan.” Tang drained her tea then set her cup down.
She continued, “China has a short common border with both Afghanistan and Pakistan, and very long ones with India and Russia. Our involvement will quickly, perhaps instantaneously, escalate to include the United States, not to mention practically every country in the Middle East.”
The Spymaster smiled as the Analyst paused to catch her breath. He nodded to encourage her.
“Some more tea?”
“No, thank you, sir. Nuclear proliferation is a worldwide concern.” Tang waved her hands in a gesture of futility. “For China, the potential change in the borders and in the alignment of influence in the region is, as a practical matter, more worrisome. This will heighten tensions in Central Asia and among the major geopolitical leaders. Even without that threat, there was sufficient motivation for the countries of Central Asia to forge
a mutual security agreement, the SCO.” She stopped briefly, but neither Wang nor Hu offered to contribute to her discourse, so she continued.
“Secondly, the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan and similar organizations may very likely take comfort from this example and increase their own activities.
“Thirdly, if the Pashtuns succeed in breaking away from Afghanistan and Pakistan to form their own nation-state, their example will encourage ethnic minorities in China, particularly the Tibetans and the Uyghurs.”
Wang nodded and said, “We’ll certainly have everyone’s attention at the Politburo. Relations within the SCO are firmly in the hands of the MFA. It is a pity our agency does not have reliable information coming from the Tajiks, Uzbeks, Kazakhs, and others. When our leaders declared China open, our immediate concern was with the West and Japan. We should have paid at least a little attention to what our ancestors worried about for over a thousand years—the nations along the Silk Road.”
The Spymaster had spoken on the subject of the lack of this intelligence within the agency and with Party leaders. He had tried to recruit passive sources like the Apothecary in Pakistan but had failed to penetrate the social and political elites or intelligence services of central Asian countries. He also grumbled over the absence of any meaningful cooperation with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs regarding Central Asia.
“What do we know about the pending or potential arms deals?”
“The six that our intelligence sweep have identified involve a nuclear device coming from or brokered by dealers from North Korea, Palestine, Tehran, Dubai, Kazakhstan, and Karachi. In five of those areas, we only have the capacity for passive intelligence gathering,” reported Hu.
“We have sources, perhaps even an operative or two, in Kazakhstan,” said Analyst Tang. “I’ve seen reports passed over from the MFA.”
