by Hock G Tjoa
“All the stories told agree that it was a beautiful early autumn evening. We like color in our legends. The sky had turned from gold to red to violet, and then to purple before it darkened as the sun set on the fruit orchards west of Almaty, the former capital of Kazakhstan. In the large farmhouse where the Bear lived, the festivities celebrating his sixtieth birthday had come alive. All his children, their spouses, and his one little grandson were there. Only the Fox was late, finishing up at his clinic.
“Outside the farmhouse, four men with shotguns at fifty and at a hundred paces up the road in each direction manned their positions with confidence. They had been with the Bear for all their lives, and for the last ten years, that was how he celebrated each birthday. A Jeep with a soldier was parked in the driveway facing the road. He had a radio link to the local police station and was armed with a machine gun.
“The Bear was an important man, the richest fruit farmer west of Almaty and the leader of an important criminal organization in the city. He had chosen to support the government and had personally been rewarded by the political leaders. He had helped them put down the opposition when Kazakhstan became independent and continued to supply arms, men, and money against rival gangs, political dissidents, and terrorist groups. Of course, he made many enemies, but he also grew rich and powerful.” Ruslan stepped to the mini bar and helped himself to a bottle of mineral water. Hu declined his invitation with a wave at his guest to continue.
“To the villagers, he was generous. He and his sons and sons-in-law helped any farmer who needed it with the harvests, especially those of our glorious apples. He sent his wife and his daughters with food or medicine when anyone was ill. The village priests and mullahs—the Bear was, in this respect, an open-minded and tolerant man—knew they could count on a donation when a roof leaked, or some walls needed patching up. Those who opposed him, for business or political or whatever reasons, religious extremists, in particular, found him a ferocious and implacable enemy.
“The family had just started its celebrations when someone in the Bear’s gang noticed that their comrades on guard outside could no longer be seen. Just then, several shots rang out, gouging bloody holes in the soldier in the Jeep as he frantically tried to radio an alarm. It was discovered later that one of those shots also killed an attacker who had crept up to knife the soldier.
“Thus alerted, the Bear sent all the women—his wife, two married daughters, two unmarried daughters, and two daughters-in-law—with his grandson down into the cellar. He and his two sons and two sons-in-law joined the four gang members in defending the house. There were twenty-four attackers, but they were clumsy. The homemade fuse on the bottle bomb they had thrown at the door sputtered out. Two of the attackers died trying to retrieve that terrorist cocktail before a third man succeeded.
“A dozen more attackers died as they rushed into the house, but they managed to kill or wound most of the defenders. The Bear himself was only slightly wounded when he went down into the cellar. He knew of the unspeakable things that these thugs did to women, so he killed them all himself.
“As the attackers hammered at the door to the basement, he embraced his daughters, then spun them around and shot them. He reloaded his pistols as the door crashed open. Surrounded by the bloody bodies of his daughters and the dust of splinters from the broken-down door, the Bear raise his guns.
“Those who can tell this story usually whisper at this point that his wife died in his arms as he shot her then killed his own grandson. With a ferocious will, he returned to the firefight in which he perished.
“Only six attackers survived this incident. Eighteen of the bodies at the scene were identified as theirs. The dynamite blast brought the police and military within a few minutes. Their dogs tracked down four of the surviving attackers, who did not get away quickly enough. The two that escaped were members of a terrorist group who made the mistake of crowing about their victory. Between the Fox, who arrived just after the police and soldiers, and the authorities, they were hunted down and executed within months.
“The Fox found two members of his father’s organization still alive when he arrived. He patched them up then surveyed the gruesome state of his father’s house. He decided to abandon his medical practice and took over his father’s organization and political connections; he has made the most of them.
“He even imitates the way his father snapped his fingers at his men,” said Ruslan. “I have seen him do this; his father was before my time. I have only heard that the Bear had large hands and that he snapped his fingers loudly. Anyway, the Fox resolved differences with the other gangs, and they all agreed to divide up the city, their country, and the various activities among themselves. Some, like drugs or the flesh trade, were divided among the groups. But nobody else was interested in arms dealing, so the Fox took that for himself, for all of Kazakhstan.
“He is the Kazakh arms dealer negotiating with the Pashtuns, and there is nothing you or I can do about it.
“His own security is practically impenetrable. They are led by the two men whose lives he saved. His country will not lift a finger against him and might swing its full weight against those who try to harm him. The Shanghai Cooperation Organization and the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs will not get involved in anything against this man because he is not only a citizen of an ally in the SCO but also because his enemies are our enemies. He fights the terrorists!”
Administrator Hu gazed thoughtfully out a window of the safe hotel where the Agency had placed Ruslan, their agent in Kazakhstan, ostensibly on a visit for a regular briefing at the MFA.
“Thank you, Ruslan. That sounds like a story that belongs in many clans and families, but I can assure you we will not do anything to offend our MFA or the Kazakh government.”
Ruslan nodded and shrugged, as Hu continued,
“But we are not the only ones in the world who are aware of his activities. He is an arms dealer trying to sell a suitcase bomb to the Pashtuns. I imagine he has been identified by other intelligence agencies.”
“That is his fate. But we can have no part in it.”
Hu pressed his lips and nodded as the two men shook hands. “By the way, do you know how to get a message to the Fox?”
Ruslan grunted, “It depends. What message?”
“Tell him that a nuclear bomb controlled by the Pashtuns might give the religious fanatics in Kazakhstan ideas.”
“How can he be sure that is how the rulers of Kazakhstan see this?” asked Spymaster Wang. Hu had come to brief him on the situation.
“It sounds to me as if Ruslan is describing the common political perspective in Kazakhstan,” replied Hu. “The rulers there might fear the Pashtun example in their internal quarrels but are not aware of it yet.”
“Do they need someone to show them where the danger lies?” asked Wang as he waved to Tang, who had arrived at his door, to urge her to join in the discussion.
She had discreetly canvassed her sources at the MFA and learned that information regarding the SCO was not so much heavily guarded as scantily available.
“Nobody seems to know where any particular file might be,” said Tang with furrows in her brow.
“What files were you looking for? Known arms dealers? The criminal activities of a man known as the Fox?” Hu asked with an amused smile.
Tang ignored this and turned to Wang who asked, “Does our MFA not have something like a discussion paper on possible terrorist threats in any of the SCO countries or anything like that?”
As Tang shook her head, Wang remarked, “Perhaps the MFA is confident that nothing will change, at least not while we are around to watch. But we should understand more. Kazakhstan is as big as all Europe. It is also possible, I think, that the MFA has no views because it cannot imagine such a development.”
“You will have more to discuss than Operation Kashgar at the meeting on public safety,” remarked Hu.
“I don’t think I shall mention Operation Kashgar at all. That is
our own internal code. But it is clearer now that the threat to us is not the weapon that the Pashtuns might possess. It is the change in the balance of power that might result from that weapon.”
“There are many who remember that for almost all pre-modern time, China’s fears were directed northward and westward,” Tang said.
“Yes,” said Wang. “Mongols and Turks moved from our north to our west as the Persians moved from the far west toward China. The gene pool along the Old Silk Road is much more interesting than ours. But we must admit that the dealer in Kazakhstan is beyond our reach.” The Spymaster got up to leave the office. He shook his head and said, “This agency had a hard time understanding the threat to our country from a Pashtun purchase of nuclear weapons. We have not persuaded our own intelligence committee. Why are we surprised that the Kazakhs don’t see things the same way?”
“Ah, Spymaster, come in.”
“Good morning, Senior Commissar Cai. I appreciate having time for a brief discussion with you before the Committee on Public Safety meets,” Wang said.
Cai was a senior member of the Chinese Communist Party, who chaired the meetings of the CPS, and he and Wang had both been mentored by Wang’s predecessor as the spymaster. Perhaps in a different world, they might be fraternity brothers. Cai was, however, nearly ten years older than Wang, and their paths crossed infrequently before Cai assumed the chairmanship of the CPS. He said, “Yes, I do not care for surprises, and I hate them when national security is involved. If we must fail in anything, I prefer to be overcome with our eyes wide open and all our effort exhausted. We rely on you, Spymaster, never to fail to connect the dots.”
“As they say in some countries, no pressure.”
Cai gave a short, bark-like laugh. “You have not failed us over the past twenty years, Comrade Wang.”
“That means the law of probability…” Both men laughed as they said that line together.
“I shall have to report an attempt to acquire an atomic bomb on the part of a party we have not dealt with before—the Pashtuns,” Wang said without ceremony.
“Is that all that worries you?” Cai said. He chuckled, but his eyes did not smile.
“They do not threaten us directly, Senior Commissar, but their actions will certainly set in motion shifts in the power relations in the region. Whether the weapon is deployed against Kabul or Islamabad does not change things as far as we are concerned. But even the hint of the three parties negotiating over statehood for the Pashtuns will in my mind bring the east wind in winter, unlikely as that is.
“Further, one of the six dealers vying to sell such a device to them is based in Kazakhstan. His family background seems to have been scripted in Hollywood, but his father combined the underworld and the government. My agency understands that this places him beyond our reach.”
Wang smiled as Cai snorted, contemptuous of the thugs in government, but continued, “We are disappointed to find a lack of forethought about similarly unsettling developments in that country and perhaps in other countries in the SCO.”
The spymaster did not linger on the failings of the MFA, but he knew from previous experience that Party and government officials expected positive suggestions even as the political ‘hacks’ indulged in recriminations. Just because one agency falls on its face is not an excuse for every other instrument of the state to fail.
“What my agency will do depends on whether there is interest within the MFA. If there is, we are willing to work with that person or department, so they can ask the right questions and keep track of their options. Ideally, we should be actively gathering intelligence on any contingency plans they have.”
Cai nodded, though frowning, and with a distant look in his eyes said, “I have heard good things of our Ambassador to the United Kingdom.”
“What a coincidence; that’s where I think my agency must journey.”
“You know I think of coincidences and surprises as brothers and sisters.”
Wang nodded and said, “There is one more thing I need to bring up. Perhaps you can advise if I should mention this at the meeting later. I fear that the Pashtuns may set an example for separatist groups in Central Asia or even a few of our minorities.”
“You do not believe in what they used to call the ‘domino-effect’ among nations, do you?”
“Certainly not. We cannot predict what one country will do because another country takes a certain action,” Wang said. “I think it is better to seek intelligence on what they plan to do. But I have noticed among children, and even among adults in groups, that everyone looks to see what happens to the ringleaders.”
Cai nodded. “Someone tests the boundaries of what is acceptable, and everyone benefits from the information gained.”
Cai shook his head briefly, but with enough vigor as if trying to shake something off, as he murmured in a low voice, “I wouldn’t say this in a committee or any gathering, but the minorities want freedom that they think we, the Hans, are withholding from them. They do not realize that we Hans desire the same freedom, which is denied to all of us.”
“I appreciate the Senior Commissar’s confidence,” said Wang. “Do the Uzbeks, Tajiks, and Kazakhs in China really think that their cousins in countries of their own are better off than they are in China? Our ship of state is not perfect, but I think those here in the Middle Kingdom have an easier life.”
Cai let out a deep breath and said, “Geopolitics is tempting, but the threat of the nuclear device in Pashtun possession must be met.” He raised an eyebrow at Wang who nodded.
“Can you do this within the month?” Wang shrugged and said,
“Probably.”
“Finally,” said Cai like a severe parent, “there is a personal feud that has gone on for too long. You and Comrade Jiang need to understand each other before one of you gets hurt.”
“I agree. I will try again to find out what it is that has kept him angry for all these years. But regardless of what I find, he and I will come to a meeting of minds soon.”
6: THE COMMITTEE
The Chinese intelligence agency presented the Pashtun matter for discussion at the Committee on Public Safety meeting two weeks after discovering the potential arms deals.
That interagency working committee reported to the Standing Committee of the Politburo and met weekly to discuss intelligence and counter-intelligence matters of a political rather than commercial nature. The Ministry of Commerce had its own highly successful intelligence agency. Ironically, the CPS met in a small conference room in the “neutral” offices of the Ministry of Commerce since both the army and the police had each argued strenuously that intelligence should operate within their respective organization.
Seven men sat on this committee. Two were Politburo members, Cai and Huang, both in their sixties. They served five-year terms, staggered, so they did not begin and end together. Cai, who often appeared to be the strict, scholarly uncle, was a brilliant, chain-smoking theorist of communist doctrine and the Politburo member tasked with intelligence and security matters. He chaired the meetings and was a member of the Standing Committee of the Politburo.
Huang, also a smoker, was from the Politburo itself, but not the standing committee. He sat on the CPS by virtue of having oversight over minority issues, even though he made little claim to insight on such matters. This was so, despite the years he had spent working for the Party in Xinjiang, Yunnan, and similar provinces with large populations of minorities.
Wang had first called on Huang ten years earlier when the agency began to recruit in earnest among the Mongols, the Uyghurs, the Turkic and other ethnic minorities within China, and in the countries adjacent to the north and west of China. It was then that Wang recognized the nature of the problems he faced.
Those in China harbored a greater resentment to the Han majority than those who had emigrated to adjacent countries. The memory of Chinese insensitivity or injustice had grown faint among the minorities living outside China. They were primarily descendants of the
Uzbek, Kazakh, or others who had long ago fled China for their own states while these were still part of the tsar’s empire or of the Soviet Union. But the majorities in their own countries marginalized them, and thus Wang was able to find only “passive sources” among them. They would report on any information that came their way but were not positioned to seek out intelligence or carry out “covert operations.”
“I don’t know why you are doing this, Spymaster,” Huang said, even as he agreed to provide data, interpreters, and whatever else the intelligence service might need. He was a faithful servant of the state. He seemed comfortable in the role of the good-natured and much-harassed uncle in the Committee. “To me, they are only mouths to feed or bodies that we need to find employment for. China would be a tidier place without them.” Wang did not understand enough then to have a useful discussion with him, but he felt that the minorities would eventually become an intelligence or security issue for China.
The Spymaster was a leading member of the Committee on Public Safety and represented his own agency, having done so for fifteen years. He had begun as the assistant to an ailing spymaster.
Deputy Commissioner Wen, a small, alert man in his fifties, was third in command of the nation’s police and its longtime representative on this committee. He and Wang were close friends. They had attended school together with General Chen who had recommended a sparring partner for Spymaster Wang. Although this was generally known, both men took care not to flaunt their old friendship.
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was represented by Assistant Minister Lin, a tall, thin man of great reserve, who had served on the committee for nearly ten years, but usually said little, and the Ministry of Finance by the newly appointed Assistant Minister Zhang, an energetic man in his forties. Zhang and Wang were the only non-smokers in the committee.
