by Hock G Tjoa
“There are files that we gathered that can help. I will find out who has the best knowledge or access to the files on Jiang’s past, and you should determine who in your organization has police contacts to follow up on this.”
In a week, Wen had a name for the Spymaster, Inspector Sun, who had worked in the Party archives in an attempt to improve its classification of the levels of secrecy. Wang asked Administrator Hu and Analyst Tang to find out if there was anyone within the agency who had a “natural” connection with Inspector Sun. Tang soon reported back to the Spymaster with one of her senior analysts in tow, a Miss Owyang.
Sun and Owyang had grown up in Shanghai and attended the same school. They continued to meet from time to time with their cohorts. Wang explained to Owyang that he wished to find out what, if anything, connected Comrade Commissar Jiang with Police Superintendent Kong.
“You must pursue this inquiry carefully. Jiang has been vengeful about my decision not to appoint Kong nearly six years ago. His anger has continued to grow all this time. I respect his work for the Party and the country. I want, perhaps need, to know why he has been hostile to me.”
The Spymaster stopped pacing when he realized Tang and Owyang were staring at him and composed himself before continuing, “Inspector Sun was identified as someone in the police force who has knowledge of Party files that might contain some clue. I will be much obliged if you can approach him in confidence and find out anything.”
The analyst did not avoid eye contact. She was a pretty, young woman but had allowed herself to put on too much weight—the result, it was rumored, of having been jilted by a dashing young army officer. Tang had told Wang of her brilliant work and emotional vulnerability. She only needed some of Tang’s sense of balance and cheeriness.
“Of course, Spymaster Wang,” she said. “I will see the inspector this Sunday and take it from there.”
On Sunday, Owyang met Sun, who had a friend in tow. She glared at Sun for persisting in his habit of trying to match her up with potential dates, and then smiled at a tall, thin man with an owlish face. That impression was created by his tortoiseshell glasses and habit of turning his head to the left and right without moving his shoulders, as an owl might. Sun laughed at Owyang’s response and said, “Meet my friend Liu. He was a year ahead of us at school. I bet you never met him!”
“Please pardon the intrusion,” said Liu. “I was hijacked by this young man in front of the bookstore.” He pointed to a large bookstore across the street. Like most such stores, it had tables and shelves on the sidewalk in front with many bargains to tempt the impulse buyer. Liu, in fact, carried a couple of books. Owyang noticed they were travel guides.
“Are you planning a trip abroad?” she asked after the introductions.
“Oh, not really. I just like reading these books and pretending that I can afford to go to these places.”
“Greece and Italy; you have a yearning to see the really old west, I see,” she teased as they settled into the chairs at the coffee shop for breakfast. The conversation proceeded more smoothly than she expected. Then she said, “Old Sun, I really need to discuss some business with you.”
“Ah,” interrupted Liu, “I must leave to see my parents anyway. But perhaps we can meet again?”
“Sure. Old Sun is very good about these things.” She kicked Sun under the table as Liu left. Sun laughed and exclaimed, referring to her ex-fiancé, “You cannot let that bastard ruin your whole life!”
“Thank you, but who made you my older brother?”
“All right, all right. What can I do for you?”
Despite the buzz in the crowded coffee shop, Owyang lowered her voice and explained what she needed to find. Sun nodded and told her where to go writing down the names of the most helpful file clerks he had found. Then, they got up and left separately, blending into the crowds on the street.
18: AGENT OWYANG INVESTIGATES
Owyang spent many hours over the next several days pursuing her investigations, primarily at the Party archives. She started among the polished wooden stacks and warm-white light at the Party Archives.
“May I speak with Miss Shih? I am a friend of Inspector Sun. Perhaps he has called her?”
In a few moments, Miss Shih appeared at the reception area and escorted Owyang to an office.
“I am in the room next door. Old Sun told me that you need some information in a hurry, so I had the files brought into my office. I will bring them over in a minute.”
Since Commissar Jiang was being considered for promotion to the Politburo, the Party’s files on him had already been gathered for review by the Department of Organization. Kong had recently been promoted to Superintendent of Police for metropolitan Shanghai, so his files were collected for review and now waited to be returned to the archives.
The files were voluminous, but Owyang scanned them quickly, looking for any connection between the two men. In less than a day, she concluded that most of the data consisted of ordinary bureaucratic encounters and transfers. Kong was one of many younger men for whom Jiang wrote letters of recommendation. Jiang had met him, it would appear, at some high school graduation ceremony. Like many of those who joined in order to ascend within the Party, he worked to build up his network of acquaintances, proteges, and supporters who might someday form his “base.” If you want to build a movement, you must find disciples.
Owyang noted that a few men in Jiang’s network were of the same age as Kong. Perhaps they saw Jiang as a father figure. As a group, however, there was no pattern to their connections to Jiang. But Jiang’s recommendation letter for Kong mentioned, in addition to observations about his achievements, that he was an orphan.
She took note that Kong’s files included information about his birth, the place and date, the name of the hospital—but not the names of his parents.
“Miss Shih, I need to check on documents in the municipal records and shall return in two days. May I leave the documents in that office for that time?” asked Owyang.
“Yes, I’ll lock the door to your room.”
“Thank you.”
The next day, Owyang presented her badge at the reception desk in the office of municipal records. She spent most of her time waiting for the archivist to find the birth certificate of Police Superintendent Kong in the dingy rooms that smelled of rust on their cheap metal shelves and bring it to the harsh glare of fluorescent lights in the reading room.
“Would you like a copy of this?”
“Yes, please. Ah, I see it has the name of his mother. Do you think you could also locate her birth certificate?”
“We will try. It is not certain that records from births, deaths, or marriages before 1951 were properly made or kept.”
Owyang noticed that Kong’s birth certificate did not name a father. What of his mother and her work history, I wonder.
The process at the office of municipal records was much slower than that at the Party archives. Resources had not been allocated to this bureau in as generous a fashion as to the Party. But the agent was patient, and she had brought both her notes on the case and a book, a travel guide to Egypt, a present from her new friend Liu.
She spent the next day back at the Party archives and another day organizing her notes before reporting back to the Spymaster.
“The Comrade Commissar joined the Party in 1965, just before the Cultural Revolution. He was a teenager then and listened to others while expressing little himself.”
“What every young man should do,” murmured Wang.
Owyang continued, “He ran errands for the cadre at a group of factories targeted for their poor performance during the Great Leap Forward. In time, he had the good fortune to marry the daughter of a senior cadre member, so he moved up in the Party quickly during the next few years. He then sponsored many young men into the Party. The current Superintendent of Police in Shanghai is one of them, a promising student who was an orphan.”
Wang smiled and poured more tea for himself and for the an
alyst. He recalled the tendency among them to reserve the best for last and fervently hoped that this would be the case. Meanwhile, he composed his mind to be patient.
“There are a few notices that possibly link Jiang and Kong, but nothing more definite in Party records except that Jiang recommended him for membership in the Party as he did for many other men. Since there was no other reference to orphans in his recommendations or in Kong’s files, I decided to look up Kong’s birth certificate. That is in the public records, and it gives his mother’s name but not his father’s.
“I checked Party records for the mother and found that she was criticized during the Cultural Revolution for immoral behavior.”
Wang groaned, “Even today, an unmarried woman who becomes pregnant faces many difficulties. Many parents are totally unsympathetic and society in general usually hostile.”
Owyang resumed her analysis, “Kong’s mother received rough treatment, according to the record of her self-criticism sessions. Because she refused to name the father of her child, she lost her job at the factory and was briefly imprisoned. She was released on compassionate grounds, the birth of Kong. She did not long survive this event, and her child was looked after by her parents.
“The factory at which she worked was one of those under the care of Jiang’s cadre, and the date of Kong’s birth was just before that of Jiang’s marriage to the daughter of the senior cadre. A simple DNA test would confirm if Kong and Jiang are related.” The analyst closed her file. Her face was pale and greenish, like one both appalled and disgusted.
Wang pursed his lips and said, “Nothing is simple where the Party is involved. The story you have put together is very sad, but it is better not to judge the man.” He looked up with a wry smile. “Bad karma.”
Senior Commissar Cai addressed a small group of men as they sat down to dinner, “We meet to celebrate the election of our Spymaster to the Politburo.” Rice-paper lanterns softened the light from incandescent bulbs. Loud cries of congratulations greeted this announcement.
It was a surprise, but not a dramatic one, as Wang’s induction into that governing body had been discussed among those in the know for nearly a year. The dinner party included Comrade Commissar Jiang, Comrade Commissar Huang from the Committee on Public Safety, General Chen, and a couple of other high-ranking members of the Party who were close friends of Cai’s.
Wang and Jiang were seated next to each other, and their conversation was strained and awkward. Wang suggested, “Unless you have a sweet tooth, Comrade Commissar, perhaps you and I should spend some time together when dessert is served.”
“I do have something of a sweet tooth, Spymaster, but it would be a good time for us to clear things up between ourselves.”
As dessert was served, the two got up to go into a small adjoining office. General Chen face held a quick look of concern until he noticed that their host, Senior Comrade Commissar Cai, was also looking at the departing men with something like satisfaction on his face.
A servant followed the two men into the office with an ashtray and the unspoken question if anything might be required. She was dismissed as both men gave her a quick shake of their heads.
“Comrade Commissar, let me say I am sorry for not being more sympathetic with your protégé and for not trying harder to seek your forgiveness,” Wang said with a grave look.
Jiang did not respond immediately. He seemed overwhelmed with emotion as he shook his head and said, “It is I who must apologize. How could I expect you to know how much I loved his mother, when I myself would not acknowledge it?”
He struggled with his emotions for a minute, coming close to tears. Then, he puffed furiously at his cigarette before stubbing it out as he sat with his head bowed low. Wang allowed himself a distracted clinical thought that the cigarette in the ashtray would suffice for a DNA test if one should be necessary.
In between sobs, Jiang said, “I loved her, and I could not acknowledge it. She forgave me for abandoning her for my career. She asked only that I look after our son. I was not able to do even that.”
He blew his nose into a handkerchief, and then continued, “Not even her parents knew I was his father. They were puzzled whenever I showed up with gifts for him. I never even told him that I am his father!” Wang looked on with embarrassment as the cadre who had given him so much grief seemed overwhelmed by past and present events.
“His schoolmates made fun of him. They called him a bastard, the son of a whore! This taint followed him through high school and his career.”
Wang was shocked to recognize that this was probably the kind of thoughtless cruelty that his sister had suffered for his father’s political errors while he had been shielded by his sympathetic teachers from small-minded Party cadres and by Old Chen and Old Wen from their thoughtless and silly schoolmates. Without reflection or forethought, his mind wandered and connected with an awareness of his mother’s anguish. He sensed the welling up of a terrible pain, sadness, and despair. Tears came into his eyes too. When he looked up, he saw that Jiang was staring at him.
Neither man spoke for a tense moment, and then Jiang said, “Forgive me, Spymaster. You were not aware, and yet I held you guilty. I desperately wanted him to be secure in some hierarchy. A police inspector is nothing compared to the deputy spymaster. I thought that if he was made your deputy, it would expunge his past, the past that I created for him. And now he has been accused of this scandal.”
After another pause, Jiang spoke without emotion. “I will now do whatever I can to help him out of this mess. If necessary, they can take my head.”
He tapped out another cigarette and smoked it calmly. When it was finished, he stubbed it out in the same ashtray. He stood up and extended his hand to Wang. They shook hands in silence and then Jiang left.
Wang stayed a minute to compose himself. When he walked into the dining room, he found Cai and Huang enjoying a comradely smoking session. Huang waved at Wang to join them. “Come sit with us a while. This restaurant stays open as long as our older brother here says so.”
Wang smiled at the kindly invitation. He recognized that Huang already considered him a member of the Politburo. He took his seat at the table.
“Your other guests abandoned you?”
“The two main items of business were taken care of, so…” Cai smiled and waved for the servant girl to bring out a bottle and glasses for the three to drink a toast. It was a fiery liquid that Wang usually avoided if he could.
“I know you don’t care for this, Spymaster, but please indulge an old man.”
“Hardly ‘old,’ Senior Comrade.”
“You’ll take my place on our committee soon,” said Huang. “The world is too complicated for me these days. I prefer being a grandfather, although I wish I had more grandchildren.”
“You may get to play a part in making that happen, Old Huang,” said Cai, who would not elaborate. “As for you, Old Wang, if I may call you that, I understand the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is trembling on the brink of change and eager for support from your agency.”
Wang shook his head with a bemused smile, not because this development was too much to digest but because it was too large a matter to discuss at the end of a friendly dinner. Lifting his glass, he said, “For the greater good.”
“For the Party and the Fatherland!”
19: DINNER AT THE WENS’
“Your month is up next Friday. You must come to dinner that night, okay?”
“Of course, old friend.”
As far as the Spymaster knew, despite the casual tone he adopted for this quick exchange, he had signed up for the most hazardous mission he’d ever faced. He’d agreed to meet Younger Sister Shu, Wen’s sister-in-law and Mrs. Wen’s younger sister by six years. It would not be a casual meeting, neither a chance encounter by the pool while on vacation nor a short dalliance during some delegates’ conference.
They each already knew a great deal about each other. He because he was the Spymaster, and she because sh
e was a high-level executive at the Party’s internal search firm, the Department of Organization. Further, they would meet under the watchful eyes of family and Old Friends. There would be no turning back unless they both, mutually and amicably, agreed to call the whole thing off. Fate had intervened in the lives of a woman just turned forty and a man in his early fifties.
Wang had not investigated Shu with the resources of his agency. He had simply listened to Mrs. Wen for several hours and then to his old friend, Wen, as well as to the General. Most importantly, he had confided in Senior Commissar Cai who had “taken his confession” and then said,
“She is a most interesting woman. Some comrades do not approve of her open speech and daring thought. I find her thinking quite sound, actually, despite the, uh, refreshing ways in which she chooses to couch her ideas. Her superiors agree, naturally, or she would not be there. But it is not her ideology that should trouble you, Spymaster.”
Cai paused, and then said with emphasis, “It is the reaction to the possible union of the country’s intelligence chief with someone who wields great influence in the Department of Organization. She has much to say in selecting our leaders and managers. That fact will generate much gossip, resentment, and envy. Our revolution has not yet found a way to eliminate such feudal feelings and attitudes. But, for what it is worth, you have my blessing.”
Shu also had no need to investigate Wang directly. The creation of a new department reporting both to the MFA and to the Intelligence Agency required a flood of personnel files and background memos for review and consultation by her department. Deep in the background, Shu and her colleagues reviewed these documents and made confidential assessments and recommendations.
Analyst Tang’s presentation to the CPS, Ambassador Yu’s original memo to the MFA, the minutes of the discussions in the CPS and of those of the Standing Committee all bore the marks of a guiding vision. Shu had spent her career evaluating Party speeches and communiqués, and the years of sifting through documents designed to be opaque while advancing a cause and of decoding obscure references and windy understatements had helped her to see through these documents easily. She brought this up as the dinner conversation gave her the opening.
