‘For Christ’s sake, Bill. I thought—’
‘Look, there’s nothing in this for us. Plenty in it for you, I can see that. But we’re killing you on this China stuff. Public opinion is moving before our very eyes. Not just LA, but all the pearls. You seen the numbers in San Diego? You’re even crumbling in San Fran-fucking-cisco. How often does that happen? The tectonic plates are shifting in this state, maybe even in the goddamn country. And it’s happening during a campaign. That’s really rare. And very big. Norman’s footsoldiers are having a collective orgasm. Why would we give that away for nothing? You’re asking me to pull out my fangs and hand them to you.’
‘Just as they’re beginning to bite.’
‘Correct. You’ve heard me say that before, haven’t you?’ Doran’s voice softened a notch. ‘Now put yourself in my position, Leo. You’d do the same, wouldn’t you? Least I hope you would, else I didn’t do my job properly.’
A waitress came over with a glass jug of coffee. Doran waved her away, rising to his feet and tucking his wad of documents back under his arm.
‘And what job is that, Bill?’ Leo asked, knowing the answer.
‘Why, teaching you of course.’ Standing, he extended a hand downward and Leo took it.
‘May the best man win,’ Leo said, attempting to sound cavalier, as if this little gambit he’d tried had been worth a shot but mattered no more than that.
‘Or the best woman,’ said Bill. And he was gone.
Politics Live Blog, Saturday
4.05pm The KTLA feed is now showing a large crowd massing at the gates of the garrison. No sign of Padilla yet, though he’s said to be on his way. After the initial rally and Thursday’s ring-the-base event, organizers are said to be planning a ‘virtual blockade’ until the suspect named in today’s LA Times story is handed over to the US authorities. One campaigner close to Padilla weibed: We want to stop anything – and anyone – getting in or out of that base. #ArrestYang
4.17pm Presser at City Hall due to start soon. Will bring you key quotes just as soon as it gets underway.
4.21pm Mayor Richard Berger begins. As predicted: he’s flanked by the Deputy Chief of Police, Rene Hernandez, not Doug Jarrett.
4.23pm Berger: ‘The time for waiting has passed. There can be no excuse for delay. We call on Colonel Chen and his fellow commanding officers at the garrison to hand over this man and let him answer all charges.’
4.25pm Berger: ‘I reject utterly the notion that the election campaign has played any part in this process. Protecting the people of California is my only priority.’
4.26pm ‘Finally, I regret to announce that Douglas R Jarrett has been suspended with immediate effect from his role as Chief of Police. He will face disciplinary charges.’
4.27pm Deputy Chief Hernandez to become Acting Chief. ‘We had a brief swearing-in ceremony in my office before we came here today.’
4.29pm Acting Chief Hernandez: ‘We promise that Yang Zhitong will receive the same basic rights as any other suspect. If he wants to clear his name, he needs to help the Los Angeles Police Department with our inquiries. Starting today.’
4.31pm A reporter (off-mic, so I didn’t catch who) asks Acting Chief Hernandez if he owes ‘a debt of gratitude’ to Madison Webb and the LA Times. Replies, ‘Let’s wait and see.’ Berger jumps in and says, ‘If you’re asking whether this city needs great reporters who work at getting the truth, then I think everyone, whatever their views, owes a debt to Madison Webb and the LA Times today. As many of you know, I’ve always been a great admirer of her work.’
5.15pm White House press secretary just weibed that Prez will be giving brief ‘remarks’ when he lands at Andrews AFB shortly.
5.21pm No sign of POTUS yet.
5.23pm Two minutes, according to our DC folks.
5.28pm Here he is.
5.30pm Money quote from the Prez: ‘The United States of America is a nation of laws. While it endures, we are bound and will be bound by the Treaty that ties this great country to the People’s Republic. But there is also a higher law, the law of natural justice. And natural justice cries out for this man to answer to the charges before him. I call on the Commander of Garrison 41 to arrange for the suspect to be interviewed by the Los Angeles Police Department forthwith. Until we have a positive answer to this request, I’m afraid next week’s summit between myself and my Chinese counterpart will inevitably be called into question.’
5.33pm Huge news there on the summit. Big.
5.36pm Lots to unpack in the POTUS remarks. Several on Weibo noticing the words, ‘While it endures …’ Was the Prez hinting that he might move to scrap the Treaty someday? Or was that just a bit of empty, populist crowd-pleasing?
5.37pm Credit to folks who noticed a difference between the demands made by the president and demands earlier by the mayor. Prez said an LAPD ‘interview’ with Yang will be enough: no reason why that couldn’t be on the base. Mayor called for a ‘handover’ of Yang, suggesting he has to physically leave Garrison 41. Expect some back and forth ‘clarification’ on this as the evening goes on.
5.39pm More reax. Sigurdsson: ‘We welcome the statements by the president and mayor. This is not the time for partisan politics. Instead it is gratifying that our repeated calls for action are finally being heeded. If only Mayor Berger had acted earlier, we might have avoided this drastic situation.’
5.55pm Pictures from outside the garrison gates suggest a huge crowd. KTLA saying it’s swelling by the minute. Chants alternating between ‘Tear Down this Wall!’ and ‘Give Him Up!’
6.33pm Sudden movement behind the gates at the base. Pictures are not clear, but we hear there are several vehicles preparing to exit.
6.35pm The crowd are surging forward. PLA guards struggling to push them back. This could get nasty.
6.37pm Crowd are repeating their promise not to let anything in or out till they get Yang.
6.39pm Rumor spreading that Yang is in one of those vehicles.
6.43pm Mario Padilla has appeared at the very front of the demonstration, right by the gates. Starting to speak now.
6.44pm Padilla calls on crowd to let the vehicles pass. Says no more than that.
6.47pm The crowd have withdrawn a bit and now the gate swings open. Looks like four, no five vehicles are emerging. Black SUVs, windows tinted. Does one of those contain the man at the center of these extraordinary events?
Chapter 52
Howard had cleared his own office for her use, poking his head around the door at intervals, bringing her coffee and assorted snacks. He was excited, fussing over the video team as they uploaded the three GPS animations and the rest of the documents that would accompany Madison’s story. He had assigned a couple of reporters to write backgrounders on Yang, drawing heavily on the links and other material that the unnamed ‘Messenger’ had sent via Weibo about his past back in China. They had to drop the story of the girl in the Ferrari, killed after she had reportedly ‘distracted’ Yang while he was at the wheel, causing him to crash the car. Published on a flaky gossip site with no proper sourcing, it didn’t pass the ‘LA Times test’, as Howard put it. But everything else – the past harassment of western, female students, the drunk driving, the evasion of justice by invoking the name of his powerful father – all that went in. It was a comprehensive takedown of young Mr Yang.
As it happens, Maddy had already written the story when she turned up at Howard’s door: that’s what she had been doing through the sleepless hours of the night. So in the morning, sitting at his desk, she had time to check the details, rephrase some of the sentences and think. At any moment she expected Howard or, if not him, Jane to come in and break the news that, on reflection, they thought it best to hang fire, to give it more time, to see how things played out. And yet, Howard remained gung-ho. At one o’clock, not long before the story was due to launch, she admitted to her boss that she was pretty astonished by his reaction.
‘This takes real courage, Howard. I’m really, I don’t know�
�’
‘Surprised?’
‘Yes. And impressed.’
‘Well, you got the goods, Maddy. We run the story – and Yang can sue us for libel in a California court if we’re wrong.’
What Maddy did not say was, ‘What the hell happened in that phone call?’ But she thought it.
The story went up, under a simple but devastating headline: Suspected heroin killer is son of future Chinese president and it was as if she had lit the blue touchpaper under the entire city, if not the country. When the President of the United States came on TV to react to the story, the newsroom broke into spontaneous applause.
At seven pm, Jane Goldstein and Howard Burke summoned the editorial staff to meet by the newsdesk. Someone had produced a bottle of champagne.
‘This is a proud, but bittersweet moment,’ Jane began, holding a glass. ‘This last week began with a tragedy. Abigail Webb lost her life. I’d like us to take a moment to remember her.’ Goldstein dipped her head, which prompted everyone to do the same. For a few seconds, far less than a minute, the newsroom fell silent, save for a distant TV set, still carrying pictures of the rally outside the base. Maddy observed the silence but did not dip her head. Instead she stayed focused on Jane and Howard, watching.
Then Goldstein spoke again.
‘Yesterday the LA Times family very nearly suffered a second tragedy. As you know, the great Katharine Hu was knocked down in what seemed like a fatal hit-and-run incident. I’m glad to tell you that we’ve just had word from the hospital and, in the last hour, Katharine has regained consciousness.’ There was a burst of applause. ‘It seems she’s going to be OK.
‘But in between those two devastating events someone very close to both of these wonderful women made some history. Madison Webb pursued the truth. It was her persistence which got to the truth. And what a truth, a story that went right to the very top of the world’s leading superpower. She has done this organization proud and – something I suspect matters to her much more – she has got justice for her sister. I raise my glass, and I take off my hat, to Madison Webb.’
‘To Madison Webb!’
Somebody, an intern she guessed, pressed a glass into her hand and looked at her with what she would have described, in a hurried text across the newsroom to Katharine, as sex eyes. Funny to think that just yesterday the editor-in-chief was politely ejecting her from the building as a potential lunatic and here she was now, feted as the star reporter and newly hot property. Fickle business, journalism.
She took a sip of champagne and returned to her desk, buried under an avalanche of paper. What with the sweatshop investigation and the madness of this week, she hadn’t sat here properly in well over a month. She checked her email and Weibo to see a flood of congratulatory messages. She didn’t read them.
Elation would not come. With Abigail gone and Katharine comatose until an hour ago, numb was the best she could manage. But, as she glanced up at the TV, she knew there was more to it than that. It wasn’t only because she was in mourning that she could not find it within her to celebrate the story of a lifetime, the story that would probably be the greatest of her career. If she ever had a wall like Jane Goldstein’s, this would be the story, framed and cherished, at its centre. And yet she could barely muster any pride or satisfaction. The usual buzz was missing. Something didn’t feel right.
A Reuters snap passed across the top of her computer screen, followed a second later by a cry from across the newsroom: ‘Jesus Christ!’
Chinese state news agency reporting an important announcement concerning the future of Yang Zheng to be made shortly.
She checked her watch. It was midday on Sunday in Beijing. Whatever was happening there was happening very fast.
And now on one of the TV monitors, KTLA were crossing live to the base from where Colonel Chen had emerged to give a few remarks to the cameras and reporters waiting outside.
‘On behalf of the People’s Liberation Army,’ he began, apparently reading from a printed text he stiffly held in front of him, ‘I wish to confirm that today we have voluntarily complied with a request that Second Lieutenant Yang Zhitong meet the Los Angeles Police Department to answer their inquiries. We do this …’
Madison closed her eyes, just to be sure. No doubt about it. It was the same voice. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had been bound in a stress position in front of this man, her hands tied and her legs in screaming pain, while he interrogated her. And here he was on TV in his olive-green uniform and wide, peaked cap. He looked older than he had sounded. Perhaps in his late fifties, he seemed to be a man utterly in charge.
‘… evidence advanced by the LA Times is clearly very disturbing and much of it was not known to us prior to publication. The People’s Liberation Army was not aware of the troubled record at Tsinghua University or of the fatal road accident involving a young woman. As a result, we shall be conducting an internal inquiry into admissions procedures for elite officers. Let me reassure the people of this state that our partnership is built on a platform of mutual trust …’
Had she heard correctly? Or was she imagining things? While she would never forgive Goldstein for what she had said yesterday, the editor wasn’t completely wrong: insomniacs’ minds played tricks on them all the time. Madison quickly found a digital feed of the KTLA coverage on her computer and rewound the Colonel’s impromptu presser.
The People’s Liberation Army was not aware of the troubled record at Tsinghua university or of the fatal road accident involving a young woman …
OK, so she had heard that correctly. Now she went to the LA Times and clicked on her story, currently stripped with a banner headline across the front page of the site. She had read through the piece two dozen times, but had that line got through? She had included it in her first draft, but hadn’t she and Howard discussed it and pulled it out? She read the story one more time, line by line. It wasn’t there.
Perhaps it had slipped into one of the backgrounders that made up the package. She hadn’t written all of those herself, though she had briefed the reporters and read through what she thought was the final copy. She read them again. Not a word about the Ferrari incident that had left a woman dead. Plenty on the separate ‘Yang Zheng is my father’ episode, which was richly sourced and well-documented. But though a car had been damaged, that accident had not been fatal and the LA Times’s coverage gave no impression otherwise.
It could only mean one thing.
Chapter 53
Cui bono? Cui bono? She had thought about it, but not hard enough. She had accepted the explanation she had given herself in the dead of night when those Direct Messages detailing the life and misdemeanours of Yang Zhitong arrived: that these leaks were the work of Leo Harris’s counterparts, and deadly rivals, in the Sigurdsson campaign, using her to stoke up the anti-garrison fervour which had served them so well. But she hadn’t pushed that thought further. There was no excuse. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t made this mistake before. In fact she had made it very recently, over the police file Leo had given her. It was not enough to understand your source. You needed to understand your source’s source.
If she had asked that question, she would have realized the gap in her assumptions. If it had been California Republicans who were feeding her the dirt on Yang, then where were they getting their information from? OK, the tracking data came from the party chairman. But how on earth would the equivalent of Leo – his one-time mentor, Bill Doran, or someone working for him – have known the rest of what the Messenger had known? Yang’s antics back in Beijing, OK. Maybe a very smart search on the othernet could have yielded most of that. But what of the private letter from his tutor at Tsinghua University, complaining of ‘serious disciplinary issues’ and ‘inappropriate’ behaviour towards female students? Or the equally confidential document stating that Yang was to be transferred from military college in Beijing to Garrison 41 at Terminal Island, the Port of Los Angeles? How would the Sigurdsson campaign have got hold of those?
> That would have taken an insider. She would never have guessed it would have been one so high up, but Colonel Chen Jun had just outed himself. He had attributed to the story a fact that was not in it. People did that all the time about facts that were in the public domain, assuming they’d read it somewhere they hadn’t. But this was no ordinary fact and it was certainly not in the public domain. Indeed, Chen had just stressed that he and his colleagues had not known anything about the fatal accident ‘prior to publication’. Trouble was, on the specific matter of the fatal events involving Yang, the women and the Ferrari, there had been no publication at all, certainly not by her or the LA Times.
That proved Chen was lying about the garrison’s lack of knowledge of Yang’s track record: in itself a minor scandal, but no more. What mattered was his assumption that the Ferrari episode had been in Madison’s story. There was only one way to make sense of that. The Colonel assumed Madison had used that morsel because he had fed it to her.
Now she thought hard about the timing. How to make sense of Chen all but torturing her one moment, using the full menace of the PLA to ward her off the story, then acting as her crucial source the next? It made no sense at all.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to zone out the newsroom murmur all around her. She opened her eyes to see that intern guy – or maybe he was one of the new video journalists she hadn’t met – scribbling a Post-it note, which he then unabashedly placed on her screen. Drink later? She peeled it off and threw it in the trash.
She needed to concentrate. Hounding her the way the garrison had hounded her – spying on her, stalking both her and her friends, throwing her into a dungeon once she strayed onto their territory – was perfectly logical. Her story threatened the base’s interests very directly, fuelling an anti-Chinese surge in public opinion that could have made – was already making – life impossible for Garrison 41. So why then start helping her?
The 3rd Woman Page 38
