by F. J. Chase
Once they left the bright environs of Beijing and its suburbs the landscape was mostly black, with only occasional dotted clusters of cities and villages. As they continued northeast the terrain rose into low mountains.
The investigators in the cabin dozed, but Commissioner Zhou kept consulting his watch. The crew had estimated fifty minutes of flight time. They must be close.
Over the intercom the pilot said, “Comrade Commissioner, there is some sort of emergency situation in Zhangjiakou.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have been on the radio with the city bureau, and they have advised me not to fly low over the southern part of the city.”
“For what reason?”
“Gunfire, Comrade Commissioner.”
“Gunfire? What gunfire?”
“I asked this question, but they said nothing except to give me approach directions and that warning. It seemed they did not want to discuss it over the radio.”
Gunfire. Incredible. “How long before we land?”
“Five minutes. We will begin our descent as soon as we pass over the peak of Hengshan Mountain ahead.”
Commissioner Zhou kept watching for the distinctive shape of Zhangjiakou. It was a long, narrow city wedged into a long, narrow river valley between three mountain ranges.
But as they plunged down the slope there was nothing below. At first Commissioner Zhou thought a low mist must be obscuring the valley.
“Do you see, Commissioner?” the pilot asked.
“I see nothing,” Commissioner Zhou snapped.
“This is what I mean. The city power is out. There are no lights. Except the fires. Do you see the fires?”
Now as they drew closer Commissioner Zhou did. That low-hanging mist was smoke. The city was black, but there were at least ten different fires burning brightly enough to see from the air. What could be happening? A blackout? Zhangjiakou was a regional power center. All he could think of was an American air attack.
Passing over the river two strings of green balls erupted out of the darkness and floated over the rooftops.
“Did you see that, Commissioner?” the pilot said excitedly.
“Yes,” Commissioner Zhou replied. Tracer bullets.
“Do you still wish to land?”
“Yes. Just make sure it is the right location.”
The pilot came in fast over the rooftops and only turned on his spotlight as they circled to check for obstructions in the landing zone. “My orders are to drop you and not remain,” he said. “I will find somewhere else to refuel. This is your last chance to return to Beijing with us.”
“Follow your orders,” said Commissioner Zhou. The spotlight was locked on the concrete pad beside the bureau headquarters on Weiyi Road. Which was the only building in the area that had lights showing. He took off the headset and shouted over the rotor noise, “It seems that there is some social disorder in progress. Be prepared for anything.”
As the helicopter was settling down someone flashed a powerful light in their direction and blinded the crew. The pilot lost his frame of reference and in desperation tried to bring it down fast. The helicopter lurched like a fast-falling elevator and everyone’s stomach slammed into their chest. They almost landed sideways. The port side wheel hit hard and bounced them back into the air, but on the second trip down the machine settled onto all three wheels.
This was added incentive for the passengers to leave quickly. The inspector had barely slammed the cabin door shut when the aircraft rose up again.
With no real idea where he was going, Commissioner Zhou halted on the lawn beside the headquarters. If it could be called a lawn. The grass was so dead it crunched underfoot. A good time to take stock of first impressions. The first was a strong smell of fire in the air. Which was cooler than Beijing, perhaps over ten degrees. The streetlights were all out, and what illumination there was came from the headlights of parked vehicles and emergency lighting mounted on trucks. The headquarters building was fenced all around, of course, but propped up against that were shiny coils of new barbed wire. And inside the perimeter freshly made sandbag bunkers like mounds on the grass, manned by armed policemen.
Now the helicopter was gone and the tap-tap-tap of small arms fire could be heard clearly in the distance. At that Commissioner Zhou heard the sound of his investigators cocking their own rifles. He could not find fault with this. The periodic gunfire only punctuated the continuous hammering of diesel generators. That was the source of the building lighting. An armored anti-riot vehicle was filling the tank for its water cannon from a hydrant in the street.
It was strange to be in the midst of all this activity yet have everyone ignoring them as if a helicopter had not just landed. A moment later they were caught in the beam of a flashlight held by an armed policeman, who approached quickly with someone who displayed some authority.
A man in late middle age, wearing a suit, which only made the bulletproof vest and the old-style steel helmet look that much more unusual. He held a walkie-talkie radio in one hand and a cell phone in the other. His face was streaked with grime, drawn and exhausted. And haunted, Commissioner Zhou thought instantly.
Thinking he should make an introduction, he said, “Commissioner Zhou, from the Ministry.”
A quick bow. “Commissioner Lu. How many helicopters are following?”
“What do you mean?” said Commissioner Zhou.
“I see. You have been sent to make an appreciation of the situation. It is grave. You must inform Beijing that we need as many forces as possible, as quickly as possible.”
Commissioner Zhou knew this could not continue. He had to bring some sense to the situation. “Commissioner, what has happened here?”
Lu was shocked. “You do not know? Beijing does not know?”
He was so upset that Commissioner Zhou said gently, “Comrade, please brief me on the situation. From the beginning.”
Lu dragged his forearm across his eyes. “Yesterday there was a meeting of the city factory owners. Not mining or energy, just manufacturing. And only exporters at that. Since the war began all container ship traffic has halted. No ships, no factory export orders. And by this morning all the factory owners and managers had disappeared.”
Commissioner Zhou had expected to be invited inside the headquarters for the briefing, not receive it outside in the darkness. But forgetting that for a moment, he blurted out, “Disappeared? Disappeared where?”
“I assume somewhere with a more favorable climate, Comrade. We shall certainly investigate where the owners fled once we have put down the riots they caused. This morning half the city discovered they were out of work.”
Commissioner Zhou still could not understand it. “How could a riot occur so quickly?”
Commissioner Lu was practically spitting the words. “This morning there was a march on the mayor’s office, demanding explanations and relief.” He shook his head, holding up the hand with the radio as if to signal himself to stop.
“I assume the masses left unsatisfied,” said Commissioner Zhou.
“We have been dealing with riot and fire all day long. And with every plea for help to Beijing we have received nothing but words of solidarity. Excuse me, Comrade. Nothing except six policemen who arrive by helicopter, a helicopter which we could have put to good use, with absolutely no idea what is going on.”
“There is no doubt Beijing knows, Comrade. You are not aware that at this moment Beijing is also in the grip of an emergency situation. We were not informed of your plight because we have come on a different mission.”
“What has happened in Beijing?”
“Major sabotage to transport and the water system. The city is virtually shut down.”
“Son of a bitch!” Commissioner Lu blurted out.
“Have you employed strong measures?” Commissioner Zhou asked, using the euphemism for live ammunition.
“Of course. Gas and rubber bullets and water cannon were proven useless this morning.”
“And you have not been able to wipe out these nests?”
“Are you serious? Two militia armories were ransacked. We are completely on the defensive. There are close to 100,000 men out of work—more than an army corps. And we have but one division of armed police left in the entire province—a drop of water in the river. We’ve been able to confine the worst to the southern districts only because the city center is so narrow and easy to defend. And because the streets are blocked. But our men are growing exhausted while the rioters are emboldened. This is why we cry for help.”
The more he heard, the less sense it made to Commissioner Zhou. “But what of the local army units?” The Zhangjiakou region was known as “Beijing’s northern door.” From Mongol times to the present it was the traditional invasion corridor to Beijing. When the Russians controlled Mongolia during the Cold War and the world’s two largest communist powers had been at each other’s throats massive underground military installations were constructed in the Zhangjiakou area. It was still a major military training ground.
“What army units?” Commissioner Lu shouted. “They are gone. To Korea. And now I suspect to Beijing. The Public Security Director and Armed Police commander are endeavoring to hold the situation together. Beijing is deaf to our pleas. One helicopter gunship is all we need. That would break their backs.”
In his agitation Lu took a step forward, almost seeming to touch Commissioner Zhou. And this totally un-Chinese action seemed to startle them both. “Do you realize what this means for China? The West will simply buy their goods from some other nations. But we will be left to deal with millions of jobless citizens throughout the country.”
Even in the almost nonexistent light Commissioner Zhou could see the fear on his face. All heard it in his voice. And he was sure Lu could see the same on his face, because now he had the same vision of chaos sweeping across China. As Chairman Mao had said: a single spark can start a prairie fire.
They were interrupted by shouting from the adjacent vehicle lot. It was fenced with barbed wire and faced a large garage. Two armored trucks had rolled in and policemen were driving bound men from the backs at bayonet point. The men were run over to the side of the concrete garage, and three sets of headlights snapped on to illuminate the scene. They were forced to their knees facing the wall and two policemen walked down the line, shooting them in the back of the head. They had to pause once to reload. The headlights went off and left the row of fresh corpses in darkness.
The execution seemed to have shifted Commissioner Lu’s mood. “Why are you here?” he demanded, as if it had just occurred to him.
“An important American spy is attempting to escape to Mongolia,” Commissioner Zhou replied. “We have come to intercept him as he passes through your city.”
Commissioner Lu’s laughter had the pitch of hysteria to it. “An American spy? One spy? Are you serious?”
“This is the highest national priority, Comrade.”
“Really? Our highest priority is restoring order to this city, Comrade. And then possibly we will begin to deal with the problem of how the masses will earn their daily rice.”
Starvation was the age-old Chinese horror, whose real memory was less than a generation old.
A string of cracks split the air as bullets fired from some distance away passed overhead. Everyone instinctively ducked.
“At least give me a few men,” Commissioner Zhou pleaded, aware of how hollow that sounded.
“What, to catch a spy?”
“That is my mission.”
“After all I have told you, you will not assist us?”
“What can six men do for you? I have my orders. A handful of men.”
“Impossible.”
“At least a vehicle or two.”
“We have none to spare. If you do not wish to join us and offer assistance, then I suggest you fuck off.” Commissioner Lu used the term, qu ni made, which meant, literally: go to your mother.
With the gunfire from the executions still ringing in his ears and Lu and his men unmistakably close to the edge Commissioner Zhou thought better of any retaliatory language. Nothing gave him better insight into the desperation of the situation than that a provincial would dare to talk to a Beijing official that way.
Lu was halfway down the stone walk back to the headquarters building when he turned on his heels and called out, “Do not worry, Comrade. Your spy will never make it through the rioters.”
Commissioner Zhou stood where he was, thinking. He turned to his investigators, who had remained protectively near him. “We seem to have encountered more than the usual difficulties.”
There was total silence for a long uncomfortable moment. Then Inspector He laughed very loudly and all the sergeants felt free to join in.
“Shut up!” some anonymous voice screamed out of the darkness.
Commissioner Zhou ignored it. “I must think. All of you make your way around the building. Have comradely talks with the men here and see if you can get a better idea of the situation. As we know, sergeants always have more information than commissioners.”
He could see the sergeants grinning at that. What were their names again? “Spend a few minutes and return to me here. Oh, and take care not to be pressed into any service. I need you.”
Inspector He gave his sergeants some additional instructions in a low voice and they all split up.
Commissioner Zhou took a seat on the dead grass. Zhangjiakou air was nothing but coal smoke in the best of times, so the demise of the grass was not a complete surprise.
Three roads led out of the city, but only one to Mongolia. And that was in the northern part of the city. He flipped open his phone. No cellular service. Either the authorities or the rioters had shut off the electricity. There seemed to be only one solution. But he would wait and see what his investigators were able to discover.
They returned to him together, which meant Inspector He had arranged to debrief them beforehand. Which was merely good initiative. When he was an inspector he would have done the same thing.
They brought nightmarish tales of disorder. Policemen burned alive by firebombs. Others taken prisoner in the early hours and then, after the rioters had been fired upon, found nailed to the sides of buildings. Moving in to clear areas and being met by accurate automatic fire and even anti-tank grenades.
“The Armed Police are calling it Iraq,” a sergeant reported.
No one knew how many weapons and how much ammunition had been taken from the southern public security substations and the militia armories. Terror tales were told of huge army weapons stockpiles in unguarded bunkers under the city.
But as far as detailed information the local police knew nothing more than what they had seen with their eyes in the street fighting and the wild rumors passed along with the usual blinding speed.
Commissioner Zhou listened carefully. And said, “It seems clear what we must do. We are trapped here by events—there is no knowing how long. That being the case, there is nothing to do but continue our mission. Inspector He, how do you see it?” The commissioner knew the sergeants would carry out any plan but volunteer nothing.
“The man…” Captain He stopped. “Forgive me, Comrade Commissioner, but I cannot pronounce his name.”
“No matter. The man will be sufficient.”
“Thank you. I see it as this. The man will encounter the disorder and return to Beijing. That buys us more time to track him. Or he will attempt to travel through the city regardless. He will succeed, or he will not. If not, we will find some trace of him or his transport eventually. If he does, the highway to Mongolia is where we’ll find him.”
Commissioner Zhou was pleased to hear his own thoughts. “Excellent, Inspector.”
One of the sergeants said, “Your pardon, Comrade Commissioner, Comrade Inspector. I was told there is a small police unit stationed on the highway northeast to turn all traffic around so the coal and ore trucks do not reach the city and become immobilized and a burden on resources.
”
Commissioner Zhou was just as pleased to hear that. “Well done, Sergeant. Then somewhere between the city and this unit is where we must be. Let us not delay.”
“On foot, Comrade Commissioner?” one of the more senior sergeants asked hesitantly.
Commissioner Zhou tried but could not recall his name. And having been informed once, to keep his face he could not ask again. In any case, the plaintive tone amused him. “Thank you for your concern for my feet, Sergeant. But have no fear. As we walk, remain vigilant for available transport.”
He pointed the way north and Inspector He organized the formation so they would be spread out and able to react to danger. Not necessarily police tactics, but they had all served the army as conscripts.
The streets were totally empty. Everyone who owned any kind of vehicle: bicycle, scooter, or car, had somehow removed it from both sight and possible damage. It was eerie.
After they had walked perhaps a half kilometer, Commissioner Zhou told two of the sergeants, “Check that alley.”
They carefully stalked down it while the rest covered the street.
When they trotted back the leader reported, “Comrade Commissioner, the mystery is solved. The private vehicles have been driven down the alleys and hidden behind the buildings.”
“Excellent,” Commissioner Zhou replied. “Did you see two in reasonable condition that can be commandeered in the name of the people?”
Smiling, the sergeant nodded.
There were in fact three cars hidden in a stone courtyard off the alley. The only problem was that it was not clear which buildings the owners lived in. They could spend half the night pounding on doors looking for keys.
Something Commissioner Zhou had no intention of doing. “Inspector He?”
