“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Chiao. “Any support you have will crumble when the moment of decision comes. Millions of people hate and resent that man who lies dead in the Great Hall — because their loved ones were murdered and beaten and thrown into jail at his whim. But he’ll never be discredited. Attacking him directly would undermine everything for which the People’s Republic stands. So those who have aided and abetted him in his folly will have to bear the full force of the people’s wrath. All I’m doing is giving you one last chance to save yourself from that.”
“You seem to have decided against saving yourself[ Uncle. But I can tell you in confidence that it is not too late for you even now. If you pledge your loyalty to the line of Chairman Mao and act accordingly, I’m authorized to say that the ministry of defense can be yours when new ministers are appointed.”
“I’ll try to give you half an hour’s warning,” said Chiao, ignoring the attempted bribe as though it had never been offered. “You will receive a telephone call giving the chairman’s precise time of birth in astrological form, as though from an analyst of astrological charts. You’ll then have thirty minutes to save your neck. It will be up to you. I wouldn’t be able to face my sister again if I didn’t at least offer you this small assistance.”
“You seem to forget that Vice Chairman Hua attacked the ‘capitalist road’ clique again only a few minutes ago,” said Kao sharply. “It’s suddenly very clear who he’s talking about.”
“The vice chairman is playing for time,” said Chiao dismissively and opened the door of the limousine, motioning for Kao to climb out. “That’s all I have to tell you.”
20
Jakob locked the door of his room on the second floor of the Peking Hotel and walked swiftly down the stairs to the lobby. A small Chinese saloon car with military markings was parked in front of the hotel entrance and he hurried outside to climb into one of its rear seats. The car, driven by a uniformed soldier, pulled out onto Chang An and turned eastward, then swung immediately into Wang Fu Ching, the capital’s main shopping street. Jakob noticed that many of the buildings still had visible cracks in their facades and some were shored up by external wooden supports. Because of the late hour the Street was almost deserted; the doors of the Peking Department Store, the East Wind, Bazaar, and the New China Bookstore were locked and barred like those of the smaller shops, and he watched in puzzlement as the car turned into a dark, narrow lane to halt outside a grimy shop window displaying Chinese herbal remedies and traditional medicines.
The driver got out and opened the car door for Jakob without speaking, and after glancing both ways along the deserted lane, he took out a key and unlocked the door of the shop. Producing a small pocket flashlight, he ushered Jakob inside, locked the door behind them, and led the way between two narrow counters to a flight of steps leading down into a musty cellar. The mingled odors of fungus, spices, and dried roots assailed them as the soldier knelt to haul open a large ringed trapdoor in the old stone floor. Then he shone his flashlight on a flight of modern concrete steps and motioned Jakob impatiently ahead into a section of the city’s underground defense network, where the air smelled stale and metallic. After unlocking a steel blast-proof door, they entered a lighted passageway, the roof and walls of which were coated with thick white plaster. As they hurried onward, they passed many side tunnels and clusters of signs pointing the way to grain stores, generating plants, armories, and medical stations, and Jakob found himself wondering at the sophistication of the tunnel complex about which he had previously heard only rumors.
Beyond a second steel door they climbed upward again, to a whitewashed, brick-lined passageway; here the driver halted outside a wooden door guarded by two army soldiers. After showing the sentries a pass, the driver opened the door, and when Jakob stepped inside he found Marshal Lu Chiao perched on the edge of a metal desk, dressed in camouflage battle fatigues. A steel helmet and a service pistol lay on the desk at his side, and the tense-faced marshal was in the act of putting down the telephone receiver into which he had been speaking.
“How can I help you?” he asked curtly, waving Jakob to a metal chair beside the desk. “Be brief, because I only have a few minutes at my disposal.”
“I’ve been trying to find Kao,” replied Jakob uncertainly, glancing from the steel helmet and pistol to the military maps fastened to the walls of what was obviously an underground command post. “Iwent straight to his home from the airport this evening. But his house is barely habitable and there’s no sign of him or his son — that’s why I took the liberty of delivering an urgent note to the Great Hall asking to see you.”
“Kao hasn’t lived there since the earthquake. He sleeps inside Chung Nan Hal most nights — close to his dearest political allies. Why have you come looking for him?”
Taken aback by the coldness of Chiao’s manner and his unconcealed hostility toward Kao, Jakob stared at him in consternation. “I’ve been trying to get to Peking since the day of the earthquake. Abigail sent a cable saying Kao’s wife had been killed. I was worried about them both — then later Abigail wrote saying she had seen Kao and he seemed very troubled
“Yes, Kao is certainly ‘troubled.’ Many other people are ‘troubled’ too. You can see now perhaps that you’ve come here at a bad time.” Chiao broke off, glancing down meaningfully at the pistol on the desk. “Very serious steps are about to be taken — to put some of the trouble right. And Kao, I’m afraid, will be one of those to suffer.”
“But can’t you do anything to help him?” asked Jakob in a horrified voice.
“For Mei-ling’s sake I’ve already tried to help him. I warned him his only choice was to leave China. But he refuses to listen
“But why only for Mei-ling’s sake, Chiao? He’s your nephew.”
Chiao stared fixedly at Jakob. “You’re his father and I couldn’t tell you this before. But Kao doesn’t deserve any help from me — or anybody else. Kao is responsible for what happened to his mother. For reasons best known to himself he let her suffer a second time in Shanghai, just after he had ordered her to be freed. About that time he turned on me too, in Peking. I suspect he organized my ‘arrest.’ And he personally supervised the Red Guards at my ‘trial’ in the Workers’ Stadium. . .
The shock of Chiao’s revelation caused Jakob to close his eyes.as though in pain. The terrible acts of betrayal against Mei-ling and Chiao had clearly followed close on his own traumatic meeting with Kao in Shanghai, and the realization that these events must have been connected seemed almost unbearable.
“Kao was not the only one who behaved that way,” continued Chiao grimly. “The Cultural Revolution produced intolerable pressures for a lot of people. And it brought out the worst in some. Too many betrayed their relatives and friends in the heat of the moment for selfish personal reasons — and have lived to regret it.”
“I still feel it’s my duty to try to do something for Kao,” said Jakob in a haunted voice. “Can’t you help me in any way?”
“You must be aware that I’ve already accorded you far greater privileges than is wise in bringing you here at this time. It goes without saying that you must respect all confidences I’ve shared with you.,’
“I won’t betray the trust you’ve placed in me,” said Jakob quickly. “You can rely on that absolutely.”
Chiao glanced at his wristwatch. “I told Kao I would try to give him half an hour’s warning when the time came. I’ll keep my word and call him as soon as you’ve gone.”
“But where will he go?” asked Jakob desperately. “How will I find him?”
“Where he goes will be his choice. I’ve done all I can. Much greater things are at stake now.” Chiao stood up impatiently and shook Jakob’s hand. “The driver will take you back to where he collected you. I wish you luck in your efforts to help your son.”
21
As soon as the sound of Jakob’s retreating footsteps died away in the corridor outside, Chiao picked up the telephone and asked for a num
ber. When a voice came on the line he enunciated his words with exaggerated clarity.
“Listen carefully,” he said, “tell Comrade Chen Kao that Chairman Mao was born at the hour of the dragon, on the day of the scarlet cockerel, in the month of the green mouse, during the year of the black snake.”
As soon as he had spoken, the marshal dropped the receiver onto its cradle and fastened the pistol into a holster on his belt. Jamming the helmet on his head, he hurried from the office and descended several flights of steps into a cavernous underground assembly point where half a dozen fully armed companies of the elite 8341 Security Unit were drawn up beside lines of waiting jeeps and armored personnel carriers. Handpicked from other PLA units for their strength and agility and given rigorous commando training from the first day of recruitment, the troops who permanently guarded the Party leadership wore steel helmets, camouflage battle dress, and rubber-soled boots. They carried either British-made Sten guns or light 9-mm Chinese assault weapons and some had ropes and grappling hooks slung about their chests. Stepping up into the back of his command jeep, Chiao pushed his own helmet back on his head and surveyed the force with a critical gaze.
“This, comrades, will be the most important operation you’ve ever carried out,” he said, watching aides distribute packets of photographs to the company and platoon commanders. “All of you here have distinguished yourselves over many years acting as loyal bodyguards to Premier Chou. And Premier Chou would have approved heartily of today’s action if he were still alive because it will open the way for the return to power of the man Premier Chou selected to carry on his policies So far the special training you’ve received for this task has been directed at anonymous targets. But the photographs now in your possession will enable every one of you to identify the targets clearly. Look at them!”
Chiao watched the commanders closely as they opened the packages and scrutinized the photographic portraits of the four top Party leaders who had stood at Hua Kuo-feng’s left hand on the Monument to the People’s Heroes nearly three weeks earlier. First among them was the familiar bespectacled countenance of the widow of Chairman Mao, but the training of the elite force stood them in good stead and no exclamations of surprise passed their lips. Additional packets of smaller photographs portrayed cadres loyal to the four leaders, who were also to be arrested, and Chiao caught a glimpse of Kao’s handsome, confident face as a platoon commander standing near the command jeep shuffled through his selection.
“Your political instructors have been given strict orders, comrades, that they must try by word of mouth to persuade defending bodyguard units to surrender,” continued Chiao, glancing quickly at his watch. “A bloodless victory is our aim. Rut if that isn’t possible, although the defenders are your comrades and fellow countrymen, you must fight ruthlessly until they are overcome. Is that clearly understood?”
An instant shout of acknowledgment echoed around the underground assembly point.
“Good!” Chiao hesitated, and a pensive expression flitted across his face. “Forty years ago, comrades, I was given the honor and privilege of commanding the special assault force which attacked the Luting bridge. The troops who volunteered for that dangerous task were all fine young men like you. The future of the whole revolution was at stake then. If they’d failed, the Red Army might have been driven into the wilderness of Tibet or destroyed completely. But they didn’t fail — and neither will you. In this special operation you will arrest four dangerous leaders of the Communist Party who have betrayed their trust. So this moment is as important in our history as the battle for Luting. If this gang of anti-Party traitors is not arrested, they’ll undo all Premier Chou’s painstaking work and drag the revolution down the path to destruction and catastrophe.”
Chiao gazed pointedly around at each company in turn, looking directly into the faces of individual men. “So don’t flinch from your duty, comrades! If bodyguard soldiers or other armed supporters try to protect the traitors, you’ll shoot to kill. But the four main prisoners themselves must be taken alive and unharmed.” Chiao raised his voice to a shout. “That’s all. Good luck, comrades! Long live the revolution!”
Engines roared into life and the assembly point filled with noise as the men leapt into their vehicles. Chiao, although slightly stiff in his movements, moved quickly to the front passenger seat of the command jeep. A bright gleam had entered his tired eyes and he gave the signal to advance with a flourish of his hand. One by one the four separate convoys followed his speeding jeep up a sloping ramp into the underground labyrinth beneath Peking. Driving nose to tail behind him along the broad tunnel running beneath Chang An Boulevard, the vehicles of the special task force roared through the darkness toward the fortified Chung Nan Hai compound with their headlights blazing.
22
Kao heard the roar of the troop convoy approaching as he ran panting through the darkness of a narrow side tunnel leading down beneath the gardens of a fortified villa in Peking’s western suburbs. Then the glow of the convoy’s headlights probing along the main trunk tunnel began to brighten the darkness ahead of him and he stumbled to a halt, breathing raggedly. A side pocket of his cadre’s tunic bulged with the unfamiliar weight of a service revolver which he had issued to himself from a secret Party armory a week earlier, and he took it in his right hand as he shone his flashlight desperately over the rocky walls of the shaft which linked the villa with the trunk tunnel.
As the sound of the engines grew louder, indecision held him rigid. He doubted whether he could reach the main tunnel without running into the arms of the approaching troops, but if he returned to the villa it seemed equally certain he would be trapped there. The side tunnel was the only underground entrance to the villa’s heavily guarded garden, and although the beam of his flashlight revealed that there were some natural niches in the rock through which the tunnel had been driven, he could see they would barely afford sufficient cover if one of the advancing soldiers shone a light directly into them.
At the mouth of the side tunnel he could hear the sound of vehicles sliding to a halt on the gritty road; one by one their engines were switched off and he realized then he no longer had any choice. The quiet drum of rubber-soled boots on the ground indicated that the troops were disembarking and Kao switched off his flashlight and dropped into a crouch in the deepest niche. For a minute or more nothing happened — no lights appeared in the side tunnel and a curious silence fell in the subterranean passages, broken only by a quiet murmur of one distant voice which Kao guessed belonged to the troop commander.
As he waited, his heart thudding inside his chest, Kao tried to imagine what might be happening at the villa, which the chairman’s widow had some months ago turned into her own fortified retreat. Ten minutes earlier he had been embroiled with her and half a dozen other Party aides in an acrimonious discussion on why, despite repeated promises, no military support from the northeast had yet materialized. Constant telephone calls had produced only elaborate excuses and deepening confusion, tempers had become frayed, and there had been angry exchanges around the conference table. Just after midnight one of his assistants had discreetly slipped Kao a written note of the anonymous telephone message about the hour of the dragon and the day of the scarlet cockerel, and to his astonishment he had at once experienced a great surge of relief. The assistant had jotted down the precise time of the message’s arrival, and on noticing that it was already twenty minutes old, Kao had excused himself and slipped out immediately into the darkened garden, carrying a document case in which he had concealed the flashlight and the revolver. The usual platoon of armed sentries was on patrol and he had been forced to make a pretense of taking a relaxing stroll until he could reach the concealed steel door that protected the tunnel entrance. To his dismay, he found that the lock had become rusty with disuse, and by the time he wrenched it open he was sweating profusely in his anxiety; then, in trying to run too fast along the uneven tunnel floor, he had fallen heavily, and when he heard the noise of the appro
aching troop convoy halfway down the tunnel, it had come as little surprise.
As he crouched in the inky darkness of the niche, inhaling the damp, primal smell of the rocky earth, Kao became more forcibly aware than ever before of the desperate mental and physical weariness which he had been fighting against during the past few weeks. Having suddenly released his hold on the failing hopes and ambitions which had previously sustained him, he felt his remaining energy ebbing from him. With the suddenness of air rushing into a vacuum, his mind was filled with the sickening realization which he had been struggling to hold at bay since his last meeting with Abigail: for a long time, perhaps for most of his life, he had been living a monstrous pretense. Outwardly devoted to high-principled revolutionary ideals, he knew now that deep inside himself he had never really believed in anything. In embracing the empty rhetoric of class struggle he had turned his back brutally on his mother and uncle and helped cause untold suffering to countless others. Always the promise of future benefits had inspired him and those around him, but on seeing their ambitions founder amid an unseemly scramble for personal power, the lie had been given to their empty beliefs. Accepting these truths was intensely agonizing and when at last he heard the muffled sound of footsteps approaching and a shaded light appeared, he found his distracted mind welcoming the prospect of release from the endless tension of recent weeks.
Watching the booted feet of the first few soldiers passing within a few inches of his face, he felt a strange sense of detachment, not caring whether he was found or not. Holding their light submachine guns at the ready, the troops were moving rapidly forward, peering watchfully into the darkness. Some of the men were scanning the sides of the tunnel as they advanced and Kao waited numbly for a shout or the sound of a shot to signal that he had been discovered.
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