The Chinese Assassin

by Anthony Grey

  He winked exaggeratedly then, immediately serious, turned and peered through screwed-up eyes in the direction of Yang and Stillman. The scientist was holding up the seat cushion above his head and gazing myopically over the heads of his audience again.

  ‘This, gentlemen, is a seat cushion from an airliner. It was part of the original furnishings of a Trident IE purchased initially from the British Aircraft Corporation by the Pakistan Air Force in 1967.’

  The prematurely bald man from the China section of the Cabinet Office rose suddenly to his feet with a snort of exasperation. ‘Mr. Chairman, I feel I must intervene. We’ve been called here at exceedingly short notice to listen to two people whom you have declined so far to identify for us beyond their fairly meaningless names. We have only your vaguest assurances that they’ve got some important revelations to make about the death of Lin Piao.’ He fanned himself rapidly with his evening paper. ‘We know absolutely nothing of what qualifies these men to speak on the subject, which of course snakes it impossible for us to evaluate what they say. Since Li is believed to have died fully five years ago, I fail to see what urgency there can be in detaining us on one of the hottest afternoons London has ever known when we might be cooling off at home in our gardens with iced gin and tonics in our hands.’ He stopped and smiled wearily round at his fellow members. ‘So before we hear any more from Doctor Stillman about his, I’m sure fascinating, seat cushions, I think we’d all be grateful for a mite more elucidation.’

  Murmurs of agreement came from other men in the audience and Scholefield stood up awkwardly. ‘I fully appreciate that most of you might share Percy Crowdleigh’s feelings. I would probably have reacted in the same way in your place, Percy.’ He spoke without looking at the audience, staring down instead at his hands clenched in front of him. ‘I apologise for having to ask you to bear with me down what might look at present rather like a blind alley, but—’ Out of the corner of his eye Scholefield saw Yang stand up.

  ‘Perhaps, Mr. Scholefield, I may try to help your colleagues.’ All eyes swivelled suddenly to Yang. His features were set in a fixed, glassy smile. Scholefield saw that Nina was leaning forward in her seat, stiff with tension. Yang picked up a copy of the Institute’s charter that lay before him on top of the dais.

  ‘If I may quote from your founding articles, gentlemen, your Institute was inaugurated during the 1919 Paris Peace Conference “to encourage the widest possible dissemination of information about world politics”. Also, I think in the interests of safeguarding world peace, to promote understanding of all aspects of international affairs.’ He paused and licked his lips. ‘My name is Yang Tsai-chien. I was Marshall Lin Piao’s closest personal aide until he was murdered in September 1971. His death created a grave risk of war between my country and the Soviet Union which could have threatened the peace of the whole world.’ He paused and looked slowly round the hushed room. ‘Those responsible for his death are plotting new intrigues in Peking today. That is the cause for urgency!’

  Total silence greeted Yang’s announcement. After a long, uncomfortable moment the members began shifting uncomfortably in their seats, looking dubiously at one another, unsure how to react. Yang looked briefly along the platform towards Scholefield. ‘I have already provided your chairman with a written account of my own part in the events of 1971. But I have not asked that you be brought here to listen to what you might reasonably see as my personal and unprovable testimony. What you are about to hear will be detailed and irrefutable scientific proof. And you will hear it from no less an authority than one of your own countrymen, who also happens to be one of the leading aircraft accident investigators in the world.’

  Yang nodded in the direction of Stillman. The little grey- haired man was leaning casually on the lectern, gazing vacantly into space. He had lit another cigarette that was already drooping from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Because the aircraft was British-built and because the revisionist scientists and technologists of the Soviet Union were unable to interpret satisfactorily the readings of the foreign flight recorder in the aircraft, Doctor Stillman was coerced into playing the role he did. To be more explicit, he was kidnapped from his home by the KGB on the night of 14 September 1971 and smuggled to Russia. After completing the investigation of the Trident crash he was detained in Moscow—until last year when he evaded his captors and sought asylum in the embassy of the People’s Republic of China in Moscow. With the help of certain people who wish to see the evil plotters defeated in Peking we escaped to Hong Kong and then made our way to London.’

  Yang paused and looked slowly round the room. ‘Perhaps now, gentlemen, you will be more ready to listen to what he has to tell you about what happened aboard that Trident jet over Mongolia on the dark night of 12—13 September 1971.’

  Folio number eight

  Because the Trident lurched forward as I leapt from the top of the embarkation steps, I fell sprawling onto the floor of the fuselage inside the hatch. A foot smashed into the side of my face and another stamped on my wrist. My revolver exploded harmlessly into the galley then a hand matched it up and flung it away. Lao Kao had already been struck down and lay in the gangway with blood running from a wound on his temple.

  Our three adversaries were all dressed in long white hospital gowns. They also wore white headcovers and gauze surgical masks around their faces. One of them clutched at a spreading red stain around his left shoulder where a bullet from Lao Kao’s gun had found its mark. All were armed with automatic rifles.

  I struggled to my knees as the Trident gathered speed and swung out onto the runway. Through the open hatch I could see Comrade Ma driving a ponderous yellow fuel bowser flat out across the grass. Then once again a foot smashed into my face and I fell backwards against a bulkhead. I heard a brief burst of gunfire from outside before one of the white-gowned men slammed the hatch closed. Then I was seized and dragged half- conscious along the gangway and bundled into a seat.

  I felt the Trident shudder and gather speed. Through a side window I saw Comrade Ma’s fuel bowser veering across the grass towards us. As I watched, Ma leapt from the cab and left the bowser to career driverless onto the concrete runway in front of us.

  My spirit soared because I was sure our take-off had been aborted. The guards were flung in all directions as the Trident swerved off the runway. The whole aircraft shook violently as we thundered across the pitted grass surface at high speed. It seemed as if the aircraft must break up. But the pilot succeeded miraculously in swinging round the bowser and steered us back onto the concrete further along the runway. He accelerated frantically then, and moments later, with a great roar, lifted us steeply off the very end of the airfield into the dark sky.

  I struggled upright between the seats, trying to grapple with the nearest guard. But he raised his automatic rifle high above his head and crashed the butt-end down into my face with savage force. As I fell I felt another heavy blow on top of my head and I lost consciousness.

  When I regained my senses, my ears were roaring and there was a dull, sick pain in my head. I found a white-masked figure standing in the gangway glaring along his rifle at us. Red PLA flashes were visible on the collar of the tunic under his white gown. His eyes were bright with aggression above his mask and I judged him to be a simple peasant in his first years in the army. Lao Kao was sitting beside me. Both of us were handcuffed, our arms wrenched painfully behind our chair backs. Another guard, like the first, wearing mask, gown and headcover over an army uniform, stood by the door at the front of the Trident holding his automatic rifle stiffly across his chest. He was older than the peasant boy but his expression was dull and vacant.

  Lao Kao’s face was caked with dried blood that had run from the wound on his temple. He struggled to smile but was obviously in great pain. ‘We’ve been in the air nearly two hours,’ he told me through bloodied lips. ‘They say we’re going to Shanghai. They say they have some important party members on board suffering from an infectious disease. The
ir orders are to allow nobody to come into contact with them or their doctor until-we land.’ He nodded towards the forward compartment at the front of the aircraft.

  I looked round at the body of the third guard, dumped across the seats on the far side of the gangway. The red stain had widened to cover all his chest and he lay very still. The peasant boy, noticing my glance, stepped forward and jabbed the muzzle of his rifle viciously into Lao Kao’s chest. ‘You will pay for that crime when we land.’ -

  ‘No, it is you who will pay—with your lives.’ I spoke very quietly in reply. ‘You will pay for a much more towering crime that you have not even committed.’

  The simple face of the young peasant soldier clouded. He looked round uncertainly at the other guard at the front of the cabin. ‘Have you thought why two junior fighters have been given charge, of such an important task?’ I had raised my voice deliberately so that both could hear. ‘So that you can be made scapegoats for one of the greatest treacheries in China’s history!’ They both gaped at me ‘Do you know who is in there?’ I nodded towards the forward compartment. They continued to gape and I thrust my right shoulder forward indicating the right breast pocket of my army tunic. ‘Inspect my pass!’ Although all visible markings of rank were abolished in 1963 the two army men, like all soldiers, recognised that the four pockets on my military jacket and the fineness of the cotton weave denoted high officer status. The peasant boy reached out and undid the flap. He pulled out my identity card—and his eyes widened immediately. He hurried to the front of the cabin and showed it to his comrade. Then they both stared round apprehensively at the closed door of the forward compartment.

  ‘How do you know you are flying to Shanghai?’ I called. ‘How do you know your commander Marshall Lin and his family have not already been murdered in that compartment? If they have, ‘you two will be accused of causing their death, when we reach our destination.’

  They continued staring open-mouthed, stunned by the enormity of my suggestion. They then looked back at my pass. ‘There is a doctor in there.’ They nodded diffidently towards the door. ‘It is dangerous to enter because of the risk of infection.’

  ‘Call him!’ I shouted my words contemptuously. ‘Call to him. and ask him to confirm who’s in there. You have been duped!’

  They began shouting immediately. But no reply came through the flimsy partition. The steady roar of the Trident’s engines from outside in the darkness was the only sound in the cabin. My head throbbed and the agony of not knowing what had happened to Marshall Lin was making me sick with tension.

  At last the two guards both came back to where we sat and stood looking down at us indecisively. ‘Break the door down and go in and see for yourselves before it is too late,’ I urged.

  They shook their heads. ‘Our orders came from the office of Chairman Mao himself’ said the senior guard. The risk of infection is too great. Nobody may enter.’

  ‘I will go in,’ I said softly, ‘With my handcuffs on, I will risk infection—to show you.’

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then the senior man nodded his head and ordered me to stand up. He forced my hands up painfully behind me until they came free of the seat- back. Then he pushed me ahead of him with the end of his rifle towards the front of the plane.

  I stopped for a moment in front of the door to the forward compartment, apprehensive of what I might find there. But the guard was holding the rifle firmly in the small of my back and as I hesitated he prodded sue forward again. So I turned quickly and lashed out with my foot. The flimsy door gave immediately and flew back on its hinges. I took two paces into the compartment and stood still, staring in horror.

  Three white-cowled figures lay strapped into facing seats, their heads jogging lifelessly with the motion of the plane. A fourth figure, similarly cowled, lay strapped to a stretcher that had been propped across seats on the other side of the gangway. I rushed to the stretcher and looked into the white hood, expecting to see Tou-tou’s face. But it was empty. I turned my back so that I could use my manacled hands to open the robe. Over my shoulder I saw immediately that it was stuffed only with twisted bandages and pillows. I looked up at the guard in the doorway. He stood gazing open-mouthed at the scene, his face white, his eyes dilating with fright.

  I hurried across to look at the three other figures. Their seats had been moved into a reclining position and they lolled motionless, their faces obscured in the shadow of the loose white anti- infection cowls.

  By half-turning I was able to use my chained hands to pull the hoods aside. But even as I did this I could feel that their cheeks were already cold. Their features were the colour of wax and it was impossible to tell whether they were still breathing or not. A great sadness engulfed me as I gazed down at the faces of Marshall Lin and his wife and son.

  Lao Kao and the peasant boy appeared in the doorway, staring in. The older guard stepped forward and lifted the lid of a document box lying on a spare seat beside Marshall Lin. The characters ‘Top Secret’ written in red across the cover of a military folder were plainly visible. Next to the box lay the silver- plated pistol Stalin had given Marshall Lin. All four of us stared at each other. Even the guards, despite their low intelligence, could see how hopelessly we were all trapped in the faked conspiracy.

  “The pilot,’ I said dully. ‘We must get to the pilot and stop him lauding.’

  ‘But where are we?’ The peasant boy’s voice was shrill with panic.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I turned and moved quickly towards the door at the front of the compartment.

  Wait! The guard has strict orders to defend the flight deck with his life. Nobody from this quarantine compartment must approach the pilot.’ I looked around. It was the older guard who had shouted the warning. His rifle, however, hung loose on his arm, and he clearly had no intention of trying to stop me.

  ‘We have no choice. We must show him.’ I lashed out at the door with my foot. It splintered and broke from its hinges and I fell sideways under the impact.

  The guard outside was ready for us. Holding his automatic rifle steady in front of him, he took one step forward and opened fire. The peasant boy took the whole burst in his chest and toppled over backwards, screaming dementedly. The older guard had wisely stepped aside and taken cover as I shattered the door. Now he fired carefully from a crouching position behind a seat and the flight-deck guard tumbled forward, dying, on top of me.

  The older guard knelt quickly beside the young peasant, then stood up shaking his head. Lao Kao persuaded him to unlock his handcuffs and together they came and moved the dead guard’s body of me and helped me to my feet. When my hands were freed I picked up a rifle and we broke open the door to the flight deck.

  The pilot looked fearfully round at us over his shoulder. ‘Don’t shoot! Keep back. We are flying low.’

  I. stepped up beside him and thrust the rifle under his nose. ‘Where are we?’

  The pilot didn’t answer but continued peering anxiously out through the screen. I followed his eyes and under the pale light from the stars I suddenly saw the vast sweep of the steppes beneath us. A great herd of horses terrified by the noise of our engines close to the ground was stampeding madly across the darkened plain in our path.

  ‘Mongolia!’ The word burst from me in astonishment. ‘We are across the border.’

  The pilot nodded frantically, still straining his eyes into the night. ‘We must land soon. I am returning you to your homeland.’

  I stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Where?’

  He jabbed a finger at the Projected Map Display on the panel beside him. I looked quickly and saw the markings of an airfield 200 kilometres east of Ulan Bator, just across the Kerulen.

  ‘The airfield should be somewhere here. I’m sure my navigation is right. But there are no lights.’

  ‘We are Chinese!’ He turned and stared up at me. I jabbed the rifle against the side of his neck. ‘What are your orders?’

  ‘My orders, front the office of Ch
airman Mao himself; were to fly three revisionist Mongolian spies back to their homeland.’ He pointed again to the map display. ‘To this airfield. Then I am to return with three Chinese comrades who were innocently arrested as hostages. We are flying a specially agreed low course for reasons of security.’

  ‘You are the victim of a plot,’ 1 said very slowly. ‘Like the rest of us. Turn back immediately. Return home to the People’s Republic of China.’

  He looked pleadingly up at me. ‘I must obey the orders of Chairman Mao’s office.’

  I pushed the gun roughly against the side of his face. ‘Turn now! Or I will kill you this instant and we will all die together.’

  He flinched but said nothing. Obediently he made the necessary adjustments to the controls and I watched the compass heading alter as we climbed and banked in a wide arc above the steppes. When it had settled again on a bearing due south I moved back and handed the rifle to Lao Kao. ‘Ensure he holds that course.’

  I turned away to find that the older guard had removed his mask and head covering. I patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘We will return and confront the plotters with the evidence of their treachery.’

  His simple, puzzled eyes searched my face and, I remember, he nodded uncertainly as I brushed past him. ‘I’m going to see if there is anything I can do for Marshall Lin,’ I said.

  I went out through the door of the flight deck and made my way into the forward compartment again. As I stepped over the dead guard a sudden, deafening roar engulfed my senses. An invisible force struck my body like a battering ram and a bright orange sheet of flame rose before my eyes. In that instant I passed painlessly into oblivion.