A Drop of Chinese Blood

by James Church

  I knew instinctively what they would be looking for, the foreigner in the crowd, the slight swing of the arms or length of the gait that would stick out, the hesitation at the street corner, or the too eager step into the road against the traffic light. They’d zero in on anything that gave away the game, anything at all that stripped away the protective coloring. They were looking for me. I didn’t know who might be behind, or in front, trying to mark me. I had to see them first. There was one thing working in my favor. It’s difficult not to crane your neck when you’re looking for someone out of doors. Inside, even in a big meeting hall, you can let your eyes roam, but outside in a crowd of people, if only a little bit, you have to crane your neck.

  I spotted the first one off to the right, about fifteen meters away. There would be at least three more of them, each one covering one-fourth of an invisible circle. I spotted the second one. These weren’t Mongolian security agents—wrong eyes. They weren’t Chinese—wrong haircuts. They were North Koreans, always the same stupid shoes. I’d dealt with enough of them over the past few years to know how they took their time scouring the bushes for their prey. That was fine. They were exactly who I wanted to see because it told me what I needed to know. My uncle, not that it was a surprise, had been right.

  A North Korean team like this wasn’t here for the sights. They were here to snatch someone, not just anyone. They were here to find my predecessor and bring him back, either that or make sure he never left this place. They thought he was here, in Ulan Bator. That meant I had to find him first.

  I eased my way across the street into the darkness of a narrow alley and watched. In another minute they closed the net and discovered it was empty. They exchanged a few sharp words, then headed back in the direction of their embassy, which I knew was about five minutes away. I gave them a head start and set off to follow at a safe distance.

  Two big Mongolians blocked my way. “In a hurry?” One of them put his hand on my neck. And that, as we say, was that.

  Chapter Four

  “You’re on my territory, and you don’t have permission to operate here.”

  I sat up. My head was clear. A quick inventory turned up no bumps or bruises. The only thing was my throat was a little dry. My eyes did a quick tour of the room. The lights were low, which was more soothing than ominous. There were no windows, but the place didn’t feel cramped. It had an air of openness to it, as if the sky and open plains didn’t pay attention to walls but seeped into everything. The man who had spoken was leaning against a desk, watching me.

  “Where am I?”

  “Not far from where you were a couple of hours ago.”

  “I’m a tourist.” Anyone who started a conversation by telling me I was on his territory was not someone I wanted to sit and chat with. “You treat everyone like this?”

  “No, just your type. You’re a tourist? Pleased to meet you, I’m the king of Siam. Who did you think you were kidding out there on the square, walking around like you had terminal hemorrhoids?”

  “I ride horses a lot.”

  A laugh rolled in from the hall, followed by a big man who had to duck as he came through the door. It was the man in the alley who had put me to sleep.

  “Bazar here apparently isn’t convinced. In case you’re wondering, we didn’t make you in the square. We picked you up at the airport. The rest was easy. We’ve been watching.”

  “What about those North Koreans crawling all over? You watching them, too?”

  “This is a big place, but very empty, as you no doubt have figured out. We notice things.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “That depends.”

  “How’d your boy do that, the hand on the neck thing? I’d like to teach it to my students.”

  “Oh, you teach?”

  “Yeah, I teach riding.”

  Bazar laughed again.

  “OK,” said the man. “Fun’s over. I need a statement from you.” He turned to the big man. “Tell Tuya to come in. We’re liable to be here awhile, so tell her to bring us something to eat.”

  With the big man out of the room, it felt like there was more air to breathe. “You think I could have a glass of water?”

  “In a minute.”

  “We waiting for something?”

  “No, I need you to listen.”

  “I can’t drink and listen at the same time?”

  “Not unless I say so.”

  “Speak, by all means.”

  He produced a tape machine, pressed the PLAY button, and stood back. What came out was short, less than a minute. “That’s it? I was expecting something more. Moaning, or screaming, maybe pleas for mercy. What else is on the tape?”

  “Nothing. A dog barking, that’s all. You heard it all. It’s a dog. I want to know what sort of dog. Big, small, English breed, Mexican?”

  “What makes you think I know one from the other?”

  He fussed with the tape player. “Listen closely this time.” He closed his eyes and played the tape again.

  I listened. “That’s not a dog.”

  “It’s not a canary, that’s for sure.”

  “No, it’s a seal, maybe a sea lion.”

  “You mean this was taped in a zoo?”

  “Seals do live outside of zoos, you know.”

  “Not around here they don’t. Like where?”

  “Like everywhere there’s ocean.”

  “In China? I need it to be in China.”

  “How about close, near the port of Rason. They have seals there. I know because … one of my students is from there.”

  “In North Korea, seals?”

  Strange he should know that Rason was in North Korea. I wouldn’t have bet a Mongolian police inspector would know something like that. If I hadn’t been suspicious, I would have been impressed.

  “How do you like that! That explains plenty.” He stepped into the hall. “Tuya, I’m waiting. Do you mind?”

  “Momento.” A young woman brushed past him into the room carrying a tray, which had on it a pitcher, three glasses, a notebook, pens, and a small pile of what appeared to be flat white rocks. Not unusual, except she was carrying it behind her back, with both hands. She put down the tray, retied her ponytail as if she were standing behind herself, and then looked at me languidly. As soon as she did, I prayed for an early death because I knew I was going to fall for her, and it would end badly. She was slim and tall; she moved like a flower in the wind. The only thing wrong was the way she had her arms behind her back. It was unnerving.

  “Tea?” She was holding a glass up for me, in the proper fashion. “It’s Mongolian tea, I don’t know if you’ll like it.” She could have poured mud in the glass, it didn’t matter. If she was giving, whatever it was, I was taking.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “It’s salty milk tea.”

  Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter.

  “Here.” She put a little in the glass and handed it to me. “Have a sip first. If you like it, I’ll give you more.”

  More! I heard soft zither music in the word. “Delicious,” I said. “Superb.”

  “You haven’t tried it yet.” Her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. “Maybe you should eat something with it.” She took a couple of the stones and handed them to me. “They’re cheese. Are you hungry?”

  Just then the man walked back into the room. “Thank you, Tuya. Set up to take notes. As soon as our guest has had his tea, he’ll begin telling us why he is here.”

  Tuya sat down. “Allegro,” she said. “Anytime.”

  The man took some cheese stones for himself and chewed one slowly. “Tuya went away to Italy a few years ago. She was supposed to learn Italian and work in a restaurant, but it turned out not to be the case. They wanted her for something else. Some bigwigs thought she was the very thing they needed at their parties. She told them what to do with themselves and left. She went out the door and didn’t look back. You’ll notice she’s tall.”

  “I did notice t
hat.”

  “And that she carries herself very well.”

  “Unusually, you might say.”

  “That’s her training. After she left the party animals she talked herself into a European circus for a season. When the circus went into winter quarters, she came back here and enrolled in the UB School of Contortionism. She was finishing up with honors when I heard about her. It was a perfect fit. She works flexible hours.”

  Contortionism, that explained the odd way she’d carried the tray in the room. Unbidden, certain possibilities flashed through my mind. I put them aside, though not too far aside.

  The man frowned. “Tut! I can see what you’re thinking, and you might as well forget it.”

  Tuya smiled to herself.

  The man continued. “She’s a gem. I can’t even tell you how many jams she’s gotten us out of. It’s amazing how many times you end up needing someone able to do so many things with their thighs.”

  Tuya smiled again, modestly.

  “All by herself, she’s stopped several suspects dead in their tracks. No need for weapons, no need to chase them down the street. Next thing they know, Tuya has them in handcuffs. One of them fainted when he saw where she’d put her head.”

  I replaced the glass of tea on the table nearby. “Well, this has been interesting. Wonderful snacks, but if we’re done, I’ll be going. My tour bus leaves in a few minutes.”

  “I wouldn’t try to leave. Even if Bazar is napping outside the door, he is a light sleeper. Bazar, you awake?”

  “Yeah, boss, wide awake.”

  “Good, stay that way.” The man rubbed his hands together. “Let’s begin. For the record, Tuya, please insert the standard opening about how the subject walked into the office on his own and asked to speak to someone in authority, etc., etc.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Who walked in where? Let’s simplify the process. Why don’t you write the whole thing and have me sign later? You can bring it—two pages, six pages, makes no difference—to my hotel room tomorrow morning. My room faces Lenin’s posterior. That way will save everyone a lot of trouble. Tuya can probably write it by heart, with one hand behind her back. I mean, in a manner of speaking.”

  The man looked shocked. He had an unusually expressive face, though I couldn’t be sure if it was expressing what he felt or what he wanted me to think he felt. Otherwise, there wasn’t anything about him that stood out. Medium height, medium build; I wouldn’t have looked twice at him except that he was standing directly in front of me. “This isn’t a confession we’re talking about. Tuya wouldn’t even know where to start, other than the standard opening. That’s why you’re here, to tell us why you’re here. It wouldn’t do me any good to make something up, would it? Don’t worry about the intro. That’s just boilerplate. If I put down we beat the stuffing out of a suspect and dragged him by his hair into headquarters, it upsets the magistrates. They’re trying on democracy for size, and no one has figured out yet that police work isn’t democratic. It’s coercive, though we’re not supposed to use that word anymore.”

  “I’m in custody? Under some sort of arrest? Preventive detention? I’m a citizen of the People’s Republic of China, and I’d advise you as a new-made friend to keep that in mind. You can look at the first page of my passport, if you don’t believe me. Incidentally, we haven’t introduced ourselves.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. We’ve already looked at every page of your passport upside down and backward. As for advising, let me advise you that this is Mongolia. Friendly as I am, it saddens me to say you don’t have any rights here, no rights, no jurisdiction, no status. In other words, I don’t give a damn about your People’s Republic, and I don’t care who is supposed to show up in a couple of days.”

  I was about to ask what he meant, but at this point he had a full head of steam and wasn’t going to stop for a simple question.

  “Maybe the rabbits in the Foreign Ministry would twitch their noses and swoon in fright if you waved your august Chinese nationality at them, especially this week, but I don’t care. Bazar doesn’t either, do you, Bazar?”

  “No, boss, I had Chinese for lunch.”

  Tuya put her arm behind her back and picked a couple of cheese stones off the tray. “Tell me when we start. You want all this stuff included, or do I wait some?”

  “I think we’re ready.” The man turned a chair around and sat down, resting his chin on the back. It wasn’t much of a chair, all plastic and metal. My uncle would have scoffed at it.

  “Something the matter?” The man waved his hand in front of my face. “Are you with me?”

  “Yes, I’m with you, but I still don’t know who you are.”

  “Good. It’s not important. You can call me Bat Man.” He nodded slightly at me. I nodded slightly back. “This really isn’t difficult. All I want to hear is what you’re doing in my country. Simple, yes? Simple Simon met a pie man.” He grinned. “I watch movies; you want to hear my imitation of Clint Eastwood?” Then he frowned. “You rented a big car, drove out to the national park, went in circles a little, stayed overnight at one of those camps, then rushed back to Ulan Bator early the next morning. How come? You didn’t like the scenery? Incidentally, you shouldn’t use your horn out there in the countryside, it scares the livestock.”

  “I liked the scenery fine.” There was no sense relating the conversations with my uncle in the car about the landscape. Maybe he already knew.

  “When you got back, you made contact with a yak.”

  “I did?” This threw me off.

  “The funny little man with the postcards. He’s a yak, someone who isn’t what he seems to be. Then you went to the Irish bar and met a known Kazakh agent.”

  “I did?” It was starting to sound complicated, hard to explain. “I never saw her before in my life. How would I know she was an agent?”

  “In fact, the little Kazakh group was having its monthly meeting when you walked in. It was going to be an important meeting—unusual, extremely urgent, tip top. We were worried it was going to be a problem for us in view of the special security arrangements that are supposed to be in place. You and that uncle of yours interrupted the proceedings, and the birds flew away before we could find out what they had in mind. The presidential security people are hopping mad. If they had gotten to you before I did, things wouldn’t be as pleasant as they are at this moment.”

  “A thousand pardons.” What special security arrangements? Which brought us back to the question I hadn’t asked: Who was showing up in a couple of days? Not counting the North Koreans, I hadn’t seen signs of anything unusual. “It wasn’t intentional, believe me. We didn’t even know those Kazakhs would be there. We just stopped in for a drink.’

  “Is that a fact? Then why did the yak send you?”

  Excellent question, I had to admit. Another excellent question: How did this Mongolian cop know what was on that postcard? Unless they’d dragged the funny little man in and dunked his head in a water pail until he talked. Or maybe he was working for them, part-time.

  “This yak fellow kept showing up, unbidden,” I said. “It got to be a little annoying. If you know so much, you ought to know we had no connection to him.”

  The man smacked his forehead. “Yeah, I should know that, but I don’t. Why don’t I? Maybe you have an explanation. See, that’s all I’m after, a simple explanation. You must have a dozen of them, prestamped and ready to drop in the mail. How about you try them out one at a time? I’ll give them ratings, sort of like they do at the Olympics. It’s a democratic approach; I’ll even throw out the lowest score, the one from the East German judge. How’s that? We’ll look at the top three, maybe get them in rank order, and then put them to a vote at the national elections. When are the elections, Tuya, this coming December?”

  “Year after that.”

  “OK, year after that.” The man took a couple of cheese stones and handed one to me. “Meanwhile, you can stay in a hole in the ground and rest at our expense. We haven’t fixed up the
jails yet, but the old ones are pretty nice even in their original state. Well, for holes, they’re nice all except in winter, which lasts pretty much from October through April. Don’t worry, it’s easy to count sheep in this country. Believe me, you’ll have no trouble getting to sleep. How about it?”

  He poured himself a glass of salty tea and drank it down noisily. “Or, we can do it different if that doesn’t sound good. Like, maybe you tell me something I can believe from the start. See, I’m reasonable, I’m open to alternatives. I’m good cop, bad cop all rolled into one. We’re shorthanded these days, no one has the budget to hire enough staff, but that’s all right. It means I get to choose. Three days a week good cop, three days a week bad cop. And on the seventh day I rest. What am I tonight, Tuya? What does it say on the rota on the wall next to the desk?”

  “Ummmm, good cop.”

  “How about that!” He radiated goodwill. “You, my friend, are in luck. Tomorrow might not have been nice.” The man shouted out the door. “How about it, Bazar? What are you today?”

  “I don’t know, boss. I lose track.”

  The man turned back to me. “So, over to you. I’m listening, Tuya is listening, the hidden recorder that we got for half price from Russia on the Internet is listening. Talk to me.”

  I thought about it. I wasn’t here working against the Mongolians. They hadn’t caused me any trouble. As far as I knew, there wasn’t a single Mongolian living in my district at home, though lately we’d noticed a few of them riding the train from Tumen into North Korea. Taking the long view, I didn’t particularly care if they had occupied Beijing a few hundred years ago. Right now, they were minding their own business. I liked what little I’d seen of their operations. They seemed to have a pretty good handle on what happened within their borders. What I couldn’t figure out was what had them so rattled.