China Star

by Maurice Medland

  “Wake me no later than three.”

  “It shall be done,” Old Wang said. He pushed the door inward, then stood back. “The general feels that locked doors are an insult to our neighbors.”

  James sighed. The residents of Zhongnanhai could afford to be magnanimous. The paranoid Mao had installed his own security system when he moved into the compound in 1949. He called it waisong neijin: outwardly relaxed, inwardly tight. It was designed to convince his enemies that he was so loved he didn’t need a security system. It was impossible for the untrained eye to see, but it was there, and it was highly effective. To even be caught on the grounds would mean death to an intruder.

  James led the way down a long hallway to his old room with Wang breathing heavily behind him, struggling with his duffel bag. He felt guilty. In many ways, Wang had been more of a father to him than the general. He would have preferred to carry the bag himself, but that would be an unforgivable insult to the old man.

  Wang dropped the bag and scurried around to open the door before James reached it. The old man’s face lit up.

  “You’ll see that your room has been kept exactly as it was. The general wouldn’t allow it to be used for anything else.”

  James glanced around the room, filled with mementos of his childhood. School awards, photographs of him with his friends, posters of his favorite American and European rock bands. He couldn’t believe his father had saved all this junk. He pressed his hand against the mattress and nodded. The room was nothing like his villa in Hong Kong, but it was a step up from the guest house, and he’d at least be able to get some sleep.

  “Are you hungry?” Old Wang said.

  “Thank you, no, Wang. Just a short whiskey, no ice.”

  While James laid out his things, Old Wang slipped out and reappeared with a small lacquered tray holding a tall glass containing two inches of brown liquid. James motioned for him to set it down on his nightstand. A bit of whiskey would help him unwind and get a few hours of sleep.

  He checked his cell phone for messages. Nothing. He looked at his watch again. Twelve-thirty. Where was that fool, Chen? The captain of Zhuhai had called hours ago with word that the Americans had been successfully captured and were being interrogated. What was taking so long?

  He told himself to relax. He was in the driver’s seat, no matter what came out of the Americans’ mouths. His father had ordered that the results of the interrogations be reported directly to him. That had been the only good thing to come out of the humiliating meeting with President Xiang and Han Jinhua. He could still see the look on Han’s face when his father gave the order.

  Thank God he had. The launch couldn’t be delayed, no matter what had transpired, no matter what had been told or to whom. Because of his father’s orders, James was in a position to screen out any bad news. He’d relax for a minute over his drink and then call Captain Chen. If the news was good, he’d let Chen trumpet it to the skies. If it was bad, he’d invoke his father’s name and order his silence.

  “Good night, young master,” Wang said. “Sleep well.” The old man slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  James stretched out on the bed with one hand behind his head and sipped the whiskey. It went down easily. He’d never seen his father touch liquor, but he stocked the best for his guests. He finished his drink and closed his eyes. He’d rest for a moment before placing his call. Weariness seeped through him like a sponge. He felt himself drifting off. . . .

  He heard a soft rap at the door. He shook the sleep from his eyes, not sure how long he’d been asleep. Perhaps his father was home.

  “Come in.”

  Old Wang quickly stepped in and closed the door behind him. He tiptoed over to James’s bed and stood over him. He looked frightened.

  “Forgive this intrusion, young master.”

  “What is it? Why are you whispering?”

  “Han Jinhua is here.”

  “To see my father?”

  “The general isn’t here. He wants to see you.”

  “I don’t . . . How does he know I’m here?”

  “He knows everything.”

  The old man was trembling. It occurred to James that Wang had lived through all the purges, including the Cultural Revolution, and knew what could happen to even ordinary people when one lunatic like Han gave an order. Because of General Lao’s status as a national hero, there weren’t many people in Zhongnanhai he feared, but clearly, he was terrified of Han.

  “Calm down, Wang. Where is he?”

  “I showed him into the general’s study. I offered him a drink, but he refused. Most impolite.”

  James stepped into his shoes. “I’ll take care of it.” He ran a hand through his hair, straightened his tie, then walked into his father’s study. Han stood peering at a wall of awards, his hands behind his back.

  “Director Han. What brings you out at such a late hour?”

  “The people’s business goes on twenty-four hours a day.”

  “So true,” James said. “But what brings you here?”

  “A meeting. You’re invited. Your father’s on his way. When he arrives, we’ll awaken President Xiang for an emergency conference call.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I want your father to see what kind of son he’s raised, and I want President Xiang to see the rotten fruit our education policies have borne.”

  James felt a cold wave of nausea sweep through him. What the hell was he up to?

  “I hope your statements will make more sense to them than they do to me.”

  “Oh, I think you know precisely what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me.”

  “All in good time. Your father will be here shortly. I want to see his face - and yours - when I tell him.”

  James had to find out what Han knew, or thought he knew, before his father got there. It was a risk to provoke the old man, but it was a risk he’d have to take. He forced a laugh.

  “Just as I thought. Your words are as empty as your head.”

  Han’s eyes flashed. “My head is empty, is it? We’ll see about that.”

  “You have nothing to say that would be of interest to anyone, old man. Certainly not my father.”

  Han looked at him with outright glee. “I think the vice chairman of the Central Military Commission will be interested to know that the security for this launch upon which everything depends has been compromised.”

  “What nonsense are you jabbering?”

  “Nonsense, is it? Jabbering, am I? I have it on excellent authority that the Americans have notified the U.S. commander of the Pacific Fleet about the launch, right down to the precise date and launch site.”

  “Ridiculous. Where did you get such a notion?”

  “Directly from the mouths of the participants. Captain Chen has interrogated the American ship captain-”

  “Chen’s a fool, easily duped into believing anything. The barbarians have tricked him. Besides, Chen went to Annapolis. For all we know, his loyalties lie with America.”

  That last statement seemed to throw Han, but only for a moment. “You too went to school in America,” he said. “Perhaps your loyalties lie with America.”

  “You see?” James said. “You’re making no sense. I don’t think the president will appreciate being awakened to hear your irrational gibberish.”

  “You can be as insulting as you like, but the security has been breached, and the launch must be stopped.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “As soon as your father gets here, I’ll show you how possible it is.”

  “General Lao will think you’re as mad as I do. I advise you to leave before he gets here. I’ll overlook your irrational behavior.”

  “So clever you think you are,” Han said. “But your cleverness has caught up with you. I wondered why this launch was so important to you, why it was so critical that it not be delayed. Now I know.”

  “You know nothing.”


  “I know that you’ve recently made hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of short sales of American securities. Short sales made quietly through your uncle’s trading companies in Hong Kong, and London, and New York. Your billionaire uncle arranged both the brokerage service and the loans.”

  “What of it?”

  “The loans were secured by millions in corporate guarantees. What corporation would be so foolish as to make such guarantees against such wild speculation? Yours, of course. China Aerospace and Technology.”

  James felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. If his father and President Xiang found out about Phase II . . .

  “You’re insane, you know.”

  “Insane, am I?” Han waved a sheaf of papers before James’s face. “What does this look like? Copies of each stock transaction. Copies of the guarantees. Even a copy of your plan.”

  “Where did you get-”

  “From your pig of an uncle in Hong Kong. He agreed to cooperate when we confronted him with our suspicions and a little evidence. We can be highly persuasive.” Han’s eyes narrowed. “You had it all figured out, didn’t you? You’re a student of American history. Those who had the insight to sell short before the crash on Wall Street in 1929 not only kept their wealth, they made fortunes on the way down. Once the bottom was reached, they had massive amounts of capital to invest, buying up controlling interests in railroads, hotel chains, steel mills, for pennies on the dollar. Those were the men who became titans of industry.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You thought you were going to do the same thing. While a student in America you developed a sophisticated plan - Phase II, you called it - that involved selling massive amounts of stock short, stocks of leading U.S. corporations like Microsoft, and Exxon, and General Electric. After the launch of Raptor, when the U.S. economy had been crippled, you’d ride those stocks down to nothing, then buy them back for pennies. Like your filthy uncle, you’d become one of the world’s richest men.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “There’s only one problem,” Han said. “The launch isn’t going to happen. You’re going to lose all those millions of dollars you can’t repay. Those notes are going to be called in, and China Aerospace and Technology will have no choice but to cover them. Do you know the penalty for embezzlement of funds from a state-owned enterprise?”

  James glared at him, eyes burning with rage. He started toward him.

  Han’s smirk vanished. He backed up until his legs came up against General Lao’s desk. He tried to shrink back.

  “Your father will be here any minute,” he said. “He-”

  James lunged for the old man’s throat. Han’s papers flew into the air. He croaked a protest. Blind with rage, James spun him around and forced him down across the desk. He twisted Han’s head to the side and smashed it against the edge of the desk. Han went limp and slid to the floor. James stood back, breathing hard. The director lay still, not moving. The smell of the old man’s excrement filled the room.

  James dropped to his knees, lifted Han’s head, then let it drop against the hardwood floor. He looked at his hands, disbelieving. What had he done?

  Panicked, he came to his feet and locked the door to the study. Prioritize. First, he had to destroy Han’s evidence. He scooped it up, located his father’s shredder, and fed the documents in.

  What next? Think. He had to verify what Han had said about the Americans knowing about the launch. He turned to the general’s communication console, a huge board sitting at a right angle to his desk. The console was state-of-the-art with direct lines to every PLA ship and installation in the world, an exact duplicate of the one he had in his office. The boards were designed to control a war from either place. A call coming from those lines wouldn’t be questioned. He picked up the handset and dialed the captain of Zhuhai.

  “Captain Chen, this is Senior Colonel Lao. I’ve just spoken with Director Han Jinhua of the CSIS. He tells me that security has been breached. Is this true?”

  “I’m afraid it is, Senior Colonel. I apologize for not-”

  “Save your apologies. Tell me exactly what the Americans said, word for word.”

  James listened with mounting horror as Captain Chen related the details of what the American ship captain, a spy named Matthew Connor, had confessed. His cousin Beth had, indeed, spied, had learned everything, and the Americans now knew it all. If anyone else talked to the prisoners, the launch would be delayed and he’d be finished.

  “I don’t believe a word of this,” he said. “Send them to me for further interrogation.”

  “But General Lao’s orders are to transfer them to Macau for further interro-”

  “I just spoke with the general. His orders have changed. Bring them to me.”

  “To Beijing?”

  “No, you fool. The command and control ship, the merchant vessel Zenith. You can’t be far from her. She sailed from Guangzhou yesterday morning on a course to the launch site. You already know the location, 106 degrees east longitude on the equator. Chart a course to intercept the CCS. Fly them to the ship by helicopter. I’ll get at the truth.”

  “It shall be done as you request.”

  “This isn’t a request, damn you. It’s an order from General First Class Lao Jianxing, vice-chairman of the Central Military Commission. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Senior Colonel. I understand.”

  “Now listen carefully, Captain. You are to isolate the four spies. They are to have no further contact with anyone. No one is to speak to them under any circumstances, on your ship or during the transfer to the CCS.”

  “It shall be done.”

  “One more thing, Captain. You are never to speak of this matter to anyone. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  James hung up the phone. Two big problems had been solved, but a major one remained. Now that the Americans knew about the launch, he had to order protection for the command and control ship and the launch platform, and he had to do it quickly. He glanced at his watch. Twelve-fifty. His father would be home any minute.

  He ran his finger down the list of military commands his father had taped to the communication console and found the code for the South Sea Fleet Command headquarters in Zhanjiang. He picked up the handset and punched in the code.

  “This is General First Class Lao Jianxing, vice-chairman of the Central Military Commission.”

  “Yes, General.” James could almost hear the snap to attention.

  “I want an immediate naval escort for a highly sensitive shipment aboard the merchant vessel Zenith. The ship is sailing from Guangzhou to an area midway between Sumatra and Borneo. The coordinates are zero degrees latitude and 106 degrees east longitude. I want sufficient ships to screen the vessel, and I want them immediately.”

  “Yes, General. There’s a task force of four ships in that immediate area conducting naval exercises. The destroyers Zhuhai and Harbin, and the frigates Huainan and Huaibei.”

  “Very well,” James said. “I also want a submarine escort to cover any threat of foreign submarines.”

  “Yes, General. There are two Romeo-class diesel-electric submarines operating with the task force. One has had mechanical problems but was operational at last report.”

  “See to it immediately,” James said.

  “It shall be as you order, General.”

  James hung up the phone. Now for the fourth problem. He looked at Han’s crumpled form, then unlocked the door to the study. He pressed the servant’s button on his father’s desk. Within seconds, Old Wang appeared in the door.

  “Come in, Wang. There’s been a dreadful accident.”

  The old man looked at Han’s corpse sprawled on the floor. His mouth fell open.

  “What has happened?”

  “The poor man tripped on the rug and struck his head on the edge of the desk while he was waiting for the general. It happened just now.”

  Old Wang stoo
d still, only his eyes moving back and forth between Han’s body and James.

  “Go, young master. Go now,” he said. “The general and I won’t be here forever. You must be the one to carry on. For China. The keys are in the limousine. Drive yourself to the airport.”

  James put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Thank you, my old friend.”

  Wang’s eyes almost smiled.

  “Hurry now, before your father arrives. I’ll take care of this. You were never here.”

  “What have they done to you?” Matt said.

  Beth lay flat on the steel deck, dazed, trembling. He looked at her wrists. They’d been tightly bound with nylon cord right over the burns where the electrodes had been attached, just as his had been. Grimacing from the pain, he twisted his own wrists apart and placed a hand on her forehead.

  “Careful,” Beth said. “I think I’m radioactive.”

  “Those bastards. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

  “It was nothing compared to what the others . . .”

  A pain shot through Matt. While the torture was going on, he’d repressed the memory of losing his ship. Now that it was over, the image of his ship and crew dying on the horizon came flooding back. Tears welled up in his eyes.

  Beth looked up into his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you.”

  Matt tried to swallow. “I just can’t believe they’re gone.”

  “Was the ship insured?”

  Matt smiled through his tears. Beth’s little non sequitur was her way of getting his mind off his crew and suggesting that this was all a temporary situation that would come right in the end. Insurance. Jesus. Not that it mattered now, but the premiums on a ship that old would have broken him. It had taken all he had to buy provisions and fuel for this trip. Even if some miracle got them out of here and he claimed the reward money, the amount was about what he owed Gray Wolf. Any way you cut it, he was finished.

  “Insurance is for pessimists.”

  He remembered the listening device and moved close to her ear. “I’m sorry, Beth. I should have listened to you.”