“The birthday party. Yes, I remember,” he interrupted. “You are looking after the girl for a while?”
“Actually, we adopted her.”
The Chief looked toward Lu Lei as she walked into the school.
“That is lucky for her. Wei Bao, you can go in now,” he said, giving the boy a tap on the back.
“I guess we’ll be seeing each other, Chief,” Casey replied. “Let me know if you need a new barbecue.”
He nodded and turned, walking off with his hands behind his back.
What a piece of work, she thought as she wheeled her bicycle around and got back on. She took a moment to reach back and turn on the hidden recording system in her handbag. Morning tea with the ladies was a few minutes away. The ladies loved to gossip, and having a recording to play back at home allowed her to take accurate notes. The aim was to cast the net often and keep everything in the database for Matt to utilize and search for leverage.
Li Hongzhi walked a circuitous route to the document forger’s workshop. Those who used his services knew him as ‘The Tool Man.’ The metal door of the basement swung inward, and the Tool Man bowed and beckoned him in.
“Time to leave?” he asked, smiling at Li knowingly.
“Things are about to get ugly for my followers. It is, indeed, time to leave,” Li nodded, offering a grim smile in return. “You and I have known each other for many years. This is the first passport you have ever made for me. I think that gives you an indication.”
“A passport is worth a thousand words,” the Tool Man muttered. “What will you do?”
“I will take my teachings to America. Perhaps I might be of more use there than in a re-education camp. I probably wouldn’t even make it to a camp here. My spies have painted a dark picture of the future. The government has written their new policy. There will be no more opportunity for negotiation. The Party will no longer tolerate spiritualism or religion. They are calling us a cult and a threat to social order.”
“You were not followed, I hope?”
“I am always being followed these days, but I have many tricks. Do not be concerned. You have it?”
“Yes, yes.” The Tool Man removed a panel in the bottom of a drawer and pulled out a passport. “Congratulations, Mister Wong. You are now an American Citizen. Go and buy a baseball cap.”
Li went through the pages one by one. “This will work?”
“Immigration officers are stupid. It’s a worldwide phenomenon. As long as you have those plane tickets in order, and you look like the photo, you will be fine. Don’t forget to wear the glasses and shove something under your lip, like you did for the photo. Anyway, your followers say that you have special powers. Why not use those?”
Li laughed and handed over an old pencil case full of banknotes. “They are burning my books. Did you hear?”
“First the books, and soon after, the author. Drink?”
“No, thank you. I have a plane to catch. I wish you peace and happiness.”
“Good luck,” he replied as he opened the heavy door for Li.
At the airport, Li Hongzhi walked along the polished floor of the departure hall. He had packed a sensible sized suitcase for an American tourist. His hair had been cut short just two days earlier for the passport photo, and with the rolled up scrap of handkerchief pushed under his upper lip to add to the illusion, he went to the business class check-in counter.
The Tool Man’s contact at the airline had organized his paper ticket and itinerary. The red carbon paper print showed that he was returning to John F. Kennedy airport on a round-the-world ticket.
“Next, please.”
Li put his suitcase on the scale and handed his passport to her. He breathed slowly and deeply, calming his mind. At the adjacent counter he noticed an older couple checking in for the same flight. They were Chinese but they looked wealthy.
“Thank you, sir. Gate fifty-five.” She handed back his documents.
Li nodded and returned her smile, nearly dislodging the rolled up cloth under his lip. He picked up his suitcase and paused to wait for the rich couple to pass him.
“New York?” he asked in Mandarin, smiling.
“Yes. You too?”
“Yes. Could I invite you to the business lounge? I am permitted two guests,” Li offered.
The Husband replied, “We have business class tickets too. Shall we go together?”
“Very good,” Li replied, relieved that he was now in a group. “Security is over there,” he pointed.
“What business are you in, Mister...?” the husband asked.
“Mister Wong. I’m a teacher. I’ll tell you about it in the lounge. And you?”
“My wife and I run a chain of Japanese sushi restaurants in Manhattan. The Americans love Japanese food, even if it is made by a Chinese chef.”
They all laughed politely.
“Passport and boarding pass,”
Li gestured for the wife to go first, hoping that the husband would allow him to go between them. The immigration officer looked through every page of her passport. He checked her photo, holding up to compare it to her face.
Li and the husband smiled at each other, nodding for no reason, until they heard the reassuring sound of the rubber stamp on her passport. The husband seemed to feel obliged to usher Li ahead of him.
Li handed his American passport and boarding pass to the unhappy-looking officer at the window. Li had done everything possible to help the officer come to the right decision. Quietly chatting and laughing with his new friend, Li had folded the passport at the forged Chinese entry stamp page so that a simple flick through would arrive at the page the officer needed.
The way he handed the documents over was firm, pushing the passport down for a split second on the officer’s hand to subtlety assert dominance. The boarding pass, lying under the passport cover, was facing the right way to be picked up by a right-hander. He maintained a loose smile, a different kind from the one he always had in the newspapers, which was more close-lipped. If there was a ‘wanted poster’ at every desk, it would be one without a toothy grin.
The rubber stamp came down on his passport and he nodded his thanks without speaking as the officer handed back his documents.
12
Burning Books
The mid-morning sun warmed the Master’s aching bones while he ate a simple breakfast of white rice at the table near the window. He chuckled to himself as he thought about how well young Lu Lei was performing in class. It had been a few days since the death of her parents, and she was being treated with painfully exaggerated sympathy by everyone around her. He had seen it many times before. China’s brutal history had inflicted death and trauma on the population. Most had lost friends, family, teachers and students during his lifetime. People dealt with death poorly.
It was time for a stroll. Outside, the air carried the aroma of burning paper. The Master turned left into the breeze.
“Master,” the familiar voice of the arrested student came from a distance behind him. He saw the hurried approach of the student and his wife, the brave one who the police dragged away from her own protest. The three of them bowed to each other.
“Master, they are burning books and raiding people’s libraries. They ransacked the tai chi studio’s library. They took all the Falun Gong books.”
“I feared that this might happen. It is unfortunate, though I do like the smell of burning paper, no matter where the paper comes from.”
“What should we do?”
“My advice to you is the same as it is for any kind of adversity: ‘Never struggle. When they push, you pull. See the natural course and bend with it like a tree in the wind.’”
“Should we find more books to burn?” the student smiled, but his wife whacked him in the back of the head. The Master came closer to the wife. “We cling tightly to what we think we need, while resisting that which we fear might harm us. We must try to detach from our desires.”
She nodded. The Master continued, “W
hen thousands were protesting your arrests, Wu Feng served calming tea to our enemies.” He led by example.
The three of them watched the white smoke in the distance.
“Thank you, Master. It is good to see you again. Your advice is always timely.”
He bowed to the students and smiled his reassuring, wrinkling smile. They turned and headed back the way they came.
After a few blocks, the Master rounded a corner and saw the bonfire of literature. He counted ten uniformed policemen standing around as a small truck was being unloaded by civilians, tossing piles of books on the glowing mound. He thought to himself, book burners... always burning that from which they most need to learn.
Wei Bao’s first day back at school began awkwardly. The teacher brought him and Lu Lei to the front of the class and asked them to apologize and bow to each other. Being so close to her, he could see that Lu Lei’s face looked different. Sad. Under her eyes the skin had gone dark, but not as dark as his black eye. His father had been furious at him for being so weak. He missed his mother.
After bowing to each other, the teacher seated the two of them in the front row, next to each other. He felt his upper lip quiver as the tears welled up and began running down his cheeks.
“Good morning, class.”
“Good morning, teacher.”
His voice quivered as it came out. He could feel the tears streaming now. He just wanted to be at home with the housekeeper. He felt a light hand on his arm and turned to look up at Lu Lei, who had stood up and was right next to him.
“Don’t cry, Wei Bao,” and then, just for a second, she gave him a hug from the side. He wiped his tears with a sleeve. She smiled at him, and he immediately felt a bit better.
The Master put on his coat and stepped out the front door, standing for a moment on his verandah. He enjoyed the last warmth of the sun as it slowly sank behind the buildings. Locking the front door, he heard greetings shouted from a small group of passers-by who must have seen him from across the street. Students, the Master thought to himself, wishing that his eyesight was better.
He took a moment and watched them as they walked off, wondering how much they had learned from him, and if he’d bettered their lives. The government’s recent escalation of surveillance and book burning troubled him. The smell of burning paper still wafted through the streets, now coming from a different direction.
Walking slowly toward the studio, he resisted the impulse to turn around. In his mind’s eye, he could see more than one pair of eyes on him. Lifting his chin, he looked skyward and watched the clouds for a few seconds, feeling a great sadness. He stopped walking and slowly turned around. He bowed deeply in the direction of where he felt his followers were, then he turned back and continued his walk to class.
The police officer, dressed in plain clothes, crossed the street to his comrade who was looking at him with amusement. “Did you see that? He always knows we are following him. He didn’t even look.”
“I don’t know why the Chief is having us tail him. He’s not Falun Gong. Our spy in his class says that he teaches pure tai chi. They don’t even meditate.”
“Why don’t you tell the Chief that? See how that goes for you.”
“Shut up and give me a cigarette.”
Matt was using the wok to prepare dinner when Casey and Lu Lei came in the door after tai chi class.
“Hi, honey,” Matt said, “I talked to Roet while you were out. He’s asking us to look for someone in virology to work with. Apparently there’s been chatter about bioweapon development. Do we have any inroads to scientists?”
“What kind of chatter?”
“He says that they are watching some ivy league universities in the States. They flagged several foreign Chinese students. We have a few of our own in there watching. Youngsters. A couple of higher-ups have been implicated: Deans and whatnot. Some of these eggheads don’t know how to cover their tracks. Sad, really. Just bored and greedy, is all.”
Casey bent down to pick up Lu Lei’s coat and shoes that she’d dropped on the floor. “What else did he say?”
“The main topic was viruses. The Chinese want to give America the flu, apparently.”
Casey rolled her eyes. “There has never been any mention of any scientists in my circles. Let’s throw some ideas around after dinner. Is it nearly ready?”
“Yep, you can call Lu Lei. Tell her it’s spinach and rice.” He loved teasing Lu Lei, and she loved it too. The bigger the lie, the funnier it was.
Lu Lei stormed into the kitchen and posed with her hands on her hips. “Spinach for dinner?”
Matt looked down at her, not smiling. “Yes. The Master told me it’s on your list of favorites. He said it was number two favorite,” Matt imitated the Master.
“What’s number one?” she asked. “Is it rice?” she was suppressing a smile.
Matt laughed and lifted her up so she could see the beef, noodles and vegetables in the wok.
From the couch, Casey heard the shrieks of laughter, smiling to herself. She imagined Lu Lei doing this with her real father. Despite her poor sleep pattern, she seemed to be doing relatively well. The psychologist was probably right, though. This was some kind of honeymoon period for all of them, and things would inevitably take a turn for the worse. Tough questions would come. The lady had suggested that something useful could be done with the house, to symbolize a transition. Involving Lu Lei in the project might help her make her own difficult transition.
“Come and get it. Spinach is ready,” yelled Lu Lei, laughing like a maniac.
13
Assets
Matt had worked hard at becoming popular among his broadening Beijing business network. Being well liked made it easy for him to rope the right characters into his social events. During the first few months after Lu Lei’s adoption, every Saturday night he’d invited a dozen friends, old and new, without their wives, to long dinners involving more alcohol than any of them wanted to drink. The invitation list may have seemed random to the guests, but Matt was painstakingly extending toward the science community.
Finally, after seven different dinners, more than fifty new people, and thousands of dollars, he was positioned to lasso a virologist. A well respected, married man, in need of a good time, as were most scientists. “Perfect,” Matt had said when his biologist friend had described him the week before.
Cocktails at a hotel bar, before dinner, lasted almost two hours. He started them off by ordering shots of tequila for everyone, avoiding drinking any himself by using his usual tricks. Matt’s goal tonight was to make sure the virologist was the perfect amount of drunk to lose his better judgment. His guests took advantage of the high end liquor that Matt was paying for and drank at a faster rate than that to which they were accustomed. He paid special attention to the virologist, occasionally putting an arm around his shoulders, forcing him to down his drink.
One of Matt’s favorite games was to take a cigarette lighter to a wine cork, blackening it, and draw mustaches on the guests. It served to further lower their inhibitions and encourage them to let loose. By last drinks before dinner, most of them had full beards.
“Line up two more rounds of shots,” he said to the barman. The virologist had put his tie around his head and was proposing toasts to the female anatomy.
“Here is to legs!”
“To legs.”
Matt yelled, “To boobs!”
“To boobs!” the men laughed.
“Here’s to asses!”
Dinner was in the backroom of a nearby, dubiously decorated restaurant owned by some unsavory types that Matt kept at arm’s length. It was the kind of place to which one could bring in an entourage of high-class prostitutes without having problems with the establishment, as long as the manager was tipped properly.
Matt had been here enough times, throwing around wads of cash, to train the restaurant staff to keep the food sparse and the cocktails flowing freely.
The manager whispered in Matt’s ear.
“The girls are here, sir.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Matt stood and held up his bourbon and coke, which contained only coke. “To ankles!”
“To ankles!”
The men downed their drinks, following Matt’s lead. He left the room to greet his new guests. He had left instructions that the girls be dressed elegantly, and he had to turn away two of them, giving them some cash to lighten the shame.
“Good evening, ladies. Welcome back. Before we go in, I’d like to thank you for dressing up so nicely. Keep it fun in there. Anything goes, as always. You may drink champagne, but that’s all. I think you will be done by 4AM. Sound good?”
One of the girls playfully grabbed Matt’s ass, wrapping a slender leg around him. “Maybe this time I will do you, Mister American.”
The girls all giggled. Matt laughed. “You’re allowed to sit on my lap, and flirt, just for appearances, but that’s it. I’m working too, ladies. Let’s get in there.”
Matt rolled his eyes before opening the door for them. They loved to tempt him, but he’d never faltered, no matter what they put in his face.
By 3AM, Matt’s Subminiature Minox camera contained photos of the virologist engaged heavily with two girls. Matt had even encouraged one of his more adventurous male guests to join them. The virologist succeeded in resisting, though the pictures would tell a more sordid story.
After the girls had gone, the manager came in to check on the state of Matt’s party. Several men had passed out, some semi-clothed, others completely naked.
“Here you go.” Matt handed over an envelope of cash. “The room’s going to need a good cleaning.”
Flicking through the bank notes, the manager smirked and replied, “Don’t worry. You are welcome any time, foreign devil.”
Surviving Spies (Irving Waters, Spy Fiction Series) Page 13
