by Sam Powers
‘Over to you,’ Brennan said. ‘It’s your party.’
‘You have a watch list file with every intelligence agency in Asia. It seems strange that American intelligence would send such a less-than-ideal representative here on business. I must assume this has something to do with Professor Lawson, and, given that we have a record of you visiting Macau multiple times a decade ago, that the two of you are personal associates. I must assume he asked for you personally. Therefore, I must assume he has information that America needs.’
‘You got ‘they know each other’ from this already? What, the two of us stumbling out of a half-trashed restaurant riddled with bullet holes didn’t give that away? No? Maybe the two unconscious killers in the kitchen?’
‘We found no one inside the building.’
‘Fantastic.’ Joe knew the standard procedure would be to demand consular assistance and leave it at that. But he was irritated; the heat on Stanley Lawson should’ve been in his intel. He expected an easy package retrieval, and instead he got a John Woo flick. ‘Have you called my people yet?’
‘No. We are... reluctant to have Macau dragged into whatever this is. Rarely in cases involving espionage do we find that the interests of the territory are paramount or even considered, and this almost certainly had something to do with China. We called our associates in Chenzhou. They were most happy that we did, although they also did not seem interested in elaborating on Professor Lawson’s sudden value.’
‘They can be like that, I’ve heard.’
The captain flashed a smile rapidly enough to make it clear he wasn’t in a joking mood. ‘Mr. Brennan, I have been a policeman in Macau now for thirty-two years. In that time, there have been numerous occasions in which two foreign entities wished to loom over us and squabble, as if the government and residents of Macau were not even present, as if they were two adults arguing in front of a child they choose to ignore.’
He leaned forward on the table and arched his fingers. ‘And do you know what I have found to be the best approach to dealing with these incursions? To get the individuals involved out of Macau as quickly as possible, and to let them do their squabbling elsewhere.’
‘And how do the Chinese feel about that?’
‘Of course, that is a significant complication in this particular case. Technically, Macau has authority over all local legal matters. They would like me to simply hand over Professor Lawson; but he has done nothing illegal, as far as we can tell. On the other hand, if I release him, he believes he may be assassinated by a third party. If I release him with you, in order to expedite your departure, the Chinese will be most upset indeed. And if I refuse to release either of you, the Americans will be angry, and there is substantial investment here.’
Brennan could tell he’d like Chen if they met in other circumstances. The man was cool and calm, polite, and totally aware of the difficult position in which he found himself. ‘And do you have a resolution to that diplomatic quagmire, captain?’
Chen allowed himself a small, contented smile. ‘Simple.’ Then he turned and looked up at the camera in the upper corner of the ceiling and nodded. ‘Just ensuring our privacy for the next few minutes. Professor Lawson has a heart condition. He requires medication for this condition, and he does not have any on him. Well, not anymore. Were his paperwork to be ...misprocessed, it’s quite possible he might die in a holding cell before anyone knows what he had to offer. On the other hand...’
‘We’ve heard about the stick,’ Brennan said. ‘Here comes the carrot.’
‘...were both parties to agree to talk to Professor Lawson together, here, under supervision and the agreement that you both leave when the conversation is completed...’
‘Then all of your problems disappear.’
‘As I said, Mr. Brennan, we would prefer you take your squabbling elsewhere.’
‘Do I get a choice...?’
‘No.’
‘Do I get a phone call...?’
‘No. We’re going to bring Professor Lawson into the room, and then your opposite number from the People’s Republic. You’ll have a little chat, under the supervision of Const. Tan, and then we’ll see you both off to the airport. Good? Good.’
Captain Chen rose and walked to the door. ‘You have one half-hour.’
‘It’ll probably take five minutes. Just keep an eye on ‘my opposite number,’ as you called him.’
‘Her.’
Chen opened the door. The woman from the restaurant walked in. She’d changed into a business-like dress and blouse with a pair of flats.
She shot a stern stare at Chen. ‘My employers will be somewhat upset at this accommodation,’ she said.
‘Doubtless. But this is Macau, not China. And as long as we still have jurisdictional authority, it seems a most fitting application. Sit, please...’ He gestured toward the chair opposite Brennan. ‘I would make the introductions formally, but I’ll leave it up to the two of you to decide how much you wish to chat. Constable Tan, if either of them attempts to harm the other or Professor Lawson, shoot them.’ He turned and gave them a nod. ‘Good day to both of you. I shall send him in momentarily.’
Daisy kept a cool exterior, but her nerves were shaken. Yan Liu Jeng would be apoplectic over Lawson’s arrest, and only the more reasoned intervention of Chan Man Wei would prevent Yan from recalling her.
In the interrogation room, she had a chance to limit the damage. Getting the information was paramount; killing Lawson was a secondary objective but was pointless if the American was also allowed to live.
But she’d studied his file. They’d shipped her a dossier on Joseph Brennan and his past operations, both rumored and confirmed. It wasn’t impressive so much as it was terrifying. Lee’s cover as a professional poker player got her into elevated financial circles around the globe and allowed her to gather rich intelligence; and she was trained as a full-cover operative. But Brennan appeared to be the kind of ‘black ops’ killer she rarely encountered. The last time they’d fought she’d caught him by surprise. She didn’t appreciate her odds of a repeat.
She sat down opposite him. He peered at her as if studying a portrait for a previously unseen flaw.
‘I know you.’
‘I... don’t think so,’ Daisy said. She’d learned English at Oxford and private school, and she retained a clipped English tone. ‘I’m quite sure I’d remember...’
‘Daisy Lee. The poker player.’ He grinned. ‘You must really be in trouble. A cover like that blown over Stanley Lawson? You’ll be lucky if they don’t have you on guard duty in Altai by the end of the week.’
Aside from the obvious attempt to gain a psychological advantage, what he was saying wasn’t entirely false, Daisy knew. Still, he didn’t need to know that. ‘My my, Mr. Brennan, you are confident for a man whose career has been hanging by a thread for the better part of two decades. My reading of your situation suggests no one would let you guard anything. Aren’t you ‘out to pasture’, as they say in your country?’
‘Yeah, I wish...’
‘In fact, it’s our understanding you’re only here because you have some prior association with Professor Lawson, indicating he will only speak with you. Or deal with you, as is more likely the case, given his history of selling intelligence.’
‘Why, Ms. Lee, what could possibly be so important that they’d need to haul an out-of-commission old hand like myself out of semi-retirement? Something about a rogue covert ops project, perhaps?’
‘Do tell.’
‘Oh please, let’s not kid ourselves Ms. Lee. I’m sure you’re quite versed on Legacy.’
Really? We’re doing this? ‘Of what, specifically? I’m quite sure the CIA wouldn’t have sent someone with your particular... skillset if it wasn’t vital.’
Brennan frowned a little at that.
He’s thinking the same thing: that as much fun as this is, it’s a waste of time.
‘We’re going to be questioning him together,’ Brennan said. ‘If we outl
ay what we need answered now, we can avoid treading on toes and get as much out of this as possible...’
‘Not a chance.’ She didn’t like the idea of explaining to Beijing that she’d given up a tactical advantage.
‘Oh sure... because of course, this is a Chinese fuck up to begin with,’ Brennan said. ‘So naturally you have all the details already.’
‘Your effort to rattle me is trite and beneath you,’ she retorted.
The door opened and both turned their heads that way for a split second. Then they looked at each other, both realizing that one had to be the first to...
‘Stanley!’ Daisy bounced to her feet and over to the elderly man. She switched to Cantonese. ‘I’m here to help. My name is Li Daiyu. Are you okay? Are you hurt in any way?’
Brennan answered for him, his accent poor but his use of the language perfect. ‘No, he’s not -- no thanks to State Security.’
The professor gave her a perturbed look and backed away until he was standing adjacent to Brennan’s chair. ‘Is that true Joe?’
‘She’s a Chinese spook.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘You really stepped in it this time Stanley, my man. You still feel like negotiating terms? Or maybe I should just turn you over to Beijing?’
‘I’d really rather you didn’t.’
‘So tell us about it.’
‘About what?’
‘Stanley...’
‘You mean... Legacy?’
Lee could have sworn she heard Brennan release a slight sigh of relief, as if thankful someone else had finally said it.
Yes,’ she said, conceding at least that. ‘Tell us about Legacy.’
PUBLIC SECURITY HOSPITAL, BEIJING
June 14, 1985
It was not the time for displays of strength and authority. As such, Fan King Wen was not his usual brash and confident self.
Two guards escorted him down the concrete main corridor of the prisoner wing. The staff at the hospital were not merely an assortment of doctors and orderlies and nurses, but also a full compliment of highly trained guards and a cadre of psychiatrists whose sole responsibility was extracting information.
Their patients? Political prisoners and dissidents, spies and celebrities; the castaways of China’s high society and assorted other enemies of the state. If he didn’t play his cards carefully, Fan knew, he could be a patient there himself one day.
Such was the strength of a destructive rumor in the air-tight confines of the party. Officially, he had denounced Jiang Qing at the time of her arrest. ‘Madame Mao’, as she had come to be known in the west, was reviled by the public and seen at best as the avenging fist of her late husband. At worst, she was the architect of a reign of terror that killed hundreds of thousands and purged the ranks of the nation’s intellectuals and creatives.
To Fan and others like him, she represented something much more, the last gasp at holding onto a dream for a simpler, more egalitarian society, where the sheep were led by shepherds such as himself and protected by guard dogs like Jiang Qing. Even though he had followed her direction and separated himself from her supporters a year prior to her arrest, he had read her court testimony each day, and he believed every word. He knew full well that she had only acted at the Chairman’s behest, that she represented nothing more than his priorities, the same priorities that had built the party to greatness over the four decades prior. The notion that those in the courtroom had laughed at her, ridiculed her, filled him with rage.
Fan was no political reactionary. He came to his opinions over years of consideration and eventual fealty to the notion of the purest Maoism. But he had been an Olympic athlete once, competing in gymnastics, training under an eastern European coach in a time when it was a rare step, gaining a following as an international athlete under the Anglicized name ‘Dorian Fan’. As such, he had profile, influence. He was a star, a potential up-and-comer. And Jiang Qing recognized that if he was to be of any real use to the movement, he could not be associated with the Gang of Four during their most dire hour.
Thus, his visit was not that of a former apostle returning to his master, but a functionary trip by a party bureaucrat, charged with helping to decide whether she should be moved to house arrest or returned to prison once healthy. Many in the party remained convinced she was a suicide threat and that it could prove politically difficult if she was martyred by hardliners. Still others felt she might even try to push for a pardon, for release and another attempted rise to power. He was there to assess, to question.
And unbeknownst to his masters, to receive instruction.
At the door to her room, one of the guards unlocked it, then pushed it open. There was no deference to privacy, no hollered request to see if she was decent. Just entry.
‘Leave us,’ Fan said to the guards. ‘Remain outside within earshot.’
He waited until the door was closed.
Though there was a hospital bed and an array of equipment, the room looked otherwise like a typical eight-by-ten cell, complete with cinderblock walls and musty, rank smell. Jiang Qing sat on the thin mattress of the cot, her chin raised defiantly. ‘Fan. A most unexpected visit.’
‘I had to come now, while you were in the hospital. As soon as they return you to your cell, there will be no opportunity for privacy.’
‘And your ‘official’ rationale for being here?’
‘I am to help decide your fate.’
She smiled. ‘You are coming up in the world.’
‘There is a position open in state security administration. I understand I am to be recommended. Likely there will be no actual time left to pursue it, but...
‘Good. Excellent, in fact. Fortune smiles on the just, Fan King Wen. And the program?’
‘The program continues. From the reports of Administrator Shou, the results have been nothing short of astounding. However, I intend to see for myself.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘It’s necessary, I believe. We are seven years in, and they will be reaching the point where self-rationalization and problem solving makes indoctrination more challenging.’
‘And the next step?’
‘According to Dr. Park, they will move soon to the sensory deprivation and night sequencing stage. He believes that of the fifteen subjects, this process will prove too severe for at least seven to ten to take. The ones who make it out with their sanity intact will be ideal for our purposes.’ Fan adored the direct precision of her questions, the lack of pretense. As an athlete, he’d seen time and again the concerted strength of a well-honed team, and he knew to the core of his soul that Maoism -- pure, proper idolatry of the communal unit -- would establish China as the dominant world power. To the young and faithful bureaucrat, Jiang Qing might as well have been the chairman himself brought back to life.
And she appeared pleased. ‘Remember, we will not be able to speak after this, potentially ever, without you receiving undue attention. I may never be able to communicate to you my fierce pride at your ideological strength of purpose, or to congratulate you when Legacy’s task is fulfilled.’
He wanted to ask her when that would be, but he knew there was not, as yet, an answer. Legacy was a failsafe, an option put into place in case the worst came to pass and the toxic seeds of capitalism took root in the nation. Neither expected that to occur soon, but the stage was set for moderation, a betrayal of the chairman’s dream. Her arrest and the denunciation of her efforts was proof enough of that.
‘One day, they will speak your name in hushed and reverent tones,’ Fan said. ‘And I will tell them of your ultimate sacrifice for the cause of the worker. I will tell them of your serene grace in the face of your persecution. You will be the mother of us all.’
She studied him, and he felt a flush of embarrassment to be her center of attention. He knew that she could be utterly ruthless, as required, but that her heart was filled with love for the chairman, and for China. He swore to himself that he would not fail. The legacy of the Paramount L
eader and Jiang Qing would be preserved.
Fan had returned to his apartment with the intent of an early night. He had a flight the next morning to Chenzhou. But he slept fitfully, tossing and turning in bed as dreams of Jiang Qing’s demise tormenting him. He was not old enough to have known her when she was a desirable actress, rather than an aging revolutionary, but he loved her, nonetheless.
His phone began to ring. He looked over at the Russian-built clock radio; it was just shy of midnight. He snatched the phone from the receiver, irritated. ‘What?’
‘Fan? It’s Mah Xiao.’
‘Mah? It’s almost midnight. Couldn’t this have waited until work tomorrow?’
His younger associate sounded nervous. ‘I checked with your secretary. You are travelling to Chenzhou tomorrow. She booked you a ticket.’
Damn. ‘I have a few things to take care of at the office there. It’s nothing I need your help with...’
‘I’ve been looking at the books.’
The comment stopped the conversation cold. Fan tried to think of a quick explanation. ‘Yes, I imagined that would come up eventually. It’s something for the party, something off the record.’
‘Respectfully, sir, I need to know about something like that if I’m going to audit accurately,’ Mah said. ‘I looked back, and there are similar expenditures in past accounts going back twelve years. Only the first had any sort of notation, and that was just the word ‘Legacy’. What’s this about, Fan?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘I’ve been here with you for three years and you know how much I value your guidance.’
Fan suspected the man was homosexual and attracted to him. He had cultivated a flirtatious relationship with him to garner Mah’s absolute loyalty and it had worked well to that point. If it was being questioned, the scope of the financial misappropriation had become obvious.
