McBurney continued. “Few of his generation seem to have aspired to power. Rong does so while touting many of the hard-line ideologies of his Maoist forebears—most Red Guards have renounced the Cultural Revolution and espouse more progressive ideologies. As for his entrenched power base, Rong seems to be particularly skilled at gaming the system. Any cadre who’s able to establish the biggest network of appointments eventually wins, given that each appointment is bestowed nearly dictatorial authority to make appointments of their own, and so on down the line. Checks-and-balances in the traditional American sense are nonexistent. It’s not without it’s Darwinian attributes. But outsiders rarely get a glimpse of the process, a fact which exacerbates our difficulty predicting successionary outcomes. Their constitution is a sham document. There is no process for succession in any Western democratic sense.”
“What’s this got to do with sweetening the pot for Deng?” asked Herman.
“An odd twist of fate. Rong and Deng probably come into regular contact in the course of their duties. They also crossed paths during the Cultural Revolution, though we’re not sure either man knows it. Some time ago, one of our indigenous agents presented first-hand knowledge that Deng’s father, who was a high school principal and Liberation hero, his mother, and young sister were all butchered by a mob of Red Guards.”
Those in the Oval Office silently reflected for several moments.
“Our agent shared her account of a young man by the name of Kang Long,” McBurney continued. “According to her, Kang is the Red Guard who instigated the ‘hooligan attack’ on Deng’s family. It’s likely this occurred as it did for millions of others at the time, part of Mao and the Gang of Four’s class warfare to purge anti-socialists, with one additional twist. Madame Mao was planning a putsch that would have vaulted her to power over Deng Xiaoping. Fearing retribution, she apparently ordered all Deng surname families killed, in the process wiping out those with no blood relation at all to the prominent leader.”
“And Deng Zhen’s family?” asked President Denis.
McBurney shook his head. “No relation to Deng Xioaping. In any case, our Beijing agent maintained that Kang Long was physically involved in the attack, or ‘struggle’ as it was euphemized at the time, that he not only led the bludgeoning of Deng’s father but participated in the gang rape of the girl and evisceration of the mother, before setting the home ablaze.
The President considered the news with a scowl.
“Of course, Mao Zedong eventually ordered that the PLA intervene to stem the anarchy, and millions of Red Guards were banished to the rural interior. With the help of his father, Kang Long instead fled to Paris where he attended university. His father died while Long was overseas. By the way, Kang Sheng, the Mao confidant, was Lavrenty Beria’s Chinese understudy during the Stalin regime. The son returned from France after a decade of self-imposed exile following Mao’s death. So he’s not your typical princeling. He repatriated under the alias of Rong Peng.”
Denis and Herman exchanged a look. “How long have we known this?” demanded the President.
Director Burns intervened. “The Agency’s known for about six years. It floated to the surface recently because of concern over Rong Peng’s activities and their relevance to your treaty negotiations. I take full responsibility for not earlier informing Sam of your negotiation effort.”
“Well,” President Denis shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “I’m not about to indict a man based on what he might have done forty years ago.”
McBurney nodded grimly. “The question, sir, is if Deng Zhen will take a similar view.”
“Meaning what?”
“We’re relatively certain that our agent—I’m referring to SIREN, our Beijing agent—she never told Deng what she knew about Rong’s true identity. We propose to do it ourselves.”
“You plan to tell Deng who butchered his family forty years ago,” Herman observed. He looked to the President for a cue, but found none. “Where the hell are you going with this?”
President Denis said, “You seem convinced Deng doesn’t already know. Maybe he does, and he’s simply moved past it.”
“I happen to think Deng is too proud for that,” McBurney said, “but it’s certainly a possibility. And we’d be remiss not to mention recent intelligence suggesting that our Beijing agent might have been compromised. However, as a close Deng acquaintance who remained insistent that he did not know, her opinion carries weight.”
Director Burns pointed out that the female agent was a ‘walk in,’ meaning that she had approached an American operative and volunteered to spy. “She cited her growing anxiety over this secret among her incentives for wanting to spy for us.”
“With help from Interpol and the French SDECE, we were able to link Kang Long to Rong Peng using travel documents and so forth,” McBurney further explained. “In the end, it was us exerting pressure on the agent not to warn Deng herself.”
“No doubt out of respect for the internal politics of a sovereign country,” Herman quipped.
“Of course not,” Burns admitted. “You save nuggets like this for the most opportune moment.”
“Maybe somebody else told Deng,” Herman asserted. “You say she’s maybe been compromised. How do you know the agent hasn’t got an ulterior motive—maybe a grudge against Rong?”
“We’ll never know,” McBurney replied. “The agent is dead. A brain tumor killed her, apparently.”
Herman blinked. “Documents can be doctored. Mr. President, this is a dangerous moment—we knew there’d be opposition from the military industrialists. I urge you not to prematurely abandon the progress we’ve made toward completing the treaty accord.”
“Thomas—relax. Nobody’s abandoning anything. Sounds like the CIA is only suggesting that we introduce a little trauma to their succession process, maybe provoke an assassination...I can’t be accused of fomenting assassination, can I?”
“No, sir,” Burns replied.
President Denis smiled. “How thoroughly comforting. I gather you think the right person to administer your plan is this civilian?”
“Mr. Stuart knows both the technology in question and Mr. Deng.”
“Lester, are you sure?” Herman exchanged a long look with Director Burns. “A layperson?”
“He already holds a security clearance,” McBurney said, “and has signed the appropriate forms. He’s also a Marine veteran.”
“A Marine...” Herman nodded. “I guess that’s meant to be encouraging.”
“Deng seems to have chosen to trust him. That’s one big hurdle already cleared.”
“He’s here, I take it?” asked the President.
“Mr. Stuart is waiting outside.”
President Denis stood from his chair and headed toward the coffee service. “Invite the man in.”
78
Friday, July 3
ON THE OPPOSITE END of Pennsylvania Avenue, a closed-door session inside the Senate Russell Building’s Committee, Science, & Transportation Hearing Room was about to convene. Representing the CS&T committee chair in the special joint hearing was Iowa Senator Franklin Arns, and for the Appropriations Oversight Subcommittee, Oregon Senator John Reynolds. The ostensible purpose of this afternoon’s hearing fell under the purview of Appropriations. Presiding alongside his two panel colleagues was Maryland Senator Norman Milner, whose seat on Reynold’s subcommittee was a footnote to his primary role as Senate Budget Committee Chairman.
Discussion of any ‘black’ program in such a forum was strictly limited to administrative matters; a DC Park Police officer was posted outside the double doors to SR253 with instructions to keep members of the public away. There were no staffers wandering about, no members of the press, no microphones and certainly no CSPAN cameras in use. A lone stenographer sat floor-level before a portable desk, his back to the senatorial dais, hands poised to record the proceeding, his gaze directed at the four invited attendees.
Ralph Perry, CEO of Coherent Light Incorpora
ted, leaned toward the woman seated to his immediate right. “Still not sure what this is about?”
Joanne Lewis shook her head. Seated beside her was Gil Campbell, the contracting officer’s technical representative whose responsibility it was to liaison between the Department of Energy and private sector contractors. Campbell received a call at home late the previous evening, and was ordered to attend the hastily scheduled subcommittee hearing with the CLI executive. No explanation had been forthcoming, and Campbell was not inclined to press his boss’s boss, Office of Transportation Technologies Director Donna Gingras, seated to Campbell’s right. The two CLI attendees naturally had assumed that their lobbying was about to pay off, that Congress would approve the major contract restructuring and approve the additional funds.
Senator Arns raised his eyes from the podium bench. “We’re pretty busy with dozens of similarly pressing matters. We appreciate your timely arrival before us today.”
Senator Milner rejoined with a pained smile. His expression betrayed no recognition of the individuals seated before him.
“I’d like to proceed to the point,” Arns said. “The joint committee convened last evening under executive session. Would it be your opinion, uh, Mr. Perry, that the classified DOE program under your stead is experiencing some rather serious management problems?”
Perry shot an accusatory glance toward Gil Campbell, who looked as dumbfounded as any of them. “Senator, my opinion is that we’re experiencing problems that typically plague research initiatives. This is the first I’ve heard these characterized as being the fault of management.”
Arns continued. “It’s come to our attention that your program is as much as 40% over-budget and fourteen months behind schedule. Is that portrayal not accurate?”
Lewis leaned toward him again and whispered: “Careful, Ralph. This might just be some minor administrative technicality they need to resolve.”
“I won’t disagree with your numbers,” Perry allowed. “But you make it sound as if news of the overrun comes as a surprise. We’ve worked very hard to keep DOE officials and senate staff in the loop. In fact, we at CLI proposed...” Senator Arns was shaking his head, flipping through pages. Perry chose to continue. “During Senator Milner’s recent tour of the facility, we discussed various ways to bolster funding for the Project. I thought it was mutually understood that the Project holds great promise as an economic engine of the future, environmentally friendly, albeit with current difficulties to be overcome. I’m sorry, Senator. I’m not sure I understand the thrust of your question.”
At that, Milner lifted his head. “What’s not to understand? Naturally, you seek more funding and we don’t have an issue with you coming to us for that. The issue is that you’ve chosen to keep Congress in the dark on the magnitude of the problems.”
Perry and Lewis exchanged a stunned look. “Senator,” Perry said calmly, “that’s simply not the case.”
Senators Reynolds and Arns appraised them gravely as Milner picked up a document from the bench and donned a pair of reading spectacles. He scanned it for several moments, then tipped his head and leveled his gaze over the tops of the spectacles. “We on the panel have debated the situation carefully, arduously, and at great length,” Milner said. “I’d like to emphasize that all committee members have justifiable praise for your organization’s determination to develop what could someday be an extraordinarily important technology, not only for this country’s economy but also in the interest of both enriching the global community and protecting its environment. In the current climate, however, we can ill afford budgetary surprises.”
Next, Senator Reynolds read from a document in his hands. “Resolution number 1455 shall so state...ta-dah ta-dah...here we are. Until further notice, all appropriated government funding in support of Energy Department program number DOE 2007-TI5 is hereby suspended—”
Perry slammed his fist on the table. “You can’t be serious!”
Reynolds absorbed the disruption, glancing up from the page before continuing. “Funding is hereby suspended in recognition of serious contractor deficiencies. These include unacceptable performance in issues of budget, deliverables, reasonable oversight and communication thereof before the Committee, as well as credible allegations of breach in national security.”
Perry froze, his neck flush red against the white of his collar. “National security breach?”
Senator Arns gazed wearily out at his audience. “Mr. Perry, try to put yourself in our position. Several times in the last hundred years we’ve stood at the threshold of a new and wonderful technology, be it fossil fuel or nuclear power, advanced weapons with which to defend ourselves, biowar vaccines, what have you. Each time the promise was the same, that we had to have it, it would vastly improve our lives, our standard of living, our security, our environment. Each time in one way or another it either failed to deliver, fell into the wrong hands, or both. Do you want to be associated with the next technological moral failure?”
Perry was speechless.
“Budget issues aside, the committee weighs the risk associated with the alleged espionage to be greater than the upside potential in continuing the Project. That will remain our position for at least as long as the FBI and the DOE inspector general need to investigate the matter.”
An angry Ralph Perry was quickly trying to adjust to the terrain. He forced his palms flat on the table. “Shutting down a business doesn’t seem to me the way to sting an espionage operation.”
Gil Campbell had turned pale. He sat with his jaw slack, shrugging whenever Perry cast him a glare. For her part, O.T.T. Director Gingras seemed obligated to defend the company’s position. “I have to agree with Mr. Perry,” she said. “I arrived today with the understanding that security precautions by the contractor were already intensified. I would be remiss not to advise the chair that by disrupting the Project at this precarious stage, a decision to resume in the future may incur prohibitive cost to the government.”
Senator Milner sat back with hands clasped behind his neck, reflecting on the exchange as he gazed at the ceiling.
“We have some eighty engineering and technical staff who’ve dedicated years to the Project,” Perry added. “We cannot simply absorb eighty salaried personnel.”
Gingras reminded the panel of their obligation to inform the foreign governments involved.
“The panel will see to the appropriation of ninety days salary to facilitate staff transition to other assignments,” Arns said following a brief huddle on the bench. He let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. You will have ninety-six hours to finalize housekeeping and other administration beginning Friday, July 10. That’s one week from today. I would suggest you make good use of it. United States Marshals will arrive onsite to secure the facility.”
“What the...?” Perry snapped his head toward Joanne Lewis. “Does our cancellation clause allow for anything like this?”
“Not that I—”
Perry rose from his chair. His voice was firm and without emotion. “This is an outrage.”
Lewis looked up at her employer. “Ralph, this won’t do any good.”
Perry rounded on her. “This is illegal!”
Senator Arns cast a disapproving glare as if a line had been crossed. “Motion to adjourn.”
“Second,” Milner announced.
Disbelieving faces stared back from the hearing chamber as Subcommittee Chairman Reynolds delivered his gavel.
RALPH PERRY WAS APOPLECTIC as he stormed out of the Senate Russell Building with Lewis in tow.
“Something smells,” Lewis’s voice jostled as she jogged down the steps in an effort to keep up with her boss. “I need to do some asking around.”
Perry stopped suddenly and Lewis nearly ran into him. “You led me to believe you had connections on the Hill.”
“Ralph, really.”
“Then why didn’t you see this coming?” He turned his back on her and continued toward the parking lot.
<
br /> “You could be right, I’m not sure what they’re doing is legal.”
“What is this national security bullshit?” Perry stopped, again struck by a thought. “You’re family with Stuart. Where is he today?”
Lewis blinked back her surprise. “It’s not my job to keep track of him.”
“Oh, really? I hope your feelings for Stuart aren’t at the root of our problems here.”
Lewis was stunned into silence.
“And U.S. Marshals? What the hell sort of tactic is that?”
Lewis shook her head clear. “Seriously. We should investigate the legality of this. I seem to recall a precedent here. Maybe we can win an injunction against this lock-down.”
Perry studied her furiously.
“We do have several days,” Lewis said, pursuing the idea. “That might be difficult, but what do we tell your employees in the mean time?”
Perry gave her a hard stare, then gazed across the street over the trees and open space of the Capitol Plaza. “Let me worry about the staff. You get to work on the injunction.”
AS IT HAPPENED, Perry’s gaze passed over tourists, pedestrians walking their dogs, legislative staff talking with lobbyists, joggers, the ever-present environmental protesters gathered with placards resting on their shoulders—and one man leaning against a tree, his attention riveted on the two forms departing the Russell Building. Perry could be forgiven not recognizing the man responsible for half his current headaches. He had not yet met Paul Devinn.
79
STUART SAID GOODNIGHT to his daughter and hung up the phone. Brushing aside his lonesome self-pity, he turned his thoughts to this afternoon at the White House. He reflected with pride on the honor; how many men within the span of weeks go from FBI suspect to rendering advice to the President? And yet, by the end of the day, not even the sound of his daughter’s voice had brightened his mood.
Three hours later, Milton Thackeray sat resting his arms on the table with his eyes closed, clutching a mug of coffee between his hands. Beside him, Emily Chang was leafing through pages of the long defunct Anti-ballistic Missile Treaty that Stuart had downloaded from the State Department archive.
Razing Beijing: A Thriller Page 47