‘How long was this man, Zhang Su Lin, a source?’
‘Just under a year, I suppose. He started at the classes very soon after Tiananmen, but I had no idea he was a dissident at first, of course. He was in Tiananmen when the massacre happened.’
‘How good was he? As a source, I mean?’
‘He seemed very well in with people in Beijing. He told me once that he expected to get arrested after Tiananmen because all the others rounded up knew him and he thought they would name him during questioning. But he wasn’t. He gave me some Shanghai leads, too.’
‘Why did he cease coming to the classes?’
‘I never knew. He just didn’t turn up one day: there was no warning. I wondered if he had been arrested, after all: he was very much into writing and issuing the protest wall posters and bulletins. But he obviously wasn’t. Not until last month.’
‘Did he know you were passing the information on?’
‘Not in the way you mean. As far as he was concerned, we were just talking, but of course he expected me to tell others, outside China. That’s the whole point, getting the information out that there is protest, within the country.’
‘So he’ll name you?’
‘He could say he attended my English classes, for a period. That was no secret anyway. But not that I knew him as anyone actively connected or particularly interested in the dissident movement.’
It wouldn’t matter, thought Charlie. The connection between Zhang and Snow would emerge, during the questioning of the Chinese dissident: it probably already had. Which gave them more than enough for a completely genuine spy trial, according to Chinese law. And that was before they even got to Snow’s trip and the material he had gathered in Shanghai, for which they were patiently waiting, believing Snow trapped and Gower at their mercy, for whatever they chose to do. Reminded, Charlie looked to the side of the room, where the small desk obviously utilized when it served as an office had been pushed against the wall in an unsuccessful effort to create more space. Nodding towards the package lying on it, he said: ‘There’s your photographs.’
‘I’ve got what Li gave me,’ announced Snow, in return, groping into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Charlie laid out on the table the Shanghai shots that had been doctored in London and then directly beneath each frame made the match from what the Chinese had provided. They weren’t absolutely identical – the innocuous Chinese shots were not precisely from the same spot – but Charlie accepted that scarcely mattered, for the use the Chinese intended to make of them. The technicians in London had done the best job they could. Snow’s prints appeared to have been very badly developed: in only one was there even a suggestion of a ship, and if he had not been looking specifically for it Charlie’s first impression would have been that it was a low cloud base. The down side was that the Chinese would be looking specifically.
‘They’re very good!’ said Snow, at his shoulder.
‘Not good enough,’ said Charlie.
‘What are we going to do then?’ demanded the priest, in instant alarm.
Charlie thought again how quickly the man would collapse, under pressure. ‘There’s a way round it,’ he promised, in fresh reassurance. ‘It’s all going to be all right.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Snow’s sigh of relief was audible, beyond his strained breathing. ‘I’ve got Father Robertson’s permission to leave.’
‘You told me.’ Charlie still wished the stupid clerical bureaucracy hadn’t been necessary, despite the security of the confessional.
‘I want to go to Rome, as soon as possible. I’m going to ask to go into a retreat. I need a lot of time.’
‘Let’s just think of getting out of Beijing at the moment,’ urged Charlie.
‘I won’t do any more,’ declared Snow.
Charlie frowned at the man, not understanding. ‘Any more what?’
‘Work for you. I thought it was important: still do. But it’s brought too much suffering. To the man who’s been arrested. And to Father Robertson. I have a lot of apologies to make, in prayer.’
‘We wouldn’t expect you to, not any more. We accept that this is the end.’ The man wouldn’t have any use, once he was out of Beijing, but Charlie decided it wasn’t necessary to make the cynicism as clear as that.
‘What must I do?’ asked Snow, obediently.
‘Everything exactly as I say,’ insisted Charlie. ‘And in precisely the sequence I set out. Don’t deviate, in any way …’ He picked up the London-supplied photographs, keeping them in his hands. ‘It’ll take the Chinese a while to prove these have been altered. Certainly more than a day …’ He started to separate the prints into two sets, carefully putting to one side the particular print that more obviously than all the rest showed something that Snow should not have photographed. Charlie added one more Shanghai picture and three innocent prints to the held-back pile, offering the rest to Snow. ‘For Li.’
‘He’ll know some are missing.’
‘I know he will,’ agreed Charlie, at once. ‘You’re going to tell him. Remember, everything in the order I dictate.’
‘Tell me how.’
‘You’re not sure if Li is Foreign Ministry or definitely the Public Security Bureau?’
Snow shook his head. ‘I’m fairly sure it’s the Bureau. He refused to let me try to contact him, when I offered. Said he’d always come to me.’
‘Good,’ said Charlie. He hesitated, wanting his explanation to be as clear as possible, to avoid Snow misunderstanding. ‘What we’re trying to achieve is the maximum confusion among people who might be watching the mission or watching the embassy and trying to connect the two of us.’
‘How much time do you think we’ve got?’ demanded the priest, dispirited.
Don’t collapse on us yet, thought Charlie: it was unsettling enough to consider the man collapsing at all. ‘Enough,’ he encouraged. ‘It won’t be easy and there are things that could go wrong, but if you do it like I say, there’s a bloody good chance it’ll all work out fine.’ That was an exaggeration, conceded Charlie: he couldn’t think of a better way and he’d known escapes far more tenuous than this – his own from Moscow, the first time he turned his back on Natalia, for instance – but this was pretty threadbare.
‘Just tell me what to do.’
There was a dullness in the way Snow was talking, a resignation that Charlie didn’t like. ‘Tomorrow morning, early, telephone the Foreign Ministry. Try to reach Li. But don’t try too hard. All we want to establish is that you tried to get in touch, and then get him and everyone else moving in the wrong directions when they get the message and you start to do what I’m going to tell you. Leave a message that you’re sending something to him. Then go personally to the Foreign Ministry …’
‘Go there?’ exclaimed Snow, astonished.
‘First,’ expanded Charlie. ‘Before you go to the Security Bureau offices.’
Snow was shaking his head, bewildered. ‘This doesn’t make sense …’
‘Neither will it to anyone who is watching the mission, to see what you are going to do. Think about it! Where is the last place in the world they would expect you to go?’
The head movement now was a slow nod, but there was more doubt than agreement. ‘Certainly not there.’
‘So they’ll be thrown off balance?’
‘Possibly.’
‘The Bureau is a large building? Like the Foreign Ministry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Leave the photographs I’ve given you at the Foreign Ministry, addressed to Li. With a letter apologizing that they are incomplete. Say you’re trying to find out what has happened to the rest. Leave the Foreign Ministry by a different door than how you entered. At the Bureau, enquire the possibility of your taking another trip: go through the formalities of making an initial travel application …’ Snow was looking at him but Charlie was unsure if the man was comprehending it all. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’<
br />
‘I understand what you’re saying: not what it’s going to achieve.’
‘Confusion,’ repeated Charlie. ‘Leave the Bureau differently from the way you entered, too. This will be the most dangerous time: this is when you start to run.’
‘To the airport?’ guessed Snow, wanting to contribute.
‘That’s what they’ll hopefully think. I shall make a reservation in your own name, on a plane leaving direct for England the day after tomorrow. I want them to think they’ve got time to get into position. I don’t want confusion to become panic’
‘How then?’
‘Time your visits to get you out of the Bureau by mid-afternoon. Walk, initially. So that any pursuit will be on foot, not by car that can more easily pick you up when you switch to public transport. Go direct to the main rail terminus, for the five o’clock express to Shanghai.’
‘It takes …’
‘… I know how long it takes,’ cut off Charlie. ‘And you’re not supposedly going there anyway. Book yourself to Nanchang. There’s an express leaving for there at four forty-five: I’ve already checked. Your ticket will get you on to the platforms: if you are followed it’ll take longer than fifteen minutes for them to check where you’ve bought a ticket for, and when they find out it will be a long way away from where you’re going. According to the schedules, they can’t get on the Nanchang express en route for the first eight hours of the journey, at the first stop. And if they do – it’ll be in the middle of the night and I doubt they could organize themselves that quickly – it’ll take them at least until Nanchang to go right through the train to discover you are not on it. Actually board the Nanchang train, so that you’ll be remembered. Just before it leaves, get off. I’ve checked the track numbers, too. You’ll be two tracks away. Cross directly to the Shanghai train. I’ll have a two-berth, soft sleeper cabin. And a ticket for you. Which I’ll present around the door during any ticket inspection checks, so that once inside the cabin you’ll be out of sight. The majority of the journey is through the night, when everybody will be asleep.’
‘What happens in Shanghai?’
‘Nothing, I hope. There’s a plane out, four hours after we arrive, to Manila. Both tickets on it will again be in my name. We’ll go direct to the airport from the railway station.’
‘You’ve forgotten the need for travel permission.’
‘That only applies to restricted areas. There is none, on the route between Beijing and Shanghai. I checked that, like everything else. And you won’t be on the Nanchang train, where it does apply, anyway.’
Snow sat for several moments with his head bowed, deep in thought. ‘All right,’ he said.
Charlie was unsure to what the priest was agreeing. ‘You think you can do it?’
‘Yes.’
‘All of it?’
There was another pause. ‘I’ve got to, haven’t I?’
Charlie matched the cynicism. ‘Yes.’
‘From the moment I get into your cabin on the train you’ll be linked with me: as liable to arrest as I am? As that other man was?’
A fact that was paramount in Charlie’s mind. ‘Yes.’
‘I don’t want to cause any more problems, for anyone!’ insisted the other man. ‘Why can’t I do it by myself?’
‘Because it’s not a one-man job!’ rejected Charlie. ‘You need help and concealment on the train and help at Shanghai airport, to collect a ticket to get you out …’ Charlie hesitated. Then he said: ‘This is the only way to get you out.’ He wished to Christ there was a choice.
‘I have to return to the mission tonight?’
Charlie was torn between wishing to see the man show either something beyond dull obedience or a spark of initiative which might have risked the danger of improvisation. ‘Until tomorrow morning, when you call the Foreign Ministry, you’ve got to continue normally in every way at the mission.’
For the first time, Snow began to show some reaction. ‘What can I take with me, when I leave?’
‘Your passport,’ said Charlie, regretting the irritation in his voice. ‘That’s all! You can’t carry anything that will give the slightest indication that you’re not going back to the mission!’
Snow frowned. ‘I must have a rosary. And my bible.’
‘Will the bible fit into your pocket?’
Snow was clearly uncertain whether to lie outright. In the end he said: ‘Not really.’
‘Then no.’
‘I have always had it.’
‘No!’
‘I suppose I could ask Father Robertson to send it to Rome.’
‘Father Robertson has to believe you’re coming back to the mission, like everybody else.’
‘But he’s …’ Snow started, but Charlie wouldn’t allow the protest.
‘… exposed,’ he said, shortly. ‘His protection is not knowing! If he gives any indication of being aware in advance, he could be accused of colluding with you!’
Snow shook his head again. ‘I’m not sure …’ he began and trailed away.
‘No luggage. No goodbyes,’ insisted Charlie. ‘It’s not a matter for you. Not just your safety. You’re agonizing over the poor bastard they’ve already arrested. What happens to him depends upon their not getting you. My safety, too. Two people, utterly dependent on your doing everything right. OK?’
‘OK.’ It was very uncertain.
‘No deviation! None whatsoever!’
‘I said I understood!’ Now Snow was showing irritation.
Charlie was abruptly very nervous. Apart from Edith, a long time ago, and Natalia, much more recently, there was only one person in the world upon whom Charlie had ever felt able completely to rely. Himself. He’d never really liked operating with other supposed professionals, because invariably something got cocked up somewhere. This time he wasn’t even being forced together with a professional. He was being harnessed with someone he’d already decided was a collapsing liability. ‘Repeat it!’ he ordered. ‘Repeat everything back to me!’
Snow had to make two attempts, to get it right. At the end he said: ‘I’ve got it all clear in my head.’
‘I hope to Christ you have!’ said Charlie, unthinkingly.
‘And I’ll pray to Him,’ promised Snow, quietly.
Miller had not referred to the left-behind perfume after that one confrontation and obviously Patricia hadn’t. She hadn’t asked, either, when or how long Ann might be at Regent’s Park because it would have seemed she was anxious, which she was, but didn’t want to show it. He’d have to ask her to go there again: Patricia was determined that was how it would be. In the beginning, she had made up her mind to refuse the first time, putting up some excuse, but as the days passed her resolve about that lessened and she knew she’d agree, as she always agreed. But he’d still have to ask her: she wouldn’t suggest it.
‘There wasn’t a lot of point in Muffin making all that fuss about going in solo if he was going to approach the embassy as quickly as this, was there?’ demanded the Director.
‘At least we know he’s there. And that there is definite surveillance on the mission.’ Why wouldn’t Peter ask her? She was sure Ann wasn’t there.
‘That’s the most worrying part.’
‘I would have thought the continued refusal over Gower might have been?’
‘Then you’re not thinking clearly enough,’ said Miller, brusquely. ‘It can only mean Gower’s hanging on.’
Patricia’s face burned at the curtness but she chose not to argue against it. ‘What next?’
‘The Chinese ambassador is being told we are considering withdrawing our ambassador, for consultations.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’
‘Of course it is!’ said Miller, brusque again. ‘We’re bluffing. We’ve just got to hope the bastards don’t call it.’
Forty-six
The enmity between them had become absolute after the confession, which should have made it easier for Snow to leave the mission without any farewell,
but he was reluctant to go like that. Despite no bond ever having grown between them, Snow felt the older priest deserved a warning at least. It was a deceit not to say something, just as it had been a deceit contriving the protective confession. The justification from the man who had come to get him out – his protection is not knowing – did not seem as acceptable in the echoing, dust-clogged church during early morning prayers as it had in the cramped embassy room less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Snow prayed for a long time. He prayed most fervently for forgiveness, for what he now accepted to be the mistakes and the wrongs he had committed. And then for courage, for what he had to do that day. And finally to be allowed to escape, apologizing as he did so for the weakness it showed.
He was aware, while he prayed, of Father Robertson entering and then leaving the church for his own worship. When Snow reached their living quarters there was no sign of the other priest. Snow felt positively sick, so he did not want anything to eat, but he brewed coffee, enough for both of them. Still Father Robertson did not appear. Finally Snow called for the man. There was no response. Snow looked into the empty office and finally knocked tentatively on Father Robertson’s bedroom door, beginning to fear another collapse. When he pushed the door open, the room was empty, the bed tidily made.
Snow accepted, sighing, that the problem of leaving the mission had been resolved for him. Father Robertson wouldn’t think any less of him, when he realized what had happened: it was probably impossible for the man to think any less than he already did. So it would have been a gesture entirely for his own benefit. Unimportant, then. Snow fervently hoped there was protection, in Father Robertson not knowing.
After just a few sips of the coffee the feeling of sickness worsened, so Snow threw the remainder away: the nausea was more discomforting than the tightness in his chest, which really wasn’t too bad at all, not as bad as he’d expected it might be. There was certainly no need at this stage for an inhaler.
With the edited pictures set out on the table before him, Snow wrote to Li as he had been instructed, apologizing for the photographs being incomplete, pausing briefly when he’d finished that letter as the idea came of writing also to Father Robertson. Positively Snow laid the pen aside, rising from the desk. The decision had been made for him, he repeated to himself.
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