Fa sighed.
“ ‘Item 5. MSS encrypted text message to TACONITE. Decrypt of text phone message sent to TACONITE from MSS HQ three days prior to Lotus expiration reads: “Proceed Cleveland. Implement OP WHITEOUT. Fullest authority.” Signed’ ”—Fa took off his glasses, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his temples. He’d rehearsed the gesture with Gang—“ ‘NIU. Ox. Operational code name MSS Lo Guowei.
“ ‘Item 6—’ ”
“Save your breath, Comrade,” Lo said. “And spare me having to listen to any more of this shit.”
He lit a cigarette, inhaled, looked around the table slowly, from one member to another. “And you, Comrades. What about you? Are you all part of this shadow-puppet show? Eh?”
No one spoke. Most averted their eyes.
“What about you, Wu?” Lo said. “Did you throw in with our dear Comrade President because of what I know about your bank accounts in Zurich and Monaco? Eh?”
Fa thought, Well, well. Tree is shaken and hidden birds fly out.
Wu paled. “That’s not so.”
“Oh? In that case you won’t have anything to worry about if the CCDI—Custodian of Party Integrity!—takes a look into it. What about you, Xe? Still sucking off that fourteen-year-old boy in Hangchow? Eh? Still trying to stick your limp little—”
“Lo!” Fa commanded. The room froze. “Enough.”
Lo glared, his facial muscles twitching.
“You are dismissed,” Fa said.
Lo stood. He stubbed his cigarette out on the table’s polished wooden surface. “All of you. You will look back on this day and curse your mothers’ wombs.”
The door opened. Three CCDI agents were waiting to take Lo into custody.
The door closed. Fa let the air settle a moment. Comrade Ministers Wu and Xe looked as though they might be physically ill. Fa said to them gently, “Comrades, no one here is on trial. But if you need to be excused . . .”
Both Wu and Xe shook their heads.
“Very well, then,” Fa said, “let us proceed with the next matter. General Han. Can you explain to us these . . . items that have been appearing on your websites?”
Han seemed more rattled than before, unnerved by the rapid takedown of his fellow cabal member Lo.
He protested vehemently that the “despicable items” were the result of “a villainous hack” clearly orchestrated by the Americans. His technical people were vigorously investigating. More time was needed, but they would get to the bottom of it. Meanwhile each of the offending items had been speedily removed, within minutes—“seconds, even”—of appearing. All PLA website staff had been “taken into custody” and “were being interrogated with utmost rigor.”
Fa flinched inwardly. He’d not anticipated this. “Do you mean, General, that they are being tortured?”
Han shrugged. “Does Comrade President truly think that I would not proceed with all necessary measures to find the snakes and rats at the bottom of this well? Rest assured, Comrade, this was an act of sabotage against China’s national security itself !”
Fa said quietly, “You will release these people, General. Immediately. I will not have our fine military people subjected to that.”
“They’ll be released when I am satisfied of their innocence.”
“Now, General.”
Han went on, blaming the Americans, urging immediate cyber-retaliation, reiterating his indignation and fury, but he was a man giving a speech on the deck of a sinking ship.
Fa let him go on. When Han had finally exhausted himself, a mortified silence again descended on the room.
At length Fa said, “Let us follow procedure, Comrades. This matter too should be referred to the CCDI.” He affected a look of corporate disappointment and shame. “I must say, we seem to be giving the commission much work to do these days.”
Han objected that the CCDI had no military jurisdiction, but by now the water was up to his waist, and it was cold. A few moments later, he was gone from the room, for the last time.
FA SAT IN HIS USUAL SEAT, the toilet. Gang on a stool, opposite. They sipped their whiskeys to the accompaniment of the symphony.
Fa looked around the bathroom. “We won’t have to have our talks in here anymore, now. Do you know, Gang, I think I shall almost miss it.”
“I won’t miss having to pee every five minutes. All this rushing water. But it is tranquil, in its own way.” Gang smiled. “The president of the People’s Republic of China. General Secretary of the Communist Party. One of the most powerful men on earth. Hanging about in bathrooms. Let’s hope that doesn’t end up on a PLA website.”
Fa considered. “That would be unfortunate.”
The two men laughed and clinked glasses.
CHAPTER 47
HOW ARE THE ADMIRAL’S KIDNEYS DOING?
Barney? Is that you, you rascal?”
Rogers P. Fancock sounded quite upbeat.
“You sound like you been sucking on helium, Rog. Don’t fly away, now.”
“Yes, I am feeling rather light, now that you mention it.”
“Well, keep holding on to something. Can’t have you floating off into the big blue. Not with all those satellites going by.”
“Yes, it’s going to be a little bit more crowded up there, isn’t it? Tell me, are you with our friends?”
“I am. The Gang of Three is all here. Admiral Zhang sends his compliments. And Lev sends his regards. I owe him ten dollars. Can I bill that to the government?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Fancock said, “I’d have to run that by Treasury. And we run a pretty tight ship, you know.”
“Well, Lev being a Russian oligarch billionaire, maybe he’ll cut me some slack. Let me pay him in installments.”
Fancock thought he heard Melnikov’s accented voice in the background pointing out that he was a naturalized American citizen.
Barney said to Fancock, “Says he’s a naturalized American. But I’d like to take a close look at his papers. Another ten bucks says they’re forged.”
“How are the admiral’s kidneys doing?” Fancock asked.
“Better since he stopped taking that stuff that was spiking his creatinine levels.”
“Good. Good. Well, the Big Guy had a very good phone call this morning with President Fa. President Fa said that he was mortified—mortified beyond words— by the unfortunate revelations about Minister Lo. He hopes the president will accept his word that Lo acted entirely on his own. Further, he very much hoped that we might see a way to keeping the revelations from ever becoming public. Of course I told him that the president said that would rather depend on whether China dropped its objection to the satellite. In that event, our president would incline to call it a day, dispose of the evidence and move on. By the way, did you hear the news that General Han resigned as defense minister? Health. Maybe his kidneys are failing. Anyway, it came over the news fifteen minutes ago—China is dropping its objections to the satellite.”
“Big of them,” Barney said.
Fancock laughed. “Of course, being China, they did it with a maximum of face-saving. The announcement came from some underdeputy of a department no one here’s heard of before. It called the satellite a quote ‘Practical solution to the dilemma of lama disposal.’ Don’t you love that? Lama disposal! Never miss a trick, the Chinese. Just when you’re ready to give them a hug, they revert to form. Well, clarifies things anyway.
“You’ll like this, too. They used the occasion to announce the identity of the fifteenth Dalai Lama. It appears that the new Dalai Lama is a twelve-year-old Chinese lad—living in Beijing! How convenient is that? Talk about an ‘elegant solution’! And what do you know, his mum and dad are both loyal party members. What a coincidence, eh? Apparently mum and dad are a bit nonplussed by it all but they’re—I’m quoting here—‘willing to permit their son to be the living Buddha reincarnation so long as his comportment is consistent with party standards and doctrine.’ Reminds me of what the lady said about Oscar Wilde and his gentl
eman friends. ‘My dear, I don’t care what they do so long as they don’t do it in the street and frighten the horses.’ The lad told Xinhua he wants to pursue a career in metallurgy—metallurgy!—once he’s completed his military service. A very modern lama, I’d say. How do you suppose all this is going down in Lhasa? I wonder. I imagine now we’ll have not one but two dalai lamas. Like the Avignon popes. Imagine my joy . . . Hold on, Barn. What is it Bletchin? . . . Yes, yes, tell him I’ll be right there . . . Barn? Got to run. The Big Guy is calling.”
Barney said, “Did you have that boy come in and pretend the president wants you just so you can get off the phone? I call that sad, Rog. After all I’ve done. I call that almost tragic.”
“Well, you’ll just have to wonder, won’t you?” Fancock chuckled. “Maybe he wants to give me the Medal of Freedom. I’ll admit—and only to you—I’ve always rather wanted one of those.”
“That’s fine, but if I was you, I’d keep my eye out for more incriminating photographs of you having cozy suppers in dark restaurants with beautiful women one-third your age.”
“That would put me permanently in the soup with Dorothy. Well, toodle-oo, old friend.”
“Toodle-oo?”
“Barn?”
“I’m still here, Rog.”
“Well done, my boy. Damn well done.”
“See? It’s not that hard, telling someone you love him.”
“Um. Can’t promise I’ll get used to it.”
EPILOGUE
LOOK, THE CRICKETS ARE DANCING!
Bird and Bewks stood bathed in the orange glow of the flames, an unlikely pair: one in sandals and saffron robe, the other in the uniform of a colonel of Confederate cavalry.
Mother and Belle had been safely evacuated. Mother was now trying to bite the EMTs and being restrained by the pregnant Belle. The volunteer fire department had done what it could, but the conflagration, so spectacularly ignited, had spread quickly and voraciously, from the old pump house adjoining Upkeep. It had been a rainless summer. Upkeep’s century-and-a-half-old wood was dry as tinder. And this time there were no devoted slaves to put out the blaze.
“Sorry about this,” Bewks said. “Peckfuss. I can’t believe he moved his damn meth lab into the pump house. No wonder he took off out of here like a scalded dog.”
“I’m just glad he wasn’t in the shed at the time.”
“That’s more understanding than I’m inclined to view the situation with.”
Bird was smiling, holding his hands out toward the heat, as if to warm them. “Possessions,” he said. “What a splendid fire they make!”
“Is that one of your Buddha deals? Not caring when someone burns down your house?”
Bird considered. “I have a lot of reading to do. I don’t know if Chenrezig specifically teaches us to forgive those who fire cannonballs into meth labs next to our houses. But I guess the general drift is to live and let live.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure Delmer Fitts is going to feel terrible about this. Once the Oxy wears off.”
“Tell him it’s no big thing. But he might want to correct his aim to the left a click or two.”
“That’s nice of you, big brother, but I don’t think Delmer will be handling artillery for the Fifty-sixth in the future.”
They watched the house crackle and burn.
“Look at the crickets in the firelight,” Bird said. “They’re dancing!”
“Looks more to me like they’re trying to get the hell away from the fire. You didn’t take any of those pills, did you?”
“Oh, no. My pain is over.”
“Is it like being born again, only instead of Jesus it’s this Chenzigger individual?”
Bird smiled. “That’s such a complicated question, Bewks.”
“You don’t have to answer. Whatever it is, you seem pretty chill.”
“Chill?” Bird held his hands out again toward the flaming house. “No, I’m warm.”
Bewks gave him a look of concern. “You’re not going to walk into the fire or anything, are you? I know Buddhist monks have a propensity to immolate themselves on occasion.”
“Wow,” Bird said. “It’s so weird you should say that. I was just about to run into the fire!”
Bewks looked at him.
Bird grinned.
“Don’t do that, big brother. Right now I’m not sure I’d put anything past you, what with this transition you appear to be going through.”
They watched the fire.
“It does seem a waste,” Bird said.
“I know. Honest, I feel horrible about this. Soon as I’m done smacking Delmer unconscious, I’m going to find Peckfuss and—”
“No, not that. I was only thinking what an amazing living history of the burning of Atlanta you could have done with this. Your own Gone with the Wind! What a backdrop this would make!”
Bewks stared at his brother.
Suddenly Bird said, “No!”
“No what?” Bewks said with concern.
“It’s perfect as it is! Why do we always say, ‘Oh, it could be better’? When it’s already perfect?”
“Not sure I have an answer to that, big brother. But I will mull on it.”
“Look. The crickets!” Bird put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “See? They are dancing. Thank you, Bewks. Thank you for allowing me to share this moment with you.”
Bewks didn’t really know what to say to that, so he said, “You’re welcome, big brother.”
APPRECIATIONS AND APOLOGIAS
Thank you, my very dear Mr. Karp, now at Simon & Schuster. A heartfelt “Om mani padme hum” to Living Karp Reincarnation Cary Goldstein at Twelve. Blessings and incense upon Dorothea Halliday and her team. Thank you once again, Amanda “Binky” Urban. My daughter, Caitlin, gave her old da precocious advice, as did beloved longtime (and long-suffering) first responders Lucy Buckley and John Tierney. Dr. Hege Mostad and the doctors of the LSHTM’s DTM&H class of 2011. I plundered and pillaged like a Mongol in Richard McGregor’s The Party: The Secret World of China’s Communist Rulers; Andrew J. Nathan and Bruce Gilley’s China’s New Rulers: The Secret Files; Evan Osnos’s fine reporting in the New Yorker; and, not least, in Henry Kissinger’s magisterial Sino-summa, On China. My admiration for Terry Southern and Stanley Kubrick will be obvious from certain passages; and yes, I know it’s For Whom the Bell Tolls (see page 240).
A number of actual people appear here under their own names, most conspicuously His Holiness the Dalai Lama, my good “taciturn” friend Chris Matthews, and, offstage, the aforementioned magisterial author of On China. Neither they nor any of the other real-life personages herein should be held accountable for my liberties. This is a novel, after all.
Finally, another large Milk-Bone to the Faithful Hound Jake, who kept the perimeter secure and barked, especially when no one was there.
Summer Solstice, 2011
Stamford, Connecticut
Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Prologue: Dumbo
Chapter 1: Bird
Chapter 2: Taurus
Chapter 3: Angel
Chapter 4: Upkeep
Chapter 5: This is our Eureka Moment
Chapter 6: Cool Limpidity
Chapter 7: Muons?
Chapter 8: The Humanitarian Thing To Do
Chapter 9: The Gathering Storm
Chapter 10: I Don’t Think We’re in Afghanistan Anymore, Toto
Chapter 11: Have We Gone Over to the Dark Side?
Chapter 12: Bigger than Anne Frank
Chapter 13: Comrade Fa’s Great Secret
Chapter 14: What was the name of that Movie?
Chapter 15: The Things Henry Tells Me
Chapter 16: We’re Looking for a Saffron Revolution
Chapter 17: Why not Just Nudge the thing Along a Bit?
Chapter 18: Isn’t Momma Clever?
Chapter 19: What Wonderful Friends We Have
Chapter 20: May
I Be Candid Here?
Chapter 21: This Skyscraper of Prevarication
Chapter 22: This Just in from Zhongnanhai
Chapter 23: More Than I Could Have Hoped For
Chapter 24: If this were a Novel
Chapter 25: Now Then, Jangpom
Chapter 26: Oh, Randolph!
Chapter 27: The Fog Machine of War
Chapter 28: You Really are a Thoroughgoing Bastard, Aren’t You?
Chapter 29: Pinggg
Chapter 30: How many Hells have We Been Through Together?
Chapter 31: Not one Word of Truth in the Entire Thing
Chapter 32: Dragon Greatness
Chapter 33: War is Hell
Chapter 34: Please, Sir, May I Have More?
Chapter 35: Have a Valium
Chapter 36: Ought to Be Hanged, The Pair of Them
Chapter 37: A Finger In Many Pies
Chapter 38: But Tell Me About Your Week
Chapter 39: A Thing of Rare Beauty
Chapter 40: I’m Going To Make You a Star
Chapter 41: Beware of Americans Bearing Lotus
Chapter 42: Marvelous Skin
Chapter 43: An Obvious Fake
Chapter 44: Bling-Bling, Boom-Boom
Chapter 45: Lot of Body Parts in That Sentence
Chapter 46: A Most Villainous Hack
Chapter 47: How are the Admiral’s Kidneys Doing?
Epilogue: Look, The Crickets are Dancing!
Appreciations And Apologias
They Eat Puppies, Don't They? Page 30