by Allan Topol
Mei Ling stood erect. Her face tightly drawn. “I’ll fight him all the way. Let the people finish what they started with Tiananmen Square. They want freedom from domination, from people like the Zhous. They’ll rush to support me.”
His mouth drawn tight, Wei was shaking his head.
“Why not?” she said.
“General Zhou has given an order for you to be murdered before he arrives. He doesn’t want any opposition. He’s demanding that the Central Committee rubber stamp his appointment as president. If not, the military will take over the state and appoint its own designees to the Central Committee.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I have a source within the top military command.”
“Who?”
“I’d rather not say. And it’s better for you if you don’t know.”
Mei Ling thought about what he said. “You’re right. But surely you and your colleagues won’t permit General Zhou to take over the government.”
Wei held out his hands, palms open. “What choice do we have? The military is too powerful.”
In despair and frustration, she ran her hands through her hair.
“Then what do you think I should do?”
He handed her the black briefcase. “In the bag I have a false ID for you, a passport, credit cards. A wig and eyeglasses. Also a roundtrip plane ticket to Paris with a return flight in one week to make it look like you’re going for a vacation. Tear up the return ticket when you get to Paris.”
Mei Ling was stunned. She couldn’t respond.
Wei continued, “My driver is waiting outside the hospital in my car. He’ll take you to the airport. And he’s completely loyal. You don’t have to worry about him.”
“I have to go home and pack.”
“No. No!” Wei looked terrified. “You don’t have time. In the trunk I put a small suitcase stuffed with some of my wife’s clothes. Every second is precious. You have to go immediately. Once General Zhou’s thugs can’t locate you, they’ll give the order to passport control at the airport to stop you. But you may get out before that happens. And even if not, the fake ID may be sufficient.”
She took the case and raced for the door.
The driver, hunched over the wheel, eyes straight ahead never
saying a word, pushed his speed to close to a hundred miles an hour. Mei Ling was tightly belted in the back, her eyes closed, gripping the armrest with one hand and a door handle with the other.
The driver pulled up to the curb at the Air France departure area. He handed her a suitcase from the trunk, seeming as relieved to be rid of his passenger as Mei Ling was to have arrived.
The Air France check-in went smoothly. Passport control was the tough one. Mei Ling found it ironic that in most countries it was far more difficult to get in than get out. But not China. The regime was afraid of dissidents leaving and causing damage to their rule.
Mei Ling was sorry she drew a sour looking obese woman with a red, pockmarked face as the agent to review her documents. She slid her passport under the glass window.
“Lily Fei,” the woman said, pronouncing emphatically the name on Mei Ling’s passport.
“Yes,” Mei Ling said politely, trying to keep her knees from knocking.
“Why are you going to Paris?”
“For a vacation. To see the sites.”
“You don’t like our sites here? You think Paris has more to offer?”
“I like our sites. It’s just for a change.”
“You have some people to meet in France? Other Chinese who don’t like our country?”
Mei Ling shook her head. “I don’t know anyone in Paris.”
Once the words were out of her mouth, Mei Ling wanted to take them back.
“And you’re going alone?”
“That’s right.” Mei Ling tried not to sound defensive.
The agent reached for a phone on the counter.
Uh-oh, Mei Ling thought. I’m in trouble.
The agent was staring hard at Mei Ling, who didn’t flinch.
Suddenly and inexplicably the agent let go of the phone, stamped Mei Ling’s passport and waved her through. The incredible power of these agents was astounding, literarily holding people’s lives in their hands. Equally amazing was the arbitrariness with which they exercised it.
In the boarding area, Mei Ling bought a newspaper and sat close to the point at which passengers would form a line. She concealed her face behind the newspaper, pretending to be reading.
She was the third passenger to board the plane. She didn’t feel safe until they were in the air. And really safe until the pilot announced, “We’re leaving Chinese airspace.”
She vowed to defeat Zhou and to return one day.
Corsica and Paris
The ringing cell woke Elizabeth out of a sound sleep at La Villa in Calvi. The red digital numbers on the clock on the nightstand read 4:10 a.m. That damn Craig, she thought. Why doesn’t he turn off his phone at night? Then she realized it was her phone. She grabbed it and took it into the living room. She couldn’t believe Craig was still sleeping. But he’d drunk at least a bottle of wine at dinner.
She stubbed her toe on an oversized chair and found the green button in the dim light. “Yes. Elizabeth here.”
“Listen, Liz. It’s Carl in Beijing.”
About noon there, she thought.
“I’ll talk fast because we could get cut off any second. Something big has gone down here. They’ve barred all journalists from communicating with their papers or media bosses. They’re trying to impose a news blackout. A communication wall around the country. I kept
calling foreign contacts, including all the people at my newspaper. I also tried email. Nothing got through until now. Somehow this call wasn’t blocked. Only thing I can figure is those systems aren’t foolproof.”
“What happened?” she said anxiously.
“President Li died during surgery. Cause not known. Meantime, the army is out in the streets. Very visible. Tanks in Tiananmen Square, which is roped off. The works.”
“Why?”
“Nobody knows.”
“A military coup?”
“Looks like it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Run the story in your paper. But don’t attribute it to me. I don’t want to land in a Chinese prison. Certainly not when I’m so close to coming home.”
“Can you give me any more facts?”
“You can say that…”
The phone went dead. Elizabeth was staring at it when she realized Craig was standing in the doorway.
“Who was that?” he asked.
She told him what Carl had said.
“We called it right, yesterday,” Craig said. “General Zhou is trying to grab the presidency. He’s probably in the air on his way back to Beijing. He has the military out in a holding operation until he gets back. To prevent the Central Committee from naming someone else as the president.”
She reached for her laptop and opened it.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing up the story for the Herald. I’m too late for the print edition, but it’ll still make the online version. If Carl’s right about the news blackout, I’ll have a helluva scoop. We may be the only ones with the story.”
“Don’t you want to call Rob, your editor, first?”
“Let him sleep a little longer. He gets grumpy when reporters wake him. How would you like to get us seats on the first plane to Paris this morning?”
“I was waiting for you to say that. I didn’t want to be the one.”
She walked over and kissed him. “Thanks for a great vacation. A little short, but…”
“Let’s come back when this is all over. We still have a lot of Corsica to explore.”
“I’d love that. We’ll start at La Villa in Calvi. They have great chocolate mousse.”
He smiled.
As he called Air France, he looked over her shoulder, watching her t
yping. “Chaos in China,” was her title.
With the scant information Carl had given her, she finished the article in fifteen minutes, lingering only on the last paragraph. “There are indications that General Zhou, exiled from China by President Li a year and a half ago, is en route to Beijing to seize the presidency. Could this be the beginning of a period of military rule in China?”
Elizabeth asked Craig to read the article while she packed.
After she was finished, she asked him, “What do you think?”
“Perfect. I particularly like the last paragraph.”
“Figured you would. I’ll call Rob.”
As she expected, Rob sounded grumpy. “I thought you were on vacation. That I wouldn’t have to deal with you for a whole week.”
“Sorry. This couldn’t wait. I have your lead story for today’s online version. And you’ll love me for it. There’s a news blackout in China. We’ll be the only ones who have it.”
“Okay.” He yawned. “Send it to my computer and stay on the phone until I read it.”
“It’s on the way.”
After a pause of several minutes, Rob said, “What’s your source for all this?”
“I can’t disclose that.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’m serious.”
“There’s a news blackout. You got the info. And you won’t tell me your source?”
“That’s right.”
“Hold on, Elizabeth. I’ll call Jeremy, our reporter in Beijing.”
“You won’t be able to get through.”
“Just hold on.”
A minute later, Rob was back on the phone. “I can’t reach Jeremy on any line. My email to him was marked undeliverable.”
“Told you so.”
“Okay. I’ll run your article with your byline. I’ll add upfront, ‘Sources in Beijing have disclosed…’ How’s that?”
“Good.”
“You won’t like this, but I’m cutting the last paragraph. That’s pure speculation about General Zhou.”
She fought hard for several minutes, but Rob wouldn’t budge. And he had the last word.
On her return to Paris, Elizabeth was a media star. No one else had the story about President Li’s death and Chinese troops in the streets and Tiananmen Square. CNN was complaining about the Chinese news blackout.
She spent the first couple of hours at her desk ducking questions from government officials and others in the media about her source.
At five in the afternoon her phone rang. The caller was speaking English. “This is Mei Ling. I hope you remember me. We met once in Beijing.”
Mei Ling sounded frightened.
Elizabeth’s heart was beating rapidly. Mei Ling was one of the most heroic people Elizabeth had ever met. She had the courage to defy General Zhou and deliver to Elizabeth a copy of his agreement with Iran which enabled Elizabeth and Craig to block his plan to cut off the flow of imported oil to the United States.
“Of course, I remember you. Where are you?”
“In Paris. I saw your article today. I must talk to you.”
“Where can we meet?”
“I’m staying at the Hotel Le Burgundy. Number Six Rue Duphot.”
“Shall I meet you in the lobby?”
“No. No. Come to my room.”
“Number?”
“Six ten,” she replied in a halting voice. “I’m using the name Lily Fei. But please don’t mention this to anyone. I’m in great danger.”
Elizabeth called Craig and told him about Mei Ling. “Do you want to come with me,” she asked.
“No. You’re better to go alone. She might not confide in you if I were there.”
Elizabeth asked the cab driver to drop her in front of the Madeleine with its large, gray, stone columns. She wanted to walk the last few blocks to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
She used Craig’s system of three rapid left turns.
Confident no one was there, she entered the six-story, white stone building with red awnings on the front windows and rode the elevator to six. Softly, she tapped on the door. When she heard Mei Ling call from the inside, “Who’s there?” she said, “Elizabeth.” She heard two locks unsnap. The door opened quickly. Once Elizabeth was in the room, Mei Ling closed it equally fast. The two of them sat down across a small round table in front of the window covered by thick curtains drawn tightly.
“I called you,” Mei Ling said. “Because I was convinced when we met in Beijing at the Summer Palace that you were someone I could trust. And I was right. You needed my help in China and you never betrayed my confidence. Now, I need yours.”
Elizabeth was leaning forward, hanging on to each word.
Stopping occasionally for a breath, Mei Ling poured out her story about President Li’s death, the support she had within the Central Committee to be the next president, General Zhou’s plan to kill her, and finally her escape from China. “He wanted to kill me just as he killed President Li.”
“How can you be sure President Li was murdered?”
“Even Yin Shao, the Minister of Health, a doctor himself, had no other explanation for what happened in the operating room.”
She paused to take a deep breath. “Now I’m scared,” she continued. “Even here in Paris. General Zhou will be the next president of China. If he learns where I am, he’ll send someone to kill me. He’s a vicious man.”
After hearing her story, Elizabeth concluded they had to keep Mei Ling safe. To begin with, she and Craig owed a great obligation to Mei Ling for the help she had given them in blocking Operation Dragon Oil.
And if Craig ever found a way to bring down General Zhou, it would help to have Mei Ling in the wings, ready to succeed him.
She called Craig and explained everything to him.
Craig immediately responded, “I’ll call Jacques, the Director of French Intelligence. Ask him to arrange for an armed French policeman to be in front of her hotel twenty-four seven. If Mei Ling goes anywhere, the policeman will follow her.”
“What about secrecy?” Elizabeth asked.
“I’ll have Jacques specify in the records that we’re providing
protection to Lily Fei, not Mei Ling. Now let me get off the phone so I can call Jacques. I’ll tell him to have someone there within the hour.”
Elizabeth explained all this to Mei Ling who took a deep breath and exhaled with relief. “Thank you so much.”
Though Mei Ling told Elizabeth she could leave now, she remained until they heard a knock on the door. Elizabeth opened it and saw a powerful-looking French uniformed policeman, a gun holstered at his side.
Elizabeth introduced him to Lily Fei. “I’ll be out on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, Madam Fei. I’m part of a three man shift. Eight hours each. You don’t have to worry. You’ll be safe.”
When the policeman left, Elizabeth removed a wad of euros from her bag and handed them to Mei Ling. “To help you get settled in Paris.”
“No. No. I can’t possibly take this.”
“Please. You can repay me later.”
Mei Ling took the money and thanked Elizabeth profusely. She left after giving Mei Ling all of her phone numbers as well as Craig’s, and telling her, “Call me any hour of the day. And I’ll keep in touch with you.”
From the hotel, Elizabeth went to Craig’s office. As she entered, she saw the widescreen television was on. He was staring intently at it.
“This is CNN,” Craig said. “The news blackout is over. They’re expecting a representative of the Chinese government to make a statement.”
Elizabeth pulled up a chair and sat next to him.
Seconds later, a familiar face appeared on the screen: Wang Shi, the Deputy Premier under President Li. He was standing behind a lectern speaking to a room full of reporters.
“The last twenty-four hours,” Wang began in a sober tone, “have been significant for the People’s Republic of China.
“Our beloved and revered Pre
sident Li went to a Beijing hospital for a serious surgery. I have the sad task of informing you with great sorrow that he died during this surgery. The medial examiner has concluded that the cause of death was a heart attack brought on by the surgery. The physicians had no basis to believe his body would go into cardiac arrest. It was one of those unfortunate events that sometimes occur during surgery.”
“Bullshit,” Craig shouted at the television screen.
“He can’t hear you,” Elizabeth said.
“I know, but I feel better venting.”
Wang continued. “The Central Committee met as soon as they learned of this tragic occurrence. I am pleased to tell you that they have selected the new President of the People’s Republic of China. And he was a unanimous choice.”
Elizabeth was holding her breath.
“The new President of the People’s Republic of China is General Zhou, former Commander of the Chinese Armed Forces. A hero. A great man. I am confident, as are all the members of the Central Committee, that General Zhou will continue China’s advancement in the world.”
“Boo,” Craig called out. “Wang’s a gutless traitor. He was supposed to be Li’s man.”
“He’s doing what politicians do the world over. Whatever is necessary for their own survival.”
Wang didn’t take a single question. Instead, he gathered up his notes, walked away from the lectern, and left the room while reporters were shouting after him.
“Our nightmare scenario,” Craig said to Elizabeth. “God help us.”
“What can you do about it?” Elizabeth asked.
“Well, I certainly can’t remove General Zhou from the Chinese presidency. But at least I can make sure Washington understands his perspective and his hatred for the United States. There have been so many changes since President Brewster was in the White House.”
“Good luck doing that with President Dalton and CIA director Norris. They won’t even talk to you.”
“No, but Betty will. And at least she’s on the inside.”
Craig picked up the phone and dialed. Elizabeth heard him say, “Betty, I know you need a vacation. Spring is a wonderful time in Paris. How about coming over for a few days? You can stay with me and Elizabeth.”