by Rob Wood
Lily barked the briefest of orders. “Show them what the 88 can do—but no casualties. Some of those are Uighurs out there. ‘A’ team: you’re in Rover II, the rest of you are with me. Saddle up!”
Cao Kai had come to a dazed halt, staring toward the karez. The trucks were not where he had left them. Instead, they were spread out back of the karez in a loose semi-circle.
“Strange…”
There was a roar behind him. His group turned to see Lily’s two Land Rovers leap out of the cave mouth, taking positions on their left and right. A moment later, light automatic weapons fire erupted from their own trucks, the muzzle flashes winking less than a hundred yards away.
Then the boom of the mounted 88 started, reverberating in the cave mouth, sending geysers of sand sputtering in an angry curtain at their backs.
In seconds the desert had gone from tranquility to a riot of sound and back to quiet, ominous quiet.
Lily spoke from the lead Land Rover: “Drop your weapons. Step away from the pallets.”
In slow motion Cao Kai’s men lowered the gurneys. They side-stepped away from them and, in broken, hesitant gestures, began to unsling their rifles. Now, oh-so-delicately, they held the barrels and stocks by their fingertips, as if the weapons were too hot to touch. The man with the Norinco tossed it away. Those with submachine guns followed suit. Cao Kai remained where he was, listening to the muffled thud of weapon after weapon dropping to the sand.
Head held high, blood still running down her chin, Lily walked deliberately, imperiously, toward the group of Chinese. Some followed her march, saucer-eyed and slack jawed. Others stared nervously at the ground. Some whispered, “Loulan!”
Lily kept her eyes focused on Cao Kai.
Behind her, one of her men lugged two jerry cans of gasoline from Rover I. The team from the other Rover advanced, matching Lily stride for stride.
“Form up over here.” She directed Cao Kai’s Chinese into a tight circle covered by one of her men. “’A’ team, take back my money.”
Looking directly into Cao Kai’s eyes, she said, “’B’ Team, douse the drugs with gasoline. I don’t want them in Xinjiang.”
There was a collective gasp among the Uighurs. Cao Kai’s eyes widened. “That’s an expensive gesture, a useless gesture, Miss Zhang,” he said.
Lily smiled, “The national hero Yu Fei tells us we must be prepared to sacrifice. He also told us to be prepared. I netted the real drugs further up the karez. These are fake. It is you, Cao Kai, who must give something up.” Lily, still holding his gaze, reached over and removed his sidearm from the holster. The weapon was still warm.
With a whoosh, the pallets caught fire, turning instantly into a towering pyre. Even though it was broad daylight, the intensity of the flames made the figures in the desert flicker as if caught in a fierce electric strobe.
Lily studied Cao’s face as if she wanted to remember it like this. She lowered the gun. She pulled the trigger. The shot shattered Cao’s knee cap, and he sprawled face down on the ground, panting. She placed her foot on the back of his neck, grinding his face into the soft pillows of Taklamakan sand.
“I despise you, Cao Kai. You and your kind have taken everything: our virtue, our identity. . .”
Cao Kai shivered upward, inches off the ground, pushing with his one good arm, then sank back.
“I have thought about this moment,” said Lily softIy, “even dreamed about it. I decided I wanted your last memory to be a taste of Xinjiang.” She put her weight on his neck, pushing his face into the sand. He couldn’t breathe. The nose broke. The head tottered. The sand engulfed him. She didn’t step away until the body was without breath or movement.
“Ironic,” Lily thought. “Cao Kai drowned in the desert.”
65
JUST THINK ABOUT IT
Jovanovich thought of himself as a military professional. He understood orders. But increasingly his job meant working in a world of strategic nuance seldom seen in an actual battle. And although he always welcomed Carla Izquidero to his Suitland office as a friend and colleague, there were times when her entrance signaled nothing but new problems. This was one of those times.
“So, what you’re saying,” he said, “is that someone at State is interested in our teams, now that two of our people helped unravel this Cao Kai thing before anyone got burned?”
“Oh, the interest has been there all along. These people are thinking all the time.” Izquidero crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in her chair. “But you have to admit, this got a pretty high profile internally.”
“Like Seal Team Six?”
“Yes and no. ‘Yes,’ it now looks like China Team and its cousins are bona fide tools in the international arena. And ‘ No,’ no one sees this as equivalent to rapid, weaponized insertion. This effort unfolded over a period of time. It was subtle and long lasting.”
“Sounds like the description of your ulcer meds.”
“As long as the Rx is right,” Izquidero shrugged. “State likes the fact that we had players on board from both China and the U.S.”
“That wasn’t really our doing. Lily Zhang reached out to us. “
“And we accommodated her. There is a relationship now with Purdy and Cochrane.”
“Still, you can’t read this as ‘allies with a common purpose.’ The team de-brief suggests Zhang had her own agenda, and part of it was personal.”
“I don’t want to judge,” said Izquidero. “I just want to point out that if you establish mutual interests, affinities of interest, you can collaborate much easier and accomplish more. Moreover, the Chinese have a culture that strongly feels the obligation to repay debts of gratitude. Correct?”
“So I’m told. Cochrane says so, anyway. Do you have something in mind in terms of debt repayment?”
“There is someone under house arrest in Shandong province.”
“There are many dissidents in prison in China.” Jovanovich threw up his hands. “Lots of people are under arrest in lots of places. The number is in the thousands, according to Human Rights Watch.”
“This guy isn’t so much a dissident. He’s not necessarily interested in regime change. He’s a lawyer. His name is Cheng Guangcheng. He’s all about the importance of the rule of law—Chinese law. He’s determined to focus attention on legislation already passed, but conveniently ignored. State likes him. They see change coming.”
“Why this guy specifically?”
“He got into trouble by organizing villagers in a class action lawsuit protesting forced abortions.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. That’s an issue with legs. But—‘til now—this guy was not as well known as the writers and bloggers. He’s no firebrand. He’s just a lawyer interested in due process.”
“And for this he was locked up?”
“Locked up and then some. He and his family have been beaten. Relatives have been threatened. He’s under house arrest with 100 guards, if that tells you anything.”
“Tells me the internal security police are running around on steroids.”
“That’s a major part of the problem. These are the guys that were in league with Cao Kai.”
“And for that reason, you think Lily Zhang might be interested?” Jovanovich stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“More than that,” replied Izquidero. “It may be in the interest of all those in China who think the future is in political reform, a loosening up, rather than a ratcheting down a la North Korea. Some say this could be a turning point.”
“Isn’t our involvement dangerous?”
“Of course, official involvement could be counterproductive. You don’t want to get set up as a hostile foreign government interfering with domestic Chinese policies. That doesn’t mean we can’t encourage the internal forces of reform. We’ve just got to find the right internal pressure points. Even within the Chinese Communist Party there are plenty of reform-minded leaders. This guy could be a start. Our government sees this as very important
. But getting him out is the first step. Get him inside the American embassy and our Secretary of State could personally handle the negotiations. But busting him out is touchy.”
“No question about that,” said Jovanovich. “One hundred guards? We need someone on the ground with exceptional abilities. Only one name comes to mind. But how to reach her? You don’t send a request to spring a guy out of prison through the mail. And no government person can approach Zhang without raising eyebrows or, more important, connecting U.S. officials to the operation. So, what do you want me to do…use telepathy?”
“All I ask is that you think about it. But think quickly. Time is running out.”
66
NEW VENTURES
“Did you open the drawer to the nightstand?”
“No.” Lily looked at Raj as if the question was impertinent. He was joining her for a taste of Dragon Well tea, an indulgence that said the hotel catered to high rollers. Lily was quiet for a moment. They sat at a low table in a room designed to look like an old tea house, with teak beams and paper screens: a subdued and welcome contrast to the neon glitz and chrome glamour of the rest of the hotel.
Lily poured hot water over the creased and tiny tea leaves. “So, what’s in the nightstand?”
“A deck of cards.”
“You were expecting what?”
“A bible.”
Lily shook her head. “This is Macau. This is a casino hotel. Did you count the number of floors in the hotel or the number of rooms on the floors?”
“You didn’t open the nightstand. I didn’t count the rooms.”
“Well, they’re lucky numbers. The floors and room numbers. Very auspicious.”
“Different god, I guess.”
“The ‘God of Gamblers.’ That was a film by Chow Yun Fat. Did you ever see it?”
“No. I didn’t even see his ‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” said Raj shaking his head. “It’s only been since I’ve known you that I’ve had any interest in the cinema industry. We used to say that fantasy was only for little girls and mental patients. But…” Raj hastened to say, “That was then, this is now.”
“Good choice of idiom, Raj.” Lily paused. “‘God of Gamblers’ is an interesting film. I liked it because Chow gets hit in the head, succumbs to amnesia, and plays most of the film as a simpleton.”
“Sounds like you don’t like the guy. Are you jealous?”
“No, I do like him actually. And, I’d say the success he’s had in Hong Kong and Hollywood is well deserved. It’s just that sometimes these actors begin to believe they are the parts they play—always in the right, always catnip to women, always good at cards. We all need to learn a little humility, even if we learn it from a film script.”
Another moment passed. Raj inhaled the bouquet of tea. “I’m an engineer. My problem is that movies are not reality. And I don’t believe in a God of Gamblers.”
“Of course not.” Lily shook her head. “I don’t like to gamble. I am all about assessing risk and return. You know that. We’re not here for the table games. We’re here to facilitate the habits of our acquaintances in Beijing, Shanghai and Hong Kong—none of whom are Uighurs.”
“What do you mean ‘facilitate?’”
“The government is building a high-speed rail line that will link Macau with cities all the way north to Beijing. At the same time, they’re building a sea bridge from here to Hong Kong. The Chinese love to gamble. Macau is the only place in China where casino gambling is legal. They bet about six hundred billion dollars a year here—six times the national defense budget.”
“So, this is the place to be,” mused Raj.
“You just summed up our strategy in words of one syllable,” said Lily. “But there’s more. Did you know the American company Vegas Resorts has been denied permission to build another casino on the Cotai strip?”
“The strip? That’s the world capital of gambling.”
“Of course. The question is why shouldn’t a local firm like Zhang Enterprises get a desirable piece of real estate?”
“You’re taking the American’s spot?”
“They were conveniently denied.”
“But what do you know about the gaming industry?”
“I know that here in Macau it’s several orders of magnitude bigger than Las Vegas,” Lily said coolly. “Millions of visitors a year hit the Macau casinos, where the take averages 1.5 percent, just based on house odds, absent the mark-up on all the peripherals, including concerts and designer boutiques. Did you know the Louis Vuitton shop at the Wynn hotel here is said to generate more sales per square foot than any comparable outlet in the world? And that’s peripheral cash flow. Gambling-based revenues were about $25 billion here last year. Three quarters of that is made in the VIP rooms where the high-rollers play baccarat.”
“I’m impressed,” said Raj.
“Twenty-five billion dollars should impress anyone,” Lily deadpanned. “Moreover, a not insignificant part of that is from Chinese officialdom running to Macau to gamble embezzled public money or launder bribes. I think it would be beneficial for Uighurs to share in the resources of Mother China.”
Raj nodded.
“Many satellite casinos operate here with minimal government oversight. Or, put another way, we’re looking at large amounts of untraceable cash.”
This time Raj both nodded and smiled. “That sounds useful. However, you have always said it’s bad policy to go into a business you don’t understand.”
“The odds speak for themselves,” returned Lily. “True, the barriers to entry in this business are very high, but Zhang Enterprises has the requisite cash resources. Especially after our recent drug coup. We destroyed fake drugs there in the desert. We kept the real stuff Cao had collected. And we kept his money.”
“Still, it is a business that is new to us.”
Lily nodded, accepting that point. “I’m betting on the fact, if you’ll forgive the expression, that creating casino fantasies is not altogether different than film-making.”
Raj gave her a look that said, “Tell me more.”
“Out there in the main hotel, “ said Lily, “it’s not just glitz for the sake of glitz. Casinos are windowless for a reason: to shut out reality. They’re carefully designed and engineered for an experience that promotes a sense of escape, invincibility, great wealth and good fortune. When the bells and sirens announce a winner, that’s to remind you that you, too, can win. You deserve the rare tea, the expensive liquor, the beautiful women. The entertainment is often on an epic scale—a pirate battle, a dragon materializing out of the mist. That’s especially effective on Chinese. Which reminds me, we have a coming out party this evening. A first step in our new venture.
“And you’re invited.”
67
PICNIC
Northwest Ohio is very flat and lonely, but some say on a summer day when the corn is tasseling and there’s shade to be had in Meadowland Park, there is no place quite like it.
“This is Cody.” Purdy felt proud, introducing her. “Cody, these are my brothers Tom and Billy Bob.” Purdy was using his left hand to gesture. His right arm he kept wrapped securely around Cochrane’s waist. He squinted a little in the sun.
“Just ‘Bill,’ smiled the sandy haired boy. “I’m definitely not a Billy-Bob.” He punched his brother playfully in the arm. He was clearly a Purdy, although a little more slender than his Navy brother.
Brother Tom, wearing an OSU t-shirt and cutoffs, extended his hand, too. “Heard a lot about you, Cody. That was one secret our dark-ops brother didn’t keep from us. Glad the two of you got enough leave to make it a real reunion.”
“This park is wonderful. I couldn’t think of a better place for a family get-together,” smiled Cody.
“Yeah, it’s hard to believe, but in the old days the railroad used to bring the big bands in here to Meadowland. Benny Goodman. Glenn Miller. All the big names played here under the stars. Now, there’s nothing but an empty band shell. No more ra
ilroad, no more big bands.”
“Well it’s still lovely and full of nostalgia,” said Cody. “You know, I brought some potato salad and some fruit. Hope it goes with the picnic fare. Hamburgers and brats, is it?”
“Hey, Cody, you didn’t have to bring anything,” said Tom. “You’re the guest of honor!”
“Your potato salad looks terrific!” piped up Bill “And, believe me, it’s gonna go down good. But we’re not grilling.”
“Not grilling?” Cody was genuinely surprised. “On a beautiful afternoon like this in the park?”
“Naw,” said Bill, “Tom’s got a boat up at the lake. Not for nothing is it called the ‘Lucky Lady.’”
“The Lucky Lady?” Cochrane gulped. “That’s a coincidence!”
Purdy squeezed her arm slightly. “The only coincidence,” he corrected, “is that Tom actually had some luck. Bill’s firing up the deep-fryer for some perch filets. You haven’t lived unless you’ve had Lake Erie yellow perch.”
“Right,” Cochrane caught on. “Which reminds me, sailor—how come you’re not cooking? I thought that was your thing.”
“It’s my fryer!” protested Purdy. “I built it for Tom, once he got the hang of catching fish.”
“We built it, bro!” insisted Tom. “It was a joint project. But I tell you what—I did learn about cooking from Jim. For example, did you know it makes a difference what oil you use? I didn’t.”
“There are essentially two kinds of oil you can get,” said Purdy, going into his lecture routine. “Expeller-pressed oils are bland and subdued with a very high smoke point. That’s good. It means it’s harder to burn the oil and make your fish taste like it’s been swimming through old scorched tires. Cold-pressed oils, which a lot of people use, include your extra virgin olive oils. They have a lot of flavor, but you don’t want to deep fry with them. Stick with something like canola oil. It gets hot enough to give you nice crispy filets. And you want to dry them on racks, not paper towels, because towels get greasy.”