Private Beijing

Chapter 57

We took a taxi to the park in front of the Temple of Heaven, one of a series of former imperial halls set in beautifully landscaped parkland. Zhang Daiyu told me the place was popular with kung fu and tai chi schools in the morning, but it was virtually deserted when we arrived at 9:45 p.m. We headed for a circular three-tier pagoda.

“This is the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest,” Zhang Daiyu said as we approached.

“Your friend obviously has a good sense of irony,” I remarked. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Ma Fen and she works for the Guoanbu.”

“Chinese State Security?” I asked, and Zhang Daiyu nodded.

“If she’s caught talking to us it would mean prison for her,” she said.

I wondered why her friend would risk her liberty and life for our investigation.

We hurried across the park toward the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest. As we drew closer I could see the bottom tier of the pagoda was painted deep red and the upper levels dark blue. The building was set on a mound lined with balustraded terraces. We had no need to make the climb though. I saw a tiny lone figure at the foot of the terraces, near the steps to the grand hall.

Ma Fen couldn’t have been more than five feet two, and she was so thin I thought I might lose sight of her if she turned sideways on. Despite her slightness, there wasn’t a hint of weakness about her. Even in the dark her eyes shone with intelligence and determination.

Zhang Daiyu and Ma Fen exchanged a warm greeting then the intelligence officer turned to me.

“Mr. Morgan. It’s an honor and a pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, Officer Ma,” I replied.

“Call me Fen, please,” she told me. “Some people say you’re a criminal. Others say you’re dangerous.”

“What do you say?” I asked.

“I think you’re a hero. I read about what you did in Moscow. That was no easy thing. And now you are here in Beijing. Causing trouble. Liu Bao and his friends want you very badly.”

“That’s flattering, I guess,” I replied.

Zhang Daiyu said something to her in a murmur.

“Zhang Zhang here sent me the photographs of the man leaving Liu Bao’s office. The man you followed to Guoanbu,” Fen said. “His name is Fang Wenyan and he is a mid-ranking field operative. He is in the ascendancy.”

“Ascendancy?”

“There is a never-ending battle for the soul of China,” Fen explained. “On one side there are those like me who believe we should look inwards and solve our domestic problems as a nation. And then there are those like Liu Bao and Fang Wenyan, who believe in empire and conquest. They think power comes from engaging in the affairs of the world. I and others like me think China can set a better example by disengaging from global power struggles. No offense, but America knows only too well the cost of geopolitical meddling and misadventure.”

“I wouldn’t call it meddling,” I protested.

It certainly hadn’t felt that way when I’d been deployed to Afghanistan. We were on an important mission to wrest control of the country from an evil regime that harbored and supported terrorism, but now after twenty years that same regime was back in power with the tacit approval of our leadership. Maybe there was something in what she’d said?

“Okay, not meddling,” Fen conceded. “I’m not here to hold a debate. Let’s call it pursuing an international agenda. Liu Bao and his friends won’t be happy until China rules the world.”

“Is he Guoanbu?” I asked.

“Who can say? Fang Wenyan might be his handler or just a well-connected friend. Either way, he’s not to be underestimated.”

“Do you recognize this?” I asked, producing my phone and showing her a photo of the tattoo we’d seen on so many of our assailants.

She studied the image of the three dragons emblazoned on Wang Yichen’s arm, and shook her head. “I’ve never seen it.”

“The men who have attacked us all carry this mark,” Zhang Daiyu explained.

“A secret society perhaps?” Fen suggested. “Or a gang?”

She’d reached the same conclusion as Zhang Daiyu and I.

“Whoever they are, they’re sufficiently clever to have gone undetected by the apparatus of the state,” Fen remarked. “Which means they’re dangerous.”

She hesitated before continuing.

“China used to be an ideal. It used to be an objective, a utopia of equality, but now we’re just like you, Mr. Morgan. Here a person can satisfy their greed even if that means they have too much while another starves. We have imported the worst of American thinking — the greed, ambition, dishonesty — but unlike America, here there are no checks and balances. This is a single-party state. Control the party and you control everything. That makes the men you face far more dangerous than anyone you’ve ever encountered. There is nothing to hold them back.”

She turned to leave.

“America is more than greed, ambition, and dishonesty,” I insisted. “There is community, faith, kindness, and so much more. There are good people everywhere. And bad.”

She smiled wistfully, as though she didn’t believe me.

“Well, you certainly found the bad ones here. And I wish you luck with them.”