SINOCIDE
Frederick Fisher
Copyright Frederick Fisher 2010
To Eileen, my lifelong adventurous, spirited companion.
Published as an ebook by Dudley Court Press at Smashwords
Also available in paperback ISBN: 978-0981929163
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CAST OF CHARACTERS
GEOFFREY X. MARTINE Lt. Commander (later promoted to Commander), U.S. Navy, Attaché to the Embassy of the United States, Beijing, China.
FAN RIQI (Fahn Ree-chee) Vice Commissar of the Ministry of State Security.
OLIVER ABERNATHY Personnel Officer of the Hong Kong Bank, and operative in the Royal Naval Intelligence, Hong Kong Branch.
HU BANYI (Who Bahn-yee) Technical aide to Fan Riqi, Ministry of State Security
WU XIAN (Woo She-ahn) Vice Premier, softliner, Minister of State Planning Commission.
YANG YUCIE (Yahng You-chee) Vice Premier, Softliner.
MING QUAN QUAN (Ming Shwan Shwan) Operative with R.N.I., One Legged Ming’s daughter.
SOONG AIMEI (Soo-ng I May) R.O.C. Ambassador, Taiwan.
LI QUOHUA (Lee Kwo-who-wah), Elder Statesman, R.O.C., Taiwan.
JAMES SHAN LEIGHT Gem Dealer, Hong Kong.
ARTHUR FOWLER U.S. Ambassador to China 1989-l990.
LENA LAO DUKE U.S. Ambassador to China 1992.
PATRICK DUFFY U.S. Embassy staff, Beijing.
EMILY FORBES U.S. Embassy staff, Beijing.
TSAI AND XIU (Tsigh and She-oo) Defectors.
TANG NAIWA (Tah-ng Ny-wah) General of the 27th Army P.L.A., Commissar of the Central Military Commission.
LIU CHINAN (Lee-oo Chee-nahn) General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party.
CAI JIXI (Tz-eye Gee-she) Minister of the Central Committee for Disciplinary Inspection.
CHOU SHI (Joe She) Commissar of the Ministry of State Security.
FENG QIZI (Fung Chee-zee), General of the Air Force, Republic of China.
MAO TZETUNG (Mah-ow Tzee-dung), Great Helmsman.
DENG XIAOPING Dung Chow-ping) New Helmsman.
WU MEILIE (Woo May-lee) Daughter of Wu Xian.
CHEN LISHU (Chun Lee-shoe) Student Leader of Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, (C.A.S.S.)
SUN QILI (Soon Chee-lee) Student Leader of Beijing University, B.E.I.D.A.
LIANG PO (Lee-ahng Poe) Communications labor leader.
WANG (Wahng) Luxingshe Guide, Chengde.
WANG CHA CHA (Wahng Cha Cha) Luxingshe Guide, Beidaihe.
FISHERMAN Wang Cha Cha’s Father.
FISHERMAN Wang Cha Cha’s Uncle.
Part 1
CHAPTER ONE
BEIJING
3 JUNE 1989
Geoffrey Martine closed the door of the embassy and walked through the wrought iron pedestrian gate on his way out of the compound. He stopped momentarily outside the gate under the Great Seal of the United States; a marine guard greeted the tall, lanky cultural attaché. “Good morning, Commander Martine. Orders are to advise everyone to stay clear of the whole area from the Beijing Hotel down to Xidan Avenue including Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City.”
“I’ll try to keep it in mind Jimmy,” Martine said as he donned a bright-red bill cap and adjusted a cloth shoulder bag over his jeans and sweatshirt.
The marine logged “Lt. Cdr. Martine, exit 0805” and let him through. As the marine guard watched Martine turn down the corner from the Embassy at Guanghua and Ritan Roads toward the main avenue, Jianguomen, he noticed two men lounging near the corner who took a sudden interest. They split up to cover both sides of the street and openly followed Martine. The guard considered quickly getting a relief officer to cover the gate so he could run after the commander to warn him of the tails. Then he saw Martine turn his head slightly to see the followers. That one doesn’t miss much, the guard mused to himself and turned away back to his duty.
The muscles in the back of Geoff Martine’s neck tightened, signaling danger in an unpredictable situation. The men following him heightened his senses and increased the challenge. They had been on him since he arrived in Beijing three months ago. Wearing tourist-clone jeans, KSwiss tennies and a light gray poplin jacket, Geoff wore the red bill cap as a deliberate flaunt. He would be easy to follow until he didn’t want to be followed anymore.
The eight-lane Jianguomen Avenue was teeming in spite of the scarcity of the usual cars, taxis, trucks and buses. People walked rapidly and overflowed the sidewalks into the adjacent bicycle paths. Bicycles, constantly overtaking each other, overflowed their reserved section of the avenue. The three-wheeled, human-powered trishaws enjoyed the luxury of the open motor vehicle lanes. An occasional truck or taxi made its way through the center, commanding a path with loud blasts of its horn.
Like vultures spotting carrion, several empty trishaws swerved onto the curb toward Geoff, jostling each other for the fare. One husky youth, exposing rock-hard muscled legs in shorts, beat the others, braking to a stop inches from him.
“Tiananmen Square?” Geoff queried. The operator smiled and pointed to the empty seat, holding up a clenched fist. Geoff nodded an okay at the signed price of ten Yuan. It was twice what a taxi would have charged but there were no taxis on the street this morning.
Within seconds, the pedicab forged its way through the pedestrian and bicycle traffic to the middle of the avenue. They joined the throngs heading west to the Square. Emotion and noisy voices electrified the air, which was strangely clean without the vehicle emissions. Crowds were rushing, as if to get to an arena before a game started. Geoff turned his head slightly to watch another pedicab following with two black-jacketed men in it.
Approaching the Jiangomenwei traffic bridge, the youth barely slowed as he powered the pedicab up the incline and prepared to coast down the far side. A horde of angry people were in the middle of the bridge, surrounding a column of soldiers.
“Mahn mahn,” Martine shouted at his driver to slow down. To himself he mused: I can’t afford to get mixed up with this right now. Mission comes first.
The crowd was jostling the soldiers and shouting at them to turn back. The brigade officer waved his pistol in the air and screamed at his troops to proceed. The pedicab traffic hesitated, and then worked its way through the mass to move on.
Passing a street sign, Martine mentally noted the change of name. After the bridge it was Changan, the most important avenue in central Beijing. Martine and his muscle-powered chauffeur neared the famous shopping street of Wanfujing. The towering Beijing Hotel identified the corner long before they reached it. Concrete lane markers were askew. Stalled buses blocked the intersection. Debris and old tires burned noxiously. Lines of trucks, and other vehicles were stalled at the approaches to the center. Martine openly snapped pictures of the beleaguered area.
Martine shouted loudly to his driver, “Tiananmen Tiananmen.” He urged his driver to go on with the other pedicabs, pedestrians and bicycles funneling through the breaks at the edges of the barriers. Pushing forward on the seat, he snapped off a dozen quick photos of the melee. Then he turned the camera toward the Beijing Hotel.
Shouting, “Bushir, bushir,” the youth stopped pedaling abruptly, pointed to the camera and shook his head vehemently. Martine heard the youth rant angrily in the local patois. “Stupid barbarian, I should get my kuai before this donkey gets both of us in trouble.”
The driver jumped out of the cab, grabbed Martine’s arm, and motioned him to get out. Irritated, Martine forcibly shook off the grip, causing the driver to stumble and fall to the ground. He spoke to the young man in the patois with a wry grin twisting his lips. “Confucius once said that a stupid drover can be kicked in his genitals if he offends the ears of a barbarian donkey.” Tossing a ten Yuan note, he left with a wave and a “tsai jian” for goodbye. From the corner of his eye he saw the two security agents arguing with their own cab driver. Probably trying to pay with a travel voucher instead of cash, Martine thought with amusement.
Martine surveyed the area in front of the Beijing Hotel. Locals intermixed with a few foreigners. The tourists were out early to join in the excitement. Trained and experienced, he easily spotted the government’s security people. They watched for leaders of the rebellion and wrote in little red plastic notebooks.
Immersed in the crowd as he passed the next intersection, Geoff looked up to the roof of the Beijing Hotel. The foreign press had established themselves there to get telephoto views of Tiananmen Square and the throngs of people heading toward it. He mingled with the crowd, exchanging a few cordialities of “ni hao ma” in the excitement. The bridges leading into the Forbidden City came into view on the right side of the broad boulevard. Across the street spread Tiananmen, the largest public square in the world.
Martine took stock of the colossal sight: he remembered well the sheer immensity of the square. Now hundreds of makeshift tents were scattered in no particular pattern. Young men and women emerged from the tents, stretching in the morning sun. The sounds of voices gradually begin to roll over the area in an increasing hum. Plumes of smoke arose from small cooking carts. The greasy odor of the fried twisted bread would soon begin to permeate the air.
The area was so vast that Martine could barely make out clusters of the demonstrators around the base of the stark white Goddess of Freedom statue. He marked, for future orientation, the Martyr’s column rising high over groups of people in the middle of the square. Glimpses of army uniforms indicated the military was on hand. Martine took note of the soldiers patrolling the area. They watched tourists and the local people alike, admonishing the few foreigners who dared to sneak pictures.
“Okay, Martine,” he said to himself. “Mission time. Start a diversion; dump the black birds.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure they were paying attention, flipped the small Konica out, extruded the lens and started to snap pictures. The two black birds immediately called out to one of the patrols, pointing at the provocation.
Martine saw the patrol take off at a trot headed his way. He tossed his red cap into a group of nearby students and took a dozen more duplicates from the shoulder bag. Smiling to himself, he spun in a circle, throwing them out to laughing recipients. Then he scrunched down and slipped into a dense group at the base of the Martyr’s column.
Students exhorting the soldiers to go home saw what was happening to the tourist as the patrol chased over to where he had been. The din of voices became shouts of alarm. Clusters of students swarmed toward the area. A second patrol was seen heading to the melee. Martine caught a glimpse of his two black-jacketed pursuers, a moment ago gleeful over the trouble they had caused their quarry, now frantically trying to find him.
Free from pursuit for the moment, Geoff mused to himself, Well that worked, hot shot. You got rid of the tails easy enough. Now you have to locate your contact before the goons catch up. He threaded his way through the drab army tents, hunching over so he wouldn’t stand out in the crowd. Each tent displayed a banner or sign identifying the resident’s organization – a university, a technical school, or embryonic political group. After locating the sign he was looking for, he walked right by it. Circling around to make sure he had not been seen, he then ducked into the tent.
A man and a woman were sitting side by side on a cot, sipping tea from screw-capped jars. Surprised at the sudden appearance of the foreigner, the woman dropped hers, spilling the liquid on herself. Geoff looked at them, smiled and said, “Lt. Commander Geoffrey Martine from the US Embassy. I believe you sent me a message.”
The couple stood up. “Fang Linxi,” the man said, extending his hand to Martine. ”My wife, Shen. We are honored by your presence, and surprised by your audacity. These are dangerous times. Were you followed?”
They shook hands and Geoff replied, “All the way from the embassy, but I know a few tricks from my espionage days. A number of your friends were good enough to spot my ploy and seem to have the black shirts and military patrols confused for the moment.“
Fang peeked out of the tent opening. “There’s a large crowd; some soldiers and our fellow students milling around the Martyr’s monument. Strange, I see a few of my friends are wearing bright red caps.”
Geoff noted that the man looked to be in his early thirties with a round cherubic face. A sweat-stained headband held in place a heavy shock of black hair. The character of Nankai University, Tianjin, marked the band, as on the banner outside the tent.
The woman appeared younger. She wore a similar headband, cleaner than her husband’s. Fine black hair framed a gaunt face with high cheekbones. Her worried eyes continually shifted from the two men to the entrance of the tent.
“Please sit, Commander,” the man said. “It is good of you to come.”
“The name of Professor Fang Linxi is well known to us,” Geoff replied. “You have been a friend of the United States for many years. Your work has enhanced the world’s knowledge of astrophysics.”
“Thank you. Our time is short, Commander. The PLA came to the outskirts of Beijing yesterday, rebuffed by the thousands of supporters of democracy.”
Geoff nodded. “Our government has requested a meeting with your President, Liu Chinan. President Bush was liaison to China some years ago and has met personally many of the leaders, including Chinan. We have been given to understand one of your Generals, Tang, I believe, is the trouble maker.”
Fang frowned. “The hard-liners are angry and have lost face in the world after the visit of Gorbachev. Our former president, who showed compassion, Zhao Ziyang, is missing. If the other softliner, Hu Yaobang, were still alive, they might have recognized our demonstration together. We have no more chance to settle peacefully with the Politburo.”
“Yes, Professor, that is the information we received. What happens now?”
“Other students and leaders of the demonstration were already arrested off the Square where the foreign press cannot see and publicize it. A cousin came this morning to tell us the secret police have been to my house in Tianjin looking for me. The bottom-line, as I have heard Americans say, is I’m sure they’ll use force to clear the square.”
Fang looked over at his wife, who was trembling, and took her hand in his. “We plead for our lives. Will the United States give us sanctuary inside the embassy until sanity returns to our country?” He appraised the American and liked what he saw. Grey-toned red hair topped craggy, rough-hewn features. A wry half smile gave him a shy demeanor which Fang suspected was more disguise than reality.
Geoff looked down at the worried pair and fished a mutton-fat jadite rubbing stone from his pocket. The grey-toned, antique replica of a sea creature fit into the contour of his fingers. Unconsciously massaging the piece, he realized Fang and his wife were watching. He smiled and showed them what it was. “The fingers of Confucius. It helps me to think. An old antique dealer in Hong Kong sold it to me with instructions to commune with the ancient one when I needed to think.”
“Confucius was known to be a great peacemaker as well as a teacher. China would be well to remember his philosophy and teachings today,” Fang said ruefully.
Walking up and down in the narrow confines of the tent, Geoff worried the problem, mentally reviewing the protocol involving international situations like this. “How much time is there before General Tang Naiwa orders the square cleared?”
The professor replied sadly, “I don’t know. My friends do not believe the army will shoot, but I know they will if ordered.
“And you two, as well as a thousand others in the square, will be directly in the line of fire.” Geoff grimaced.
“As a matter of honor, my wife and I would lay down our lives if we thought it would mean something. Practically speaking, we know there must be some of us left to begin again when we free China from the iron grip of the Communists. As to the time, I would guess in the next forty-eight hours we will hear guns in Tiananmen and begin to count the bodies.”
“According to international conventions, we can give you safe haven in the embassy, providing you get there under your own power. You must express a desire to enter because you fear for your life under political persecution.”
“All too true, Commander. We are more than willing. Now we must conceive of a plan to get us from here to there. It won’t be simple as I am known as a leader of the movement and under special observation.”
His wife spoke up. “Let me check the area, Commander. I’m familiar with the MSS agents that have been watching us.”
“Thanks, Shen. I’ll firm up our plans with Fang in the meantime.”
Shen returned a few minutes later and with a nod from her husband, advised, “As good a time as I can see, Commander. There’s a considerable crowd near both memorials. The patrols appear to be grouping around the students with the red caps. I suggest you slip out the back of the tent and circle around to Changan.”
“Thanks, Shen. I’d better get moving.” Quickly shaking hands with Fang and with a pat on the shoulder for Shen, Geoff disappeared through the rear of the tent.
“Not to worry, dear wife,” Fang said as the American left. “This Martine is a smart one, street smart I think they say. He would have to be just to respond to our note smuggled to the embassy and actually get here.”
*
Ambassador George X. Fowler sat at a massive desk in front of draped windows. The high-ceiling baronial room was furnished in the diplomatic decor of formality. The newly elected President, George H. W. Bush, looked down at him from a photograph on the nearby wall. An American flag hung from a standard at his right shoulder.
“You see this flag, Martine? It’s behind my chair. I’m the United States Ambassador to the People’s Republic of China. Therefore, I decide, not subordinates. Give me one good reason that I already don’t know for evacuation orders.”
Geoff listened to the bluster, knowing the man was both drunk and nursed a serious grudge against his cultural aide. The appointment of a CIA station chief to an embassy was not the predilection of the State Department, or the Ambassadors. He reported directly to the Company and this rankled the man.
“All I’m suggesting, Mr. Ambassador, is that we make preparations to evacuate families and excess personnel. There’s a distinct chance of explosive military action in the area around the Embassy and the housing compound. We could catch some stray gunfire.”
“And who are these people you invited to take asylum at the embassy?”
Geoff patiently explained about the professor and his wife. “I merely advised them on international convention and the United States’ policy in such instances. Surely you wouldn’t turn away such an internationally known figure as Professor Fang Linxi and his wife if they appeared at the embassy gates?”
Geoff sat back in his chair as Arthur Fowler, Ambassador to the People’s Republic of China for the United States of America, stood up to his total five-foot-seven height and exploded.
“What kind of crap is that, Martine? I’ve never heard of this Linxi guy you say is important. He wasn’t at any of the functions I’ve been to since arriving. Do you know how many banquets I have had to sit through with nothing better to drink than that kerosene they call maotie and orange juice?”
“Mr. Ambassador, sir. The Linxis would not have been on the social circuit and it is unlikely you would have met them. The world situation is such that any embassy is subject to asylum requests for humanitarian reasons.”
“Commander Martine, you are aware that I am a business executive, president of the Fowler Chevrolet Company of Muncie, Indiana. My friendship with the Republican Party has awarded me this post. I would have preferred Brunei but Mrs. Fowler, Florence, would have none of a small country she had never heard of. I am not the ignoramus you professionals seem to think I am. China is a major power in the world and I intend to serve here in the best interests of the United States. “
Fowler paused and Geoff took the opportunity to interrupt the tirade. “Mr. Ambassador, we professionals have the exact same purpose to assist you in that service. My two decades of experience in situations such as this is at your disposal. You have initialed and I assume read the current flood of dispatches. The students’ democracy demonstration is and will be of international importance. In my experience we will be involved and perhaps in danger. I strongly suggest we take the prescribed measures of protection and probable evacuation.”
“Commander, for your information, I have and do read all dispatches. In spite of our obvious negative opinions of each other, I do recognize your experience and professionalism. You are hereby assigned the evacuation procedure, if necessary. Prepare a note of whatever background you have on the Linxis for me and arrange a meeting here in my office on arrival.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Ambassador. I’ll have Duffy in communications prepare the directive and have it on your desk within the hour.” Martine saluted by habit and exited quickly.
‘”Patrick, we have work to do,” Geoff said as he rushed into the communications secure room.
“Standing by,” the genial Irishman said. “What’s up, Geoff?”
“Start writing, Pat. Most of this you’re aware of, but we need….” Geoff proceeded to explain the meeting with the Linxis and the agreement with the Ambassador. “We need this info to Washington ASAP.”
An hour later Patrick reported to Geoff, ”The Secretary of State in Washington and the Chief of Central Intelligence at Langley are reading the top secret, eyes-only messages now.”
Geoff’s coded dispatch was two short lines of information: “Fang Linxi and wife want out. Anticipate the axe will fall on Tiananmen within 48 hours.” Fowler’s separate cable to the Secretary was lengthy, complaining of CIA forbearance and was his third request for the recall of Martine. He inquired if there was a record of a Li Linxi, Professor of Astrophysics at Tianjin, and reported a rumor that the government may take action soon on the students demonstrating in Tiananmen Square.
BEIHAI PARK
A utility shed behind a small mountain of rock in the very center of the island park concealed the main entrance of the Ministry of State Security. Few officials and none of the populace of Beijing were aware that their beautiful Beihai Park concealed the covert operations of the feared Ministry. Diners feasting on the famous cuisine served in the Fan Shan restaurant never knew they sat directly above the secret facilities. The little known minister of the MSS would often dine and then disappear behind a concealed door to the office below.
In the subterranean office, an eight-foot high, twelve-panel coromandel screen concealed the often-used entrance.
Fan Riqi, Vice Commissar of the Ministry of State Security, thought of himself as the Chief of Espionage. He had trained with the KGB in Russia during the years of association of the two countries. He sat at a large, plain wooden desk. A life-size picture of Chairman Mao was the only adornment hanging on the wall to his left. The bright eyes of the charismatic leader looked to the opposite wall, which was covered with an enlarged map of Beijing and its suburbs.
A computer screen, a keyboard, and a telephone console, complete with a taping device, filled a large part of the desk surface. Assorted brushes in an antique moss agate brush holder, a slate ink stone, a bronze frog-shaped water container, and a gold decorated ink stick contrasted with the modern electronics. The only other adornment on the desk was a striped malachite ashtray.
Two of his minions stood waiting nervously. Fan Riqi pulled a Great Wall cigar from the pocket of his jacket, peeled away the cellophane wrapper, removed the paper band, and scratched a match against the poorly made box to fire up. The first two matches broke. The third one took hold, starting a rain of ashes and sparks down Fan’s shirt.
It was a deliberate ploy to heighten the tension of Captain Yao Lin and his agent, who were reporting on the Tiananmen Square demonstration. Fan’s nature forced him to continue buying the poorly wrapped cigars and bad domestic matches. Imported cigars and fancy cigarette lighters were available to him as an important person in the bureaucracy, but they seldom found their way into the local shop he preferred to patronize.
Blowing a cloud of smoke, the Vice Commissar finally acknowledged the two men standing waiting for him. “Well, Captain. Have you something of value to report to justify the expense of our purchasing the new hand-held camcorders? If we don’t show results soon, there is going to be a deluge of Ministers borrowing them for their personal use. I can guarantee, we will never see them again.”
Fan ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, scratching the scalp. Dandruff flaked out, descending with the ashes spilling from the cigar, annoying the fastidious Captain Yao.
The Captain concealed his distaste at having to serve under this Shanghai pig. The man’s mind is cluttered with debris, like his clothes, he thought to himself.
“Our agent reports a strange incident, sir. We followed the American we know as Martine, the CIA spy at the US Embassy, to Tiananmen. After a blundering, obvious attempt to take pictures and lose himself amongst the students, we found him. He was leaving the Nankai University tents. Martine must have been there almost an hour cooking up something with the hooligans.”
The Vice Commissar looked up at the gloating face of his captain. “That could be Fang Linxi. Put him on the top ten list, Yao. If either Linxi or his wife leaves the area, even to go home, pick them up for questioning. Make sure the questioning takes several days. As for Martine, print a blow-up of the shot you have and circulate it amongst our agents. I want him tracked wherever he goes outside the embassy. Channel that information directly to me as fast as it happens.”
“Yes sir, Vice Commissar. I promise a web like that of the spider. He cannot evade our agents.”
Fan scratched his scalp. “Yao, you‘re pretty thick with the military. What have you heard about Tang Naiwa, our illustrious general and his plans to clear Tiananmen?”
Yao looked at his superior. The pear-shaped head with eyes that pierced one’s mind like a laser beam were impossible to lie to. In spite of his dislike for the man, he dared not evade the direct question. Yao’s relationship with General Tang was supposed to be secret. Fan Riqi, true to his nickname, the Ferret, allowed very little to slip past his notice.
Feeling the sweat exuding from his armpits and beading on his forehead, Yao answered. “My compliments, Vice Commissar, there’s little you miss. It’s true. I happened to run into General Tang Naiwa yesterday. We compared notes about the rabble in Tiananmen and the urgency to disperse them. His manner suggested he was about to stop the mollycoddling and bring in the 27th battalion to clear the Square. He promised to coordinate any plans with our Ministry.
Fan rolled the cigar in his mouth, staring with no comment at the captain. He let a full minute pass before he spoke. “Thank you for the report, Yao. Please keep me informed. You may go now.”
As the two men left, Fan Riqi swiveled his chair around to face the screen. Chou Shi, Minister of State Security, ranking member of the Politburo, stepped from behind the hinged tablets. “Interesting, isn’t it, Fan? You’re right about Yao. He’s what the West calls a doubleagent. How soon will you replace him?”
Fan studied the round, smooth-skinned face, black hair streaked with the gray of age. The eyes were as devoid of expression as a metallic statue of Buddha. Short and rotund, Chou, known to be one of the powerful six insiders of the Politburo, spoke very little, preferring to stay in the background.
“It would be better not to replace the obvious fox with an unknown rabbit, honored Commissar. We’ll take care to see that no important information is revealed to him. You sit with the bellicose General Tang Naiwa in the Zhongnanhai. How long can the softliners hold his tanks and guns in check?”
Chou Shi turned to disappear again behind the screen, leaving the answer hanging in the air. “As soon as Deng Xiaoping unsnaps the leash, the lion will spring.”
Fan punched up the video channel on his monitor. He watched the Minister slide through the concealed door behind the screen and climb the steps into the restaurant. He leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on the desk, drew deeply on the cigar, expelled a series of smoke rings, and brushed the accumulated ashes off his shirt and lap. He mused to himself, “The 4th of June, 1989, will be a date to remember in Chinese history.”
CHAPTER TWO
BEIJING
4 JUNE 1989
The rumble of heavy vehicles awoke Geoff at 4am, the noise loud enough to carry from Jianguomen a full block away. The faint sound of gunfire also came from the west.
“Patrick, are you on?” Geoff shouted into the intercom. “The army is rolling into Tiananmen. Code Red.”
He slipped on his jogging outfit, buckled on the pre-loaded waist pack and ran down the stairs to the duty room on the ground floor. Patrick Duffy, Duty Officer for the night, almost knocked him down as they collided outside the room. “It’s okay, Geoff. I’ve notified State. I’m on my way to wake up the Ambassador. He’ll probably throw me out anyway and say I’m dreaming.”
“Alert everyone to stay away from the windows in case we get some stray gunfire. Fowler’s got to okay the evac plans. Get to work on the plane charter from here to Hong Kong. We’ll need protected buses to pick everyone up for the airport as soon as you confirm the charter.
“What if the Ambassador balks and delays?”
“Send a follow-up report confirming the tanks and gunfire. The rules are we evacuate all families and excess personnel in a situation of this scope. State will know what you mean and they will climb all over Fowler if he doesn’t act.”
“Will do, Geoff. Where are you going? Certainly not out for your usual jog today!”
Geoff turned to the freckle-faced Irishman, who had already contributed ten of his thirty-two years to a diplomatic career. “Patrick, my friend, you have a suspicious look. I’m merely going jogging – for the record, that is. You wouldn’t want me to give up my daily constitutional because a few tanks are on the street, would you? By the way, I’m leaving by the rear entrance. See if you can sweet-talk the Sarge into putting a guard there after I get out. If the State Security goons start chasing me, I may need someone to hold the door open on return.”
“What are you up to, Geoff? This is no time to be running around outside. You know that door’s always locked and barred. It’s only used for deliveries and garbage removal.”
“Yes, I know. Be a good Mick and take care of things for me, will you? I may have a delivery.”
The red-head shook his head in resignation. “Wait until His Nibs hears you’re out jogging with this going on. He could request your transfer again. This time they might listen to him.”
*
Geoff emerged into the predawn. The sky was beginning to light up the summer morning, damp with humidity. Tanks, personnel armoured cars, and trucks packed with armed soldiers thundered by as he jogged behind the crowds of people lining Jianguomen. There was a notable absence of the usual rickshaws. A few brave souls made a surge out into the street to delay the military vehicles, but a burst of gunfire changed their minds.
After passing the Jianguomen Bridge onto Changan, Geoff saw a man step into the middle of the avenue in front of a tank, waving both arms high over his head. The watching crowd cheered at first and a foreign photographer took a memorable picture. One man intended to lay down his life in a vain attempt to stop the tanks. Only the swift action of another bystander, dashing out to pull him back on the curb, saved the bloodshed. The tank made no effort to slow down. Geoff could clearly hear the engines racing mercilessly to frighten the man even more. This is going to be a bloody day at Tiananmen.
Geoff approached the Wangfujing intersection, marked with burning rubber tires, smoke and flames. The Beijing Hotel looked forlorn in the early light. Throngs of people watched silently as the flames caught on to the buses stalled to block the intersection. Tanks were bearing down the center of the road, their hatches closing with loud clanks. He saw them barrel through the burning barriers. People watching from the curb, at first stupefied by the scene, began to scream and force each other back. Flaming debris scattered over them and around Geoff. Scanning the area, he saw press cameras pointing from the rooftop and faces watching from upper windows of the grand old hotel. Good, he mused with bitter optimism. No way is the government going to keep this from the world.
Scraping hot ashes from his shoulders and dodging debris, Geoff quickly took the inside road of the parkway behind the crowds. Hordes of people were running from Tiananmen, trying to escape what must be indiscriminate gunfire. The noise was louder as he approached the corner. Bodies lay in the street in front of the hotel entrance. Pools of blood stained the pavement
Streams of people fleeing up Wangfujing slowed Geoff as he merged with them. Screaming voices carried above the din.
Two young men, pulling open carts with still bodies on them, were resting as Geoff stopped to talk to them. “What’s the situation at Tiananmen?”
Suspiciously, they looked at him and then at each other. “American? We don’t know what you’re doing here, but if you get out, tell the whole world what is going on here.” First one then the other spat out the angry news.
“Machine guns from the tanks killed everybody around the Freedom Statue.”
“A row of soldiers kneeled and fired like an execution squad at my group from Chnegtu. Murderers.”
“I somehow survived and pretended to be dead, the only one left of my school.”
“Eeyah! The tanks rolled right over the dead bodies.”
“Hundreds dead; blood has painted Tiananmen forever.”
“Terrible! Chinese soldiers killing Chinese citizens: China is committing suicide.”
Choking with emotion, the men said no more as the headband harnesses tautened and the carts pulled off. Geoff noted one of his route markers. The Xinhua bookstore building near the corner on his right was shuttered and barricaded, as were most of the stores on the busiest shopping street in central Beijing.
At the next marker, not much wider than an alley, Geoff turned right, following the ambulance carts. They were heading toward his rendezvous point. He passed the barricaded Peking Duck Restaurant, the site of many enjoyable dinners. He remembered it being called the Sick Duck restaurant because of its proximity to Capitol Hospital.
Geoff jogged on through the crowds, watching to see if he had attracted any undue attention. “So far so good, Geoffrey, no tails. It looks like the goons missed your rear exit from the embassy. Now cool your heels and keep your eyes open.” Duffy often chided him about talking to himself, an old habit.
Geoff could see the Capitol Hospital at the end of the street. He remembered an American author describing it as a green-tiled roof with miniature guardians standing point on the ends. Patients wearing bandages and striped robes streamed out of the hospital to see what was going on. Bicycle-powered flat-bed wagons followed Geoff down the crowded street, injured bodies bouncing roughly on the hard wooden surfaces. Transportation of the sick and wounded hasn’t changed in the past centuries.
Moans of pain and screams for help were overpowering as the hospital staff labored to take over first-aid requirements. Ambulatory hospital patients carried stretchers in and out of the hospital and then commiserated with anxious friends.
The non-conforming tall Westerner in jogging sweats stood at the side of the street, a blue knit cap with red and white stripes added to his attire. He waited impatiently as the tide of bloodied bodies flowed down the street into the hospital.
The wagons changed hands as soon as they emptied, with no regard for ownership. The tired pullers dropped in their tracks on arrival at the hospital and others quickly took up the makeshift ambulances to return to the scene of the carnage.
Geoff was almost ready to give up, fearing the worst had happened, when one flat bed came toward him, manned by a white-suited hospital orderly. He wore a white cap on his head and a sanitation mask across his face. The truck stopped momentarily. Geoff breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the orderly slip off the white mask and cap. The lettering on a sweat-stained headband was the Tainjin University symbol. The face, even from a distance across the road, was clear and recognizably Fang Linxi’s. On the bed of the truck, a form wrapped in a blanket stirred, the head bandaged, oozing blood.
Stretcher bearers moved toward the make-shift ambulance, and the orderly waved them off, pedaling slowly through the crowd toward the easily recognizable tall figure in the blue knit cap.
“Put the mask and white hat back on, Professor,” Geoff said. He removed his own blue cap and stored it in his waist pack. Beckoning the weary-looking Fang Linxi to follow him, he jogged into a side lane around the wall of the hospital.
As other carts piled in, the attendants just shrugged and took over the next victims.
BEIHAI PARK, MSS OFFICE
In the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security, Fan Riqi stood at the wall map of Beijing. He put small pin flags at various locations as Captain Yao Lin brought in the information. The red, white and blue flag with no name was in his hand.
“Where is Martine, Yao? When did they last see him?”
“Comrade Fan, we are doing the best we can. He thought he outsmarted us by leaving by the rear entrance of the embassy, but we caught up to him at Jianguomen. It was impossible to follow him in the dim light, once he got into the crowds at Wangfujing. There were thousands of people on the corner. I sent the two men assigned to him back to the usual jogging route he takes near the bridge to watch for his return. We have also lost Professor Fang Linxi and his wife.”
“Lost them?” Fan erupted into red-faced anger. “Useless donkey’s ass! With two agents assigned to their tent exclusively, how could they lose them?”
“Comrade Fan. Tiananmen is a disaster. Thousands of students milling around trying to escape certain death. Piles of dead bodies mowed down by the PLA. They must have had orders to clear the Square at any cost. Our agent on site reported a stray bullet hit the Linxi woman. Fang and his friends carried her back into the tent. The last glimpse we had of her was an ambulance cart taking her out of the Square and no sign of Fang Linxi.”
“Fools, stupid fools,” Fan raged. “First I have to put up with that mad dog General Tang, who plans on sweeping thousands of bodies away to cure a problem that will only get worse. Then I have to contend with your agents, Yao, who can’t even keep track of their own bowel movements. If Linxi’s wife is at the hospital, Fang will show up there.”
Humbled and concerned for his own safety, Yao knew Fan might easily pull his pistol and shoot him on the spot. “Honored Commissar, we can still find them and as for the American spy, I’ll backtrack him all the way to the American Embassy. Our red armband watchers may have seen him on the inside roads. He obviously didn’t jog down Jianguomen with all this going on, especially if he is meeting the Professor.”
Fan thought for a moment, dismissing Yao’s comments.
“Get a car. Imbecile. I’m going to the embassy myself.”
*
Geoff led the cart down a narrow lane, turning left and right at each narrow intersection, weaving through the ancient apartment-like Hutongs. The passageways angled, curved and often dead-ended, requiring him to turn around and go back. Only one familiar with the local rabbit warrens could find their way quickly to a destination. At each turn, they stopped to double check the direction. Sympathetic people gathered to help and fired questions at them as well.
“Is it true that hundreds of students were gunned down indiscriminately?”
“Are they just standing there letting themselves be killed?”
“Can the students fight back with anything?”
Linxi answered them, his voice choking with emotion: “Hundreds if not thousands have already been slaughtered like cattle. We may never know how many have been lost. There is nowhere to run as the army has posted killers at every corner. We have nothing to fight with except for the hope of Democracy one day.”
A local breakfast queue crowded the next intersection, lined several deep to buy twisted fried bread and bowls of congee, the rice gruel. Geoff stopped the cart and whispered to Fang. “Let’s catch our breath here and get you and your wife a bite to eat. We still have a half hour or more of traveling to get to the Embassy.”
“Don’t get up, Mrs. Linxi,” he said, turning to the back of the cart. “We don’t want anyone to see through our game. Your bloodied head wound disguise is very realistic.”
Linxi, again his voice choking with emotion, blurted out, “Shen is not pretending, Commander. A bullet struck her outside the tent. She has lost a lot of blood with the head wound and has been in and out consciousness ever since. There was no use trying for emergency help at Capitol. No beds or cots would be available. Patients are lined up on the floor, I was told. I hurt with each tortured breath she takes. Will there be a doctor at the Embassy?”
Geoff groaned at the news of Shen’s wound. “Yes, Professor, we share medical needs with a fine doctor at the Australian embassy.” He gripped her hand for comfort and took a closer look at the wound. The flesh was torn badly along the side of her head above the ear, bruising spreading over the whole area. At least the blood had clotted, but the woman was obviously in shock and probably needed a transfusion as soon as possible.
Linxi bought twisted fried bread and a bowl of rice gruel from the cart. He tried to tip a few grains of the congee into Shen’s lips. There was no response or movement from her.
“No, thanks,” Geoff said when offered some, squeamish at the lack of hygiene that must go into the food preparation in this district.
The old woman tending the stall threw the empty bowl into a bucket of luke-warm wash water and asked Linxi, “Are you a student? Is it true they are shooting the demonstrators at Tiananmen?”
Linxi replied, haltingly, each word an effort of memory, fear and weariness. “It’s terrible at Tiananmen... the soldiers… shot hundreds… wonderful young men… women… students… All they wanted was democracy… My wife was shot in the head. Now she may not even live until we get medical help.”
Linxi quieted, trying to take control of himself, fearful of saying too much. The woman could be a watcher. “The hospital is too full, so I’m taking her to my parents’ apartment for care. She must not die; we have our whole life to live together and our son in her belly is already five months old.”
“Eeyah!” the woman said. “That’s terrible. I hope she and your son survive. Who’s the barbarian? Why is he with you?”
Linxi answered, “A tourist out exercising who got caught in the mess and is lost. He was good enough to help me get through the crowds. I’m taking him to his hotel by the back streets on the way to my parents’ home. Changan is too dangerous for anyone right now.”
As the three of them began moving again, Linxi pointed back down the street. “The busybody is calling over the old man with the red armband. He’s a street watcher, traffic director and general spy for the government.” As they turned the corner, they saw the man scurry down the street to a telephone booth.
Finally they reached the boulevard heading into Jianguomen Bridge and stopped to survey the area. Geoff said, “Crossing the boulevard is easy, not much traffic at this end now.”
“We have been exposed,” Fang said. “Surely the MSS will associate the missing professor with an American jogger. They will be expecting us to go to the American Embassy, and looking for us to exit these side streets to get there.“
“You’re right. There they are,” Geoff said, spotting a brace of agents leaning over the top of a black car sweeping binoculars from side to side up and down the street. Pulling his head back into the alley, Geoff found himself surrounded by dozens of men, women and children. He understood some of the local patois well enough to follow what was being said between them and Linxi.
“MSS agents. Be careful,” Linxi summarized.
“Neighbors passed the word about us and want to help. Our new friends spotted the official car and will do whatever they can to help us escape. The MSS agents aren’t exactly friends of the people. What can we do, Commander?”
Geoff looked around. “Let’s try a diversion, Professor. I’m going to make a run for it. They won’t dare shoot me. I’m just a jogger out for a morning run, and I’m untouchable as diplomatic staff. You’re going to switch clothes with the locals here, pile some bricks from that dump over there around your wife, and become a bricklayer going to work.”
“Understood, Commander. With good fortune they will follow you and give us a chance to get across. I’ll ask our friends here to fill the area with as many people as they can summon to confuse the black shirts out there.”
“If we don’t meet on the other side, Professor, circle back on Chaoyangmena down to Ritan Park beyond the Embassy. You will find a side street leading into the alleyway behind the embassy building. The service door is self-evident, the only one there.”
“Agreed, Commander. And if you’re not there?”
“A Marine will be on duty and is expecting us. Once inside, you and Shen will be safe. I’ll give you ten minutes to get covered up and then take off. Good fortune, my friends.”
Geoff watched the neighbors form a crowd around the litter cart. Everyone pitched in to build a wall of bricks around the injured woman. Fang slipped out of the hospital coveralls, took the mask off, and dusted himself with debris. A few of the people scurried to nearby apartments to alert their neighbors to the action about to take place. In a few minutes, the boulevard had filled with people strolling up and down both sides of the street. Geoff nonchalantly walked out on the sidewalk and began to lope toward the bridge.
The agents picked him up at once and followed, one on foot, the other in the car.
“Follow me, boys. I’m like the Chattanooga Choo Choo,” Geoff sang, as he led them far enough up the boulevard, then swung suddenly across the road. He saw them leap into action to follow, but the crowds surging around the men and car delayed them momentarily. He took off at a run and turned down a narrow alley on the other side.
Geoff slowed down to a distance-eating trot, taking every turn right or left. Daily joggings in the area around the embassy had made him intimately familiar with the side streets. On any normal morning, children giggled and waited to exchange “ni hao” with him. There was always a supply of lollypops or jellybeans in his waist pack.
Geoff came down the alley behind the embassy just as the cart came into sight. Linxi, who was hurrying to get to the doorway, stumbled under the heavy load of bricks. The cart spun against the wall with a loud crash. He grabbed Shen as the bricks tumbled off and a wheel collapsed.
Geoff raced to help. He called out to the marine guard who was waiting at the back entrance. “Johnny, grab the lady. Get her inside. Fang, walk to the door and follow them inside. We don’t want anyone to say that we assisted or forced you into the premises of the United States.”
The black Shanghai Special screeched to a stop at the curb just as the door closed behind the marine and his two charges. Geoff, nonchalantly leaning against a utility pole, watched a small man get out of the back seat and head toward him. His demeanor identified him as an official, though an unlit cigar and an unkempt jacket appeared incongruous.
“American, may I see your identification?”
“Nope. It’s inside the Embassy,” Geoff answered. “I don’t carry any papers when I’m out running. Who are you?”
A hand extended politely. “I’m Fan Riqi, Vice Commissar of the Ministry of State Security. Are you attached to the embassy, sir? Please tell me your name and position.”
Geoff straightened up to his full height and offered to shake hands with the man. “Lieutenant Commander Geoffrey Martine, Cultural Attaché of the United States Embassy.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander Martine. We are looking for two criminals, a man and a wounded woman on a hospital cart. Have you seen them?”
“Sorry, Mr. Fan, I can’t help you.”
Geoff watched the Vice Commissar look over to the cart, now askew on one wheel with bricks tumbled around it. He looked up and down the street, and then turned back to Geoff.
“Very interesting Commander Martine. It appears the criminal demonstrators have helped themselves into asylum with your assistance. Suggest to your new-found friends that it would be well for them to surrender. If you see them, that is.”
“Vice Commissar, I have no idea what you are talking about. If I should happen to run into some strangers on my jogging route, I’ll relate your request.”
Geoff waved goodbye and started jogging around to the front of the Embassy. As he turned the corner, he saw Fan Riqi standing against the car, puffing on a cigar, scratching his scalp.
Fan watched the tall American jog off. Yes, Commander Martine, we must meet again.
THE EMBASSY
Fowler shouted at Geoff. “What’n hell do you mean, letting those people in here without my express permission? This is my territory. I warned you that I decide policy, not you, Martine.”
Patrick Duffy was standing with Geoff in the Ambassador’s office and interrupted quietly.
“Perhaps I should call a news conference, Mr. Ambassador. Dan Rather is still around and would be glad to get a story like this. I’m sure he would feature you in the interview for rendering aid to a wounded political refugee and her famous husband. Before you decide, this cable from the Secretary of State just came in. It seems State is very interested in Professor Fang Linxi.”
Fowler’s face was livid with anger. He stopped to read the cable. “All right, you two. Get out of here and get those people off the premises as soon as you can. Duffy, in the meantime you might set up that press conference so that I can tell the world about our famous guests.”
Geoff winked at Pat as he addressed the Ambassador. “I’ve prepared an operative memo for your signature, sir. If you’ll sign it, I can get on to the immediate problem of getting our guests safely out of the Embassy and out of China.”
The Ambassador scribbled an unintelligible signature and threw the paper at Geoff without reading it.
“Thank you, sir. You look very stressed, Mr. Ambassador. Would you like me to send Dr. Hitikoshi in after he has finished attending to Mrs. Linxi?”
Geoff followed the Communications Officer without waiting for an answer from the fuming man. He overheard the secretary buzz the intercom. “The Chinese Minister of State Security, Mr. Chou Shi, is on the phone, Mr. Ambassador. He says it is something about one of our Embassy personnel helping criminals escape.”
“Hey, Duffy, the Ambassador didn’t mention the evacuation plans. Is everything in order?”
“He received direct orders from President Bush to be prepared for evac and to stand by for orders. A Cathay Pacific 737 is holding in Hong Kong. Buses are at the housing compound with gear all loaded awaiting the order to mount up and ride off. Minimum staff will stay, including you and I. State is assessing the situation and will advise, according to the last dispatch.”
“Well done, Duffy. This outfit couldn’t run without you. From what I’ve seen, the damage will have been done by nightfall. The surviving democracy demonstrators, if any, will disperse and the Politburo will have to handle the world clamor and disgust.”
BEIHAI PARK, MSS OFFICE
At the Ministry of State Security, Commissar Chou Shi glowered at Fan Riqi while waiting for his call to go through. Captain Yao Lin cowered in the corner of the office, waited for the tirade and probable punishment that would soon be coming his way – a transfer to Urimiqi in Outer Mongolia, perhaps.
Fan Riqi, ignoring the Commissar’s mood, reached for a Great Wall cigar. Unwrapping it, he bit off the end and lit up. Over the next five years, it would come to be a very familiar posture.
PART 2
CHAPTER THREE
BEIJING
10 APRIL 1994
“Commander Geoffrey Martine reporting for duty, Madame Ambassador.”
Uniform cap tucked securely under his left arm, Geoff approached the desk framed by the window. The high-ceilinged room was comfortably familiar. The American flag still stood at attention behind it and now President William Clinton’s image surveyed the premises.
Ambassador Duke sat in the same chair behind the same desk that Ambassodor Fowler had occupied the last time Geoff was in this office. Geoff studied the slight figure, almost swallowed by the big leather desk chair. Her hair, tied tightly in a bun, appeared to pull the smooth skin of her lovely face taut. A slight wrinkling at the eyes was the only sign of aging. He had read her books, including one written after the Tiananmen Massacre, which told horror stories of personal experiences. Close friends living in China had related their suffering under the Communist regime. It would be interesting to share the memories of Tiananmen with Lena Lao Duke, United States Ambassador to the People’s Republic of China.
“Welcome back to Beijing, Commander Martine. I hope this tour of duty will be less eventful than the last. According to the reports I reviewed, your experiences in 1989 in the Tiananmen incident were extensive to say the least.” The Ambassador arose, extended her hand, and smiled. “Shall we sit over here and have some tea? Tell me about yourself.”
She took in the tall, athletic figure wearing regulation Navy whites with attaché gold cords looped around a shoulder. He returned the handshake, right side of his mouth twisted into a wry grin. Grayish-red hair left a stray lock over his right eyebrow, adding to his boyish charm. In her mind, she visualized a casual Errol Flynn adventurer rather than the James Bond sophisticated spy she had expected.
“Thank you, Madame Ambassador,” Geoff said.
The Ambassador motioned to a pair of lounge chairs pulled up to a low tea table. He followed her, watching from beneath lowered lashes. She wore a white silk skirt that clung to her hips and a matching silk shirt fell past her knees. The slight flaws in the shantung material only made her perfect skin more pronounced. An impressive belt hugged her narrow hips and the large mutton-fat jade buckle flashed wherever she moved, enhancing ever so subtly her aura of authority. Around her throat she wore a single strand of large freshwater pearls that accented the slimness of her neck.
On the tea table, a padded reed basket opened on a bright yellow decorated teapot and small matching cups. The pale green tea gave off a delicate aroma and was still hot from the cozy as he accepted it from her.
Geoff held the teacup up to the light and commented: “Eggshell porcelain, rare, from Jingdezhen in Jianxi Province. It allows the flavor of the tea to flow gently onto the tongue.”
The Ambassador assessed him with a slight smile. “How interesting that you are aware of the rare arts of China.”
“A friend and I were allowed to back-pack travel some years ago. We took advantage of the chance to visit many of the art centers of the country. Porcelain is fortunately one of the ancient arts that continues to exist.”
“Indeed.” The Ambassador seemed to be waiting for something more from him.
“I assume from the aroma that it is Hangzhou Dragon Well Tea, as well. My compliments. This is a change from my last visit to this office. I think this tour of duty will be more enjoyable. Now, what can I tell you about myself that isn’t in the personnel file you have on the desk?”
Geoff caught her fleeting smile, somehow managed without parting her lips.
“You are observant, Geoffrey, but that’s part of your training. Yes, I have read about the famous agent Martine that succeeded in smuggling two good friends of mine, Shen and Professor Fang Linxi, out of the Square and somehow out of Beijing during the harrowing episode of Tiananmen. You must tell me how you managed that. Ambassador Fowler’s report contained little detail except for his missing Cadillac. “
“It was a little tricky, Madame Ambassador. Whilst in Beijing, Mrs. Fowler had accumulated a considerable amount of antique furniture, porcelain artware, wood carvings, and assorted antique collectables. We managed to send the collection, loaded in two vans, escorted by Fowler’s Yellow Cadillac, to the freighter port in Tianjin. Inadvertently, we claimed, the car got loaded into the container with the two vans being shipped to Hong Kong. The Professor and his wife were carefully tucked into the false trunk.”