‘They’re not admitting that to anyone, but Pyongyang is about to approach Beijing for emergency economic aid.’
This was useful. Kai could forewarn Wu Bai. ‘How much will they ask for?’
‘They don’t even want money. They need rice, pork, gasoline, iron and steel.’
China would probably give them what they wanted, Kai thought; it always had, in the past. ‘What’s the reaction of the Party hierarchy to yet another failure?’
‘There are rumblings of discontent – there always are – but such murmurs will come to nothing as long as China props up the regime.’
‘Incompetence can be dreadfully stable.’
Ham gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Too fucking true.’
*
Kai had several American contacts, but the best was Neil Davidson, a CIA man at the American embassy in Beijing. They met for breakfast at the Rising Sun, in Chaoyang Park Road near the US embassy, convenient for Neil. Kai did not use his driver, Monk, because government cars looked official, and his meetings with Neil needed to be discreet, so he took a cab.
Kai got on well with Neil, even though they were enemies. They acted as if peace was possible even between such rivals as China and the US, given a little mutual understanding. It might even be true.
Kai often learned something Neil had not intended to reveal. Neil did not always tell him the truth, but his evasions sometimes yielded clues.
The Rising Sun was a mid-price restaurant patronized by the Chinese and foreign workers in the central commercial district. It made no effort to attract tourists, and the waiters did not speak English. Kai ordered tea and Neil arrived a few minutes later.
Neil was a Texan, but not much like a cowboy, except for his accent, which even Kai could detect. He was short and bald. He had been to the gym that morning – he was trying to lose weight, he explained – and he had not yet changed out of his worn trainers and black Nike warm-up jacket. And my wife goes to work in blue jeans and cowboy boots, Kai thought. Funny world.
Neil spoke fluent Mandarin with atrocious pronunciation. He ordered congee, the rice porridge, with a soft-boiled egg. Kai asked for soy-sauce noodles with tea eggs.
Kai said: ‘You won’t lose much weight eating congee. Chinese food has a lot of calories.’
‘Not as much as American,’ said Neil. ‘Even our bacon contains sugar. Anyway, what’s on your mind?’
That was direct. No Chinese person would be so blunt. But Kai had grown to like the way Americans got straight to the point. He replied equally plainly: ‘North Korea.’
‘Okay,’ Neil replied non-committally.
‘You’re imposing sanctions.’
‘Sanctions were imposed a long time ago, by the United Nations.’
‘But now the US and its close friends are seriously enforcing them, intercepting ships and interdicting cargoes and obstructing international payments that violate the sanctions.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Neil, stop dicking me around. Just tell me why.’
‘Weapons in Africa.’
Faking mild indignation, Kai said: ‘You’re talking about Corporal Peter Ackerman. The killer was a terrorist!’
‘It’s a pity he used a Chinese gun.’
‘You don’t normally blame the crime on the manufacturer of the weapon.’ Kai smiled as he added: ‘If you did, you would have shut down Smith and Wesson years ago.’
‘Maybe.’
Neil was stonewalling, and Kai needed him to be more honest. He said: ‘Do you know which criminal enterprise is the largest in the world today, in money terms?’
‘You’re going to tell me it’s the trade in illicit weapons.’
Kai nodded. ‘Bigger than drugs, bigger than human trafficking.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Both Chinese guns and American guns are easily available on the international black market.’
‘Available, yes,’ Neil conceded. ‘Easily? Not really. The gun that killed Corporal Ackerman was not bought in a regular black-market transaction, was it? When that sale was made, two governments looked the other way: the Sudanese and the Chinese.’
‘Don’t you understand that we hate Muslim terrorists as much as you do?’
‘Let’s not oversimplify. You hate Chinese Muslim terrorists. You’re not so worried about African Muslim terrorists.’
Neil was uncomfortably close to the truth.
Kai said: ‘I’m sorry, Neil, but Sudan is an ally and it’s good business selling them guns. We’re not going to stop. Corporal Ackerman is just one man.’
‘This is not really about poor Corporal Ackerman. It’s about howitzers.’
Kai was taken aback. He had not expected this. Then he recalled a detail from a report he had read two weeks ago. The Americans and others had raided a large and important ISGS hideout called al-Bustan that had truck-mounted howitzers.
So that was what had prompted the UN resolution.
The food came, giving Kai time to reflect. He felt tense, despite his facade of relaxed camaraderie, and he ate his noodles slowly, with little appetite. Neil was hungry after his workout and wolfed his congee. When they had finished, Kai summed up. ‘So President Green is using the North Korea sanctions to punish China for the artillery at al-Bustan.’
‘More than that, Kai,’ said Neil. ‘She wants you to be more careful about the end-users of the weapons you sell.’
‘I’ll make sure that gets through to the highest levels,’ Kai said.
That meant nothing, but Neil seemed satisfied to have delivered the message. He changed the subject. ‘How is the lovely Ting?’
‘Pretty good, thank you.’ Neil was one of the millions of men who found Ting devastatingly attractive. Kai was used to it. ‘Have you found an apartment yet?’
‘Yes – at last.’
‘Good.’ Kai knew that Neil had been looking for a better place to live. He also knew that Neil had found one and moved in, and he knew the address and phone number. He also knew the identities and backgrounds of all the other residents of the building. The Guoanbu kept close track of foreign agents in Beijing, especially the American ones.
Kai paid for the breakfast and the two men left the restaurant. Neil headed for the embassy, walking, and Kai hailed a cab.
*
North Korea’s demand for emergency aid was discussed at a small high-powered meeting called by the International Department of the Chinese Communist Party. The department’s headquarters, at No. 4 Fuxing Road in Haidian District, was smaller and less impressive than the Foreign Ministry, but more powerful. The Director’s office overlooked the Military Museum of the Chinese People’s Revolution, which had a giant red star on its roof.
Kai’s boss, Minister of State Security Fu Chuyu, took Kai with him. Kai guessed that Fu would have preferred to leave Kai behind, but did not have at his fingertips all the facts about the crisis in North Korea, and was afraid of looking foolish. This way he could call on Kai for any details – and blame Kai for any gaps.
All those at the table were men, although some of the aides sitting around the walls were women. Kai thought the Chinese governing elite needed more women. His father thought the opposite.
The Director, Hu Aiguo, asked Foreign Minister Wu Bai to outline the problem they had gathered to discuss.
‘There is an economic crisis in North Korea,’ Wu began.
‘As usual.’ The comment came from Kong Zhao, a friend and political ally of Kai’s. It was mildly disrespectful to interrupt the foreign minister like this, but Kong could get away with it. In a brilliant military career he had completely modernized the army’s communications technology, and now he was National Defence Minister.
Wu ignored him and went on: ‘The government in Pyongyang has asked for massive aid.’
‘As usual,’ Kong said again.