‘I’m hoping my enemies will decide that it’s simpler to go straight for me, rather than attack me through you.’ He did not have high hopes of this. The use of threats to the family as a way of keeping people in line was a standard Communist Party tactic. It was how the government controlled Chinese people abroad. Threats to the individual himself were much less effective.
‘People are starting to leave,’ Ting said. ‘Let’s slip out.’
They left the studio and got into the car, and Monk pulled away. Ting said: ‘We’ll buy something nice for dinner and have a quiet evening.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
‘We could get deep-fried rabbit ears. I know you love them.’
‘My favourite.’ Kai’s phone sounded the bell-like tone that indicated a text message. He looked at the screen and saw that the caller was unidentified. He frowned: few people had his number, and even fewer were allowed to contact him anonymously. He read the message. It was one word: IMMEDIATE.
He knew right away that it was from General Ham in North Korea. It meant that Ham wanted a meeting as soon as possible.
Ham had been quiet for almost three weeks. Something important must have happened. The country’s economic crisis was old news; there must have been a new development.
Spies often exaggerated the significance of their information in order to pump up their own importance, but Ham was not like that. Perhaps Supreme Leader Kang U-jung was about to test a nuclear warhead, which would infuriate the Americans. Perhaps he was planning some violation of the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea. He had many ways to make life difficult for the Chinese government.
There were three scheduled flights per day from Beijing to Yanji, and in an emergency Kai could use an air-force plane. He called his office. His senior secretary, Peng Yawen, was still at her desk. He said: ‘What time is the first flight to Yanji tomorrow?’
‘It’s early . . .’ Kai heard her tapping her keyboard. ‘Six forty-five, and it’s nonstop.’
‘Book me on it, please. What time does it land?’
‘Eight fifty. Can I order a car to meet you on arrival at Chaoyangchuan Airport?’
‘No.’ Kai preferred to be unobtrusive. ‘I’ll get a taxi.’
‘Will you stay overnight?’
‘Not if I can help it. Book me on the next flight back. We can change it if necessary.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Kai hung up and calculated timings in his head. Meetings were held at Ham’s unfinished house, unless otherwise agreed. Kai should be there at about half past nine.
He replied to Ham’s message with one equally terse. It said simply: 9.30 a.m.
*
A cold, hard rain was falling on the airport at Yanji next morning. Kai’s plane had to circle for fifteen minutes while an air-force jet landed. Civilian and military terminals shared the runway, but the military had priority – as always in China.
It was only mid-October, but Kai was glad of his winter coat as he stepped outside the terminal and queued for a taxi. As usual he gave the address of the Wumart supermarket. The driver had the radio tuned to a Korean-language station that was playing ‘Gangnam Style’, a familiar K-pop classic. Kai sat back and enjoyed the music.
From the supermarket Kai walked to Ham’s house. The site was a sea of mud and little work was getting done.
‘I’m risking my life by seeing you,’ Ham said, ‘but I’m probably going to get killed in the next few days anyway.’
This was startling. Kai said: ‘Are you serious?’
The question was superfluous. Ham was always serious. He said: ‘Let’s get inside out of the rain.’
They entered the unfinished building. A decorator and his apprentice were working in the grandchildren’s bedrooms, using bright pastel colours, and the distinctive smell of fresh paint filled the house, pungent and caustic, but also pleasantly suggestive of newness and smartness.
Ham led Kai into the kitchen. On the counter stood an electric kettle, a jar of tea leaves and some cups. Ham switched the kettle on and closed the door so that their conversation could not be overheard.
The house was cold. The two men kept their coats on. There were no chairs; they leaned on the newly installed kitchen counters.
Kai said impatiently: ‘What is it? What’s the emergency?’
‘This economic crisis is the worst since the North–South war.’
Kai already knew that. He was partly responsible for it. ‘And . . .’
‘The Supreme Leader has squeezed the military budget. The vice-marshals protested, and he fired them all.’ Ham paused. ‘That was a mistake.’
‘So now the military is run by a new, younger generation of officers. And . . .?’
‘For a long time the military has had a strong ultra-nationalist-reformist element. They want North Korea to be independent of China. We should decide our own fate, they say; we should not be China’s lapdog. I hope I don’t offend you, my friend.’
‘Not in the least.’
‘In order to sustain independence they would have to reform agriculture and industry, loosening the constraints of Communist Party control.’
‘As China did under Deng Xiaoping.’
‘Their views have always been muted – if they were openly critical of the Supreme Leader, they wouldn’t be officers very long. Such opinions are always stated in hushed voices, among trusted friends. But that means the Supreme Leader doesn’t always know who his enemies are. And many of the new cohort of leaders secretly belong to the ultra-nationalist tendency. They think nothing will ever improve under Kang U-jung.’
Kai began to see where he was going, and he was worried. ‘What are they going to do about it?’
‘They’re talking about a military coup.’
‘Hell.’ Kai was rocked. This was serious, much more so than a Vietnamese ship near the Xisha Islands, or a United Nations resolution about arms sales. North Korea had to be stable: that was a keystone of China’s defence. Any threat to Pyongyang was a threat to Beijing.
The kettle boiled and switched itself off. Neither man moved to make tea. ‘A coup when?’ said Kai. ‘How?’
‘The ringleaders are my colleagues, the officers at Yeongjeo-dong. They will certainly be able to take control of their own base.’
‘Which means they will have nuclear weapons.’
‘They consider that essential.’
Worse and worse. ‘How much support do they have elsewhere?’
‘I don’t know. You must understand that I’m not part of the core group. They consider me a supporter, reliable but peripheral. I probably would be an enthusiastic ally, except that I chose my own route years ago.’
‘But if the conspirators are serious they must be spread fairly widely.’
‘I assume they’re in touch with like-minded senior officers at other army bases – but I don’t know for certain.’
‘So you probably don’t know when they will make their move.’
‘Soon. The army is running out of food and fuel. Perhaps next week. Or it could be tomorrow.’
Kai had to get this news to the Chinese president fast.
He considered giving the information to Beijing over the phone, but immediately rejected that idea as a panic reaction. His calls to the Guoanbu were encrypted, but no code was unbreakable. Anyway, if the coup was today, he was already too late, and if it was even as soon as tomorrow, he had time to give warning. He would go back to Beijing immediately and report within hours.
He said: ‘You’d better give me some names.’
Ham stood still for a long moment, looking down at his feet on the newly tiled floor. After a while he said: ‘The government of North Korea is brutal and incompetent, but that’s not the problem. It’s that they lie. Everything they say is propaganda, nothing they say is true. A man can be loyal to bad leaders, but not to dishonest ones. I have betrayed the leaders of my country because they lied to me.’
Kai did not want to listen to this. He was in a hurry. But he sensed that Ham had to say it, so he remained silent.
‘A long time ago I resolved to take care of my family and myself,’ Ham said in the heavy tones of an older man reflecting on the choices that had decided the course of his life. ‘I encouraged my daughter to move here, to China. I began to spy for you and accumulate money. Eventually, I started to build my retirement home. In all of that, I did nothing that made me feel ashamed. But now . . .’