‘Right away.’ Shi went out.
Kai sat back. He had enough now to brief the politicians. But the news was bad news. The Americans were involved in the slaughter of more than a hundred innocent Chinese people. This was a major international incident. The explosion on the Port Sudan waterfront was going to send shock waves around the world.
He needed to know what the Americans had to say.
Kai called his CIA contact, Neil Davidson. The call was picked up immediately. ‘This is Neil.’ He sounded alert and fully awake, even with his laid-back Texas drawl. Kai was surprised.
‘This is Kai.’
‘How did you get my home number?’
‘How do you think?’ The Guoanbu had the private phone numbers of every foreigner in Beijing, naturally.
‘My mistake, stupid question.’
‘I expected you to be asleep.’
‘I’m awake for the same reason you’re awake, I guess.’
‘Because one hundred and three Chinese citizens have been killed in Sudan by an American drone.’
‘We did not fire that drone.’
‘The wreckage bears the symbol of the United States Air Force.’
Neil went quiet. Clearly this was news to him.
Kai added: ‘A white star in a blue disc, with stripes both sides.’
‘I can’t comment on that, but I’m telling you definitely that we did not send a drone to bomb Port Sudan.’
‘That doesn’t exempt you from responsibility.’
‘Doesn’t it? Remember Corporal Ackerman? You refused to take responsibility when he was murdered with a Chinese weapon.’
He had a point, but Kai was not going to admit it. ‘That was a rifle. How many million rifles are there in the world? No one can keep track of them, whether they’re made in China or the US or anywhere else. A drone is different.’
‘The fact remains that the US did not send that drone.’
‘Who did?’
‘Responsibility has been claimed—’
‘I know who’s claiming responsibility, Neil. I’m asking you who launched the thing. You should know, it’s your fucking drone.’
‘Calm down, Kai.’
‘If a Chinese drone had killed a hundred Americans, how calm would you be? Would President Green deal with the incident in a calm and unemotional manner?’
‘Point taken,’ Neil said. ‘All the same, it’s no use us yelling at one another over the phone at five o’clock in the goddamn morning.’
Kai realized Neil was right. I’m an intelligence officer, he told himself; my job is to gather information, not let off steam. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Accepting, for the sake of argument, that you did not launch the drone, how do you account for what happened in Port Sudan?’
‘I’m going to tell you something off the record. If you repeat it publicly we will deny it—’
‘I know what “off the record” means.’
There was a pause, then Neil said: ‘Strictly between you and me, Kai, that drone was stolen.’
Kai sat upright. ‘Stolen? From where?’
‘I can’t give you details, I’m sorry.’
‘I suppose it was taken from American forces in North Africa that are part of your campaign against ISGS.’
‘Don’t press me. All I can do is steer you in the right direction. I’m telling you that someone purloined that drone.’
‘I believe you, Neil,’ said Kai, although he was not sure he really did. ‘But no one here is going to credit the story without details.’
‘Come on, Kai, be logical. Why would the White House want to murder a hundred Chinese engineers? Not to mention their families.’
‘I don’t know, but it’s hard for me to believe that the US is completely innocent.’
‘Okay.’ Neil sounded resigned. ‘If you guys are determined to start World War Three over this I can’t stop you.’
Neil had voiced an anxiety that Kai shared. It lay at the back of Kai’s mind like a sleeping dragon, full of latent menace. Kai would not admit this, but he shared Neil’s fear that the Chinese government would overreact to the Port Sudan bombing, with severe consequences. However, he spoke in a normal voice. ‘Thank you, Neil. Let’s stay in touch.’
‘You got it.’
They hung up.
Kai spent the next hour composing a report summarizing all he had learned since his phone had woken him. He filed the memorandum under the code name Vulture. He looked at the clock: it was 6 a.m.
He decided to call the foreign minister personally. He should really report to Security Minister Fu Chuyu, but Fu was not yet in the office; this was a flimsy excuse, but it would do. He dialled Wu Bai’s home phone.
Wu was awake and up. He answered with: ‘Yes?’ Kai heard a buzz in the background and guessed that Wu was using an electric shaver.
‘This is Chang Kai, and I apologize for calling so early, but one hundred and three Chinese people have been killed in Sudan by an American drone.’
‘Oh, hell,’ said Wu. The buzzing stopped. ‘This will be a shitstorm.’
‘I agree.’
‘Who else knows?’
‘Right now, no one in China outside the Guoanbu. The TV news is saying only that there is a fire at the docks in Port Sudan.’
‘Good.’
‘But obviously I must inform the military as soon as I’ve briefed you. Shall I come to your apartment?’
‘Yes, why not, that will save time.’
‘I’ll be there in half an hour, if that suits you.’
‘See you then.’
Kai printed copies of the Vulture file and put them in a briefcase with some of the photos Shi had printed that showed the USAF roundel on the wrecked drone. Then he went downstairs to his waiting car. He gave Monk the home address of Wu. He took his tie from his pocket and knotted it as they drove.
Wu lived in Chaoyang Park, the swankiest neighbourhood in Beijing. His building overlooked the golf course. In the glittering lobby Kai had to prove his identity and pass through a metal detector before he went up in the elevator.
Wu opened the apartment door dressed in a pale-grey shirt and the trousers of a pin-striped suit. His cologne had a vanilla note. The place was luxurious, though nothing like as large as some of the apartments Kai had seen in the US. Wu took him through to a dining room where breakfast was laid out with gleaming silverware on a white linen cloth. Bone china dishes held steamed dumplings, rice porridge with prawns, fried dough sticks, and paper-thin crepes with a plum sauce. Wu believed in living well.
Kai drank some tea and talked while Wu ate porridge. He ran through the tanker dock project, the bombing, the drone, the claim of responsibility by SJS and the American allegation that the drone had been stolen. He showed Wu the photograph of the drone wreckage and gave him a copy of the Vulture file. All the while, the aroma of spicy food was making his mouth water. When he had finished speaking Wu told him to help himself to breakfast, and he gratefully took some dumplings and tried not to wolf them.
Wu said: ‘We have to retaliate.’
Kai had expected this. He knew it would be pointless to argue for no reprisals: that would never fly. So he began by agreeing. ‘When just one American is killed the White House reacts as if there has been a holocaust,’ he said. ‘Chinese lives are equally precious.’
‘But what form should our retaliation take?’
‘Our response should balance yin and yang,’ he said, edging towards an argument for moderation. ‘We must be strong, but not foolhardy; restrained, but never weak. The word should be retaliate – not escalate.’
‘Very good,’ said Wu, who was a moderate out of laziness rather than conviction.
The door opened and a dumpy middle-aged woman came in. When she kissed Wu, Kai realized she was Wu’s wife. He had not met her before, and he was surprised that she was not more glamorous. ‘Good morning, Bai,’ she said to her husband. ‘How is breakfast?’
‘Delicious, thank you,’ Wu said. ‘This is my colleague Chang Kai.’
Kai stood up and bowed. ‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ he said.
She smiled pleasantly. ‘I hope you got something to eat.’
‘The dumplings are wonderful.’
She returned her attention to Wu. ‘Your car is here, my dear.’ She left the room.