She rounded the corner and saw Mr. Scott talking to Jack Benson. “Slumming it today, Mr. Scott?”
“Donna! I was just talking with Jack about you. We’ve decided to release you from your Indonesia team commitments. Jack here has been complaining that you’re not as effective at the China desk when you’re working 70-hour weeks trying to do two jobs at once.”
Donna blushed slightly at the attention, “Thank you sir, I like the extra work; it’s a challenge and I appreciate your confidence in me.” Donna didn’t know whether to be thankful for the return to her “normal” work routine or to be upset that her boss may have recommended a career-limiting reduction in her responsibilities. She set her jaw, “Still, if it’s all the same with you gentlemen, I’d rather continue working with the Indonesia team.”
“No,” Mr. Scott said firmly, “I think the worst is over. China is now a part of the UN peace enforcement mission. You provided great insight on their motivations and their troop quality and strength. If you have anything to contribute to the team, you know where to find them.”
That was final, Donna thought, no use fighting it.
“Say, while I have the two of you here, what is going on with China these days?” Donna’s question was upbeat. “I was looking at our quarterly estimates of Chinese military strength near Taiwan over a period of three years and I was surprised to see a large and steady increase over time with an almost doubling of combat power during the spring quarter.”
Jack Benson jumped in immediately, “Oh Donna, what are they going to do? Invade? Kill the goose that laid the golden egg for them? That Cold War paranoia thinking of yours has got to go — you don’t want us to be ridiculed again by overestimating our potential foes, do you?”
Bradley Scott looked down at Benson, almost frowning, “Jack…”
Benson looked back at Scott. The large, black, former Marine made an imposing presence. Scott was a self-made leader and analyst among an ivy-league dominated band of mostly privileged white people. If Scott made him uncomfortable, he didn’t know what to think of Donna Klein—a young, single female, beautiful, Jewish, brash — very atypical for a Company analyst. “Brad, Donna and I had this conversation a week ago. I think her belief that the Chinese might invade borders on an obsession. It’s clouding her ability to be objective…”
Donna was furious. She held her reply to a low growl, “Look, Mr. Benson, just because one of your analysts doesn’t go along with the all the group think crap about China just wanting to get rich doesn’t mean her thinking is impaired. I thought independent thought was supposed to be valued around here.”
One of Donna’s older male co-workers was heading for the coffee pot. He heard Donna reply, quickly turned on his heel, and retreated to his cubical.
No matter what Mr. Scott claims to think now, that bastard Benson just planted a seed of doubt. For the first time since joining the CIA, Donna was seriously considering resigning.
Mr. Scott began his soothing best, “Donna,” he said stretching out his hands, his right hand still clutching his coffee mug, “your analysis is always appreciated around here. Just take it easy. Take into account the prevailing wisdom in your reports — remember, it’s not enough for an analyst to be right, an analyst must also convince his or her audience too. If you’re correct and nobody believes you, that’s not much use to anyone, now is it?”
Donna first shot a piercing glance at Benson, then looked at Mr. Scott, “No sir, it isn’t.”
18
Dragon Flight
The cruise ship was the pride of COSCO. It normally carried some 2,300 passengers in complete comfort from Amoy to Japan twice a week.
The ship’s captain was shocked when six health inspectors from the Maritime Safety Administration of the Ministry of the Interior showed up on the 15th and inspected his potable water tanks. “You have harmful bacteria,” they said. “For the health and safety of your passengers, you must cancel the trips leaving Amoy today for Japan and the return trip from Japan on the 17th as well as the trip back out to Japan on the evening of the 19th.” The captain had no choice but to comply. “Don’t worry, the state will refund your passengers and provide them with discount coupons for travel.”
Their next order was even more curious. “You must immediately make for Fuzhou. There you will contact the harbor master and arrange to dock at Quay 103 by July 16th at 0300 hours. There, your ship’s tanks will be thoroughly disinfected. Under no circumstances will you be late.”
The captain knew the men meant what they said — they left one man behind to ensure total compliance.
The chief ferryboat captain was puzzled. On July 18, a team of five inspectors from something called the “Ministry of the Interior Maritime Safety Administration” had just given his boat a thorough going over. He suspected they wanted a bribe. He wouldn’t give it to them, of course, his boat, like most others in the area, was half owned by the Guangdong Military District. He was even more perplexed when the leader of the five men congratulated him for having such a well-maintained vessel. The last mystery these strange men left were special instructions from the Ministry of the Interior regarding two men who would present themselves at his boat tomorrow. He and his crew were to do everything they ordered without question.
The master of the COSCO dry bulk carrier was proud of his modern vessel. Normally he carried tin ore from Thailand to be smelted and refined in Chinese factories and used eventually in his country’s burgeoning electronics industry.
A few weeks ago, however, he received orders to go to Shantou Harbor to undergo minor modifications — modifications that appeared as if his ship was being outfitted to carry livestock.
Questions as to his ship’s future went unanswered. When his paycheck arrived as usual, he just shrugged and figured COSCO knew what they were doing. Perhaps the market for imported beef is improving and I will be sent to Australia more often — now that’s a pleasant run!
The pilot from the Mainland had worked for Cathay Pacific Airways for only a year. Since the re-absorption of Hong Kong back into China in 1997, Mainlanders were often placed in key positions within Hong Kong companies.
With his Mainland ties came also a strong and loyal connection to the Communist Party. When a special request from a well-placed source came into the chief scheduler, there was little concern. The pilot from the Mainland had been flying daily between Hong Kong and Chiang Kai-Shek International in Taiwan all this week anyway, so postponing his time off by a day would make little disruption to the schedule board. The unusual part of the request was that the pilot was to fly with a new copilot, also from China proper. The new man hadn’t even had his entry paperwork completed yet, but the well-connected source insisted on his making the flight.
The PLA conscript almost looked forward to his time in the army. Everyone had to do it, at least for three years (well, the local Party boss’ son disappeared for a few years when he turned 18, somehow the private knew that son missed the draft). Anyway, joining the Army offered a chance to see a part of China other than his mud-paved village where there were to be seen more pigs and chickens in the street than bicycles and cars.
And now, rousted from his bunk in the middle of the night by the bellowing platoon sergeant, he was headed to the mysterious port city of Shantou. He’d only been there once before, completely amazed by its wealth: motorcycles, cars, nice clothing — even cellular phones.