It was a mystery where the foreign minister got his money, but each of the bracelets cost 11,000 yuan — more than $1,500 U.S. Meiling knew; she’d purchased them all at an expensive shop in Shunyi where Minister Li had an account. He took great pleasure in showing off to his friends at his frequent dinner parties by having her bake pieces of expensive jewelry into the desserts meant for each wife. The women would fawn over their husbands, proud of them for associating with such a powerful and generous man. The husbands, in turn, would scrape and bow to the minister for making them look so good in front of their wives.
Minister Li would always smile benevolently and help his own wife put on her bracelet. She always received jewelry as well.
Except tonight, that was not the case.
Meiling had planned on only four guests and there were not enough bracelets to go around. Madame Li had graciously given her bracelet to Madame Ip, telling Meiling not to fret. But the minister’s eyes had gone positively black the moment he saw his wife had been left out. Madame Ip had only made it worse when she sucked the custard off her new trinket and then held it up to Madame Li, saying, “Such a shame you don’t get one, too, my dear.”
Minister Li turned to give Meiling a saccharine smile. “We will retire to my study,” he said. “Please see to some brandied pears.”
“Yes, Mr. Foreign Minister,” she said, backing away.
“And Meiling,” he said, the smile fading from his lips. “Bring in the fruit yourself.”
The Ips excused themselves shortly after dinner, citing a previous engagement, but Meiling suspected they’d been told it was time for them to leave. Only three men were ever invited into Minister Li’s private study.
The crystal goblets of brandied pears rattled and clinked on the lacquer tray in Meiling’s shaking hands. She took small breaths, afraid she’d cough from the pall of cigar smoke that filled the study.
“Thank you,” the minister said. “Please leave at once.”
“Of course, sir,” Meiling said. Perhaps he had forgiven her for not being prepared. “Will there be anything else?”
Minister Li cocked his head, puffing on the awful cigar. “You misunderstand me, child,” he said. “I mean leave my house. Your services will no longer be needed.”
Tears welled and then fell from Meiling’s eyes. “But sir, there was no—”
Li held up his hand. “I have made it very clear that I value preparedness over excuses.” His eyes crept up and down. At length, he nodded, as if reaching a conclusion. He looked beside the door at a terrifying man with dark eyes and the bulge of a gun under his suit jacket — then back at the weeping Meiling. “Lieutenant General Xu’s driver will take you. If that is all right, General.”
Xu gave the man an almost imperceptible nod. “Go ahead, Long Yun.”
General Ma Xiannian took a series of puffs from his Cuban cigar and held it to one side, studying the glowing coal. “Killing the young woman seems harsh, even for you. It seems a terrible waste of a good cook. To forget to include your wife’s bracelet is…”
The foreign minister waved away the notion. “That was my fault,” he said. “But it was not the primary concern. She was not at all surprised that Ip and his bitch wife were not asked to stay after dinner. It would not have been long before she said something to someone about the meetings of our new Gang of Four.”
They never uttered the phrase outside the security of their little group. The men had come to think of themselves as a faction that wanted only the best for China but who would surely be misunderstood if they were to be discovered. The original Gang of Four had been led by Chairman Mao’s wife, Jiang Qing. After Mao’s death, and absent his protection, the former actress was accused with three others as counterrevolutionary and blamed by the government for virtually every evil of the Cultural Revolution.
The foreign minister loosened his red silk tie. There was no reason to stand on ceremony now. He was among friends — friends who would stand beside him in front of a firing squad if they were ever discovered — even by members of the party who essentially agreed with them.
Secretary Deng spoke next. “Public approval for Zhao is waning, as you predicted,” he said. “But his supporters in the politburo appear steadfast. I have even heard it said that he has the brains to hold the same progressive economic policies as disgraced President Wei, but the balls to implement them.”
“That may be true,” General Ma said. “But I know more than a few in the party who find themselves gravely concerned with Zhao’s misguided corruption probes. It is as if he is completely blind to the origin of his support.”
“Blindness is among the least of his disturbing qualities,” Deng said.
“He is quite intelligent,” Li said. “We should not underestimate him. General Xu, I believe—”
A metallic chime sounded at the study door, cutting him off. The foreign minister raised his hand to quiet everyone. A moment later, Madame Li appeared with her arm around the shoulders of a handsome boy in his early teens.
“Qin’ai,” she said. The term was akin to “dear” or “darling.” “Our son has had a long day and would like to say good night to his father.”
Li put the cigar in the ashtray beside his chair and took the boy’s hand, holding it in his. “Good night, my son. Rest well.”
The other men in the room looked away, embarrassed by this uncustomary outpouring of emotion from the leader they’d respected for his cruelty and cunning.
“I will leave you men to talk your treason,” Madame Li said, smiling as she escorted the boy out.
Secretary Deng winced before the door was shut and they were alone. “Does she know?”
Li took up his cigar again, then picked a fleck of tobacco off his lip. “Of course not. It is merely something she says. Women chatter about the household and men talk treason.”
“Well,” Deng said, “it is a dangerous term.”
Li’s eyes narrowed. “Any disrespectful talk of my wife would be dangerous. Of that you may be quite sure.”
General Ma held up his hand. Had it really fallen to the military man to try and make peace? He decided to change the subject rather than appeal to either man’s decency. “It is such a shame that Chinese interests must be harmed in order to attain our goals.”
Li snatched up his cigar, took a few puffs, then snubbed it out in the ashtray. The veins in the side of his neck bulged with tension.
“Make no mistake,” he said. “Chinese interests are not our only targets. Before we are finished, President Ryan will be ready to fly Air Force One to Beijing and shoot the fool Zhao himself.”
The foreign minister sat for a moment, composing himself before turning to General Xu. “Your man Huang, Zhao’s chief bodyguard. Will he bend?”
“The colonel?” Xu shook his head. “From what I have seen, he is endowed with a set of iron principles that will prove quite troublesome.”
“I assume you have considered a remedy,” the foreign minister said. “Principles are to be lauded, so long as they align with ours. One man with the wrong ideals… Do I need to spell it out?”
Xu puffed on his cigar until the coal glowed red, illuminating his face.
“I can assure you, Mr. Foreign Minister,” the general said. “Colonel Huang will not be a problem.”
23
Four hours after the call from Gavin Biery, Ding Chavez slouched in an uncomfortable fake-leather chair in the lounge of an FBO off Lemmon Avenue. He munched stale popcorn for breakfast and thumbed absentmindedly through an aviation magazine while he tried to stay awake enough to remain aware of his surroundings. He never understood why every fixed-base operator he’d ever seen had a popcorn machine, but they did, and he’d learned to take advantage of the fact when there was nothing else salty to eat.