Dunne heard footsteps, the sound of hard-sole shoes beating on the stone tiles in the hallway. He waited for several seconds before turning his head, giving no impression of anxiousness. It would have been undiplomatic to say, and so Dunne would never say it, but the aide looked in no way remarkable. The man’s attire was straight from the universal bureaucrat dress code. The clothes belied the man. Zeng Qinglin was mishu to President Tian Kai, the personal aide to the chief of state of the People’s Republic of China, a civilization a few thousand years older than the United States. His position gave him powerful guanxi, the network of personal connections to other leaders in the party who would one day ensure his own rise in the ranks, possibly even to full member status in the Central Committee if he didn’t fall out of favor with the wrong people. The great truth of bureaucracy, Dunne thought. The gatekeeper is almost as powerful as the person behind the gate. More, in some ways.
“Ambassador Dunne, the president will see you now.” Zeng’s English was grammatically correct and spoken with a hint of an English accent. Oxford. Dunne had read the CIA’s file on the man before meeting him for the first time. The Communist Party wouldn’t send its most promising sons and daughters abroad and risk their defection for the sake of a third-rate education.
“Thank you,” Dunne replied.
Dunne stood and rested his weight on his cane, less an affectation and more a needed crutch every year. But the walk was a short one before Zeng stopped and opened one of a pair of dark hardwood doors. He stood aside like a proper doorman, and Dunne walked into the office of President Tian Kai.
Tian — Chinese surnames precede first names — stood beside his desk, an ornate piece of furniture that reminded Dunne of the Resolute desk in the Oval Office. The rest of Tian’s office was comfortable, though not to excess, and some of the furniture looked like it was drawn from the Victorian era.
The other men in the room were an impressive group in their own right.
Dunne’s memory for Chinese characters was weak but his memory for faces was excellent. He had spent time studying the leadership biographies provided by both CIA and State Department. He’d never seen so many members of the Politburo Central Committee and Central Military Committee in one place outside the Great Hall of the People.
They’re not here for tea, Dunne told himself. And they wanted me to see them. You could have cleared the room before letting me in, he thought. Such things didn’t happen at this level by chance. So many men of this stature wouldn’t convene at Zhongnanhai for social reasons, and protocol would have dictated that he not be admitted until they had left. Racking his memory, he couldn’t remember even seeing these men together at a state dinner, much less for business. If Dunne were suddenly dismissed from the office, what he’d already seen would be worth a cable to Washington.
“Mr. Ambassador, thank you for coming.” President Tian’s English was excellent, which always frustrated Dunne. It gave the Chinese head of state a significant advantage. Tian stepped forward and offered his hand with a kind smile.
“Mr. President, it is my honor to come,” Dunne said, accepting the handshake.
Tian turned to the other men and spoke to them in Mandarin. Dunne interpreted it as a polite request for privacy—or “message sent”?—and the group filed out of the room, Zeng leaving last and closing the door behind.
Tian slowly lowered himself into his chair behind the desk. “These are dangerous times,” he said without preamble. He was younger than Dunne by less than a decade, shorter by a head, and had a deeper voice than most Chinese men the ambassador talked to. Like Zeng’s, his accent was an odd combination of Oxford English mixed with Mandarin tones. “You are, of course, aware of the recent speech made by President Liang, accusing us of espionage in Taiwan.”
“I am, sir.”
“I will not insult your intelligence by denying that our arrested citizens were officers of our Ministry of State Security. We both understand the necessity of intelligence operations.” Tian paused, sipped his tea, and then resumed. “But the facts must be clear now. The Taiwanese citizens were not working for us. Perhaps they were political enemies of President Liang and he seized the opportunity to remove them from his path. Such an act would hardly be beneath him.”
Dunne straightened his back in surprise without thinking. You outed MSS officers. Why? As one part of his brain worked that puzzle, the part handling the diplomacy arranged his response. “One was an American citizen,” Dunne corrected him to buy time.
“Yes, but I honestly do not know why he was in the room with our officers,” Tian conceded. Dunne studied his face carefully. If the Chinese president was lying, he was covering it with great skill. “And given his unfortunate death, we will not know until Liang returns our officers to Beijing. Another reason that perhaps your country might persuade Taiwan to cooperate with us in this matter.”
Dunne stifled his first response and managed to just raise an eyebrow instead. The intel that Mitchell had reviewed with him that morning told a different story. Dunne hadn’t expected the gospel truth out of Tian, but this account was a different lie than the one he had been expecting. “So you don’t deny that the Ministry of State Security was conducting espionage against Taiwan?”
“No. Of course, we will publicly deny it.”
“Of course.”
Tian went on after imbibing more tea. “I tell you this because the presence of our officers in Taipei was legal, and to illustrate the lengths to which President Liang will go to preserve his position. He often seeks to arouse public sentiment favoring independence. My concern is that those efforts could encourage our own native dissident elements. Surely you can see that such political unrest would not be in the interest of either of our countries.”
“The United States has always advocated a peaceful resolution of the reunification issue. My country does not support a unilateral move by either side to alter the status quo.”
“I regret that Liang may not allow us to resolve our differences in a more civilized way.” Dunne noted that Tian hadn’t bothered to refer to Liang by the formal title of President. Tian set the teacup on the desk, his hand steady as the porcelain landed on the saucer without a sound. “A careful review of his recent speech suggests that Liang might be preparing to declare Taiwan’s independence.”
The Chinese president locked eyes with the US ambassador and the two men stared at each other for several seconds. Dunne’s mind raced back over the sentence, hoping that he had heard it wrong, but there was no ambiguity in the phrasing. Tian certainly had chosen the wording before summoning Dunne to Zhongnanhai.
Dunne picked his own words cautiously. “The United States does not share that conclusion, Mr. President. We hope that your government will allow President Liang the opportunity to clarify his words, lest there be a misunderstanding.”