“We’ll make a copy of your tape folks and you can keep the original. Inspector Zhong only wants to look at it.” Several men entered with a second video camera and a set of cables. Cyril gave over the camera and the technicians quickly began to make a copy.
“Okay, I guess, but I want your copy destroyed as soon as you’re finished using it. I don’t want a second Zabruter tape floating around. That poor fella had the devil’s own time getting his due.”
After the technician finished making the dub he gave it to Fong who took it and headed toward the door. At the door he stopped and turned to Cyril. “Were there any other Caucasians in the crowd outside the hospital?”
“Caucasians? Oh, you mean whites?”
“Yes, I guess I do. Were there any whites besides yourself and your wife outside the hospital?”
“No. Just a sea-full of Chinamen – and women – Chinawomen, well Chinapeople, I mean.”
* * *
Waiting for the elevator, Fong thanked the consular man for his help.
“No problem. We want this arson at the abortion clinics stopped as much as you do.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, Inspector Zhong, I’m sure about that. America is a big country. We do not all wear white shoes and vinyl belts.”
“No, I know you don’t.”
The embassy man looked at Fong. “Something else you want from me, Inspector Zhong?”
Fong wanted to ask about Amanda Pitman with whom he’d spent five days and nights in Shanghai almost seven years ago. She’d written a book that had a lot to do with his release from Ti Lan Chou Prison. But asking would reveal his past to this tall white man. “No, nothing,” Fong said.
The man nodded his head once then scratched his chin. “Couldn’t be about that lady writer, could it?”
Fong was shocked that he knew. But then of course the Americans would have known. They had been part of it, after all. The two men stood in the hotel corridor waiting for the elevator. The door opened and they stepped in. As soon as the elevator began to move, the consular official pulled the auto stop button on the panel. Fong looked at him.
“The American anti-abortion movement must be seen in context,” said the American consular official.
“Why is it, do you think,” asked Fong, “that American misdeeds must be seen in context while what you perceive as Chinese misdeeds must be seen as absolute wrongs? Evils, even?”
The American consular man acknowledged the asymmetry with a lift of his hands and a nod of his head. Both men knew that those with the most guns wrote the rules of engagement.
Fong shook his head. “So in what context should I understand the American anti-abortion movement?”
“Contexts, not context.”
“Fine, contexts – in what contexts should I understand the American anti-abortion movement?”
“First as a manifestation of the fourth great religious revival in America. This one is led by Evangelical Christians and sits on several tenets: all life is sacred from the moment of conception; everyone must take Jesus as their own personal savior if they are to be saved; and life without faith is like a beautiful pen without any ink.”
Fong looked hard at the man. Could he really believe this last bit of drivel? Fong was tempted to toss the man a lead pencil and suggest there was really no need for ink or pens, no matter how elegant they might be. But he didn’t. He’d dealt with Americans before and found them whimsical on several levels.
“The second context,” the man continued, “that ultimately supports the first is not religious at all.”
“Well, we can both be thankful for that surely.”
The man shook his head. “I doubt that. The second context is terribly pragmatic and very political.”
“Great,” Fong thought. “That’s what we need, politics on top of superstition – the great soup of confusion.”
The man took a breath then said, “We have a serious problem in America.” He paused, evidently hoping that Fong would ask him what that problem was. Fong chose not to be helpful and kept his mouth shut. Finally the man gave up waiting for Fong’s prompt and said, “We have way too many children giving birth to children. Both the child mother and the child itself often quickly become wards of the state. At first the numbers were small but by the middle eighties the statistics became frightening. All our efforts to promote abstinence, to offer free birth control and yes, free abortion, did not stem the tide of kids giving birth to kids. It also became very clear that the children of children also tended to give birth to kids while still being children themselves. The inevitability of exponential math was about to break the bank – then along comes the religious right with its message of salvation to young women if they keep their knees tight together. And, it worked. Everything else, all rational pleas had failed but the terror of hell stemmed the tide.” He smiled sheepishly and raised his hands then added, “And as you well know the American government backs winners.”
Fong stared at the man. “Are you telling me that the bombings in my city are backed by the American government?”
“Not directly, no.”
“But indirectly?”
“There are large sums of money sent to support evangelical movements – yes – and some of that money could have been used in these bombings.” He paused then said, “I’m sorry. The American government is sorry . . .”
“. . . and no doubt the American people themselves.”
The consular man looked at Fong but was unable to discern if Fong was being sarcastic. “We’ve found the cell the bomber works for.”
“Where?”
“In Virginia.”
“So, who is this man?”
“He’s referred to as Angel Michael in his chat room contacts.”
“Yes, but who is he?”
“We don’t know.”
“Do you have any . . .?”
“Nothing. No picture, no passport number – nothing.”
“What does the name mean – Angel Michael?” Fong asked.
“It’s a biblical reference.”
“Everything with you people comes from that most questionable of books.”
The consular man let the slight pass. “When Adam and Eve were kicked out of the Garden of Eden, Angel Michael was placed at the entrance with a flaming sword to prevent them from coming back. He is closest to the Greek deity Prometheus who stole fire from the gods . . .”
“. . . and brought it to man.”
“Yes.”
“So have you arrested the group in Virginia?”
“No.”
“Why not – no, let me guess – it’s political?”
The consular man nodded then said, “Not something you, as a Chinese official, wouldn’t understand.”
Fong turned to the man ready to fight but the man was taking out a piece of paper from his briefcase and handing it to Fong. “A man named Larry Allen reported the group’s activities to us at the consul in Shanghai. He also told us of the last contact they had with Angel Michael before you closed down the Shanghai servers. Here it is.”
Fong looked at the document: “One more should bring the light to this dark place. One more could release the light. Just one more and the light will be free at last.”
“Is this some sort of evangelical talk?”
“Our experts say no. This Larry Allen confirmed that his group is at a loss as to what this means.”
“What do your experts say?”
The consular man took a deep breath then said, “They think it’s Manichaean.”
“What?” he said, but his mind wandered back to his conversation with the bishop of Shanghai.
“Manichaean. It’s a famous heretical sect of Christianity that the Catholic Church has tried to stomp out for years.”
“And it uses an equilateral crucifix,” he thought. But he said, “Where is this Larry Allen now?”
“We don’t know. He disappeared with his daughter the day before yesterday. Right after he contacted our consulate here.”
“Great.”
“We’re trying to find them.”