Lambert looked crushed.
“Nevertheless, Xinjiang is going to remain of huge strategic importance to Beijing as a conduit for any oil coming in by pipeline from, say, Kazakhstan. This is the point I think Mr. Pinnegar was about to make when he referenced the Caspian basin.” It was a skilful redressing of the balance and Josh made sure to catch Marston’s eye. “The question everybody out here wants an answer to is how that oil travels to markets in China, Korea and Japan if Urumqi falls. There isn’t any alternative route unless you detour through Russia.”
Marston looked down at his map. With his fingernail he traced an imaginary pipeline from Baku which passed through Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, the tribal areas of northern Pakistan, east via disputed Kashmir and finally into Tibet. An impossible journey. He felt a strange surge of empathy for his political brethren in Beijing and realized, with a fizz of satisfaction, that Xinjiang was the key. TYPHOON had its target.
“Could I also add a note on China’s nuclear capabilities?” Josh asked.
Nobody seemed particularly interested in this. Marston was gazing at the speakers again. Eventually, when nobody responded to the question, Jenson said, “Go ahead, Josh.”
“Well, largely as a relic of the Cold War era, China still maintains a huge military presence, both ground and air, in Xinjiang. Most of its nuclear ballistic missiles are also housed there and we’ve seen up to fifty nuclear tests conducted in the Taklamakan desert since the mid-1960s. Those tests have further fuelled separatist violence in the region. Muslim groups ask, with some justification, why Turkic peoples are being subjected to fallout, ground-water contamination and birth defects while the Han population to the east sleeps soundly in their beds.”
Marston stirred. “So you’re saying these guys are ripe for revolution?”
Josh risked a gentle put-down. “Well I wouldn’t want us to get too ahead of ourselves, but you would certainly have to look at the Uighur population and conclude that the notion of separation from the state wouldn’t be a particularly hard sell.”
“Does somebody want to put that in plain English?”
Jenson defended his man against yet another Marston attack. The former Assistant Secretary of Defense was incapable of conducting himself in a professional environment without finding at least one individual to pick on. Usually it was Sally-Ann, but in the late twentieth century’s rampant climate of political correctness, he didn’t want to appear sexist. “What Josh is saying, Bill, is that the Uighurs are sick of being treated as third-class citizens.” Sally-Ann looked up at Josh and did something with her eyes which he interpreted as sympathetic. “Fifty years ago, Xinjiang was their country. When Mao came to power in ‘49, Uighurs made up-what? — about eighty per cent of the population. Today that figure stands at somewhere nearer fifty. There’s been a deliberate policy of Han immigration to dilute the ethnic group.”
“Stalin had the same routine,” Lambert muttered. “Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania. Same routine.” Marston, a fellow Cold Warrior, made a noise which confirmed this. He liked to be reminded of the good old days.
“Stalin had nothing on these guys,” Josh replied. If his voice had assumed a tone of mild insolence it was because he no longer cared what Marston thought of him. He just wanted to get to the nub of the issue and then break for lunch. “The Communist Party hands out financial rewards to Han who intermarry with Uighur Muslims. They’ve also waived the one-child policy for their offspring.”
“Off spring who are registered as Chinese,” Jenson added, continuing to support his boy.
“What you’re talking about is a systematic attack on Uighur religion, Uighur resources, Uighur freedom of expression.” Josh paused briefly to gather his thoughts. “Most senior officials and all of the military commanders in Xinjiang are Han stooges appointed by Beijing. The Han control almost every element of the local economy, an economy geared exclusively to the needs of China. This builds a huge amount of resentment, a resentment not solely confined to the Turkic population.”
“What do you mean by that?” Lambert asked.
“Don’t forget that we’re talking about Sufi Muslims here. The examples of fundamentalism seen across the Islamic world in recent years, most notably in Algeria with Hezbollah and in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, have thus far failed to manifest themselves in Xinjiang. The Uighur people are not by nature extremist. That said, some of them fought with the mujahaddin and Beijing has long been concerned about cross-pollination between the Taliban and the Uighur minority. Any kind of trade in weapons across the Afghan- Chinese border, for example, would be virtually unpoliceable. And, of course, those same Taliban have strategic knowledge of fighting the Soviets, knowledge which they might be only too happy to pass on to their Muslim brothers in China. Allow me to finish.”
Marston had begun to speak, but such was the force and confidence of Josh’s request that he was silenced. The CEO of one of the largest corporations in the United States of America, a man who had supped with Kissinger and Gorbachev, was briefly humbled.
“I also wanted to add something here about Saudi Arabia.” Josh cleared his throat and saw that Sally-Ann was looking at him. “We believe that the more the Chinese repress the Muslims of Xinjiang, the more the Saudis will be inclined to give financial assistance to their cause. Again, you only have to look at their support for the Afghan resistance between ‘80 and ‘89 for evidence of what they’re prepared to do. Now this is vitally important as far as China is concerned. Saudi Arabia is a source of oil for China, and China needs to keep that oil flowing in order to facilitate its rapid economic growth. In short, Beijing cannot afford to upset the House of Saud.”
“I know the feeling,” Marston muttered.
It was an impressive monologue, produced in its latter stages entirely without notes. Sally-Ann found a more explicit look of admiration for Josh and the young man from the CIA felt buoyed. Then Miles’s voice came thumping out of the speakers.
“So what does all this add up to?” he asked.
Josh and Jenson caught each other’s eye. The question was rhetorical and they knew that Miles had every intention of answering it. He was about to make the CIA’s case for TYPHOON.
“What it adds up to is an opportunity for the American government to run a clandestine operation in mainland China aimed at bringing about the restoration of democracy in an independent Eastern Turkestan. And, as I understand it, you gentlemen have kindly offered us the full co-operation of your organization in pursuit of that goal.”
Miles’s words substantially shifted the tone of the meeting. Everything was now political. Lambert and Marston leaned forward in their chairs and tried to look like patriots.
“We’re here to help,” Marston said.
“And that’s great. But why do we need your help, sir? Why is this meeting today necessary?” Again, the questions were self-evidently rhetorical. “Well, I guess on one level it’s pretty obvious.” He took a sip of water. “If organizations such as the National Endowment for Democracy, or Freedom House, want to help run fair elections in, say, Central Africa, maybe try to bring democracy to eastern Europe, then that’s something that the Company has always been able to help them with.” Miles’s mouth was dry and he went for more water. Maybe last night’s hangover was finally kicking in. “But trying to pull that kind of thing off in China is infinitely more complex. Beijing has always been suspicious of non-profit organizations operating within its borders. Fact is, they don’t get in. You might find a few Christian missionaries operating in major cities, some of them even on our books, but as far as China is concerned, the Agency’s hands are tied. There are just too many obstacles to running effective campaigns. So we have to resort to other methods. We’ve had to think out of the box.”