Red Cell (13 page)

Dealing with the Chinese wasn’t always pleasant, but he couldn’t complain with their preferred venue. West of the Forbidden City, Zhongnanhai was a brilliant estate of lakes, gardens, villas, and office buildings that housed the highest levels of the Chinese government.
Their version of the White House . . . or the Kremlin
, Kathryn Cooke had once told him during his intelligence briefing before assuming the post. Mao had built up the place after the Revolution in ’49. It was a massive complex and, in true government fashion, was off-limits to the average citizen. More than a few of the commoners who were “called to Zhongnanhai” during Mao’s reign never walked out again. Dunne had no doubts that the security services watched him when he came inside, which was fine. He was not an intelligence officer, and whoever was watching for him to plant a microphone was wasting their time. He’d never been declared persona non grata before and he wasn’t going to end his career that way now.

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.”

“If Liang were to offer a public apology, we would listen. However, we think it unlikely that he will do so.” Dunne stared at Tian, looking for any crack in the performance. He found none. “He is in danger of losing reelection,” Tian explained. “History teaches that desperate men often deflect scrutiny from their own deficiencies by turning the public attention to an external threat. And Liang likely believes that the United States will intervene on Taiwan’s behalf should we respond with more than words. I hope that your country’s past encouragement of Taiwan’s rebellious attitudes does not now drag us all into an unpleasant confrontation.”

“We have not encouraged independence,” Dunne said. “Our position has been to have both sides treat each other with respect.”

“And yet you have sold them weapons,” Tian countered.

“For self-defense only,” Dunne said. It was a weak protest, he thought. A gun was a gun.
Two years to retirement and I get to head off a war
. He knew his next suggestion would be futile. “We would hope
that you would refer the matter to the UN Security Council for deliberations.”

Tian shook his head. “The Security Council has no place in resolving internal disputes.”

Tian’s meaning was quite clear.
China has a permanent seat on the Council and a veto. You know a Security Council resolution won’t pass. Why waste time playing that game?

Dunne suppressed an inappropriate smile. He’d been speaking the subtle language of diplomats for decades and he was good at it. Better than good, in fact. It made him feel young to engage in the back-and-forth of subtle meanings hidden in delicate phrases. It was why he stayed on the job at an age when almost all his peers were retired. “Some would dispute that this is an internal affair, despite Taiwan’s size and proximity to your coast,” he said.
To
buy
time. You don’t want a shooting war with Taiwan to get dragged out. Big country, small island—no one likes a bully.

“I hope that your nation would not be one of those. We have the right to maintain order within our borders.”
Is the United States prepared to recognize a declaration of independence by Taiwan? Don’t intervene.

“Maintaining order can be a delicate task, as you know, where a soft hand is often required.”
Let’s not see another Tiananmen Square, or worse.

“Indeed. Both determination and a firm hand are often needed to manage such events.”
We’ll do it.

“Force is not the only tool that can secure peace. We would hope that an offer to mediate would be accepted by both sides.”
Taiwan will accept our help, especially if it’s backed up by the US Navy.

“Your offer is appreciated, but the United States could best help us keep the peace by abstaining.” Tian took his time before speaking again. “Ambassador Dunne, if I may be blunt . . . ?”

Dunne nodded. Straightforward talk was a diplomat’s knife—useful but dangerous if misused. Still, there was no polite way to reject it. “Of course.”

“In 1995, there was an unpleasant confrontation with the province. Your President Clinton sent an aircraft carrier into the Strait—the
Nimitz
, I believe. General Xiong Guangkai answered by saying that ‘you care more about Los Angeles than you do about Taipei.’”

What?
Dunne lost his composure for a moment. He would have realized that it was the first time in his recent memory, had he been
thinking about it. Instead his thoughts turned to fighting his urge to come out of his chair. “Are you—”

Tian held up his hand and Dunne stopped midquestion. “I enjoy the history of your country very much,” Tian said. “I have enjoyed studying the confrontation over Cuba with the Soviet Union in 1962. President Kennedy was quite masterful, I think. Still, the opportunity for miscommunication was so great. The world has never been so close to nuclear war.”

“It was Kennedy’s finest hour,” Dunne agreed. Tian had twisted the conversation and the American had lost his sense of direction. He suddenly felt like he was blind.

“Yes. His death was a great loss. He might have gone on to do great things.” Tian’s admiration for America’s youngest president seemed genuine. The Chinese president paused, whether to gather his thoughts or for dramatic emphasis Dunne couldn’t tell. “My own generals can be bellicose when their passions are aroused, and Taiwan is a passionate issue for us. Should your president choose to send your navy into our Strait, I want no miscommunication. We are reasonable men, unlike the stupid, selfish man in Taipei who is causing us both so much trouble.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Dunne said.

“If there is to be a confrontation, a good leader must consider the peace that is to come after the war, something I’m afraid your country has often failed to do. But if we do find ourselves at odds, your president certainly must care more for your navy than for Taipei.”

Dunne sat silent long enough for the silence to feel uncomfortable. He felt off-balance, inadequate, like his old skills in assembling diplomatic answers had abandoned him. He turned Tian’s last words around in his head over and over. “That would not be my decision to make,” he said finally. “I’m sure that President Stuart would be willing to discuss the matter.” It was the best answer he could find, but it was still weak.

“Of course.” Tian placed both hands on the table. “I wish to share with you a copy of the speech that I will give in response to President Liang’s remarks,” he said, taking the conversation down another path again. Tian took a leather portfolio from the small table sitting between their chairs and handed it to Dunne. “I will reaffirm our commitment to reunification and propose the immediate commencement of talks with Taiwan to that end. Please deliver this to President Stuart and extend my compliments.”

I didn’t hear the word
peaceful
anywhere in there.
“I will, sir. And on behalf of the United States, I thank you for the advance copy of your pending remarks,” Dunne said. He looked down at the speech in his hands.
So much for diplomacy
, he thought.