Chapter 7
“We need to talk.”
Alice could see that Liam’s email was on the computer screen. She hadn’t forwarded it to her mother, so McAllister must have.
“You noticed too, I’m assuming,” said Vivien, without preamble, pointing to a word.
“The spelling mistake, yes. Of fish ball island.”
Vivien took off her glasses and looked at her daughter. “Why would he do that?”
“You don’t think it’s just a mistake?”
“Do you?”
“No.” But it surprised her that her mother seemed to know Liam well enough to know he was not that slapdash. Others made typos. She certainly did. But Liam was precise, almost to the point of annoyance.
If there was a misspelling, it was intentional.
Now Vivien brought up the photograph. “Why’s he holding a coconut bun?”
It was such a non sequitur it took Alice a moment to catch up.
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s nighttime, and it’s a breakfast bun.”
“Maybe because there’s no law, not even in China, about when you can eat breakfast buns.”
It had been years since she’d had one, but now she found herself almost salivating. A coconut bun looks like a regular roll until you bite into it and find the sweet coconut paste center.
Her father had introduced her to them. Like her, he had a sweet tooth. He used to take her to DC’s Chinatown on Saturday mornings, just the two of them. They’d walk hand in hand among the stalls while he described in Mandarin the various foods.
“Disgusting things,” said Vivien. “Still, I guess they’re sold in the more down-market neighborhoods in Hong Kong.”
“Who was he really working for?” Alice asked.
“I’m no longer sure.”
“But you knew him, and not just because he was a friend of mine from Columbia.”
“Yes.” Vivien was clearly anticipating the question and had prepared her reply. “Grant McAllister introduced us.”
“How long ago?”
“Eighteen months. Before Liam’s first trip to Hong Kong for us.”
Again with the “us.” But it was no longer surprising, nor should it ever have been. Had Alice given her mother’s crusade any thought, she’d have realized it would be aided by the American government. Which meant American spies.
Which made Vivien, ipso facto, a spy.
“McAllister thought it might be useful for Liam to talk to some of my contacts there.”
“And me? Was that your idea too? That he pretend to be interested in my blog?”
Pretend to be interested in me?
Vivien gave a curt nod. “That would explain, to anyone who began to look closely, his knowing me.” She decided against telling her daughter that Liam had mentioned, more than once, that he admired Alice for her intellect.
“I was a—what’s the popular phrase now? A useful idiot.”
“For God’s sake, stop feeling sorry for yourself,” snapped Vivien. “The poor boy’s dead, almost certainly because he found out something pretty bad. This isn’t about you.”
Alice sat back as though slapped. “No. It’s about you. It always is. Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“I know your name. But even that’s made up. Vivien Li. What happened before you came to the States?”
“That’s none of your business.” It was more of an answer than Alice had ever gotten before. Albeit not a hugely helpful one. But it was at least words, and not the usual icy silence. Which led Alice to think maybe her mother just needed a push.
“It wasn’t my business yesterday, but it is today. I need to know more. Let’s start with Tiananmen Square. Were you really there that day?”
“Yes.”
“And Tank Man, did you know him?”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
The silence went on so long Alice was sure her mother wouldn’t answer, but then the lifelong silence broke. Shattered.
“He was my brother. My only brother.”
That so shocked Alice it was her turn to sit in silence. Then the way Vivien said it struck her.
“Was? Is he—”
“Still alive? No. They arrested him. He died in a camp.”
It was as close as Vivien had ever come to showing emotion. Well, any emotion other than anger.
Her lips clamped together and pulsed slightly as though fighting off some terrible creature that had been living inside her for decades.
“对不起,” I’m sorry, whispered Alice in Mandarin. “Duìbùqǐ.”
She took her mother’s hand, and Vivien let her. For a moment.
“Xièxiè.” Thank you. She slid her hand away.
“After Tiananmen, he told me we were going to have to get out. We’d leave together.
Come to America. Continue the fight here.
But when we got to the boat, he gave me the papers and money.
He told me he had to stay.” Vivien stroked her Shanghai Tang jacket.
It was more than an item of clothing. It was a cloaking device, a shield.
An expensive piece of Chinese fashion that told those in the know that Vivien Li, the peasant girl who had worked in the rice fields, was important.
“I left. I was told Kai-wen would also make it out—”
“That was his name? Kai-wen?”
“Shi.”
Kai-wen, anglicized as Kevin. That Alice did know.
“But he never came?”
“No. I shouldn’t have left.”
“And if you hadn’t? You’d have died too. You were young,” whispered Alice. “Look at all you’ve done here, to fight the regime. To avenge him.”
Vivien continued as though her daughter hadn’t spoken.
“I heard that not long after I left, he was arrested. The regime accused him of being one of the student organizers. They didn’t know he was the one who’d stood in front of the tanks. They still don’t. I’ve never told anyone else.”
“And neither will I.”
She now knew why her mother was so monomaniacal about defeating the Communist regime. It hadn’t just stolen her country, her culture. It had killed everyone she loved.
And in many ways, it had killed young Vivien. The girl she might have been was buried in China.
Alice might not know how her mother, as a poor refugee, had managed to become a powerful voice of dissent. Who socialized with billionaires. Who ran what was clearly a vast network of well-placed informants within China. Who was friendly, if not actual friends, with the American President.
But that didn’t matter. Alice now knew how her mother became Vivien.
Still, there were pressing questions. She leaned closer and spoke quietly.
“What does Liam’s death have to do with what happened this morning?”
“I don’t know.”
The obstinate, distant Vivien was back. Colder than ever. No doubt, Alice realized, embarrassed about her admission, her vulnerability.
“I didn’t even know he was in Hong Kong.” Vivien looked around, then lowered her voice. “And neither did they.”
“They” being the others in the White House meeting, and with a start, Alice realized it was true. They had been surprised to see the photo. To read his email. To discover their agent was in China. Working behind their backs.
“Does that mean he wasn’t working for American Intelligence?”
“He might have been but chose to keep this trip quiet.”
“Why?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about climbing through the window into your room after midnight when you were a teenager?”
She knew? thought Alice. And said nothing. What mother says nothing? A mother who doesn’t care …
With an effort, Alice veered away from that propeller.
The answer to her mother’s question was, she’d snuck in because she didn’t want her to know.
The answer to her question was, Liam had snuck into Hong Kong because he didn’t want his CIA handlers to know. Or at least he wanted to keep it from someone in that room.
Maybe even Vivien herself.
“If what happened this morning, those alarms, took years of planning, why didn’t you hear about it?” asked Alice. “How did you miss it?”
There was a long silence, but this one was far from quiet. It screamed, howled.
Vivien opened her mouth, then closed it, then shook her head.
“Come on. You know something. I can see it.”
Still, her mother said nothing, though her fingers worried the ends of her Shanghai Tang, threatening to pull apart the delicate silk.
“You told the President that the only thing worse than the Chinese government being behind the alarms would be if they were not. What did you mean by that?”
“You heard?”
Vivien watched her daughter. It had been a mistake to name her Alice, after her own mother. It only served to remind her of what had happened. The name formed its own Great Wall. Making it impossible for her to bond.
Alice. Alice. What have I done?
“What did you mean?” Alice repeated.
“Listen.” Vivien sat forward suddenly, so that her face was right in Alice’s.
“I know how the Chinese leadership thinks. How it works. I’ve studied them for years.
The last thing they are is transparent. Chen would never admit to ordering a pizza, never mind an attack on the scale of what happened this morning. ”
“But they didn’t take credit,” said Alice, leaning away.
“Not officially, no. But they were apparently sloppy enough to allow it to be traced back to them easily. Does that make sense?”
“It does if they want the rest of the world to know what they’re capable of.”
“But why? Listen, the regime would never, ever allow actions like this to be traced. They’re a closed door.
A cipher. They’re ghosts. That’s their strength.
If the signal to set off the alarms was traced to the regime, then I can just about guarantee it was as big a surprise to Chen as it was to us. ”
“Are you saying the Chinese aren’t behind it?”
“No. Just the opposite. I’m saying they are. But perhaps not exactly who we might think. I suspect the Chinese leadership is allowing us to think it was them because they can’t afford not to.”
“What do you mean? You’re speaking in riddles.”
“What happens if the alarms did come from China, but not the MSS or Double Dragon or anyone else in power? What happens if they didn’t know about it?”
“But nothing happens without them knowing.”
Alice saw Vivien’s shaped brows rise. Inviting her to go further. To open the door.
“If what you’re saying is true, it means”—Alice picked her way forward—“that Chen really has lost control. Is that why he’s replacing his head of MSS? As punishment?” When Vivien nodded, Alice went on. “Chen’s afraid.”
“And after today, he’s terrified. And that means he feels vulnerable. And that means he’s doubly dangerous. He knows something’s stirring, but he doesn’t know what or who. That’s why he’s clamped down even tighter in the past year. But he still hasn’t cut off the head of the serpent.”
“Is it another student uprising?”
Vivien shook her head. “No. I think it’s something more powerful. Closer to the inner circle.”
“But that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that what you want? Regime change? The end of the CCP?”
“Was it a good thing when Stalin overthrew the Tsar? One tyrant replaced by a mass murderer.”
“But why does it have to be that? Maybe the revolution is finally happening? The one you’ve worked toward for years.”
As she looked at her mother’s expression, something dawned on her.
Suppose it was just that … and no one told her mother? The great dissident, the last mandarin, was left out. Unimportant. Irrelevant. Unnecessary.
Was it possible they’d started the revolution without her?
When Vivien spoke, it was as though she had read her daughter’s thoughts.
“I’ve spent my life trying to bring down the regime.
” There was a defensive quality to her voice.
“No one knows Chen, the inner circle, better than me. I’ve dedicated my life to restoring China to the great nation it once was.
To do that, you need to understand those in power.
Western Intelligence might think it has a handle on what’s happening, but they can really only skim the surface.
Westerners might study the culture, the history.
Live in China. Learn the language and learn it well.
They’ll understand the words, but they will never understand what lies behind them. ”
“Then why send Liam? A Westerner?”
“Because Chinese Intelligence would expect an Asian. They would never suspect a guai lo. An American working for a second-rate food distribution company and writing something as ridiculous as a food blog would never be suspected.”
Does she even know how much her words hurt? Alice wondered.
“But you didn’t know about this latest trip? Why didn’t he tell you?”
“I don’t know. If he had, I might have been able to protect him. But something went wrong.”
That was such an understatement Alice could only stare. Once again, those delicate fingers were fidgeting, worrying the hem of her precious jacket.
Then her mother’s hands settled, and her voice returned to its cool self.
“To do what happened this morning, to set off alarms all at once, worldwide, would take someone, something, very powerful. And if Eeyore didn’t order it, it must be someone close to him.”
She’d used the nickname many in China, and certainly the diaspora, used for one of the most powerful people in the world. President Chen looked for all the world like the sad donkey in the Winnie-the-Pooh stories. Even on his best days, he looked morose.
“If it was a rogue element within the rogue state,” Alice said, “someone, something we don’t know about, why doesn’t the Chinese government say that? Right now, it’s being blamed.”
More silence. Once again, Alice worked her way through it.
“Because to admit it doesn’t know is more dangerous than taking the blame,” she finally said. “It can’t admit to the world that there’s some element within China, probably within the regime itself, working against it.”
“Not the world,” said Vivien.
“His own people. Chen can’t afford to let the population know something’s threatening his hold on them.”
“He can’t admit that he has, in effect, lost control,” said Vivien, nodding. “And so he and the Politburo absorb the world’s anger. Chen and the leadership must be frantic, desperate to figure out who’s done it.”
“Before something else happens,” said Alice.
“Something worse happens. Zhou was right about one thing. This was a warning. A slow bullet is headed our way.”
“You said the People’s Congress will be in the Great Hall of the People in a few days.”
“Timed to coincide with the Lunar New Year, yes.”
Lunar New Year was a huge celebration for the Chinese community, no matter where they lived. Equivalent to American Thanksgiving.
“Do you think that’s when whatever’s planned next will happen?” asked Alice.
“If I was behind it, that’s what I’d do. An attack at that time would be hugely symbolic. It would announce to the world that Chen is done.”
Alice got up. “I’m going to Columbia. See what I can find out about Liam.”
“Good.” Her mother had already turned her back on her.
A few days to the People’s Congress, thought Alice as she headed for the Acela train to New York City.
A few days to Lunar New Year, when the Year of the Snake would begin.
A few days to the next attack.
As it turned out, they were wrong about that.