Chapter 28 #2
Not a sound. Not a footfall on the marble floor. The interior was as magnificent as the exterior. With murals and wall hangings, remarkably intricate works of Chinese art.
For all the serious geopolitical issues facing the region, the people of Taiwan were still Chinese. And this was their heritage.
If her uncle had managed to make his way here, from the tragedy of Tiananmen, Alice hoped he’d found the peace she herself could feel at that moment.
Safe.
It was, she knew, one more illusion. But a welcome one. However short-lived.
“What now?” her mother asked.
“Now we find the scholars.”
“That can’t be.”
President Pardington was standing in front of the Resolute Desk, staring at his head of intelligence.
“I’m afraid he’s right, sir.” The director of Homeland Security lowered her phone. “I’ve just confirmed that Madame Li used a false passport, in the name of Florence Ng, the name she’d used to escape China years ago, and boarded a flight to Singapore. From there, she got on—”
“For Christ’s sake, I don’t need a travelogue. Is she in China or not?”
“She is. As is her daughter. What Mr. McAllister reports is true.”
Did that mean the other thing McAllister reported was true?
“You’re saying Vivien Li is running Pangu? That she’s responsible for everything that’s been happening?”
McAllister, glum, grave, nodded. “I’m not saying it, those papers I found in her home do. And she’s in Xi’an, where the pulse that triggered the attacks came from.”
Pardington shook his head. “I refuse to believe it. I’ve known her for years. She’s a passionate crusader for human rights, a bitter opponent of the regime in China. She can’t be behind this.”
“I suspect most terrorist organizations started off with legitimate, even laudable goals,” said the Secretary of State.
“But failure to reach them, frustration, despair, and then a charismatic leader can turn something honorable into something horrific. No terrorist thinks of themselves as a terrorist. They’re all freedom fighters. And they believe it.”
Up until now, Grant McAllister had remained mostly silent. Letting them convince themselves. This was exactly what he’d hoped would happen. But now he spoke.
“I’m with you, Mr. President,” said McAllister. “I’ve admired Madame Li for years, but…”
Before reporting to the President, he’d had the Mandarin documents quickly translated. They were even more damning than he’d expected.
“The documents found hidden in Madame Li’s study, in her own hand, confirm that she created Pangu. They outline its mission, directed by her, to place followers within the Communist Party who would then rise to positions of authority. When they achieved that, Pangu would make its move.”
“That’s a helluva long-range plan,” said the Secretary of Defense.
“Patience and a plan,” said McAllister. “Very powerful.”
“But there’s no indication in those papers that violence would be used,” said Pardington.
“It would be achieved by a fifth column. Quietly. And once in positions of power, they’d bring in legislation to open up China.
To have elections. To reopen libraries and universities to diverse ideas.
Debate. No mention of—” He gestured toward the tragedies unfolding in real time, on television.
“The papers Mr. McAllister found do not rule out violence,” said Kathleen.
“And they’re clearly old. Things change.
People change. Goals change. Peaceful organizations are infiltrated and co-opted.
I’m sorry, Mr. President, but the evidence against Madame Li is overwhelming.
And in her own hand. And the fact she’s fled to China… ”
President Pardington bit his lower lip and stared once again at the papers. Then he looked over his reading glasses to his head of intelligence. “Remind me. Who’s Liu Tongzheng?”
“Her former husband.”
“According to these documents, he cofounded the organization,” said Pardington. “Maybe he’s running it now. Not Madame Li.”
The Secretary of State shifted.
“What is it?” demanded the President. “Out with it.”
“I know Madame Li and knew her husband. Not well, but we moved in the same social circles. They divorced years ago. Liu left DC for somewhere in the Midwest. Kansas City, I think—”
“Kansas or Missouri?” asked the head of Homeland Security.
“How can that possibly matter?” demanded the President. “Go on.”
“I’d heard he’d died shortly after,” said the SecState. “In a car accident.”
“Not true,” said McAllister. “This is still to be confirmed, but it looks like that was faked and he returned to China. That photo of the mystery woman rumored to be the new head of MSS? Our people say it’s AI-generated.
Madame Li’s information was wrong. In fact, our latest intelligence says the new head of the MSS will be Liu Tongzheng. ”
“Oh God,” muttered Pardington, sitting down heavily. “What fresh hell is this?”
Joanne Clavelle, the Secretary of Defense, wondered if the President knew he was quoting Dorothy Parker.
“This’s not just plain terrible,” she said. “This is fancy terrible. This is terrible with raisins in it.”
All eyes turned to her.
“Dorothy Parker,” she said. “Never mind.”
The President closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “So what does this mean?”
“I think Liam Palmer was getting close. He might’ve found out about Pangu and suspected who was behind it. She had her agents in China kill him before he could say anything.”
“But how would she even know? He wouldn’t be likely to tell Madame Li he suspected her.”
“No, but”—Kathleen went to her laptop and hit some keys—“he did send a message to her daughter. Remember? Probably thinking it was safe since it was clear mother and daughter barely spoke.”
One half of her screen was Liam on the Star Ferry, surrounded by Chinese men. All smiling. The other half was his last email. Short. Innocuous.
“Then there’s his last blog, posted the afternoon before he died. There’s a photo of beef noodles, and this text.”
Proceeding along the edge of the stream, I forget the distance of the road I have walked. I suddenly come across a forest of blossoming peach trees that extend uninterrupted for several hundred paces on either bank. Fragrant grasses are delicate and petals fall in riotous profusion.
“We’re trying to trace what he’s describing. He might be trying to tell her where he’s been,” said the SecState. “But the message is so vague…”
“But it says nothing about Pangu or terrorists,” said the head of Homeland Security. “Are we supposed to believe that somehow Vivien saw this post, or the message to her daughter, and was so spooked, she had him killed?”
They all leaned closer to the screen, as though proximity would make it clearer.
Pardington was shaking his head. “This doesn’t make sense. If he was onto something, why didn’t he just say it? And why not send it to someone here?”
“Because he’d worked out that there was a spy in the White House,” said McAllister. “He might have even suspected Zhou. So he couldn’t risk it.”
“You found nothing else in Zhou’s office?” asked the President.
“Well, there was one thing, on his laptop. But—”
“What?”
“I don’t believe it. I think it’s AI-generated.”
Pardington was beginning to see what the Russian President meant. Anything they didn’t like was immediately dismissed as AI.
“Show me.”
When McAllister handed him the printout, Pardington stared. Then looked up.
“Is this Tiananmen?”
“Yessir. And that’s—” McAllister pointed to the young woman in uniform, pointing her rifle at Tank Man.
“Vivien Li,” muttered Pardington. “She wasn’t a dissident, a freedom fighter.”
“It doesn’t appear so. The one big question we haven’t asked is how Madame Li managed to escape China in the first place, if she really was at the Tiananmen protests? How did her husband?”
“You’re saying they were allowed to leave.” President Pardington felt a weariness come over him as all his energy bled out.
“And set up as activists, yes. China regularly hunts down and kills those who are too vocal against the regime. And yet Madame Li has been allowed to criticize it for decades?”
“So now you’re saying she’s working with Chen and the Communists?” demanded the SecState. “Which is it? Pangu or the CCP?”
McAllister turned on him. “I don’t know. I wish I did. But at this stage it doesn’t really matter. Whoever Pangu is working with, the target is the West. And God only knows what’s coming next.”
Pardington roused. “If she left DC for China…”
The others in the room immediately understood what he was saying, but only McAllister voiced it.
“It might mean that she knows that the next attack won’t be in China.”
“DC,” said the head of Homeland Security, whose thoughts immediately went to her family. “It’ll be here.”
“Zhou and Li,” said the President, reenergized. “Who else? We have to find out who else is involved. We need answers.”
“Before we’re all incinerated,” said the Secretary of the Navy.
“Fresh hell,” said Pardington, looking at his Secretary of Defense. “With raisins.”
“Mr. President,” said Kathleen. “I have President Chen on video.”