Sword of Shiva - Страница 19

When he reached the end of the magazine, he started over at the beginning, the glossy pages becoming a repeating collage of random photographs and marketing logos. On the third or fourth trip through the half-seen pages, an image caught his eye. It was a group of paintings by a young Indonesian artist, who was apparently getting his first showing in some upscale New York art gallery.

Near the center of the page was a triptych: three rectangular paintings of the same scene, each from a slightly different angle. At the center of each panel was the portrait of an old man with strongly Asian features, shown alternately from the front, right, and left profiles. In all three paintings a circle of rusty barbed wire hovered in the air in front of the old man’s face, like a strangely offset halo or the bevel of an old fashioned cameo.

McDonald stared at the three paintings, focusing not on the old man’s face, but on the circles of barbed wire. They reminded him of something — a billboard, or an advertisement, or something that he had once seen on television.

He closed his burning eyes and tried to remember. Three circles of barbed wire, lined up in a row…

And then it came to him, a poster he hadn’t seen for years. For several weeks before the 2008 Winter Olympics in China, that poster had been everywhere. Five circles of barbed wire atop a chain link fence, silhouetted against an overcast yellow sky. Three of the circles had been on top and two on bottom, clearly mimicking the famous five-ring pattern of the international Olympic symbol. In the upper right-hand ring had been a simple but effective message: Beijing 2008. A ragged scrap of signboard hanging from the fence had enumerated the extensive human rights violations occurring in China as dissident citizens and social activists were rounded up and imprisoned to keep them out of public view during the Olympics.

Bill McDonald’s exhausted brain could somehow remember the poster perfectly, and he could still see the logo at the bottom of the signboard. Amnesty International.

That was it! As soon as those two words popped into his head, he knew he had found the solution to his problem. He might not be able to capture the attention of the major media, but a global human rights organization could. If they brought the video clip to the major media, they would be listened to. CNN and the other news networks wouldn’t dare to ignore a story this big, not if it came from Amnesty International. They wouldn’t risk being left out of what might turn out to be the biggest human rights story since Tiananmen Square.

Amnesty International. It was the obvious answer. So simple. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

The video clip in his pocket had dwindled from a massively insoluble problem to a series of easily accomplished steps. It shouldn’t take more than a few quick phone calls to arrange a meeting with someone who would listen — someone whose entire job was to look for exactly the kind of evidence that Bill McDonald carried, and bring it to the attention of the world.

He could probably get a contact number right off the Amnesty International website. And then he could…

Before he could formulate his next step, the Reverend William H. McDonald — former Soldier, spiritual warrior, and bearer of the truth — fell asleep in Seat #31B, somewhere over the South China Sea.

CHAPTER 20

BEIJING, CHINA

PREMIER’S RESIDENCE

WEDNESDAY; 26 NOVEMBER

1:35 PM

TIME ZONE +8 ‘HOTEL’

As usual, Lu Shi’s guards were stopped at the front door, and he had to enter alone.

Lu didn’t like being forced to leave his guards behind. Not because he didn’t feel safe here; the Premier’s residence was one of the most secure buildings in China. Lu’s objection was of a more attitudinal nature. After a lifetime of careful and methodical maneuvering, he suddenly found that he was impatient with anything which resembled an obstacle.

Having his guards held up at the entrance was an unwelcome reminder that there were certain places and circumstances in which his desires were not the deciding factor.

He had to remind himself that he was still officially the number two man in the Chinese government. The fact that Lu effectively ran the country was an open secret, but the formal power belonged to Xiao Qishan, who was the Premier of China — at least in title.

Lu generally tried not to think of Xiao as a figurehead. Xiao was a good man, and in his day, he had served the party well. Nevertheless, the term figurehead was not entirely inaccurate. The old man’s political clout had dwindled away to practically nothing. His leverage was gone. He had no more favors to call in.

Xiao held office now, because Lu Shi permitted it. If Lu pulled his support, Xiao Qishan would not be sitting in the Premier’s chair a month later.

What’s more, the old man knew it. Although neither one of them ever spoke about it directly, there was an understanding between Lu Shi and Xiao Qishan. Xiao gave speeches and held press conferences, and Lu made the major policy decisions that kept the nation moving forward.

That made this meeting doubly annoying. Xiao Qishan had sent for him, as though Lu was a low-grade bureaucrat, or some minor political functionary. Lu Shi was not pleased. Not at all.

He’d been tempted to ignore the summons. He could have used the opportunity to remind Xiao of where the power in China really lay. But such a blatant show of strength wasn’t necessary, and it wouldn’t harm Lu to humor the old dragon.

Lu made a deliberate effort to smile when he was shown into Xiao’s office. The old man was seated at his desk, reading from a small book with a tattered red cover. Lu Shi recognized it instantly as hong baoshu, Quotations From Chairman Mao Tse-Tung, popularly known in the west as the ‘Little Red Book.’

Xiao looked up, and smiled.

Lu inclined his head — a gesture somewhere between a nod, and a minimal bow. “You sent for me, Comrade Premier?”

Xiao closed the book, using a finger to mark his place within the pages. “Ah, Comrade Lu. Thank you for coming, old friend.”

Lu Shi inclined his head again. “I am always at your service, Comrade Premier.” Not an accurate statement, but it sounded appropriately polite and respectful.

Xiao waved toward a chair. Lu pretended not to see the gesture. He remained standing.

A slight frown creased the Premiere’s brow, but he didn’t insist. “I would like to speak to you about this… situation… with our Indian neighbors. Some of our esteemed comrades on the Central Military Commission are… concerned…”

Lu Shi’s laugh contained more bitterness than humor. “Some of our esteemed comrades are timid old women.”

Xiao laid the red book on the desk top, his finger still marking the spot where he had been reading. “You are, of course, more familiar with our comrades on the commission than I am,” the old man said. “And perhaps some of them are overly cautious. But this seems to be an area in which caution may be prudent.”

Lu Shi resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “I have no problem with caution,” he said. “And prudence is a virtue in leaders. But I’m not talking about caution or prudence. I’m talking about timidity. Fear. The lack of courage.”

He nodded toward the red book. “Comrade Premier, you are more dedicated to the words and spirit of Chairman Mao than any man I’ve ever met.”

That much was certainly true. As Xiao’s once-formidable power bloc continued to erode, the old dragon’s thoughts were becoming increasingly buried in the past. He spent his days studying the speeches and writings of Mao, in the forlorn belief that such studies made him a wiser leader. In the process, he somehow managed to ignore the fact that his leadership was now mostly imaginary.

But Lu Shi was not above delving into the words of Mao, in order to bring the conversation around to a more favorable angle.

He reached for the red book, and lifted it gently from the old man’s fingers. “Do you remember what Chairman Mao had to say about communists who are too timid to make difficult decisions?”

Xiao nodded. “Of course…”

Lu returned the nod. “And I’m certain, Comrade Premier, that you remember what Chairman Mao wrote about those who protect the enemies of the communist revolution?”

The old man nodded again. “I remember…”

Lu Shi held the unopened book between his palms. “In his wisdom, Chairman Mao cautioned us to unite with our real friends, in order to attack our real enemies. He reminded us that leaders must always follow this principle, in order to avoid leading the masses astray.”

“March, nineteen-twenty-six,” Xiao said. “The chairman was speaking about the analysis of the classes in Chinese society…”

“Yes,” said Lu Shi. “But was Mao speaking metaphorically? Or did he mean for future leaders to put his ideas into action?”

“He meant for us to act,” Xiao said. “He meant always for us to act.”

“I agree,” said Lu. “If we apply Mao’s teachings to our current situation, should we consider our Indian neighbors to be enemies, or friends?”

Xiao hesitated. “I’m not sure we have enough information to make such a stark distinction.”

“They are deliberately sheltering known enemies of China,” Lu said. “Enemies who have destroyed billions of Yuan in property, massacred our soldiers without provocation, and killed hundreds of our citizens. Yet, our Indian neighbors welcome these terror mongers, and treat them as honored guests. Protect them from extradition, and punishment, even while they’re plotting further acts of destruction and murder.”