Citizen One (40 page)

Holding the old papa’s hand more tightly.

“Yes, papa. But what can ever pay you back for a daughter’s hand that can never be held again in your own?”

“He leaves the penthouse just twice a week. Same day and at the same time. A comrade of habit, eh Boss?”

“Where to?”

“The hotel’s second floor, room 168, to see a woman. He leaves his minders in the penthouse and makes the journey alone.”

“Who is she?”

“Another old
tong zhi
. He’s known her forty years. They drink tea and
Dukang
, look at old photographs of dead comrades and play
mah-jongg
.”

“A good way to die, drinking and playing
mah-jongg
with an old comrade.”

“Sure Boss, better than the
liu-mang’s
blade that we’ll get.”

“This
guan-xi
, the cost?”

“Two bottles and a permit for the Friendship Store.”

A little inebriation. A little camouflaged capitalism. Guaranteed to loosen any comrade’s lips.

“When is the next time that they meet?”

“Tomorrow, as usual. 4p.m. sharp, Boss.”

“Enough time to do what I need to do.”

Absent-mindedly his fingers feeling for the CD-Rom tucked deeply into his pocket.

“It is a long time since I played
mah-jongg
. Many other games, but not
mah-jongg
.”

*

4 p.m…. The Heping … Hotel of Peace
.

Like an old maiden aunt, the Heping, the Hotel of Peace, on Nanjingxilu. Aged now, standing back from the avenue as if too afraid to cross it. Beyond the gaudy lobby, her beauty now faded. Features worn, fondant-icing plasterwork, nicotine-stained, statuesque art deco forms, cornices of frozen roses, ivy climbs, chipped, cracked and hurriedly repaired with harsh albino filler; like pan make-up over a lifetime of worry lines. The once rich hued silk wallpapers, fading … faded.

And in the lobby bar, cracked antique leather and worn brass, where Coward would tell his whispered tales, the Sassoons would hasten their deals … a trio of sixty-year old musicians playing to a background noise of
dahus’
mobile phone mutterings. Denture mouthed lyrics such as, ‘
I’d like to get you on a slow boat to China
’ sung in warbled unison.

*

The same room, the same time and the same hostess, an esteemed comrade that he had known through fat times, but mostly thin times. A good woman, but a bad
mah-jongg
player. On the table the same board and worn ivory tiles that had been their battlefield for over a quarter of a century now. On the table the same brand of
Dukang
waiting to be poured into the same crystal glasses, and in the corner a television, a video recorder and a toppling stack of illicit American films.

But something had changed. As she had opened the hotel room door to his familiar knock; seeing it across her eyes, as fleeting as the crane’s flight across the face of a full moon. During the struggle he had seen men executed for less. A downcast eye to a question, or a nervous shuffle during a political tirade. He was a man who had always acted on instinct. A true friend of that small voice within, now whispering, ‘turn, walk away to the sanctuary of the penthouse, Comrade’. But the
mah-jongg
board with a louder voice, combined with the gold glint of
Dukang
and a fellow
tong zhi
who knew of times before mobile telephones, Armani-suited politicians and ‘sound bites’. Ignoring the voice, he entered the room. She closed the door. And regret upon him, as fast running as a dog after a Liberation truck. The hungry mouth of a pistol tight behind ear and skull. And with it, uttering the most stupid words that had ever passed his cautious lips.

“Do you know who I am?”

Yes, to come this far, to go to such lengths, such men as these would know exactly who he was. The man standing in front of him, half-blood eyes of turquoise, his words disarming. Breached, the old comrade’s defences, by their cheap tobacco perfumed taint.

“
Tong zhi
Citizen One. You are a hero of the People’s Republic, one of the last who knew how it was before.”

Piao taking a photograph from his inside pocket. A bright eyed child with the sense of a victory, yet to be won shining through his eyes in evangelical certainty. A few paces in front, the swirl and lick of red banner, the Great Helmsman.

Citizen One scanning the photograph with
Dukang
fuelled tears.

“It has been many years since I have seen this painting, many, many years. My uncles, I called them. Mao, Zhou Enlai, Deng Xiaoping, and so many others. By day they could kill a thousand, ten thousand
Kuomintang
, but by night they would make me safe, tuck me into a bed, tell stories now forgotten and explain to me the shining path of communist reasoning.”

Shaking his head.

“Men such as these are as gem stones amongst cliffs of mud and shale. The politicians of today are just interested in ‘shoving the shit back up the horse’s arse’.”

The Senior Investigator taking back the photograph and returning it to his pocket.

“Yes,
tong zhi
, that is why we are here. We wish to show you what has grown from the earth that was watered by your fellow comrades’ blood.”

*

Tong zhi
Citizen One was quite correct, the woman comrade was a poor
mah-jongg
player. Piao winning game after game as the Big Man supplied them with
Dukang
. And through it all, the old comrade reading, with the single-minded focus that only an accountant can muster. FILE TWENTY in its pristine inked entirety. A hand that had once been shaped around a rifle butt, child’s finger to trigger, now armed with something more dangerous, a pen, in copious barbed scrawl and a calculator trailing strings of noughts.

Four hours before he stopped to take a drink, rejecting the offer of food.

“I am used to much, but also very little. I was a child during the Long March. It was sometimes days between a drink, or a meal.”

Carefully placing FILE TWENTY on the floor.

“Such an experience fashions a man. Even now I find a dough stick or a crust of bread that I have secreted under my pillow, or in some other safe place. Now I can afford the best things in life, but still I hide food.”

Picking up the papers once again.

“And this is why you have come to me? This PLA princeling, this trusted officer, he is dirt under the fingernails of the peasantry. He is a robber of the proletariat.”

Shaking his head vigorously.

“Millions of
yuan
obtained in the foulest of fashions. Prostitution, thuggery, the ‘olds’ that Mao struggled to free us from, resurrected by my own PLA. I swear by my fallen comrades’ blood that I knew nothing of this outrage. If I had, I would have …”

Angrily tapping the papers on the table.

“A curse on these princelings and their excesses. How is it possible that the heroes of the People’s Republic have spawned such a plague as these?”

Anger now replaced by sadness and determination.

“I have been in my penthouse for too long. Communism has died and I did not even hear its whimper. This PLA, there is no need to extract money in such obscene ways. No need. The guiding policy for the PLA has been the ‘16 Character Policy’.
Junmin jiehe, pingzhan jiehe, junpin youaizn, yinmin yangjun
…”

Whispering the words, Piao.

“Integrate the military with the civilian; integrate war with peace; give priority to weaponry; make goods for civilians use and use the profits generated to maintain the military.”

Nodding, the
tong zhi
.

“Exactly. The fact that President Jiang Zemin has issued regulations on economic accountability and is pressuring the generals to disclose their interests, indicates that all is not well. But, for my part, we follow the ‘16 Character Policy’ to the letter. As a result we now have around 30,000 commercial units that I have developed for the PLA. Good, honest, solid businesses …”

Fingers running down a column of trenched figures.

“Poly Investment Holdings, Continental Mariner, these are listed on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange and are owned by the People’s Liberation Army General Staff Department. Hong Kong Macau International Holdings, HMH China Investments, these are owned by the GPD, the PLA’s General Political Department.”

Turning the page.

“China Poly, owned by the GSD, this alone has more than 100 subsidiaries, with assets totalling over 10 billion
yuan
. Last year it earned more that $500 million US Dollars.”

Unable, at first, to find the relevant entry.

“The PLA run over 500 hospitals. The Xinxing Group, owned by the PLA, employs 200,000 workers. Songliao Automobile is 53% controlled by the Shenyang Military Region. We have a majority interest in the stockbrokers, J&A. Last year it reported a profit of 711 million
yuan
. The PLA now controls China United Airlines, and Beijing’s five-star Palace Hotel. PLA businesses have joint profit-making ventures with the Canadian company, Shooting Star Technologies. With American companies, Baxter Healthcare, Exten Industries, SC & M International, General Electric Medical Systems, and many more.”

Fist banging the desk.

“Good businesses, legitimate businesses, which receive my blessing and full support. But whoring! ‘The olds’! The People’s Liberation Army does not want profits from such things. This princeling steals from the weakest, for his own pocket. Millions of
yuan
taken from the defence of our People’s Republic. It is here in his own records, in black and white.”

Finger stabbing down on data.

“Money that should go to our PLA for the defence of our people, falling into this
tai zhi’s
pocket as rain from heaven. I know his father, this princeling. A good comrade. A good servant of the people. I weep. I weep …”

Unable to speak. Leafing through to the last pages of FILE TWENTY. Filling his glass, the Big Man.

“This! What is this about, Senior Investigator? You have the face of the clock, Senior Investigator, but not the hands to indicate the time. There is a major conspiracy afoot here. Millions of dollars changing hands. But for what? I believe that you know, but you are not prepared to tell me, Senior Investigator. Or you, Deputy?”

No reply.

“You should be in the Peking Opera, Comrade Piao. You have a sense of the dramatic.”

“I work in the Homicide Squad,
tong zhi
. Only the dramatic reside in that continent.”

“True words. True words. I have seen much of death also. Too much. Far too much. It taints the soul. Poisons the tree of life.”

“ ‘Thousands upon thousands of martyrs have heroically laid down their lives for the people; let us hold their banner high and march ahead along the path crimson with their blood.’ ”

“Very good, the glorious words of the Great Helmsman, from his Selected Works, Vol. III. You understand the path and are a remarkable man, for a PSB, Senior Investigator Piao.”

Suddenly standing, Citizen One, removing his jacket, unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, and almost as a solemn rite, slowly rolling up his sleeve. Colours, some age-dulled, some with the vibrancy of newly-inked additions. A tattoo from wrist to shoulder, a glorious tapestry of the smudged and the defined. A contract of guaranteed safety, in carefully crafted characters. At its primary hued heart, the characters for Mao himself, and every leader of the People’s Republic since. But the contract equally binding in the opposite direction?

“You need not fear. I will keep my half of the bargain. I will keep to the shining path and do my duty.”

Suddenly, once more under the red banner. Once more side by side with the heroes of the revolution.

“Show me all that there is to show me, Comrade Investigator. You need not fear. You have come to the right citizen. I am Citizen One.”

In response Piao handing him a set of crisp monochrome prints from a file, and heading for the video recorder.

*

Thirty minutes
…

Tears traversing wrinkles. The Big Man handing the woman comrade a tissue. A nod of her head and a look toward Citizen One.

“For what, these terrible deaths of such young women and these brutal murders of your fellow comrade officers in the PSB?”

Piao, at the window, staring into the night.

“And these dollars, millions of dollars? What do they buy?”

Turning, the Senior Investigator and dropping a cotton pouch into the old comrade’s hand.

“Oryza sativa. Rice, Comrade Citizen One. The promise of a very special rice.”

“Rice! No, no, Senior Investigator, this cannot be. Rice may cause indigestion, but nothing such as this. Never such as this.”

A nod. The Big Man pulling several reports from an envelope. Dropping them onto the table in front of the
tong zhi
.

“Comrade Citizen One, it is called Golden Rice. Something that held so much promise, like the Great Leap Forward, but in reality was an empty vessel. Although the initial results were promising, when the scientists working on the project informed Comrade Qi of their negative findings, he at first attempted to suppress their report. Then he insisted that they doctor it and put their signature to it. They refused. He offered them money, when that did not work he made threats against their daughters. When that did not work he murdered their daughters.”

“And this rice, this Golden Rice; you can produce evidence that Qi suppressed their reports? Doctored their reports?”

“The evidence is in front of you, Citizen Comrade One.”

“And still Qi continued to take millions of dollars from countries that are our neighbours on the false promise of this rice?”

“The evidence of that is in his own accounts,
tong zhi
.”

“Yes. Yes, the figures that I saw with my own eyes. Of course. Then you have completed the circle of evidence, Senior Investigator Piao.”

His knuckles tapping the reports in front of him.

“That I should grow so old as to see such as this. Me, one who survived the perils of the Long March!”

Shaking his head again. Minutes before he spoke.