Citizen One (41 page)

“To bring into the light that which you have shown me is our clear duty, but it would be naïve and irresponsible not first to consider the consequences.”

“I do not care about …”

“Consequence, Senior Investigator? You should. I can see that I may need to save you from yourself.”

Through the window an airplane scraping the sable sky. A flight leaving Pudong International. Leaving for somewhere new, silver, shiny bright.

“What you have discovered could cause enormous damage to China’s reputation within the international community, should it be released. We are no longer an island, our fortune is bound to others, and others to ours. As well as economic consequences there could be political fall-out from these revelations, Senior Investigator. Such revelations could, among other things, jeopardise our hosting the Olympics.”

Piao sensing that the words he wished to say would be inappropriate.

“There is an art in this, Senior Investigator. One has to weigh issues against issues, and consequences against consequences. So much to lose in revealing what it is that you have discovered. But on the other hand so much to lose in allowing these princeling free rein.”

And almost under his breath.

“A plague on us these
tai zis
. A plague that will eventually destroy our People’s Republic.”

A deep inhalation, a decision made.

“Sometimes, even when in the deepest of fevers and with the patient at his weakest, it is necessary to take drastic action. to take a knife and bleed the patient. And in that painful bleeding, a life saved. That was what our Cultural Revolution was, a curative blood-letting.”

Citizen One’s hand pointing to the electric horizon of the city.

“But see, the patient survived. Perhaps we will have our own Cultural Revolution, Senior Investigator. On a much smaller scale you understand.”

Laughing the
tong zhi
.

“And you, Senior Investigator? What of you?”

“I am a solution that became a problem.”

“A dangerous role to achieve, Senior Investigator.”

“I excel at achieving such dangerous roles, Comrade Citizen One.”

The
tong zhi
, his hand on Piao’s shoulder.

“You have done well, Senior Investigator. You have done well and you will be rewarded. This will earn you and your Deputy medals.”

“We already have medals,
tong zhi
.”

“Then what would you wish of me, Senior Investigator? An old
tong zhi
who has obviously lived for too long.”

“Information, Citizen One. Information …”

“Ah, Senior Investigator. Politician’s gold, yes? What information?”

“Colonel Qi, I wish knowledge of his time as a student while in London. Something occurred there that has sculpted his life to its will. As the Long March sculpted your honourable decades.”

A nod.

“I have names taken from the princeling’s mobile telephone data that need to be examined. Names that Qi is sending large amounts of money to, as you saw, Citizen One. Names that span the world. We need intelligence on these,
tong zhi
.”

“I have well established contacts. This information will be yours.”

“Thank you,
tong zhi
. There is also a Russian by the name of Kanatjan Pasechnik. I wish information about him also. Our own contacts, our own
guan-xi
have failed us.”

“Never to be trusted, Russians. Wolves in a bear’s clothing. We shall see what business Colonel Qi has with a Russian. You shall get what you require, Comrade Senior Investigator.”

“Thank you, Citizen One. I had almost despaired of …”

A hand raised, stilling Piao’s words.

“What, Comrade Senior Investigator? The lack of integrity on the part of your superiors and amongst the high
cadre
? A loss of the shining path from the eyes of the politicians that command you?”

A nod and a single word from Piao that could beckon for any citizen,
lao gai’s
embrace.

“Yes.”

“I still follow the Great Helmsman’s shining path, Senior Investigator. Although such a journey is now not fashionable.”

The Big Man helping the woman comrade to her feet.

“Perhaps you should have more faith, PSB. Yes, more faith. There are still some left who do not bow to the contents of a wallet.”

The
tong zhi
, papers, reports, into a folder.

Smiling at the septuagenarian female comrade linked to his arm; in his eyes, still a pretty twenty year old.

“We will apologise to our security officers for causing so much concern. We will say that we went for a walk. A long walk. It was a beautiful night. So many bright stars. How we both love to look at the stars. You are of course aware, Senior Investigator, that there is not another country in the world that has such a canopy of bright stars. Surely, if there is a God then he must be a good communist comrade.”

Moving into the corridor smelling of foreign cigarettes and red rose soap.

“One day from now, Senior Investigator. The Hongqiao bird market. Madam Lee’s Songbird Emporium, midday.”

Smiling, as his arm slipped around the female comrade’s waist.

“One day from now and you will have your politician’s gold.”

As if heaven had fallen to earth, the market wound like a garland through the Hongqiao Road. One end tethered to two hundred stalls of birds that once flew, but were now caged: hummingbirds, canaries, finches and the more exotic songbirds. The other end of the market, as a rainbow pinned to earth at 1778 Hongqiao Road by the Gubei flower market, with its 20,000 square metres of blooms. Every colour to soothe the soul and paint the mood.

And in amongst the songbirds’ sad laments, the children’s animated chatter, the tourists’ whoops and hollers, harsher things; as the hard stone set at the heart of each lychee’s soft, giving flesh. A spit, a slap of hands to black market deals. A canary pecking the feathers from another canary’s head. Harsher things. Flight feathers pulled with tweezers from a hummingbird’s glistening wings. An argument, fierce and hot, over a price set, a deal broken. Harsher things. A squeal cutting through the midday, as a Mandarin duck is parted from its life. Over age trodden cobble stones, as dull as old
fen
coins, flower petals and a generous spatter of blood.

*

Madam Lee, an old broiler chicken that thought that she was still a songbird, advanced on Citizen One with lips triple coated in scarlet lipstick to give him a kiss. A tale told of a life sadder than this current existence, as she plucked flight feathers from a lovebird’s wings. Another tale told, to much laughter, as she bound with tape the beaks of two unhappy-eyed parrots. Only when the laughter had died and her attentions turned to a toucan cowering in the corner of its rusty cage, did she point the way with a scarlet triple coated fingernail. Citizen One leading through a double glass-beaded curtain and into a small room beyond … its smell of menopausal women, over-brewed
xunhuacha
and bird feathers. At the centre of the dark room, candle lit, a large samovar of Russian origin, ornately fluted, original nickel plate worn back to its brass body. Around the samovar, a circle of leather, gold-embossed cushions. Citizen One seating himself, pulling a candle closer and pouring himself tea, his every action speaking of him having been in this place many times before. Piao and the Big Man following him. Their actions more stilted, as they juggled cups that would not hold even enough liquid to wash out an eye, let alone quench the thirst of a mouth that tasted of bird’s feathers.

From a file Citizen One pulling a sheath of precisely folded papers and spreading them out on a cushion with his hand.

“I am a comrade who keeps his promises.”

His hand moving over the pages until they were perfectly smooth.

“In this, and in what you have shown me, Investigators, we will all need to have complete trust in each other.”

Noisily drinking his tea.

“First, data from foreign intelligence services: the SIS. BND, German Intelligence, the CIA, Centro Nacional De Intelligencia of Spain, the French, DRM, Direction du Renseignement Militaire …”

The distaste showing as he spoke.

“Your Qi, he has many contacts with very unsavoury characters. Muslim extremists, suspected terrorists. Some he met at university while in England. All were members of Al-Muhajiroun, a radical Muslim faction. Fanatics. Many of them, it is known, have been to Afghanistan and have trained at terrorist training camps, or have studied under radical clerics in the madras’s of Pakistan. Such people are a great concern to our friends in the west, a great concern.”

Only now that Piao’s eyes were growing accustomed to the candlelight, aware that they were being watched. From high shelves on three of the room’s walls, birds of every description, stuffed and mounted. Dead eyes of yellow-aged glass beads looking down.

“Nazeer Ahmed Hanjour. Nazeer apparently means, ‘the one who warns’. He became close to Qi at university and is credited with introducing him to Islam. Hanjour passed him on to a radical cleric at a mosque in London. He took a special interest in Qi. Educated him. Abdul Waddani, another cleric. The Americans are seeking his extradition on charges relating to terrorism. Saadat Al-Sharif, our colonel’s closest friend while in London. He is being tracked by the British SIS. Sa’d Al-Qadi. The German authorities have him under constant surveillance. Implicated in funding terrorist acts.”

Citizen One placing the papers on Piao’s lap.

“And another twenty-seven of them. A great concern that a Chinese national should have such ‘friends’. Especially one as well connected as Qi, who has access to military hardware and specialist resources.”

More papers from the file.

“As for the other name that you gave to me, the Russian dog. Kanatjan Pasechnik, a nasty piece of work. A thick file on him within every intelligence agency in Europe. A bio-weapons scientist who was a leading light with the Russian company BIOPREPARAT, a civilian ‘front’ organisation for their biological weapons programme. He was developing new strains of smallpox, as well as genetically splicing one virus into another. A not dissimilar technique to the one which would have been used on your transgenic crop, Golden Rice, Senior Investigator.”

A concerned nod of the head as he turned more pages.

“Since the break-up of the Soviet Union and the programme ending, he has been un-employed. But it is believed that some regimes in the Middle East were courting him. unfortunately, I think that our princeling has beaten them to it.”

“I do not like the sound of this,
tong
zhi.”

Two notes in the file, both saying the same thing. One from Qi’s
danwei
. Another from the
Luxingshe
. Personal requests from the princeling, on behalf of the People’s Liberation Army, for a Russian national to be allowed into the People’s Republic on a special visa, for the purpose of ‘scientific research for the benefit of the PLA and the Chinese people’. The Russian national’s name … Sergei Popov.

“Alias, Kanatjan Pasechnik, yes,
tong zhi
?”

“Yes, I believe so. Our princeling must have brought him in to our People’s Republic to work on the Golden Rice programme.”

“Do you mind if my Deputy and I look at these papers, Comrade?”

“Look, yes. But take away, no. Sensitive material. If it got into the wrong hands it could be tracked back to my source. A very important source. You must read them here, now. I will busy myself with Madam Lee.”

A glint in his eyes.

“Take your time, Comrades. Please, take your time.”

*

RECORDS OFFICE – KGB CENTRAL …

Personal data. Place of Birth: Kiev. Date of Birth: 4/7/1955. Communist Party Membership No.3678425639753465 / 6564A. Work Location: Koltsovo, Siberia. Work position: Lead Scientist / Project Manager.

Pages after pages. Pasechnik regarded as one of the most brilliant Soviet scientists of his generation. Devising, running his own projects from the age of twenty-five. Funding, seemingly limitless. Starting within mainstream medical research. Then during the late 80s, Pasechnik’s focus altering. A more shadowy area, researching viruses, genetic engineering. Field trips to Venezuela, Zaire, India, the Congo. A list of countries, the common denominator being that death had passed that way, had ravaged those lands with the most deadly viruses known to man.

Two brief reports each stamped in red ink,
CLASSIFICATION ONE STATE SECRET
.

A BIOPREPARAT project, ‘
Hunter
’. Its aim to produce new micro-organisms. Combining two viruses together to produce a ‘chimaera’. Focusing on ebola, Venezuelan Equine encephalomyelitis, smallpox … the particularly virulent strains INDIA-67 and INDIA-1. Focusing on unleashing their maximum potential as a part of a weapons’ system.

Reading the second report. Another BIOPREPARAT project, ‘
Factor
’. It’s main focus to develop viruses and bacteria that were more pathogenic, better able to cause disease and fatality within the human being. With special attention paid to the degrading of the immune response. Experimentation to focus on the IL4 gene, and its insertion into the smallpox virus, with the aim of creating a vaccine-resistant strain of smallpox.

“Does this make sense to you, Boss?”

“There will be something here that speaks with a clearer voice. Something in the small print. Something that we are missing.”

Kanatjan Pasechnik. Not his projects, his exotic travels, his myriad qualifications; every step of his career noted in triplicate. Something more basic would snag their attention.

Over Piao’s lips in whispered supplication to the turning of pages.

“I bet he is a Muslim. I bet you …”

And there, a handwritten insert in the original document.

Chosen religion: MUSLIM

*

“
Cao-mu jie-bing
…”

“ ‘The dead cat turned’. A risky strategy, Comrade Senior Investigator.”

Piao walking over petals as red as the People’s Republic’s star.