Citizen One (45 page)

Loading the data from the disc onto the front of File Twenty. A key to the door. Codes, de-coded. Names, where there were initials. Positions, government departments, political organisations, where there were abbreviations. Also darker things. Video footage, stills, the gape of a cut-throat’s kiss. Clasp of knuckles frozen in concrete. PLA faces, smiling. And other data, a regular trickle from Piao and the Big Man, now all incorporated into a dam busting tide.

Accessing the Internet through Qi’s PC. His user name, code name, known only to the comrade himself, but broken months ago. A few useful tips picked up on the net. Hacking tutorials. A protocol snipped from a hacker’s forum. Character by character, typing them in.

Compose. Downloading the email addresses that the email, with its voluminous attachment, were to be sent to. A hundred lines, more. Every name in File Twenty to get a copy. Every political organisation. Every media outlet in the People’s Republic. Every Internet café. Beyond the Republic’s protective virtual fire walls, the free flowing World Wide Web. The outside world. Copies of File Twenty to foreign media organisations, human rights monitoring agencies.

SEND
. His finger to mouse button. Virtual hand, pushing virtual button. Hundreds of emails winging their way. Black flock of characters, entering departments, crossing desks. By-passing lemon-sucking-mouthed secretaries. Vaulting committee agendas. Black flock of characters, burning through diary pages. Scalding across international boundaries. No appointments, no knocks on doors, no protocols … no fucking manners.

“60 days. Sorry you’re not here to enjoy the party. But may the ancestors guard you and be as generous with their
Dukang
as I am with yours, Sun Piao.”

The Wizard pouring himself another full glass and sitting back, watching the flow of emails flying to their hosts. Data that would stick like mud. Data that would be as fish bones to high
cadre
throats.

16 hours later
.

Tableaux of the Long March, the
Gongchandang
triumph, the period of the Hundred Flowers. Portraits of the heroes of the revolution, Mao Zedong, Zhu De, Zhou Enlai, Liu Shaoqi, Chen Yi. Blood on cheeks, fire in eyes, bodies at feet. Heroes of the revolution. Their chests puffed out in pride, rifles still smoking.

The top of the pyramid, the high
cadre
, no one below grade seven. A smell of septuagenarian breath, dark wood panelled walls, Italian leather shoes, and incontinence’s yellowed weep. A smell that held the breath at bay. And in the pit of the stomach, the unease of power, the sense of something decisive, inevitable and fatal about to occur.

Polished shoes across the lacquered wood floor. Others from adjoining offices joining them in purposeful walk towards the dark oak committee rooms. The highest
cadre
, the look of a man who would never have need of the help from another man.

“A mess, a terrible mess.”

A voice like concrete being mixed. They all nodded, the comrade was the current General Secretary of the Central Secretariat, the highest ranking
cadre
amongst them, a grade two. High enough to be in sight of the very top of the pyramid.

Yes, they nodded. With a
cadre
of such a high grading, no other action being appropriate.

The doors of the Great Hall of the People, flung open. For some seconds, the General Secretary, minions flanking him, staring into its empty vastness. 10,000 seats. 10,000 with one voice. A shiver running up his spine, every time. Every time. Eyes drifting to the illuminated red star ceiling. A vast and glorious rubric sun. His eyes, tear misted. Even though a grade two
cadre
, a General Secretary of an important organ of the Communist Party, not embarrassed to wipe the tears from his eyes with monogrammed handkerchief. Indeed, making a show of the very act. A sudden and urgent feeling of benevolence in his heart for the proletariat.

“ ‘Know this, that it is not the tree which chooses the bird, but the bird which alights upon whichever perch he pleases.’ ”

Dabbing his eyes once more.

“Look around you. Look at the heroes of our People’s Republic gazing down upon you. Can you not feel their blood coursing through your veins?”

Words ragged with emotion.

“That bird has chosen us, Comrades. It perches upon our branches as I speak.”

Turning. Walking. A phalanx of neat Italian suits, turning, walking with him. Footfall matched, but just a few steps behind.

“Come, Comrades, we have decisions to arrive at. Difficult decisions that fall upon the shoulders of those whom the bird has chosen.”

Leading them to an ancillary room, decorated in the style of the southern lands and peoples. The Bai, the Lisu, the Yi, the Naxi, the Va. Timber from the jungle valleys between the Salween River and the Irrawaddy. Animal skin seats, still musky, still earthy, from the hills around the boundaries of Guizhou and Hunan Province.

One hundred and fifty the room could seat comfortably, but only eight behind its closed doors. A trusted and powerful eight. The meeting would be brief, but to the point. The General Secretary’s eyes falling onto the comrade furthest from him. A raise of eyebrow, a prompt to him to speak, to sweat.

“We have limited the Internet exposure of the files in question, Comrade General Secretary. Several western websites had posted a full transcript of the file. The ISPs that allowed these to appear are now not accessible from the People’s Republic.”

“ISPs?”

“Internet Service Providers, Comrade General Secretary.”

Nodding, smiling, the General Secretary. The young
cadre
basking in the approval.

“The search engines of Google, AltaVista, Yahoo, cannot now be accessed from within our borders. Our Ministries of Information and Industry have already issued ISPs with a set of new regulations that they must adhere to.”

Dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief devoid of monogram, the young
cadre
.

“I have posted a full set of these new regulations to your office, Comrade General Secretary. These will make it impossible for such an occurrence to happen again.”

The same nod. The same smile.

“So the situation is contained?”

A raise of his eyebrow.

“We have contained what we can contain, Comrade General Secretary.”

“Explain?”

“Comrade General Secretary, Sir, we can do little about the file and its details being out there. This information is now in the public domain.”

“It cannot be erased from the Internet? Removed?”

“It is impossible to do so, Comrade General Secretary. Once on the Internet it is as water into water. They cannot be separated.”

“ ‘Water into water’. Very poetic, Comrade. Very graphic. And what is your assessment of the situation?”

Noticing the reticence written on the young
cadre’s
face.

“Say what you need to say, Comrade. In this place, in this situation, we need to give expression free rein.”

Hand to mouth, coughing, as if the words were choking him.

“Comrade General Secretary, there will be much fallout from this episode. The files and what they contain, especially the video footage.”

Interrupting him, the General Secretary.

“In a situation such as this there is only one effective strategy. Denial.”

“Yes, of course, Comrade General Secretary. My department has already been briefed. Our news agencies will also be briefed this afternoon and will be releasing articles pouring scorn on the files. Denying that the files and what they contain are authentic. Blaming it on undesirables, enemies of the People’s Republic, political extremists. Statements and press releases have already been prepared.”

“Good. Good …”

“But, Comrade General Secretary, this case is different. It has complications.”

“How so?”

“The released files contain details, names, facts that can be tracked stage by stage. Denial will not be enough. Human rights issues will be raised about some of the bars and other ‘business enterprises’ named in the files.”

A nervous sip of water. Dab of linen over sweating brow.

“And there are the Olympic Games, Comrade General Secretary. You will recall that the video tape of the murder of the young woman took place underneath flags bearing the symbol of the Olympics itself. The Olympic Committee will not wish to be associated with murder. It is already under pressure from powerful nations to act and to act swiftly. An emergency meeting of the IOC has been called for tonight in Geneva.”

Clearing of his throat. Nerves getting the better of him.

“We are fortunate enough to have sympathetic friends within the Olympic Committee. These friends have already been contacted. However, we will not manage to keep the Olympics unless we make some changes, some concessions. Unless we offer something in exchange, Comrade General Secretary.”

The high
cadre
thoughtful. His silence haunting the room. Nodding his head.

“You will liaise with the Ministry of Security and put onto paper some ideas. Change with a small ‘c’, yes? But changes all the same. At all costs, we must guarantee that the Olympics take place in the People’s Republic. I will expect your thoughts on my desk by this evening.”

Smiling. The subject closed.

The high
cadre’s
eyes focusing on another comrade’s face. An older comrade, gnarled and tortured face like a bonsai tree’s bark.

“Tell me, old friend, this information, these files, do we know where they emanate from?”

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”

“The source has been traced with certainty? With one hundred percent certainty?

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary. Our computer experts have checked and double checked its path to its origin. They all agree, with one hundred percent certainty.”

“It is the citizen that we have previously discussed?”

“Yes, it is, Comrade General Secretary. The files were traced back to the hard drive of Comrade Colonel Qi’s computer.”

Sentences, rasped whispers. Like blunt bladed knife’s cut through stubborn material.

“But why would Qi, a most privileged
cadre
, post notice of his own crimes on the Internet? Why would he open these files to such scrutiny?”

“It came from his computer, General Secretary. But…”

“But, old friend?”

“But it does not mean that it was the owner of the computer that sent the information from it.”

“But then who did ?”

A shrug of the shoulders.

“It is impossible to say, Comrade General Secretary, Sir. But it is unlikely that it was the Comrade Colonel himself. What would be the purpose of such an act?” However, what is certain is that these files and the information upon them do belong to Colonel Qi.”

The gnarled comrade, his gaze firmly on the General Secretary.

“It is my view, Comrade General Secretary, that this episode is not about money. It is about power. This PLA traitor and his cronies, they test the old ways.”

An experienced politician, looking around him, making sure that his was not the only voice.

“We must curb the power and growing financial independence of the People’s Liberation Army, and of the
tai zis
who ride on the shoulders of their esteemed families’ names. We cannot have a state within a state, Comrade General Secretary. Everything must start and end with the People’s Republic. We must obey the will of the proletariat.”

The applause that met this statement allowing the General Secretary to gather his papers and indicate that the meeting was now concluded. He had his mandate.

“Thank you, Comrades. Thank you. Your input, as ever, is most valuable. Most valuable.”

Walking to the door.

“For now our strategy will be that of denial. A more proactive policy will be developed in time to address the other more far-reaching issues raised.”

Walking into the corridor, a wave of blue hand-tailored suits in his wake. For several minutes, the Comrade General Secretary standing motionless in the corridor. A rock at the centre of a river’s rapid flow.

Whisper of words to the gnarled comrade still at his shoulder.

“Old friend, the message that I received this morning, it needs to be answered. Not on paper, nor on a telephone. A delicate matter. I wish you to take a verbal message, my old friend.”

Pausing as he considered the appropriate level of diplomatic politeness.

“Tell the comrade that I am highly honoured by his invitation and will see him tomorrow. His esteemed views I will be pleased to listen to, although I have already decided upon a course of action.”

The Comrade General Secretary, his gaze raised to the Great Hall’s crimson starred heavens.

“Yes, tell Citizen One exactly that.”

The room and rooms running from it, electronically scanned. Strong fingers unscrewing telephone mouthpieces, ceiling roses, electrical points. A small but powerful electronic scrambling device activated. Any mobile telephone signals jammed, listening devices silenced.

Tea poured into china cups.
Xunhuacha
, the finest tea available. Rose perfumed. Smiles and sips. Talk of the weather, the brightness of the room, of the artwork upon its walls, its lavish plasterwork coving and the beauty of its art deco features.

A nod. Double doors closing. Citizen One on one side of the table, on the other, the Comrade General Secretary. Between them an expanse of walnut; rich golden grain imprisoned beneath a thick skin of varnish.

A sip of tea. Security procedures and formal pleasantries exhausted.

*

“Comrade Citizen One, your timing it is impeccable. But not wholly coincidental, yes?”

Stirring the tea, the old comrade. Coincidence, the holed sail of those adrift on the sea of fate. Nothing in his own life that could ever be harnessed to such a word. The shining path defining all from the cradle to the grave. Sipping the tea, the old comrade. Not replying. Sometimes it is best to still the lips for the purpose of sharpening the mind.