The two PLA guards snapped to attention, the red flag fluttering stiffly in the breeze as Captain Lee, aide to General Cheng, chief of the two-and-a-half-million People’s Liberation Army, arrived at the Xinhuamen — the Gate of New China — the southern entrance to the Zhongnanhai compound off Changan Avenue. Here a short distance west of the Forbidden City, the party’s top officials resided and had offices behind a high wall and around two lakes. Lee had been raised on the discipline of the Tao, his mind resolved never to show his emotions to anyone, and certainly not to his enemy. But this morning he knew he could not contain himself. Besides, General Cheng was no enemy. Lee told the general they’d pulled it off.
“Are you sure?” Cheng inquired impassively.
“Yes, Comrade General. Almost as soon as we placed the order for the air-conditioning units one of the British spies in Hong Kong sent a message north to Khabarovsk via the Manchurian route.”
“The Harbin Democracy Movement cell?” Cheng proffered.
“Yes, General.”
Cheng’s fingers carefully squeezed the end of his Camel cigarette to a point and pushed it with a twist into the end of his Persian blue cloisonné cigarette holder. “And Freeman has received the information personally?”
“Yes, General — a phone call from his Khabarovsk headquarters.”
“Are you confident of this?”
“We’ve had two men watching his house — one equipped with a multidirectional aerial. The transmitter is inside his sister-in-law’s house. He will no doubt think we will attack in the summer.”
“Good. Freeman has no doubt alerted the Pentagon to this, and his Second Army will be so advised. And then to prevent him from second-guessing us any further, we will kill him.”
“But General,” Lee began, clearly perplexed, “you said our embassy in Washington has it that he is to be relieved of command of Second Army. Sent back to Fort Ord. He won’t be any danger to us there.”
Cheng turned to the window overlooking the two lakes, sugary-looking ice still clinging to the banks. “You’ve not fought against Freeman?”
“No, sir.”
“He is formidable. Did you know he keeps a copy of our Chinese general Sun Tzu’s The Art of War next to his Bible? He well understands Sun Tzu’s maxim that ‘all war is deception.’ “
“Yes, General, but—”
“He may discern my trap if he is given time to think about it. We will not give him that time.”
“So long as our agents are discreet,” Lee suggested. “When the Siberian Spets tried to—”
“When the Siberian women tried to kill him he was not on his home ground. He was in Khabarovsk. More alert. In California there is a large Chinese population — it would just seem like another citizen approaching him.”
“When will it be done?”
Cheng inhaled, and then seconds later smoke came out in voluminous clouds of bluish gray that rose and spilled down off the ancient roof, Cheng’s silence his answer. Cheng had risen fast through the party’s ranks to head the PLA not only because he was a brilliant strategist but also because he was able to keep secrets, never tempted to tell subordinates more than they needed to know about any operation.