Read Online An American Spy by Olen Steinhauer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Olen Steinhauer
Tags: Milo Weaver
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inferior. Unlike the others, he was purely political, having gained entrance into the Central Committee by flattery and knowing how to keep his mouth shut, avoiding committed opinions at all costs. Recently, he’d been handed a ranking position in the Guoanbu’s Second Bureau, but he still remained the most reserved during discussions of any importance.
Zhang Guo, on the other hand, shook hands with no one. He came in clutching a file to his chest, like a schoolgirl, settled into a free chair, and started unpacking his cigarettes. He looked more tired than the others, or perhaps it was anxiety. When the waiter came around, delivering tea, Zhang Guo’s cup shivered to his lips. His eyes were bloodshot, unlike when they’d met on Friday, and Zhu decided that it had nothing to do with what was occurring at this moment; Zhang Guo was learning how a young mistress, particularly the well-known Chi Shanshan, could wear out a man of his age. He was, Zhu suspected, entertaining second thoughts.
For whatever reason, Wu Liang had not asked them to meet in their usual building, but had reserved this spare Central Committee space, and as the meeting was informal only these five members of the committee arrived. Zhu had no idea how many had been invited, but he doubted that Yang Xiaoming, the committee’s absent head, even knew it was occurring. If he’d been informed, though, the disasters in Sichuan, his old stomping grounds, would have kept him far away.
Once the waiters had left and the guard closed the doors, Wu Liang stood wearily and placed a digital audio recorder in the center of the floor, equidistant from all the participants. “Just in case,” he said to everyone as he returned to his chair.
“In case of what?” asked Zhu.
“In case of disputes later on,” Wu Liang informed him. “None of us are young men—except, perhaps, Yang Qing-Nian,” he said with a smile. “I’d hate to run a security apparatus based on our memories.”
“Perfect reasoning,” Zhu admitted. “And I’d like to thank the committee for inviting me here this morning. I consider it an honor.”
“Bullshit,” said Yang Qing-Nian. “I suggest we skip the formalities. Can we agree to that?”
“Yang Qing-Nian speaks with the voice of youth,” Wu Liang said with a calmness that proved they’d planned that outburst. “I’m agreeable to dispensing with formalities, as this meeting is intended to be unofficial . . . exploratory in nature. However, I do not want to steer this particular boat. Are there opinions?”
“Were the better rooms occupied?” That was Sun Bingjun, chewing at the corner of his mouth.
Wu Liang blinked at him. “Yes, Comrade Lieutenant General. It’s a busy time, and my request was last-minute.”
Sun Bingjun set down his teacup and nodded; Feng Yi said, “Dispensing with formalities is all right with me.” Zhang Guo lowered his head in agreement.
Looking across the room with raised brows, Wu Liang said, “Xin Zhu?”
Zhu said, “I always agree with the masses. Please.” Behind him, he heard Shen An-ling cough his amusement.
Wu Liang removed a sheet of paper from an open briefcase propped against his chair. “It is May 19, 2008, and . . .” He checked his watch. “Nine fourteen in the morning.” He listed the attendees, then said, “Before we start, I would like to remind everyone that, at 2:28 P . M ., there begins a three-minute moment of silence for the victims of the Sichuan Wenchuan earthquake.”
There was no need for Wu Liang to remind anyone of this, but with a recording device nearby, he couldn’t help himself. Feng Yi said, “Perhaps we could offer ten seconds of silence right now?”
Zhu looked at him, then at the others. He caught Sun Bingjun rolling his eyes.
Yang Qing-Nian said, “I second that motion. Vote?”
All hands, of course, went up.
Ten seconds later, Wu Liang cleared his throat. “Thank you, Feng Yi.” He lifted his notes, finally coming to the point.
Zhang Guo, on the other hand, shook hands with no one. He came in clutching a file to his chest, like a schoolgirl, settled into a free chair, and started unpacking his cigarettes. He looked more tired than the others, or perhaps it was anxiety. When the waiter came around, delivering tea, Zhang Guo’s cup shivered to his lips. His eyes were bloodshot, unlike when they’d met on Friday, and Zhu decided that it had nothing to do with what was occurring at this moment; Zhang Guo was learning how a young mistress, particularly the well-known Chi Shanshan, could wear out a man of his age. He was, Zhu suspected, entertaining second thoughts.
For whatever reason, Wu Liang had not asked them to meet in their usual building, but had reserved this spare Central Committee space, and as the meeting was informal only these five members of the committee arrived. Zhu had no idea how many had been invited, but he doubted that Yang Xiaoming, the committee’s absent head, even knew it was occurring. If he’d been informed, though, the disasters in Sichuan, his old stomping grounds, would have kept him far away.
Once the waiters had left and the guard closed the doors, Wu Liang stood wearily and placed a digital audio recorder in the center of the floor, equidistant from all the participants. “Just in case,” he said to everyone as he returned to his chair.
“In case of what?” asked Zhu.
“In case of disputes later on,” Wu Liang informed him. “None of us are young men—except, perhaps, Yang Qing-Nian,” he said with a smile. “I’d hate to run a security apparatus based on our memories.”
“Perfect reasoning,” Zhu admitted. “And I’d like to thank the committee for inviting me here this morning. I consider it an honor.”
“Bullshit,” said Yang Qing-Nian. “I suggest we skip the formalities. Can we agree to that?”
“Yang Qing-Nian speaks with the voice of youth,” Wu Liang said with a calmness that proved they’d planned that outburst. “I’m agreeable to dispensing with formalities, as this meeting is intended to be unofficial . . . exploratory in nature. However, I do not want to steer this particular boat. Are there opinions?”
“Were the better rooms occupied?” That was Sun Bingjun, chewing at the corner of his mouth.
Wu Liang blinked at him. “Yes, Comrade Lieutenant General. It’s a busy time, and my request was last-minute.”
Sun Bingjun set down his teacup and nodded; Feng Yi said, “Dispensing with formalities is all right with me.” Zhang Guo lowered his head in agreement.
Looking across the room with raised brows, Wu Liang said, “Xin Zhu?”
Zhu said, “I always agree with the masses. Please.” Behind him, he heard Shen An-ling cough his amusement.
Wu Liang removed a sheet of paper from an open briefcase propped against his chair. “It is May 19, 2008, and . . .” He checked his watch. “Nine fourteen in the morning.” He listed the attendees, then said, “Before we start, I would like to remind everyone that, at 2:28 P . M ., there begins a three-minute moment of silence for the victims of the Sichuan Wenchuan earthquake.”
There was no need for Wu Liang to remind anyone of this, but with a recording device nearby, he couldn’t help himself. Feng Yi said, “Perhaps we could offer ten seconds of silence right now?”
Zhu looked at him, then at the others. He caught Sun Bingjun rolling his eyes.
Yang Qing-Nian said, “I second that motion. Vote?”
All hands, of course, went up.
Ten seconds later, Wu Liang cleared his throat. “Thank you, Feng Yi.” He lifted his notes, finally coming to the point.
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