in the country. Mao used the Korean War as a pretext to deport “spies” and “agents,” and the very few Westerners who remained were kept under constant surveillance.
“Why do you think that I — as opposed to another one of your ‘assets’ — have a chance to succeed at this?”
The question had been much discussed in rooms at Langley, and now Haverford debated with himself how much of the answer he should share with Nicholai Hel.
“The assignment requires someone who is fluent in Chinese,” Haverford said, “but who could pass for Russian if the moment demanded it.”
“You doubtless have many such people on your payroll,” Nicholai observed.
“True,” Haverford answered. “But in addition to being multilingual, the man must also be brilliant, unflappable, and a trained killer who can do the job without the benefit of a gun or other standard weapon. At this point the list of available candidates gets very short.”
Nicholai understood the thinking. A gun would be very hard to arrange in a police state, and in any case, Voroshenin wouldn’t be likely to let an armed assassin anywhere near him. That made sense, but Nicholai knew that there were other qualifications that narrowed the pool of candidates down to him, and he wondered if Haverford knew of the very personal motivation he had to kill Voroshenin. Certainly Haverford was manipulative enough — he wouldn’t blink at it. But Nicholai doubted that he knew — there was really no way that he could. No, Nicholai thought, he chose me for other reasons.
“You also require,” he said, “a man desperate enough to accept an assignment that has only a slight chance of success, and almost no chance of escape even if he succeeds in the mission. Isn’t that true?”
“Only partially,” Haverford answered. “We’ll have an extraction team standing by to get you out. But the odds are, yes, slim enough to require a man who otherwise has little to lose.”
Well, Nicholai thought, that would be me.
Or “Michel Guibert.”
The identity solved the problem of inserting Nicholai into Beijing. There was no “cover” available as a Russian, because he would instantly be spotted as an imposter. Obviously, he couldn’t be Chinese. An American or British identity was likewise impossible.
But the Guiberts had been particular darlings of the international left since the days of bomb-throwing anarchists with mustaches, and Papa Guibert had paid particular attention to the French Communists in Vichy during the war. So the Guiberts were exactly the type of capitalists that the Communists would tolerate.
And now the Chinese, Haverford explained, had a particular use for the son.
“It’s about Vietnam,” he said.
“More precisely?”
Both China and Russia supported Ho Chi Minh and his insurgency against the French colonial regime in Vietnam. Ho’s Viet Minh troops needed weapons — preferably American as the United States supplied the French and the Viet Minh could rearm themselves with captured ammunition. China possessed a large cache of American arms through weapons captured in Korea, and because the Americans had also armed the Kuomintang, from whom the Communist victors had seized mountains of American weaponry.
“Why can’t the Chinese simply send the guns to the Viet Minh?” Nicholai asked.
China shared a border with Vietnam and the Viet Minh controlled the mountainous area on the frontier. It should have been a simple matter to bring the armaments through the remote terrain to the Viet Minh strongholds.
“They can and do,” Haverford answered. “But it all comes down to money.”
Of course, Nicholai thought.
“The Chinese are cash poor,” Haverford explained. “They’d like to make some dough — especially in foreign currency — from the deal. At the same time, they don’t want to be seen making a profit off the backs of their revolutionary Asian comrades. So you provide a convenient excuse. ‘Gee, we’d love to give you
“Why do you think that I — as opposed to another one of your ‘assets’ — have a chance to succeed at this?”
The question had been much discussed in rooms at Langley, and now Haverford debated with himself how much of the answer he should share with Nicholai Hel.
“The assignment requires someone who is fluent in Chinese,” Haverford said, “but who could pass for Russian if the moment demanded it.”
“You doubtless have many such people on your payroll,” Nicholai observed.
“True,” Haverford answered. “But in addition to being multilingual, the man must also be brilliant, unflappable, and a trained killer who can do the job without the benefit of a gun or other standard weapon. At this point the list of available candidates gets very short.”
Nicholai understood the thinking. A gun would be very hard to arrange in a police state, and in any case, Voroshenin wouldn’t be likely to let an armed assassin anywhere near him. That made sense, but Nicholai knew that there were other qualifications that narrowed the pool of candidates down to him, and he wondered if Haverford knew of the very personal motivation he had to kill Voroshenin. Certainly Haverford was manipulative enough — he wouldn’t blink at it. But Nicholai doubted that he knew — there was really no way that he could. No, Nicholai thought, he chose me for other reasons.
“You also require,” he said, “a man desperate enough to accept an assignment that has only a slight chance of success, and almost no chance of escape even if he succeeds in the mission. Isn’t that true?”
“Only partially,” Haverford answered. “We’ll have an extraction team standing by to get you out. But the odds are, yes, slim enough to require a man who otherwise has little to lose.”
Well, Nicholai thought, that would be me.
Or “Michel Guibert.”
The identity solved the problem of inserting Nicholai into Beijing. There was no “cover” available as a Russian, because he would instantly be spotted as an imposter. Obviously, he couldn’t be Chinese. An American or British identity was likewise impossible.
But the Guiberts had been particular darlings of the international left since the days of bomb-throwing anarchists with mustaches, and Papa Guibert had paid particular attention to the French Communists in Vichy during the war. So the Guiberts were exactly the type of capitalists that the Communists would tolerate.
And now the Chinese, Haverford explained, had a particular use for the son.
“It’s about Vietnam,” he said.
“More precisely?”
Both China and Russia supported Ho Chi Minh and his insurgency against the French colonial regime in Vietnam. Ho’s Viet Minh troops needed weapons — preferably American as the United States supplied the French and the Viet Minh could rearm themselves with captured ammunition. China possessed a large cache of American arms through weapons captured in Korea, and because the Americans had also armed the Kuomintang, from whom the Communist victors had seized mountains of American weaponry.
“Why can’t the Chinese simply send the guns to the Viet Minh?” Nicholai asked.
China shared a border with Vietnam and the Viet Minh controlled the mountainous area on the frontier. It should have been a simple matter to bring the armaments through the remote terrain to the Viet Minh strongholds.
“They can and do,” Haverford answered. “But it all comes down to money.”
Of course, Nicholai thought.
“The Chinese are cash poor,” Haverford explained. “They’d like to make some dough — especially in foreign currency — from the deal. At the same time, they don’t want to be seen making a profit off the backs of their revolutionary Asian comrades. So you provide a convenient excuse. ‘Gee, we’d love to give you
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