strong, we will encircle and surround. In 1950, we were a peasant army with only light weapons. Today,” Luo went on, “we are a fully modern army. We can do things today such as even the Americas could not dream of back then. We will prevail,” the Defense Minister concluded with firm conviction.
“Comrades, do we wish to stop now?” Zhang asked, to focus the debate. “Do we wish to doom our country’s economic and political future? For that is the issue at hand. If we stand still, we risk national death. Who among us wishes to stand still then?”
Predictably no one, not even Qian, moved to pick up that gauntlet. The vote was entirely pro forma, and unanimous. As always, the Politburo achieved collegiality for its own sake. The ministers returned to their various offices. Zhang buttonholed Tan Deshi for several minutes before heading back to his. An hour after that, he dropped in on his friend, Fang Gan.
“You are not cross with me?” Fang asked.
“The voice of caution is something that does not offend me, my old friend,” Zhang said, graciously taking his seat opposite the other’s desk. He could afford to be gracious. He had won.
“I am afraid of this move, Zhang. We did underestimate the Americans in 1950, and it cost us many men.”
“We have the men to spare,” the senior Minister Without Portfolio pointed out. “And it will make Luo feel valuable.”
“As if he needs that.” Fang gestured his displeasure with that strutting martinet.
“Even a dog has his uses,” his visitor pointed out.
“Zhang, what if the Russians are more formidable than you think?”
“I’ve taken care of that. We will create instability in their country in two days, the very day our attack begins.”
“How?”
“You’ll recall we had that failed attempt against Grushavoy’s senior advisor, that Golovko fellow.”
“Yes, and I counseled against that, too,” Fang reminded his visitor.
“And there, perhaps, you were right,” Zhang acknowledged, to smooth his host’s feathers. “But Tan has developed the capability, and what better way to destabilize Russia than to eliminate their president? This we can do, and Tan has his orders.”
“You assassinate a government chief in a foreign land?” Fang asked, surprised at this level of boldness. “What if you fail?”
“We commit an act of war against Russia anyway. What have we to lose by this? Nothing—but there is much to gain.”
“But the political implications ...” Fang breathed.
“What of them?”
“What if they turn the tables on us?”
“You mean attempt to attack Xu personally?” The look on his face provided the real answer to the question: China would be better off without the nonentity. But even Zhang would not say that aloud, even in the privacy of this room. “Tan assures me that our physical security is perfect. Perfect, Fang. There are no foreign intelligence operations of consequence in our country.”
“I suppose every nation says such a thing—right before the roof caves in on them. We’ve done well with our spying in America, for example, and for that our good Comrade Tan is to be congratulated, but arrogance falls before the blow, and such blows are never anticipated. We would do well to remember that.”
Zhang dismissed the thought: “One cannot fear everything.”
“That is true, but to fear nothing is also imprudent.” Fang paused to mend fences. “Zhang, you must think me an old woman.”
That made the other minister smile. “Old woman? No, Fang, you are a comrade of many years’ standing, and one of our most thoughtful thinkers. Why, do you suppose, I brought you onto the Politburo?”
To get my votes, of course, Fang didn’t answer. He had the utmost respect for his senior colleague, but he wasn’t blind to his faults. “For that I am grateful.”
“For that the people ought to be grateful, you are so solicitous to their needs.”
“Well, one must remember the peasants and workers out there. We serve them, after all.” The ideological cant was just perfect for the moment. “This is not an easy job we share.”
“You need to relax a little. Get that girl Ming out there, take her to your bed. You’ve done it before.” It was a weakness both men shared. The tension of the moment abated, as Zhang wished it to.
“Chai sucks better,” Fang replied, with a sly look.
“Then take her to your flat. Buy her some silk drawers. Get her drunk. They all like that.”
“Not a bad idea,” Fang agreed. “It certainly helps me sleep.”
“Then do it by all means! We’ll need our sleep. The next few weeks will be strenuous for us—but