A Death in China - Carl Hiaasen [54]
At first, Little Joe had been reluctant, and then thrilled, at the prospect of cheating the security system. In recent months, he had become more cautious, resorting finally to hurried phone calls to arrange meetings at “the usual place”—the hotel parking lot.
“How are things, Little Joe? Are we hearing the same rumors?” McCarthy coaxed.
The youth lit a fresh cigarette from the butt of the old.
“Special security units are being assigned to the embassies—uniformed and plainclothes—beginning two days from now. I think they expect some attempts to defect.”
“Why?”
“The old Maoists are winning control. They will purge several hundred officials in Peking in the next week. Did you hear that rumor?” Little Joe not only spoke good English, but also had a subtle sense of humor, rare in a Chinese. He was a friend to be treasured.
“Among others,” McCarthy lied.
“Well, I have seen the list, and it is true.”
“Any names I would recognize?”
“Possibly.” He named two or three. “Most of them, though, are second- or third-rank people, administrators and—how do you call it?—technocrats.”
“What have they done?”
“Just like the others who have already been purged. They are skilled at what they do and have great experience in dealing with foreigners. The Party thinks they are more loyal to their own jobs, or to their ministries, or to their foreign friends, than to the Party itself. The Party allows no other lovers, as you know, Lao Jim.”
“Is it true? About their loyalties?”
Little Joe laughed. “What do you think?”
“I’d say yes. A lot of people dislike the dull old men.”
“You are right. It is not their loyalty to China that is the problem, but their reliance on the Party. The people I am talking about run factories that are profitable or bureaus that are too modern. They make decisions without asking the Party each day if it is permitted to eat rice for lunch.”
“I know the kind of people you mean.”
Little Joe nodded. “Yes, they are the best of China and the young people who work for them are fantastically loyal—these men are seen as the true future of the New China.”
“To purge them will have a great effect on morale, won’t it?”
“Will you never understand China, Lao Jim?” The Chinese laughed at his own question. “They will be purged not because they are efficient, but because they are corrupt. That is what the accusations will say, and that is what many people will believe. That Manager Hu used his position to enrich himself; that he stole money, or the factory’s car; that he accepted gifts or bribes from foreigners; that he had a foreign bank account; that he smuggled goods from China under false documents. The list of charges is endless. The Party can say anything it likes. No guilt is necessary. The accusation is enough—for the Party.”
McCarthy saw what was coming.
“No good news for you, huh?”
“I have been denied permission to travel—no families of leading cadres may go abroad to study any longer. That is the ruling.”
“I’m sorry.”
Little Joe had worked three years to pass the exams and polish his English. When McCarthy had first met him, the young man had boasted of a scholarship offer from an American university. “I am going to study language and literature,” Little Joe had said. “Can you lend me some books to read before I go?”
It had been a year of yes-maybe-come-back-tomorrows. And then the bureaucracy had reneged.
“I have been assigned to work in the Number Five Locomotive Factory. I am to be a cook.”
“Jesus, that’s awful.” They were on the tree-shaded street where Little Joe usually got out. McCarthy stopped the car and reached around for a package on the backseat. “It’s easy for me to say, but try not to be discouraged, Little Joe. Keep reading and studying. Here, take