Satori - Don Winslow [42]
Let the Russians gain control of Vietnam as well, and they would have the southern border too. The French were walking ghosts in all of Southeast Asia; it was only a matter of time. The Russians would scoop up Cambodia, then move on to the weak sister in Siam and Burma. Soviet agents were already busy in India.
The Soviets could soon have China surrounded, and then they would gobble up Manchuria and the rest of Mongolia, and Xinjiang.
But for now, Vietnam was the key. The Korean stalemate was all but over, the Soviets would control the North, the Americans the South.
Vietnam was the next front.
The problem was that the Americans were going to move in to replace the French. That would be a terrible mistake for the United States and a huge problem for China. An American move against the Viet Minh would derail any possible détente between Beijing and Washington, and drive China toward Moscow.
The Americans were busy making their own worst nightmare come true — a Communist monolith.
But the future of China — General Liu knew it and Yu believed it — was not with Russia but with the United States. Only America could provide a counterweight against the Soviets, only an alliance — or at least a working relationship — with Washington could bring China the economic prosperity it needed to develop.
Approaches, indirect and tentative, had been made, but had been rebuffed by antiprogressive elements in the American intelligence and diplomatic communities. The diplomats in Washington were as afraid of their right-wing radicals as the Chinese were of their own left-wing extremists. Yet approaches had been made, people were at least talking, and if General Liu could count on Washington’s support, he might feel strong enough to make a move against the faux-Communist dictator who now terrorized China.
But Yu knew they were in a race against the clock.
The Viet Minh were going to win in Vietnam.
The Americans were also sending aid, money, and weapons to the French and had the CIA crawling all over the country, laying the foundation for the eventual takeover. Only a quick and decisive victory against the French might dissuade Washington from a disastrous intervention that would keep America and China apart for decades.
And such a quick victory would require weapons.
Rocket launchers, for instance.
But, Liu thought, we cannot afford to be seen doing it just yet.
We need middlemen.
We need the Michel Guiberts.
28
NICHOLAI KNELT OVER the toilet and vomited mao-tai, vodka, Pernod, and most of the contents of what had been a superb feast.
It is as the Buddhists say, he thought, resting between retches — everything changes and at the end of the day the most pleasurable food turns a disgusting mess. He vomited again, then splashed some cold water on his face and brushed his teeth.
Not bothering to undress, he just flopped face first on the bed for a few hours’ sleep. He awoke early, just before dawn, got dressed, then jotted a quick note in code, which when Haverford transliterated it would read, Zhengyici Opera, Thursday night. He rolled the thin paper into a tight cylinder and put it in the left pocket of his jacket.
On the street just as a fragile sun was coming up over the city, he made a show of stretching just as a sleepy and very grouchy-looking Xiao Smiley emerged, his arms wrapped around his chest against the cold.
Nicholai took off jogging.
The air burned his lungs and the wind stung his face, but the exercise felt good and the acceleration of his heartbeat quickly warmed him as he ran north toward Beihai Park. Workers were already out, sweeping last night’s light dusting of snow off the sidewalks, and the night-soil collectors were coming back from delivering containers of human waste out to the countryside. On the hutongs of Xidan Market, the vendors were setting