Authors: F. W. Rustmann
“Start with your penetration
operations. Tell me about your efforts to recruit penetrations of the U.S.
Embassy,”
“Well, we do not...not
actually...have any penetrations...yet,” Lim admitted. “But we have a couple of
good potential penetrations. They are in the developmental stage now. I
mean...we had nothing before I got here. Nothing… I must do everything myself
you know. Right from scratch…”
“Start with the prostitute
operation. The one against the CIA communicator. Tell me about that one first.
They are very interested in that one back home.”
“First I should tell you she is
not a
putain
. She is not a whore. She is from a good family. Her father
was a big Party official in Tsingtao, and her mother was Eurasian—a teacher, I
think. The name she uses here is Michelle Li. She is very beautiful. Very sexy.
I recruited her myself and targeted her against one of the black American communicators.
Black Americans are very vulnerable—good targets, you know.
“Michelle was here with a dance
troupe few years back and ran away. You know, defected. She became a
naturalized French citizen. I found her and told her I would not bother her
family back in China if she would do some little favors for me. She got the
point right away. She is not stupid.”
Lim smiled craftily as he
recalled that first meeting and the way he had raped her and beaten her and
threatened her into agreeing to work for him.
“First I told her to wiggle her
ass at the Marine Security Guards at the American Embassy. She’s got a great
ass, so they flirted with her and one of them invited her to the Marine House
for drinks one Friday night. It wasn’t very long before she became a regular at
their Friday night Marine House parties. There is where she met the black
communicator, Rodney Jackson. Marines don’t know hardly anything, but
communicators know everything.”
“He is a CIA communicator, right?
Not State Department?” Huang began locking up for the evening, cleaning his
desk of classified documents and placing them in a four-drawer safe.
“Right. CIA. And this guy is a
great target. Much disaffection, very vulnerable.”
“Like what? How? What makes you
think he’s disaffected?” Huang stopped what he was doing and was listening
intently now, leaning on the safe.
“In the first place, I already
told you he is black. His name is Rodney Jackson. All American blacks hate
their white bosses. Hate the ‘white establishment’ that they think holds them
down at the bottom of the social structure. They blame whites for everything,
never think maybe it’s because they are stupid and lazy that they never advance
anywhere. Also, Jackson’s father was a militant during the early days of the
race riots in America. You know, Martin Luther King time. He was beaten up
pretty bad by bunch of white guys during a big demonstration march in Alabama.
He told all of this to Michelle Li.
“His job prospects are not so
good either. He is always complaining about how everyone else in the embassy
gets paid more than him. I have done some checking and found out he is right.
The commo people are not paid very much, and there is not much room for
promotion either, especially for black ones, he thinks. Rodney Jackson thinks
the only ones who make it up the ladder in the communications field are white...”
“Sounds classic,” said Huang.
“You have done a good job on this case. So now you have this beautiful Michelle
Li screwing the black communicator, and we are paying for his good fortune!
Good for Rodney Jackson. Question is, are we getting anything out of all this?
Any intelligence? Is he recruitable? That is the objective, you know. Just
because he likes girls and is broke all the time and hates his white bosses
does not mean he’s ready to jump ship and give up all of his secrets to the
Chinese communist party.”
“I know,” said Lim dejectedly.
“But we must start someplace, eh? We do not know everything yet. He is falling
in love with the girl, and we control the girl, and that will give us more
control over him. It is just too soon to tell.... But I think he would go into
a huge withdrawal if we took his pussy away from him. He would beg to do
anything for us to have her back.”
Huang looked at Lim in a new
light.
This is a damn good op
, he thought. Maybe Lim was not so bad
after all.
“Thanks for being so honest with
me, Lim. I appreciate that. You have done a very good job on this case. I can
tell you for a fact it is considered one of the best potential recruitment
operations against the Americans in the service.”
Huang was warming to Lim, if not
personally, at least professionally. He decided to try a little recruiting of
his own.
“Why don’t you put your things
away and come have dinner with me over at the Mai-Lin restaurant.”
The Mai-Lin was a favorite haunt
of the Chinese Embassy personnel, one of the few places outside of the Embassy
compound where they felt completely comfortable and safe.
“We can continue our discussion
over some dumplings and kimchee and beer. Please call a driver to take us over
there. I’ll be done here in a minute.”
“Excellent idea, it will just
take me a minute to lock up.” Lim returned to his office, cleaned off his desk,
threw his classified material into his safe, called for a driver, and met Huang
at the entrance to the embassy.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
O
n the drive over to the
restaurant, they spoke about the dearth of good Chinese restaurants in Paris.
The fact that Paris was arguably the gastronomic capital of the world made no
impression on either of them. No place—including the Mai-Lin—truly satisfied
their longing for food such as they had enjoyed back home, and they lamented
this lack all the way to the restaurant.
They didn’t talk business in the
close confines of the car, despite the fact that the driver was a cleared
embassy employee from Guangzhou. The “need to know” principle applied to the
MSS as well.
When they were dropped off at the
Mai-Lin restaurant on Rue Richelieu, they discovered the place already full of
Chinese, most of whom were from the embassy. They exchanged greetings with some
and were led to a small, private table in the rear by their waiter, a
personable young man named Willy Chan. They greeted Willy warmly and exchanged
pleasantries.
Everyone liked Willy. Willy was
bright and always remembered everyone’s name. The people at the embassy treated
him as one of them, although he was an overseas Chinese who had lived in Paris
most of his life. Lim made a point of mentioning this to Huang. Willy could
possibly be used in a support capacity by the station.
The MSS used a lot of overseas
Chinese to help them operationally, and Willy Chan might also have access agent
potential as well. He seemed to know everyone, quite possibly even some
Americans.
Huang brought them back to their
conversation. “Okay, you have our agent Michelle targeted against this CIA
communicator, what is his name? Rodney Jackson?”
“Yeah, Rodney. His friends
sometimes call him ‘Rotten.’ That is a kind of a joke nickname. I do not think
Rodney likes it very much…”
Huang laughed and shook his head.
He really could learn from Lim. “Rotten, Rodney, no matter. How close are we?
Are we getting anything out of him yet?”
“Sure, plenty of good operational
information. The guy talks and talks to Michelle. And she really knows how to
elicit, that one. I taught her good, but she has really got a knack....”
“Like what? What does he talk
about?”
“He does not yet give us texts of
cables he sends and receives in the commo room, if that’s what you mean. Not
yet anyway. But he does talk about his co-workers, office routine, who is
arriving and who is leaving, that sort of thing…
“Like he told Michelle he hates
his boss. He says his boss is an imperious SOB who is always on Rodney’s back.
That is an American expression. It means he never lets up on him. I have
Michelle working on making Rodney late for work, for example, because that is
one of the things his boss hates the most. Michelle fucks him one more time in
the morning and he is late! Pretty good, eh? Makes the boss really pissed off
at Rodney, and Rodney moves closer to us.”
“Very good,” said Huang
admiringly. He knew that revenge was a prime motivator for recruitment, and it
was clear that Rodney Jackson would like to somehow stick it to his boss.
“Very, very good work, Lim…”
He looked at Lim with growing
respect, while Lim remained professional and distant. Lim still didn’t like
this interloper and wasn’t going to be sweet-talked by him, even though he did
enjoy the praise.
Lim continued recounting the op
against Rodney. “So he’s got all these problems with being black – the boss is
on his back, no money, no respect, and all that, and we give him this Michelle
Li super-pussy, who treats him nice, fucks his brains out, listens to him and
even pays for his beer and rice.”
“I’ll bet she does. Go on…”
Willy Chan interrupted them with
a tray of steamed dumplings, a dish of kimchee, and two bottles of beer. When
the waiter had left, Lim continued.
“Actually, she brings him here
often, and of course we pick up the bill. Several of our colleagues have had an
opportunity to talk to him here and to introduce him to the Chinese way of
life. These are all good, independent assessments. And they go to the Marine
House often, every Friday for TGIF, that means ‘Thank God It’s Friday,’ which
gives Michelle a chance to evaluate other targets in embassy as well. It is a
very good op, I think.”
“Good, good. Yes, a very good
op.” Huang spoke through a mouthful of dumplings and beer. The restaurant was
loud with chatter and the clashing of dishes. A soulful Mandarin song wailed in
the background. “What kind of information is she able to elicit besides his
gripes? Any intelligence?” He was eager to get to the meat of the matter. Lim’s
answer cooled his hopes yet didn’t dash them.
“No intelligence yet… Maybe
Rodney is too stupid to know what he sees in the commo room. But like I said,
plenty of good operational stuff about what happens in the embassy. We are
building pretty good dossiers on some of Rodney’s colleagues, and we are
identifying other potential recruitment targets in the CIA station.”
“For example?”
“For example, the chief’s
secretary is half Chinese, half American. Rodney likes her a lot. He says she
is very open and friendly, easy to talk to. I think maybe she would be
responsive to some kind of pitch from us. Being half Chinese… I just started to
take a closer look at her. I was going to target Michelle on her, actually.
They could become good friends maybe. But now she is too fully occupied with
some old boyfriend who just came to Paris. Michelle says she can not get close
to her until he leaves. Now she spends every waking moment with him.”
“What about the boyfriend?”
“He is a CIA case officer. He was
posted here before. Rodney told Michelle all about him. He and the
secretary—Wei-wei Ryan is her name—they have had a long love affair, more than
ten years, I think. And he is hard-core. No chance of recruiting him. It would
be just a waste of time. So I decided to drop any action on Wei-wei until he
leaves. Rodney told Michelle he does not think the boyfriend will be here for
very long anyway. Just a couple of months, so not much time will be lost.”
“He’s just here temporarily?”
“Yeah, temporary. He got into
Paris a couple of weeks ago. Just before you got here. Rodney says he is not
permanent staff here. He came from Hong Kong.”
“Hong Kong?” Huang’s heart jumped
and his eyes widened. “What is his name?” “Um, I think...Mac something.
Irish name, maybe…”
“MacMurphy?” Huang’s eyes showed
alarm, and he stiffened with the intensity of the emotions he felt at the
thoughts that were now running through his brain.
“Yeah, MacMurphy. Everybody calls
him Mac. You know him? You feel okay, Huang?”
“We have got trouble. Big
trouble. Let’s get back to the office. I must notify Beijing of this immediately.
And I want you to contact our surveillance team tonight. Starting now I want
twenty-four-hour surveillance on that American case officer. Pull the team off
everything else. Now let’s get out of here.”
Willy Chan, known to his CIA
handlers as SKITTISH, watched them hurry out the door. He began to prepare his
operational report in his mind…
Chapter Fifty-Eight
C
uller Santos and MacMurphy sat
talking in a banquette near the window of the Café George V, located directly
across the street from the Chinese Embassy. It was a few minutes past eight in
the morning.
The previous evening, Mac had
rented a car in a new alias and the two of them loaded the trunk with three
large Samsonite suitcases full of equipment and parked it in the underground
garage just up the street from the café where they now sat.
The station surveillance team, a
dozen cleared Americans—students, housewives, retired couples, and the like—was
positioned around the area of the operation in pairs and singly, in rented
vehicles and on foot.