It was half past midnight and pitch-dark out when General Wei’s plane taxied to a halt at Beijing Xijiao airport north of the city center. The segregated runway was typically used for government charter flights taking off or landing under a blanket of secrecy.
Wei struggled down the lowered airstairs to the tarmac, his hips and knees swollen and tender from all his hours in the sky. His long trip had taken a toll.
Like Wei, the driver who would take him to the ministry wore civilian clothing, a navy blue suit. Wei had expected as much. His mission had not been official when he’d left the capital days before. It was not official now that he was at its end.
The driver approached, took his bag and walked him to the car idling on the apron, a Hongqi H7 limousine. Wei moved beside him with a wooden, stilted gait, then got into the back seat just as rigidly and slowly. It was rare that he had days without pain in his joints, and changes in air pressure had a toxic effect. But he was also slowed by the weight of his thoughts. Their heaviness was palpable.
He had barely squawked at General Huang’s call to meet at this hour after a mentally and physically long and depleting trip. What could he possibly have said? Huang’s rank and status demanded obedience. Yes, he’d used a suede flogger tonight. The sort that left no telltale marks. But the good show horse—and the smart one—still knew to prance at its crack.
And of course, Huang had license to summon him wherever and whenever he chose. As head of the CMC’s disciplinary committee, he would bear prime responsibility for the extent and nature of Zhou’s punishment. And the severest punishment was unquestionably warranted. The files Wei had sent from Fiery Cross Reef last night and this morning contained information so combustible it was likely to ignite a war with America.
So timing was urgent. Wei wouldn’t split hairs. But he remained puzzled. For all their youthful adventures, Huang had never sought him out as a confidant. Never consulted with him before making a decision. Never since rocketing past him in rank and station. Not once in thirty years. Why insist they meet ahead of the full committee? The secretaries were completely aware of his mission. And Wei’s residence in the Jinsun neighborhood was midway between the airport and the August 1st Building. Why not give him a few hours to rest and prepare?
Let’s talk when we talk.
That they would, Wei thought, and settled back as the limousine turned onto the 4th Ring Road heading west.
It was an exponentially smoother ride than his flight in. For that, if for little or nothing else, he was thankful tonight.