Beijing

Orlov’s plane arrived in Beijing at noon. In the car on the way to the St. Regis, Orlov was astounded by the incredible number of skyscrapers and builders’ cranes everywhere. Having never been to China before, he didn’t know what to expect. Certainly not the vast metropolis that was modern Beijing.

But economic progress had a price. A cloud of brown smoke hung over part of the city and the traffic was insane. This was something he was used to in Moscow, which is why he opted for his Harley.

Looking out of the cab window, Orlov was struck by the miles and miles of roses that filled the median strip. His Russian mind couldn’t grasp why anyone would put beautiful flowers on something as ugly as a highway. The Chinese were clearly different.

In the hotel, he was treated as a visiting dignitary. He smiled, thinking how powerful Adroshka had become. Bellmen and clerks were practically doing somersaults on the white marble floor to serve him.

After viewing his passport, an assistant manager led Orlov to a gigantic suite on the penthouse floor with three bedrooms and baths and a dining room. A sign on the front door identified it as “The Presidential Suite.”

Once Orlov’s bags were delivered and the assistant manager left, he called Androshka on her cell.

“I’ve arrived,” he told her.

“I hope they treated you well.”

“Like royalty.”

“Good. Your meeting with President Zhou is at ten tomorrow morning. Just the two of you. No need for an interpreter. You both speak French.”

He had thought she might be at the meeting. It could be a sore subject for her. He didn’t raise it.

She continued, “You and I should have dinner this evening.
I’ll arrange to have the it brought to your suite at nine. I’ll be there at eight thirty.”

Again, he was surprised. He expected they’d be dining at one of those good Beijing restaurants he’d read about or even at the Presidential House. She must want them to have privacy to talk. Before she arrived, he would check the suite for bugs.

Orlov spent the afternoon walking around Beijing, marveling at the shops, at the megamalls with their myriad stores for luxury goods of all types, and at the buildings everywhere. Beijing was such a lively, vibrant city. Flowers and trees were in bloom. What a contrast to dull, gloomy Moscow. He admired the Chinese for advancing so far so quickly, leaving Russia behind. He was hopeful that an alliance with China could lead to renewed Russian development.

Promptly at eight thirty, Androshka arrived accompanied by two waiters, who wheeled in a cart with three kinds of vodka, two bottles of champagne, and Russian caviar.

When they each had drinks, vodka for Orlov, vintage Krug for Androshka, she dismissed the waiters with a wave of her hand.

“We can talk freely,” Orlov said. “I’ve checked the suite for listening devices. Nothing here.”

“That’s one of the advantages of having a former KGB agent for a brother.”

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Orlov said. “I can see why you like it here.”

A mask of gloom descended over her face. “But I don’t. I can’t believe I wanted to live in China. How stupid of me. I’m miserable.”

He choked on his drink. When he recovered, he said, “Are you crazy? Look at all you have.”

“You don’t understand. He has a wife and four children.”

“They live in the Presidential House with you?”

“No. In his old house. On an army base. He never sees them.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Everybody here hates me because of his wife and children and because I’m not Chinese. I know they call me his ‘Russian whore.’ Behind his back of course. If they ever said anything against me to his face, he’d have them executed.”

She paused to drain the glass of champagne, then refilled it. She looked sad. He thought she might cry.

“And that’s not all,” she continued. “I don’t speak a word of Chinese. The language is impossible to learn. He’s away working every day and most evenings. I’m not included in social functions. So I have nothing to do all day and most nights. I can’t watch television. English and French shows are blocked. Even my servants hate me,” she said bitterly.

“I’m astounded.”

“I’m planning to leave President Zhou and Beijing. To return to Moscow to live.”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“But I am. I was just waiting until you had this meeting.”

Orlov was on the verge of panic. He viewed tomorrow’s meeting as the beginning of a process. Perhaps lengthy, leading to a close alliance between Russia and China. Androshka’s continued involvement with President Zhou was essential to expedite that process. Smoothing the way as rough edges developed.

Even worse, if she were to leave Zhou, the Chinese president, no doubt a proud man, in anger, might cut off his Russian relationship while in its embryonic stage.

He had to talk Androshka out of leaving. But he had to choose his words carefully. He knew very well from childhood how stubborn she could be. Particularly if someone was telling her to do something she didn’t want to do. He vividly recalled the shouting matches she had had with their mother as a young girl.

In a soft voice, Orlov said, “It would be very unfortunate for me personally and for the Russian nation if you were to leave.”

He held his breath waiting for her response.

Instead of dismissing him out of hand, she said, “Tell me why.”

For the next hour, while eating a wonderful banquet including hot and sour soup, shellfish in a clay pot, West Lake fish in vinegar, and braised Shanghai egg noodles with roast pork accompanied by a 2000 Lafite Rothschild, he told her what his objective was: the resurgence of Russia as a world power. He told her how critical she was, as a direct link to Zhou, to that process.

“If we accomplish this,” he said, “we’ll be famous. You and I. Revered throughout Russia. And I’ll have power. Kuznov will give me what I want. I’ll demand to be head of a new revitalized KGB. I’ll make sure you share in my power. You’ll be a Russian heroine,” he added, playing to her vanity.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re flattering me to get your way.”

“I’m not. Have I ever lied to you?”

“No, but…”

“I’ll tell President Kuznov about your important role. He’ll give you a medal. History books will mention you as the linchpin for the alliance.”

“Really?”

He could tell she was pleased at the possibility. She was weakening.

She looked at him wide-eyed. “For how long do I have to do this?”

“Several months. That’s all.”

She was shaking her head. “Forget it.”

Oh oh, I blew that one, Orlov thought. Better try again. “I really meant one month at most. After that, you can move back to Moscow.”

She wrinkled up her forehead. “I can do that,” she said reluctantly.

He exhaled with relief.

Androshka had left an hour ago, and Orlov lay in his plush, king-sized bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep. In convincing Androshka not to leave Beijing, Orlov had so inflated the importance of his mission that he was now tremendously excited. He now saw himself as an historical figure, not merely a KGB operative and an oligarch’s goon.

In the last month, Orlov had read several history books that discussed the bizarre and tortuous relationship between China and Russia since the Bolshevik revolution. Among the many incidents, two were embedded firmly in his mind.

In 1934, during Mao’s so called Long March, in which Mao was carried much of the way, Chiang Kai-shek could easily have killed Mao and wiped out his followers. But one factor prevented Chiang from doing that: Stalin was holding Chiang’s son, his only child, hostage in Moscow. Stalin made it clear to Chiang: you kill Mao; I’ll kill your son. In that sense, Stalin, ironically, was the midwife to the new China Mao created.

Then in the late 1950s, Russia’s grain crop was a disaster. Mao sold huge quantities of grain to Russia in return for the technology to build nuclear weapons. Russia not only supplied the blueprints to China, but sent thousands of nuclear engineers to help in the development and construction. An ideal scenario, but for one fact: China didn’t have any excess grain. Shipping it to Russia meant millions of Chinese would starve. But in Mao’s view, a small price to pay for China, thanks to Russia, becoming a nuclear power.

Years from now, Orlov was confident historians would describe how Dimitri Orlov forged an alliance between Russia and China and changed the world.

With considerable ambivalence, President Zhou waited in his office for Orlov to arrive. Except for Androshka, General Zhou had never met a Russian he liked. The intensity of his animosity was so great that when he realized the classy and sensual looking prostitute who arrived in his Paris hotel room calling herself Bridgette was a Russian, he nearly tossed her out before she even took off a stitch of clothing.

But not quite. He was so sexually aroused that his brain was overruled. Something that had never happened before.

Still, he agreed to see Orlov, not as a favor to Androshka, but because Orlov could be useful to President Zhou if he truly was a representative of President Kuznov and if the Russians were anxious to form an alliance with China. How useful, he would see shortly.

Precisely at ten, an aide led Orlov into President Zhou’s office and quickly departed.

General Zhou pointed to a chair in front of his desk. He didn’t bother with pleasantries. No offer of coffee or tea. He decided on an all-business approach. Show Orlov he was a busy man. He was in charge. And he wasn’t particularly anxious for a Russian alliance.

“You wanted to see me,” Zhou said gruffly.

Orlov didn’t seem flustered. He replied, “I’m an official representative of President Kuznov. He sent me to rekindle a famous old alliance. We have a common enemy: the United States. We both have powerful armies and we have dreams of expanding our influence.
We should work together.”

That was a fine speech, Zhou thought, but it could have been
written by someone else in Moscow. And Orlov memorized it. He decided to test the former KGB operative. “Dreams, you say. I’m not a dreamer. I create realities on the ground.”

“Perhaps an unfortunate choice of words. From what Androshka told me, I understand that you are both bold and pragmatic.”

“A good answer. You say we should work together.”

“That’s correct, President Zhou.”

“But for what purpose?”

“Our mutual objective should be for China to destroy the Japanese and American navies in the Pacific, cutting off supplies of oil and materials to the United States and Japan. At the same time, Russian tanks should be rolling into Eastern Europe, once again reestablishing our empire. In the Libyan war, the Western European countries showed how pathetic their militaries are. Together, we will deal a powerful blow to the United States and their Western European puppets.”

Zhou liked what he was hearing. His instinct had been that he could use Orlov. Everything he had heard so far confirmed that.

“You’re certainly not modest in your objectives,” Zhou said.

“Those who are daring make history. They don’t simply read about it.”

“And you see yourself as one of them.”

“Yes,” he said without flinching.

The man’s ego was gigantic. That offered enormous opportunities for Zhou.

“And how do you propose to achieve your objective?”

“As the initial step to advance the Chinese-Russian alliance, I believe that you and President Kuznov should meet. The two of you and interpreters. I will be there, of course. President Kuznov has asked me to invite you to Moscow for that meeting.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible.”

Pretending to be considering the invitation, General Zhou left Orlov’s words hanging. In fact, he knew exactly how to respond.
After a full minute, he said, “I’m not prepared to move up on something this significant so early in my Presidency.”

He watched a mask of disappointment appear on Orlov’s face. Then he added, “I need a little time to solidify my armed forces and my power at home. Then I’ll be ready to meet with Kuznov.”

Orlov was smiling. He believes he has achieved his goal, Zhou thought. He’ll be getting his meeting. Now’s the time to exploit his ambition and hubris. To gain something I want. Something I need.

“But,” Zhou said looking into Orlov’s dark blue eyes that were staring at him. “Before such an important meeting, I’d like you to take some action against the United States which will show your sincerity and President Kuznov’s commitment to the proposed alliance. Without that, I can’t risk wasting my time and sending the wrong signal to other world leaders by going to Moscow.”

“Certainly. What would you like me to do?”

Zhou recalled that his brother had told him in their celebratory dinner after he assumed the Presidency that U.S. President Dalton was a problem for China with his threats to impose trade sanctions unless China changed its policy on human rights. Calmly, Zhou said to Orlov, “Assassinate President Dalton.”

He watched Orlov’s head snap back.

Zhou continued. “And I don’t want my government to be involved in any way.”

Orlov was hesitating. Zhou decided to press him. “Dalton has been threatening trade sanctions against China. I can’t tolerate that. And Dalton’s made it clear that he has no love for Russia. His assassination will benefit both of our countries.”

“I know that, but…”

“You told me a few minutes ago that those who are daring make history. I’m providing you with the opportunity.”

Orlov seemed to be shell-shocked by Zhou’s request.

Zhou pressed Orlov. “I heard from a former KGB official that your agency periodically planned the assassination of American presidents.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Then, with your KGB training, you should have no trouble
doing it.”

“I’ll have to speak with President Kuznov before I can commit.”

“Of course. Talk to him and let me know.”

Once Orlov left the room, Zhou smiled. Orlov’s coming was truly good fortune. Orlov was someone Zhou could manipulated for his own benefit, with no risk. And as long as Androshka was in his bed, Zhou had a personal hold over Orlov.