expect her. Wendy Li was a British citizen, born in Cambridge, but her parents were native Chinese. She spoke fluent Mandarin. Purportedly a protocol officer for the Embassy—she was, in fact, the deputy chief of station for MI6. She was exceptionally young for that role, but the combination of an internal shakeup and her own expertise had catapulted her career forward.
“Hello, Your Highness,” she said. “Is this all your baggage?” She directed an assistant to collect the bags. “Come this way.”
“Thank you. Miss Li, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
George-Phillip was thirty-three years old, and his actual job in China was to be the chief of station for the MI6 in China—the most senior position he’d held to date. His “official” position was Senior Attaché with diplomatic service, a job with so few specifics that he could do virtually anything he needed. Like Wendy—and anyone else who works for the secretive intelligence organization—he required an official, diplomatic cover for his job, which was, of course, to spy on the Chinese.
It wasn’t the glamorous job people would expect. Spying typically involved finding people in sensitive positions, determining their weaknesses, and exploiting them. Sometimes the weaknesses were simple—greed, sexual peccadilloes and other means of turning people against their country. Sometimes they were more complex: people who sold out their country believing they were patriots. The most useful asset MI6 had in the Chinese government was secretly a Christian convert who worked in the Chinese Foreign Ministry. The Chinese government, of course, suppressed Christianity along with all other religions. That oppression gave spies a wedge.
As they got into the chauffeured car, she said, “Forgive me, Highness, we do have one issue. Are you fully up to date on the tensions between China and the US?”
“Yes, unless something happened while I was in the air.” She was referring, of course, to the spying scandal erupting in the United States, which was severely straining relations in Beijing. Chinese intelligence operatives had stolen significant nuclear secrets from the United States, and as of yet no one knew the extent of the damage.
“Nothing new, sir. Except the American Ambassador had an extremely … tense … meeting with the Chinese premier today. There’s some concern that the Chinese may retaliate in some way, so most of the NATO allies and Australia will be attending a large reception this evening at the US Embassy. As a show of solidarity, sir. I’m aware how long you’ve been in the air—but the Ambassador would like you to attend.”
He frowned then said, “All right. I’ll need to shower and shave, and someone to press one of my suits. They’re certain to be rumpled. And perhaps some coffee.” George-Phillip didn’t typically drink coffee. But he’d been awake so long now it was necessary.
“Of course, sir.”
“Who is the US Ambassador anyway? Isn’t there a new one?”
“Richard Thompson, sir. Previously he was the US Ambassador to NATO.”
George-Phillip felt a chill. He didn’t answer, just murmured, “Hmmmmm.”
“Sir? You know him?”
Damn. His expression had betrayed him. “I do. But it’s been many years. What’s your impression?” George-Phillip asked the question just to get her talking so he didn’t have to.
“Honestly, sir, something about him … bothers me. I’m usually a pretty good judge of people. But I can’t make him out. He’s stone cold.”
“Is he married?” George-Phillip didn’t breathe after he asked the question.
“Yes, Your Highness. Younger woman, her name is Adelina. They have five children.”
“Five? That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” Five? She’d had four more children with him? What the hell?
“I believe the last two were twins, they were born this April. Confidentially, sir … I think she’s afraid of him.”
“His wife?” he asked. He arched an eyebrow, trying to look
“Hello, Your Highness,” she said. “Is this all your baggage?” She directed an assistant to collect the bags. “Come this way.”
“Thank you. Miss Li, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
George-Phillip was thirty-three years old, and his actual job in China was to be the chief of station for the MI6 in China—the most senior position he’d held to date. His “official” position was Senior Attaché with diplomatic service, a job with so few specifics that he could do virtually anything he needed. Like Wendy—and anyone else who works for the secretive intelligence organization—he required an official, diplomatic cover for his job, which was, of course, to spy on the Chinese.
It wasn’t the glamorous job people would expect. Spying typically involved finding people in sensitive positions, determining their weaknesses, and exploiting them. Sometimes the weaknesses were simple—greed, sexual peccadilloes and other means of turning people against their country. Sometimes they were more complex: people who sold out their country believing they were patriots. The most useful asset MI6 had in the Chinese government was secretly a Christian convert who worked in the Chinese Foreign Ministry. The Chinese government, of course, suppressed Christianity along with all other religions. That oppression gave spies a wedge.
As they got into the chauffeured car, she said, “Forgive me, Highness, we do have one issue. Are you fully up to date on the tensions between China and the US?”
“Yes, unless something happened while I was in the air.” She was referring, of course, to the spying scandal erupting in the United States, which was severely straining relations in Beijing. Chinese intelligence operatives had stolen significant nuclear secrets from the United States, and as of yet no one knew the extent of the damage.
“Nothing new, sir. Except the American Ambassador had an extremely … tense … meeting with the Chinese premier today. There’s some concern that the Chinese may retaliate in some way, so most of the NATO allies and Australia will be attending a large reception this evening at the US Embassy. As a show of solidarity, sir. I’m aware how long you’ve been in the air—but the Ambassador would like you to attend.”
He frowned then said, “All right. I’ll need to shower and shave, and someone to press one of my suits. They’re certain to be rumpled. And perhaps some coffee.” George-Phillip didn’t typically drink coffee. But he’d been awake so long now it was necessary.
“Of course, sir.”
“Who is the US Ambassador anyway? Isn’t there a new one?”
“Richard Thompson, sir. Previously he was the US Ambassador to NATO.”
George-Phillip felt a chill. He didn’t answer, just murmured, “Hmmmmm.”
“Sir? You know him?”
Damn. His expression had betrayed him. “I do. But it’s been many years. What’s your impression?” George-Phillip asked the question just to get her talking so he didn’t have to.
“Honestly, sir, something about him … bothers me. I’m usually a pretty good judge of people. But I can’t make him out. He’s stone cold.”
“Is he married?” George-Phillip didn’t breathe after he asked the question.
“Yes, Your Highness. Younger woman, her name is Adelina. They have five children.”
“Five? That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” Five? She’d had four more children with him? What the hell?
“I believe the last two were twins, they were born this April. Confidentially, sir … I think she’s afraid of him.”
“His wife?” he asked. He arched an eyebrow, trying to look
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