The Bonus Pool: Boone's File, #2

Chapter 1 - Seek and Ye Shall Find

City of Tianjin

The People’s Republic of China

It was a Thursday night:  one reserved for the evening meeting of pastors following Wednesday’s House Night. The regular gatherings of worship leaders allowed them fellowship. Their communal time preceded the work on messages the men of God would present during the governmentally authorized Sunday meetings of the Community. For the jidu tú, as the Central Government termed Christian evangelicals, living one’s Commission in the PRC remained a challenge, even following the reforms purporting to allow a controlled expression of the people’s religious beliefs.

To Lin Shun Lun—the man who walked toward his home in the Nankai district late this Thursday evening—faith was an experience to be lived, not controlled. The People’s Government could imagine all the levels of restraint it wished, as far as the preacher was concerned. He knew the actual delegation of power in God’s Creation. His comforting belief allowed him peace, even under the rule of autocrats.

The Party politicians sought to control the expression of his faith through sanctioning restricted institutions. The authorities deluded themselves with establishing organizations like the Three-Self Patriotic Movement, the China Christian Council and the Chinese Patriotic Catholic Association, which ironically had not even a surviving affiliation with the Vatican. Lin smiled, knowing the hidden truth sustaining him and his fellow evangelicals.

The Spirit moved through the Church via the clandestine Wednesday house meetings in a manner which would never win official approval. It was in secret the pastors of Tianjin, as they did throughout China, taught the personal nature of the Good News. Through the Word of God, converts came to know the redeeming Grace of Christ, and the Church grew as Jesus had decreed.

It was not an easy life, now or ever. Lin had been young once ... less discreet in sharing his faith. The result was three years of a fifteen-year term for unauthorized proselytism. He served the time in Beijing’s notorious Municipal Prison, a term he barely survived. There he had witnessed another Christian beaten to death by fellow inmates for the amusement of the guards, afterward nearly dying himself as he prayed over the man’s lifeless body.

They did not kill me because it was not God’s Will I should die there, Lin thought in retrospect. Activists outside of China, drawn by his outspoken ministry, had monitored his well-being even before his sentencing in 1992. It proved to be enough scrutiny to save his life two decades ago.

Twenty men like him had attended tonight's meeting. They served to encourage another four hundred, whose flocks numbered in the thousands throughout the region already and seemed to grow every week. There are millions of us across China now. The computers have allowed us to multiply the reach of His Message by His Grace, he thought with a deep sense of satisfaction.

Most in the Community knew Lin only because he was one of the first of his kind. His release from prison had itself done nothing to reduce his notoriety. Regardless, he strove to remain a humble preacher of the Word of God, one perhaps better able than most to translate the message of Redemption into relative cultural terms.

His greatest successes were with those who had moved from the countryside. They were followers of the Way of Lao Tse, the philosophy of natural balance embodied in such classic works as the Tao Te Ching, Zhuangzi and Daozang. More of them moved into the city every day, seeking work in the new economy. It is as though the harvest comes to the worker in the field, and bundles itself for the wagon, he reflected. He felt blessed to watch what was happening in his country as a result.

Yes, his fellow pastors reported more converts every week. With numbers came power, he knew. Power proceeded from the strength of the Spirit, and their Community grew strong through the solidarity of those who shared his faith. Such power can change the world, he remembered, one soul at a time. Such is the danger of power. It provokes the weaknesses of unrighteous men.

As Lin Shun Lun neared his own street, he could hear a crowd congregating, some of whom were singing—hymns! He slowed to listen, and the sounds initially bringing him joy soon evolved into a source of panic. My neighbors are gathering outside of my house. What is happening there?

Uniformed officers had pushed through the doorway as soon as she unlatched the locks, followed by two local policewomen who shoved her against the wall near the door. The others who invaded Lin Meirong’s home were, as the matrons had informed her, officers of the Ministry of State Security Bureau of Domestic Affairs. Now the men noisily searched the small domicile as her two children cried, the girl clutching her younger brother. It did not take long. Stomping back to the front of the house, the largest officer demanded, Tell us! Where is your husband? Where is Lin Shun Lun?

He has business in the city! By what right do you do this? Lin Meirong replied angrily to the Ministry man.

Bring her! Bring the children! he ordered. She was hustled to the kitchen and roughly seated in a chair at the small table. Likewise the policewomen brought her daughter and son to sit beside her.

"You dare ask by what authority we act? the man thundered, frightening the children even more. His open hand crashed against her cheek, whipping her head to the side as she cried out involuntarily. We act by the authority of the Minister himself, and he by that of the Central Committee. Any citizen should know this!"

Lin Meirong wept out of rage more than pain or fear. They do this in front of my children to humiliate me. God will judge them. You frighten my children. Does the Central Committee give you such rights as well?

"Yes, your two children. How is it you managed such excess in violation of public policy, I wonder? the officer of the Ministry observed. Further evidence of your husband’s sedition! Where can we find him?"

I do not know his business, Meirong answered the official without deception.

Nor his secrets, no doubt, the officer said, nodding. He pulled out another chair from the table as the crowd gathered outside began singing in the street.

Meirong marveled to hear the sound of their voices. She turned her head ever so slightly toward the front of the house.

The same hymns only seemed to infuriate the Ministry official even more. He waved at his colleagues, who now stood nearby. Shut those idiots up! I mean to wait here for Lin Shun Lun, and I do not need a serenade in the meantime! As the two moved outside to comply, he turned back toward her and sat down, his expression showing more contempt than ever. Why do you smile? Do you not know how serious I am?

Those are the songs of heaven the people sing, and it brings me joy, she answered with sincerity.

Snorting, the Ministry officer countered, "Then perhaps we need to teach you again the songs we want to hear. They sing them in the women’s prisons every day, you know."

She felt as if the blood had drained from her face. I will go to prison? she asked, quavering despite her resolve. Even her offspring were too terrified to wail at this point.

The look of contempt on the intruder’s face grew severe. I would certainly like to take you there, he admitted. My orders, however, are to detain your husband only. We will wait here until he returns.

Then I pray you never find him, Meirong asserted. God watches him, and the Lord’s Will prevails over the stars of heaven, not to mention the sins of men.

No more, the man warned, unsnapping the holster strap of the pistol he wore under his jacket. Otherwise you may be taken as resisting arrest.

Lin Meirong fell silent. She and her children waited in their own kitchen with the Bureau man, who held their lives, but not their souls, in the palm of his hand.

Trouble in Lin Shun Lun's Nankai neighborhood drew—appropriately enough—his neighbors. The residents of this section, many of whom gathered at the home of one or another on Wednesday nights, had learned long ago they were the best solution to problems caused by outsiders. Most times, the disturbances emanated from an inner-city youth gang. Tonight, it was the unexpected appearance of government men at the home of a beloved neighbor and pastor.

What is happening in there? a white-haired man asked of one who had gathered next to him on the street.

They have come for Lin Shun Lun! the younger man exclaimed. What shall we do, elder?

Lin’s neighbor thought for a moment. Is he in there?

The two listened. Sounds of children crying drifted out into the street as well as the noise of an intense search in progress. I do not think so. If they had found him yet, they would be gone already.

Understanding dawned for the older of the pair. It is Thursday, is it not? He is at the pastoral meeting.

It is late! He will be back at any time then! We must warn him! the younger man declared, his concern obvious.

Then we will. The older neighbor turned to the crowd. Sing, brothers and sisters! he called out. Glorify God to let the men from the government know we are here! He led them in the first song he could think of, lifting his voice in adulation and praise for his salvation from oppression and fear. Others joined in before he had finished more than a few words, and soon the street filled with the sounds of worship instead of panic and confusion.

Lin hurried toward the crowd in the street as the singing drew out even more people from the surrounding houses. His fear mounted when he saw black sedans had indeed parked in front of his house. Steeling himself, he began to push through the throng to get to his front walk. Out of my way! Let me through! he pleaded.

Others blocked his progress, men he knew from the neighborhood meetings. "Lin! You must not! one of them insisted. They have come to arrest you! We heard them inside … they are threatening your wife Lin Meirong!"

His eyes filling with tears, Lin cried, Let me go! I must help her! I must go to my family!

Two of the men struggled as they held him back. "No, Lin! Listen to us! You can do nothing from prison!" the older man begged him.

"No!"

The elder grabbed the pastor by both shoulders. "Lin! Look at the crowd. The ones inside will only call more police, and then there will be nothing we can do for you! You must come with me now!"

Lin looked away, and then he saw two officers emerge from the front door of his house, shouting angry orders at the crowd. Stop this noise, all of you! Go back to your homes at once! he heard them command We are from the Ministry of State Security! Disperse, or all of you will be arrested!

The singing quieted, except for one or two of the eldest whose younger relatives guided them back toward their own residences. Lin’s neighbor did the same for him, and they melted away with the rest of the crowd in the street.

It is hard, I know. You can do nothing for her in prison … nothing, his older neighbor repeated. You know this better than I.

Walking with him, Lin kept himself from looking back at his own house, where men from the government were intruding in his home and terrorizing his family. His neighbor was right. There was nothing he could do. Lin Shun Lun, however, was a man, and the temptation to take action burned inside him.

Once the two were inside his neighbor’s house, the window coverings were drawn into place as they were in houses elsewhere on the street. Lin felt acceptance replacing the rash urges which had nearly overcome him only a few minutes previously. For the comfort of her husband’s guest and to help calm everyone’s upset, the wife of Lin's benefactor prepared tea in the kitchen of the small home. Lin sat and pondered while his neighbor helped his woman. Shang is right, the evangelist thought as he listened to them chattering in the next room. I can do nothing for them. No one here can.

As a man of faith, considering no one able to act did not sit easily with Lin. If I can do nothing, it does not mean no one else can help. Somehow, I must get the word out. To whom could he turn? The brothers and sisters in the Community labored under the same weight of repression as did he. I must seek help from the outside—from the foreigners. Evangelical groups who had supported him in prison, however, could do nearly as little as his neighbors. I need someone else.

Shang, he said from the doorway of the kitchen. A moment, please. I must ask something of you.

The man of the house came out into the living room, wiping his hands with a small towel. What can I do, Pastor? Shang wanted to know.

Your job at the factory … your manager’s job. You use a computer there?

Yes, of course.

Do you have one here at home? Do you connect to the Internet? Lin inquired. He saw fear in the other man’s eyes.

Yes, but Lin, the government offices … they see everything taking place there!

Lin shook his head and smiled. "They cannot watch everything. He pulled a small device from his pocket. Do you know what this is?"

Shang nodded. A flash drive. I keep my records on one.

This one is much the same, Lin confirmed. It does more than provide storage. I learned about them from one of the brothers. He beckoned Shang to have a seat before he continued. They settled in, his host looking both anxious and curious at the same time. Lin showed him the swiveling cover protecting the head of the USB drive. This device runs its own program automatically when plugged in. Once the window is up, it is virtually another computer. No record of what transpires remains behind once it is unplugged from the connecting slot.

But they watch the traffic! Shang countered.

This I have learned about also. They watch the sites, the addresses on the Internet they do not want us to see. It is where they record and block attempts to get out. The browser on my device goes on a different route, which bounces from one random address to another until it evades their records and their firewalls. Lin thought back to his studies. It is as water. Water always finds a path around if it cannot go through. He flipped the cover closed. I never use the Internet any other way now. It has been more than a year so far, and it has not failed me.

What would you do? Shang asked him, almost whispering. The man was afraid, and Lin did not blame him.

I will ask for help from foreigners, in Switzerland. If there are any people who can do anything for me, they are the ones. Will you allow me?

Sighing, Shang nodded. If it is as you say. I plead with you, Lin, do not endanger my family more than I already have in helping you.

I will do this, and I will be gone as soon as possible, to the house of another. No traces will remain behind me. Please believe me when I say I wish no danger to your house, Lin assured the older man.

Shang seemed convinced, and his expression grew more resolute. The computer is in the back room. I will turn it on for you.

Thank you, brother, Lin managed, his relief obvious. Praise God. This is the only chance I have.

As Shang watched in fascination, Lin’s thumb drive came to life. On the screen it opened a window which populated its own environment, just as had the desktop of the host computer. Lin clicked on the browser contained therein, and slowly, he knew, a number of unapparent software processes began to work in the background.

Now I must wait, he explained. "Connecting on the Internet, you see, is much like making a telephone call. Each website runs on a server, which has its addressing number. Those numbers relate to names of sites through what are termed domain name servers. The State filter restricts the Internet by blocking those numbers and translations."

So how does this go around? Shang asked.

Instead of a straight connection, it is circuitous, Lin clarified. I connect instead through the ‘Tor’ network, the ‘onion.’ I go to another computer running the same software and from there to another and another until the routing reaches one free of the State’s restrictions. It is slow but also completely secure.

How is it they do not see this behavior?

Lin smiled. Another program runs at the same time to mask the signs. It divides the flow of the information to randomize the appearance of the packets of data. No pattern … no filtering. No filter, and there is nothing to trace. The technicians in the West, they are very wise. They make programs like this to help us.

The website he sought finally filled the small screen of his browser process once the slow links were established. After another short wait, the evangelist was eventually able to log in. To do so, Lin clicked to select the dialogue window underneath InterLynk’s red, white, and blue icon.

InterLynk Home Offices

Geneva, Switzerland

Thursday afternoon

Lin’s infonugget hit the data center in the basement of the headquarters building late in the workday, the Swiss being six hours behind the evangelist’s time zone in Asia. The preacher’s report consisted of an account of the raid on his home and the apparent resurgence of sentiment toward cracking down on religious expression in the region of Tianjin and Beijing. It would have routed differently except for the addendum he included.

The translation, performed automatically by the receiving server, was a plea:  "I am to be put under arrest for exercising my faith and spreading the Good News of Salvation to my brothers and sisters here under communism. I do not know what anyone can do from afar, but please help spread the word. I am in hiding. Should I go back into prison, this time I fear they will surely seek my life."

The phraseology activated an algorithm changing the report's flag from Information to Request for Assistance. The designation maximized its priority, pushing it further up the stack of submissions for the hour. A screener saw it first and promoted it to an analyst, who confirmed the identity and significance of the sender and then routed it to executive screening. A link to the missive appeared in Peter McAllen’s Inbox a few minutes later. Only a moment afterward, the president of InterLynk decided to wrap up his day with a read-through of one more submission, and an entry from inside the Red Curtain was rare enough to garner attention.

Commie bastards, the general—retired from United States Army Intelligence—muttered two minutes later. His brow furrowed at the thought of what a man of faith must go through daily in one of the planet's last bastions of totalitarianism. It was one which, unfortunately, encapsulated roughly twenty percent of humanity.

McAllen knew he felt more than mere intolerance for communism … Asian communism in particular. InterLynk’s president had grown up learning to duck and cover in grade school at the onset of the Cold War. He watched his older relatives go off to fight the little pricks in Korea once the conflict warmed into a proxy brush fire. He took his own turn propping up dominoes in South Vietnam during the early days of his career in military intelligence. He had known too many young men who died fighting against its philosophical cancer in Southeast Asia. And those goddamned assholes in the PRC were behind all of it, he thought with disgust. That’s why I hate their rice-eating guts.

So what can I do? McAllen mulled the question with the final minutes of his Thursday dwindling away. The answer did not take long to conjure. I can do what a man ought to do—What I Can, Where I Am, With What I Have. What McAllen had was the most extensive and well-connected network of private intelligence resources in the Western Hemisphere, which really meant on the planet. Where I am is in the driver’s seat of this whole damn organization, and what I have is more than enough spare capital to finance this operation myself.

McAllen smiled, and the smile grew into a grin. It was another chance to give Charlie a shiner. Moreover, as long as his political and cultural enemy was holding his eye, it just might provide a timely opportunity to kick the little bastard in the balls as well. This man is a Christian, and an InterLynk account holder, McAllen thought. Ain’t no way I’m turning down this one. He punched the speed dial on his desk phone.

In the next office over, his second-in-command and account specialist Bernie Schuster answered on the first ring. Yes, sir.

Bernie, I got a Special I’m dropping in the system. It’s a contract-free operation. Tomorrow, first thing, can you look at the details and spin up our list of assets in the region for me?

What region, General?

McAllen almost grimaced. East Asia, son. Where the bad guys live. Make it as close to the coast of the Bohai Sea as you can get me.

Gotcha, General, sir. I’ve got time yet tonight. Look for it in the a.m., Schuster posited.

Bernie’s a good man. That’d be fine, Bern. Talk to you in the morning. McAllen punched the button for his speakerphone again and then created a case file from Lin Shun Lun’s submission, assigning the preacher to the resulting bonus pool of involved associates. He added an update, which the man in Tianjin would see the next time he managed to sneak a connection through the Great Firewall of China to check his InterLynk account.

Case initiated, McAllen typed. Check this account regularly for information and updates.

Chapter 2 - The Corridor

Eighth District

Paris, France

Thursday evening

It was nights like this that used to get me drunk all by themselves, Boone Hildebrandt thought, sitting in the center of the rug covering the old parquet flooring of her hotel room. She was in the middle stages of grieving, and she knew it. The depression, reflection and loneliness could easily have overwhelmed her; instead, she took the inability to concentrate as an opportunity to beat the negative feelings out of her mind. Twenty empty-hand forms from the An-Thai and An-Vinh styles of the Vietnamese martial art of Vo Binh Dinh, performed to the level of perfection Master Quan would have demanded, had done so to a lesser extent than expected.

So now I am supposed to meditate, and clear my thinking of all that troubles me, she recalled, her legs straight, stretching forward until her cheek touched one knee. Fat chance. She raised her torso, and an inhalation and a repetition followed as she folded herself in half again, head dipping to the other side of her body.

Meditate! We seek balance and harmony before strength, the old man in Binh Dinh used to tell her as she suffered under his tutelage. Achieve this in advance of all else you attempt, and you will succeed. Boone brought herself up to ninety degrees and smiled. I tried, Master. I was impatient, and for a while, drinking seemed easier, she confessed to his memory.

She had been sober for weeks now, since her last day in Russia. At the end of that debacle, there was nothing left to do but flee the country in her father’s jet, and her accoutrements—the travel kit and even the little, silver flask transporting her absinthe in the field—had remained behind. Bearing the full brunt of the aftermath in an unadulterated state began purifying her mind and her body, she realized after a while. As it will, perhaps, heal my grief. One can only hope.

She folded her legs beneath her into the Lotus position, rested her hands on her knees, and made a conscious effort to relax, willing the tension of her exercise to dissipate. As it did, her thoughts slowed and became more of a barely moving stream than a current. Good, Boone honey. You’re getting better at this—or older. Maybe your Master would say it is all the same thing.

The thoughts slow, but never stop. I try to concentrate on stillness, and my mind acts to keep its balance instead. Something is lacking here. With all of her self-control, Boone knew something was missing, an indefinable element keeping her from achieving her level horizon. Thibaut is gone. The green ghost in my absinthe is gone. What now will take their place? Or is it I will now always be this way … incomplete, and searching?

It was almost time for a shower. Once she felt her physiology descend to its normal rate, her nightly routine in the bathroom would be the last of what she needed to do. Maybe then I can sleep without dreaming.

She was dressed in black, for business. Though she did not remember dressing, the material felt and moved across her skin like silk. As Rebecca Boone Hildebrandt stepped, the