Free An American Spy by Olen Steinhauer Page A

League—a touch of irony, using our youth organization’s name. The scandal and humiliation led to the fall of one CIA director and enormous cuts in its funding. They are unlikely to start supporting Islamic terrorism now—certainly not for revenge. The risks are too great. So, if the Americans really are taking such an incredible risk, then their reasoning goes much deeper than revenge, or sending a message . Not even a small, self-funded department would be so short-sighted.”
    Wu Liang spoke up. “So what do you suggest, Sun Bingjun?”
    “I’m suggesting nothing. I’m only pointing out that, if the visit of this agent is really a sign that a CIA department is engaging in some operation on Chinese soil, then the reasons are far more complicated than a hatred of Xin Zhu here, or even of Chinese intelligence.”
    Silence again. Wu Liang seemed temporarily lost in the face of Sun Bingjun’s flawless logic, and Yang Qing-Nian looked embarrassed. Zhang Guo said, “Is there someone we can consult on this? Someone within their agency?”
    Feng Yi said, “The Second Bureau has a few CIA sources, but they’re not ranking enough to know about this. Wu Liang?”
    Wu Liang set down his teacup. “Possibly. I have one source that may be able to dig deeper.” He took a long breath. “Xin Zhu may be the one to talk to.”
    Finally, they looked at him. He chewed the inside of his left cheek. He’d once had a wonderful source, but not anymore—James Pearson, aide to Senator Nathan Irwin. “I will ask,” Zhu said, and bowed his head. “I thank the committee for bringing this troubling news to my attention, and I will do my best to make sure it is explained to everyone’s satisfaction.”
    “I’m sure you will,” said Wu Liang. “Further, I hope that when you receive information you will share it with all of us here in the committee. Which brings us to the other subject of this morning’s discussion.”
    Yang Qing-Nian shifted in his chair, preparing to speak, but Wu Liang shot him a look. The young man had botched one item already; he would take care of the other one himself.
    Wu Liang said, “I think all of us here are familiar with Xin Zhu’s April 15 memo, a copy of which I hold here.” He waved a single sheet of paper. “In it, he stated that the Ministry of Public Security was no longer secure enough to contain his office’s intelligence. Naturally, this committee—the whole committee—demanded more explanation, and on Friday, April 18, the committee received a twelve-page collection of specific pieces of intelligence that, we were told, resided in the files of the Department of Tourism. By triangulating these nuggets of information, Xin Zhu explained, he could reach no other conclusion than that the Department of Tourism itself was running a high-level source within the Ministry of Public Security. Thus, his intelligence would be withheld until the leak was plugged.”
    Everyone in the room watched Wu Liang, who continued, “Now, upon receiving the initial memo, I admit that I was skeptical. Xin Zhu and I have often resided in different rooms in the house of socialist philosophy. I saw this as further evidence of his paranoia. Then I examined the twelve-page report and felt less sure of myself. The ministry is, as you all know, close to my heart, and the facts Xin Zhu had collected, when viewed together, shook me deeply. I spent the weekend having very difficult conversations with ministry comrades, and I even viewed some of them with suspicion. Investigations were begun. I was—and I’m hesitant to admit this, but it’s true—in a panic. What if Xin Zhu was right, and we were bleeding information to the Americans? Catastrophe!”
    Zhu closed his eyes to listen better. He could feel where this was heading, could hear it in Wu Liang’s exaggerated innocence and emotion. You build a tower in order to tear it down, and the tower Wu Liang was building was enormous.
    “By that Monday, four weeks ago, I