Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

through Russia ,
it’s obviously a matter of reassurance for us, but there’s also the fact that
if Wang is valuable enough for the Russians to want we’d like to take a whack
at getting him ourselves.”
    ”But with difficulty,” she pointed out.
    ”Good Lord, yes. Travel in China is very circumscribed. China
watchers we have, and compilers of statistics, and news from any Chinese who
leave by way of Canton for Hong Kong,” he explained, ”but our Embassy people in
Beijing—the new name for Peking—are still pretty much confined there, except
for carefully arranged inspections of communes and factories. The country is extremely security conscious. The
Chinese themselves can’t travel at all unless they’re given special permission
by their units—which, when you come to think of it,” he said thoughtfully, ”is
a damn clever way of keeping track of a billion people.”
    Mrs. Pollifax, frowning, said, ”Then how—?”
    He nodded. ”Exactly. What we’re up against here is China ’s
hinterland—Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, thousands of miles from any
official points of entry. High mountains. Desert land that’s being reclaimed by
irrigation. A region of minority peoples, and X—Mr. Wang—hidden somewhere in
the middle of it. Remote, to say the least.”
    ”To say the least,” murmured Mrs. Pollifax, startled.
    ”However, the area is being visited by occasional tourists now, looking for the unusual and the
offbeat—always, of course, led by a China Travel Service guide, but
nevertheless a pleasant way to reach the area.”
    ”Ah,” murmured Mrs. Pollifax, leaning forward now attentively.
    ”It’s too risky, sending you and another agent together, just the two of
you, with a guide. What we’re putting together for June first is a small group
of what are known in the tourist-agency trade as ‘wait list’ people. Markham
Tours here is cooperating without knowing the real reason. ‘Wait list’ people
are those who signed up too late with Markham Tours, and have been placed on a
waiting list, and would be willing to forego an American tour guide with the
group in order to go there. Bishop, the brochure.”
    Bishop stoically handed Mrs. Pollifax the glossy colorful booklet whose
words he already knew by heart... an extraordinary tour of Marco Polo’s Silk
Road presented only by Markham Tours ...
archaeological sites, among them the Yunkang Caves of Datong , the Imperial Tomb in Xian of Qin Shi
Huang...
    ”The Imperial Tomb of Qin Shi Huang?” gasped Mrs. Pollifax, scanning the
first page. ”But I’ve read about that—all those life-sized terra-cotta warriors
and horses they found! How thrilling—and the Silk Road ,
too?”
    ”Yes,” said Carstairs. ”Miss Markham was one of the first to visit China when it
opened up, and to arrange for visitors. This won’t be one of their regular
tours, but they’ll make the arrangements and use their considerable connections
to make sure it’s a bona fide sight-seeing experience for you all. What they can’t provide at such short
notice, however, is one of their own American guides to accompany you, so
you’ll be in the hands of a native guide, which may or may not be limiting,
depending on his or her command of English.”
    And which, added
Bishop silently, is not at all
accidental, dear Mrs. Pollifax, no matter how contrite and apologetic Carstairs
may sound.
    ”I see,” she said, and was silent, thinking about all that he’d said.
”What occurs to me-—”
    ”Yes?”
    ”What I don’t understand—seeing that you’re sending in an agent to find
Mr. X, or Wang—is how that person will be able to smuggle Mr. X out of China
and—”
    ”That,” intervened Carstairs smoothly, ”will be our problem.”
    ”—and also,” she added relentlessly, ”how that agent will have any
freedom of movement to even contact Mr. X, or Wang, especially traveling in a
group and under the eyes of a government guide.”
    Good for you, Emily, thought Bishop, you’re
getting close to the heart of the matter which is exactly why I’m having
chills. He waited patiently for Carstairs to field this with his
usual tact.
    ”That will also be our problem,” Carstairs said silkily. ”It’s much
safer if you know nothing about it, not even which member of your party will be
the agent.”
    Caught off balance by this, Mrs. Pollifax gasped. ”Not even who—!”
    ”Not until you’ve contacted our Buddhist chap Guo Musu in Xian,” he told
her