Shanghai had changed. We sensed that the moment we came ashore.
Extraterritoriality was long gone; we had known that, of course. The
days of exploitation, of clubs where Chinese and Burmese and Indian
servants waited on Britons and Americans were passed. Pan-Asia had seen
to that. This was 1965. The white man's burden in the east had been upon
brown and yellow shoulders for over sixteen years now, and the Indians
and Burmese and Indonesians were ruling themselves, after their fling at
communism in the fifties.
The initial bitterness which followed the debacle of 1955 had passed, we
were glad to see. Porters no longer spat in the faces of white men. They
were polite, but we had not been in the city a half hour before we
sensed something else. There was an edge to that politeness. It was as
Major Reid had written before we left San Francisco--a subtle change
had come over Asia in the previous few years. They smiled--they waited
on us--they bent over backwards to atone for the excesses of the first
years of freedom from foreign rule; but through it all was an air of
aloofness, of superior knowledge.
Baker put it in his typically blunt British way.
"The blighters have something up their sleeves, all right. The whole
crew of them. Did you notice that rickshaw boy? When I said to take us
to the hotel, he answered 'Yes, today I take you'. The Major was
right--there's something in the wind, and it's damned serious."
We were sitting, surrounded by our luggage, in our suite at the New
China Hotel. There were four of us: Llewelyn Baker, Walter Chamberlin,
Robert Martin, and myself, William Cady. Baker and Martin were
anthropologists, and old China hands as well. Chamberlin was a
geologist, and I claimed knowledge of zoology. We were here ostensibly
as a scientific expedition, and had permission from the Republic of East
Asia to do some work on Celebese man, following up the discoveries by
Rance of bones and artifacts on that East Indian island in 1961.
We had another reason for coming at this particular time, although this
was not mentioned to the authorities. Our real objective was to find out
certain things about New Buddhism, the violently nationalistic religion
which was sweeping Pan-Asia.
New Buddhism was more than a religion. It was a motivating force of such
power that men like Major Reid at the American Embassy were frankly
worried, and had communicated their fears to their home governments. The
Pan-Asia movement had, at first, been understandable. At first it had
been nationalism, pure and simple. The Asiatics were tired of
exploitation and western bungling, and wanted to rule themselves. During
the communist honeymoon in the early fifties, it was partly underground
and partly taken over by the Reds for their own purposes. But through
everything it retained a character of its own, and after '55 it
reappeared as a growing force which was purely oriental. Or at least so
it seemed. Our job was, among other things, to find out if Russian
control was really destroyed.
We had already made several observations. The most obvious was the
number of priests. Yellow robed Buddhist priests had always been common,
begging rice and coppers in the streets, but in 1955 a new kind
appeared. He was younger than his predecessors, and was usually an
ex-soldier. And his technique was different. He was a salesman.
"Rice--rice for Buddha," he would say. "Rice for the Living Buddha, to
give him strength. Rice for the Great One, that he may grow mighty. Rice
for the strength to cast off our bonds."
And they had organization. This wasn't any hit or miss revival, started
by a crackpot, or by some schemer for his own enrichment. There was
direction back of it, and very good direction too. We sensed that it had
been Japanese, at least at the start, but with the end of the
occupation, we could no longer barge in and investigate officially. Now
there were treaties to respect, and diplomatic procedure and all that
sort of thing.
Instead, we were here to spy. Unofficially, of course. The ambassador
was very explicit on that point. We were strictly on our own. If we were
caught, there could be no protection. So here we were. Four scientists
investigating Celebese man, and trying to find out, on the side, just
what was back of New Buddhism.
We washed up, had dinner, and presently, as we had expected, Major Reid
called. After a few jocular references to anthropology, for the benefit
of the waiter, he got down to business.
"I'll have to be brief," he said, "because I can't spend too much time
with you without stirring up suspicion. You all know the background.
They claim that this business is simply a new religion, a revival of
Buddhism modeled to fit new conditions. President Tung claims that there
is no connection between it and the state. We think differently. We have
reason to believe that the direction back of this movement is communism,
and that its ultimate object is military attack on the western world.
What we don't know is the nature of the proposed attack. Some of us
suspect that they are making H-bombs, and have covered up so that we
cannot spot them. That's what we must find out.
"The headquarters of New Buddhism is on a small volcanic island called
Yat, off the east coast of Celebes. Your job is to reach that island and
find out what's going on, and then bring the information back. Clear?"
We nodded. We had received a similar briefing in Washington, and from a
far more distinguished personage than Major Reid, but we felt no need of
mentioning this. In such a business, gratuitous information, even to
friends, serves no useful end.
* * * * *
Our informant in Washington had told us a good many other things,
too. In the name of New Buddhism, the priests had been collecting
immense quantities of supplies, and on an increasing scale. Tons of
foodstuffs had been gathered and then shipped off to an unknown
destination. Machinery, lumber, structural steel, canvas by the
thousands of yards had been purchased, loaded onto ships and barges, and
spirited away. It appeared that the New Buddhists were maintaining a
standing army, or perhaps a labor force somewhere east of Borneo, but
the picture was very incomplete.
Part of the failure of ordinary methods of intelligence may have been
due to the supersecrecy of the New Buddhists themselves. It was not
difficult to corrupt priests on the lower levels, but all they knew was
that certain quotas of food and materials were set for their territory,
which were then shipped away to Borneo.
The big break had come only a few months ago. One of the OSS men got
through to a barge captain, who had been to the headquarters itself. He
identified the location as an island a few miles off the northeast coast
of Celebes. It was, he said, highly mountainous--in fact he believed it
to be an extinct volcano, with a water filled crater reached only by a
narrow passage from the sea. Boats, he said, could go in and out, but
his barge was not among those permitted. He delivered his cargo, three
thousand tons of rice and five thousand raw hides, and was then sent on
his way. Under questioning, he said that there were many people living
on the island--thousands at least. Most of them lived in barracks among
the trees fronting the ocean, but some had special privileges and were
allowed to go to the top of the crater rim.
Of the activities within the crater our informant knew nothing. At night
the clouds were often lit by reflections from there, and once he had
heard noises, accompanied by a distinct shaking of the earth, as though
blasting were being done at a great depth.
This was the extent of our knowledge. We knew the location, but it was
up to us to find out the rest.
Our departure from Shanghai for the great island of Celebes involved the
usual exasperation of delay and red tape. The American Embassy did
everything possible to expedite matters, and brought a little pressure
to bear, I think, on the strength of the then impending American Sixth
Loan to China. In any case we were at last cleared, and boarded the
plane for Celebes.
We took one of the six place compartments on the upper deck, and
presently had company in the form of two yellow-clad New Buddhist
priests. Baker, who had the best command of Chinese, engaged them in
conversation.
As we had expected, they were very willing to talk, and displayed a
lively interest in Celebes man. That they were here to watch us was
obvious. Baker bided his time, and then switched the conversation to New
Buddhism. On this subject too the priests were anything but reticent.
They described with enthusiasm the great spiritual renaissance that was
sweeping all Asia "like a wind, the breath of life from the Living
Buddha." Baker asked a few questions about the Buddha, since to show no
curiosity about such a life subject might excite suspicion. The priests
were ready for them, and gave what was evidently the stock answer: the
Living Buddha was the very incarnation of Gautama himself, a spiritual
leader who was being groomed to take over the guidance of all mankind,
in east and west alike.
"Where does the Great One live?" asked Baker, alert for a trap.
"In Celebes, where you are going," was the reply.
"Oh," said Baker innocently, "Then perhaps it could be arranged for us
to meet him?"
This, explained the priest, was quite impossible. In due time Buddha
would display himself for the world to see and marvel over; meanwhile,
while his preparation was yet incomplete, he must remain in seclusion.
By now convinced that the presence of the priests was no accident, Baker
settled down to the sort of verbal sparring match that he enjoyed. He
had been speaking in the Cantonese dialect, but now he abruptly switched
to English.
"You know," he remarked, "you fellows are using an amazing amount of
material at your headquarters. Enough food to keep a good sized standing
army."
The two priests, who had professed ignorance of English at the start of
the conversation, stiffened visibly. Baker returned to Chinese.
The priests recovered their composure with some effort. The older
replied suavely, "Gossip is a creative art. There is a large monastery
at our central temple, and much is needed to maintain its activities."
"Truth," said Baker pontifically, "is usually disappointing. The
imagination changes a mud hut to a palace, and a sickly priest to a
demigod."
The two priests inclined their heads slightly at this. We watched their
expressions. If Baker's purposely provoking language brought a reaction,
it was not visible. But we had learned one thing: they spoke English but
preferred that we did not know it.
* * * * *
Our arrival at New Macassar, the Indonesian capital of Celebes,
was attended by the usual confusion and delay. Our Buddhist friends
vanished with a speed which suggested special consideration, while the
man from the American Consulate was still getting our equipment through
customs.
This business at length completed, we were escorted to a taxi by the
attache and whisked up one of the wide avenues of the city without a
question as to where we were to stay. Baker and Martin stared out the
window with studied ease--they knew that something was up, but were
content to await further developments. Now I noticed something else. The
driver of our cab was a European, not a native. I started to frame a
question, when, without warning, the car ducked into a side street,
swung around two corners and abruptly entered an open doorway in a tall
stucco building. Both Walt and I were half out of our seats in alarm,
when our guide spoke.
"The American Consulate, gentlemen," he said, with the slightest trace
of a diplomatic smile.
The cab had stopped in the ground floor garage of the consulate, and
opening the door was the consul himself.
"Good morning, I'm Stimson. Hope Avery didn't give you too wild a ride,
but I thought it best not to advertise my interest in you at the front
door. Things have changed a bit in the last few days. Well, Avery will
show you to your rooms. I'll be in the upstairs study when you're
freshened up."
There was little to speculate on as we shaved and changed to less
rumpled clothes, but we worked over the available data for what it was
worth.
"Consul takes us in tow," remarked Chamberlin. "That isn't in line with
the unofficial status so strongly impressed on us at Washington."
"And sneaking us in through the back door isn't according to best
diplomatic form, either. Stimson wants to protect us from something, but
obviously doesn't want the local constabulary to know." This from
Martin.
"It seems to me," I ventured, "that they could check the hotels. It
shouldn't take them long to put two and two together when we don't show.
I'm blessed if I can see what Stimson has to gain from this maneuver."
Baker turned from the mirror where he had been adjusting his tie.
"Suppose we ask him," he commented.
The consul was waiting for us in his study. After the briefest greeting
which his official position permitted, he got down to business.
"Gentlemen, I've had to pull a diplomatic boner of the first magnitude.
I refer to the cloak and dagger method of getting you here. But believe
me, it was the only way. They're onto your scheme. If you went to a
hotel in New Macassar, you wouldn't be alive tomorrow morning."
"But, the taxi--" began Martin.
"It gave us a few hours. If I had sent the consulate car, they'd have us
sealed off tight right now. I could keep you safe here, or get you on
the Shanghai plane, but you couldn't make another move. As it is, we
have perhaps two hours--with luck."
The consul settled back in his chair, evidently gathering his thoughts.
We waited, more mystified than before, if that were possible. At length
Stimson started again.
"You're well briefed on the general situation. Reid gave me the gist of
his conversation. But there are some other things that even Reid doesn't
know." He opened a folding blotter on his desk and drew out an eight by
ten photographic print.
"You're aware of the efforts that have been made to look into the crater
on Yat. To date we have not succeeded in getting an eye witness to the
rim. We have flown over Yat, of course, and have taken pictures from
every altitude from 5,000 to 70,000 feet, but so far they have
outsmarted us. They have smoke generators all around the rim, which they
fire up night and day whenever the natural clouds lift. We've used every
color, including infra red. We've taken stereo pairs, and flash shots at
night, but, with one exception, all we've ever gotten are beautiful
pictures of clouds and smoke. The exception I have here. It was taken
two weeks ago, during a brief break in a heavy storm. Before I say
anything more, I'd like to have you look at it and form your own
opinions."
He placed the print on the desk, facing us, and leaned back while we
four crowded around. My first glimpse was disappointing. Fully two
thirds of the picture was occupied by clouds. But gradually I made out
the details. There seemed to be several buildings of uncertain size in
the lower part, and a fringe of brush extending up to the left. Half
visible through the mist were several structures which seemed to me, in
comparison to the larger buildings, like chicken houses or perhaps
rabbit hutches. No humans were in sight, evidently because of the storm.
But in the center of the picture was the thing which fixed our attention
from the first, leaving the other details for later scrutiny. This was
an immense human figure, lying on its side with the head pillowed on its
hands in the attitude of the colossal figures of the reclining Buddha
found in the mountains of China. The body was partly covered by a robe,
but whether this was part of the figure or a canvas protection against
the rain, was difficult to tell. Only the head, hands and feet showed.
The face was partly in shadow, but enough could be seen to identify the
typical Buddha countenance: closed eyes and lips curled in an enigmatic
smile.
* * * * *
We stared at this peculiar picture for a good minute, taking in
the details, while Stimson watched us. Then Baker looked up.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Before I tell you our guesses," replied the consul, "I'd like to hear
your reactions."
"It would appear that the New Buddhists are doing the obvious--setting
up a Buddhist temple. Although, except for the statue, you'd never guess
it." This from Chamberlin.
Martin squinted closely at the print. "Yes, the buildings look more like
airship hangars than a temple."
Stimson raised his eyebrows slightly. "That's an interesting
observation," he commented.
"Wish there were some humans, or something else to give a scale," said
Baker. "For all we can tell, it could be anything from doll houses and a
life sized statue, all the way up to an air base, and a reclining Buddha
to end all reclining Buddhas."
There was an expectant pause. Stimson, seeing that we had nothing more
to add, cleared his throat, glanced briefly out of the window behind his
chair, and hunched forward.
"This picture was made from an F-180A, modified for photo
reconnaissance. The plane was on a routine flight from Singapore to
Mindanao, over a solid deck of clouds. The pilot swung south over Yat
just out of curiosity. He approached the island at 50,000 feet, using
radar, and was about to pass over when he spotted a hole in the
overcast. Time was 1800--just sunset--but the edge of the crater was
well lighted, although the bottom was in deep shadow. More important,
the smoke generators had been turned off. Obviously the clouds had just
parted, and would close in again in a minute. The presence of the F-180A
at this particular instant was just one of those one in a million lucky
breaks. The pilot realized this. He put the ship into a dive and ordered
his photographer to ready the cameras.
"The plane approached Yat at a speed above Mach 1.2, so there was no
audible warning, and evidently the island's radar was off, for the
surprise was complete. Within 90 seconds the F-180A closed level just
over the crater and shot past with only a thin stratus layer between it
and ground. Time over the crater was hardly 10 seconds, and neither
pilot nor observer saw anything, but the synchronous vertical camera was
operating and four flashes were made during the middle four seconds.
Then the plane was in the clouds again at a 45 degree climb and a dozen
miles towards the Philippines before anyone on Yat could even get
outdoors.
"As might be expected there was a considerable protest over this
violation of Celebese territory, although oddly, it was based on moral
grounds rather than national integrity. The protest was signed by the
Lama of Macassar, and demanded neither indemnity nor punishment of the
pilot, but asked merely that incense be burned in Washington to appease
Buddha. Now of course the Lama isn't that naive, or devout. As you may
know, Phobat Rau was educated at Harvard and CIT, and is a thoroughly
trained and tough statesman who knows his way around anywhere, and
doesn't believe the theological hogwash in Pan-Buddhism any more than I
do. So it was a question of getting behind his motives. Of course, it
could be a cover, but our final guess was that the protest was really
made for the benefit of the faithful in Asia. This opinion was
strengthened, at least as far as I am concerned, about a fortnight ago
when Rau attended the British Embassy reception for Lord Hayes. He
didn't avoid me, but actually seemed to single me out as a foil for some
of his witty small talk. Asked if I was much of a student of Buddhist
architecture and carvings, and if I had seen the Kyoto Buddha, or the
reclining Buddha on the Yangtze. He was fishing, of course, but I played
it dumb, and presently he gave up.
"Well, there you have it, at least as far as the picture is concerned.
The Buddhists were considerably upset, for they tightened up security
all over the islands. And then you came into the scene. Naturally nobody
believed that you were just after Celebese man, but the governor granted
permission--so easily, in fact, that we got suspicious. Americans are no
match for oriental subtlety, but we do have a few tricks, one of whom is
a code clerk in the Macassar foreign office, and from her we learned
that you were set for the preferred treatment: to be let in easily, and
then knocked off in some painless way. Hence the taxi, and the sneak
ride here."