Chinese Dragnet Entangles Family of Former Security Chief, Zhou Yongkang
"Smith," said Winston.
The Chinese Communist Party, by recent tradition, honors its retired leaders by expecting them to fade quietly into the background. But after Zhou Yongkang stepped down from the powerful Politburo Standing Committee 16 months ago, bad things started happening to people with connections to him.
"Smith?" said the woman. "Thass funny. My name’s Smith too. Why," she added sentimentally, "I might be your mother!"
Party investigators hauled away business magnates, officials from the populous province and the large oil company Mr. Zhou once ran, and others----over 30 have been named so far by government authorities. The party has said many are under investigation for violating its disciplinary regulations, code in China for suspected corruption.
She might, thought Winston, be his mother. She was about the right age and physique, and it was probable that people changed somewhat after twenty years in a forced labour camp.
Still others have simply disappeared without a word from authorities, including his son and American daughter-in-law, assumed by family members to be in the custody of Chinese officials.
Monday, March 31, 2014
March 31, 2014.
How a Giant Kazakh Oil Project Went Awry
"Thass better," she said, leaning back with closed eyes. "Never keep it down, thass what I say. Get it up while it’s fresh on your stomach, like."
ATYRAU, Kazakhstan----Kazakh workers were recuperating from the frigid temperatures of the Caspian Sea over cups of tea when their Italian supervisor interrupted their break, demanding they return to work.
She revived, turned to have another look at Winston and seemed immediately to take a fancy to him. She put a vast arm round his shoulder and drew him towards her, breathing beer and vomit into his face.
The workers restrained the supervisor----a manager working for Eni ENI.MI -0.22% SpA, a company building a giant oil development here----and put a plastic bag over his head. He fled, packed his bags and left Kazakhstan.
"Wass your name, dearie?" she said.
The spat was a brief episode yet emblematic of the endless challenges that have hobbled a project once hailed as the dawn of a new era in cooperation between oil-rich countries and Western companies.
"Thass better," she said, leaning back with closed eyes. "Never keep it down, thass what I say. Get it up while it’s fresh on your stomach, like."
ATYRAU, Kazakhstan----Kazakh workers were recuperating from the frigid temperatures of the Caspian Sea over cups of tea when their Italian supervisor interrupted their break, demanding they return to work.
She revived, turned to have another look at Winston and seemed immediately to take a fancy to him. She put a vast arm round his shoulder and drew him towards her, breathing beer and vomit into his face.
The workers restrained the supervisor----a manager working for Eni ENI.MI -0.22% SpA, a company building a giant oil development here----and put a plastic bag over his head. He fled, packed his bags and left Kazakhstan.
"Wass your name, dearie?" she said.
The spat was a brief episode yet emblematic of the endless challenges that have hobbled a project once hailed as the dawn of a new era in cooperation between oil-rich countries and Western companies.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
March 30, 2014.
Turkish Vote Appears to Bolster Erdogan
There was a constant come-and-go of prisoners of every description: drug peddlers, thieves, bandits, black-marketeers, drunks, prostitutes. Some of the drunks were so violent that the other prisoners had to combine to suppress them. An enormous wreck of a woman, aged about sixty, with great tumbling breasts and thick coils of white hair which had come down in her struggles, was carried in, kicking and shouting, by four guards, who had hold of her one at each corner. They wrenched off the boots with which she had been trying to kick them, and dumped her down across Winston’s lap, almost breaking his thigh-bones. The woman hoisted herself upright and followed them out with a yell of "F-- bastards!" Then, noticing that she was sitting on something uneven, she slid off Winston’s knees on to the bench.
ISTANBUL----Turkey's Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan appeared on Sunday to have emerged victorious in crucial local elections cast as a referendum on his rule, but his party's margin of victory was inconclusive as rival parties traded accusations of fraud and manipulation.
"Beg pardon, dearie," she said. "I wouldn’t ’a sat on you, only the buggers put me there. They dono ’ow to treat a lady, do they?" She paused, patted her breast, and belched. "Pardon," she said, "I ain’t meself, quite."
Exit polls showed Mr. Erdogan's ruling Justice and Development Party, or AKP, winning a clear majority of votes nationally, but the margin of victory and his party's control of major cities was unclear at 2100 GMT. State-run news agency Anadolu showed the ruling party collecting 48% the national vote with 41% of the votes counted, with the opposition Republican People's Party, or CHP, securing 28%. Private polling company Cihan news agency showed the AKP's total at 44% and CHP at 22%.
She leant forward and vomited copiously on the floor.
In Turkey's largest city, Istanbul, and the capital Ankara----the most closely watched and influential constituencies----both the government and the opposition claimed victory and accused one another of fraud.
There was a constant come-and-go of prisoners of every description: drug peddlers, thieves, bandits, black-marketeers, drunks, prostitutes. Some of the drunks were so violent that the other prisoners had to combine to suppress them. An enormous wreck of a woman, aged about sixty, with great tumbling breasts and thick coils of white hair which had come down in her struggles, was carried in, kicking and shouting, by four guards, who had hold of her one at each corner. They wrenched off the boots with which she had been trying to kick them, and dumped her down across Winston’s lap, almost breaking his thigh-bones. The woman hoisted herself upright and followed them out with a yell of "F-- bastards!" Then, noticing that she was sitting on something uneven, she slid off Winston’s knees on to the bench.
ISTANBUL----Turkey's Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan appeared on Sunday to have emerged victorious in crucial local elections cast as a referendum on his rule, but his party's margin of victory was inconclusive as rival parties traded accusations of fraud and manipulation.
"Beg pardon, dearie," she said. "I wouldn’t ’a sat on you, only the buggers put me there. They dono ’ow to treat a lady, do they?" She paused, patted her breast, and belched. "Pardon," she said, "I ain’t meself, quite."
She leant forward and vomited copiously on the floor.
In Turkey's largest city, Istanbul, and the capital Ankara----the most closely watched and influential constituencies----both the government and the opposition claimed victory and accused one another of fraud.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
March 29, 2014.
Putin Calls Obama to Discuss 'Diplomatic Resolution' in Ukraine
He sat as still as he could on the narrow bench, with his hands crossed on his knee. He had already learned to sit still. If you made unexpected movements they yelled at you from the telescreen. But the craving for food was growing upon him. What he longed for above all was a piece of bread. He had an idea that there were a few breadcrumbs in the pocket of his overalls. It was even possible----he thought this because from time to time something seemed to tickle his leg----that there might be a sizeable bit of crust there. In the end the temptation to find out overcame his fear; he slipped a hand into his pocket.
RIYADH, Saudi Arabia----Russian President Vladimir Putin called President Barack Obama on Friday to discuss a diplomatic resolution to the crisis in Ukraine, a gambit that could determine the trajectory of the biggest European security crisis in decades.
"Smith!" yelled a voice from the telescreen. "6079 Smith W.! Hands out of pockets in the cells!"
Both sides released descriptions of the call that differed on the details but agreed that the two countries' foreign ministers would meet, an event that could take place as soon as next week.
He sat still again, his hands crossed on his knee. Before being brought here he had been taken to another place which must have been an ordinary prison or a temporary lock-up used by the patrols. He did not know how long he had been there; some hours at any rate; with no clocks and no daylight it was hard to gauge the time. It was a noisy, evil-smelling place. They had put him into a cell similar to the one he was now in, but filthily dirty and at all times crowded by ten or fifteen people. The majority of them were common criminals, but there were a few political prisoners among them. He had sat silent against the wall, jostled by dirty bodies, too preoccupied by fear and the pain in his belly to take much interest in his surroundings, but still noticing the astonishing difference in demeanour between the Party prisoners and the others. The Party prisoners were always silent and terrified, but the ordinary criminals seemed to care nothing for anybody. They yelled insults at the guards, fought back fiercely when their belongings were impounded, wrote obscene words on the floor, ate smuggled food which they produced from mysterious hiding-places in their clothes, and even shouted down the telescreen when it tried to restore order. On the other hand some of them seemed to be on good terms with the guards, called them by nicknames, and tried to wheedle cigarettes through the spyhole in the door. The guards, too, treated the common criminals with a certain forbearance, even when they had to handle them roughly. There was much talk about the forced-labour camps to which most of the prisoners expected to be sent. It was ‘all right’ in the camps, he gathered, so long as you had good contacts and knew the ropes. There was bribery, favouritism, and racketeering of every kind, there was homosexuality and prostitution, there was even illicit alcohol distilled from potatoes. The positions of trust were given only to the common criminals, especially the gangsters and the murderers, who formed a sort of aristocracy. All the dirty jobs were done by the politicals.
The Putin call, which senior administration officials described as "frank and direct," comes after both sides have steadily escalated the biggest confrontation between Russia and the U.S. since the end of the Cold War.
He sat as still as he could on the narrow bench, with his hands crossed on his knee. He had already learned to sit still. If you made unexpected movements they yelled at you from the telescreen. But the craving for food was growing upon him. What he longed for above all was a piece of bread. He had an idea that there were a few breadcrumbs in the pocket of his overalls. It was even possible----he thought this because from time to time something seemed to tickle his leg----that there might be a sizeable bit of crust there. In the end the temptation to find out overcame his fear; he slipped a hand into his pocket.
RIYADH, Saudi Arabia----Russian President Vladimir Putin called President Barack Obama on Friday to discuss a diplomatic resolution to the crisis in Ukraine, a gambit that could determine the trajectory of the biggest European security crisis in decades.
"Smith!" yelled a voice from the telescreen. "6079 Smith W.! Hands out of pockets in the cells!"
Both sides released descriptions of the call that differed on the details but agreed that the two countries' foreign ministers would meet, an event that could take place as soon as next week.
He sat still again, his hands crossed on his knee. Before being brought here he had been taken to another place which must have been an ordinary prison or a temporary lock-up used by the patrols. He did not know how long he had been there; some hours at any rate; with no clocks and no daylight it was hard to gauge the time. It was a noisy, evil-smelling place. They had put him into a cell similar to the one he was now in, but filthily dirty and at all times crowded by ten or fifteen people. The majority of them were common criminals, but there were a few political prisoners among them. He had sat silent against the wall, jostled by dirty bodies, too preoccupied by fear and the pain in his belly to take much interest in his surroundings, but still noticing the astonishing difference in demeanour between the Party prisoners and the others. The Party prisoners were always silent and terrified, but the ordinary criminals seemed to care nothing for anybody. They yelled insults at the guards, fought back fiercely when their belongings were impounded, wrote obscene words on the floor, ate smuggled food which they produced from mysterious hiding-places in their clothes, and even shouted down the telescreen when it tried to restore order. On the other hand some of them seemed to be on good terms with the guards, called them by nicknames, and tried to wheedle cigarettes through the spyhole in the door. The guards, too, treated the common criminals with a certain forbearance, even when they had to handle them roughly. There was much talk about the forced-labour camps to which most of the prisoners expected to be sent. It was ‘all right’ in the camps, he gathered, so long as you had good contacts and knew the ropes. There was bribery, favouritism, and racketeering of every kind, there was homosexuality and prostitution, there was even illicit alcohol distilled from potatoes. The positions of trust were given only to the common criminals, especially the gangsters and the murderers, who formed a sort of aristocracy. All the dirty jobs were done by the politicals.
The Putin call, which senior administration officials described as "frank and direct," comes after both sides have steadily escalated the biggest confrontation between Russia and the U.S. since the end of the Cold War.
Friday, March 28, 2014
March 28, 2014.
After Deadly Mudslide, Cries Echo: 'The House Is Gone, My Mom's Gone'
A man stooped to obey. The cockney accent had disappeared; Winston suddenly realized whose voice it was that he had heard a few moments ago on the telescreen. Mr Charrington was still wearing his old velvet jacket, but his hair, which had been almost white, had turned black. Also he was not wearing his spectacles. He gave Winston a single sharp glance, as though verifying his identity, and then paid no more attention to him. He was still recognizable, but he was not the same person any longer. His body had straightened, and seemed to have grown bigger. His face had undergone only tiny changes that had nevertheless worked a complete transformation. The black eyebrows were less bushy, the wrinkles were gone, the whole lines of the face seemed to have altered; even the nose seemed shorter. It was the alert, cold face of a man of about five-and-thirty. It occurred to Winston that for the first time in his life he was looking, with knowledge, at a member of the Thought Police.
OSO, Wash.----Doug Massingale was home from work on the first bright Saturday afternoon in a month of hard rain when his 26-year-old daughter called. She was a waitress on maternity leave, living with her 4-month-old daughter "Snowy" and her mother, Mr. Massingale's ex-wife.
Part III
Chapter I
He did not know where he was. Presumably he was in the Ministry of Love, but there was no way of making certain. He was in a high-ceilinged windowless cell with walls of glittering white porcelain. Concealed lamps flooded it with cold light, and there was a low, steady humming sound which he supposed had something to do with the air supply. A bench, or shelf, just wide enough to sit on ran round the wall, broken only by the door and, at the end opposite the door, a lavatory pan with no wooden seat. There were four telescreens, one in each wall.
"She said, 'The house is gone, my mom's gone. Snowy's in the house and the whole house is gone!'" the diesel mechanic recalled.
There was a dull aching in his belly. It had been there ever since they had bundled him into the closed van and driven him away. But he was also hungry, with a gnawing, unwholesome kind of hunger. It might be twenty-four hours since he had eaten, it might be thirty-six. He still did not know, probably never would know, whether it had been morning or evening when they arrested him. Since he was arrested he had not been fed.
Earlier, at 10:37 a.m., the Pacific Northwest Seismic Network had picked up a large pulse about 55 miles north of Seattle, where a few dozen homes hugged the Stillaguamish River, west of the Cascade Mountains.
A man stooped to obey. The cockney accent had disappeared; Winston suddenly realized whose voice it was that he had heard a few moments ago on the telescreen. Mr Charrington was still wearing his old velvet jacket, but his hair, which had been almost white, had turned black. Also he was not wearing his spectacles. He gave Winston a single sharp glance, as though verifying his identity, and then paid no more attention to him. He was still recognizable, but he was not the same person any longer. His body had straightened, and seemed to have grown bigger. His face had undergone only tiny changes that had nevertheless worked a complete transformation. The black eyebrows were less bushy, the wrinkles were gone, the whole lines of the face seemed to have altered; even the nose seemed shorter. It was the alert, cold face of a man of about five-and-thirty. It occurred to Winston that for the first time in his life he was looking, with knowledge, at a member of the Thought Police.
OSO, Wash.----Doug Massingale was home from work on the first bright Saturday afternoon in a month of hard rain when his 26-year-old daughter called. She was a waitress on maternity leave, living with her 4-month-old daughter "Snowy" and her mother, Mr. Massingale's ex-wife.
Part III
Chapter I
He did not know where he was. Presumably he was in the Ministry of Love, but there was no way of making certain. He was in a high-ceilinged windowless cell with walls of glittering white porcelain. Concealed lamps flooded it with cold light, and there was a low, steady humming sound which he supposed had something to do with the air supply. A bench, or shelf, just wide enough to sit on ran round the wall, broken only by the door and, at the end opposite the door, a lavatory pan with no wooden seat. There were four telescreens, one in each wall.
"She said, 'The house is gone, my mom's gone. Snowy's in the house and the whole house is gone!'" the diesel mechanic recalled.
There was a dull aching in his belly. It had been there ever since they had bundled him into the closed van and driven him away. But he was also hungry, with a gnawing, unwholesome kind of hunger. It might be twenty-four hours since he had eaten, it might be thirty-six. He still did not know, probably never would know, whether it had been morning or evening when they arrested him. Since he was arrested he had not been fed.
Earlier, at 10:37 a.m., the Pacific Northwest Seismic Network had picked up a large pulse about 55 miles north of Seattle, where a few dozen homes hugged the Stillaguamish River, west of the Cascade Mountains.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
March 27, 2014.
Obama and Pope Francis Meet in Rome
He stood dead still. No one had hit him yet. Thoughts which came of their own accord but seemed totally uninteresting began to flit through his mind. He wondered whether they had got Mr Charrington. He wondered what they had done to the woman in the yard. He noticed that he badly wanted to urinate, and felt a faint surprise, because he had done so only two or three hours ago. He noticed that the clock on the mantelpiece said nine, meaning twenty-one. But the light seemed too strong. Would not the light be fading at twenty-one hours on an August evening? He wondered whether after all he and Julia had mistaken the time----had slept the clock round and thought it was twenty-thirty when really it was nought eight-thirty on the following morning. But he did not pursue the thought further. It was not interesting.
VATICAN CITY----President Barack Obama arrived here Thursday for his first meeting with Pope Francis, a highly anticipated visit the White House hopes will gain support for its economic agenda but that is also likely to highlight divisions between the two on issues such as gay marriage and contraception.
There was another, lighter step in the passage. Mr Charrington came into the room. The demeanour of the black uniformed men suddenly became more subdued. Something had also changed in Mr Charrington's appearance. His eye fell on the fragments of the glass paperweight.
Pope Francis greeted Mr. Obama with a handshake as they approached each other just outside the Papal Library, where they met for nearly an hour.
"Pick up those pieces," he said sharply.
"Wonderful meeting you," Mr. Obama said, thanking Pope Francis for receiving him.
He stood dead still. No one had hit him yet. Thoughts which came of their own accord but seemed totally uninteresting began to flit through his mind. He wondered whether they had got Mr Charrington. He wondered what they had done to the woman in the yard. He noticed that he badly wanted to urinate, and felt a faint surprise, because he had done so only two or three hours ago. He noticed that the clock on the mantelpiece said nine, meaning twenty-one. But the light seemed too strong. Would not the light be fading at twenty-one hours on an August evening? He wondered whether after all he and Julia had mistaken the time----had slept the clock round and thought it was twenty-thirty when really it was nought eight-thirty on the following morning. But he did not pursue the thought further. It was not interesting.
VATICAN CITY----President Barack Obama arrived here Thursday for his first meeting with Pope Francis, a highly anticipated visit the White House hopes will gain support for its economic agenda but that is also likely to highlight divisions between the two on issues such as gay marriage and contraception.
There was another, lighter step in the passage. Mr Charrington came into the room. The demeanour of the black uniformed men suddenly became more subdued. Something had also changed in Mr Charrington's appearance. His eye fell on the fragments of the glass paperweight.
Pope Francis greeted Mr. Obama with a handshake as they approached each other just outside the Papal Library, where they met for nearly an hour.
"Pick up those pieces," he said sharply.
"Wonderful meeting you," Mr. Obama said, thanking Pope Francis for receiving him.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
March 26, 2014.
One-Ship Ukraine Navy Defies Russia to the End
Something crashed on to the bed behind Winston’s back. The head of a ladder had been thrust through the window and had burst in the frame. Someone was climbing through the window. There was a stampede of boots up the stairs. The room was full of solid men in black uniforms, with ironshod boots on their feet and truncheons in their hands.
NOVO-OZERNE, Ukraine----Its escape to the open seas blocked by sunken ships, the Ukrainian minesweeper Cherkassy weaved and lurched in a narrow gulf on Tuesday afternoon with a symbolic, if inevitably brief, distinction: the last Ukrainian military vessel in Crimea not yet seized by the Russian navy.
Winston was not trembling any longer. Even his eyes he barely moved. One thing alone mattered; to keep still, to keep still and not give them an excuse to hit you! A man with a smooth prize-fighter’s jowl in which the mouth was only a slit paused opposite him balancing his truncheon meditatively between thumb and forefinger. Winston met his eyes. The feeling of nakedness, with one’s hands behind one’s head and one’s face and body all exposed, was almost unbearable. The man protruded the tip of a white tongue, licked the place where his lips should have been, and then passed on. There was another crash. Someone had picked up the glass paperweight from the table and smashed it to pieces on the hearth-stone.
From the banks of the gulf cutting into the western flank of the peninsula from the Black Sea, the Russians watched the trapped, constantly moving ship, then dispatched patrol boats to chase and bump the stubborn vessel in several unsuccessful capture attempts.
The fragment of coral, a tiny crinkle of pink like a sugar rosebud from a cake, rolled across the mat. How small, thought Winston, how small it always was! There was a gasp and a thump behind him, and he received a violent kick on the ankle which nearly flung him off his balance. One of the men had smashed his fist into Julia’s solar plexus, doubling her up like a pocket ruler. She was thrashing about on the floor, fighting for breath. Winston dared not turn his head even by a millimetre, but sometimes her livid, gasping face came within the angle of his vision. Even in his terror it was as though he could feel the pain in his own body, the deadly pain which nevertheless was less urgent than the struggle to get back her breath. He knew what it was like; the terrible, agonizing pain which was there all the while but could not be suffered yet, because before all else it was necessary to be able to breathe. Then two of the men hoisted her up by knees and shoulders, and carried her out of the room like a sack. Winston had a glimpse of her face, upside down, yellow and contorted, with the eyes shut, and still with a smear of rouge on either cheek; and that was the last he saw of her.
All other Ukrainian vessels blockaded in the same gulf, known as the Donuzlav Lake, had been seized in recent weeks.
Something crashed on to the bed behind Winston’s back. The head of a ladder had been thrust through the window and had burst in the frame. Someone was climbing through the window. There was a stampede of boots up the stairs. The room was full of solid men in black uniforms, with ironshod boots on their feet and truncheons in their hands.
NOVO-OZERNE, Ukraine----Its escape to the open seas blocked by sunken ships, the Ukrainian minesweeper Cherkassy weaved and lurched in a narrow gulf on Tuesday afternoon with a symbolic, if inevitably brief, distinction: the last Ukrainian military vessel in Crimea not yet seized by the Russian navy.
Winston was not trembling any longer. Even his eyes he barely moved. One thing alone mattered; to keep still, to keep still and not give them an excuse to hit you! A man with a smooth prize-fighter’s jowl in which the mouth was only a slit paused opposite him balancing his truncheon meditatively between thumb and forefinger. Winston met his eyes. The feeling of nakedness, with one’s hands behind one’s head and one’s face and body all exposed, was almost unbearable. The man protruded the tip of a white tongue, licked the place where his lips should have been, and then passed on. There was another crash. Someone had picked up the glass paperweight from the table and smashed it to pieces on the hearth-stone.
From the banks of the gulf cutting into the western flank of the peninsula from the Black Sea, the Russians watched the trapped, constantly moving ship, then dispatched patrol boats to chase and bump the stubborn vessel in several unsuccessful capture attempts.
The fragment of coral, a tiny crinkle of pink like a sugar rosebud from a cake, rolled across the mat. How small, thought Winston, how small it always was! There was a gasp and a thump behind him, and he received a violent kick on the ankle which nearly flung him off his balance. One of the men had smashed his fist into Julia’s solar plexus, doubling her up like a pocket ruler. She was thrashing about on the floor, fighting for breath. Winston dared not turn his head even by a millimetre, but sometimes her livid, gasping face came within the angle of his vision. Even in his terror it was as though he could feel the pain in his own body, the deadly pain which nevertheless was less urgent than the struggle to get back her breath. He knew what it was like; the terrible, agonizing pain which was there all the while but could not be suffered yet, because before all else it was necessary to be able to breathe. Then two of the men hoisted her up by knees and shoulders, and carried her out of the room like a sack. Winston had a glimpse of her face, upside down, yellow and contorted, with the eyes shut, and still with a smear of rouge on either cheek; and that was the last he saw of her.
All other Ukrainian vessels blockaded in the same gulf, known as the Donuzlav Lake, had been seized in recent weeks.
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