Red China Blues (reissue): My Long March From Mao To Now - Plot & Excerpts
“Can I come over and talk to you?” a female asked politely. It was February 5, 1981. I covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Norman. He shrugged. “Sure,” I told her. “Why don’t you come tomorrow morning?” Our many years in China – six for me and fourteen for Norman – naturally aroused suspicions. We assumed that we had been under surveillance since our return. But I no longer viewed police as pigs. In fact, they seemed downright nice after Chinese State Security agents. FBI Special Agent Barbara Ann Dennis arrived the next morning at our studio apartment on Riverside Drive in Manhattan. She was in her late twenties, attractive and black. She showed us her badge. “How many black female special agents are there?” I asked. “Eight on the whole force.” “Do you carry a gun?” She laughed. “Yes.” “Where?” She laughed again, and didn’t say. She was wearing a navy blue pantsuit. Maybe her gun was strapped to her ankle, just like in the movies. Or perhaps it was inside her roomy handbag where, we assumed, a tape recorder was whirring.
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