Behind the house, an old pickup truck had been driven into a drainage ditch next to an outhouse and a solitary apple tree. A cow stood in the wooden bed of the pickup, unable to lie down because of the way she’d been tied to the cab. Goats had wandered through a hole in the stick-fence enclosure and were grazing on either side of the road. Li Zemin, chief of mission for the Guoanbu in Ashgabat, pulled up in a jeep with his driver. He was a tall man with sunken cheeks and an angular jawline. His lips were pressed together in a tight, controlled line that was neither a smile nor a frown, and his alert-looking eyes suggested intelligence. Although he held no military rank, his uncle—the man who’d raised him from the age of two—was a high-ranking army general and member of China’s powerful Central Military Commission. Partially because of this connection to power, but also because rumors of Zemin’s ruthless management of the Turkmen Guoanbu had reached the army, the special forces Chinese soldiers who stood in front of the house snapped to attention as Zemin passed by.
