Bamboo and blood io-3

by James Church

  "Know a good place for dinner?" I wasn't hungry, but I asked Margrit because it was something to say.

  "Only if you like cheese," she said and walked away.

  I watched her reflection in the window as she moved into the next car. Good wig, I thought to myself. Nice trousers, too.

  6

  The next afternoon, a Sunday, the delegation leader went out for a walk in the park near the mission. He was alone and moving quickly, not like someone who was trying to think, more like someone who knew where he was going and thought he might be late.

  I was waiting for him. He had been nervous all morning, inattentive during most of the delegation meeting and then snapping at his deputy for lapses so minor they didn't bear mentioning. Just before the session broke up, he went around the table and dissected each person's performance. They were all going to face intense criticism when they returned home, he said. New instructions had arrived that the talks were to make progress. On what basis they were supposed to proceed had not been specified. All he had been told was that the delegation was supposed to create the proper atmosphere. He turned to Mr. Roh, who handed him a piece of paper. "Proper atmosphere," he read the term aloud. "Is there one of you with a good idea?" No one looked at anyone else when they left the room.

  It was clear to me that the delegation leader wasn't planning to sit around and do nothing the rest of the day. He was anxious about something, and it wasn't about creating "atmosphere." That wouldn't bother him. He could do that, fix the atmosphere, by just readjusting his smile, or looking like he was taking notes instead of taking off his glasses and pretending to ignore what the other side was saying. There was something more serious on his mind. For a moment-a very brief, uncomfortable moment-I worried that he was planning to defect. What if he'd received a warning that when he got home he would face serious problems, something beyond the routine, and so, rather than go back to the old home, he was going to jump to a new one? That's what triggered most defections-people concerned that they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't. That's why we were constantly being warned by the Ministry to take it easy in investigations of people who were overseas. "Don't squeeze what you don't have to," the Minister famously said at one meeting.

  When he came out the door and down the steps, the delegation leader didn't look around or stop to take a breath. He just pointed himself in the direction he had already decided to go, and he went. Once he was out of the compound, he picked up the pace. He might have been running, he was moving so fast, but he still managed to give the appearance of someone just out for a brisk walk.

  I gave him a pretty good lead, not entirely by choice. I could barely keep up with the pace he had set. If he spotted me, it would be hard to pretend I was out for a leisurely stroll and happened to bump into him. I was panting with exhaustion; in another couple of minutes, I'd break into a sweat. My better judgment told me to break off. For once, I almost paid attention. The path turned a corner onto an unpaved track. I stopped. There was no one around, but the sound of tires on gravel was still in the air. Something large and white flashed through the trees, speeding down the road that led back out to the main avenue along the lake. I took a few deep breaths. Whatever it was, the engine was nicely tuned, though the muffler needed work.

  "Going somewhere?" The Man with Three Fingers appeared from nowhere in front of me. "You seem to be out of breath."

  "You do have a habit of turning up, don't you?"

  "Me? If you hadn't been in such a hurry, you'd have noticed me."

  "I'm busy." I turned to go, then turned back. "Were you following me, or him? People don't normally follow from in front. Or is there a new technique?"

  He grinned; the effect was deadly. If a hunting spider could grin, this would be it. "I was just out for a stroll in the park and remembered you liked wood, so I thought I'd become better acquainted with some trees. But somehow, they all look the same." He walked over to a large chestnut tree. "This here, for example. I'd say in a couple of months, it will be flowering. It's an ornamental, wouldn't you say?"

  "It's dead."

  "Really?" He whistled and stepped back. "Dead. How do you like that? I wonder what killed it. Care to venture a guess, Inspector?"

  "Why were you following him?"

  "I could ask you the same thing."

  "Or maybe you weren't following him. Maybe you were trying to intercept him."

  "And why would I want to do that?"

  "I don't know. Maybe because you were afraid he was going away and wasn't coming back."

  "No, that's why you were following him, Inspector." He turned to look at the tree again. "What a shame. This thing happens a lot, I guess. Death, I mean."

  7

  I thought Jeno would be put off by the cancellation of his operation, but he seemed cheery enough, sitting on the bench across from my hotel, reading a newspaper.

  "You owe me a croissant," he said, "but don't worry. We can settle later. Sit down and enjoy the spring air. Look at this light, will you? Soft as a Bedouin's handshake."

  I didn't care about Bedouins. "What happened?"

  "Nothing happened. We called it off, that's all."

  "There was someone on the train you didn't like."

  Jeno?s eyebrows did a brief tango. "You picked up on that, did you?"

  "Hard not to. You think he was there by accident?"

  "He's never anywhere by accident. That wasn't his wife, by the way."

  "How did he know I'd be on the train? You have a problem in your organization?"

  "No. He just showed up. Lucky break for us. We've been wondering where he was."

  "How did he know I'd be there?"

  "He probably didn't. He might have seen you at the station when you got on the train. There aren't many Koreans around, and he must have been curious, sort of like a cat. He is careful where he steps, and if he sees anything new or out of place, he goes the other way."

  "He didn't go the other way. He came right to me and sat down. How could he know I was Korean?"

  "Well, it's a cinch you're not Mexican."

  If Jeno was so happy to see the man, I figured it meant he must be a target, and that meant he had something to do with the weapons trade, missiles maybe. A perfect tab, a perfect slot. Geneva was a busy city. No wonder M. Beret looked so tired. "I hope we're not going to try this again. Once is enough."

  "Don't worry, the person who was here to see you had to leave right away. You sure you won't accept a trip to the land of milk and honey? We can do the whole thing in twenty-four hours."

  "Yes, I'm sure you can. But I don't like to rush my time on the beach, it's bad for my tan."

  Jeno folded his paper and tucked it under his arm. "I'll be in touch."

  "The man on the train, who was he going to meet?"

  "Guess."

  I didn't have to. What if my brother had even been sitting a few cars ahead, in the first class section? Same train, different dreams.

  Chapter Four

  "This is crazy, I said when I could slip out of her arms and talk again. "Your father will kill us."

  "No, he loves me. Anyway, he's busy downstairs."

  "Downstairs! You told me he would be away for a couple of days."

  "He was going to be, but he got a rush request, so he came back. He's been working all night in the kitchen."

  "Any minute he could come up and kill one of us. And something tells me it won't be you."

  "Perhaps. But look at me. Look closely." She made sure that even in the moonlit room a lot was visible. "When you look at me, do you think of my father?" In case I had missed anything, she turned slightly.

  "No." I took a deep breath. "I can't say that I do."

  "Then come here. No more discussion." She took my hand and pulled me back to her.

  2

  Barely past dawn, when I was almost dressed, she opened her eyes. "You see, my little policeman, you are still alive. Take the side streets and no one will ever know you were here. Your survival
instincts are probably still functioning."

  I was in no shape to ask what she meant. I was more concerned with getting down the back stairs without seeing her father. Even if I made it through that minefield, there was the problem of what the day clerk in my hotel would say when I walked in, slightly rumpled. If anyone asked, the hotel staff would gladly relay the news that I had been out all night.

  "Was it wonderful?" Dilara snuggled under the blanket, not really interested in the answer.

  3

  M. Beret was sitting in the lobby of my hotel, a cup of coffee on the table next to his chair. I was less surprised to see him than I was to see the coffee. I hadn't realized the hotel was so generous. Maybe they would part with an extra bar of soap, after all.

  "Inspector, good morning."

  "Wouldn't they give you a room?"

  "A room? I don't sleep much these days. Too much thrashing about in the adjoining suites."

  "That never bothers me," I said and started up the stairs. I wondered if M. Beret's people only got audio, or if there were pictures, too. And if so, would they get back to Pak? I knew what would happen. He would call me into his office and look at me somberly for a moment before studying a piece of paper on his desk. Then in the most exquisitely vague language he would explain that he had received "certain information," that this was potentially serious if it should develop any further but it was not his job to babysit my life in all of its facets, that he expected me to act responsibly in all ways, and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned. Then he would put the piece of paper into a folder, close the folder and put it in his desk drawer, and look up at me. "Is that clear enough?" he would ask, say he had a meeting to attend, and walk out the door.

  M. Beret drank a little coffee. He replaced the cup with more than normal deliberation. "I thought you'd like to know, we threw Ahmed a very large catering job last night, with instructions that it had to be delivered by 6:00 a.m." He glanced at his watch, which was not a cheap one. "Would you like some Turkish coffee to perk you up?"

  "He must be exhausted."

  "I'm sure he's not the only one."

  4

  I would have slept past noon if the maid hadn't knocked midmorning. "Go away," I shouted, but she kept knocking. Finally, I flung open the door. "Are you hard of hearing? I told you to go away. I'm sleeping. Can I do that? Is it all right with you? Is there a regulation in your tidy land against sleeping late?"

  "It's not my land. I am from Romania, and I was only checking to make sure you're not sick again. They don't want some strange epidemic coming out of this hotel. There are all sorts of health people in this city; they can be very strict sometimes. Believe me, I know."

  "I'm not sick, I'm never sick." I stuck out my tongue. "You see? I'm fine."

  The maid was holding a few pieces of fresh linen. She handed them to me. "Make your own bed then. I'm not going to wait around for you. My friends says I don't even have to go into your room if you've been sick."

  "It's good to have friends," I said and closed the door. Just as I got back into bed, the phone rang.

  "Hello, Inspector, how are you?" It was Jeno. He didn't sound happy. There were undertones of urgency flowing through his voice, the way silk sounds when it catches on a nail.

  "I was trying to sleep, actually."

  "It's well past noon! Your watch must have stopped. Meet me downstairs in twenty minutes. We'll have lunch."

  "Nothing elaborate."

  "Fine, nothing elaborate."

  "Nothing that has been near a lamb."

  5

  Jeno was waiting, just as he said he would. He was wearing sunglasses. It was a springlike day, but not really spring; tidy clouds arranged in a blue sky, enough sun to give the grass a thrill. Technically, it was still winter, but you wouldn't hear me complain about the weather, not on a day like this.

  "Let's go for a drive, Inspector. With so much sun, it would be a shame to stay in this dull town. You don't want lamb. Do you like fish? We can have lunch by the lake. Delicate fillet of perch, a bottle of white wine. Then we can smoke cigars and talk. I know just the place, in a little town called Coppet."

  "Been there."

  "Very well, we can try somewhere else." He seemed annoyed, which gave me some satisfaction, though not enough to make up for having to dress and come downstairs.

  "Good," I said. "Somewhere else."

  "Something the matter?"

  "Nothing. I told you, I was trying to sleep; it was a rough night."

  "So I heard."

  Everyone had heard, apparently. Dilara was going to have to keep it down next time, if there was a next time. "How about a nonperch meal? Would that be possible? I realize perch is the national fish." I wasn't being difficult only out of spite. It had nothing to do with little, tasteless collections of bones. It was that Jeno was trying to put me in a grateful mood for some reason, and until I figured out why, I wasn't going to let things get cozy. "One more request. This time I exit your car in the normal fashion, after it has come to a complete stop."

  "We're not using my car. Someone ran me off the road the other night and I hit a tree."

  "A tree? What kind?"

  "A very big tree, that's what kind. I'm borrowing Ahmet's car while mine is in the repair shop."

  I felt a moment of terror as we set off down the hill. What if Ahmet was driving? There was no way he could fail to pick up what I was thinking.

  "Something wrong?" Jeno asked, as he stopped next to a big, white Mercedes. It looked brand-new. The light that reflected off the hood was blinding. Maybe that explained the sunglasses. "Here we are."

  "Ahmet owns this?" Ahmet was nowhere to be seen. "What else does he do, other than run a restaurant? Drugs? Centrifuges? This car must have cost a fortune."

  "He told me he bought it secondhand from a friend."

  "Secondhand! A hand wearing diamonds, maybe. If I were you, I'd check his friends."

  "Funny, that's just what I thought."

  I'd never been in a car like this one, and it was clear, neither had Jeno. He either drove too fast or too slow. His turns were too wide or too sharp. He tried adjusting the seat, tilting the steering wheel, changing the mirrors. Nothing helped. "No wonder someone sold this to Ahmet," he grumbled as we swerved to avoid a dog. "It's a lemon."

  "A what?"

  "A piece of garbage. The steering is off, the acceleration is off, and the braking is off. It feels like it was worked on by a mechanic who hated women."

  The connection escaped me, but Jeno was driving almost on the shoulder, and I didn't want to try for too complicated a discussion. Besides, the muffler had caught my ear. "Where are we going?" The road looked familiar, close to the lake.

  "Nowhere special. I invited a friend. I was sure you wouldn't mind."

  6

  The delegation leader stood up to greet us when we walked in the door. He looked very much at home. "Surprised to see me, Inspector?"

  I was. "Not really," I said. We were in Coppet, which set my teeth on edge. "Shouldn't you be somewhere nibbling cookies?"

  Jeno gestured to a chair. "Good, we all seem to know each other. That saves time. There's no assigned seating here. Very informal." Informal maybe, but not without foresight. My chair put me between the two of them, so I couldn't speak to both at the same time, or watch them. I had to turn my head from one to the other.

  The delegation leader picked up a menu. "Shall we order? If we don't do that right away, they'll think we aren't here to eat. That can change the atmosphere. The waiters get aloof, and the service goes downhill from there." Atmosphere-he must have been born with an extra sensory organ that measured "atmosphere" like other people felt hot or cold. Apparently, he'd been to this place before. Obviously not on his ministry's tab, so I had to wonder who had paid the bill.

  Jeno ordered. We ate in silence, and I didn't think it was a comfortable one, either. The delegation leader made annoying, exaggerated gestures with his fork as he lifted the food to his mou
th. He ate slowly and occasionally closed his eyes. At one point he moaned in pleasure. That ruined what little appetite I had. It was doubly annoying because Jeno had ordered the perch for all of us. At last, with a final smack of his lips, the delegation sat back. "Quite good," he said to Jeno. He looked at my plate. "Something the matter, Inspector? This fish was excellent."

  "Yes," I said. "You seemed to enjoy it."

  "More wine?" Jeno looked at my glass. "You're not drinking?" How to explain to the man that I wouldn't touch anything on the table until I figured out what was going on?

  "Who is doing what to whom? Isn't that the question of the hour?" I looked from Jeno to the delegation leader, and then back to Jeno. The napkin was heavy linen. I didn't think it could be folded into a rabbit. Maybe it could be made into a blunt object.

  "Why don't we move out to those chairs on the patio. We can have coffee and smoke cigars." Jeno signaled the waiter. "Don't worry, Inspector, we'll find time to talk, as well. Whatever questions you have will be answered, as far as possible."

  "Sure, let's talk outside, if we can hear each other over the din of cameras clicking and recorders squealing." I looked under the table. "Did you bring your black bag?"

  Jeno laughed. "Remember what I told you not so long ago, Inspector? About seeing Cossacks everywhere? Don't be so jumpy. This place is perfectly clear and clean. We won't be disturbed. It's covered, believe me. It's covered."

  I shrugged. "If you say so." I turned to the delegation leader. "You realize you almost didn't make it here."

  "Oh?"

  "The other day, when you disappeared in the white car, the one whose mechanic hates women."

  "No, I knew you were behind me the whole time."