The message in Colonel Park’s eyes seemed softer now, the edge of ambition blunted. What message could a dead soul impart to her? Did the future open itself to them in death, as so many poets have imagined? Had they been granted the gift of prophecy, or did they only see whatever was present to them? Perhaps that was all this spirit wished to tell her – “It is quiet.”
Emily’s mind drifted down into the quiet vouchsafed to her by the dead, passing through layers of sediment, of memories packed so tightly on top of one another as to make their content indistinct, even to suggest that a single theme organized them all, and this would be the fundamental meaning of her life. Colonel Park’s eyes fluttered again, and Emily leaned closer to her lips, the better to hear a last word, an expression of greatest import. The air pushed against her earlobe, an empty wind at first, and too faint to make out. But after a moment it resolved itself into a single phrase: “Ripeness is all.”
Emily lurched back at these words, and searched the dead woman’s face for a clue as to their significance. Her lips, bruised and bloodied, seemed to stretch into a faint smile and the light in her eyes, dimming at first, grew brighter, spreading gradually across her face, glowing through her blonde hair until the entire bunker had been transmuted into gold. What alchemy was this, coming from the shade of an ancient enemy?
“I don’t need your forgiveness,” she shrieked. “I don’t want it. You wronged me.”
Gold turned orange, and finally red, as if she floated on a lake of fire, feeling the heat sear the tiny hairs on her arms, thrilling for the moment, not yet scorched… somewhere, in the flames she recognized the terms of a devil’s bargain she had made, offering herself in exchange for the boy the Colonel had taken, and knowing all the while that she’d have to fight for his life. And fight she did, trying not to kill, but unable to avoid it, until at last she confronted her nemesis in that bunker and stripped her life away. The terms of the exchange glowed before her eyes as she felt the warmth of the fire.
“You sought my life and I ended yours. You stole a child from me, and I took three from you. How can there be any peace between us?”
The flames receded and the room grew dim, until the light flickered and flashed in that same golden glow, and Emily tried to look directly into those dead eyes, framed by a mane of bleached blonde hair. No apology was forthcoming from her mouth, and no reproach either. Her empty gaze pierced Emily and the light flickered a second time.
Shortly after sunup on Wednesday morning, Emily rested a moment under the bridge at Liufang Street, not because she was tired, but in order to give Jiang a chance to appear. If he wanted to speak to her – and she was hoping he did – it would be during her morning run. There were seven more bridges before Daqingsi, where she would veer away from the river and head for the embassy compound. Would the time spent out of sight be noticed by whoever was surveilling her?
Five bridges later, she found him, lurking underneath Shuguang Road, Jiang Xi in a dark suit that strained to cover his shoulders – obviously, he wasn’t spending his money on tailors. She waited for him to come to her and scanned the area for whatever camera he’d arranged to have disabled. There it was, suspended from one of the I-beams that formed the understructure of the bridge, a silvery hemi-sphere on a stalk.
“I can see that my advice didn’t move you,” he said.
“Too many people seem to know what’s best for me. I can’t please all of them.”
“Can I assume Nyquist has ordered you to develop Wu Dao as an asset?”
“Do I have to answer?”
“No, I suppose not. But the moment he asked you to dance at the state dinner, the Ministry opened a new dossier on him… and you.”
“What is their interest in him?”
“Do I have to answer?”
“No, I get it. He’s a tempting target for any foreign operative, the son of an important person… and I must fit the profile of a foreign operative.”
“Yes, which means we only have a few minutes. Did you come to any conclusion?”
“About ‘Kitty’? She seems a bit guarded to me.”
“That comes with the territory. You, of all people, should understand that… a woman seeking advancement through an institution dominated by men. But would you trust her with Li Li?”
“I’m wondering if I should trust her with you. Li Li’s not the only charge her father left me with, after all.”
“Is this all because she seemed guarded?”
Her deepest suspicion, which now seemed almost completely unfounded, Emily was afraid to bring into the open. Kit Yee didn’t seem to her like someone in love, at least not the way Jiang Xi did. Was she merely a careerist looking to climb higher on the back of an older superior, or something worse? But who was she to determine if anyone else was in love, she who could scarcely tell what her feelings for Wu Dao might be, not to mention her feelings for Perry? Fan Xiao’s advice still echoed in her memory – “Don’t fall in love” – sage advice from a girl she’d just met the night before, but who probably knew a lot more about love than she did.
“You’re right,” she said. Her hands began to tremble, and she folded her arms to conceal them under the pretense of a cold shiver. “I can have Li Li here in a few days.”
“So fast… how?” Jiang Xi seemed suddenly unprepared to receive a freshly minted teenager into his life.
“Andie and my mom are traveling in Japan with the children. They can put her on a plane to Seoul as soon as you give the word.”
“I will speak to my Korean friend.”
“Now tell me about the people who attacked us the other night. Was the Ministry behind it?” Emily already had a good idea who they were, at least one of them, maybe two, but she didn’t know who else might have had an interest in her.
“To find that out, I’d have to file a request to oversee a surveillance program in the domestic bureau. I can only do that so many times without raising questions about my interest.”
“Are you saying you haven’t already looked into it?”
“No, I filed the request. I just want you to be aware of the difficulty your relationship with Wu Dao creates for both of us.”
Emily stared at her running shoes, even considered kneeling so she could pretend to tighten the laces. It was foolish, she knew, this dalliance with Wu Dao, and she hardly knew why she bothered with him… and yet, somehow he had captivated her, his carelessness was like a mirror image of her own fatalism.
“I’m sorry to be so difficult… but the other day, when you told me how closely I am being watched, I just… it didn’t seem to make any sense to keep a low profile. I might as well shine as brightly as possible. Does that make sense?”
“It’s not that simple, Tenno sifu.” For whatever reason, Jiang reverted to older habits of speaking with her, adopting a hyper-respectful form of address. “The men who attacked you were not… The Ministry’s agents marked you at the stadium, and when they saw who you were with, they pulled back.”
“Who I was with? Do you mean Wu Dao?”
“No. If it were only him… they’d never let him out of their sight, if they could help it. But Miao Zhizheng… there are those in the domestic bureau who owe much to General Miao, and they would not wish to expose his son.”
“Expose him? Don’t they realize that removing the surveillance is what put him in danger?”
Jiang stared at her for a moment, weighing the expression on her face. “Perhaps, but this still doesn’t tell us who was behind the attack.”
The situation appeared to her an impenetrable tangle, and she wasn’t entirely convinced she understood what Jiang Xi was getting at, even though she thought she recognized the last man she’d fought off that night. Would it make sense to confide her suspicions to him, or did she owe the Feng family something, perhaps to protect the younger generation from this misstep? Young people acting without a compass because of the loss of older, wiser council… perhaps this is what the voice in her ear meant her to unders
tand, that she ought to protect the ones he no longer could.
And what of Li Li? Should she stand in the way of her return to China because of some abstract misgivings about Kitty’s demeanor, especially when the girl was so desperate for a sense of belonging? Emily’s track record as a psychological observer did not inspire confidence.
“Have your friend meet Li Li at Osan Air Force Base. We can work out the time once I’ve had a chance to talk it over with Andie.”
“An American base?”
“Yes. If we fly ‘Space-A’, on a military plane, it will limit access to her entry data, you know, in case anyone inquires… and if you’re planning to fly her into Beijing, I mean to be on the same flight.”
“Tenno sifu, it’s not necessary…”
“I haven’t watched over that girl for all these years just to turn her over to strangers. I’m not letting her out of my sight until she’s in your hands. You have until then to figure out how to break the news to Kitty.”
Jiang Xi bowed his head, and Emily ran off toward Daquingsi.
On Monday, the Renmin Ribao, or People’s Daily, came out, featuring a photo of Emily shaking hands with President Liang on the front page, which made her the apple of the ambassador’s eye. Jepsen smoldered every time one of his staff reminded him of the headline – Liang zhuxi honors Meiguoren – though not all of them could read it. He couldn’t even protest when the OPSCON tacked the official newspaper up on the bulletin board outside his office, and she celebrated with Margie at lunch – at least she hadn’t fallen from grace yet.
The fall came soon enough, that morning in fact, when the Deputy Chief of Mission brought in a few of the Hong Kong tabloids. Of course, the Apple Daily would splash photos of Wu Dao’s newest conquest across its front page. The thought that it might embarrass President Liang was probably a bonus, and the public ate up any news of the playboy son of the Beijing billionaire. But even the much more respectable Ming Pao News carried the story: “Pretty Meiguoren Captures Elusive Stag.”
The word came to her at Margie’s desk, where she often sought shelter from the intrusive glances of the Attaché staff. This was one of the advantages to Jepsen’s policy of freezing her out of any substantive work – she didn’t really have to spend much time in the basement.
“You’re needed downstairs.” Margie put the phone down, and tilted her head as if she’d just auditioned for a job as Emily’s social secretary, flashing a pert, professional smile.
“Oh, stop,” Emily said. “If you don’t want me here, just say so.”
“Don’t you worry your little head, sweetie. You’re always welcome… not in the way at all.”
“Maybe I should just move my desk up here, you know… it’d fit nicely in the corner by the window.”
“You have a desk now?”
“Am I needed downstairs, or wanted?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure they want you.”
They’d laugh about it later, over another lunch, and Margie would point out that “…at least the headline says you’re pretty.” When Jepsen slapped his hand down on the pages spread across his desk, and proceeded to give her a dressing down for “bringing dishonor to the Attaché office, the thought had already occurred to her – “They think I’m pretty.”
“You may have undone months of negotiations, Miss Tenno,” the Deputy Chief of mission said, having come down in person to oversee Jepsen’s theatrics.
“Don’t think this won’t go unnoticed in the Marine Commandant’s office,” Jepsen said.
“… or at State. The ambassador has been on the phone all morning, trying to salvage something from the Spratly Islands talks.”
Of course, it was serious, and Liang’s people would undoubtedly use it as an excuse to force extra concessions, perhaps even including some sort of recognition of the airstrip on Mischief Reef. If only she could tell herself it was part of an elaborate scheme of her own, something that might be worth something and that involved the tiniest bit of forethought. But even she had to admit that the fling with Wu Dao was the merest whimsy on her part.
Nyquist couldn’t be more pleased, as it turned out, since he couldn’t help assuming that she was making progress developing an asset. He met her in the corridor outside Jepsen’s office, where he’d been lurking for the previous few minutes.
“We do what we have to,” he’d said. “Not everyone in this building will understand, and you shouldn’t trouble yourself. I’ll need a progress report.”
“There’s nothing to report.” She was indignant at first, until she remembered Michael’s advice. Events seemed to swirl around her rather quickly. “He’s a tougher nut to crack than you’d expect.”
“What do you need?”
“One week’s leave. Can you arrange that?”
“What for?”
Of course, she really didn’t know what a truthful answer to this question might be. To get some relief from Jepsen, perhaps, or was she looking for cover so she could retrieve Li Li? Or did she just want some time to luxuriate in Wu Dao’s attentions? It was difficult not to let her mind drift into the fast lane of a few days spent on his arm, in his car, at fancy clubs… with him in the cold shower of her apartment. That last image snapped her back into Nyquist’s shabby office.
“I think a little jaunt may be what Wu Dao really needs. I was thinking of a romantic getaway, maybe to Japan.”
Nyquist tilted his head and rubbed his chin as he considered her request. “Fine. I’ll smooth it over with Jepsen.” He unlocked a drawer in a filing cabinet and retrieved a manila envelope marked “5k expenses” and held it out. “I’ll need to see receipts.”
“Have you forgotten? I’ll be on the arm of one of the wealthiest bachelors in the world. I don’t think I’ll need any petty cash.”
Sitting with Margie at one of the al fresco tables of the French bistro in the Rosewood was such a relief, after the vertiginous manipulations of the morning. She could barely focus on the oddity of having fine French cuisine in the heart of Beijing, though none of this was lost on her companion.
“This is such a splurge,” Margie said, looking at the menu.
“Don’t worry. This one’s on me.”
“I don’t know how you can afford a place like this on a marine’s pay.”
“I pay almost nothing in rent, remember… and there’s some family money.”
“In that case, I’m getting the sole meunière. What about you?”
“I’ll have the risotto.” Emily handed the menu back to the waiter, as Margie cocked an eyebrow. “What? I like rice.”
“Is that what you do when you’re out with him… order tofu, or something?”
“How bad was it upstairs?”
“The ambassador’s pretty steamed. I guess he thought you embarrassed him.”
“He’s embarrassed? He should try waking up with a naked man in his shower.”
Margie could barely keep from snorting tea through her nose. “Now, finally, I can picture that morning,” she said, once she’d recovered herself. “How is it you marines seem to have all the fun?”
“I guess it just comes with the billet.”
“I can’t believe you wangled a leave. How’s that happen, you know, with everyone so pissed at you?”
“They’re probably glad to get me out of their sight.”
“Are you going anywhere?”
“I’ll probably pop over to Japan.” Emily wished she could say what she was thinking out loud, that she would be relieved to see her family, and her kids, that she would use the occasion to bring Li Li over, and then release her into the custody of a woman she still hadn’t learned to trust, and that she’d have to figure out how to make Stone feel good about the whole thing. But she didn’t want to give Margie any information that might conflict with the stories she’d hear at work… and whatever the tabloids might print. “Maybe take Wu Dao to a spa.”
“Now that sounds more like it.”
19
The Sixty-Four Hands
Pretty much everything had been settled by the time Emily got on the subway home. A leave had been secured, a place to meet Andie and the kids had been decided upon, and Michael was confident they could find two seats on a military transport from Naha to Osan AFB outside of Seoul. The rest was up to Jiang Xi – communicating with his contact in the South Korean intelligence service, arranging transport from Seoul and, of course, breaking the news to Kit Yee.
All that remained was to ‘interest’ Wu Dao in a getaway weekend at a spa on Kyushu, the southern island of Japan. He would probably prefer Tokyo, and from more than one perspective that might be preferable, especially if she wanted to grab more headlines. But the thought had occurred to her that Yuki would be likely to notice color photos of her glaring from the cover of the Japanese tabloids. No, a spa in the backwoods of Kyushu was the more prudent choice, even though part of her really did want to spend a billionaire’s money in a whirlwind tour of one of the priciest cities in the world. She could just picture herself trying to pull him away from the bright lights of Shinjuku for a quiet moment’s meditation at the Meiji Jingu – or would he be the one trying to pull her away?
Now, with the sun coursing down the afternoon sky, and having held Nyquist and Jepsen at bay at the embassy – mainly by hiding out in Margie’s office for most of the morning – she was not in the mood for any further intrusions. A late afternoon run was what she craved, some quiet time to sort out her priorities, which even she recognized had become quite scrambled. But not all wishes are granted in this world. There, waiting for her on the front steps of her building, was the man himself. She needed to talk to him sooner or later, but did that moment really have to be now?
Girl Goes To Wudang (An Emily Kane Adventure Book 7) Page 19
