Darkness Under Heaven

by F. J. Chase

  The cops had obviously found the camera bag, because there was a little knot of them standing around on the grass right where Avakian had last seen it. “I think the camera bag is over there,” he said, pointing.

  As they both walked up the ring of police parted, revealing the bag. The contents had all been removed and laid neatly out on the grass.

  The cops were smiling proudly. Avakian fought to stifle his own grin. Commissioner Zhou finished acknowledging his patrolmen’s salutes, looked down at the bag, blinked in disbelief, and then exploded himself.

  So much for fingerprints or DNA, Avakian thought. No doubt everyone had pitched in to make the display look nice for the brass. And it really did. It reminded him of inspection day at Fort Benning, everything all perfectly covered and aligned.

  It took Commissioner Zhou a while to wind up his tantrum. Whether it was for mishandling evidence, or making him lose face before the foreign devil, or both, Avakian was pretty sure he’d never know.

  In the interim he bent down to take a closer look at the gear. Professional quality Nikon digital setup. Couple of extra lenses, couple of extra memory cards, lens cleaning gear. And a notebook. That he had no intention of touching. But there might just be something there.

  3

  “No way,” said Avakian.

  Russell Marquand seemed to take the rejection in stride. “I think you’re forgetting that I am, in fact, your employer.”

  “Check the job description in my contract,” Avakian replied. “You won’t find it there. A contract that, by the way, has a week left to run. So feel free to fire me.”

  If that wasn’t the usual employer-employee banter, that was because they had known each other since 1997, when Avakian was still in the army and both of them had been trying to keep the U.S. Embassy in Freetown, Sierra Leone, from being overrun during the civil war there.

  “I figured that would be coming next,” said Marquand. He was a man who had crossed the Rubicon of age fifty. The comb had more hair in it every morning, and the suits didn’t fit so good anymore because he spent too much time in an office chair. “I have to deal with the Chinese every day, and now I have to take crap from you?”

  “Oh, you’re breaking my heart,” said Avakian. “You saying this plum posting isn’t so plum? The Chinese been mean to you?”

  “Just once I’d like to know what it feels like to come to work in the morning and find out that they haven’t tried to pull a fast one, aren’t being obstructive for no other reason than the sheer unmitigated bitching joy of being obstructive. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”

  “In your job it is,” Avakian replied. “They’re letting you know they’re for real. They’re letting you know it’s their town, they’re running the show, and they’re not going to lay down for the big, powerful U.S. of A. They’re making sure you never take their cooperation for granted.”

  Marquand just stared at him for a second. “So basically, you’re saying the Chinese are my wife, and I need to send them flowers?”

  Avakian burst out laughing. “Not exactly, but it’s not a bad way of looking at it. But I don’t think flowers would do you any good.” Then he paused, still grinning appreciatively. “Might not hurt, though.”

  “Okay, that was a nice little amusing interlude,” said Marquand. “Now I need you to help me out on this.”

  “I feel your pain, I really do. But the answer is still no.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re having such a problem with this.”

  “Probably because it’s a job for one of the Citizen Services Consuls. Or whatever young sprout you’ve got hanging around here who just passed the foreign service exam.”

  “Oh, so it’s beneath you. You never got anyone out of jail before?”

  “Plenty of times. About twenty-three years ago when I was a lieutenant. Wait a minute. I did it once when I was a major. But that was just so I could fire a dumbass staff sergeant personally. Because if you’re not smart enough to keep your ass out of jail, you’re too dumb to wear a green beret.”

  “A heartwarming tale.”

  “And the moral of it is, I am not getting some bitch-kitten Paris Hilton girl gymnast out of jail for you. It’s a simple chore. Send one of your large-necked security people to do it.”

  “The Chinese are making an issue of it.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “And they asked for you. Personally.”

  Avakian’s expression was pure exasperation. “You couldn’t have told me that at the beginning? You don’t have enough heartburn, you have to manufacture your own?”

  “I appreciate you absolving yourself of responsibility for my heartburn. Why would the Chinese ask for you?”

  “Because we’re like this now,” Avakian said, holding up two crossed fingers. “Hermanos.”

  “Seriously.”

  “They’re killing two birds with one stone. They release the notorious girl gymnast whose release everyone is screaming for, and they’re going to release her to me personally so I get the credit and I’m obligated to them.”

  “Will you be?”

  Avakian shook his head. “You’re only obligated if you acknowledge the obligation.”

  “I’m not even going to pretend I understand that.”

  “You should try to get more sleep.”

  “So will you do it?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’ll do it,” said Marquand.

  “You might want to get your hearing checked the same time you deal with that learning disability,” Avakian observed.

  “What makes the Chinese asking for you enough to change your mind?”

  “Because whenever the Chinese have an ulterior motive it’s worth finding out what it is. Maybe they have some information on my little chase they want to share with me.”

  “By the way, the CIA decided that stadium recon was nothing to be worried about.”

  “They would,” said Avakian. “Do yourself a favor—put your money on the CIA. After all, it’s not like they’ve blown the call on every major crisis of the last fifty years or anything.”

  Marquand paused to give that some thought, then decided not to comment. “You really think the Chinese want to pass you something else? Washington went nuts on the Taiwan thing. I really don’t need my life any more complicated right now.”

  “Oh don’t worry, I understand perfectly. We’ll forget all about the Taiwan question maybe getting resolved after sixty years of tension. I’ll make sure I let the Chinese know this is all about you.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. And USA Gymnastics is also grateful. By the way, they want you to take someone along with you.”

  “Forget about it. Deal breaker. No mothers, no coaches, no suits, no reality TV crews. Dealing with the Chinese on this is going to be hard enough.”

  “They want you to take a doctor.”

  “A doctor? Did the Chinese work her over?”

  “No idea,” said Marquand. “Same as I have no idea why they want to send a doctor with you. Just that they do. Are you going to argue about that, too?”

  Avakian rolled his eyes. “Okay. How long am I going to have to wait around for this doctor to show up?”

  “You mean the lady sitting outside? The one you walked right past.”

  “Her? She’s a doctor?”

  “Yeah, one of the team physicians. Doctor Rose.”

  “Really? Interesting. I’m kind of relieved to hear she’s a doctor.”

  “Now what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Well, I saw her at the embassy party. The one to welcome the team to China? She just struck me as a little…well, severe.”

  Now Marquand was amused. “What?”

  “I pictured her as some kind of no-nonsense, tightly-wound coach. Very focused, with that low-maintenance hairstyle—essential makeup only look. You know, puts on sunblock to get the mail? Makes little girl gymnasts cry, runs ultramarathons for fun, vegan, every conversation’s a
lecture. Wouldn’t crack a smile if Robin Williams spent the weekend at her house. Drives a car that runs on used French fry oil, writes an angry letter to the editor every time the circus comes to town. That’s just what I thought. But being a doctor puts a whole different spin on it.”

  “Do you do this for everyone you meet?”

  “I just noticed her, that’s all.”

  “Then it’s good you’re not into making snap judgments about people. By the way, the team is very anxious to have this taken care of.”

  “I’m pretty sure I got that part,” Avakian said. “What did our gymnast do, anyway? I’ve heard about five different stories.”

  “Shoplifting. Got caught, pitched a tantrum, started throwing stuff. Then slapped a cop.”

  “That’ll do it,” said Avakian. “Contempt of cop is the one offense that always lands you in jail. So there’s face involved. Anything else? Want me to wash your car while I’m at it?”

  “No, thanks. I think this ought to cover it for now.”

  Marquand opened his door and disappeared into the outer office. Avakian was glad he’d at least smiled and said hello to her on his way in.

  Marquand returned with the doctor. “Doctor Rose, Pete Avakian.”

  She extended her hand. “Judith Rose.”

  Judith, Avakian thought. Any tighter and her ass would squeak when she walked. So much for snap judgments. He looked up into the brown eyes that were about two inches higher than his and took the hand lightly. “Nice to meet you, Doc.” She was most certainly the palest white girl on the face of the earth. But she had really big eyes.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” said Marquand. “Call me when it’s done.”

  “Almost forgot,” said Avakian. “Where’s she being held?”

  “The Beijing Bureau of Public Security downtown.”

  “Oh, then they are pissed,” said Avakian. “The one just south of the national ministry building, right?”

  “Yeah, the city police headquarters.”

  “Have somebody call and tell them we’re on our way over.”

  “You think that’ll make the wait any shorter?” said Marquand.

  “May make it longer,” said Avakian. “Depends on what kind of mood they’re in. But we can always hope for shorter.” He motioned toward the door. “Doc?”

  On the way through the outer office she grabbed a leather medical bag that had been sitting on the sofa.

  “Now, I haven’t seen one of those in a long time,” Avakian said.

  “My Marcus Welby bag?” said Doctor Rose. “Let’s hope the American Medical Association doesn’t hear about me making a house call.”

  What do you know, Avakian thought. Maybe it wasn’t so tight after all. “I was going to say, the last time I saw one of those was when Doctor Crowley made house calls when I was a kid.”

  “Mine was Doctor McGee. He was a chain-smoker.”

  Avakian chuckled. “Mine, too. We’ve just dated ourselves, I’m afraid.”

  She looked at him and smiled. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  I’ll bet you aren’t, either, Avakian thought.

  “It’s basically sat in my closet since medical school. But in this job I carry it all the time, and lately I’ve been thinking about moving everything over to one of those knockoff Prada bags I see everywhere around here. What do you think?”

  “Well, I’ve got to come down on the side of old school,” said Avakian. “You see that bag you’ve got right now, you’re reassured. If Wyatt Earp had carried his six-gun in a Prada bag, he’d still be Wyatt Earp but would everyone have respected the law the same way?”

  There was a moment of silence, then Doctor Rose said, “Now, am I Wyatt Earp in this, or are you saying I need to carry a gun in my bag?”

  It didn’t happen often, but against his will a wide grin spread itself across Avakian’s face. “Clearly, I have no gift for analogy.”

  “My mistake may have been thinking fashion instead of psychology,” she said.

  “That always trips everyone up,” said Avakian. “Besides, you’d probably be leaving a trail of medical supplies behind you when the seams let go. All the best counterfeits go overseas.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Actually, yes. The middle class here gets bigger every year, but the export machine still takes the lion’s share of everything.”

  “That’s interesting. It must explain why everyone’s been complaining about the shopping.”

  “It’s kind of like South Korea in the ’80s. Back then tourists went shopping for mink blankets, twenty-dollar leather jackets, and two-dollar Ralph Lauren polo shirts. Now all that stuff is over here in China and the Koreans are fighting the Japanese over high-end consumer electronics.”

  They emerged from the elevator.

  “I came in Mr. Marquand’s car,” said Doctor Rose.

  “We’ll go in mine,” said Avakian. “If we took his and got stuck there, I’d be hearing about it all day tomorrow.”

  “Is there anything I need to know?” she said abruptly.

  “Sorry, but I don’t have any medical information. Her name is Brandi something, right?”

  “Oh, yes,” the doctor said dryly. “Definitely Brandi. Brandi Pressley.”

  “Any relation to The King?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. But just to backtrack for a moment, I wasn’t asking about medical information. I was thinking about protocol. I have no idea what I should be doing.”

  “Oh, there won’t be much of that,” said Avakian. “Everyone we’ll deal with will either speak English or have a translator. I’ll give you a few tips, though. If you already know any of this, stop me. For a greeting, a slight bow and say Ni Hao.”

  “Ni Hao.”

  “Perfect.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “In Mandarin, literally: you good? Don’t offer a handshake unless they do first. Most everyone follows the Western way now, but a few traditionalists and more than a few rabid nationalists with attitude problems don’t. If they do want to shake, throw in another little bow along with it. Slight, not deep. Bow deep and you’re conceding you don’t have status. If someone wants to exchange business cards, offer yours with both hands. One handed is considered rude. If you’re used to talking with your hands, try not to. It’s considered arrogant. That’s about it.”

  “I’ve heard some of this, but I’ve always been afraid of messing up.”

  “Better to make the effort rather than come off as arrogant or oblivious.”

  “You mean a typical American?”

  “Yeah, basically,” said Avakian. “Okay, other than that, when we get there I might have to leave you alone for a bit. But you won’t be alone for long. Some pleasant English-speaking Chinese is going to show up and be absolutely fascinated by everything about you. Good rule of thumb is to be polite, but never tell them anything you wouldn’t want to have in your permanent Chinese intelligence file.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” said Avakian. “The Chinese will sock it all away on the off chance you might be of some use to them two days or twenty years from now.”

  “Wow.”

  “Americans never think about stuff like that. But these are serious people. You make a new friend, they ask you for an official gymnastics team handbook or something. You get it for them, and they give you a nice gift in return. You keep doing back and forth favors, thinking nothing of it. Then one day they ask you for some confidential team document, because it’s going to help them out with their boss. You think: what’s the harm? So you hand it over, and this time they give you money in return. You don’t know the ways of the East, you’re feeling awkward, but you don’t want to offend anyone so you take it. Next time you meet they show you a photo from a hidden camera of you handing over the document and taking money. And guess what? You’re now a Chinese spy.”

  She was looking at him with a definite sparkle of excitement in her eyes. “That’s how it happens?”r />
  “Just that easy. Americans in particular walk right into it—they’re the innocents abroad.”

  “This is my first experience with international intrigue.”

  “I may have raised your expectations a little too high,” Avakian said. “I doubt it will be all that intriguing.”

  His car was waiting right outside the back entrance. He held the door open for her. “Doctor Rose, my driver Kangmei.”

  “Ni Hao,” said the doctor.

  “Good day, missus,” Kangmei said gruffly.

  “What did I tell you about smoking in here with the windows up and the air on?” Avakian demanded as he ran the windows down to let some fresh polluted Beijing air into the car.

  Kangmei only grunted.

  “Every day that goes by, my parting gift to Kangmei keeps getting smaller and smaller.” Avakian directed those words to Doctor Rose, but loud enough for his driver to hear. “He’s working on a nice firm goodbye handshake right now.”

  Kangmei grunted again.

  The doctor leaned in toward him and whispered, “Is Kangmei his first or last name?”

  That was some really nice perfume, Avakian thought. “First. But in China it goes in the opposite direction. He’s Sun Kangmei. Which would be Mr. Sun, if I ever had reason to call him that.”

  “So Yao Ming?”

  “Mr. Yao.”

  “Yao Ming?” Kangmei demanded, leaning over the seat toward them with rare enthusiasm. The Houston Rockets center had a fanatical fan following in China.

  “Drive,” Avakian ordered. “Beijing Public Security Bureau, not the ministry headquarters.” Then to the doctor, “Believe me, you don’t want to get him started on Yao.”

  “Sorry,” she said. Then, in another whisper. “Does his name mean anything?”

  “Yao Ming?”

  “Kangmei.”

  “It means anti-American,” Avakian replied, not in a whisper.

  Doctor Rose laughed nervously. “Really?”

  “Very popular Cold War name, back in the day. Bit of a business liability now. But don’t worry about it. Kangmei’s rude to everyone, not just Americans.”

  “I take it you didn’t hire him.”

  “No, and I can’t fire him, either.” She had a very delicate, fine-boned face. That was probably what made her eyes look so big. “Are you buckled in?”