by F. J. Chase
The man asked the questions and the woman translated. “Please, sir,” the policewoman said in English. “I must interview you now. Are you able to speak?”
Avakian almost said no, but that would only be postponing the inevitable. “I can speak.”
Her English was British-accented, which for some reason was a little jarring coming from a Chinese uniform. She had a palm-sized digital voice recorder, but also took careful notes in a regular paper notebook.
As he told them what had happened everyone else in the room shut up and listened in. He could hear whispered translations going on in multiple languages.
After hearing the story the one question the Chinese asked him was, “Had you ever see this man before?”
“Never,” said Avakian. “Tell me, what happened with all the shooting?”
She closed her notebook and translated primly, “You will be informed at the appropriate time, sir. Do you need to go to hospital?”
Until that moment Avakian had almost forgotten he was in China. But that brought him back. He could only imagine what the nearest hospital must be like if there had been as many casualties as he thought. He’d be on a gurney out in a hall the rest of the night. “No, thank you. I do not need to go to the hospital.”
The guy in plainclothes, who might have been either a cop or State Security, now held up a plastic bag containing Avakian’s blackjack. And the translator asked, “This is yours?”
Ah, the Inspector Columbo moment: wait until the end, then spring the evidence on them. Avakian had mentioned hitting the maintenance man from behind. He hadn’t mentioned with what. “Yes,” he replied, since it wasn’t really a question.
“What is it, please?”
“A back scratcher,” Avakian said.
That provoked a conference in Chinese. “This is what?”
“A back scratcher. I suffer from dry skin.”
“This is a weapon.”
He almost said: then why did you ask me what it was. But what he actually said was, “Of course not. It’s not a knife or a gun. How can it be a weapon?”
Another conference. “This is a serious matter.”
“I know,” said Avakian. “My back is itching right now.”
More discussion. “This will not be returned to you.”
Avakian had been talking to the policewoman. Now he fixed his gaze on the plainclothesman. “You should be glad I had it with me.”
No more questions. The plainclothesman just turned around abruptly and left now that he was done. The policewoman didn’t seem to know quite what to do, so she gave him a little bow before trotting after her boss. Jozefa gave him two more pills that he downed eagerly, and kissed him on both cheeks.
Avakian thought he was doing surprisingly well with the ladies lately. Getting wounded with women around was obviously the way to go. Then he crashed again.
He had no idea how much time had passed when he was awakened again from a dreamless, drug-induced sleep by the voice of Russell Marquand. He opened his eyes and it really was Marquand. Jozefa was gone. As a matter of fact, everyone was gone. They were all alone in the dressing room. Him, Marquand, and Dave Kinney, the second in command of the Secretary of State’s bodyguard detail. “Have you been watching me sleep long?”
“To be honest, no,” said Marquand. “We pretty much just came in here and woke your ass up. How you doing?”
“I can’t believe this week I’m having,” Avakian groaned.
“Neither can anyone else,” said Marquand. “But I was really asking how you’re feeling.”
“I was a hurtin’ cowboy,” said Avakian. “But I’m better.” A Polish warm-up jacket was spread over him like a blanket. As he moved he heard the rattle and squeezed the pocket. There was a large bottle of pills in there. And something else. He pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. Well, he owed Jozefa flowers and chocolate, minimum. Though anything else would definitely have to wait until he healed up. And maybe did some serious training.
The ice packs were gone, and his right arm was in a sling strapped tightly to his torso, immobilizing the shoulder. It was hard to believe he hadn’t woken up for that. Good drugs. He raised his arm to look at his watch, but the crystal was shattered. “What time is it?”
“8:15,” said Marquand.
“I hope that’s PM,” Avakian said.
“Yeah, you slept through all the excitement,” said Marquand.
“No, I didn’t,” said Avakian. “If I had, I wouldn’t be this messed up.”
“Well, at least you didn’t jump on the grenade yourself,” said Marquand.
“That was a little farther down on my list of courses of action,” said Avakian. “Give me a hand up.”
They pulled him up into a sitting position. Avakian grabbed the side of the table as the room swirled around on him. His sinuses ached, and his nose felt like it was packed full of dried blood, but he didn’t want to blow it and risk bleeding again.
“Still a nice call in four seconds or less,” said Marquand.
“Necessity is the mother of invention,” said Avakian.
“I hear that,” said Marquand. “Witnesses said the guy you were on top of never came off the floor when the grenade went off. But you went about three feet in the air.”
“It felt higher,” said Avakian. “And I didn’t nail the landing.”
“Nobody got blown up, though,” Kinney broke in. “Except the guy who needed to.”
“Yeah, let’s all just forget about me,” said Avakian. Kinney always reminded him of a blond California surfer boy twenty years down the road. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but battered by too much sun and salt.
“How did you make him?” Marquand asked.
“I didn’t,” Avakian said.
“You didn’t?”
“It would probably boost my street cred if I said I did. But the truth is he stepped out of a door right in front of me. The Avakian luck. If there’s some shit, I’ll step in it. Now what was the deal with all the gunfire?”
“You don’t know?” said Marquand.
“I hardly would have asked it I did,” said Avakian. “I’ve been a little out of the loop.”
“The grenade went off,” said Marquand. “Everyone, and I do mean everyone, went for their guns. The exact details are a little hazy, but it seems that a couple of the Taiwanese security men started shooting. And they shot their own guy.”
“The president?” said Avakian, amazed.
“Dead,” said Marquand.
“No shit?” said Avakian.
“He goes down,” said Marquand. “Then the Chinese security detail opens up on them, and it’s Reservoir Dogs all over again. You’ve got both details shooting at each other point-blank. Twelve dead so far, over twenty wounded. There was lead ricocheting all over that tunnel. Turns out you were in about the safest place, down on the deck.”
“Yeah, it sure felt like that,” said Avakian.
“Everyone’s trying to figure out whether the president got shot accidentally or on purpose,” said Marquand. “And all the people who could answer that for sure happen to be dead.”
“This is going to make the Kennedy assassination look cut and dried,” said Kinney. “The conspiracy theorists will get off on it forever.”
“Panicking and shooting into the crowd is easy,” said Avakian, groaning again as he shifted position on the table. “Panicking and shooting the principal you’re there to protect is hard. So I’m guessing some part of the Taiwan security establishment decided they didn’t like snuggling up to Beijing, and decided to have themselves a little coup. And decided that here was the perfect place for it—let your traditional enemy take the rap and get stuck with the cleanup. Maybe they even had a little help from some Chinese.”
“I was saying a few prayers that wouldn’t turn out to be the case,” said Marquand. “Once again they’re not answered. You haven’t mentioned your little theory to anyone, have you?”
“Are you k
idding?” said Avakian. “And I won’t, either.”
“But what about the grenade?” said Kinney. “You throw a grenade that might take out your own assassins? I don’t get it.”
“It was a concussion grenade,” said Avakian.
“Okay,” said Marquand.
“You mean a stun grenade?” said Kinney.
“No,” said Avakian. “Our good old American hand grenade you’re thinking about is one size fits all. Kills you within five meters, wounds you within fifteen, and beyond that the fragments slow down to where they’re not lethal. Other parts of the world they issue an offensive grenade and a defensive grenade. Defensive sends fragments out a good long way, so you throw that from behind solid cover. Offensive is just explosive. So you can throw it while you’re rushing forward in the assault without fragging yourself. It has to land right next to you to be lethal, but the blast knocks everyone off their pins until you can close in and finish them off. It was an old Russian RG42 concussion, or the Chinese copy. Just TNT in a tin can. Literally.”
“You sure about that?” said Marquand.
“Believe me, I got a real close look at it,” said Avakian. “And we used to see them in El Salvador all the time.”
“You tell anyone about that?” said Marquand.
“That I told them about,” said Avakian.
“So they plan on throwing the grenade,” said Kinney. “Toss it maybe in the middle of all the press. It goes off, lots of blast and smoke. All the cameras swing in that direction. And in the confusion the Taiwan security guys shoot their own president.”
“And maybe even get away with it,” said Marquand. “If they’re carrying a couple of throwaway pistols they can drop on the ground.”
“But the grenade doesn’t go off the way it’s supposed to,” said Kinney.
“Thanks to our boy here,” said Marquand.
“But they start shooting anyway?” said Kinney, as if he couldn’t quite believe that part.
“I suppose you’ve got to admire having the balls to stick to the plan no matter what,” said Marquand.
“Face,” said Avakian.
They both looked at him.
“You’re given the plan by your superiors,” said Avakian. “Something unexpected happens, you still stick to it. Because it was the plan given to you by your superiors. How do you think we beat the Japanese? Face.”
“This is going to be such a fucking mess,” Marquand breathed. He looked up at the ceiling. “Thank you, God, for not dropping this one in my lap.”
“All your clean living finally pays off,” Avakian said dryly. He gingerly slid off the edge of the massage table and tested his ability to stand. So far so good. Unless he missed his guess, his jacket, tie and shirt were in the plastic bag under the table, thanks to Jozefa. So the Polish warm-up jacket was going to have to do. Nice souvenir anyway. “Can we get out of here?”
“We can,” said Marquand. “Chinese are holding the whole damn stadium incommunicado until they’re sure they’re not letting any co-conspirators go. But that’s not my problem. The Secretary of State’s back at the embassy already.”
“If it’s not your problem,” said Avakian, “it’s certainly not mine. Besides, I’m starving.”
“The embassy cafeteria can cure that,” said Marquand. “I’ll even buy.”
“The embassy cafeteria?” Avakian said, without any enthusiasm whatsoever. “I was thinking more along the lines of some Korean barbecue. I know a good place, and you can still buy.”
“Keep thinking,” said Marquand. “But you’re going back to the embassy. I don’t think the shit is done hitting the fan for a good long while yet.”
5
“This is really good,” said Kinney, digging into a container.
The three of them were seated around Marquand’s desk, cartons of food spread across the top. Traumatized by the thought of the embassy cafeteria, Avakian had talked them into stopping along the way. Unfortunately, Korean barbecue didn’t lend itself to takeout, since the meat was traditionally brought to your table raw and you grilled it yourself over a brazier. But a Xinjiang restaurant was the next best thing. They roasted their meat on skewers. No pork though—it was the Muslim part of China.
They’d sent Marquand’s driver in for it, which was funny because in China Chinese takeout wasn’t all that common. You either went out to eat or you cooked at home. So the driver had to be persuasive and show them the color of Marquand’s money.
Marquand was eyeing the meat on the end of his fork suspiciously. “You sure this is lamb?”
Avakian had to finish chewing the steamed sesame bun impaled on the end of his chopsticks before he could reply. “Of course it’s lamb. You’re just not used to the cumin. Or having your lamb barbecued.”
“It’s really good,” Kinney offered, popping another kebab-sized chunk of meat into his mouth.
Marquand shot him a dirty look and nibbled a microscopic bit off the end of his lamb. “What if it’s rat?”
“That all depends on whether they’re free-range or cage-raised,” said Avakian.
Marquand returned his meat to the plate and moved over to the thin hand-pulled noodles.
Avakian shook his head. “I’m sure the cafeteria would be happy to whip you up a grilled cheese on white bread, with some nice orange processed American cheese flown in from the States at government expense.”
“Should you be mixing that with those meds?” Marquand asked, now turning his eye to the bottle of dark Xinjiang beer Avakian was drinking.
“After the day I had?” Avakian said. “I need all the muscle relaxant I can get.”
“What did the Poles give you, anyway?”
“No idea. But whatever the stuff is, it works. And I’m willing to bet it doesn’t even show up on a urine test.”
“Here we go,” said Kinney, watching the TV. “Something’s coming up.”
Marquand’s TV was tuned to CNN International. It was no accident they were watching that instead of reading the Top Secret message traffic off the printer. Even the CIA relied on CNN for breaking news rather than their people on the ground.
There were tanks on the streets of Taiwan’s capital, Taipei. “Uh-oh,” said Avakian. “Nothing says coup like tanks.”
The reporter was an English-speaking Chinese. Obviously Taiwan hadn’t been considered a news hotspot. Until today.
“Did I hear that right?” said Kinney. “Taiwan is accusing the Chinese of assassinating their president?”
“Not looking to defuse the situation, are they?” said Marquand. “Looking to start something is more like it.”
“They’re playing with fire,” said Kinney. And then after a short pause for further reflection, “And they think they can get away with it because the Chinese won’t do anything to screw up their economic boom.”
“Taiwan wouldn’t be that stupid,” said Marquand. Then he had his own short pause. “What am I saying? They arranged to kill their own president in Beijing.”
He was clutching his stomach, and Avakian didn’t think it was the lamb. “History, my friends, is the story of human miscalculation.”
The CNN anchor broke in to report that Taiwan’s national defense minister had just announced he was forming a provisional government.
“They seem to have misplaced their vice president somewhere,” said Marquand.
“Nothing like sitting at ground zero while history is being made,” said Avakian. “I’m starting to get an idea what it must have been like in Sarajevo.”
“The Winter Olympics?” said Kinney.
Avakian almost spit his food out laughing, and Marquand leaned forward and mock-slammed his forehead into the desktop. “You had to have been a phys ed major,” he told Kinney. “Not Sarajevo 1984, you idiot. Sarajevo 1914.”
“Sorry, but I’m still drawing a blank,” said Kinney.
“The assassination of Franz Ferdinand?” said Avakian. “Archduke of Austria-Hungary? The kickoff for World War I?”
&
nbsp; “Oh,” said Kinney.
“I guess that’s what they did in 1914,” said Avakian. “Sit there with their mouths open and say, oh.”
“I think I had better start putting together an evacuation plan,” said Marquand. “Just in case.” He turned to Avakian. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Besides helping you with the plan? Probably wondering what’s going to happen next.”
6
“Are you sure you want to go out to eat?” Avakian asked.
“You mean it would be a lot safer to have dinner in the Olympic Village,” said Doctor Rose.
“That’s a definite consideration.”
“No one’s moved from in front of a TV since Taiwan declared independence this morning. Half the people around here say there’s going to be a real war, the other half that there’ll only be a war of words. What do you think?”
“The Chinese are hard to predict,” said Avakian.
“I appreciate your concern. But I’d really like to go out. As long as you think it’s safe.”
Avakian did think about it. He’d wanted to give her an out in case she was scared, but was actually kind of interested to see what Beijing would be like. He doubted there’d be any problems. “Let’s go.”
It had been raining on and off all day, and every time it did the water turned to steam on the hot pavement. It was just misting now as they walked out of the Continental Grand Hotel with the last of the sun slipping away. The overcast made the evening less hot but much more humid. Avakian was carrying an umbrella. Because a gentleman didn’t let his date get rained on, of course, but if the weather report said rain he always carried one. He’d been rained on all over the world and didn’t care to be wet again without a very good reason.
Doctor Rose was wearing a dark dress suit with a simple blouse and string of pearls. Her usual brown pageboy was looking a little fluffier than usual, a little less businesslike. Avakian was pleased to see her skirt end just above her knees. He hated it when women were neurotic about their legs and wore skirts so long even their ankles weren’t visible—he’d never seen a woman who looked good in a floor-length skirt. Evening gown, yes; skirt, no. The doctor had great legs, too. With those calves she must be a runner. And she was wearing flats for him. A sweet gesture, but standing next to taller women didn’t bother him. Nonetheless, all the omens seemed favorable. “You look lovely tonight.”
