Flower Net

by Lisa See

  “Protect you? I wasn’t protecting you.”

  “You were and you know it.”

  In the front seat, Peter was all ears. Hulan snapped, “Drive!”

  “Where to?”

  “The offices of the China Land and Economics Corporation.”

  Wordlessly, Peter backed out of the space and pulled out of the compound.

  Hulan refused to look at David. Her voice when it came was low and bitter. “You have always tried to shield me.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You interrupted my questioning!”

  “Maybe I did. But consider this. He doesn’t like you. He wasn’t going to answer your questions. Why do you suppose that is?”

  She turned to face him. He could see the tension around her mouth as she spoke. “This is my country and my case.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t mean to spoil your day or anything, but you haven’t gotten very far with it. In fact, you wouldn’t have been in there at all if it weren’t for me.”

  “Do you know why I hate you, David Stark? It’s because you argue like a lawyer.”

  “I am a lawyer, and you are too.”

  She turned away again.

  “I guess we’re having our first fight,” David mused. When she didn’t respond, he said, “Although I guess it isn’t really our first…”

  She whipped around again, but this time instead of anger he saw the same caution he had seen the day before at the Ministry of Public Security. Her eyes motioned to the back of Peter’s head.

  David continued blithely. “Of course, in my country, colleagues always disagree. That is part of an investigation, part of a trial. We are here under unusual circumstances. I think it would be best if we try to be aware of our different methods and work together.”

  “Quite.”

  “Tell me, Inspector Liu, has the ambassador changed at all since you last met him?”

  “He’s still an arrogant American.”

  “So that’s why you provoked him?”

  Hulan finally smiled. She glanced toward Peter, who had eschewed his colorful epithets in favor of eavesdropping. “In the MPS, we have a lot of leeway in how we interview witnesses.”

  “So I’ve heard,” David said dryly.

  “But I try to let witnesses speak for themselves. We are a reticent people, Mr. Stark. Everyone in this country understands the power of the MPS, but sometimes no pressure delivers better than domination. I think of it as the power of silence.”

  “I do that too. A witness feels compelled to fill the void. I get some of my best stuff that way.”

  “Yes, there’s that, but I’m talking about something more. In China, to be allowed your own thoughts, to be allowed the freedom to speak when you want, creates a situation where your guard is down, where your thoughts begin to flow.”

  “You think that wouldn’t work with the ambassador?”

  “Americans have all the freedom they want, perhaps even too much. I think the ambassador would use that kind of silence to come up with a good story.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I look at that man and see a politician. Nothing more, nothing less. I think you just don’t like him.”

  “That’s true. There’s something about that man that—what’s the American phrase?—rubs me the wrong way.”

  “I’d say it’s the other way around,” David said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Going back to my original question, is he different?”

  “He acts the same—the same bluster certainly.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as a man in mourning.”

  “People deal with grief in many ways,” Hulan said thoughtfully.

  She turned to stare out at the traffic. Peter sent an eloquent string of curses out his window.

  The headquarters of the China Land and Economics Corporation was a shimmering tower of glass and white granite. The lobby contained a photographic exhibit of the conglomerate’s many ventures: dams holding back treacherous rivers, satellites hurtling through space, munitions coming off an assembly line, thousands of workers manufacturing tennis shoes, wholesome peasants using modern equipment to increase farm productivity, doctors prescribing medicines to smiling mothers and their children. In the center of the lobby, glass and chrome cases highlighted different divisions and subsidiaries of the China Land and Economics Corporation. The Ten Thousand Clouds Company manufactured parkas, rain hats, and galoshes; the Time Today Company created Chinese-red clocks that showed the minute and hour hands as the arms of prominent politicians; the Panda Brand Pharmaceutical Company packaged ginseng, herbal powders, dried flowers, and shredded deer antlers.

  David and Hulan were shown directly into Guang Mingyun’s elegant office. Streamlined rosewood furniture glowed warmly. Several large bouquets of tuberoses and rubellum lilies filled the room with their fragrance. The art on the walls—crimson canvases with ideograms rendered in stark black—provided a dramatic and thoroughly modern counterpoint to the view, which looked out over the bloodred walls of the Forbidden City.

  “Huanying, huanying,” Guang Mingyun said as he stood to greet them. “Welcome, welcome.” He easily switched to flawless English.

  “How do you do, Mr. Guang?” Hulan said. “Let me present to you Assistant United States Attorney David Stark.”

  “I am indebted to you for coming so far. But please, please sit down. Have you eaten yet? Do you drink tea?”

  “Mr. Guang, we have eaten. Yes, we drink tea, but we had some just before we came,” Hulan said.

  As Guang Mingyun continued his banter with Hulan over whether or not she “drank tea,” David could see why the businessman had been so successful. Patrick O’Kelly had told him that Guang was seventy-two, but he presented himself as a man in the prime of life—dynamic, physically fit, astute. His handshake was strong. He was the first Chinese whom David had met—and admittedly he hadn’t met that many—who didn’t seem to worry that someone might be listening in on him. The sadness in his brown eyes gave the only indication of mourning.

  “You will drink tea,” Guang Mingyun decided, and his secretary discreetly backed out of the room.

  Hulan, her hands poised delicately on her lap, said softly, “Mr. Guang, we are so sorry to come at this time…”

  “I want to offer you and Attorney Stark as much information as I can.”

  “Do you have any idea how your son came to be on the China Peony?”

  “I have never heard of this boat and I’m sure my son hadn’t either. I am most confused by this and cannot explain it.”

  “Are you aware, Mr. Guang, that your son’s death may be connected to that of the American ambassador’s son?”

  “I am, but I am confused by this as well. How could this terrible thing have happened to both Billy and my son?”

  “You knew Billy Watson?” David asked, incredulous.

  “Of course I knew Billy Watson. He was my son’s best friend. They were always together.”

  Without missing a beat, Hulan asked, “Tell me about them. How did they know each other? What did they do together?”

  Guang Mingyun’s voice dropped as he described the relationship between the boys. The two had met the summer after Ambassador Watson was appointed. Guang Mingyun had hosted a party at his compound and the entire Watson family had attended. The two boys had quickly become friends. And soon Billy was a frequent visitor to the Guangs’ compound in Beijing and their vacation villa at the shore in Beidaihe.

  The conversation paused when Guang Mingyun’s secretary entered. She poured the tea into Cantonware cups exquisitely decorated with hand-painted scenes of women and pagodas. She set out dishes of watermelon seeds, peanuts, and salted plums. As soon as she left, Guang Mingyun resumed his story. When Henglai graduated from Middle School Number 4—the academy that catered to the sons of important Beijing families—he applied to and was accepted by the University of Southern California. Guang Mingyun had allo
wed his son to travel to Los Angeles only because Billy Watson would be attending the college as well. When Henglai decided that he no longer wanted to pursue his studies but return to Beijing, Guang Mingyun couldn’t have been more delighted. “My son was precious to my wife and me. We never liked to have him away from home.”

  “When he came home, what did he do? Did he work for you?”

  “My son is not interested in business, but he is young,” Guang Mingyun answered, slipping into the present tense. “He has his own apartment. He has his own friends. He is still a boy—young, not like when you were growing up, Inspector, or I was growing up. Times are different today. These children, they don’t understand the struggle. They don’t understand hard work. So I think, if he wants to have fun with his friends, especially with Billy, what harm can come of it? These days relationships between the two countries should be encouraged. We can all profit from those friendships, and, in the meantime, my son will grow up.”

  “Is there any possibility that your son was trying to escape to America?” Hulan asked. “Did he want to emigrate?”

  “No, he had everything he could want here.”

  “Some young people want to leave China.”

  “Inspector Liu, if you are trying to get me to say something against our country, that will not happen. My son had every chance in China. And besides, he could travel back and forth to America whenever he wanted.”

  “You mean he still traveled to America?”

  “Oh, yes.” Guang Mingyun stood, went to his desk, and opened it. “I have my son’s passport here. You can see, he had no trouble getting visas. That’s because he always came home.”

  Hulan took the passport but didn’t open it. “May I keep this?”

  “Of course.”

  Hulan slipped the passport into her purse, then asked, “Tell me about his friends.”

  “What can I tell you? You know who they are. You know where to find them.”

  “Mr. Guang, I thank you for your help.” Hulan rose to leave.

  “Excuse me,” David said. “But I have a few questions. What are your business ties in the United States?”

  Immediately, David felt the atmosphere in the room change. Hulan sat back down, resumed her pose, but looked away, as though she weren’t part of the conversation. Guang Mingyun’s full lips tightened to a slit.

  “I have business ventures in the United States, but I don’t know how they could have anything to do with your investigation.”

  “I think it’s important to explore all the possibilities,” David said. “Your son was found on a boat allegedly owned by the Rising Phoenix. Are you familiar with that gang?”

  “No.”

  “You have never heard of the Rising Phoenix?”

  “I have heard of them, of course, but I am not familiar with them.”

  “Tell me, who runs your business ventures in the United States?”

  Guang Mingyun sighed. “The China Land and Economics Corporation is a very large company, what you would call a worldwide conglomerate. I don’t know all of my associates by name. If you wish, I can have my secretary compile a list for you.”

  “And your personal connections in the United States?”

  Guang Mingyun switched to Chinese and spoke to Hulan. She answered, then looked away again. “I have relatives in Los Angeles who left China before Liberation,” Guang Mingyun answered coolly. “I have never met them, but they offered hospitality to my son during his visits.”

  “And their names?”

  “They have nothing to do with this.”

  “Please answer the question.”

  “My secretary will provide you with that list as well.”

  “I understand you’re quite involved in the import/export trade.”

  “I am,” Guang Mingyun agreed with false modesty. “I bring in a little of this and send out a little of that.”

  “Such as…”

  “We have brought in luxury cars. Mercedes, Cadillacs, Peugeots, Saabs. We send out shoes, T-shirts, furs, toys, Christmas ornaments. Much of this work is done in the interior.”

  “Which province?” Hulan asked.

  “Sichuan,” Guang Mingyun answered.

  “It is good that you are bringing prosperity—”

  David was not about to be sidetracked by more of Hulan’s pleasantries. “How about immigrants? Are they one of your exports?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Are you aware, Mr. Guang, that the Rising Phoenix is reputed to have deposits in the Chinese Overseas Bank in California?”

  “I would not have knowledge of that.”

  “But you are aware that you own the bank.”

  “It is one of my businesses.”

  Hulan shifted in her seat. “Mr. Guang, you must forgive our American friend’s ways. I feel I must assure you that the Ministry of Public Security is not aware”—her emphasis of the word underscored her seeming distaste for the American’s methods—“of any wrongdoing on the part of your son or yourself. The ministry has only the highest respect for Guang Mingyun and his family. This is as it should be. But I am thinking about your son. I know you want to know what happened. I know you want to bring the hooligans responsible for his death to justice.”

  “This is true, Inspector.”

  “And I know, too, that you want to help the ministry in its work.”

  “Of course. What can I do?”

  “May we visit Henglai’s home? We may find something that will help us to know him. It may help us to find his killer.”

  “Have your driver take you to the Capital Mansion on Xinyuan Road in Chaoyang District.”

  As David and Hulan pulled on their overcoats, Guang Mingyun’s jovial manner returned. “Next time, we will have a banquet.”

  “Your hospitality is too generous, Mr. Guang,” Hulan said.

  “Please give my best regards to your father,” he replied, gazing into her eyes.

  “I will, and I hope you will express to Madame Guang our family’s deepest sentiments.”

  In the elevator, David said, “One of those men is lying.” Hulan focused on the electronic numbers as the elevator continued its rapid descent.

  8

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON

  Bei Hai Park

  When they reached the car, Hulan abruptly announced that she wanted to show David the place where Billy Watson’s body had been found. Peter asked to stop on the way so that he might buy cigarettes, but Hulan refused him outright. When Peter pulled into a parking place at the south gate to Bei Hai Park, she told him to wait in the car. He opened his mouth to speak, but she hushed him with a brittle torrent of Chinese. Peter feigned submission, folded his arms, and sank down in his seat.

  David followed Hulan along the path that rimmed the lake. The park was relatively deserted. The kiosks, a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise and a kiddie arcade with its colorfully painted rides, were all closed. With the season nearly over, only a few skaters were on the ice.

  Hulan stopped at a bench and motioned for David to sit. “This is where I talked to the Watsons,” she said. Next to her, David listened and followed the direction of her finger as she pointed out across the lake to where Billy Watson was found. But David knew she had not brought him there just to see the crime scene. As she spoke she kept her eyes focused on something in the distance—the sky? the opposite shore?

  “Hulan.” David couldn’t help his pleading tone. “Can we talk? Please?”

  Hulan ignored his questions. “We need to concentrate on this case, then you can go home to…”

  “You disappeared all those years ago,” he said. He took her hand and held it in both of his. “I never expected to see you again, but I hoped that somehow I would find you here. And I did. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Please listen,” she said neutrally, gently pulling her hand away. “We don’t have much time. Peter is probably calling the office now. He’ll have help here soon, so we must
be quick.” She looked around. Satisfied that no one was nearby, she said, “We need to be careful.”

  “Any time I try to talk to you, you tell me to be careful,” he said. “Why don’t you listen to what I have to say for once?” She didn’t respond, so he repeated himself. “When I came to China, I had no idea I would find you. Do you know what it means to me to see you?”

  “I don’t know if you can understand this.” Her breath steamed in the air. “Everywhere we go we are watched. I have counted up to four cars following us today. Everything we say is listened to, analyzed. Everyone we talk to will undoubtedly be talked to again.”

  “I can’t believe that,” David said.

  “Why not, David? You think you are some tourist simply visiting a foreign country?”

  “Everyone has been welcoming…”

  “You don’t know what you’re seeing,” she said. She tried to explain that Beijing was a large city but that nearly one million of its habitants were engaged in watching—from the Neighborhood Committee at the domestic level to the behind-the-scenes intrigue at the highest tiers of government. It was the level between those extremes that concerned Hulan most of all.

  “Along the roadways, the government employs agents on foot who watch as cars go by. At major intersections, video cameras are mounted to follow cars from place to place. Even if you weren’t who you are, even if I weren’t who I am, we would be watched. They see us, they listen to us, they tape us, they photograph us. Didn’t your government explain that?”

  When he said nothing, she continued. “I brought you here without informing anyone of our plan. I wanted to talk without Peter eavesdropping on us.”

  “I want to talk to you alone too.”

  “Don’t you hear what I’m saying? Peter spies on me. By tonight the car will be bugged and I won’t be able to get us away from the listeners and watchers so easily.” She took a breath. “I know you think we’re getting nowhere, but we’ve learned a lot. But you have to understand, we’re dealing with—”