Darkness Under Heaven (10 page)

“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.”

“T
his 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?”

“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.”

“A
re 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.”

“Thank you. I've been admiring your hats. Where do you get them?”

“Hong Kong.”

“Your suits the same?”

“They know how to make hot weather clothing that doesn't look like it's cut from crinkly tissue paper.”

“They're very nice.”

“Thank you.”

She noticed him limping slightly. “Are you all right?”

“A little bruised up, but otherwise fine.”

“You should come by and let the staff take a look at you.”

“Never on a first date.”

That got a laugh out of her. “You're the talk of the town.”

Avakian had spent the past few days dodging the world press. “Take my word for it, it's exaggerated.”

“Sounded heroic to me.”

“Heroism is having to do something drastic to keep from getting killed.” He opened the car door for her.

“
Ni Hao,
Kangmei,” Doctor Rose exclaimed.

“
Ni Hao,
Doctor,” Kangmei replied with a smile that revealed several missing teeth.

Avakian just shook his head. “You're a positive influence on my driver. That's a role I never thought anyone would play.”

The restaurant was located in the northeastern corner of central Beijing. For some reason all the traffic seemed to be going in the opposite direction. Then they drove past hordes of people on the sidewalks. They seemed pretty fired up and were all walking in the same direction, some carrying flags and rolled up banners, like a crowd heading home after a football game.

“This must be the tail end of the anti-Taiwan demonstration they had this afternoon at Workers' Stadium,” said Avakian.

“On TV it said it was a spontaneous demonstration by tens of thousands of people.”

Avakian snorted. “There are no spontaneous demonstrations in China. Especially not at Workers' Stadium. The government's trying to make propaganda points and at the same time let everyone blow off some steam so there won't be any spontaneous demonstrations. Note that Workers' Stadium is far away from Tiananmen Square.”

Up in the front seat Kangmei was muttering quietly to himself. Doctor Rose smiled at that. “I was talking to a few people who'd been downtown and they said the streets were pretty empty today. That seems funny, doesn't it? Even if you're where something is happening, you have to watch TV to know what's going on.”

“Same as if you were in Washington during the Cuban missile crisis. Or London during the blitz. You knew the Germans were bombing you, but other than that you had to listen to the radio.”

“You don't think the Chinese are going to sit still for this, do you?”

Avakian leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Let's wait until we're out of the car to talk about that.”

He had Kangmei drop them off near the Yuyang Hotel. It meant a short walk to the restaurant, but that would give them a chance to look at the Liangma River. And talk out in the open.

“Not discussing things in the car is very intriguing,” said Doctor Rose. “Is it bugged?”

“No idea,” said Avakian. “Could be. But Kangmei's definitely reporting on all our conversations. That's just the way it's done.”

“And we don't want to talk about certain things because…?”

“Well, we really don't care that the Chinese know what we're talking about. What we care about is them using the topic of our conversation to make assumptions that aren't based on reality. Not that they won't do that anyway, but the less complicated I can keep my life here in China, the better.”

“So they might think you're a spy.”

She was quick. “Oh, they halfway think that already.”

“
Are
you a spy?”

“No,” said Avakian.

“But if you were a spy, you'd assure me that you weren't a spy.”

“Correct,” said Avakian.

“I seem to have lost my train of thought.”

“The Chinese think everyone is a spy. Mainly because all their academics and businessmen traveling outside the country, even the ones who aren't actual intelligence officers, are expected to do favors for the Ministry of State Security.”

“Or else?”

“That's how they work. The Chinese are only subtle when they have to be. But I'm just a retired army colonel who got hired to be the conference security liaison between the Chinese and the State Department.”

“A spy would say that, though, wouldn't he?” Doctor Rose said mischievously.

“Correct,” said Avakian, another grin spreading across his face. “But—and this is the crucial point—if they ever became totally convinced I was a spy, I'd be followed around by a whole platoon instead of the couple of guys doing the job now.”

Doctor Rose suddenly spun around in a full circle. “We're being followed right now?”

“Sure,” said Avakian. “When I first got here there was the two I was supposed to see, and then the pair who were really following me. Just to see if I'd try to give the first pair the slip.”

“And that would mean you really were a spy.”

“Well, sort of. But since all real spies are aware of this little detail, they rarely try to give their surveillance the slip.”

“Now am I supposed to be able to see them, or not?”

“The pair trailing us? Well, it's kind of like they're minor leaguers trying to get promoted to the majors so they can follow CIA officers around, so for the most part they practice staying out of sight. The manpower Chinese security has is amazing. They've got eight guys just on me—four shifts a day. And I'm not even a spy.”

“So you say. I don't know whether this is more exciting or confusing. But I'm leaning toward exciting.”

“Not for the poor schnooks who have to follow us around all over the place.”

“Maybe we can send them out some hors d'oeuvres or something? Isn't that what they'd do in the movies?”

“We're not that fond of them,” said Avakian. “Besides, they're like working dogs. It's not good to spoil them.”

“I think I understand now. No spy talk, no war talk, in the car.”

“And, unfortunately, no jokes about it,” said Avakian. “Better to be safe than sorry. The Chinese don't handle irony well.”

Occasionally the moon poked through the overcast, giving the low clouds a purplish hue. The rain had freshened the air a bit, but as they drew closer to the restaurant the hanging humidity made the smell of food equally heavy. But not unpleasant. It was doing wonders for Avakian's appetite.

“What's the name of this restaurant?” Doctor Rose asked.

“Din Tai Fung,” Avakian replied.

“And that means?”

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

“Funny name for a restaurant.”

Avakian looked over at her.

“Sorry,” she said. “Couldn't resist it.”

“It's okay,” Avakian said. “You timed that perfectly.”

Concrete planters sprouting small trees were situated every twenty feet or so down the length of the sidewalk. The restaurant was in a two-story building with metal lattices running horizontally every couple of feet down a glass front. The evening lighting made the glass frames appear blue and the lattices green.

Avakian held the door open for her, then stepped around and presented the card with his name on it in Chinese characters to the hostess. He'd had his hotel concierge make a reservation because it was usually full with a crowd waiting. Tonight there were many empty tables.

A smiling waitress started to lead them to a table near the front windows, but Avakian pointed to one in the back while at the same time surreptitiously slipping a few bills into her hand. A quick look down at them made her smile even harder and guide them to the back. They passed by one of the attractions, a window into the kitchen. Cooks in whites, including baseball caps and surgical masks, were whipping up dumplings at a long table and loading them into bamboo steamers.

“They look like they're making microchips instead of food,” Doctor Rose mentioned to Avakian.

“The typical Beijing restaurant kitchen isn't anywhere near this fastidious.”

At the table they were presented with menus printed in Chinese, English, and Japanese. Very short, only two pages.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked her.

“I'm sort of on call.”

“Tea?”

She nodded. So did the waitress who rushed off.

“What should I have?” Doctor Rose asked.

“The dumplings are the reason to be here,” said Avakian. “The fillings depend on your taste. Are you a vegetarian?”

“No.”

Another misconception sorted out. “Maybe we should have a little of everything, then. The dumplings are about the size of a meatball and come ten to a steamer, so you can eat quite a few of them.”

“Sounds great.” She picked up the black lacquered chopsticks and admired the gold inlay at the end. “I love these. Will I get pounced on if I try and walk out with them?”

“I won't rat you out,” said Avakian.

The waitress returned with the tea and stood behind Avakian's shoulder as he pointed to their choices on the menu.

When she left Doctor Rose said, “I love this tea set, too.” It was simple white porcelain with the restaurant name in red characters.

“I don't think your purse is big enough,” said Avakian. “Maybe I steered you wrong on the Prada bag.”

“I'll try not to be resentful about it. Why did you have her seat us back here?”

“When we walked in I noticed there aren't any Chinese diners in here tonight. Then I remembered that even though they serve Shanghai-style dumplings this group of restaurants is based in Taiwan.”

Doctor Rose looked around the room. “You're right, there aren't any Chinese in here.”

“The way feelings are running in town, if by some chance someone threw something through the window we can step out through the kitchen door over there.”

“You mean something like a rock?”

“Something like that.”

“Or a Molotov cocktail?”

Avakian shrugged.

She just looked at him.

“This is what I do for a living,” he said.

“Better to be safe than sorry?”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I'd never have thought of that in a million years.”

“Well, I wouldn't try to repair someone's ACL,” said Avakian.

“Now tell me what you think is going to happen now that Taiwan's declared independence.”

“Are you sure that's the dinner conversation you want?”