Year of the Tiger (26 page)

‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted out. Like I was the last person she expected to see.

Like I didn’t belong.

‘My husband, Trey. He works for GSC. You remember Trey, right? Trey Cooper.’

If anything, she got a little paler. ‘Of course. I remember hearing the two of you got married. That’s … great.’

I couldn’t tell you how I felt, seeing her then. Mostly what I felt was the tequila. The feelings underneath that churned around in water so murky, I couldn’t quite make them out.

‘So,’ I said, ‘I guess you’re not in the Army any more.’

‘No. No, I got out a couple years ago.’

‘You with GCS? Strategic Solutions? One of these guys?’

‘I’m a liaison.’

‘Oh, yeah? A liaison for what?’

‘Congress,’ she mumbled.

She’s scared of me, I realized.

I liked that.

Greif checked her watch. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to run. But it’s great seeing you again. Maybe we can get together while I’m in town –’

‘Hey, Greif,’ I said. ‘You know, after I got hurt, all the girls wrote me. Pulagang, Palaver, Torres, Madrid. Everyone but you.’

She flushed, a red that crept up her neck and spread across her pale cheeks. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said quietly. ‘I really am. I didn’t know how to get ahold of you, and … well, I should have made more of an effort.’

I shrugged. ‘No hard feelings.’ I smiled at her. ‘You know, the rest of us, we’re still in touch. We e-mail. Talk on the phone sometimes. It’s nice, having those guys to talk to. You know? People who understand what it was like.’

She nodded, her eyes fixed on mine.

‘I really have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a panel in a few minutes, and they’re expecting me.’

‘A panel? Where’s it at? I’d be real interested to hear what you have to say.’

‘It’s a closed session,’ she said, with a trace of her old condescension. ‘I’m afraid you’d have to have an invitation.’

‘Oh. Too bad.’

‘But let’s keep in touch. I know you’ve had a rough time. Maybe I can help.’

Maybe she was sincere, in her way. Maybe she felt sorry for me, the drunk, crippled loser, the weakling who couldn’t handle what needed to be done in a war – not like her; oh no, she’d handled her shit, and look at her now.

The corners of her mouth turned up, an attempt at a friendly goodbye.

‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Are you gonna show them your tits? ’Cause that used to work pretty well for you.’

She flinched. Then I saw it: the empty look, followed by rage, quickly masked and swallowed.

She took a step toward me. Then another, so the tips of her buttery boots nearly touched my shoes.

‘I hope you understand that that is still a classified operation.’

‘Seriously? I thought they would’ve given you a medal on the White House lawn by now.’

Her glasses magnified her eyes, but there was nothing there. I heard her take a breath. Exhale.

‘I’d advise you to think very carefully about what you say. There might be consequences you won’t like. Do you understand me?’

‘Sure.’ I smiled at her. ‘It’s been great catching up.’

She nodded fractionally and turned to go.

‘Knock ’em dead at the panel!’ I called after her.

That was fun, I thought. Fuck being quiet, being good.

I’m gonna start having fun again, I told myself. Start telling the truth.

I was well into another margarita before Trey came and got me.

‘Let’s go, Ellie.’

‘Why? I’m having a good time.’

‘Let’s just go.’

Trey didn’t talk much on the ride home. Neither did I.

Finally, as we pulled into the garage, he said: ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ I mumbled.

I pushed past Trey into the kitchen and got a beer out of the fridge. Opened it. Trey’s hand closed around the bottle and yanked it away.

‘Fuck! Give that back!’

‘No.’

He grabbed my wrist, pulled me into the living room, and practically pushed me onto the couch.

It was the closest he’d ever come in our time together to hurting me.

‘You listen to me, Ellie.’

Drunk as I was, something in his voice told me I’d better.

‘You should not have done that.’

‘What, give Greif some shit? Like she doesn’t deserve it.’

‘Greif is not somebody you want to mess with.’

I snorted. ‘You’re afraid of Greif? What, she’s your boss now?’

Trey paced a couple of steps, like he couldn’t contain himself. ‘You can’t maintain security, the people I’m working for, how do you think they’re gonna react to that?’

‘So, this is about your job?’

He stopped, the muscles bunching in his shoulders. ‘She’s connected, Ellie. Can’t you fucking get that?’

I googled Greif. Just to see who was paying for those nice outfits. There wasn’t much on her, but it was enough. A transfer to the Department of Defense. A fellowship at a think tank. Most recently, an adviser to a senator on the Intelligence Committee. There was a press photo of her standing behind the senator, dressed in her neat, tailored suit, her eyes watching him, her lips slightly parted.

I stared at the screen. Thinking about how much I wanted to bring her down.

Maybe I would have tried. Gone to the press. Done something.

Instead, when Trey got transferred to Beijing, I went with him.

Trey’s idea.

What happened was, about a week after the party, Trey came home from work and said ‘Hey, why don’t we go to Casa Lupe’s?’

Even though I didn’t much feel like going out, I did like Casa Lupe’s, especially their chile rellenos.

I liked their margaritas too, but I figured I’d better stick to beer.

We sat in the back, underneath the cheesy mural of Aztec warriors and corn maidens with humongous tits, and shortly after our beers arrived, Trey told me his news.

‘They’re transferring me to Beijing this time. A promotion.’

‘Wow. That’s great.’

In fact, I didn’t really give a shit. What difference did it make where he went, what they paid him? It wasn’t like anything changed for me.

‘The thing is, this assignment’s a little different. It’s long-term. And Beijing’s not like the other places I’ve been, Ellie. It’s pretty chaotic, but it’s a real city. There’s all kinds of shopping malls and nice restaurants, stuff like that.’

Trey shifted around in his chair, one of those barrel-shaped ones with rawhide straps. ‘I thought maybe you might want to come along.’

I didn’t get it right away. ‘Go to China?’

‘Yeah.’ He looked away, like he needed some extra time to choose his words. ‘I know it’s been tough, being here on your own all the time. I just thought …’

He looked at me, almost pleading. ‘We could try.’

Something inside of me softened, like the lump of calcified rage sitting in my chest had slowly started to dissolve.

We could try.

‘That sounds good,’ I said.

It really did.

I wonder now why he wanted me to come with him. Did he worry about what I’d do if he left me behind? Did he just feel sorry for me? Or had he really meant what he said, that he wanted us to work on our marriage? To build a life together.

Okay. I decided I wouldn’t mess with Greif. I’d leave all that in the past, where it belonged. I’d go to Beijing with my husband.

What’s that line about the past not really being past?

It’s got to be Greif, I think now. She’s got the pull, the connections. If she wanted to keep an eye on me, how hard would that be? To have them monitor my e-mail. Tap my phone. See where I went. To make sure I wouldn’t cause any problems.

Why not? It’s easy to do that stuff. What’s stopping them?

If I saw her again, I’d tell her, look, I don’t really know anything. The interrogations I saw, I didn’t understand what they were about. What was asked or what was said. I don’t know who the detainees were, whether any of them were important.

I know what went on was wrong, that she – that all of us – could still get in trouble over it.

I’d tell her I’ll stay quiet. I’ll keep my mouth shut. I promise.

They’re from the PSB. They say they are, anyway, and one of them shows me a badge in a leather case. I go with them. What else can I do? I cringe as we pass the desk clerk, because even though I’m in all kinds of shit, I keep thinking how embarrassing this is, how Auntie is going to lose face for bringing a troublemaking foreigner to her favored hotel.

The three of us get into the car parked in front of the hotel. I can see it, now that I’m not looking into the headlights: some plain-wrap black car that smells like stale cigarettes. A driver waits.

One of the Chinese Suits sits in the back with me. He’s slight and moon-faced and wears a perpetual smile.

‘How do you like Taiyuan?’ he asks me as the car pulls away from the curb.

‘I, uh … it’s … interesting,’ I manage.

He nods. ‘We have some very interesting scenic places. The Jinci Temple. It is special architecture, unique to Taiyuan. Have you visited?’

‘Not yet.’

‘In general, foreign visitors don’t spend much time here. With emphasis on heavy industry, perhaps cultural development has suffered neglect,’ he admits. ‘But our vinegar and noodles are the best in China.’

That’s when I remember: Chuckie’s device.

My heart beats like I’m running a race now; I can see the pulse in my chest, and I think: this guy can probably see it too.

Where did I put the jump drive? In my backpack?

No. In my jeans pocket. I can feel it there, against my thigh.

‘Are you nervous?’

‘Shouldn’t I be?’

His smile broadens. ‘If you haven’t done anything wrong, then there is nothing to worry about.’

We drive a while, maybe a half hour, finally pulling up to a metal gate flanked by cement walls, stained by rust where the bars pierce the concrete. There are no government seals on the pillars here, no guards in uniform, just some guys wearing white polo shirts and black jackets.

We pull into the courtyard and get out of the car. A few bare floodlights throw crazy shadows on the stained concrete. It’s a U-shaped complex, maybe three stories high. The white tile walls are streaked with black grime.

There are other people here too, a couple dozen of them huddled by one of the L-shaped wings of the complex. Old people. Middle-aged. Women, one with a kid hugging her thigh. A young guy missing a leg, leaning on a crutch.

They see me and start calling out, and I don’t understand what they’re saying, except, ‘Miss! Miss! Please, can you help?’ Some of them clutch papers that they thrust in my direction.

‘They think you are reporter,’ Smiley says.

One of the guys in black jackets goes over, shouts something; a middle-aged man goes toe to toe with him and shouts back, something about his daughter and justice. Black Jacket slaps his face, shoves him, once, twice, till he stumbles and falls.

They take me to a little beige room with a couple of chairs and a small table.

We sit.

‘Do you know why you are here?’ Smiley asks me.

His companion doesn’t smile. He sits, slightly behind Smiley, arms folded across his chest, eyes dull, face lifeless.

‘No,’ I say.

‘You don’t have an idea?’

Tell them, a voice in my head says. Go ahead. Just say something. About Lao Zhang. About the Uighur. The Game.

‘I really don’t,’ I say.

Smiley leans back in his chair. Exhales heavily.

‘Why do you come to Taiyuan?’ the other guy asks abruptly.

Like Smiley said, foreigners don’t generally spend a lot of time in Taiyuan. They mostly come here because it’s a major rail hub, the best place to make connections to a number of more scenic locales.

‘I’m going to Pingyao,’ I blurt. ‘I’ve – I’ve never been there before. I’ve heard it’s really interesting.’

‘Pingyao is very interesting,’ Smiley agrees. ‘The entire city is a World Cultural Heritage site.’

‘Why did you come to China?’ Scary asks.

‘Because my husband did.’

‘You’re traveling without him,’ Smiley points out.

‘He left me. For a Chinese woman.’

The two exchange a look.

You see a lot of Western men with Chinese women. Sometimes Chinese men get pretty pissed off about that.

‘So you are only taking a vacation?’ Smiley asks.

‘Yes. I was upset. About my husband. I just wanted to get away for a while.’

‘So you visit to Pingyao.’

I nod.

Scary, meanwhile, puts on a pair of latex gloves and starts going through my backpack.

‘And will you see anyone there?’ Smiley continues.

‘No. I don’t know anyone in Pingyao.’

‘And here. Do you know anyone here?’

A wave of nausea hits me so hard I think I’m going to puke right in front of them. I don’t. I swallow.

‘No … not really – I partied with some guys I met last night. But it’s not like I know them.’

‘How did you meet them?’

‘I was at a karaoke bar. I met one of them there.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Chao … something.’

‘And the others? Where did you meet?’

‘We went someplace. Some office. I don’t know where it was.’

‘What were their names?’