Darkness Under Heaven (5 page)

“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?”

“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?”

“Is that the law here?”

That tweaked Avakian's funny bone. “No. You'll see people dangling out windows like they were in clown cars rolling down the street. Seat belts are your only faint hope of surviving Chinese driving.”

“That I've seen.”

“Fifteen years ago you could have put all the cars in
Beijing into an average American high school parking lot. Everyone was riding bikes.”

“They do have driving tests, don't they?”

“Have you seen those cell phone numbers painted on walls all over the city?” Avakian asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“Those are the numbers of forgers. And from what I understand, the preferred method for getting a driver's license in Beijing is to have a forger knock one off for you. Next is to bribe someone at the Motor Vehicle Administration. I hear you take the driving test only if you don't have the cash for either of those options.”

“That does explain a lot of what I've seen so far.”

“Never drive in China. And if at all possible, try not to watch while it's being done for you.”

It took over an hour to get across town, even with traffic relatively light and Kangmei hitting all his favorite shortcuts.

“Something else I forgot,” said Avakian. “Do you have your team credentials with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You'll have to show them. I've been in the national ministry building, but never the city office before.”

But the guards apparently knew Avakian by sight and were expecting him. They were bowed through without a document check.

“Impressive,” said Doctor Rose.

“Somebody ordered that,” said Avakian. “By the way, they're very interested in you.”

“Are they?”

“They are. Don't be offended if I don't introduce you at first.”

On the other side of the security desk was a tall Chinese inspector Avakian was pretty sure he'd met before. “Colonel Avakian, how good to see you again.”

Avakian shook the hand. “Likewise, Inspector.”

The inspector turned to Doctor Rose and awaited an introduction, but none was forthcoming.

“Lead the way, Inspector,” said Avakian.

The inspector smiled tightly and led them through the building.

Doctor Rose took a step closer to Avakian and whispered, “Will be we taken to the cells?”

“You can depend on one thing,” Avakian whispered back. “We won't be seeing any cells.”

The inspector led them deeper into the building, then down a couple of floors and through a wing of administrative offices. Then into a sort of waiting room. “Please make yourselves comfortable. Would you like some tea?”

The doctor glanced over at Avakian, who gave her a “go ahead” look. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

The inspector left them.

Doctor Rose took in the nondescript room. Plain white walls, carpeting so thin it almost wasn't there, padded vinyl furniture, and the usual faint smell of body odor. She was a little disappointed that there weren't any revolutionary posters hanging on the walls. It could have been a waiting room anywhere. “How long are we going to be here?”

“There's only one answer to that,” said Avakian. “As long as the Chinese feel like it.”

A moment later the door opened and Commissioner Zhou walked in.

Avakian stifled a smile and stood to shake his hand. “Commissioner Zhou, what an unexpected pleasure.”

“Colonel Avakian, I hope you are well.”

“As we observe the nations of Asia gather together in an expression of peace and understanding, how can I be otherwise?”

Commissioner Zhou chuckled softly and turned expectantly to Doctor Rose.

Avakian said, “Doctor Rose, allow me to introduce Commissioner Zhou Deming of the Ministry of Public Security of the People's Republic of China. Commissioner Zhou, Doctor Judith Rose of the United States women's gymnastics team.”

Commissioner Zhou bent over her chair and took her hand. “My pleasure, Doctor.”

“Ni Hao,”
she said.

Commissioner Zhou beamed. “
Ni Hao.
How charming. You are a physician, Doctor Rose?”

“Yes, I am. An orthopedic surgeon.”

“I congratulate you. My sister is what I believe you would call a general surgeon. Do you come from a family of physicians?”

“No, I'm the first.”

“As is my sister. Would it be an imposition if I spoke with Colonel Avakian in private for a few moments?”

“Not at all. Would you like me to leave?”

“Certainly not. May I offer you something while you wait?”

“I believe there's some tea on the way, thank you.”

As Avakian went out the door he hoped he hadn't laid the spy stuff on so thick she'd think the tea contained truth serum or something. And pour it into the plants. Except there were no plants in the waiting room. This was why he always liked working alone.

Commissioner Zhou led him into a nearby office.

“I hope I'm not taking you away from your duties,” Avakian said. He always liked to begin by reminding the Chinese it wasn't his first time in the big city.

“You are not. I have been requested to convey my government's strong concern over the seriousness of this incident.”

“My government shares this concern and expresses its thanks to the Chinese government for the speedy resolution of this regrettable matter.” But that was it—it didn't apologize for the actions of spoiled brat athletes.

“Usually our legal process would take much longer than this. But as a firm advocate of sportsmanship, the Chinese government could not permit an athlete to miss an event, no matter the grave provocation. And I must say that this speedy release is also an expression of our great regard for you. We hope the United States government appreciates this.”

Commissioner Zhou didn't need to put that little drone in his voice to make it clear he was reading off a script. But he also gave Avakian a good idea how to nip the whole favor issue in the bud. “I'm very flattered,” he said. “But the U.S. government only cares about you holding one of its citizens. Not about her missing a meet. I know I certainly don't.”

“Yet you are here to retrieve her.”

“I do my job, Commissioner. Just like you. I get the same paycheck whether you decide to keep her or let her go.”

Commissioner Zhou was now giving him that familiar faint little smile. “Tell me, Colonel Avakian, have you ever played the board game Go? It is our chess.”

“I've seen it but I've never played it.”

“I suspect you would be good at it.”

“I understand studying doesn't help much. You have to play the game to get good at it.”

“This is correct.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Now came that moment when the official business was done and everyone had questions of their own they wanted to ask. Something Avakian stubbornly refused to do. He sat patiently, not moving a muscle or changing expression, until the silence had run way past the awkward stage.

Commissioner Zhou had been matching him silence for silence until he finally sighed and said, “Our…people do not believe there was a reconnaissance of the Indoor Stadium.”

“Our spooks think the same thing,” said Avakian. “And in my personal experience, whenever the intelligence community reaches unanimity on any issue you can be absolutely sure they're wrong.”

“Unfortunately,” Commissioner Zhou replied, “that belief alone is not likely to persuade any who have made up their minds. They feel convinced by the clumsiness of the individual involved. The inability to detect any other accomplices upon review of the closed circuit television. And the absence of any other indications of a reconnaissance.”

“Nothing in his notebook?” said Avakian.

“No, nothing.”

“All those conclusions you mentioned happen to be the exact same ones our side reached,” said Avakian. “But as for myself, if I needed to work something on the inside of a building that was under pretty effective visual and video surveillance, I might hire myself some half-criminal fool who knew nothing about my team or plans, feed him a cover story in case he gets caught, and tell him to take a
hundred pictures of the outside of the building and run away if he's spotted.”