The Ghost Shift (24 page)

“We lived in Peking. That’s what we called it then. It was where we met. I was teaching and he was at the embassy. Small world. Anyway, we got married, tried to have a child. It wasn’t working. Something was wrong.… The treatment wasn’t great. They mostly had the opposite
problem. I thought maybe we should adopt, but when I made an application, it got nowhere. Constant delays. Then we had to leave.”

“Why?”

“It was 1989. We had no choice.”

“Why not?”

“What do you call it there? The June Fourth Incident. Six Four. You were a month old. I wish you had seen it. We lived in a compound in Qi Jia Yuan. Everyone was out on the streets at night, excited. We’d walk around, feeling joyful, like springtime. Then, one night, we heard gunfire. I looked out of our window and saw PLA trucks packed with helmets, on their way to kill people.”

“They arrested counterrevolutionaries who were threatening public order. No one died in Tiananmen Square.” Mei spoke automatically, not even sure whether she believed it herself.

“Are you serious?”

“I studied history.”

“I lived it.”

Mei halted before the argument got out of hand—she didn’t want to fall out over the past. Bad things happened in the year of her birth, but for twenty-three years, China had recovered, grown prosperous. She hadn’t asked too many questions about that time, until now.

“You left Beijing,” she prompted.

“President Bush—the father, not the idiot—imposed sanctions, and we were told to go. Tom was … Tom was a target. One day, when we were packed and ready to go. I received a call. It was the director of the Guilin home. He said they had a child for me. I hadn’t been told because of a mistake with the papers. But she was ready. I could come and get her immediately. It was kind of strange, but I didn’t ask questions.” Her lip trembled. “That was Lizzie.”

“You didn’t get a choice?”

“Lizzie was what we were given. She was good enough for me.” A tear slid down her cheek. “More than enough.” She paused, looking into her wine, as if it told fortunes. “Could I ask you something? It’s stupid, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, Mrs. Lockhart.”

“Call me Margot, please. I wanted to hold you again, if I could. It’s like holding her.”

Margot opened her arms, and Mei let herself be enfolded in them. Over Margot’s shoulders, she saw along the garden to the shed and the woods, the darkness from which she’d entered. She could feel Margot breathing against her and she thought of Lizzie’s body in the pond, the water spilling from her mouth and her hair floating on the surface. She was terribly tired, as if she could fall asleep and not wake up. She wondered if this was what life would have felt like, if she’d been chosen.

Lockhart was in the back of the van next to Sedgwick, with only a tiny slice of a view through the windshield. They had been sitting in the same position for an hour, waiting.

“I’m too old for this,” Sedgwick said.

“Quit whining. You should be happy to be out.”

“I’d rather be in a bar.”

Sedgwick shifted on the seat, arranging his legs around boxes of equipment. Lockhart had known him for thirty years, but he would have had trouble picking him from a lineup. Sedgwick’s mustache was turning white and he’d put on some weight, but he remained featureless—he sat in his London Fog raincoat, fading into the background like a hundred spies. Lockhart leaned forward, peering through the glass at the street. A rain shower had passed, and the leaves were glistening on the trees.

“Nothing yet,” he said.

“Maybe she’ll cancel,” Sedgwick said gloomily.

“She won’t. She never does.”

“You shouldn’t have let Margot go. She was good for you.”

“That was a long time ago, Al.”

“Yeah, but don’t you miss her?”

“Sometimes.” Lockhart looked at the squat green fire hydrant on the corner of the block. He remembered Lizzie walking past it in her brown wool coat, when she’d been three years old. They’d just bought a retriever puppy and she’d run up the street after it, squealing with laughter. “More now.”

“I’m sorry, Tom.” Sedgwick shuffled again. “God, who designed these seats? This is penance. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Five Our Fathers, four Hail Marys, and three hours’ surveillance.”

“It’s your operation, not mine.”

“Just the same as in the old days.”

“Yes, but I retired.”

“We don’t recognize that concept.”

“They’re moving,” the driver said.

Lockhart looked through the glass, then flattened himself against the side of the van. It was uncanny to see them together. Margot unlocked the car door as the girl waited on the other side. Mei wore one of Lizzie’s outfits—black pants and a green jacket—and she looked identical. What strange fantasy were the two of them living out? Margot had seemed almost healthy, nothing like the pale and exhausted figure of recent days. When he’d told her the truth about Lizzie, it was worse than when they’d separated—as if he’d broken her.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I honestly don’t know, Al.”

“Margot doesn’t hate you that much, does she?”

“She might,” Lockhart said grimly.

Margot’s Lexus started up the street and turned onto Magnolia Parkway, their van following three vehicles behind. They drove along Western Avenue, past the recreation center and into the heart of the village. The driver and the technician in the front looked unhurried, as if they did this every day. The rear of the van was packed, and there was hardly room to move. Sedgwick winced as they swung around the corners, as if feeling his age.

At Friendship Heights, Margot pulled into the underground parking lot by Neiman Marcus. Their driver kept going to the next block, turning into an open-air lot and finding a spot opposite Bloomingdale’s. The driver leaned back and retrieved a silver suitcase from Lockhart’s feet. He removed a squat telescope, plugging it into an electronic device nestled inside the case. Then he put on a pair of headphones, opened his window a shade and sighted the Capital Grille through the scope. As he did, Margot and Mei emerged from the lot, crossing the road into the restaurant.

“They’ll be sitting near the window,” Sedgwick said.

“How did you fix that?” Lockhart said.

“We tip well.”

Soon the women appeared at the window and sat at a table, taking menus from the waiter. Margot glanced at hers briefly and set it down, leaning forward to talk.

“Is this Mandarin?” The driver gave the headphones to Sedgwick and he held one pad to his ear.

“Sounds like Martian.”

He handed them to Lockhart, who put them on. It was like listening to a crowd inside an echo chamber if the sound were passed through soup. He heard scraps of Margot’s voice, but her words were mostly lost.

“Is this the best we can do?” Sedgwick said.

The driver shrugged, whispering with the technician over the controls. They tried for another few minutes but it was useless. Eventually, Sedgwick passed the headphones to the front and climbed out of the van on the blind side of the restaurant to catch some air. Lockhart joined him, wanting a cigarette. They stood silently, looking around the streets until, after twenty minutes, the drive spoke.

“Movement.” The driver had taken out a pair of binoculars and was gazing at the restaurant. “One’s up, the other’s at the table. She’s going somewhere, can’t see.”

“Bathroom break,” Sedgwick said. “Which one?”

“Mrs. Lockhart.”

“Ready, Tom?”

“Let’s go,” Lockhart said.

He followed Sedgwick onto the sidewalk and across Western Avenue to the restaurant. They went up the stone steps to the side and entered the establishment through the main door. It was dark, with wood paneling and dimmed Art Deco lights, but he saw her at the end of a row of banquettes as clearly as if she were his daughter, sitting alone. Sedgwick waved aside a waiter, and they walked to the table.

“Hello, Song Mei,” Lockhart said, sitting in Margot’s seat. He had only a minute or two before Margot returned and things became complicated. He wanted to finish the task by then.

Mei looked up, startled. She seemed gentler in Lizzie’s outfit, without her suit and the wariness with which she’d entered the VIP room at the Golden Dragon. Her plate of tuna and rice had hardly been touched, and her glass of white wine was still full. She said nothing.

“This is Alan Sedgwick, with the CIA. We need you to come with us now, Mei. We have to leave.”

“Mr. Lockhart.” She stared at him, not moving.

“Come on, Ms. Song.” Sedgwick put his hand on her arm to try to lead her, but she pulled it free.

“Why are you here?” she asked Lockhart.

“The question is, why
you’re
here,” Sedgwick said. “You entered the U.S. under a false passport.”

From the corner of his eye, Lockhart spotted Margot making her way back to the table, along the line of banquettes. He turned to face her, holding both his hands up, as if in surrender. She saw them from a few tables away, and her face narrowed in incredulity and disgust.

“Hello, Margot,” Sedgwick said.

“Nice to see you, Al.” To Lockhart, from years of marital experience, she sounded dangerously calm.

“Just some agency business. Ms. Song is coming to help us. I’m sorry we have to interrupt.”

“We’re having dinner. Can’t this wait?”

“Do you know who this woman is?”

“It’s the first time we’ve met, in fact. Tom never mentioned her to me, Al. Does that surprise you?”

Lockhart stepped forward. “Margie, let’s talk about this—”

“Keep your hands off me,” she growled, and the maître d’ glanced over from the other side of the room. The men from the van were at the bar, nursing glasses of beer.

“You realize who she is?” Sedgwick said.

“I think it’s rather obvious, isn’t it?”

“I meant what her job is.”

“She was telling me when you interrupted. I’d like to get back to our meal. We’re catching up on things.”

“You know she’s traveling on Lizzie’s passport?”

“Is she?” She turned to Mei. “Is that true?”

Mei nodded, and Margot laughed. “God, that’s just the sort of stunt she would have pulled.”

“Let me do my job, Margot,” Sedgwick said. “I have to take her now. This is a matter of national security.”

Margot sighed. “It always is. Okay, do what you have to do. I’m used to it. Mei?” Mei stood awkwardly and Margot embraced her. “I’ll see you again, okay? Thanks for finding me.”

“Great,” Sedgwick said. “I’ll leave Tom here. You two can have a talk. He’ll explain. Guys?” He walked with Mei to the bar, and the van pair escorted her out of the room.

Margot sat and pushed her plate to one side, while Lockhart took Mei’s place opposite. “I’m sorry, Margie,” he said.

She glared at him. “You’re sorry? Did this slip your mind? The fact that Lizzie had a twin? I should add it to the list, should I? I’m waiting, Tom, for a reason ever to speak to you again.”

Lockhart could still picture Margot’s face from the first time they’d met, when he had found her in the corner at an embassy event, getting quietly drunk. She had a few more lines but the same eyes. He’d betrayed her and she’d been angry with him many times. But even separated, amid tragedy, she was the woman he’d loved.

“I’ll try,” he said, beckoning the waiter.

When Mei woke, she was in a cell. She was wearing a gray jumpsuit, and she lay in bed. It felt as if she had lost consciousness for a long time and had woken from a dreamless sleep. She blinked and looked around, turning her neck to take in her room. The cell was nine feet by fifteen and was painted light gray with a concrete floor. An aluminum toilet and basin fixed to the wall in one corner provided the only contrast to the blankness of the box. She could have stood against any of the walls and blended in like a chameleon.

She blinked again. The air was dry, like the air in a sauna, and her eyes felt scratchy. It was coming through vents fixed around the walls near the floor. The door looked airtight, and the single window—a narrow slot about three feet long and not quite two feet high—was double-glazed and fixed flush with the wall, high up. It felt like being in a Mason jar, put away for storage. She could hear a faint hiss as the air was circulated into the cell and out again. The window was frosted, and the only other light came from a single diode in the ceiling.