The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [89]
Southwest China? My, my my …
“What day is it?”
Wu quickly checked his mental list of what he was authorized to say. “June the twenty-sixth.”
Jesus H. Christ! June twenty-sixth?
“How long have I been here?”
“Two weeks,” Wu answered, then added proudly, “and change.”
Neal did some mental arithmetic. God, he thought, that means I was in that Hong Kong hellhole for over two months. Two and a half.
“And what am I doing here?”
“Soup?”
“You’re not authorized to tell me that.”
“I am not,” Wu said sadly. “And I don’t know.”
“But the important guest does?”
“This is why he is important.”
“May I have some soup, please?”
“I am honored.”
The soup was a delicate chicken broth with some vegetables. Wu pretended not to notice that Neal’s hand trembled and that he had a hard time getting the soup into his mouth.
“No fortune cookie?” Neal asked when they were finished with the meal.
“You must not make jokes in front of—”
“Important guest. Don’t worry, I won’t. It’s just that I’m enjoying speaking English. Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” Wu said. He added shyly, “And I am honored. Perhaps we can later discuss Mark Twain?”
“I would enjoy that very much.”
“You must rest now.”
“That’s all I do.”
“Your guest will be here in”—he made a show of looking at his watch—“one and one half an hour.”
“An hour and a half.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Wu stood up and stuck his hand out again. They shook hands and Wu left the room. Neal heard the lock click.
Okay, he thought, I am the mysterious Mr. Frazier. It’s possible. Maybe they know something I don’t, such as my father’s name; maybe it is Frazier. You’re getting giddy. Settle down. Half an hour of conversation and you’re losing your head. Mark Twain. Fuck yes.
Okay, so you know a little more than you did this morning. You’re in Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan, southwestern China. You’re way up Nathan Road now. So? So they probably wouldn’t bring you all this way if they were just going to clean you up and turn you back. And if you’ve been taken by the intelligence service, why aren’t you in Beijing? I mean, does the CIA take defectors to Arizona? I don’t know, maybe they do. And they’ve assigned you a translator, which means they want you to talk to somebody. Or they want somebody to talk to you.
Okay, but what do you have to tell them? They already know more about Li Lan than you do, ditto with Pendleton by now….
Simms.
You can tell them about Simms.
Which brings up an interesting moral dilemma.
The important guest was right on time, almost as if he had been standing in the hallway looking at the second hand on his watch. Neal heard the same timid knock, then the door opened and Wu’s head popped in. He looked nervous.
“May we come in?”
“Of course.”
Wu held the door open for the important visitor. The important visitor was short, somewhere in his late forties, and was a few noodles shy of being chubby. The fat was really starting to show in heavy circles under his eyes. His hair was greased and combed straight back on his head. He wore a gray business suit, white shirt, red tie, and black shoes. He carried an expensive-looking attaché case. His whole affect screamed “bureaucrat.”
“This is Mr. Peng,” Wu said. “Mr. Peng, this is Mr. Frazier.”
Is this where we toss a coin and I choose to receive?
“Please sit down,” Neal said.
Peng sat in one of the chairs and gestured for Neal to take the other. Wu stood behind Peng.
So much for the classless society, Neal thought.
Peng took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered one to Neal. Neal shook his head and Peng lit his cigarette, then looked over his shoulder at Wu and said, “Cha.”
Wu hustled out into the hallway. Neal heard him talking to somebody, and a minute later he returned with a waiter who carried a tray with tea, coffee, and cups.
“Mr. Peng understands that you prefer coffee to tea,” Wu said.
“Mr. Peng’s understanding is correct.”
“Mr. Peng suggests that we be informal and ‘help ourselves.’”
“Absolutely.”
Wu poured cups of tea for Peng and himself as Neal took a cup of coffee. Wu tentatively