The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [90]
“Mr. Peng is the assistant to Provincial Party Secretary Xao Xiyang.”
Neal saw Peng smile with self-satisfaction and wished that he knew a little more about Chinese politics.
“I am honored by his visit,” Neal said. “The coffee, by the way, is very, very good.”
Wu translated the remarks. Peng smiled again and responded.
“The coffee is from Yunnan,” Wu translated, “and he is very happy that you like it.”
Neal decided to get things going.
“Please express to Assistant Provincial Party Secretary Peng my gratitude for rescuing me from my dire situation and for taking such wonderful care in bringing me back to health.”
Wu translated, listened to the response, and returned Peng’s answer. “Mr. Peng says that he is not Assistant Provincial Party Secretary but assistant to the Provincial Party Secretary and says that he is merely a humble representative of greater powers, who, he is sure, are honored to be of service to you and would thank you for your gratitude.”
Wu let out a sigh of relief at getting the entire answer.
Neal smiled and nodded at Peng.
“Now tell him I want to leave.”
Wu thought for a moment, and then said in Chinese, “He says that his sense of decorum does not allow him to accept any more hospitality from the People’s Republic, and he does not wish to be of any more trouble.”
Peng took a drag on his cigarette. “Bu shr.”
No.
“Mr. Peng says he is afraid that you are not ready to undertake a long journey at this time.”
“I know I am in Chengdu, but what is the building, and why am I being held?”
The translation ensued, and Wu said, “You are in the Jinjiang Guest House. It is a hotel.”
A hotel? A hotel?!
“Why is the door locked?”
A thin film of sweat started to appear on Wu’s forehead as he translated.
Peng smiled and uttered a one-word answer.
“Security,” Wu said.
“It is locked from the outside.”
Neal wasn’t sure, but he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over Peng’s face and wondered if he understood the question. Maybe it’s just a natural sequence, or the tone.
Wu was quite pleased with the answer. “We are very thorough in the People’s Republic of China, especially in regard to the safety of foreign guests.”
So that’s what I am—a foreign guest.
“I was under the impression,” Neal said, “that crime is virtually nonexistent in the People’s Republic.”
Wu gave him a dirty look and then translated, “Mr. Peng understands that crime is virtually omnipresent in the United States.”
“Once again, Mr. Peng’s understanding is correct.”
Peng smiled broadly at the answer, inhaled some smoke, and then drank some tea. Neal picked up his coffee, sipped at it, and stared over the cup at Peng. Peng stared back. Wu sweated.
“Ask him,” Neal said, “if we can cut the shit and get to the point.”
He saw Peng flinch slightly at “shit.”
“Mr. Frazier suggests that we dispense with polite introductory conversation and commence substantive discussions.”
“‘Shit’? He said ‘shit’?”
“Yes.”
Peng made no effort to mask his frown. He puffed on his cigarette and barked a brusque answer.
“Mr. Peng understands that your fatigue and ill health prevent you from exercising proper courtesy.”
“He called me an asshole, right?”
“Close.”
“Please tell him that I am eager to listen to his wise counsel, and hope that I can learn from his comments.”
Neal stared at Peng as Wu translated.
You know you’re being bullshitted, Neal thought, and you don’t care. All you want is the outward appearance of compliance, not to be shown up.
Peng started to speak in measured bursts, giving Wu time to translate as he went along.
“Mr. Peng’s superiors understand that your life has been in some danger, danger from which—as you acknowledge—the People’s Republic has rescued you. They further understand that this danger is, to a large degree, of your own making, due to your unfortunate interference in matters that do not concern you.”
On the contrary, Mr. Peng. They concern me greatly.
“They also understand