The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [91]
Here it comes, Neal thought. He’s about to hit me with Simms.
Peng paused for a drink of tea, then continued.
“The People’s Republic wishes to return you to your home as quickly as possible.”
As possible.
“This, however, requires certain security procedures.”
About which you are very thorough, especially in regard to the safety of foreign guests.
“Such as cleansing your identity.”
Cleansing my identity? What the hell does that mean? Does my identity need to make a sincere act of contrition and do fifty-eight Hail Marys?
“Why?” Neal asked.
“Mr. Peng would prefer that you do not interrupt.”
“Why?”
Peng sighed and passed the happy word on to Wu, who passed it along to Neal. It was like a game at a dull party.
“Mr. Neal Carey has caused an uproar,” Wu explained hesitantly, “and we cannot allow that uproar to be traced in or out of the People’s Republic. It would be inconvenient for us and dangerous for you, as certain enemies you have made would find it easier to track you down and do you harm. However, Mr. William Frazier has caused no such uproar.”
He’s a convenient guy, that Mr. Frazier.
“Okay … so?”
“Perhaps, then, it is better to allow people to believe that Mr. Carey died in the treacherous slums of capitalist Hong Kong. Therefore, you will assume the identity of Mr. Frazier. Mr. Frazier is a Canadian in the travel business who is doing research for his company about the many potentials for tourism in Sichuan.”
Yeah, right.
“Then what?”
“After completing your research, you will go home.”
“Where is ‘home’?”
“We have purchased an air ticket to Vancouver. After that, it is up to you.”
This is the most chickenshit story I have heard yet in this chickenshit job. The pick of the litter, the best of show …
“Why not just fly me out tomorrow? Why go touring?”
Peng was good. Peng didn’t miss a beat.
“We wish to establish a strong identity for you. It is more safe.”
Boys, boys, boys. I’ve been running scams on people most of my life, so I know one when it’s run across my nose. What is it you need from me? What is there in Sichuan that I have to see? Or that has to see me?
“How long will it take me to complete my research?” Neal asked.
“Perhaps a month.”
A month on display, Neal thought. Okay, pick your metaphor. They’re going fishing and you’re the bait. They’re going birdhunting and you’re the dog. Well, you owe them one, and anyway, what choice do you have? Besides, maybe it’s not a “what” they want you to see. Maybe it’s a “who.”
Maybe it’s Li Lan.
“When do I start?” he asked.
Wu’s face broke into a relieved grin. Peng was satisfied with a narrow smile and another drag on his cigarette. Then he spoke to Wu. “Would you feel well enough to start tomorrow?” Wu asked. “Fuck yes.”
“He says his health is much improved.” Fuck yes.
15
Chengdu is the New Orleans of China.
In the States, you go to New York if you want to work. But if you want to play, you go to New Orleans. In China, you go to Beijing if you want to get something done. But if you want to do nothing, you go to Chengdu.
The people of Chengdu have the easy bonhomie common to southerners worldwide, and, like the denizens of New Orleans, they consider their city not so much a municipality within a country as a land of its own. There is considerable justification for this sentiment in Chengdu, which was the capital of the ancient land of Shu some four hundred years before the unification of China. The state of Shu rose again after the fall of the Tang Dynasty, leaving Chengdu and the whole province of Sichuan with an attitude of autonomy considerably frustrating to its would-be rulers in Beijing.
Chengdu has always attracted poets, painters, and artisans. Maybe it’s the warm weather or the sunshine. Maybe it’s the lush bamboo, or the hibiscus, or the surrounding countryside of fertile rice paddies and wheatfields. Maybe it’s the broad boulevards or the black-tiled houses with the carved wood balconies,