Neal blinked twice to try to clear the hallucination from his head. He understood that his subconscious was desperate to relieve the feeling of guilt, so it had produced Li Lan alive for him. But the vision didn’t go away. It stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the sunshine.
Then he understood. It was not Li Lan, it was her sister. They were twins.
“You must eat,” she repeated.
He shook his head.
“You used to like my cooking.”
He looked up again.
“I am alive,” she said. “So is Robert.”
“I saw—”
“My sister, Hong. My twin sister. When we were babies, Father and Mother tied blue ribbons in my hair and red ribbons in her hair to tell us apart.”
Twins.
“It was my sister who took you from The Walled City, my sister who came to you at Leshan and asked you to go home, my sister who made love with you.”
Sister Hong. The actress.
“She told me a story, about her sister killing her mother.”
“She was talking about herself. She could never overcome her guilt. She found herself in the Buddha’s Mirror.”
Neal felt the room spinning. “Why? Why did you do all this?”
The older man stepped forward. “Mr. Carey, I am Xao Xiyang, Party Secretary for Sichuan Province. Lan’s father. Hong’s father. I am the responsible person in this matter.”
Neal could only stare at him.
Xao continued, “You must understand how desperately we need the expertise that Dr. Pendleton can offer us. You have never seen hunger, Mr. Carey. You have never seen starvation. I have seen both. I never want to see them again, no matter what the price.
“When Lan began her relationship with Dr. Pendleton, I was overjoyed. I saw a wonderful opportunity, one that might never come again. As you know, I asked Lan to bring Dr. Pendleton into China. But such an operation was fraught with danger. Your own CIA, the Taiwanese, even our own government—especially our own government—would seek to prevent his defection at all costs.
“You see, Mr. Carey, we are engaged in a desperate struggle for control in China, a struggle between the hard-line Maoists, who seek to reimpose tyrannical madness and backwardness on us, against progressive, democratic reformers. I need not tell you that I am numbered among the latter. I need not tell you it is imperative that we prevail in this struggle. The agricultural advances that Dr. Pendleton could provide may be a critical weapon in that struggle.
“He who feeds China, Mr. Carey, controls China.”
Xao paused for comment or agreement, but Neal remained silent.
“We exercised every caution in our seduction of Dr. Pendleton. There were two factors that we did not predict: Lan actually falling in love with the man, and you. Lan shook you off easily in California, but we did not expect you to follow her to Hong Kong, which was the midpoint of the operation. We had to keep Pendleton in Hong Kong until our internal arrangements were complete. You were never supposed to leave San Francisco. The fact that you did was the fault of Lan’s local case officer, a certain Mr. Crowe. He failed to delay you, failed to deflect your search.”
It’s all about making money now, Neal.
Is that what Crowe said? Is that why he came so quickly to Mill Valley to pick me up?
“Was it Crowe who tried to shoot me that night?”
“No. To the best of our understanding, that would have been Mr. Simms. It appears now that Mr. Simms was working for our government, and he wanted Lan and Pendleton to make it into China, where I could be implicated along with them. He apparently mistook you for Pendleton, but the shot was intended to miss.
“When you made such a bother of yourself in Hong Kong, Lan argued that she had to meet you, to persuade you to give up your obsession. Frankly, I would have preferred to have you killed.”
“You tried,” said Neal, remembering the gang with the choppers and the Doorman’s bloody death.
“And Simms intervened and saved your life. He had further use for you. You confirmed his good judgment when you tracked down Lan that night and ‘persuaded’ her to defect. After you saved her life that night from the Taiwanese thug, Chin, Lan would no longer countenance your being eliminated.”
Neal turned his gaze to Lan. “So you lured me into the Walled City and dumped me there.”
“May I remind you,” said Xao, “that she also rescued you?”
“Why?”
“Again, this arose from a miscalculation. Your friends and employers were creating a stir. Lan would not let you simply perish in the Walled City, and we could not let you return to your employers and tell what you knew. The only solution was to bring you here and either buy your silence or give you convincing disinformation to take home with you.”
Neal’s head was starting to clear. They had run him past Li Lan at the commune to see if he’d keep his mouth shut. Encouraged when he did, they’d sent Li Hong, pretending to be her sister, to sleep with him to ensure his silence when he went home. But he had screwed that up when he demanded to see Pendleton personally. Queered the deal and also sentenced Hong to death.
“You knew that Peng was working for the other side,” Neal said.
“Of course. We knew that you would lead him to the rendezvous on the mountain. Your obsession with Lan would not let you turn back. So we wanted both you and Peng to see Lan and Pendleton commit suicide. That was the word we wanted you to take to Washington and Peng to take to Beijing.”
Neal looked at Lan. “Your sister was willing to do this?”
Lan nodded. “She was eager. Life had become a torture for her after Mother’s suicide. I had hoped her sacrifice would not be necessary, but your obsession with me demanded it.”
“Let us be honest, Mr. Carey. Hong never forgave herself, but neither did I. After my wife’s death, Hong took part in the worst of the Red Guard infighting. She trained as an agent, a killer. She was consumed with self-hatred. After the chaos, when I came back to power and influence, I had her found. And I imprisoned her myself. We were chained together by our guilt and sorrow. I asked her to perform this mission.”
“Your own daughter?”
“I do not expect you to understand.”
“And it was Hong I was with on the mountain.”
“Everything went according to our plan, except for the presence of Mr. Simms. That was something we didn’t expect. We didn’t realize he was working with Peng until he fired his rifle.”
At the tall man in the black cloak. A. Brian Crowe.
“How did Crowe happen to catch that bullet?”
“He was my handler,” Lan said. “He introduced me to the artistic community in California. He arranged for me to go to the correct parties and meet the correct people.”
“Why?”
God, Neal thought. I’m still jealous.
“Money,” Xao answered. “We paid him a great deal of money. But with Lan returning to China, Mr. Crowe saw that income about to disappear. He sought out the Taiwanese and tried to sell his special knowledge. They laughed at him and threatened to turn him in to the FBI. He panicked and ran. We arranged his defection to protect ourselves. It was fortunate timing.”
“Not for Crowe.”
“He was a mercenary. Mercenaries get killed.”
Neal turned back to Xao. “So it all worked out for you. Peng and I saw your two stand-ins go off the edge. So why am I here? Why aren’t I back in the States, spreading your ‘disinformation’?”
“Simms. Mr. Simms was going to kill you. For reasons I have explained, we could not let that happen. So we had to kill Mr. Simms to save you.”
“You trusted that job to Xiao Wu, a lit student, a tour guide?”
“You are somewhat naive, Mr. Carey. Xiao Wu was graduated in literature, but his tour guide status is what you would call a cover. He works for us in a different capacity.”
“That still doesn’t tell me why you’re holding me.”
“Several reasons. First, we are afraid you will talk about Simms’s death. Killing a CIA agent… even a renegade one … is a serious matter we would just as soon avoid. So the word had been put out that Mr. Simms has defected. It is Mr. Frazier that fell off the mountain.”
“But I’m Mr. Frazier.”
“Just so. Your employers will be informed that you used this alias to enter the People’s Republic, where you met your untimely death. Second, Mr. Peng had been quite conscientious in telling all parties concerned about the suicides of Dr. Robert Pendleton and the treacherous Li Lan.”
“So the CIA will stop looking for them, and my people will stop looking for me.”
“Third, I am afraid you know too much.”
“Why did you tell me?”
Li Lan walked over to him and took his hand. “You were dying from your guilt. If we had sent you home, you would have died there.”
Neal shook her hand off.
“Can I ever leave?”
“Perhaps someday, when we are secure in power and it will no longer matter,” Xao said. “When it is safe.”
Neal thought about Graham, about Graham becoming another victim of this damn mess.
“You will stay here at the monastery,” Xao explained. “As your injury heals, you may move about. You need not become a Buddhist, of course, but you will be expected to share in the work. If you attempt to escape, you will be executed. Do you understand?”
Neal nodded.
“I am sorry for your situation, Mr. Carey. But you are—as are we all—responsible for your own fate.”
Xao walked out into the sun.
“I am sorry,” Li Lan said.
Neal shook his head.
“I mourn her deeply,” she said. “I mourn for all of us.”
She knelt in front of him, forcing him to look at her face.
“When you looked into the Buddha’s Mirror,” she asked, “what did you see?”
He stared into her eyes before he answered.
“Nothing.”
She squeezed his hands and then left him alone.
Joe Graham stepped out of the chauffeured limousine and walked the last hundred yards to the border checkpoint. The August heat was brutal, and he sweated even in his light khaki suit. A hot wind blew in his face as he scanned the checkpoint, where a chain-link gate topped by concertina wire stood between two concrete bunkers.
He stood on the Hong Kong side. Behind him were the New Territories, ahead of him was the People’s Republic of China. All around him were the barren brown hills. The only sound was the rushing wind, and he felt the quiet in eerie contrast to the incessant cacophony of Kowloon.
He watched as the guards checked the papers of a young man dressed in a sedate gray suit. They didn’t search the bundle the kid carried under his arm. Diplomatic immunity, Graham thought, as the emissary cleared the checkpoint and walked pigeon-toed down the road toward him. Graham stepped forward to meet him.
“Mr. Joseph Graham?”
The boy stole a glance at Graham’s arm.
Jesus, he’s young, Graham thought. Or maybe I’m just old. They say that grief ages you. They’re right.
“Mister Wu?” Graham asked
The boy bowed. “I wish to express my own sympathy and that of my government.”
“Thank you.”
“A most tragic and unfortunate accident.”
Accident, my ass, he thought. You pricks killed him. Graham wanted to punch him in the mouth, but most of the fight was out of him. Since they’d received the word of Neal’s death, he’d felt empty.
“Have you made any progress in recovering the body?”
The boy flushed. “Unfortunately, no. Please understand that the chasm into which Mr. Carey fell is not accessible.”
I’ll bet.
Graham didn’t answer. The boy proffered the bundle, wrapped in brown paper.
“Mr. Carey’s belongings.”
“He must have been traveling light.”
The boy flushed again.
“Can you tell me anything more about why Neal was in—”
“As you are aware, Mr. Graham, our arrangement specifically precludes any discussion of these circumstances. Suffice it to say Mr. Carey died in a climbing accident.”
“He was afraid of heights.” “Even so.”
Graham gave it up. Neal was dead, and it didn’t really matter why or how.
“Thank you for your help,” he said.
“You are welcome, and I am sorry for your loss.”
They stood looking at each other. The boy seemed to want to say more. Graham waited another moment, and then turned around to start back to the car.
Then he heard Wu say, “Mr. Graham.”
Graham turned around.
“Mr. Carey loved literature.”
“Yeah?”
“We had delightful conversations about
Huckleberry Finn.”
So what?
“I’m glad,” Graham answered.
Wu pointed to the bundle. “Especially the scene on page ninety-four! When Jim meets Huck on the island.”
“Okay.”
Wu turned and walked back through the checkpoint.
Graham got back in the car and ripped open the brown paper. There was an old shirt, a pair of slacks, and a used paperback copy of
Huckleberry Finn.
He flipped to page ninety-four, and read the underlined passage.
He set the open book in his lap and started to cry. Then he read the passage again:
Well, I warn’t long making him understand I warn’t dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I warn’t lonesome, now. I told him I warn’t afraid of
him
telling the people where I was.
Graham jumped out of the car and ran back toward the checkpoint. He had never read
Huckleberry Finn,
but he had seen the movie. He remembered that Huck had faked his death and disappeared down a river on a raft. But he didn’t remember how it ended. He ran up to the chain-link fence and shouted.
“Hey, Wu!”
“Yes?”
“Did Huck Finn ever make it home?”
Wu’s smile was as clean and wide as the blue sky.
“Fuck yes!” he said, then he paused. “Oh, yes, Aunt Sally! He makes it home!”
Aunt Sally?!
Graham thought. What the hell does that mean? I guess I’d better read the book. He got back in the car, told the driver to take him back to the airport, then started to laugh. He laughed for a while, then cried some more, then laughed again, especially when he read the last line of the book, the one about Aunt Sally.