“Possibly,” Jon agreed. He considered Asgar. “That’s what you want, isn’t it — publicity?”
“Absolutely. We need to be on the world’s stage along with everyone else. What if the treaty isn’t signed?”
“What makes you think it won’t be?”
“Logic. Mondragon didn’t have to sneak off to Liuchiu Island to tell your people about David Thayer. No, he had something he had to deliver, right? You were there to take the delivery. But he was killed and you escaped— and came straight back to Shanghai. That tells me the attackers got what Mondragon had, and you’re trying to find it again.
The whole thing smells like trouble, and the stench soars when the treaty’s figured into it. After all, it’s the most important matter between the U.S. and China at the moment.”
“Let’s say you may be partly right. If so … if the president were absolutely sure the treaty was down the drain, he might send a crew to get Thayer out.”
“That’d be sure to make the headlines blister. Outraged Chinese and Americans.”
“But if I don’t get word to my people about where Thayer is, none of it’s going to happen. It won’t help you or your people at all. Can I use my cell phone safely?”
“Bad idea. By now, Public Security must’ve rigged a way to triangulate wireless in and out of here. There are so few cell phones in the longtangs that it’d be worth their while to track every call, especially since they seem hell-bent to find you.”
Smith considered. “A pay phone would do, if you can get me out to one.
I’ll say nothing revealing.”
“If I manage it, do you have a plan?”
“The Seventh Fleet’s always close to China. That means I’d need your help to get to the coast for a pickup, too.”
Asgar stared, pursed his lips, then stood without speaking. He gathered dirty dishes and carried them to the sink.
Jon picked up a load and joined him.
At last, Asgar asked, “Will your government guarantee David Thayer’s story is told, one way or another?”
“I doubt it. I expect they’ll do what they consider to be in U.S. national interest.”
“It’s in international interest to show what China is … for what that means for Hong Kong and Taiwan as well as for Urumqi and Kashgar.”
“If that’s the case, they’ll make sure the world hears, but they’ll give no guarantees first. On the other hand, if I can’t relay what I’ve learned to my boss, nothing at all gets out.”
Asgar continued to stare. His eyes were hard, black marbles. “I don’t think so. You’re not that important. No single agent can be, right? But maybe you’re important enough that if you don’t get back to your chief, they’ll be slowed down, looking for you. We wouldn’t like that.”
Jon met his gaze. “I can see how that would be bad for you.”
The Uigher held his stare another moment, as if boring deep into Smith to see what he was made of. Finally, he went to the sink and poured in dishwashing liquid — Palmolive — and turned on the hot water, watching the suds rise. “It won’t be easy, Colonel. China is a tight, homogenous country, especially here in the east. In the countryside, it’s worse.
They seldom see foreigners, Uighers, or even private autos. Just a Land Rover will draw plenty of attention.”
“You seem to get around all right.”
“That’s because we’re in Shanghai. Shanghai’s not like most of China.
It’s not even like Beijing. Shanghainese are more Westernized, always have been. Not much makes them stare. But a car full of Uighers out in the boondocks will get plenty of interest. Add Uighers and a Caucasian traveling together, and the police will hear of it. Their interest may be large enough to alert Public Security.”
“So what do we do?”
Asgar considered. “We make you a Uigher.”
“I’m too tall. My eyes are the wrong color and shape.”
“Most Uighers hardly have the Oriental fold at all when we get past our teens. We’re Turkic.” He studied Jon’s features and build critically.
“You’re definitely large. It’s all that healthy American food. But we can darken your skin and add wrinkles. You’ll have to squint. Then we’ll dress you in some of our traditional clothes, sit you in the middle of a few of us, and scrunch you down. You’ll pass, as long as no one examines you too closely.”
“Perhaps. Where do you plan to go on the coast?”
“Somewhere south, not too far.”
“I’ll need to have coordinates for the pickup.”
“Understood. But first I’ll talk to my people. We must decide how many of us we’ll need, what vehicles we’ll use, the safest place for you to make contact, and the best route to get there.”
“When do we go?”
“Tonight. The sooner the better, while their security people are consulting higher authority and milling around, talking to each other.”
“I’m ready.”
“Not yet. First, the women will make you a Uigher, while the rest of us make plans. Wait here, Jon. I’ll be back.”
Left alone, Jon walked around the small, four-room hideout. There were twelve packed-together sleeping pallets, one bathroom, two more refrigerators, and four microwaves. Large, well provisioned, and comfortable. As he inspected, he realized the voices and boots that had been so close less than an hour ago were gone. The security police had moved on, at least for the time being. There was nothing now but silence … silence everywhere, outside and inside the windowless rooms.
He did not like it. Public Security had given up a little too quickly, a little too easily. Why? Either they had been ordered to treat his presence in China as a delicate matter with potential international complications, which meant they were suspicious but not certain he was more than a simple visiting scientist. Or they were waiting outside the longtangs, hoping he would show himself. Or … they had been making a show with no intention of catching him because they already had him — because Asgar Mahmout and his supposed Uighers were actually working for or with the Public Security Bureau. Which would explain Asgar’s casual questions about the human- rights treaty.
If that were the case, was he already trapped in these sealed rooms, or would they continue to string him along in hopes of learning exactly what he was doing? He paused, mulling. He decided they would want to pretend to help him, because arresting him would be an international incident if they could not show what he was after. On the other hand, if the whole thing were a cat-and-mouse charade, it gave him a chance.
Chapter Twelve
In the cramped office he used in police headquarters at 210 Hankou Lu near the Bund, Major Pan Aitu scowled through his horn-rimmed glasses at a file on his desk. There was nothing especially wrong or unusual about the file of the common street criminal he would testify against later in the day; it was simply that a scowl was Pan’s habitual expression when alone. The gentle voice and benign smile were entirely for public use, as were the soothing conservative suits and happy bow ties, all designed to mesmerize the mouse in front of him. His round joviality was a sham, too. There was muscle beneath the fat — hard, trained muscle.
Dressed in a black leather car coat, military brown safari shirt, and black denim jeans, he had the glowering aspect of a menacing dwarf dredged from the depths of the earth. He was still bent over his files, working, when a single knock preceded the entry of his chief, General Chu Kuairong.
“You have located the American scientist?”
