Henry Gray, American expat journalist, was sleeping on it, his right wrist cuffed to the bed frame. On the left side of his face was a purple bruise. Alan stepped back and went to Hoang, who was lighting the stove. “Why’d you hit him?”
“Fought back.”
“Did you tell him you just wanted to ask some questions?”
No answer.
“Of course he fought back, you idiot. He’s scared. Did you even read his file?”
Hoang gave him a look, just a look, but it was enough to stop his complaints.
Henry Gray woke up two hours later, and Alan handed him a chipped mug of coffee. Gray took it hesitantly. “Sorry about the face,” Alan said. “He tells me you fought back.”
“I tried to leave,” said Gray. His voice was brittle from dehydration.
“Anyway, I’m sorry. I just need to have a talk with you, and I had to be sure that no one else knew where you were.”
“When you say no one else, who do you mean? The Hungarians?”
“No, Henry. I mean the Chinese.”
Gray nodded slowly but said nothing.
“I’m here to talk to you about Rick.”
“Rick.”
“You spent a month with this man, and I’d like to know him as well as you do.”
“I thought this was over.”
“Did you really? A journalist of your stature?”
Henry Gray’s face looked pained, and Alan wondered if he’d taken that statement for sarcasm. Gray’s stature only meant something to conspiracy theorists, and Alan expected the man to begin a rant against international corporations and the CIA, with liberal doses of the military-industrial complex. Still, Gray had already been through more than most could handle. He had changed.
“I just want to go home,” he said finally. “Ask me your damned questions.”
“You worry too much,” said Leticia. “I’m in, I do some shopping, I leave.”
“But they’ll spot you. Sooner or later, they’ll spot you.”
“I’ll make sure it’s later. Really, baby, you need to get some sleep. It’s a good plan.”
They were at a Mexican restaurant in North Bergen. She was done with her first margarita, while Alan hadn’t touched his. The lunch crowd was just starting to arrive. He leaned closer. “What’s Collingwood been telling you?”
She, too, leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not sure.”
“She agrees it’s a good plan. So do the others.” Leticia reached over to grab his hand, her bright red nails reflecting the ceiling lamps. “You’re the master of deception. That fat Chinaman is going to get vertigo trying to figure it out. And it all starts here. I go in. I tickle his fear.”
His frown deepened, but what she said was true. It was a good plan. A series of distractions to overwhelm him as the pressures within his own government grew against him. Either he panicked and made a mistake, weakening him further, or he followed clues until he was standing in the wrong corner of the room when the door opened and they rushed in to kill him.
Leticia’s face became serious. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?”
“It’s the only thing I have left.”
“That’s not true. You’ve got a marriage.”
“I won’t for long if I don’t take care of this. I’m fucking it up.”
She pursed her lips. “It wasn’t your fault, you know. Not really.”
“Milo tells me that, too.”
“Did you convince him to join the great cause?”
Alan shook his head.
“See? He’s got his priorities straight. People like you and me, we don’t know what’s what.”
“You’re not listening to me, Alan. I can see it in your face. Just take a breath, cool off, and listen to what I’m saying.”
“I can hear everything,” he said.
They were sitting in the Georgetown safe house-a funny name for a house they knew the Guoanbu was watching-and he had been through two cigarettes. Dorothy had come alone, claiming the other two were busy, but he knew she just didn’t want a scene. She didn’t want them to think she didn’t have control over him. She said, “Levels. At your level, this makes no sense. At my level, it’s the only option. Things have changed.”
“The whole point of this operation was to bring him down. Or was I missing something?”
“You know better than that, Alan. We never do anything simply to bring someone down. Not in politics, not in intelligence. Everything we do is to strengthen our position. Previously, the best way to do that looked like burying Xin Zhu. Kill him-then frame him. Now, the situation has changed.”
“You’ll have to do better than that, Dorothy. You know how much I’ve poured into this. You know how much it means to me.”
“I can’t,” she said. “Don’t ask for things you know I can’t give. You’re not in anymore. You’re a private contractor. I’m your client.” She leaned back, grabbing at her Evian. “Do you follow?”
“Then I’ll sever our contract.”
“And lose the few Tourists you still have? You’d be dead in the water, Alan. You wouldn’t be able to do a thing.”
“I’ll bring in Milo Weaver.”
“Weaver?” She laughed. “He’s over the hill. He’s got a bullet hole in his gut. He’s useless. And he wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole.”
“He could be brought into it easily enough.”
She stared at him a moment, then set down her bottle. “This is academic. You’re not going solo, because in the end you’re a patriot. So leave Milo Weaver alone. You’ll just get him killed.”
She was right, of course, but that was when he began to ask himself questions. Could he bring in Milo? And, if so, could he protect him? Probably not, but he could protect Tina and Stephanie, and that, in the end, was all that would matter to Milo.
“So the plan’s changed,” he said finally, because there was no other option. “We frame… what’s his name again?”
“I didn’t tell you his name.”
“And you can’t tell me how that gets us Xin Zhu.”
“I’m sorry, Alan.” She stared at him a moment. “It’s what happens when you bring politicians in on your conspiracies; they take over.”
“This is Irwin’s doing?”
“We’re all politicians, Alan.”
He stared at her passive, political face. “If you think you can make a deal with Xin Zhu, then he’ll humiliate you in the end.”
“Please, Alan. It’s not about deals, and it’s not about making Xin Zhu’s life any easier than we’d planned. He will go down, but not the way we originally planned.”
Alan flashed on lights, red lights turning blue. “There’s only one way to take care of a man like that.”
She leaned back, still staring, and furrowed her brow. “If you’re not going to be on board, or if you’re going to kick and scream the whole way, then tell me now. It’ll save us a lot of trouble down the road.”
“No,” he said, and only afterward realized he was lying. “I just needed to get it out of my system. I’m on board.”
She was shopping. The video feed was grainy, a little wobbly, but he could make out the shelves and the particular overabundance of Dean amp; Deluca in SoHo. What even the poor-quality picture couldn’t hide was that she looked miserable. They’d fought that morning over… he couldn’t even remember what had set it off. Not that it mattered. The reason for all their fights these days was him, and the shitty moods he brought home, the ones he took to the bathroom when he feared they would lead to outbursts, or worse. She could smell it on him, the misery
