CHAPTER 18
The day went as desultorily slow as the one that had preceded it. Manning spent most of the time poring over Lin’s calendar and examining the list of invitees for his dinner party later in the evening. There were of course a host of names which were entirely unfamiliar to him, and a precious few who were. One of those names was Senator Testaverde, a moneyed Democrat who represented California in the Senate. The Senator was chairman of the Finance Committee, which seemed just like the political power someone like Lin would wish to ally himself with. Like Lin, Testaverde was more than just slightly well off; unlike Lin, he was the scion of a California real estate and entertainment magnate, now long since dead. Manning knew precious little about the Senator beyond what he had read in the newspapers: he was a Liberal with a capital L, which made him the party’s pet viper to sick on the GOP; he loved getting in newspapers and on television; he had a flashy lifestyle that was at times at odds with that of a member of the United States Senate; he was twice-divorced; and while he portrayed himself as a champion for the Common Man, he had as much in common with the majority of the vassals he represented as Manning did with Liberace. If Lin had successfully managed a leech-grab onto Testaverde, then it had to be a two-way street.
The other name that leaped out at Manning was one that would be entirely overlooked in America. Ren Yun was a former member of the Chinese Communist Party, a functionary of the politburo, and an important one. He’d stepped down years ago when Jiang Zemin transitioned power to his replacement, and had avoided the spotlight ever since, as most Chinese politicians did when their reign came to an end. That the old man still had influence in some quarters of Chinese society was to be taken for granted, though Manning had no understanding how he and Lin were connected. Clearly, Lin’s time in the Chinese government had come to a close not long after Mao’s death, where Yun had managed to hold on for decades afterwards. No doubt his hand helped shape present-day China, though to what degree was anyone’s guess.
The rest of the names were players Manning didn’t know. It was a group of about twenty or so…a pretty damned big gathering, even if it was at a mansion in Sausalito. Would there be other individuals present as well, supporting the bigwigs? Manning felt that would be a certainty, though in what capacity one could only wonder. Security, for sure. At least the Senator would have a Secret Service escort. This didn’t make Manning nervous, though he presumed he would have to submit to a background check of sorts. He was certain his activities were off the Secret Service’s radar; he’d been cautious and adroit when it came to covering his tracks, and any events that might have triggered any alarms happened overseas. It was unlikely anything had made it back to the States.
Just the same, Manning cornered Baluyevsky when the Russian returned from whatever mission Lin had sent him on earlier in the day. Baluyevsky didn’t seem to be in much of a mood to chat, but Manning didn’t particularly care. They both answered to the same chain of authority.
“What is it, Manning?” Baluyevsky asked tersely when Manning entered his office. Like the man himself, it wasn’t exactly expressive; to say the room was merely Spartan might have been a drastic overstatement. The Russian’s bulk was so large that his desk looked too small for him, even though it was the same size as the desk in Manning’s own office.
“We need to go over this.” Manning put the list of invitations on Baluyevsky’s desk. “Not just who’s on it, but those who
“What do you mean, those who aren’t on it? Ah, you’re worried about the Secret Service, yes?” Baluyevsky smiled broadly, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “You needn’t worry about them. As far as anyone knows, you are not an entity they would be interested in.”
“It’s not the Secret Service I’m worried about. It’s other folks. Who will be supporting these people?”
“Mr. Lin’s staff, of course.”
“Not what I meant. Who will be supporting Yun, for instance?”
Baluyevsky crossed his arms and laughed.
“You must be joking, Manning. Mr. Yun and Mr. Lin have been friends and allies for decades. If you think that Yun is somehow involved with-”
“Of course not. But someone on his staff? May be.”
The humor drained out of Baluyevsky slowly.
“You think someone on Yun’s staff would pose a threat to Mr. Lin? An interesting idea, but all are vouched for. All have either the approval of Mr. Lin or Mr. Yun. That was something I insisted on in the first place.”
“Don’t get lazy,” Manning advised. “A Chinese killed Lin Dan.”
“Really. And
Manning snorted and shook his head.
“Not that way, no.”
“Ignore the sexual aspects,” Baluyevsky said. “If not for those, you could have committed the murder, and left the writing, correct?”
Manning considered it for a moment.
“Perhaps-though I’ve never tried to write Chinese characters in someone’s blood. But I don’t know that much about Lin’s past, so I couldn’t leave the message, from that aspect.”
Baluyevsky cocked his head.
“What do you mean?”
Manning sighed inwardly. Apparently, Lin hadn’t seen it fit to take Baluyevsky into his confidence completely. There were obviously things Lin did not want Baluyevsky to know, and one of those was the linkage between the scrawled message left on Lin Dan’s hotel room wall and Lin’s own past.
“The message must have some sort of relevance for Lin,” Manning said. “Otherwise, it’s a complete non sequitur.”
“Mr. Lin advises me he has no idea what the threat means,” Baluyevsky said. “Do you believe differently?”
Manning shrugged, wondering if he should even worry about trying to cover his tracks in this matter. Baluyevsky should know all about it anyway; how else to plan a defense?
“You’ll need to talk with Lin about that,” Manning said.
“As I’ve told you, I already have. Do you know something I do not?” Baluyevsky demanded.
“Talk to Lin about his past,” Manning recommended. “And do it soon.”
Baluyevsky stared up at Manning from behind his desk. His face was impassive, but Manning was certain the wheels were turning behind the cliff-like facade of his brow.
“If you know something,” he said after a time, “it would be in your best interest to tell me.”
“But apparently, it would not be in Mr. Lin’s. You and he need to discuss this, and leave me out of it. I’m not here to play any political games in this organization, nor am I angling for anything other than the salary that was promised to me. Once this mission is over, I leave. Understand that right now, Alexsey. I don’t want your job.” Manning tapped the list. “And that’s why I’m asking for the other names. If you want my opinion, leaving stones unturned at a time like this isn’t the wisest course of action. But you’re Lin’s security chief, you make that assessment. Me, I’m just going to keep the old man alive, because otherwise, I don’t get paid.”
“You truly are a mercenary,” Baluyevsky said distastefully.
“What I am isn’t really important, Baluyevsky. What I do is. You want to start filling in the blanks as far as the supporting characters go, or do I need to do it myself?”
Baluyevsky looked down at the list before him. After a long moment, he nodded.
“I will attend to this, and I will present you with another list of names. From there, perhaps you and I can go over them together.” Baluyevsky hesitated for a moment, then grudgingly added, “You know much more about Chinese culture than I do. Perhaps you can see something I might have missed.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Manning agreed.
Lunch was an uneventful part of the day, consisting of a six-inch tuna sandwich on white bread and a large
