Black Heart, page 38
The Monk nodded. 'The taxi will take you back to your hotel. Do not concern yourself with the fare, Mac-omber.' He smiled. 'The ride is on me.'
He said something in Mandarin, took his arms away from the window-sill. The cab rattled off, Macomber relaxing back in the seat.
The Monk watched the vehicle around the turning of Anren Street at the southern end of Yu Garden. He looked upward, wto the night, as if he could see beyond the city's glow into the heart of the stars burning there. He began to whistle a tune no
355
Westerner would make sense of. He heard a deep throaty roar as of an engine starting up and, moments later, a gleaming roan Mercedes came into view from the north, its great amber headlamps like a tiger's eyes, piercing the dark.
The Mercedes stopped in front of him. The driver who got out, came around the front to open the door for him, was dressed in the uniform of the Army of the People's Republic.
As soon as the Monk was within the roomy confines of the car, he brought out a white silk handkerchief and carefully and methodically wiped his chin.
Vodka, he thought, was an interesting liquor. Not only did it not stain the breath as the American, Canadian and Scotch whiskys did, it could also be easily substituted for. He smiled a secret smile. Who could tell the difference between water and vodka without sipping it?
The management of the Jin Jiang Club had been overjoyed to do their patriotic duty and, on his request, substitute water for the Stohchnaya he had ordered.
Of course, the bottle he had opened in Yu Garden and had shared with Macomber had been real. The Monk stared out the window as the Mercedes slipped through the thick humid night. It seemed a shame to him that the Russians were the ones who made such a fine liquor. He hated and distrusted the Russians. They were liars - belligerent liars at that; clustered around China's borders, itching to inch in. It was a constant problem since their technology was in all ways more advanced.
China still had no heavy industry and, worse, no coherent trade programme to finance it out of the dark ages. The Monk sighed. That, unfortunately, was the course Mao set for them and it had proved to be disastrous.
He leaned forward to tell the driver to slow down; he needec some time to think and he did so best when he was mobile. I seemed ironic but somehow not so odd to him that his country should be following the same path that the Japanese took in thi seventeenth century when Isyasu Tokugawa and his successive heirs maintained that country's historic and cultural integrity a the cost of total isolation from the rest of the world.
When the two-hundred-year-old Tokugawa shogunate wa finally overthrown and the Meiji Restoration begun, Japa
356
found itself in just the same position China now did: hopelessly backward, starved for cosmopolitan culture and in desperate need to leap a technological and psychological span of many years in a compressed period of time.
The psychological was the most difficult to overcome. The so-called Cultural Revolution in China, the Monk knew, had been a sham, nothing more than a fixing of the lines of power. Now that had all been done away with, the country was in flux. Ministers and officials came and went with appalling swiftness. Policies had no coherence or continuity. Yet the current government knew what had to be done to make China a modern world power.
That was principally why they allowed him to operate as he did. His clandestine dealings brought in enormous revenues for a Government starved for vast amounts of cash. China was still staggering beneath the burden of its population and the strides it found itself needing to take. Heavy industry and modern militarization were just two of the major imperatives. The Monk's business made a great deal of difference to them.
Thus his was a strictly independent situation, unique in all of China. He lived abroad for months out of the year. He came and went as he pleased with very few restrictions. But if it wasn't a state-run business, it was, at its very secret heart, statecontrolled. It had to be. This was China, after all. And the Monk had played a great part in its progress.
It was, of course, essential for the Monk's various dealings, that his true affiliation be withheld. His reputation had been built on his pristine independence. Any contradictory information would put him right out of the market.
But that, the Monk knew, would never happen. He was a man who in all respects was dissimilar to Delmar Davis Macomber. He was careful, conservative, patient. He was not greedy, nor was he monomaniacal. He took the long view.
It seemed to him now that Macomber was obsessed with his own position in life. It had been fascinating to finally meet the man after all he had heard about him. He'd give him precisely what he wan'ted and no strings attached.
He smiled. Well, perhaps there was one string.
*
357
On the Eastern shuttle to Washington, Tracy spent ten futile minutes thinking of what he was going to say to the Director.
Rain spattered against the Perspex window; heavy cloud cover hid both the land and the sky above him. Tracy closed his eyes and thought of other matters, allowing his unconscious to wrestle with the problem.
First thing that morning, he had asked Irene to reroute his flight to Hong Kong via Washington and set it back twentyfour hours. Then he dialled the Director himself on his private
line.
The limited access number had not changed but security had. He heard the hollowness on the line as he spoke to the female operator. 'Administration', was all she said; the listening devices were hard to work. Probably, Tracy thought, some of his father's own design.
'I wish to speak to the Director,' he said. 'The Director is in conference at present,' the clipped voice said without inflection. 'May I inquire who is calling?' 'It's Mother,' Tracy said. 'Pardon,' the operator said. 'I did not get that.' That was the first lie. She got everything, absolutely every thing; that was part of her job. Tracy repeated the name thi foundation had given him.
'Please hold,' the voice said, 'I have another call coming in That was the second lie. The silence on the line echoed hollowl-y 'Hello, Mother!' It was a hearty, jovial voice. Male. 'This
Martinson.'
'I don't know any Martinson,' Tracy said evenly.
'Of course you do, Old Son. We went to Princeton togethe
Surely you remember?'
'I didn't go to Princeton,' Tracy said, following a Ion established procedure. I graduated the Mines, class of Sixti -
eight.'
'I see.' There was a pause. The joviality had gone out of tl *
voice. 'One moment, please.'
Three clicks. He had been transferred again. It was nothir, less than he had expected.
'Mother?' This voice was deeper, also male. But the good old
358
w
boy atmosphere had been replaced by a quiet businesslike attitude. 'Is that you?'
'The one and only,' Tracy said. 'Unless you've given my number to someone else.'
'I don't think the Director would've done that ... do you?'
'I wouldn't put anything past him.' This was all small talk.
'Price here," the voice said. 'We graduated from the Mines together.'
'The Price I know dropped out after a month; he was administrative material, not for the field.'
'We both trained under Hama,' the voice insisted.
'Jinsoku was the one that year,' Tracy said, 'and every year until his death three years ago.'
'Is that so?'
Tracy had had just about enough. 'Price, you sonovabitch, you almost blew your hand off with the first firearm you drew at the Mines.'
'Christ. Mother, it is you!'
'Price, I want to speak to the Director.'
'Yes... of course. I'll tell him you're on.' There was a pause but he did not switch Tracy to hold. 'Mother... it's damn good to hear your voice again."
A moment later, the Director came on. 'I trust you still understand the necessity for all this screening.' His voice was as liquid as an icy stream; thick in the middle-ranges. It went down well with the big boys with whom he was always hanging out. 'One can never be too careful.' There was no question of a more personal greeting.
'Still getting obscene calls?'
The Director snorted. 'Always and forever. Goes with the territory.'
The reason I called ... I'll be in town tonight. I thought a dinner would be a change of pace for both of us.'
'After ten years out of touch, I would say so.' He sniffed. 'Shall we say eight o'clock at Lion d'Or?'
'No,' Tracy said immediately. 'I'd rather Chez Fran9oise.'
'Of course,' the Director said amiably. 'How could I forget?
359
But in my position, one gets used to being a bit more chic. Nov where is that place?'
'Outside Great Falls,' Tracy said, knowing the Director hai not forgotten the restaurant's location. 'Out along the river.'
Til find it,' the Director said and hung up.
The 'Fasten Seat Belts-No Smoking Please' signs had corn on as the plane banked, lowering its flaps as it headed dowi through the soup towards the Washington airport.
He tried to clear his mind for his meeting with the Directo but images of Lauren floated through his mind, confoundin; him. He saw her turning in slow motion, one leg held high angled sharply at the knee; he saw the sunlight spinning in he hair, his own slightly distorted reflection in the sea green of he eyes. Tears welled there, as if tethered tightly.
He tried not to think of his apartment, so empty and seem ingly dead without her presence to animate it. Darkness. An she was not there. Guilt ribboned him as he pictured her fac again. Bobby.
The 707 landed with two quick bumps, the engines sighin down as they lost power. People were already in the aisl< pulling down their briefcases and weekend bags from the over head cabinets.
Before leaving the terminal, Tracy checked all his larger bags with the airline he was flying to Hong Kong, keeping with him only his overnight bag and the pigskin courier case within which his father had carefully packed away the goodies. Anyone, including Customs, opening the case for inspection would find such innocuous items as electric razor, travel clock, hairbrush and comb, three bars of Ivory soap and a sterling silve~ nail clip. None of these items, of course, were what the appeared to be.
Tracy left the terminal, went down the steps to his immediate left, caught the red-and-white Avis shuttle bus. Within ten minutes, he had picked up his rent-a-car, a metallic-coloured Cordoba, and was in the midst of the thick traffic on the outer ring road leading out of the airport.
He eventually got on the Washington Memorial Parkway crawled along. The Pentagon came up on his left and, just pa;
360
that, the traffic thinned out as most of the cars went right over the Arlington Memorial Bridge into the downtown area. The Washington Memorial itself stood tall and white in the last of the day's light. As he watched, lights came up, throwing it into brilliant illumination.
The foliage was lush, a testament to the city's constant high humidity as well as government planning. The river turned magenta, then, as darkness swept in, indigo with spirals of gold cast by the city's lights.
Chez Franfoise was an unprepossessing restaurant out in the countryside. The Director was already seated when Tracy walked in.
To Tracy, the Director had always looked like a genetic throwback. With his outsized jaw, thick neck and hulking body, he seemed at least outwardly to belong more to the world blooming a million years ago. His brain was another matter, entirely. More than once, Tracy had seen the Director outthink a roomful of professional types.
'Sit down,' the Director said. He looked only a bit older than he had the last time Tracy had seen him. 'I've ordered you a Glenlivet on the rocks, though I thoroughly disapprove. You'd do better having it straight up.' His eyes watched Tracy as he sat down. 'Ice inhibits the smoky bouquet.'
'You have it your way,' Tracy said, 'and I'll have it mine.'
The Director smiled. 'You haven't changed, I see.'
'Nor you.'
The Glenlivet came and Tracy sipped at it. The Director waved away the menus. 'Later,' he said. He wrapped his fingers around his bourbon and branch water. No ice rattled in its jewelled depths.
'Washington seems much the same,' Tracy said.
'On the surface, yes.' The Director took out one of his handrolled cheroots, black and green and a little crooked. The foundation gives me many small pleasures', he had always been fond of saying, 'not the least of which is obtaining Cuban cigars.' 'Obtaining', was the Director's favourite euphemism. 'On the inside, it's another matter entirely.'
He paused while he went through the ritual of lighting up.
36i
I
When he had the thing going to his satisfaction, he continued. 'This goddamned Democratic administration doesn't know its armpit from its asshole.' He glanced at the glowing end of his cheroot. 'They haven't the sense to know what to do with our intelligence or the good grace to let us alone. Lame-brained sonsabitches.' His eyes crept back up to lock with Tracy's. 'I am heartened, however, by this groundswell for Gottschalk. Helluva fine man. Just what we need.' The Director frowned, a formidable expression, since his bristly eyebrows, coming together, threatened to do battle over the bridge of his patrician nose. 'The cities've not seen fit to embrace him wholeheartedly yet. But I expect that'll take a little time. They still remember Reagan.' He heaved his bulk, sighed. 'It's not easy being a
Republican.'
The Director's eyes roved and sought, piercing the distance between them. 'Sorry to hear about the Governor. Good friend of yours, I gather.'
'Kim came to see me recently.'
'Really.'
Tracy was instantly alert. There was absolutely no inflection in the Director's voice and his face was a mask. But something in his posture, a minute stiffening, straightening of the spine, a slight turn of his head to the left, bringing his right ear more to bear on the conversation, had sent a warning through Tracy's frame. Reasoning ability was handled by the left side of the brain and that was fed by the right ear, eye, etc.
'It had to do with the Governor's death,' Tracy said casually. 'But I imagine you know all about that. Unless I'm terribly out of date Kim reports directly to you.'
'Nothing that radical has changed inside,' the Director said. 'The majority of our field personnel liaise with Price. But Kim's a special case. Mmmmm. I'm not talking out of school. You know Kim better than almost anyone. He requires ... special
care.'
'You mean to make sure he doesn't go off like a mad dog,
snuffing people left and right.'
The Director sniffed, the only clue that he had taken offence 'The results he obtains rather mitigate against any other kind of action on our part.'
362
I
'He's a bloody mass murderer,' Tracy said angrily.
'If it comes to that, so are you,' the Director retorted. His voice had remained even but colour had come to his cheeks, points of red like rouge roughly applied. He took the halfsmoked cheroot out of his mouth, leaned forward across the table, occluding the tableware with his bulk. 'In the last six months alone he has obtained more information for us on the opposition's overt use of trichothene mycotoxins in Cambodia than State has had in the previous two years. I don't for a moment doubt his enormous value to us.' The Director was hot now. 'The vacation he's currently enjoying is a well-deserved one, I assure you.'
'I'm sure it is,' Tracy murmured as he struggled against showing the enormity of emotion racing through him. Kim was on vacation? Then his coming to Tracy - the Holmgren investigation he had involved Tracy in was not a foundation assignment. The Director knew nothing about it. Christ, Tracy thought. To calm himself, he took a sip of his Glenlivet. His mind was racing off in ten different directions at once. Immediately, he gained control, slowing himself down.
Prana. He longed to use its centring influence now but deep, controlled breathing in front of the Director was out of the question. He would see and know something was amiss.
'What is it Kim wanted of you?' the Director inquired.
'Merely a condolence call on his way through.' The lie came easily to him. Too easily. And he had to remind himself again that this was the last time, the very last. After he had tracked down John's and Moira's killer, he would be finished with this life forever.
The Director called for the menus and while they were deciding what to eat said, 'There are always situations arising ... which would benefit greatly from your expertise. Now more than ever, in fact.'
Tm sure there are.'
'I think I'll have the chicken,' the Director said. He closed the menu, placed it flat on the table in front of him. Yes. With a bottle of iced Rhine wine, that sounds just right for a night like this.'
363
w
'I don't want you to go,' Joy said softly and then as if sensing that was the wrong tactic to take with him, began again, 'You
can't go.'
Khieu was thinking of the last briefing he had had with
Macomber just before his China trip.
'Now you know as much about the foundation as I do.' 'Does he know Kim?' Khieu had asked thoughtfully. 'He knows of him through Tracy, of course,' Macomber had said. 'But they've never met.' 'He seen a photograph?'
'No. There are none of any of the foundation personnel.'
Khieu recalled how he had bowed before the image of his gilt
Buddha, through whose eyes all the universe could be seen and
known. 'Then there will be no problems.' Then he had begun
to pray, moving slowly and methodically through the Buddhist
catechism.
'It's far too dangerous.' Joy's voice pulled him back to the
present.
He smiled at her, stroked her soft hair. 'How can you know
such a thing?'
Her eyes were liquid. 'Because I'm frightened for you.'
He laughed. 'Nothing can harm me. I'll slip through the new Kampuchea like a wraith.'
'And what about your ghosts?' Joy had slept beside him enough for her to have come to fear his nightmares as if they were her own. She did not know their contents; she would not ask him and he, certainly, would not speak of them. It was more than enough to experience the overflow of frightful emotions pouring out of his soul like a torrent of sewage. And she would hold him tightly as he writhed and moaned, talking in endlessly repeating phrases, Khmer words she could not decipher. In those fevered moments he could have been some alien, drifted to earth from ten thousand light years away.
