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Several hours later, David woke up, sensing that someone was staring at him. He looked across the aisle and met Peter’s grim eyes. David pushed gently with his shoulder and Hulan shifted away from him, her head falling to the other side. Peter nodded expressionlessly, then turned back to the screen at the front of the cabin.
The familiarity of his surroundings began to have an effect on David. Now, flying above the ocean, with the credits for the second American movie rolling, the American flight attendants quietly passing down the aisle inquiring if anyone needed anything, and the fatigued American passengers stretched out or nestled together in their seats, David was suddenly able to see things much more clearly. He knew that finding Hulan again after so many years had impaired his judgment. As a result, he hadn’t paid enough attention. When he’d walked down the streets in Beijing, distracted by the smells and bustle, it was as though he had forgotten how to observe, how to analyze, how to zero in on deceit.
“What are you thinking?” Hulan asked.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.” Her groggy look melted into pleasant surprise. “I think I felt you wake up.” He took her hand again under the blanket. “So what were you thinking?”
“How much I feel like I’ve—we’ve—not been in control of this case.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re assigned to the murder of Billy,” he began. “Two weeks later, I find the body of Henglai. A coincidence, right?”
“Right.”
“But after that everything seems so planned. This guy, Patrick O’Kelly from the State Department, comes to the office and tells me that the Chinese have requested my presence. He gives me a diplomatic invitation signed by Section Chief Zai. But once in China, as you pointed out, there was no official reception, no sense that anyone actually wanted my help.”
“No one wanted my help either,” Hulan reminded him.
“But you can see that our governments are saying one thing, but their intent is very different.”
“I think that’s a stretch.”
“I have more. I didn’t react well to discovering Guang Henglai. Well, who would? But I think that knowledge—like so much other information—was passed on, so that the murderer or murderers knew to go out of their way to create the gruesome spectacle of Cao Hua. Someone somewhere wanted to throw me, and it worked.” He paused, thinking how to broach his next concern. Finally he said, “How do you explain the fact that we were assigned to work together?”
“It was a coincidence. You found Henglai…”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t shake the feeling that our meeting was strategized as meticulously as a move in a chess game. Someone reckoned on my brain being fogged by the sight of you, by your physical proximity, by the feel of your head on my shoulder as you sleep on this plane.”
“I’m sure people know about us. We both work for government entities. It’s their job to know our private lives.”
He watched her face as he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that Vice Minister Liu was your father?” He was not surprised to see a hooded look come over her features.
“I thought you knew,” she said evenly. “We share the same last name after all.”
“Hulan…”
“I think you’re right about being watched,” she continued, ignoring him. “Of course I told you that”—she lowered her voice—“Peter was watching us. I hope you believe that now. But do you think you were being observed in L.A.?”
David deliberated. He could push her or let her have her way for now. He decided on the latter course.
“I think I’ve been watched since I boarded the helicopter to fly out to the Peony. How? Zhao, one of the immigrants on the ship, implied that the crew knew that the Coast Guard and the FBI were coming. But consider this. It’s not just Peter watching us. The killer knew we were going to visit Cao Hua.”
“Do you think we’ve met the killer during our interviews?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he has an informant.”
“We’ve spoken to a lot of people.” Hulan weighed the possibilities. “It could be anyone from Rumours or the Black Earth Inn.”
“Or Peter.”
Hulan glanced over David’s shoulder to her subordinate. Peter? Could he be that corrupt?
“What was it you said?” David asked. “That there are no secrets in China? All I’m saying is that everyone we talked to seemed to know we were coming. So of course the killer—or killers—would know we’d show up at Cao’s apartment when we did.” He sighed. “All this leads back to the ultimate question: Who? Everywhere we look seems to take us further away from the triads, but I still think that everything that’s happened has been orchestrated by the Rising
Phoenix.”
