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“Dong, dong.” Peter nodded enthusiastically, reverting to Mandarin.
“Don’t wander off,” Campbell repeated. “Very important.”
“Dong, dong.”
“He understands, Mr. Campbell,” Hulan said.
“Okay, then, let’s do it.”
They got to the strand and turned left. The air felt balmy after the wintry cold of China. They had come to the beach at the perfect time of day. Most of the weekend crowds had gone home, but the walkway was still alive with rappers, bums, girls in thong bikinis on roller skates, teenage boys hotdogging on their bikes. Open-air stands offered T-shirts, sunglasses, shoes, suitcases, and gauzy dresses for sale.
As they walked—the FBI agents pressing ahead with Peter—Hulan reached out and took David’s hand. He couldn’t believe it; they were in public. He looked at her and wondered again how in just a few hours she could have transformed so much. She was still beautiful and her hair still hung in tendrils around her face, but she looked so relaxed, so different from the cautious Hulan of Beijing.
At the old Venice Pavilion, the landscape widened and the pedestrian traffic increased. David led them out past the crowds so they could watch the sun set behind the shimmering horizon. As they headed back to the restaurant, Peter ducked into a kiosk that sold shoes and came back out with two pairs. “Genuine leather,” he said, incredulous. “Cheaper than Beijing!” Then he picked up a pair of sunglasses and Hulan bought a flowing floral dress. After that, they stopped at every stall to check the prices and variety of T-shirts. Hulan bought a set of three for $10, but Peter surprised them all by bargaining with a woman who spoke mostly Spanish and coming away with three T-shirts for $7.50.
They got back to the restaurant in time for their reservation. “We have a protocol department,” Campbell said, “and they’ve been doing research on your customs.” Peter became serious but instantly changed as Campbell addressed the waiter. “We need liquor for toasts. Bring us a bottle of scotch, a bucket of ice, and some glasses. I’ll take it from there.”
With considerable panache, Campbell filled the glasses, passed them out, then held up his own. “I believe the word is ganbei.”
“Ganbei!”
“Ganbei!”
“Bottoms up!”
For the second round, Campbell added ice, but with their jet lag and their empty stomachs, the liquor did much to loosen whatever inhibitions were left in the group.
Hulan translated the difficult words on the menu and tried to decipher for her compatriot the ingredients in ahi with papaya and chili salsa and in fresh ravioli filled with mascarpone. Peter prudently ordered the duck “done in the Cantonese style,” which turned out to be a quarter of the bird still in one piece. He looked at it in confusion, then grunted happily as a platter draped with a huge steak—thick, aromatic, and also in one very large piece—was set before Jack Campbell. Peter waited until Hulan picked up her knife and fork and began sawing her meal into bite-size pieces before attempting to attack his with the barbaric utensils.
By the time they returned to the hotel—David thought it was a miracle that Campbell hadn’t been pulled over for driving under the influence—everyone was sated with food and drink. At the Biltmore, David, Hulan, and Peter got out. Peter yawned, waved, and disappeared through the Biltmore’s double doors with his purchases in hand. Hulan followed right behind him.
David waited in the cool night air. When his car came around, he gave the valet a ten, put the ticket stub back in his pocket, and entered the hotel. At Hulan’s door, he knocked gently. She opened it and drew him in. Feverishly they fumbled at buttons and zippers, stripping each other of silk and cotton, gabardine and cashmere. Hulan’s flesh was hot beneath his fingers. Her lips sought his. The smell of her came back to him as from a distant dream. They had not been together this way for twelve years, yet David’s hands and lips seemed to remember just how to increase Hulan’s ecstasy. Gradually their frantic gropings dissolved into a languorous rhythm. The rest of the night was sweeter and wilder than he ever could have imagined. But as keenly as David felt the primitive pain of passion and the exquisite thrill of release, there was a part of him that held back. He loved Hulan, but he knew he needed to be wary of her.
12
FEBRUARY 3
Chinatown
Did you sleep well, Inspector Liu?” Peter Sun asked Hulan as she slid into a chair beside him in the coffee shop the next morning.
“Yes, very well, thank you,” she said, keeping her voice steady.
“All night I am wondering if your sleep is gentle or if you are dreaming of traveling to Kaifeng,” Peter continued soberly. “But I think, Liu Hulan is a sensible person. She is not porcelain with scars.”
Hulan couldn’t help but blush at his innuendoes. The city of Kaifeng sounded like kai feng, which meant “unseal,” and was often used as a way to describe the wedding night. His porcelain metaphor was a time-honored way of describing loose women.
Peter puffed out his cheeks like a blowfish, then let his air out in a whoosh, laughing heartily.
“You!” Hulan warned, finally catching his teasing tone.
“We are away, Inspector.” Peter shrugged, imitating his new American friends. “I am here to watch you and I will. But you have done nothing that I wouldn’t do if I had the chance. Only one problem. No chance for me, hey? You see them bringing their females around me? No, just that woman attorney with the big smiling teeth. She is as appetizing as a wooden chicken! I would rather die than do the house thing with her!”
“True, but the only way to catch a tiger is by visiting the cave,” Hulan advised, laughing. “Investigator Sun, I did not know you were so…”
“What? We are away. If we return home, we have no problems. If you forget who you are and where you belong, that is a different matter.” Peter took a sip of tea. “Inspector Liu, here is what I think. We are in America. We have some fun, then we go home. But I think the old philosophers said it best. It is difficult for a snake to go back to hell once it has tasted heaven. I say, while we’re in heaven, we should gorge ourselves.”
“You are a corrupt man, Investigator.”
