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An hour and a half of fitful sleep and David and Hulan were up again. David had never gotten used to the time change going to China and had woken up there every morning at three. Since coming back to Los Angeles, he and Hulan experienced the reverse, partly due to jet lag and partly to desire. But this last night was different. They were running on adrenaline now, but still thoroughly exhausted.
David showered, shaved, and dressed in a suit. They left early so that Hulan could stop by her hotel to change. From the Biltmore, David drove to the parking lot used by assistant U.S. attorneys. David put an arm around her shoulders as they walked up to the federal courthouse. On the twelfth floor, Lorraine buzzed them through. Outside David’s office they found Jack Campbell, Peter Sun, and dozens of other special agents from the FBI already waiting for them. Campbell looked terrible. His clothes were rumpled. He needed a shave. His eyes were red from tears and a raging hangover. He smelled as though he’d been sweating everything he’d drunk the night before—a corrosive combination of scotch, beer, and black coffee.
David and Hulan were introduced to the other agents—white, black, old, young, but basically interchangeable in their suits, ties, starched shirts, holstered guns, and outrage. They were all expressing that anger in frustrated, intense voices. Finally David shouted, “Shut up!” At his outburst they did just that and David said, “We’ve got a preliminary hearing to set bail for Spencer Lee in a half hour. And I’m telling you right now, he’s going to walk out of here unless you can give me something—some real piece of evidence to tie him to Noel’s death.”
“And the death of Mr. Zhao,” Hulan added, but the immigrant was far from the minds of the assembled agents.
They went over their scant and circumstantial evidence. At the end, David said, “I think we have to face facts. Lee’s going to be on the streets in about two hours, which means you’ve got that much time to do whatever you need to do to get your surveillance in place. He may not have committed these murders, but he’s the key to them, and I don’t want to lose sight of him for a minute.”
At this point Madeleine Prentice summoned David, Hulan, and Peter to her office. Rob Butler was there, as were two men from the Chinese consulate in Los Angeles. Madeleine made the necessary introductions, then said, “Okay, I want everyone to see this.” She flicked on the television and with the remote control zapped from channel to channel, stopping at local morning news shows.
On one station, the honorary mayor of Chinatown reassured the populace that the enclave was still a safe place to visit. On another, the Chinese consul general in Los Angeles viciously attacked local law enforcement, the city, the state, the nation, and the president for the death of a Chinese national and for placing in jeopardy two Ministry of Public Security agents who had come here at the invitation of the United States. On one of the networks, Patrick O’Kelly unctuously opined that these murders were not connected to the arrest of the Chinese involved in the sale of nuclear trigger components of a week ago. And, of course, there were late-night clips from the crime scene. Body bags. Agents dressed in windbreakers with “FBI” printed in electric yellow on the back. Hulan and David leaving the restaurant, saying “No comment,” slipping into his car, and driving away. Jack Campbell—his face blotchy, his eyes puffy—ferociously putting his hand up over a camera lens.
Madeleine flipped off the television, then said, “We’ve got several problems going at once. David, I understand you’re going to be in court in a few minutes. We’ll get back to that one in a minute. I’m dealing with Washington as best I can. I’ve got to tell you, you’ve put me in a tough position. And someone’s going to have to talk to the press. We need to get our voice in there and do a little damage control if we can. David?”
“Can’t we put the press off?”
“Are you crazy? Forgive me, but an FBI agent doesn’t get chopped up and cooked every day, and there’s the little matter of the illegal. What was his name?”
“Zhao.”
“Right, Zhao. What were you thinking? How could you have used someone like that? At the very least, we needed to discuss it. Christ! Don’t you watch the news? We’ve got an international crisis going on and you’re sending an illegal Chinese undercover.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time…”
“Well, your good idea has turned into an international incident of its own. Washington’s gone ballistic over the death of Special Agent Gardner. The mayor of Chinatown is threatening to sue. On what grounds, I don’t know, but he’s been a busy man these last few hours. He’s either been on every morning news show, as you’ve already seen, or he’s been on the phone to me, yelling and screaming about how badly this reflects on his community.”
As David started to say something, she held up her hand. “I’m not done. Given all this, I’ve asked the consulate for help. We were the sponsoring agency for this fiasco,
and I personally feel terrible about what happened. Mr. Chen and Mr. Leung very graciously agreed to come to this meeting. They are worried about the safety of Inspector Liu and Investigator Sun and believe they should return home immediately.”
David wasn’t going to let that happen. “We still need Inspector Liu to advise us on the case.”
“I agree,” Peter said. David and Hulan looked at him in surprise. “She’s needed here.”
“She is wanted in Beijing,” said Mr. Chen.
“She will return when the case is over,” Peter retorted.
“You will both return today,” Mr. Chen commanded.
Hulan cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but don’t I have a say in any of this?”
“We have received orders…”
“You have received orders. I have not. And until I hear personally from Section Chief Zai or Vice Minister Liu, Investigator Sun and I will remain to fulfill our obligations.” It was a ruse, but one that might buy them some time.
The two men from the consulate argued with Hulan in Chinese, but she remained firm. Then the men stood, made curt bows to Madeleine Prentice, and left. The U.S. attorney sighed.
“What about the press?” she asked wearily.
“I’ve got court in a couple of minutes,” David said, “then I want to stay with the FBI.”
She looked at him in disappointment. “I remember a day not too long ago when you said you wanted to stick with this as long as it was your case. We gave you a lot of rope.” Mercifully, she didn’t add, And you’re hanging yourself with it. “I’ll deal with the press, all right? You get down to court and do everything you can to keep Spencer Lee in custody.”
When the meeting was over, David hurried down to the courtroom. Hulan and Peter hung back. “I think I owe you an apology,” she said, thinking of all the times she had cut him out of her investigations.
“There is no need, Inspector.”
