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“Sun Gan was in great trouble during what we may call the Chaos,” the man in the middle said. “But instead of trying to save himself, he petitioned Premier Zhou to protect one of our country’s treasures. This is why, if you were to visit the Jinci Temple famous in Shanxi Province for its Three Everlasting Springs, you would know that Premier Zhou sent—at Sun Gan’s request—an armed guard to protect…”
Another piece fell into place, this one from Hulan’s own past. She remembered leaving the Red Soil Farm on an excursion to Jinci. The monks had been ridiculed and struggled against. In the newer buildings Hulan and her compatriots had destroyed paintings and sculptures, but they’d not been allowed to touch the oldest and most beautiful building at Jinci, the renowned Mother Temple, defended as it was by Premier Zhou’s personal guards. It was as Henry Knight said that day flying back to Taiyuan: Sun Gan, even in the most difficult circumstances, “stood firm.” Unlike others in this room, herself included, he’d never wavered in his beliefs or his duties.
Hulan became aware of the others’ eyes upon her, judging her, testing her loyalty and her memory.
“You have a final request, Liu Hulan,” a voice said from the back row. It was Sun Gan. “Perhaps this one will be more beneficial to you personally.”
She answered, “There is a man. Bi Peng. He works for the People’s Daily.”
“Yes, we know him.”
“I’m sure you do. He’s written many things about me and my family at your direction.”
Four of the men shifted uncomfortably in their chairs until the man in the middle laughed. “You want him sent to labor camp?”
“Perhaps he can simply be reassigned to something less malignant,” Hulan said.
“It won’t make you free,” someone said.
“I just don’t want lies being used to control me,” Hulan said, her eyes searching the faces to see who’d spoken.
“What do you suggest, then?”
“I agree to your conditions. You agree to mine. I have far more to lose than you. I think you are ahead in the game. May we leave it at that?”
A few minutes later, Hulan was once again ensconced behind the tinted windows of the Mercedes. This time no attempt was made to clear the alley before her house. She left the car, ignored the worried looks of her neighbors, and ducked into the quiet of her compound. Her mother and the nurse were still out. David was still across the Pacific. She hoped they would never know of her visit to the other side of the lake.
In Los Angeles, David bunked at his house under the Hollywood sign with Special Agent Eddie Wiley. It had been a little over a month since David left Los Angeles, but already the city, his house, his own bed seemed foreign to him. He longed to be home with Hulan. Still, he went about his business. He stopped in every day at Phillips & MacKenzie, the “& Stout” having been dropped. The publicity had been bad, but as Phil Collingsworth and the other partners assured David, they’d known nothing of Miles’s shenanigans. They were at pains to verify that their invitation to come back to the firm had not only been sincere but had been in the pipeline for many months before making the offer. (In retrospect, Phil recalled that Miles—while finally joining the unanimous vote—had been the only partner to voice last-minute opposition to David’s return. Once he was in, Miles had manipulated the situation as only a fine—though ultimately corrupt—mind could.) Miles had been the firm rainmaker, but the firm was bigger than one man. In fact, billable hours were up thanks to Randall Craig and the various federal investigations nipping at Tartan’s heels. The only real cost to the firm was in redesigning the logo on the door and reprinting the firm’s stationery.
Phil and the others encouraged David to stay with the firm and keep the Beijing office open. David, whose belief in the law had been so tested during this past year, found himself drawn in by his partners’ sentiments. If anything, his love of the law had been reaffirmed. Justice didn’t always follow the rulebook. The outcome could often be unsatisfactory and unsatisfying, but this time around David felt that, despite the twists and turns, justice might be served.
His duty to seeing that happen was not yet done. All of the principals were either dead or awaiting execution in China. However, the story had indeed sparked the interest of the U.S. Attorney’s Office, which had initiated a thorough investigation into Tartan’s overseas operations. As a result David spent several days testifying before the grand jury, but most of his responses consisted of “I can’t answer that due to attorney-client privilege.” Since he no longer had an office in the criminal courts building, he holed up in Rob Butler’s. There weren’t many witnesses who were accorded such VIP treatment, but David and Rob were friends. That friendship made it all the harder for David to ask Rob why he hadn’t told him about Keith.
“Told you?” Rob said. “What could I have told you? He came in here wanting to get political asylum for that girl, but he had no proof that she was in any political danger or that she was an important dissident. Then he asked me if the reason I wouldn’t help was because we were investigating him. I told him we’d checked out what that reporter had written months before and had found nothing. But Keith didn’t believe me.”
David thought back to Keith’s
mood on that last night—his desperation, his anxiety, even his anger. So much misery could have been prevented if Keith had only told the truth. Rob and David too, for that matter.
“Before I went to China I asked you straight out—”
“If there was a Keith Baxter investigation and if there was any chance that Keith could have been the target and not you on that night,” Rob finished for him. “First, I want you to know that I never would have let you go to China if I thought Keith had been the intended victim. But how could I have thought that anyway? Keith came to me about a girl—”
“What about the investigation?”
“That day Madeleine said there wasn’t one, and there wasn’t. But I also said that maybe his name had come up in another matter.”
“And what was I supposed to take from that?”
“What I would have taken if the tables had been reversed. Nothing. Look, I couldn’t tell you why he was here, just like you couldn’t tell all of us what was happening in China. We have that pesky thing called confidentiality. And remember, Keith was my friend too. He was dead. Was it any of your business that he’d come in here with some crack-brained scheme—lying to me the whole while, by the way—to get his girlfriend over here? I decided the least I could do to protect his memory was keep my mouth shut. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”
This caused David to look even closer at his own actions. What if he’d confronted Miles at the funeral, pushing past the platitudes and facile excuses? But like Rob, David had made protecting his friend’s memory a priority. Then, when the job offer came up, it had been so easy to bury his concerns as he became consumed with the idea of getting back to Hulan. He’d have to live with the knowledge of that moment of selfishness for the rest of his life.
Two days later, after completing his testimony, David found himself drawn to the Stout estate, having heard that Mary Elizabeth was going back to Michigan. The driveway was chockablock with trucks from moving companies, auction houses, and charitable organizations. David wandered inside and found Mary Elizabeth, in jeans and a T-shirt, orchestrating the packing and giving away of her family’s worldly possessions. A sorrowful look came over her face when she saw him, and wordlessly she motioned for him to follow her. They stood out on the terrace. It was a beautiful late summer day, and the scent of roses filled the air.
“I never wanted all this.” Mary Elizabeth’s gesture took in the gardens, the mansion, the view, the life she and Miles had built. “But he wanted it. He wanted it badly.”
“How much did you know?”
