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“I can’t,” she admitted.
“We all have walls around our lives. Some are imposed on us. Some we impose on ourselves.” He edged closer to her and squeezed her upper arm. “You and I both know that the trick to survival is how we choose to live within those constraints. Do we sit passively or do we push against them? Do we rise above what’s been handed to us or do we give up? This case is a gift. Remember who you are.”
She turned and headed back to the building.
Zai raised his voice. “Do not go far, Inspector. I will need you back in my office at three o’clock.”
Hulan stopped and turned to stare at her mentor. She didn’t see the usual kindness in his eyes. He was now only her superior.
“Why?”
“At three o’clock, Inspector. Be on time.”
She watched him walk past her and into the building. The heat shimmered off the asphalt. The scuffle and squeak of sneakers eased the basketball’s erratic dribble. Hulan didn’t know what lay ahead, but standing there in the open courtyard she felt confused, scared, and angry. She had known these feelings many times in her life, and her bitterness about that was bottomless.
WHEN DAVID GOT TO HIS OFFICE, MISS QUO, HIS ASSISTANT, offered a few consoling r
emarks about Hulan, then dropped the subject. That’s how it was sometimes in China. Who among the general populace had not been a target at some time or other? Who among the billion people who inhabited this country had not done something they’d regretted at least once? David, who’d come from a culture where people were expected to share their feelings, had never fully accepted the way the Chinese—even those you were close to—wouldn’t talk about personal matters. Nor did he understand the fatalistic approach the Chinese sometimes took toward the worst possible disasters and inequities. As a practical matter, what that meant to David today was that he was expected to table his worries and get to work.
For the last five years, David had been the sole presence in the city, and indeed in all of Asia, for the legal firm of Phillips & MacKenzie. Usually at this time of year he paid social calls to his Chinese clients around the capital before they left for the comforts of the shore or the bright coolness of a mountain resort. Most of his American clients abandoned the country entirely, choosing this season to go home to the States, visit their families, take the kids to Disneyland or Disney World. Others—those without spouses or children—might head below the equator to Australia or even New Zealand. Sure, it was the dead of winter down there, but what a relief from the weeks of days over one hundred degrees, eye-stinging and lung-choking smog, and humidity so thick that after one minute on the street your flesh was a clammy muck of sweat.
David could see the enervating effects of the climate in the face of the man sitting across from him. Director Ho Youmei of the State Cultural Relics Bureau looked like he wanted to fly out of his skin. He was dressed impeccably in a suit obviously made abroad, but the poor man was wilting all over. But maybe it wasn’t the heat that was getting to the director. Today he had broken with so many traditions that David thought Ho either was a man with a serious problem or had become far too westernized for his own good.
Ho had called this morning to make an appointment for 1:30. He’d refused to reveal on the phone why he needed an American attorney’s services, why a meeting was required on such short notice, and—most surprising—why he wanted to come to David’s office, which automatically put the director in the weaker position.
They’d had tea and exchanged the usual pleasantries. Ho’s English was near perfect, but he was hesitant to delve into his problem. This was understandable. All across China—from the Special Economic Zones along the coast and the major cities to the most remote villages deep in the interior—average people, companies, the army, and government ministries all wanted a piece of the economic pie. To get rich is glorious! Private companies and government bureaus alike were bound to get into trouble.
“I’ve heard good things about you, Attorney Stark,” Ho said at last. “You’re well-known in Beijing for your discretion in sensitive matters.”
So this was to be a job interview.
“I’m one man with a small practice.”
“Ah, Chinese modesty. I’ve heard you are an expert.”
“Many people say many things, but are they reliable character witnesses?”
“I’m sure Minister Li at the Ministry of Justice would be amused to hear you question his reliability. He says you are a Zhongguotong—an honorary Chinese.”
“The minister and I are well-acquainted, but we both know he is given to exaggeration.”
Ho laughed. “Old Li said you would say this as well.”
“I’m happy to be predictable then.”
The irony, if such a thing could be said of David’s career, was that the Chinese government often hired him, a foreigner, because he adhered to American legal ethics. He honored attorney-client privilege in all of its manifestations, including work product. This was especially important to bureaus and ministries. What was common in the United States—hiring an attorney to conduct an internal investigation of malfeasance and then quietly negotiate restitution and punishment—was a rarity in China, but word had circulated that David could get results without necessarily bringing in the police. Furthermore, he was fluent in spoken Mandarin, even though he was still basically illiterate. He’d gotten pretty far with his tutor in the written language until he’d reached the word yang. The word meant different things when pronounced in each of the four tones: disaster, sheep, raise one’s head, and sample. He’d mastered the distinctions but had finally balked when he learned that yang in the second rising tone could also mean pretend, ocean, melt, or beetle, depending on the intricacies of the written character. But he’d stuck with the spoken language, which was why he knew gutter curses and wasn’t shy about using them if a case required it.
He was also well-respected in the foreign business community. If he accepted a matter, it was because he knew he could deliver. And deliver he did, for in these last five years David had developed that quintessential prerequisite for good business dealings in China—guanxi, connections. No matter which side of the cultural fence a client was on, David had impeccable connections. He worked hard to maintain his contacts back in the States with the FBI and the U.S. Attorney’s Office, but the people he had private access to in China were even more impressive. He often consulted with the Ministry of Public Security. Beyond this, it was a well-known fact that his wife was a Red Princess, very rich, very well connected in her own right.
For these reasons, David’s practice thrived. He’d conducted numerous internal investigations of corruption for a variety of Chinese governmental entities and had handled several politically awkward matters that required someone intimately familiar with U.S. law. He’d litigated on behalf of the Ministry of Culture in a dispute with an American film company over a proposed theme park. He’d worked as a liaison between U.S. and Chinese Customs departments in numerous matters involving smuggled artifacts. These cases rarely made the papers in either country but were common knowledge in some circles.
“It is your absence of predictability that has made you a friend to China,” Ho continued. “My old friend Nixon Chen said this about you as well.”
No one had better guanxi than Nixon Chen. Nixon was a childhood friend of Hulan’s, a former associate at Phillips & MacKenzie, a Red Prince, and probably the most important private lawyer in Beijing.
“Again you embarrass me, but let me say that it’s an honor to meet with the director. I too have knowledge of your reputation….” Unlike Hulan, David couldn’t pull a dangan, a secret personal file, but he’d chatted just enough with Nixon and a few others this morning to be able to flatter the director.
They could go on this way for hours. David used to chafe at these formalities, but now he enjoyed the exchange of compliments and the constant deferring that were part of the delicate dance leading first to business, then to deeper relationships. But Director Ho glanced at his watch, settled further into his chair, and stared at David. The message was clear: he wanted to move on.
