T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“And the FBI. All we know is they are making inquiries through their embassy.”

“Which will get you precisely zip. You know about the Vice President’s upcoming visit to China?”

“Yes.”

“Their primary concern is trade. The guys with the fat wallets are not interested in backing an administration that focuses on human rights. Or even on missing Americans. Those who bankroll the election campaigns want free trade, open borders, hands off everything to do with making money.”

Marcus asked, “So what do I do?”

“Find out who is responsible for that factory. Determine who is the top local man. Remember what I said: Business in China is all about who holds power. See if pressure can be applied directly to the top dog.”

“Can you do that?”

Granger rose to his feet, offered his hand. “Give me a few days.”

It was dark and well past the worst of rush hour by the time Marcus entered Georgetown. He snagged a parking space several blocks from the house on P Street. He walked through a misting rain as cars drove by slowly, tires whispering on the wet asphalt. Lights were softened by the rain, the sidewalk and the street and the houses transformed into an unfinished painting. He saw no one and enjoyed the moment’s solitude.

Kirsten opened the door before he could knock. There was no pleasure in her greeting, and scant welcome. “Something’s come up. I’ve been called back to the office.”

Disappointment was becoming a familiar response to this woman. “I was looking forward to a nice evening.”

The only consolation she offered was an absence of anger. She pushed open the door, said, “I’ve made us a salad. It’s all the time I have.”

Marcus followed her retreat through the house. Every light in the kitchen was on. The place was neat as a model home. Two plates were set on the kitchen counter, two stools drawn up at right angles, water glasses, no smell of food. Just bread and cheese and a bowl of lettuce. He glanced to where Kirsten stood hugging her middle, ready to accept his irritation. So he just smiled and offered, “Looks great.”

Over dinner he related his meeting with Ashley Granger. She toyed with her food, avoided his gaze, said almost nothing. He finally ran to the end of his tale, made his first question as casual as he could. “How did you come across Ashley’s work?”

“From Gloria’s papers.”

“Is there much more I haven’t seen?”

Her gaze rose from the countertop to dance over the ceiling and the corners of the room. “No. Not much at all.”

“When can I have the rest? I need anything that would help tie New Horizons into an actual collaboration with the Chinese-”

“You never told me how you met your wife.”

He stared at her and the flitting gaze. “Excuse me?”

“I was just wondering.” Her tone sounded light, but her features were taut as stretched hide. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Speaking words he scarcely heard himself, searching for what she seemed determined to keep hidden. “I met Carol when I was finishing my law studies up north. She was everything I had never known or had, as alien to me as if she’d been raised on Mars. Rich, old-family rich. So settled in their wealth and their power they acted as though it was their right to be happy and well and strong and in control.”

Somehow his words melted her. He did not know what it was he said that could have caused such a reaction, but he liked seeing the tension and the barriers dissolve. So he kept on, though the act of speaking raked his heart with razored spikes. “I think we both knew from the beginning it was a mistake. At least, I’d like to think now that I had the wisdom to see what I was doing, but chose not to accept it. It’s a lot better than accepting that I was blind and dumb all along. She was happy with the status quo, and expected me to fit the mold shaped by her father and her uncles and every other man she’d been close to. Socially active, opera, golf, donations to the right charities, house on the right street, vacation home here, apartment there. Working for her daddy’s companies, sitting on boards because her family held controlling interests in the companies, wielding power without ever raising my voice.”

He smiled at his own folly, and found strength in the way Kirsten twisted her mouth in time to his own. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing his own pain reflected in her beautiful face and pale lips and shattered turquoise gaze. “Only I hate the opera and I never liked golf. I was hungry and felt like the only way I could ever be the person she needed was to fight my own way to the top. Which was crazy, I know. Any money I earned would be new money, any power tainted by my ambition and my hard work.”

Marcus stopped, astonished at his confession. It was the most he had spoken about himself in over a year and a half, the first time he had ever consciously shaped the ribbons of thought that laced the early hours of almost every day. He had to turn away from all he had said, all he had shown to himself with unaccustomed clarity. The only way he knew was to ask, “How did you wind up here?”

“I was at Georgetown studying law.” She struggled with herself, tried to pull the taut mask back into place. But the words came almost of their own volition. “My parents were killed in a car accident. I told you that already.”

“I’m so sorry, Kirsten.”

“They were the greatest parents anybody ever had. When they died, I fell apart.” A big breath. “If it wasn’t for Gloria I don’t know what I would have done. She looked after me, helped me sell the family place up in Boston. I was an only child. I couldn’t ever go back. The funeral was bad enough. The very thought of packing up their stuff …”

“I understand.”

“She helped me find this place, pick up the pieces, start over. I never went back to law school. It all seemed, I don’t know, something from another life. Gloria knew about a charity that needed help. She got me up and going in the morning. Day after day. She wouldn’t let me stop. Wouldn’t let me lie around and mope.”

“She sounds like a great person.”

Kirsten’s effort to draw the world back under tight control rocked her entire body. Back and forth, struggling to quell the talk and the emotions. Marcus resisted the urge to reach over, halt her struggle and her movement by holding her close. Then it was over, the openness a myth as fragile as steam. “This is not about me, Marcus.”

He had no choice but to nod.

“I’ve been between men for a very long time. Which is exactly how I intend things to stay.” She rose and gathered plates and filled the air with brisk clatter. “And you really should be leaving.”

“Can you tell me something about Gary Loh?”

The question froze her solid. “Who?”

“Gloria’s boyfriend. You didn’t know him?”

“I’m not sure.” Her motions were jerky, as forced as her words. “She might have mentioned something.”

“I need whatever you can give-”

“I told you I’ll get it to you as soon as I can. But it’s not much.” The plates were slammed down hard. “And you have to go. Now.”

The phone call woke Randall Walker an hour after midnight. The gray voice said simply, “You were right.”

“Call me back in five minutes.” Randall hung up the phone and slipped from his bed. His wife stirred, but did not roll over. With clients all over the globe, late-night interruptions were common. Randall walked to his bathroom, washed his face, regretted the third scotch he had drunk that night. And the fourth. His reflection looked more than tired. It looked old. And very worried.

He took the second call in his study. “I’m listening.”