Don Winslow - The Trail to Buddha_s Mirror

“Mr. Peng understands that you prefer coffee to tea,” Wu said.

“Mr. Peng’s understanding is correct.”

“Mr. Peng suggests that we be informal and ‘help ourselves.’”

“Absolutely.”

Wu poured cups of tea for Peng and himself as Neal took a cup of coffee. Wu tentatively sat down on the corner of the bed and seemed visibly relieved when Peng didn’t object. Peng nodded to him, and Wu launched into their prepared opening.

“Mr. Peng is the assistant to Provincial Party Secretary Xao Xiyang.”

Neal saw Peng smile with self-satisfaction and wished that he knew a little more about Chinese politics.

“I am honored by his visit,” Neal said. “The coffee, by the way, is very, very good.”

Wu translated the remarks. Peng smiled again and responded.

“The coffee is from Yunnan,” Wu translated, “and he is very happy that you like it.”

Neal decided to get things going.

“Please express to Assistant Provincial Party Secretary Peng my gratitude for rescuing me from my dire situation and for taking such wonderful care in bringing me back to health.”

Wu translated, listened to the response, and returned Peng’s answer. “Mr. Peng says that he is not Assistant Provincial Party Secretary but assistant to the Provincial Party Secretary and says that he is merely a humble representative of greater powers, who, he is sure, are honored to be of service to you and would thank you for your gratitude.”

Wu let out a sigh of relief at getting the entire answer.

Neal smiled and nodded at Peng.

“Now tell him I want to leave.”

Wu thought for a moment, and then said in Chinese, “He says that his sense of decorum does not allow him to accept any more hospitality from the People’s Republic, and he does not wish to be of any more trouble.”

Peng took a drag on his cigarette. “Bu shr.”

No.

“Mr. Peng says he is afraid that you are not ready to undertake a long journey at this time.”

“I know I am in Chengdu, but what is the building, and why am I being held?”

The translation ensued, and Wu said, “You are in the Jinjiang Guest House. It is a hotel.”

A hotel? A hotel?!

“Why is the door locked?”

A thin film of sweat started to appear on Wu’s forehead as he translated.

Peng smiled and uttered a one-word answer.

“Security,” Wu said.

“It is locked from the outside.”

Neal wasn’t sure, but he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over Peng’s face and wondered if he understood the question. Maybe it’s just a natural sequence, or the tone.

Wu was quite pleased with the answer. “We are very thorough in the People’s Republic of China, especially in regard to the safety of foreign guests.”

So that’s what I am-a foreign guest.

“I was under the impression,” Neal said, “that crime is virtually nonexistent in the People’s Republic.”

Wu gave him a dirty look and then translated, “Mr. Peng understands that crime is virtually omnipresent in the United States.”

“Once again, Mr. Peng’s understanding is correct.”

Peng smiled broadly at the answer, inhaled some smoke, and then drank some tea. Neal picked up his coffee, sipped at it, and stared over the cup at Peng. Peng stared back. Wu sweated.

“Ask him,” Neal said, “if we can cut the shit and get to the point.”

He saw Peng flinch slightly at “shit.”

“Mr. Frazier suggests that we dispense with polite introductory conversation and commence substantive discussions.”

“‘Shit’? He said ‘shit’?”

“Yes.”

Peng made no effort to mask his frown. He puffed on his cigarette and barked a brusque answer.

“Mr. Peng understands that your fatigue and ill health prevent you from exercising proper courtesy.”

“He called me an asshole, right?”

“Close.”

“Please tell him that I am eager to listen to his wise counsel, and hope that I can learn from his comments.”

Neal stared at Peng as Wu translated.

You know you’re being bullshitted, Neal thought, and you don’t care. All you want is the outward appearance of compliance, not to be shown up.

Peng started to speak in measured bursts, giving Wu time to translate as he went along.

“Mr. Peng’s superiors understand that your life has been in some danger, danger from which-as you acknowledge-the People’s Republic has rescued you. They further understand that this danger is, to a large degree, of your own making, due to your unfortunate interference in matters that do not concern you.”

On the contrary, Mr. Peng. They concern me greatly.

“They also understand that you do not represent the intelligence agencies of your country. If it was felt that you did, the situation would be quite different.”

Here it comes, Neal thought. He’s about to hit me with Simms.

Peng paused for a drink of tea, then continued.

“The People’s Republic wishes to return you to your home as quickly as possible.”

As possible.

“This, however, requires certain security procedures.”

About which you are very thorough, especially in regard to the safety of foreign guests.

“Such as cleansing your identity.”

Cleansing my identity? What the hell does that mean? Does my identity need to make a sincere act of contrition and do fifty-eight Hail Marys?

“Why?” Neal asked.

“Mr. Peng would prefer that you do not interrupt.”

“Why?”

Peng sighed and passed the happy word on to Wu, who passed it along to Neal. It was like a game at a dull party.

“Mr. Neal Carey has caused an uproar,” Wu explained hesitantly, “and we cannot allow that uproar to be traced in or out of the People’s Republic. It would be inconvenient for us and dangerous for you, as certain enemies you have made would find it easier to track you down and do you harm. However, Mr. William Frazier has caused no such uproar.”

He’s a convenient guy, that Mr. Frazier.

“Okay… so?”

“Perhaps, then, it is better to allow people to believe that Mr. Carey died in the treacherous slums of capitalist Hong Kong. Therefore, you will assume the identity of Mr. Frazier. Mr. Frazier is a Canadian in the travel business who is doing research for his company about the many potentials for tourism in Sichuan.”

Yeah, right.

“Then what?”

“After completing your research, you will go home.”

“Where is ‘home’?”

“We have purchased an air ticket to Vancouver. After that, it is up to you.”

This is the most chickenshit story I have heard yet in this chickenshit job. The pick of the litter, the best of show…

“Why not just fly me out tomorrow? Why go touring?”

Peng was good. Peng didn’t miss a beat.

“We wish to establish a strong identity for you. It is more safe.”

Boys, boys, boys. I’ve been running scams on people most of my life, so I know one when it’s run across my nose. What is it you need from me? What is there in Sichuan that I have to see? Or that has to see me?

“How long will it take me to complete my research?” Neal asked.

“Perhaps a month.”

A month on display, Neal thought. Okay, pick your metaphor. They’re going fishing and you’re the bait. They’re going birdhunting and you’re the dog. Well, you owe them one, and anyway, what choice do you have? Besides, maybe it’s not a “what” they want you to see. Maybe it’s a “who.”

Maybe it’s Li Lan.

“When do I start?” he asked.

Wu’s face broke into a relieved grin. Peng was satisfied with a narrow smile and another drag on his cigarette. Then he spoke to Wu. “Would you feel well enough to start tomorrow?” Wu asked. “Fuck yes.”

“He says his health is much improved.” Fuck yes.