“Ganbei!” the crowd responded.
“To long life and happiness!”
Although Ni-Fu raised his glass, he was not fooled by the purpose of the evening. A staged presentation for his benefit, a not-so-subtle reminder of who played which parts: Ni-Fu the puppet; Seng the puppeteer. Ni-Fu understood only too well that China was a nation inured by thousands of years of feudalism. To expect a public outcry if one or two people quietly disappeared was to misunderstand the Chinese soul. He drained the bitter drink. “Ganbei!”
Lili missed the look that passed between Seng and Ni-Fu. And even if she had seen it, she would never have appreciated its significance or the irony of that toast.
While Seng toasted, Chi-Wen left the room indicating a need to relieve himself. Instead of heading for the toilet, he slipped into the administrative offices and turned on the fax. Carefully, his heart beating wildly, he dialed the memorized overseas number, then placed the paper from his pocket into the machine. With the telephone lines controlled, fax transmissions were used by the students to get information out of China.
The “transmit” signal flashed briefly, then lost the connection.
Shit.
Chi-Wen stood back and expelled a long breath. How many minutes had passed? Three? Five? More? If he was away too long, he’d be missed. One more try.
Sweat formed on his brow. With shaking hands, he redialed the U.S. number.
Shan!
It was only minutes, but seemed like an eternity. Nothing happened.
Come on!
It had to work! With a muted beep, the fax came alive, slowly devouring the page, then, seconds later, like a ruminating cow, disgorging it again.
Quickly, Chi-Wen turned off the machine and slipped the page back into his pocket. As his racing heart gradually returned to normal, he experienced the exhilaration of success. He had taken a risk, challenged fate. And it had been so easy. Lili would say it had been “a piece of cake!”
Seoul, Korea
When David Kim arrived at his father’s home in Kwahun, a fashionable suburb of Seoul, he was surprised to find his father at the dining table, surrounded by the managers and division heads of Kim Company, including his cousin and rival.
“Please sit.” His father nodded toward the vacant chair beside him.
A white-gloved young woman served him sinsallo, a casserole of vegetables and eggs mixed with pine and ginkgo nuts, kimchi, and bean curd cakes while another filled his glass with sujonggwa, a drink made with persimmons and ginger.
“What’s the occasion?” David asked.
“Hangwap.”
“But your birthday isn’t until next month.”
The senior Kim nodded. “If I had time, we would wait. As it is, time is a commodity I am short on.” A sudden pain produced a grimace. “I am dying.”
David’s reaction was genuine grief. He loved his father as much as he feared him.
“I didn’t know.”
“None of you did,” he replied, addressing the table. “But now it is clear that I will not last another fortnight.” Shin-yung Kim waved away the whispered murmurs of concern. “I am satisfied by the latest financial reports from our China operations that David is a suitable heir to Kim Company.” He reached out in a rare physical gesture to grip his son’s arm. “It is time for you to take over.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say. Just make me proud.” The senior Kim smiled through his pain. “Now, I hope all of you will join with me in a toast to my son’s success as our new chairman.”
“To our new chairman!”
“Ganbai!”
David was so overwhelmed he barely heard the congratulations or tasted his sujonggwa; his only thought, Kim Company was finally his. In a few weeks he’d have the secret, and the future of his choebel would be secure forever.
Xi’an, China
In her room after dinner, Lili found the covers on her bed turned down and her pajamas folded on the pillow. Who was responsible for that little gesture? It seemed a parody of gentility in a country without hot water or indoor plumbing. Had the man or woman who unpacked her pajamas also been through her things? There wasn’t anything of value, but she checked her suitcase anyway. Dylan’s fax was still on the bottom of the case where she’d hidden it under her blouses. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed, though, of course, she couldn’t tell for sure.
Well, no matter. Too groggy from maotai to speculate further, she turned off the overhead light and got into bed. The cicadas had begun their evening lullaby. Closing her eyes she had a glimmer of a thought, like a curtain fluttering in her mind: something about a locked room. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared and she drifted into an alcohol-induced sleep.
Seoul, Korea
Later that evening Shin-yung Kim fell into a deep coma from which he never awakened. With the confirmation of death, his body was covered with a quilt and arranged to face south. Although he’d requested no formal wailing or kok, David, the eldest male member of the family, followed the ancient tradition of ch’ohon by carrying his father’s coat to the roof of the house, crying loudly for his soul to return to the body.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wednesday
April 26
Xi’an, China
Ni-Fu put his fingers to his lips, then turned up the speed of the centrifuge. “The walls have ears.” He moved closer.
Chi-Wen nodded. “I’ve thought about your plan. The American Embassy may be reluctant to provide sanctuary if they feel it could jeopardize relations with China.”
“You have a better idea?”
“I might.” Without explaining Ni-Fu’s role in his epiphany, Chi-Wen told the professor he was now committed to the student movement. “I have decided to question.”
Ni-Fu placed his hand on Chi-Wen’s shoulder. “That is good, son. Just be careful.”
“Don’t worry,” Chi-Wen assured him. “The students are setting up an underground network to help political dissidents escape to Hong Kong. I’ve agreed to help them transmit messages to the West. Perhaps in exchange I can convince them to help you.”
Ni-Fu considered the idea. “It’s a good contingency plan.”
“By May fourth everything should be in place. Will you be ready?”
“Report to Dr. Seng that I’m perfecting the formula. Tell him I need to complete one last experiment.”
“Okay.”
“Tell him he’ll have what he wants on his desk by the deadline.” Ni-Fu didn’t mention he’d already altered the potion he’d been giving to the thirty old souls imprisoned in the Institute’s Longevity wing. It would take nine days for the reversal to take effect; for the aging process to accelerate. By May fourth, they would all die.
He touched his jaw; the recurrent ache was increased by anxiety. Everyone dead. Including himself. No regrets. No second thoughts. This was the only way to get his secret safely out of China. Lili would have to make her escape alone. With Chi-Wen, she’d be in good hands. “I’m proud of you, son.”
“You said hope was not dead.”
“So I did.”
“Why all the whispering? Am I interrupting?” It was Lili, dressed in navy slacks and a plain cotton blouse.
Even without makeup, Chi-Wen thought she looked beautiful. His eyes feasted on her hair and eyes and lips. Desire was like a fever. It took all his self-control to contain his feelings.
Brushing past him without even a “good morning,” Lili placed a kiss on Ni-Fu’s cheek. “I hoped to catch you on rounds, but I overslept. That maotai is unbelievable.”
“Jiu bu zui ren ren zi zui; she bu me ren ren zi me,” Chi-Wen remarked softly.
“Do you mind translating?”
“Just an old Chinese saying,” Chi-Wen replied.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s not wine that intoxicates people, they intoxicate themselves. You had more than a few glasses.”
“I didn’t realize you were counting.”
Despite her tone, Lili flushed with pleasure knowing he’d noticed.
For a brief moment, his dark eyes bore into hers. Then he quickly averted his gaze.
Insufferable! Lili thought.
Ni-Fu interrupted the uncomfortable silence. “Perfect timing.” He stopped the centrifuge, its purpose as background noise fulfilled, and emptied the water-filled glass cartridges. “Chi-Wen and I are finished. I postponed rounds.”
“Great.” She looked around the lab. “Dr. Seng told me about your research —”
The glass dropped from Ni-Fu’s hand.
“— using Chinese herbs as medication.”
Shattering into a dozen tiny shards on the floor.
“You’ve cut yourself,” Lili cried, hurrying to help him.
“It’s just a nick.” Ni-Fu wrapped a handkerchief around his fifth finger. “Did Dr. Seng tell you anything else?”
“Anything else?”
“About my work.”
She noticed his upset, but misdiagnosed the cause. “Don’t be angry with Dr. Seng, grandfather. He said you’ve discovered some innovative drugs for hypertension and diabetes. Nothing more specific.”
“I see.”
“He told me that after I insisted he explain the roundabout way he lured me to China. I understand your research must be kept secret. It’s no different in the U.S.”
Chi-Wen chose that moment to head for the door.
“Aren’t you coming?” Lili queried.
He stopped and turned around slowly. “I must meet with Dr. Seng.”
“What about my tai chi lessons? Have you given up on me?”
His face seemed troubled. “You’d have to make it very early.”
“Say when.”
“First thing tomorrow morning. In the courtyard. Five o’clock.”
“Fine.”
He nodded, then abruptly disappeared.
“You know Chi-Wen didn’t complete the translation of that old saying.”
Lili turned back to her grandfather. “Oh?”
“Jiu bu zui ren ren zi zui — It is not wine that intoxicates people, they intoxicate themselves; she bu me ren ren zi me — neither do women beguile men, men beguile themselves.”
“What are you telling me?”
“Chi-Wen is in love with you.”
“He has an odd way of showing it.”
Ni-Fu shook his head. “Though I haven’t left China for forty years, I suspect one thing that remains the same the world over is the tumultuous nature of the human heart.” He sighed. “No matter what else you find on this earth, Lili, remember this: without love, life is not worth living.” He wrapped an arm around her. “You love him too, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer at first, searching for the proper response. “I’m not sure, Grand-father. I think I do.”
“Then take the advice of an old man. If you do, stick with him.”
Washington, D.C.
Thirteen hours earlier
“Do you have the elixir?”
Halliday recognized Carpenter’s voice. “Damn it, Marty, I told you not to call me. That I’d call you.”
“But I’m in trouble here. Aligen just posted first-quarter losses that could mean a pink slip for me.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit paranoid, old friend? You’ve been with the company over twenty years.”
“Seniority in the private sector doesn’t mean diddly-squat. You were smart to opt for a secure government job.”
Halliday winced at the unintended jab.
“Two VPs from marketing were canned last week. Both were with Aligen almost as long. With the economy going to hell, everybody’s downsizing. I’m telling you, I’m next. I feel it.”
“Calm down. What do you want me to do?”
“The project I funded at L.A .Medical is going nowhere. I need to announce a potential winner on the horizon. So, Charlie, can I leak it to my boss?”
“Still too early. But listen, we’re talking a month at the most. You’ll have to hold out.”
“I guess I can.”
“Good. How about dinner tomorrow? We’ll discuss it over steaks and beer.”
“Like old times. Sounds good.”
“Meet you at Roxbury Park near the bridge. Eight sharp. And do me a favor.”
“Sure.”
“Don’t mention our meeting to anyone. Until this operation’s over, it’s all got to be on the QT.”
“I understand.”
Hanging up, Halliday took a deep breath. Damn it, that was close. He never counted on Carpenter being a problem. On the other hand, what was one more problem when you were talking about a potential billion dollar payoff?
Xi’an, China
Chi-Wen endured the prolonged scrutiny by staring a foot above the medical director’s head, toward the bottom edge of a framed portrait of Deng.
“So, the good doctor has finally agreed to give us his formula,” Seng said at last.
“Yes. Once he completes one final experiment.”
“He understands there can be no extension?”
“He understands,” Chi-Wen stammered, avoiding direct eye contact.
“Good.” Seng stood, signaling the conclusion of the meeting. “A week from now I expect to be shaking your hand for a job well done.”
Chi-Wen made a quick exit.
Too easy, too pat, Seng thought, staring after him.
A moment later he called for the young cadre waiting just outside. “Follow him!”
Ni-Fu nodded toward the patient. “Mr. Jing was admitted complaining of fatigue as well as total body edema.” He pointed to the swelling of the man’s limbs and abdomen. “A physician practicing traditional Eastern medicine would say Mr. Jing has the pattern of ‘deficient kidney fire, unable to rule water.’ He would prescribe warming herbs, including aconite and the use of moxibustion, burning substances such as mugwort to stimulate specific acupuncture points.”
“Would that treatment work?”
“It helps. Aconite is a potent cardiotonic. Chinese medicine describes it as a warmer of the kidneys, which are said to rule the grasping of ch’i.”
“Fascinating,” Lili exclaimed. “So some ancient medicine proved somewhat scientific.”
“Of over three thousand extracts I’ve tested in the last forty years, more than two hundred have shown biological activity. From the ma huang twig, a time honored Chinese cure for asthma, I extracted ephedrine. Chinese rhubarb, ta huang, contains the same active ingredient as cascara root and senna leaves, widely used as a laxative. I also found an analgesic, a muscle relaxant that could aid delivery, and an antidepressant.”
Lili was impressed. She could understand Dr. Seng’s concern about secrecy.
“Unfortunately,” her grandfather lamented, “the work is painfully slow. Most prescriptions contain five to ten ingredients traditionally brewed in water or soaked in wine; the resulting liquid is drunk like tea. What happens when the herbs react with each other during preparation, not to mention the chemical reactions in the stomach, is still a big mystery.” He smiled at her. “It’s like trying to determine the nature of an egg by analyzing an omelet.”
She laughed as they moved to the next patient.
By late afternoon, Lili and her grandfather had examined and discussed most of the patients on the geriatrics ward. More than grandfather and granddaughter, they were colleagues, sharing their medical knowledge and experiences. It was another bond between them — based not on genealogy, but on mutual professional respect.
Lili updated Ni-Fu on the latest treatment for scleroderma — plasmaphoresis — making her grandfather aware of how isolated from advances in Western medicine he’d been here in Xi’an. Ni-Fu demonstrated a case of ginseng overdose that she’d misdiagnosed as Cushing’s syndrome, a disease caused by the body’s excess cortisol production.
“You’re not way off base. The steroid in the ginseng root causes the same result,” he said, pointing to the man’s moon face and buffalo hump. It
’s a common home therapy for impotence. Legend has it that the more the root looks like a human figure, the better it works.”
Lili laughed. “When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.”
“Pardon me?”
“Oh, a lesson we were taught in med school. Don’t diagnose exotic diseases when there’s a more obvious explanation for your patient’s symptoms. In China, think ginseng, whereas in the U.S., adrenal tumor might be more likely.”
Ni-Fu nodded.
“I must tell you, Grandfather, I’m surprised most of your cases are so similar to mine.”
“Because of the improved health care,” Ni-Fu explained, “Chinese are living into the seventh decade. With longer life comes newer diseases. Less than twenty years ago, when life expectancy was fifty, this hospital handled very few cases of heart disease, stroke, cancer, or Alzheimer’s.”
“Chronic diseases,” Lili agreed. “That’s what geriatrics is about. Until someone comes up with a way to slow down or stop the aging process altogether.” She thought of Dylan, wondering how his research was coming. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”
Ni-Fu looked off into some private distance, letting the question hang. “Come,” he said, putting his arm around her, “we have a few more patients to see and I have a political meeting before dinner.”
Los Angeles
L.A. Medical Center
Sixteen hours earlier
Dylan studied the latest batch of electron micrographs and shook his head.
Damn. He pulled his lab book from his desk and noted that as of April 25th at nine p.m., sample number twelve was still inert.
No change! Another promising lead fizzled. His project remained stalled at the same point it had been almost six months ago. No breakthroughs after so much work. Grand expectations turning into false hopes. He was growing desperate. None of his experiments so far could explain how the main histocompatibility complex regulated DNA repair.
Dylan washed down a bite of tuna sandwich with a cup of coffee from his thermos. Leaning back, he gazed out the window. A Santa Ana condition had blown the smog out to sea so that the Santa Monica mountains in the distance stood sharply against the night sky as if etched by a jeweler’s hand. His genetically inbred mice roamed noisily around their cages, but he was used to them, easily tuning out their squeaky chatter, so no sounds intruded on his thoughts.
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