He had always preferred the solitude of the laboratory to the tumult of the hospital and patients. That’s what he tried to explain to Lili. Research though was no bed of roses. It came with its own pressures — impossible grant deadlines, institutional review boards demanding reams of paperwork, people like Aligen’s VP, Martin Carpenter, who assumed funding you meant owning you too.
He spent several more minutes admiring the view before making another entry in his lab book: sample number thirteen. Yawning, he figured he’d probably be here all night. Well, no matter. He wasn’t giving up. None of these pressures could compete with his own blind ambition, driving him to succeed at all costs.
Beijing, China
A smile crossed General Tong’s face as he perused the editorial in the People’s Daily. Excellent, he thought, reading the quotes lifted from Deng’s speech at the secret Politburo meeting yesterday. Even better that Zhao Ziyang, on a state visit to Korea, had been absent from that session.
“A handful of people with ulterior motives have resorted to big and small character posters to smear, scold, and attack our Party and government leaders. They have wantonly violated the constitution to advocate opposition to the Communist Party’s leadership and the socialist system. They have established illegal organizations in some universities to seize power from the official students’ unions.
“Some have instigated class boycotts in schools, using force to prevent students from attending class. They have pirated names of workers’ organizations to spread counterrevolutionary leaflets. A well-organized conspiracy to sow chaos — to poison people’s minds, sabotage political stability, and create national turmoil.”
Tong was pleased. By branding the student movement a turmoil or dongluan, Deng had finally sent a clear message that student protests would no longer be tolerated. He knew the word had powerful resonance because it evoked memories of the nightmarish Cultural Revolution, often referred to as “ten years of turmoil.”
Deng’s message was clear. Any citizen reading the editorial would understand. Participation in this movement meant defiance of Deng himself — and that would be tantamount to treason.
Macao
“So you heard?”
“Of course,” Ng told the caller, drawing hard on his cigarillo. “Information on my side of the Pacific is as up to the minute as yours.”
“No doubt,” the caller chuckled. “It’s why you and I make such good partners.”
Ng plucked the tojang from his desk. “With David Kim officially head of Kim Company, we can safely accelerate the second phase of our plan. Do you agree?”
“Absolutely. Have you thought about what to do with him once we’ve accom-plished our goal?”
This time it was Ng’s turn to laugh, but not a chuckle; it was the insane, maniacal laugh of a dangerous man. “Absolutely. We will kill him.”
Beijing, China
If the editorial in the People’s Daily was meant to frighten the students, it had the opposite effect. “An outrage,” a Beijing University student declared. “Sounds like a Cultural Revolution tirade.” After a lengthy debate, the students decided to call Deng’s bluff by organizing a gigantic march the next day. That evening many prepared for what they thought would be their final conflict by writing “last wills,” exchanging farewell toasts, and sharing a last supper.
Xi’an, China
The hot night air trapped her in its moist embrace.
Faster, faster, she urged her weary feet. Lili wiped perspiration from her brow as she ran. She had to find him before they caught her.
Grandfather!
Heart pounding, she ran down one winding corridor after another; a rat in a maze, unsure which way to go.
It is a very difficult and dangerous journey.
Screaming, “Where are you?”
“Lili, is that you?”
Somewhere in the distance, a shadowy figure waved to her.
“Grandfather?”
She ran toward the shadow. A man in a white suit vanished in a cloud of blue smoke and another appeared.
“You have come home, my dear.”
She couldn’t see his face, but the words. Oh, my God, it was Dr. Seng!
“I’m looking for my grandfather. Where is he?”
Laughing, his hand outstretched. “Come home.”
“Yes!”
Suddenly there were others, all smiling and holding out their hands to her: the people she’d met on the steamer, the girl in the book shop, Fan Zhou, Chi-Wen’s aunt.
“Come home.”
“Where is my grandfather?”
The figures reached out and almost touched her, but she turned and ran.
Faster, faster. Her breath was ragged as she hurried down the seemingly endless corridor.
A door. She turned the knob. It wouldn’t budge.
“Help me!” she screamed, pounding on the door. “Chi-Wen? I need you.”
“You are becoming a true Chinese.”
“Chi-Wen, is that you? Help me!”
“I cannot.”
Louder and louder, she heard the pounding.
“Lili?”
A tap on her shoulder.
She was afraid to turn around.
“Lili?” Shaking her. “Wake up!”
Bathed in sweat, Lili opened her eyes. Chi-Wen sat on the edge of her bed, a concerned expression on his face. “What are you doing here?”
“I waited in the courtyard to begin your tai chi lesson. When I heard your screams, I ran up.”
“The door was locked.”
“Doors are never locked in China.”
Her head felt fuzzy, her heart only now beginning to slow down. “I was dreaming. A nightmare.” It was still dark in the room. “What time is it?”
“A little after five.” He paused. The desire to touch her was almost overwhelming, but Chi-Wen forced himself to suppress his emotions. For her sake, he told himself. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Yes, it’s fading now. Just images, nothing concrete. I dreamed my grandfather was — ” she searched through her mind, “lost. Somewhere in the Institute. A locked room. I called to you, but,” she looked thoughtfully at him, “you said you couldn’t help me.”
A stab of fear pricked Chi-Wen’s heart. “Just a dream,” he said, but he held her gaze for a long time before he rose from the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“I shouldn’t be here. l’ll wait for you outside.”
“Chi-Wen?”
“Yes?”
“Please,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. “Don’t leave. Not yet.” Without thinking, Lili pulled him close to her. She shook her head. “For God’s sake. I’m in love with you. Can’t you see that?” It had come to her in that instant, clear and definite. The answer to her grandfather’s question. “I love you,” she repeated.
The sweet scent of her skin filled him and, unable to fight his own emotions, he found himself returning her embrace. “And I you,” he murmured as his lips met hers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thursday
April 27
Xi’an, China
Two hours later their bodies were still entwined.
Lili stirred, opening her eyes. “Good morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
She nestled her head into his shoulder. “No dreams this time. And you?”
“I dreamt of the clouds and rain.”
Lili smiled, recalling Dottie’s speculation that Asian men were all tigers in bed. “We Chinese do have such a poetic way of describing lovemaking, don’t we?”
“You have definitely become a true Chinese.” Chi-Wen gathered her hair, loosely twisting it in his hands and softly kissing the nape of her neck. “So beautiful, your body, your name — ”
“What about it?”
“Li Li.” He pronounced it the Chinese way. “Flower.” A soft sigh passed his lips. “I can’t believe you’ll be leaving China.” He never meant for the words to slip
out.
“I’m not leaving for a while yet. “
“I know.” He tried to recover. “It just seems so soon.”
Her fingertip traced its way down the line of his jaw. “Are you planning to miss me?”
He looked at her for a long time. “Is there someone missing you in America?”
“You are one weird Chinaman, Chi-Wen Zhou,” she teased. “When we first met, you hardly noticed me. In Changsha, we became close enough for you to share your past. We made love in Shanghai. Two days ago, you were cold again and now —”
“Now?”
“Now I believe you’re showing signs of jealousy.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s a silly question.”
“Lili —” His words coming with difficulty. “I am serious. I know about Dylan.”
“You read my fax!” she snapped.
“Yes.”
Her cheeks flushed angrily. “I know there’s no word for privacy in China, but that doesn’t mean you can read my mail.”
“I’m sorry.” He took her hand and held it tightly so she couldn’t pull away. “Growing up, I never saw people hold hands. Not even my own parents. It wasn’t the custom in China to show affection publicly. It’s changing, but only among the younger generation.” He shook his head. “Do you remember telling me in the garden at Suzhou how you struggled all your life against being different?”
Lili nodded.
“I didn’t tell you then how much I envied you. In your country you can be different. Here it is almost impossible.” He looked at her. “I’ve been so lonely, Lili. For so long. Then I met you in Guangchou. You thought I disliked you.” He sighed. “It was hardly that. I was afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t tell her everything, but everything he told her was true. “I never thought I could ever love someone. Not like this.”
Shaken, seeing his vulnerability, Lili’s anger turned to tenderness. She took his other hand and drew him toward her. “It’s all right.” She closed her arms around him. “Dylan and I are just friends. It’s you I love.”
“I’m glad.” Together like this, they were in a tiny world, cocooned against the outside. Nothing else mattered. “Lili, I love you so much,” he whispered. “So — hopelessly,” he added.
His lips met hers, muffling the words. I’ll never stop loving you, not ever, he thought. Even if in the end we cannot be together.
Beijing, China
Only eight a.m. and Lee Tong, sitting in his director’s office at the Beijing No. 1 MSG Factory, was already staring at his first crisis of the day. A big one — his factory was short of raw materials. Low government prices were discouraging farmers from growing soybeans and supplies had shrunk, throwing factories like his into a turmoil. Already several MSG companies had been forced to close.
During the daily meeting with his top aides, Tong presented an emergency plan. One vice director was to go to their usual supplier and purchase as much as available — even if he had to pay a premium. Another would try scavenging from their competition. Tong would lean on his contact through the government supplier, a longtime personal friend of his father, the general. He’d ask for an increase in his monthly quota at the state-subsidized price — 55 percent below market.
“It helps to have connections,” one assistant said.
“With a little luck,” another chimed in, “the enterprise can locate enough material to keep operating for at least a few months.”
Yes, Tong thought, as he wrestled a cigarette from a limp pack of Camels. And with a little luck, well before then Ni-Fu Cheng would reveal the secret of his longevity elixir and he could chuck the MSG business altogether.
Washington, D.C.
Halliday opened the door to the parked black Lincoln Town Car and slipped into the passenger seat. “This sure beats my beat-up ’82 Pontiac.”
Carpenter shrugged. “One of the perquisites of working for a big firm. Aligen leases a fleet of these.”
“Nice,” Halliday said, caressing the leather seat. He opened the brown bag he carried with him and removed a bottle of Cutty Sark and one glass.
“What’s that for?”
Halliday poured a glass and handed it to Carpenter. “Here, have a drink.”
“Now? Can’t it wait until we get to the restaurant?”
As Carpenter started to hand the glass back, Halliday drew a .357 Magnum from the bag and leveled it straight at his friend. “Not really.”
“Come on, Charlie, is this some kind of joke?”
“No joke. It’s really pretty straightforward. I’m going to kill you.”
Carpenter’s voice filled with panic. “But why? What did I do?”
“I needed you to provide a cover while Lili Quan was in L.A.,” Halliday replied evenly. “Once she left for China, your job was done. Too bad you’re a loose cannon. This might not have been necessary.” He waved the gun in Carpenter’s direction. “In about a month, I’d have called to tell you the intelligence information we received from China was false and that no longevity drug existed.”
He pointed to Carpenter’s glass. “Drink that. You’ve got a whole bottle to finish and my story won’t take that long.”
Reluctantly, Carpenter downed the Scotch.
“Good.” Halliday refilled his glass. “See, I never planned to give Aligen the secret. For one thing, I’d have a lot to explain to my boss at the Company.”
“You said this was a CIA operation.”
Halliday’s laugh was sinister. He shook his head. “This was strictly my operation. A one-man show. A few months ago, I intercepted a routine intelligence report on Chinese traveling to the U.S. I remembered a Dr. Seng from an old list of operatives out of Russia in the sixties. Asked a buddy in the China section of MI-5 to send me the internal memo from the Chinese Foreign Ministry. Based on Browning’s testimony after the war, the Brits were convinced Dr. Cheng hadn’t solved the secret of longevity. Didn’t think it was worth digging into their budget to finance a look-see.”
Halliday took a slug from the bottle. “That’s the trouble with bureaucracies. Penny-wise and pound-foolish. Their loss, right? The money from Cheng’s discovery will set me up for the rest of my days.” He laughed again. “I probably won’t even mind the alimony checks anymore.”
“Okay, so don’t give Aligen the drug. But why kill me? I won’t say a word.”
Halliday shook his head. “Sorry, I’m afraid you’ve played your part.”
“For God’s sake, Charlie,” Carpenter’s words were beginning to slur. “I’ve got a wife an . . . kids.”
“They’d be better off without you. You said it yourself, you’re due for a pink slip.” He gestured to the glass and Carpenter gulped his fourth whiskey. “If you have a little accident because you drank too much and drove off this bridge, your family collects the insurance. College tuition, house payments, everything taken care of. Actually,” he said, handing the bottle to Carpenter, “when you think of it, I’m a godsend.”
“Please . . .” Carpenter began to sob. “Don’t do this.”
Halliday leaned back against the car seat and sighed. “I don’t relish an embarrassing scene. Do me a favor, Marty.”
“I’ll do any . . . anythin . . .”
Halliday looked at him for a long time, then said, “Finish the bottle and die like a man.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Friday, April 28–Monday, May 1
Over the next few days, Lili fell into a routine: tai chi with Chi-Wen at dawn, rounds with her grandfather in the morning, acupuncture clinic in the afternoon. Mentally and physically stronger, she immersed herself in Chinese medicine, fascinated by how physicians integrated Eastern and Western methods of treatment. Their results were impressive. She anticipated sharing her insights with colleagues back home.
Home.
Los Angeles seemed a universe away.
I can’t believe you’ll be leaving soon.
>
Lili shook her head. She wouldn’t deal with that now. She was happy here. In only a few weeks, China had changed her.
You will lose part of yourself before you find yourself. The fortune-teller’s words. In that sense, she supposed, he’d been right. She’d found her Chinese self here — in Shanghai’s streets and Changsha’s monuments; in students’ defiant shouts and oldsters’ nervous whispers; in the sweet smell of peonies and the sharp taste of Hunan peppers; in her grandfather’s quiet, distracted gestures; in unexpected moments of intimacy with Chi-Wen. In losing part of herself, she had found her roots. She had come home. Full circle. Always return to the center of the circle.
She wasn’t ready to think about leaving. Not yet. Today she wanted everything to remain as it was. Like Scarlet O’Hara, she’d think about it all tomorrow.
Chi-Wen’s involvement in the student movement rapidly intensified. He continued to fax reports to the outside world late at night. During the days, while scheduled to work in Dr. Cheng’s lab, he slipped away to help the students prepare for their demon-strations.
On April 27, more than a hundred thousand students descended on Tiananmen Square, joined by one million Beijing residents. Xi’an also staged its biggest antigovernment demonstration in the forty-year history of the PRC. Singing the national anthem “March of the Volunteers” and the “Internationale,” students broke through police barricades and charged down the streets calling for democratic reform, freedom of the press, toumingdu or openness in official matters, and an end to abuses by officials.
Because Zheng Tu had urged him to remain under cover, Chi-Wen observed from a safe distance. Exposure would mean more than mere censure, Tu had warned. “By telling the world what’s happening, you are helping us in the best way you can.” He had proven himself to be one of them.
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