Lee was taken aback. This was completely unexpected.
“In return, we will offer to assist your family back in Beijing. We have taken the liberty of doing some research. We know you have relatives on both your mother’s and father’s side of your family back in China. We can offer a number of different types of assistance including monetary assistance, help in membership to the C.C.P., job-placement, waivers of the college assessment exam and entry into some of China’s best collegiate institutions. We can negotiate all of this, of course. What do you think?”
“Well…I guess…I guess I should thank you for this offer,” Lee said. “I’m not sure what to say. This is something that I’ll need to talk with the rest of my family about.”
“Yes, of course. We understand completely. We know this will take great consideration from you and your family. We hope you’ll think about this and let us know.”
“Okay, thanks,” Lee said. “I’ll need to run this by my parents. Can they contact you if they have questions?”
“Absolutely. I’ll give you my personal cell number.” The ambassador exited into the kitchen and returned with a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled a number on the paper and handed it to Lee. “Please have your parents give me a call if they have any questions, and don’t hesitate to call me yourself.”
Lee thanked him again. She had to pinch herself at what had transpired. It was difficult to believe she was even in the home of a Chinese ambassador, yet alone negotiating a deal like this.
“Is this an example of guanxi that you were speaking about the other day?” Lee asked, directing that question to Xiang. A thin smile spread across Xiang’s face. “Yes, it is. And if you’ll agree to help us, it’s safe to say both our families’ guanxi will increase substantially. Your family back in Beijing will profit greatly from this.”
Lee noted the use of the term profit instead of benefit. She remembered what Xiang had said in their previous conversation about the rise in materialism in China over the past several years, increasing exponentially along with the economy.
“If you’ll allow me, Ms. Lee, I think we should break open a bottle of rice wine to celebrate the possibility of a new relationship—imported from China, of course.”
“Xiang, didn’t you have something else you wanted to show Ms. Lee?” Li asked, as he rose from his chair to go back into the kitchen.
“Oh, yes. I almost forgot.”
Xiang turned to her. “I’ll be right back.”
Xiang disappeared, continuing into the hallway further into the apartment.
Lee sat alone for a few moments before Xiang returned, holding something in his hands wrapped in a red silk rag.
He placed the object on the table in front of them and carefully unwrapped it.
“This is said to have been one of the compasses Zheng He used on one of the seven sea voyages he made between 1405 and 1433.”
Lee grasped it in her hands. The compass was circular in shape with a black needle in the center and Chinese characters engraved around the perimeter. It was made of wood and felt light in her hands.
“The needle was probably magnetized with lodestone,” Xiang explained. “Of course, the Chinese characters are there to represent the eight major directions. There are some other markings as well to further delineate the directions. Some of the markings are also linked to Chinese mythology.”
“This is the man who you had mentioned was the first to use the compass for navigation?”
“Yes, the very one. The old pirate may have held it in his hands.”
Lee examined the compass again. Upon closer inspection, she could see the wear and tear that had been exacted upon the instrument. Patches in the exterior wood reflected changes in the grain and a lighter shade of brown where sea water had stained through. Additionally, the surface of the compass was splashed with dark brown stains in irregular patterns.
“He was a pirate?” Lee asked.
“No, he wasn’t actually,” Xiang said. “His explorations were commissioned by the imperial royalty during the Ming dynasty. I was just using the phrase affectionately. He was a real pioneer, though. I mean, he was the first Chinese person to navigate from China southward, down past Thailand, Vietnam, and the Bay of Bengal and into the Indian Ocean. He is widely credited with developing the first diplomatic relations with many of these countries.”
“You mean he wasn’t a savage plunderer?”
“No, not at all. Though there were pirates on the seas at the time. But Zheng He was no pirate. He was a Muslim with Confucian values. There were times, if he was attacked, when he would capture local leaders and bring them back to China for punishment. But, for the most part, he believed in peaceful relations. When he traveled, he brought with him tons of Chinese goods such as chinaware, silk, and musk on huge treasure ships. He traded these items with the native people to develop goodwill. There are many cities in Southeast Asia and India that still have statues and temples in his name.”
Lee smiled. “The needle is still pointed due north.”
“Yes, of course. Earth’s ever-present magnetic field…”
Xiang let her turn it over in her hands a couple more times.
“The Chinese ancients used to call it the ‘cosmic breath,’” Xiang said.
Lee frowned. “They called what ‘cosmic breath’?”
“The earth’s gravitational field.”
“Oh, I see,” Lee said. “Sounds like they were as fascinated by it as I am.”
“I think so, yes.”
Suddenly, the ambassador re-entered the room, a bottle of wine in his left hand.
“Am I missing some good conversation?” Li asked.
“We were just discussing Zheng He’s exploits and…gravity,” Xiang said.
“Sounds interesting,” Li said as he placed three glasses on the table and began pouring the wine. “I propose a toast to our new deal. Or, at least, the prospect of a deal,” Li said. The three of them raised their glasses.
“To the unseen things in life,” Xiang said, glancing at Lee.
“To the unseen things,” Lee repeated.
They touched their glasses and sipped the wine. After they finished their wine, Li led them out of the dining room and into the living room area with the three sofas they’d passed by earlier. Lee sat down with Xiang on the same sofa, with Li sitting across from them. Li regaled them with his life story. He told of his time as a youth in Shanghai, how his family and Xiang’s had become business partners, of his time in the Chinese military, his studies at the University of Beijing and at Oxford in England, his ascent in business, and finally his ascent within the C.C.P. as an ambassador. Lee listened intently until the early morning hours. At 12:30 a.m., Li announced the meeting needed to come to a close.
Xiang had explained that he needed to stick around as he had further business to complete with the ambassador, so they’d called a cab for her. When they received a call that the cab had arrived, Xiang escorted her to the front door, while Li retrieved her coat.
“Ms. Lee, thank you for attending this evening. It was a pleasure meeting you,” Li said. “I trust you’ll think hard about our offer.”
“Thanks again for inviting me,” Lee said, assuring Li she would consider his offer. She watched as Li turned and proceeded back into his home.
“Thanks for coming Lyn,” Xiang said, smiling in the dim light of the foyer. “I hope we didn’t surprise you too much with this offer of cooperation between our families.”
“I was very surprised,” Lee said warmly, “but in a good way.”
“Excellent,” Xiang said. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
Lee slipped out the door. During the ride down the elevator, she remembered that the ambassador had never really answered her question as to how so many of the Chinese people had been persuaded by Mao to advance so far along the socio-economic path of communism and totalitarianism. She’d have to follow up with him the next time she had a chance, if that chance ever came.
&n
bsp; Chapter 9
New York City
Wednesday, January 28, 2:46 a.m. EST
Searing pain streaked through Benjamin Halberstom’s skull as a white light bore into his eye sockets. Tears welled up uncontrollably, yet he still sensed the presence of at least two armed men. They were the same men who’d been guarding the entrance to the small room in which he’d been held captive since his abduction.
He felt pressure around both of his biceps as each of the guards grabbed hold, one on each side, yanking him roughly out of the small bed in which, a moment before, he’d been sleeping fitfully. Straining blindly against the guards’ grip, he managed to break his right arm free briefly before a sharp, crackling pop splintered the quiet and a bright, pale blue light electrified the room. The light was followed by a sharp burning sensation beginning in his abdomen and spreading quickly along his extremities.
As his body fell limp, the guards strained to hold him upright. The blurry image of a human form materialized from the gray-and-black background. As it neared, the detail of the image began to sharpen, crystallizing into an Asian man dressed in military fatigues. He tried to say something—anything—but his tongue wouldn’t respond. He tried, once again, to strain against their grip, but his muscles were frozen.
A blurry arm and hand extending from the man in fatigues waving at them, gesturing for the guards to follow him out of the room. Body numb. Throat parched. Thick tongue. Swallowing bile. Feet dragging heavily along the floor through a narrow hallway. Will we ever make it to the end? Bursting through, mercifully, into the cold night. Dragged along a few more feet. Clicking sound. Opening of a door. Body weightless. Tossed haphazardly into another van. Tumbling into blackness again. Clicking sound.
Halberstom lay slumped against one of the wheel wells in the van as it lurched forward. After an indeterminate amount of time—Halberstom guessed it around forty-five minutes—the van came to halt. Another clicking sound as the guards opened the door and re-entered the van. Burning in his eyes again as he was flashed with a powerful lantern.
The guard blindfolded him again.
“Step out of the van,” one of the guards demanded.
Halberstom climbed tentatively out of the cargo bay. He was led over an expanse of asphalt. After a few moments, the asphalt changed to wood and he noticed the air had dampened and was thicker. The air smelled rancid in the way it often did when next to a body of water, and he could hear the squawking of seabirds in the distance. His feet were bouncy under the wood and, as he progressed, he could hear the splashing of waves nearby.
Moments later, he was led through another door where the blindfold was removed. He found himself in another narrow hallway with a tiled floor. The guards led him two-thirds of the way down the hallway into a tiny room.
“You’ll be here for the time being,” one of the guards said as he removed the blindfold and unbound Halberstom’s hands.
The guard exited, leaving Halberstom alone in the room, which offered little more than a set of empty drawers, some shelves, and a small bed with a sheet and brown blanket. Halberstom removed his dress shoes, slid them under the bed, and lay down. He tried to sleep, but he found it nearly impossible as images of his wife and children flooded his mind.
Some time later—Halberstom estimated two or three hours had passed—he was awakened by a loud thud and the sound of clothing scraping along the entryway into the room. The two guards had hurriedly entered the room, pistols drawn.
“Come with me,” one of the guards demanded.
Halberstom was led down another narrow hallway. It was narrower to the extent that he was certain he was on a sea vessel of some sort. Two-thirds of the way down, he was led into a small, featureless room. A Chinese man in fatigues sat behind a desk.
“What do you want of me?” Halberstom asked. The tone of his voice was saturated with fear. He’d never before heard such a tone uttered from his mouth and it affected him to his core.
He reflexively swallowed something. A bitter aftertaste chased the bile as it slid painfully down his parched throat. The guard did not offer any response to his question.
“Where is my wife? My kids?”
“They’re fine. They’ve been returned to your home.” He’d risen to his feet in order to address him better.
“Is there any way you could—”
With his parched mouth and throat, the words stuck in Halberstom’s mouth.
“Is there any way you could prove this to me?” Halberstom blurted. “Can I call her?”
“Yes, you can call her,” he said.
“When? When can I call her?”
“Soon. As soon as we’re finished here.”
Halberstom swallowed thickly again.
“Why do you have me here? What is it you want?”
The guard remained silent.
“Are you using me for ransom? Are you demanding something of my employer?”
The guard said, “Tell me what you know about Project Magus.”
“Magus? Well, it’s a massive project. It’s been ongoing for seven or eight years now, at least.”
“What is the purpose of this project?” the soldier asked.
“The purpose is to develop cloaking technology for the military. The U.S. military.”
“What kind of cloaking?”
“All types. Mainly optical and thermal. We’ve had remarkable success.”
“What kind of security do they have in place?”
Halberstom grunted. “All kinds. There’s no way anybody can get access without having someone on the—”
A horizontal shadow streaked downward in front of his face and he simultaneously felt something caress his left ear. He was bringing his left hand up to his ear to investigate and had begun to turn his head when something constricted tightly around his neck. In a sudden panic, he tried to lunge forward in order to rise from the chair, but the attacker from behind, who was continuing to progressively tighten the rope around his neck, kept pulling him back into the chair.
The rope continued to tighten, further constricting his esophagus, shutting off his air supply. He pressed forward with all of his strength, trying to rise from the chair, groping blindly behind him with his hands, desperately trying to grasp a piece of the life force behind him. As his desperate struggle played itself out, he was perversely aware of the three soldiers watching him.
As the seconds passed, the violence of his movements increased in direct proportion to the desperation. His whole body burned and his neck felt as though it was on fire. White lights streaked across his field of vision, then blackness again, followed by a final, grotesque hyper-awareness of his terror. He let loose a final, desperate burst of energy to free himself. Black heaviness welled up inside of him, inexorably filling him from the inside out.
A pale light appeared in his vision again. Final resignation. Blessed stillness. The blackness and the light coalesced into layered shades of gray, forming the image of a woman, a girl, and a boy. The images hovered there for an infinite moment, an otherworldly expression on their faces. Jora, Dalia, and Levi. They were urgently communicating something that, at first, he couldn’t understand. In a sentient moment of clarity, he understood it to be a timeless expression of pure love, encompassing both hello and goodbye and extending throughout the whole of linear time, but also apart from it.
At the instant he understood, he became overwhelmed with a sense of warmth. The layered shades of gray dissolved and he became light, morphing into them. The light exploded into a radiant multiverse of color as the darkness collapsed in upon itself.
“It’s finished,” Zhixin Ziu said in Chinese as Halberstom’s lifeless body sagged into the chair. He relaxed his grip on the leather rope, slowly unwrapping it from around Halberstom’s neck.
“Throw the body overboard,” the soldier in fatigues said. “And remember to attach a float to it as we discussed.”
Ziu took a few moments to re-wrap the leather rope around the clasp and re-attach it around h
is neck. With the help of the two guards, he hauled Halberstom’s body topside, affixed a small buoy to the body, and pushed it overboard. Several hours later, when the vessel was again docked, he left the boat, and drove back to his apartment in Brooklyn.
New York City
Wednesday, January 28, 7:48 a.m. EST
Lyn Lee discovered the hard way that the din of the patrons in the Brooklyn cafe early on a Wednesday morning was enough to wreak havoc on a conversation. An Arabic man had spilt coffee across his small table and had subsequently unleashed a torrent of rapid exclamations as though demanding the coffee reverse itself back into the cup from which it had come. This had rendered Agent Frank’s statements inaudible and, in the process, reduced Lee’s ability to understand it’s meaning to her ability to read Frank’s lips.
Lee frowned and took a sip of orange juice.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
Agent Frank had arrived on time as always. It seemed to Lee that Frank was under more stress than usual. This from a set of dark bags under her eyes and the extra cup of coffee she’d ordered after the waitress had brought their food.
“Yes, of course,” Agent Frank said, a look of irritation fleeting across her face. “Did Xiang express any concern over the incident in the portal?”
“What incident?” Lee asked.
Frank’s face flashed an expression of surprise. “The date on Friday went that well, eh?”
“Huh? Oh, you mean when I followed his avatar into that cavern.”
The Thought Cathedral Page 13