by Fritz Galt
Then the program switched to a live press conference held by the Reverend Terrence B. Smith, who now campaigned under the less formal name Terry Smith. But there was nothing lackadaisical about the guy. His eyes lit up and he thumped the lectern to make his dramatic points about the nation relying on itself in times of trouble.
For some reason, Brad could not trust the man’s eyes, so he rifled absently through the dossiers while he listened. The key opponents to President Burrows in the upcoming election were Spencer Hawthorn and Terry Smith.
Hawthorn was a conventional politician, a freshman senator from one of the two major parties that seemed equally bland to Brad and virtually interchangeable once he peeled away the petty, divisive issues they chose to fight over.
But Terry Smith was an unknown quantity to Brad. He ran a finger down the inventory of personality traits. Personable, fundamentalist, anti-intellectual, unapologetically seeks monetary donations, not politically motivated, an empire builder.
Brad screwed his face up. That didn’t seem to fit the man on the screen. If anything, the Terry Smith before him was venal, radical, highly intellectual, unconcerned with donations, politically active and an empire destroyer. Was there something he was missing here?
His analytical skills began to kick in. Maybe he should have been a psychologist. But he was stumped by the disparity in facts. What could account for such a discrepancy between the man on paper and the man on television?
Either the CIA’s personality profiler was a total hack, or the good reverend had had a dramatic conversion on the road to the White House. Maybe aliens had taken over Smith’s body, or maybe it wasn’t even Smith’s body.
Out of curiosity, he turned to the printouts showing the itineraries of Smith and the governors. He set the three sheets side-by-side on the coffee table and ran his fingers down them keeping them synchronized by date.
All three gentlemen seemed categorically different in terms of whom they met and where they traveled. Neither governor had ventured beyond their state in the two weeks prior to the embargos they initiated.
Then Smith’s itinerary suddenly converged with the others. The day before Governor Herman Stokes announced his historic ban on all imports into Denver International Airport, Terry Smith had attended a rally in Denver, where in fact the two men had met. Twice. Once on the podium at Coors Field and once again at the airport upon Smith’s departure.
And where had Smith flown from there? He ran his fingers down the itineraries. After Colorado, Smith had flown to Atlanta. There he had been interviewed by several television news programs where he praised the embargo and hinted at a possible terrorist plot. Then he had flown to San Diego for lunch with the Governor of California. Hours later, Governor Walsh had come out with an embargo of his own. Again, Smith publicly supported the embargo.
Bingo! A direct correlation. But did it amount to causation?
He examined the question soberly. Sure, Smith backed the trade embargos to his political benefit, but did that mean he was behind them? He studied the eyes of the man exhorting his minions in television land. Was he the kind of guy who sought power at any cost? The personality profile in the folder told him “no.”
The fire in the eyes told him “yes.”
Brad called his father at once to report his findings.
First, all the financial information he had obtained from the CIA station in Beijing was worthless.
“You looked at the data carefully?” Sullivan asked.
“I had it analyzed by Berkeley, Chicago and Harvard.” Well, “analyzed” was stretching the truth.
“And?”
“We came to the realization that no company or country stands to benefit from the embargo. In the long term, everybody loses.”
“So that leaves…”
“Political opposition.”
“Hmm. I’ll have to write this up in a report. And do you have any individuals in mind?”
“Here’s where I did a little research on my own,” Brad said. “Terry Smith met with both governors prior to their embargos. In addition, I believe that Smith has undergone a radical personality transformation. He doesn’t act anything like his CIA profile. In the past, he wouldn’t have tried to capitalize on such a crisis. It just makes me wonder what kind of hold he has over the governors.”
Sullivan conveyed mild interest, but not enough for Brad’s satisfaction.
Brad rechecked the itineraries. “I mean if you look at it, Liang and Dr. Yu arrived in Denver just prior to the governor’s announcement. Smith, Stokes, Liang and Yu were all in Denver on the same day. Now, what are the odds of that happening?”
“Slim indeed.”
“And all these embargos play into Smith’s hand. His numbers are skyrocketing.”
“True. He is one obvious beneficiary.”
That made Brad wonder. “When all is said and done, what does Smith have on these guys to make them act the way they did?”
“You think Smith is behind the trade mess?”
Brad was silent and let the two consider the question. “Smith and Liang stand to gain the most.” he said at last. He explained his theory. “Smith stands to become president, and Liang just might take advantage of the chaos this has caused in China. Maybe he wants to take over the party again.”
Sullivan remained skeptical. “But Liang is no longer known in Beijing. Everyone assumes he died last year.”
“We’re talking about the secret workings of the Communist Party here. Just picture Liang, an air force ace and natural heir to his grandfather’s position, magically reappearing just when the military needs him most? It’s perfect.”
“So why Dr. Yu?”
“I don’t have the vaguest idea. Yu is so far removed from politics, the idea that he’s in cahoots with Liang is laughable.”
“And where is May in all this?”
Brad had been trying to avoid thinking about her. But now he was forced to examine her reasons for returning to Liang. “I guess she stands to become the next First Lady of China.”
“So they all make one big, happy family,” Sullivan summed up.
“Apparently so.”
“Except that she and Jade came to America to track Liang down and turn him in,” Sullivan reminded him.
“That’s not the impression I’m getting. But Jade? I didn’t know that she was here, too. That doesn’t make sense.” His thoughts returned to Earl. Brad would have to call his good buddy to tell him the bad news.
“I’m afraid there’s more to this than a harmonious family reunion,” Sullivan said. “That wasn’t what I heard in May’s voice when she left China.”
“That sure was the mood when Liang picked up her cell phone.”
“Have you tried Jade’s cell phone?” Sullivan suggested.
“No, I haven’t.” In fact, he no longer had Jade’s number after having thrown his old cell phone away. “I’ll call Earl and have him try to reach her. Maybe she can shed light on the situation.”
“Now that I have you on the phone,” Sullivan proceeded in a new direction, “I have some information for you. Our credit card surveillance scored another hit. Liang is staying at a hotel in the city of Durango, Colorado. And he has racked up a tremendous bill at the local grocery store.”
“Durango, huh?” He’d heard of the town. So May was out gallivanting with cowboys.
He thanked his father and hung up. He was not prepared to think about May as China’s First Lady just yet, so he turned his attention back to the television.
Clips showed an American mother carrying her baby away from a closed Wal-Mart and into the wilderness with the blind hope of finding sustenance there. A tremendous sadness weighed on him.
Yes, he felt like he might be getting closer to the truth behind the crisis. And the closer he came to putting his finger on the cause of everyone’s misery, the closer he came to the ugly truth about May.
Liang woke up in the driver’s seat of the parked Ford Escort. His back ached and the
rainstorm had kept him awake most of the night. It took him a moment to remember exactly where he was. It had taken all afternoon for him and Dr. Yu to find the perfect cliff dwelling. They had entered Mesa Verde National Park and paid an entrance fee, then discovered that the park restricted them from wandering off the established paths. However, in the absence of visible enforcement, he had steered off the road into charred dwarf pines and begun scouting out a cliff dwelling to call their own.
For some reason, the Anasazi forbears of the Hopi, Zuni, and Rio Grande Pueblo had decided to build their villages in the most inaccessible places. Perhaps they were concerned about protection from marauding tribes. So they had found refuge in the steep cliffs that fell off the edge of the high mesa.
Because they were hidden from above, the dwellings were difficult for Liang to find. But by the same token, once they found one, he and Yu could disappear there. Liang had found a south-facing community of unreconstructed bricks that would suit Yu’s purposes.
Sunrays struck the car’s windshield. It was time to get out and empty the soup bowl. He nudged his old companion and rolled out of the car. Dew hung on every shrub and soon from the tree trunk in front of him.
Yu emerged from his side of the car holding his crotch. “I have to squeeze the lemon.”
“Your turn,” Liang said, and zipped his pants up.
A minute later, Yu returned, spitting and scratching himself. “Let’s eat.”
“Not here. First we set up camp among the cliff dwellings.”
Soon, the two were struggling with provisions through a crack in the rocks. That led to a three-meter vertical drop with no footholds aside from notches carved into the stone.
The magnificent remains below were harder to reach now that they carried backpacks. Yu went first and Liang dropped the provisions down to him. Then it was his turn with a fragile pack of drugs and needles on his back. It was a tough stretch, but he took his time.
When Liang reached the bottom, Yu’s pack was sitting on the ground, but Yu was gone. Liang was alone in the spring-fed oasis of trees and bushes.
“Old man?”
All he heard was his voice echoing back.
He reached for a hunting knife. Yu was going nowhere. He scrambled over to the stone structures. Perhaps two or three extended families had lived there under the cliff. Many buildings had toppled, but most still stood. From a distance, it looked like a nest for mud wasps, with Yu nowhere in sight.
As Liang approached, the buildings grew larger and more impressively built. Some structures were three stories of carefully carved and mortared stone.
“Where are you?”
“This looks perfect,” came Yu’s voice.
He was peering into a seven-meter-wide circular hole built into the ground. It was the smaller of two kivas they had discovered the previous afternoon.
“Help me down here.”
Liang set his knife back in its sheathe. So Yu wasn’t trying to escape. He held a hand out and helped the old man lower his frail body into the pit.
“You reach your spirits,” Liang said. “I’ll cook breakfast.”
Yu nodded absently from his cross-legged position. He had already gone to work.
Liang went about retrieving the provisions and setting up an American-style breakfast. He stripped the labels off two cans of beans, popped the tops off, and set them directly over the flame of a Coleman stove. Soon the entire hollow was filled with the aroma, which brought the old scientist scrambling out of the kiva.
“Who farted?”
“This is food. Sit down and tell me what you learned.”
“So many spirits dwell here,” Yu said, and sat down before his blackened can. “I have spoken with the fathers who built these dwellings. There was once fertile land all around us.”
Liang stuffed a spoonful of beans in his mouth.
“Then a long drought came and the families had to move south to the big river.”
Liang let out a satisfied burp. “So why do their spirits still hang around here?”
Yu waved a hand in front of his face and stirred his can of beans. “They have come back because this is their true home.”
“Even after a drought?”
“Yes. A thirty-year drought. Each year worse than the last.”
Liang needed to create a flood in China, not a drought. These were the wrong kinds of spirits. “But there was a river?”
“Still is. The Rio Grande.”
Liang stood up and studied the old man who would rather talk with ghosts than eat his breakfast. “Mind if I eat those for you?”
“Be my humble guest.”
It was time to stop conversing with ancient ancestors and start in on more pressing problems. Liang needed May under his wing in order to capture Bradley West. “Next we’ll try out the big kiva. I want you to reach May’s spirit guide.”
“Oh. I’ve reached it already,” Yu said proudly. “It’s nearby.”
That was not good. What did the old man tell her? To go away? To tell the police?
Liang jabbed his spoon at him. “If you’re up to some mischief, old man, remember that I have killed before and I will kill again.”
Chapter 31
Brad couldn’t put off calling May any longer. Igor Sullivan had tried to convince him that May and her father were there for legitimate reasons. But Brad didn’t buy the argument. No matter how much it hurt, he had to know the truth about her. About them.
He’d have to take the direct approach. So he picked up the phone and called Earl Skitowsky.
“Skeeter, you feeling better?”
“Where have you been?” Earl said from his apartment in Beijing. “I’m sitting here without so much as a Get Well card.”
“Yeah. Feel sorry for yourself.” If Earl were in such an awful mood, he wouldn’t be joking about it. “How’s the game leg?”
“No broken bones.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah. Doc calls it a sprain with a torn ligament. He put a cast on it anyway.”
“So, have you heard from the girls yet?” Brad braced for the response.
“Not a peep. And you know, it’s beginning to tick me off. Wait a sec, you’re not saying that Jade took off for America, too?”
“That’s what my dad says.”
“And left without so much as a Dear John letter? I try to reach her whenever the pain medicine kicks in, and her cell phone is turned off. What in blazes is that all about?”
“Liang, for one thing. May has taken up with him again.”
“It figures. So, good buddy, fill me in on how it all went south.”
“Don’t say you told me so. It might have happened to you, too.”
“What d’you mean by that? Jade and Liang? That two-timer.”
“Who? Liang?”
“No, Jade.”
“Oh, right. Well, if you want to get even with him, my dad tells me Liang is in Durango. The town, not the truck.”
“This is adultery. This is stealing Chinese women away from American men. This means war. Your dad should send in the troops.”
“He says he’s in touch with the FBI.”
“In touch? As in getting to know them better?”
“Calm down. What is the FBI going to do anyway. This is only one foreign felon at large in a country that’s otherwise awash in misery.”
“You know, they do have a point.” Earl sounded uncharacteristically resigned. “Maybe Liang’s just there to fool around with our women behind our backs.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“So why are we interested in Liang?” Earl went on. “Don’t you think our perceptions of him are slightly skewed by past experience, and you might be the slightest tad jealous?”
“No. I honestly feel that he’s up to something.”
“Okay,” Earl said. “I’ve got time, and it’s your nickel. Lay out the facts.”
Brad wracked his brains. How could he enumerate the facts in the most compelling way? “
First there are the coincidences. Liang and Yu were in Denver at the time that Governor Stokes made his decision to ban all imports. And it also happened that Terry Smith was in town that very day. Coincidence? Maybe. Then Smith flew to California, where the next day Governor Walsh announced his trade embargo as well. Coincidence? Seems less likely. So, there’s lots of circumstantial evidence of a conspiracy.”
“Are you implicating Liang or Smith?”
“It’s all tied up together. Next, there are Smith’s references to Dr. Yu in his Sunday sermon televised across the nation. He pointedly accused Dr. Yu of endorsing a theory of the primitive origins of religion, which he finds offensive. So I ask, why does Smith single out Yu, unless his mind is on Yu, and by extension Liang?”
“Curious. Go on.”
“And lastly, there’s our personal knowledge of what Liang is capable of doing.”
“How does that relate?”
“You and I both saw Liang in action last year. He knifed that colonel in Tucson. He tried to poison the President of China. He tried to drown the entire politburo. And he hooked up with my stepfather, the thankfully late Professor Richter, to advance a theory of Homo americanus in order to elevate them both to power.”
“Okay, so Liang is a megalomaniac and a creep. What about it?”
“Who else could have developed and implemented so evil a plan?”
“Let me think. Personally, nobody comes to mind.”
“Well, you can take my word for it and my father’s as well,” Brad said. “We have to watch Liang, not only for America’s sake, but China’s as well.”
“Yeah, I don’t want my foot massage lady to desert me and my noodle shop to close.”
“See, we all have a vested interest in stopping Liang.”
“Tempted, but not sold.”
Brad sighed with exasperation. “Just try reaching Jade on the phone, will you?”
Knowing Earl, he would.
Like Brad, Earl had lost his cell phone on the trip home from Shanxi Province. But unlike Brad, he had felt safe returning to his highrise apartment and using the telephone to make his calls.