“You disregard the point. You are a Red Princess. You do not have to work at all.”
“I’m good at what I do.”
“Yes, you are,” he assented. “But your mother needs you
. Come home to us. Take care of her.”
She neither agreed nor argued. But as she sat there, picking at the last few grains of rice in her bowl, she knew that everything he said was true.
7
JANUARY 31
The Fathers
The American embassy was made up of several large dirty-beige buildings with gray tile roofs. Most of the windows were covered with iron grates. On the corners of each eave, video cameras swept methodically back and forth. The compound itself was enclosed by a high wrought-iron fence broken at regular intervals by gray pillars. Just inside this fence, sparse hedges grew and dormant trees sent ragged branches into the gloomy sky. Along one side of the compound, hundreds of bicycles stood in neat rows.
The front entrance to the embassy was flanked by guardhouses. The one on the left served as the first of many stops for those Chinese wishing to obtain visas to the United States. Several churlish guards dressed in green uniforms and black fur hats kept their countrymen at bay. Just across from the embassy, people waited either to be allowed into the preliminary visa line or to be called for their interviews. Just to their right, street vendors in open-air stalls sold silk products in purple, yellow, and red.
Hulan and David passed through the gate, several other human and physical barricades, and into a reception room, where they were introduced to Phil Firestone, the ambassador’s secretary and right-hand man. Despite his blue pinstripe suit and red polka-dot tie, Phil’s sandy hair and the baby fat that still clung to his face gave him a decidedly boyish look. His smile was open and all-American.
As they waited for the ambassador to finish with his previous appointment, Phil chatted about home and how he ended up in China. “My family’s also from Montana, so we’re long acquainted with the ambassador and his family. My mother worked on Bill Watson’s senatorial campaign, and I was lucky enough to become part of his staff in Washington. When the president appointed Senator Watson to the ambassadorship, I leaped at the chance to come to Beijing.”
“Are you married?” David asked idly.
“No, I guess that’s why I don’t mind being uprooted. I can follow the ambassador without worrying about the impact on a wife or children. I see how hard this life can be for some families.” Realizing that this might not have been the most diplomatic thing to say in front of Hulan, Phil tried to cover his mistake. “Not that Beijing isn’t wonderful. Personally, I love the people.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Firestone,” she said. “I, too, have been abroad. I know how difficult it is to be away from home. I think I missed the food most of all.”
“Boy, what I wouldn’t do for a hamburger sometimes.”
“We have McDonald’s.”
Phil Firestone laughed good-naturedly, then checked his watch. “The ambassador should be able to see you now.”
Phil shepherded them into an adjoining office. “If you’ll just wait here, the ambassador will be with you shortly,” he said, then left them alone.
David felt an itch of irritation, but Hulan seemed unperturbed. Her body remained still and contained, but her eyes roamed the room, from the American flag that hung behind the desk to the official seals and plaques on the walls to the Frederic Remington bronze cowboy on the desk. Inside, however, Hulan was boiling. The ambassador was savvy enough to know that the Chinese valued promptness. He was being intentionally rude.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The ambassador’s voice came to them even before he had stepped fully into the room. “I’ve been tied up all day, what with these difficulties we’re having.” He extended his hand. “David Stark, I presume. I’ve heard good things about you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And, of course, I remember the inspector here.” The ambassador’s blue eyes settled on Hulan. “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Things don’t always work out as we wish,” Hulan allowed.
The ambassador seemed temporarily mystified, then let out a reverberating laugh. “You are a funny one. Here,” he said, motioning to a red leather couch, “please make yourselves comfortable. Phil?” he called out. “Where’s Phil? Phil?”
His adjutant poked his head into the office. “Sir?”
“I think coffee—or would you prefer tea?—is in order.”
“Coffee’s fine, thank you,” Hulan murmured.
“Coffee it is then, Phil.” The ambassador sat down in a matching red leather wing chair opposite them. He smiled, then addressed the American attorney. “What can I do for you?”
“First,” David began, “let me say that I’m sorry to hear about the loss of your son. I realize that it can’t be easy for you to talk about.” The ambassador got a faraway look in his eyes but didn’t respond. David went on. “Inspector Liu has told me many of the details of your son’s death. As I think you may now know, they are remarkably similar to what we found with the body of Guang Mingyun’s son.”