"In a blue moon!" the station chief huffed.
"-but never in Peking. The police or the PLA could have captured Stratton in a matter of minutes."
The phone rang once. The station chief spoke briefly and hung up. "So what are you saying, Linda? That this was a private matter between Wang and Stratton? An informal abduction?"
"Something's going on, and it's damn sure not just a matter of honor. My guess is that Wang Bin sent those two clowns to grab Stratton, not to kill him. But when it looked as if he would get away, they panicked and tried to run him down."
"Now one is dead and the other's a cabbage. Jesus!" The station chief grunted as he flipped through his copy of the file. "And our Mr. Stratton is missing in action. What a fiasco!"
Linda Greer said nothing. The possibilities were too depressing.
The station chief looked up and asked, "Think they caught up with him at Xian?"
"Yes."
"Me, too. Think he's dead?"
"Probably. We had someone interview some of the other Americans on that tour.
They saw Stratton at the hotel yesterday morning, but he didn't stay with the group."
"Naturally."
"He left with two Chinese, a young woman and a man."
"And?"
Linda took off her glasses and folded them. "This morning, when one of the Americans went to Stratton's hotel room, he was gone. Gone without a trace. The woman who discovered him missing is the same one who gave us the story about the snake."
The station chief smiled slightly, remembering the bland entry in the file, rated "very reliable."
"Ah, that would be the busybody Mrs. Dempsey. She also found the Chinese in Stratton's room. Just tidying up, I suppose. What kind of snake?
"She didn't know," Linda said. "By the time our people got there, the room was clean. There was a little blood on the floor, though. Most of it had been scrubbed away-"
"Was there enough to-"
"Yes. O positive. Same as Tom's." Linda Greer felt very tired. She wanted to go back to her apartment and soak in the bathtub. She wanted to cry.
"Oh dear," the station chief muttered. He gazed out the window; the setting sun painted the tiled roofs of Peking a burned yellow and turned the haze into a pale lemon curtain.
"I took the liberty of filing formal inquiries with China Travel, the tourism bureau, and the others… I don't expect to hear anything, but at least we're on the record as far as procedure goes."
"Yes," the station chief said. "Good thinking. Let's meet again tomorrow.
Noonish. In the meantime, say nothing to Powell. I'm sure he's picked up whispers about that insane goddamn bicycle chase, so just tell him we're checking it out."
Linda Greer collected her purse and briefcase, and headed for the door.
The station chief cleared his throat. "Linda," he called in a softer voice. "I'm sorry about Stratton."
"Thanks."
"What do you suppose he was after?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," she replied truthfully.
For three days the freight train creaked south through plains and farmland, skirting the rugged mountain ranges that rule China's interior. The trip was hot, the train old and plodding, led by a spanking new steam locomotive.
Tom Stratton lay in a boxcar that smelled of ammonia and cow manure. His arms and legs were trussed, and a burlap sack had been tied loosely over his head and upper torso. A dirty wad of gauze had been tightly taped over the nearly circular wound in his thigh. Deng's aim had been perfect; the small-caliber bullet had missed Stratton's hip bone and passed harmlessly through the fat of his upper leg. The blow on the head that had come with the fall had been a bonus for Deng and his partner; it had then been a simple matter to explain the unconscious American tourist being carried off the train in Xian. He had fallen in the compartment and badly cut his leg. He needed medical attention immediately.
Tom Stratton woke hours later to the clanging of rails, the lurching of the boxcar, and the tickle of a small animal scampering across the sack that cloaked his head. It was night. His thigh ached painfully. Stratton guessed that his bunkmate was probably a rat, and he rolled over to frighten it away. His head twirled and his ears rang as he moved; undoubtedly he had been sedated. He lay still and inhaled vigorously, the burlap puckering at his mouth with each breath. The stale air was heavy with musk, but in it there was a sweet tinge of wheat and maize. Stratton's stomach growled in recognition.
Eventually, he squirmed into a sitting position, propped up against a sack of what smelled like potatoes.
It was a small moral victory. Sitting up, Stratton felt a little less helpless.
He wondered why they hadn't just killed him. No esoteric stuff-cobras and the like-just a good old-fashioned bullet in the brain. He felt slightly nauseous but resolved not to throw up in the sack. As the hours passed and his body cried for water, Stratton began to pray that they would not leave him there to die in a vegetable car with a horde of hungry goddamn rats.
The panel door of the boxcar clattered open and daylight exploded in Stratton's face. He had managed to work himself out of the burlap, in the darkness, but could see nothing. Now the sudden brightness blinded him. Rough hands yanked him upright by the hair. A terse command in Mandarin, and then in English: "Drink!"
Stratton gulped strange-tasting water from a wooden mug. Within minutes, he grew dizzy and passed out.
Deng and Liao were in a foul mood; neither had relished a trip to the south.
Peking, with its fine restaurants and all its cadre privileges, was infinitely preferable to a muggy peasant farm village. Down here the lines of authority were less clearly drawn, Deng grumbled; respect seemed to diminish with each kilometer away from the Imperial City. At every stop there had been questions:
Where are your papers? What are you doing here? Where is your dan-wei! In his agitation, Deng handled the sleeping form of Tom Stratton with something less than gentleness.
"I thought we would be finished with this in Xian," Liao said as they heaved Stratton onto a flatbed truck. "The orders changed. I wonder why."
"A good question for the deputy minister," Deng said. "He will be here soon."
Wang Bin leaned back and blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. "Tell me about the American."
"I will not," his daughter said hotly.
"You will! You are too old to spank, Wang Kangmei, but you are of an age where other punishment can be more terrible. You still have a future today, but there is no guarantee. Tomorrow, who knows? I would not be the first senior Party official to forsake an errant child."
Kangmei folded her arms across her breasts and stared at the floor.
"Did you sleep with him?"
"He told me all about Uncle David. He wished to see the tombs at Xian, the dig you are so proud of. What harm was there in showing him?"
"He asked many questions, did he not?"
"Not as many as I asked him. Father, I was merely curious. About Xian, about my uncle. I was distraught because he died only days after we first met. Can you understand that?"
"Did you-"
"No! I did not sleep with Stratton."
"Deng and Liao told me you were in his room." Wang Bin's eyes dropped. "Naked in his bed."
"They are vicious liars, Father. They came to my room, and dragged me from my own bed. They took me to Stratton and began to interrogate us. They hit me, Father, and said terrible things. Stratton tried to stop them and they beat him up, and locked him in a closet-"
Wang Bin raised a hand. "You are a foolish girl, and a bad liar. For that, I suppose, I should be grateful. Your eyes confess everything, Kangmei. Now I ask you: What of the family honor? Whoring with a foreigner-such behavior aggrieves me, and insults the entire Wang family. I shall not mention what it would do to your mother."
"I told you-"
"It probably will not be possible to keep this quiet for very long. Today the loyalties of Liao and Deng belong to me; tomorrow, who can say?" Wang Bin watched his daughter's eyes grow moist. Her posture remained erect, and her face defiant. "Kangmei, this fascination you nurture for America has become a dangerous and disturbing thing. You are in serious trouble. This Thomas Stratton is no simple tourist. He is a cunning man, a former soldier. He has been to China before, and he has killed Chinese. He is a spy, Kangmei, and you, his tool. The shame you have brought to our family… it saddens me."