A stretch limo was disgorging several of Qin Shang's guests, who turned and gazed in frank admiration at the Duesenberg. Valet parking attendants appeared as if summoned. The valets were immune to limousines and expensive cars, most of them foreign, but this one staggered their minds. Almost reverently, they opened the doors.
Pitt eyed a man standing off to the side who took a particular interest in the newcomers and their means of transportation. Then he turned and hurried inside. No doubt, Pitt thought, to alert his boss to the arrival of guests who didn't fit the normal pattern.
As they swept arm in arm through the elegant colonnade entrance, Julia whispered to Pitt, “I hope I don't lose it when I meet that murdering bastard and spit in his face.”
“Just tell him how much you enjoyed the cruise on his ship, and how you're looking forward to the next one.”
The gray eyes flashed with fire. “Like hell I will.”
“Now don't forget,” said Pitt, “as an agent in good standing with the INS, you're here on assignment.”
“And you?”
Pitt laughed. “I'm just along for the ride.”
“How can you be so lackadaisical?” she snapped. “We may be lucky to get out of here with our heads.”
“We'll be all right so long as we're in a crowd. Our problems come after we leave.”
“Not to worry,” she assured him. “Peter has arranged for a team of security people to stand by outside the house in case of trouble.”
“Should Qin Shang get nasty, do we send up flares?”
“We'll be in constant communication. I have a radio in my purse.”
Pitt stared at the tiny purse skeptically. “And a gun too?”
She shook her head. “No gun.” Then she smiled slyly. “You forget, I've seen you in action. I'm counting on you to protect me.”
“Dearheart, you're in big trouble.”
They passed through the foyer into a vast hallway filled with Chinese art objects. The centerpiece was a seven-foot-tall bronze incense burner inlaid with gold. The upper section depicted flames leaping toward the sky interspersed with women, their arms and hands uplifted with offerings. Aromatic incense wreathed the flames in billowy clouds that scented the entire house. Pitt stepped up to the bronze masterwork and studied it closely, examining the inlaid gold that decorated the base.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” said Julia.
“Yes,” Pitt said quietly. “The craftsmanship is quite unique.”
“My father has a much smaller version that isn't nearly so ancient.”
“The smell is a bit overwhelming.”
“Not to me. I grew up surrounded by Chinese culture.”
Pitt took Julia by the arm and led her into an immense room rilled with Washington's rich and mighty. The scene reminded him of a Roman banquet out of a Cecil B. DeMille movie: j slim women in designer dresses, congressmen, senators and the aristocracy of the city's attorneys, lobbyists and power brokers, all trying to look sophisticated and distinguished in their formal evening wear. There was such an ocean of fabrics between the guests and the furniture that the room was unnatu-rally silent despite a hundred voices talking at once.
If the furnishings had cost less than twenty million dollars, then Qin Shang had bought them at a discount house in New Jersey. The walls and ceiling were intricately carved and paneled in redwood, as was most of the furniture. The carpet alone must have taken twenty young girls half their adolescent lives to weave. It flowed in blue and gold like an ocean at sunset, and the depth of its pile made it seem as if one had to wade through it. The curtains alone would have put those in Buckingham Palace to shame. Julia had never seen so much silk in one space. The opulent upholstered chairs and settees looked like they might have been more at home hi a museum.
No less than twenty stewards stood behind a buffet linel whose mountains of lobster, crab and other seafood must have cleaned out the entire catch of a fishing fleet. Only the finest French champagne was served alongside vintage wines, none of which had labels from later than 1950. In one comer of the: ornate room a string orchestra played themes from motion; pictures. Though Julia had come from a wealthy family in Si Francisco, she had seen nothing to compare with this affair.
She stood in solemn awe as her eyes scanned the room. Finally, she recovered enough to say, “I can see what Peter mean when he said Qin Shang's invitation was the most desired in Washington aside from the White House.”
“Frankly, I prefer the ambiance at the French-embassy parties. More elegant, more refined.”
“I feel so... so plain among all these beautifully dressed women.”
Pitt gave Julia an adoring look and squeezed her around the waist. “Stop belittling yourself. You're a class act. You'd have to be blind not to notice that every man in the room is devouring you.”
Julia blushed at the flattery. It embarrassed her to see that he was right. The men were staring at her openly, as were many of the women. She also observed a dozen exquisite Chinese women dressed in silk sheath dresses mingling with the male guests. “It seems I'm not the only woman with Chinese ancestry.”
Pitt made a passing, offhand glance at the women Julia referred to. “Daughters of joy.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Hookers.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Qin Shang hires them to work the men who came along without their wives. You might call it a subtle form of political patronage. What influence he can't buy, he slips through the back door with sexual favors.”
Julia looked bewildered. “I have a lot to learn about government lobbying.”
“They are exotic, aren't they? A good thing I'm with someone who puts them to shame or they might prove a temptation I couldn't resist.”
“You've got nothing Qin Shang wants,” Julia said testily. “Perhaps we should find him and make our presence known.”
Pitt gazed at her as if shocked. “What, and miss out on all the free food and drink? Not on your life. First things first. Let's head to the bar for champagne, and then indulge ourselves at the buffet. Later, we'll enjoy a cognac before making ourselves known to the arch-villain of the Orient.”
Julia said to him, “I think you're the craziest, most complex and reckless man I've ever met.”
“You left out charming and cuddly.”
“I can't imagine any woman putting up with you for more than twenty-four hours.”
“To know me is to love me.” The mirth lines around his eyes crinkled, and he gave a tilt of his head toward the bar. “All this talk makes me thirsty.”
They strolled across the crowded floor to the bar and casually sipped the offered champagne. Then they wandered to the buffet table and filled their plates. Pitt was profoundly surprised to find a large platter of fried abalone, a shellfish that was on the verge of extinction. He spotted an empty table by the fireplace and commandeered it. Julia could not keep her eyes from exploring the throng in the immense room. “I see several Chinese men, but I can't tell which one is Qin Shang, Peter failed to give me a description of him.”
“For an investigative agent,” said Pitt between bites of lobster, “your powers of observation are sadly lacking.” “You know his appearance.”
“Never laid eyes on him. But if you look through the doorway on the west wall, guarded by a giant dressed in a dynastic costume, you'll find Qin Shang's private audience room. My guess is he sits in there and holds court.”
Julia began to rise to her feet.
“Let's get this over with.”
Pitt held out a hand and restrained her.
“Not so fast. I haven't had my after-dinner cognac yet.”
“You're impossible.”
“Women are always telling me that.” A steward took thek plates, and Pitt left Julia momentarily for the bar, returning in a few minutes with two crystal snifters containing a fifty-year-old cognac. Slowly, very slowly, as if he hadn't a care in the world, he savored the smooth flavor. As he held the snifter to his lips, he saw a man, reflected in the crystal, approach their table.