“I’d like to try.”
“Oh, Mr. Jerrold!” I broke in. “Really, what good would it do? Are you thinking that turning Chau over to the Chinese government would help your chances for promotion? If it’s true he’s a U.S. citizen, the Chinese government can’t touch him.”
“It is true,” Jack affirmed. “Dr. Yang’s one, too. Very efficient smuggler.”
“We could agree to extradite them.” Jerrold wasn’t giving up.
“For Tiananmen crimes?” Jack was enjoying himself. “Just wait until that hits the news. You’re with the government, Jerrold, so maybe you don’t know this, but we’re supposed to be the good guys. The Chinese government, during Tiananmen, they were the bad guys. Friendly foreign power, feh.”
Jerrold fixed Jack with a hard stare. “You said they were smuggled in. If they entered the country illegally I could—”
“No, you couldn’t.” Bill got in the act. “Twenty years ago someone in the INS obviously decided whatever they were using for paperwork was good enough. Maybe even someone in your own Department told them it was. Gave Chau and Yang political asylum. While you were playing Little League.”
“Pop Warner,” Jack corrected. “Pee-wee football, not baseball, right? All thuggery, no finesse. Give it up, Jerrold. We have two smuggled Chinese Tiananmen intellectuals, right under our noses, and you can’t touch ’em.”
Dennis Jerrold, his face grim, watched Jack smile and sip coffee. A few moments of silence, then, “I want the smuggler.”
I took a quick look at Jack, then said, “What?”
“The smuggler, Ms. Chin.” Jerrold sat back in his chair. “Chau and Yang, whoever Yang is, may be U.S. citizens, they may be political heroes, they may be untouchable. Fine, you win. The smuggler’s something else. Undocumented aliens coming into this country, that’s a hot-button topic. For all we know the smuggler has been running a snakehead operation, flooding our shores with undesirables for two decades now.”
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t care. No matter what heroes he smuggled in, no one will think the smuggler’s a hero. The press on netting a human trafficker—it’s all good. The PRC government won’t be happy about Chau being out of their reach, but the smuggler’s a good consolation prize.”
“Forget it.”
“No, you forget it. Entering the country illegally is a felony. If you know the smuggler’s identity and refuse to reveal it you’re committing one, too.”
“You’re not law enforcement,” Bill said.
“So I’ll call the Justice Department.”
“We’ll call our lawyers. This could go on a long time.”
“Are you all prepared for that? Long legal cases are expensive. This office is nice, but it’s a little minimal. And Ms. Chin’s? You don’t strike me as people with a lot of discretionary funds. I doubt if it will be good for the investigation business, either, to be involved in a drawn-out legal proceeding in which I paint you as less than patriotic. Give me his name.”
“How would we know?” I said. “Jack just found out about Chau an hour ago.”
“You’ve all apparently known about Yang, whoever that is, for much longer than that. Tell me who smuggled him in.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Me either.”
“Me either.”
“For people who lie for a living you all do it pretty damn poorly.”
I sipped my tea. It had grown bitter. “Mr. Jerrold,” I said, “giving the PRC the smuggler’s name might win you a promotion. It could also get the smuggler killed.”
“That’s the risk he took. Listen well. Even before I bring the Justice Department in—which I will do, believe me—I can make your lives miserable. Like to travel? I’ll put you on the terrorist watch list, you’ll never get on a plane again. In fact, no one in your family will. Any of your families. I’ll put them all on the list. Or get a bank loan, a college loan, a mortgage … Not to mention your licenses, gone in a flash. You guys are screwed. Accept it. I want that name. Then we’ll all be friends again.”
“We were never friends,” I said.
“So we’ll never be friends. I don’t give a damn.” He waited another few moments, then took out his phone. “Okay, I’m calling Justice.”
“Wait,” said Jack.
“Yes?” Jerrold lowered the phone. “I’m waiting.”
“I want to make a deal.”
“What deal?”
“Jack!” I yelped.
Jack shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lydia. It would be hard enough on my family if I got arrested, but the rest of this stuff? You’re from a Chinese family, you know. My sisters, their kids. My dad’s an academic, flies everywhere all the time. I can’t let this happen to them.”
“He can’t do it,” Bill said.
“I sure as hell can,” said Jerrold. “What deal?”
“Listen, Jack—”
“Oh, shut up, you guys. I’m sorry. I’m not big and tough like you. I’m a wimp and I can’t do it.” To Jerrold: “I’ll give you the smuggler’s name. But I need to get something in return.”
“How about, you and your family don’t end up on the terrorist watch list?”
Jack shook his head. “Not enough. Once it gets out who gave this guy up—”
“It won’t get out.”
“Bullshit. Of course it will.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to live in this community. The Chinese community, I mean. So does Lydia. Bill, well, what’s the opposite of collateral damage? What I’m saying, we need something sweet to counteract the stench of ratting a guy out.”
“I’m not ratting anyone out,” I said.
“That’s not the way it’ll look.” Jack didn’t meet my glare.
“What do you want?” Jerrold asked.
“Who would you take this to? Jin, at the Consulate?” At Jerrold’s nod, Jack said, “Call him. Get him over here.”
“First of all, I don’t just call the Cultural Attaché and tell him ‘get over here.’ Second, I’d need to hear what you have to say before I approach Jin.”
“You won’t. I have a deal to offer, and if I need to get a lawyer to help me offer it I’ll do it in public. You’ll get what you want, in the end, but I’ll make the whole thing as embarrassing for the State Department as I possibly can. That won’t do anything for your promotion, will it?”
“Promotion” was the magic word. Dennis Jerrold dialed the Consulate of the People’s Republic of China.
25
It was a tense twenty minutes up there in Jack’s office, waiting for Jin. I tried to talk to Jack but he cold-shouldered me. He made fresh coffee. Bill had some of the coffee. Jerrold, as though he were at the dentist, leafed through an art book. I didn’t have more tea; the last thing I needed was caffeine to blend with the adrenaline already sizzling through me. I kind of felt like I was at the dentist, too.
Finally, the downstairs buzzer buzzed, and Jack answered it. He waited at the door as he had for us—was that only the day before yesterday?—and stepped aside to admit a sour-faced, bald Asian man. Jerrold rose to his feet. I did, also, before I could stop myself. Bill didn’t.
“Mr. Jin. Thank you for coming.” Dennis Jerrold executed a creditable bow, which Jin returned.
“Mr. Jerrold. You say, important.” Jin looked around the room, then strode forward and took a chair.
Now Bill did stand, because there were only four chairs, and five of us. He went over to lean on the sill of the new window.
“It is important.” Jerrold brought Jin a cup of my bitter green tea. He introduced each of us, and Jin gave us each an unsmiling nod, remaining seated. Jerrold said, “These people have a … proposal for us.”
“Bill and I don’t,” I said.
“Lydia, you might as well get in on it, because it’s happening anyway,” Jack said. “And it’s not a proposal. It’s a deal. In response to a threat.”