“How did you ever find me?” she finally asked. “How? How?”
“Your wallet,” he said.
“What?”
He made a motion to where her wallet rode in her back pocket. She pulled the wallet out and handed it to him. From it, he pulled the Swiss consular ID card that he had forced upon her the day before.
“I doctored it,” he said. “Homing device. After you disappeared once in Switzerland, I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. So instead, she did both.
Distantly, as they evacuated her, the sound of demolition grew louder from underneath the embassy.
SEVENTY-TWO
MADRID, SEPTEMBER 21, AFTERNOON
Two days later, after a single night of hospital recovery, Alex found herself at Madrid International Airport, seeing Peter off on his return flight to China.
They stood together at the departure gate. She saw some emotion in his eyes, but she equally saw him retreat from it, as if it would be a dangerous place for him to go.
“I guess I better get moving,” he said.
“Guess so,” she said.
For a moment they stood apart. Peter took her hand, and there was something in his eyes that she still couldn’t fathom. Again, he didn’t smile, not at first, but then he did. The small gesture served to only confuse her more.
In assessing Peter Chang, she had come to know him quite well, yet not know him at all. She didn’t know whether the man before her was large and grand or small and mean. Nor could she fathom his moral compass, though she was certain he had one somewhere.
He had murdered savagely and vengefully, something that she couldn’t accept. Yet he had twice saved her life. There were aspects of him that reminded her of Yuri Federov and yet there were strains in him that reminded her-unless she was deluding herself-of her late Robert. Or even herself.
After all, weren’t they all in the same line of work?
Wasn’t everyone imperfect? Wasn’t life a daily compromise? Were there absolutes? Were all ethics at least partially situational? Weren’t we all sinners?
He reached under his jacket and removed his firearm. He bundled it and gave it to her, concealing it. She pulled it into her purse.
“That’s a heck of a souvenir,” she said with half a smile.
“I’d say put it to good use,” he said. “But don’t take that the wrong way.”
“I won’t,” she said.
“Are you going to be okay getting out of Spain?” she asked, eying the security controls.
“Oh,” he laughed. “Sure. Your pal. McKinnon. Another little souvenir,” he said.
Peter pulled out a passport from his inside jacket pocket. American. He flipped it open and showed her. He was now William Kao, a native-born American who was an IT expert from New York.
She shook her head. “Do you ever lose sight of who you really are?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Same as who I’d really like to be. Sometimes it’s confusing.”
She allowed that it was.
He continued. “Hey,” he said, “if you’re going to the safety deposit box, you might want to stash this for me also,” he said. “Never know when I might be back. If ever.”
“Probably sooner than you think,” she said, “but I wasn’t planning to go to the safety deposit box.”
“Maybe you could. For me. As a final favor.”
“All right,” she said.
“Oh, and listen,” he said. “There’s something I’d like you to have.”
He reached into his pocket. His strong hand came out with a small jeweler’s bag, a light blue one. She had seen it before, held it in her hand before.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“Open it.”
She did. Into her hand fell the eighteen-karat étoile bangle that had been in the jeweler’s box in the safety deposit box.
“Put it on,” he said.
She did.
“There,” he said with an approving smile. “If that doesn’t make your Russian hood jealous next time he sees you, I don’t know what will.”
“Peter, it’s gorgeous,” she said, reaching to take it off, “but you bought it for someone else.”
His hand stopped hers. “No, I bought it for you,” he said, “the first day we met. Then I rewrapped it with paper from Switzerland. I figured ahead of time that I’d want to give you a souvenir of our ‘vacation’ in Spain. I do things impulsively and ahead of time, as you know.”
“But you said there was a woman in China.”
“From time to time, I lie-,” he said, “to protect everyone. And now I will be deeply insulted if you don’t keep it.”
“All right.” She relented and admired it on her wrist. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s exactly where it belongs.”
He laughed. Then he did something that shocked her.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, and she allowed him.
He held her for several long seconds. Then she pulled back.
He took her into his arms again, holding her tightly. This time the embrace was longer and lingered. She stepped back and stepped away.
“Travel safe,” she said.
“You too.”
“I’m anxious to get home,” he said. “Ever been to China?”
“No.”
“You should come visit someday. There are ways to let me know if you visit. Channels.”
“I know.”
“I know you know.”
A moment, and “I’m very sorry,” he said.
“About what?”
“I’m very sorry that I’m obliged to live half a world away from you,” he said.
His words had the effect of knocking the legs out from under her.
She fumbled for the words of recovery but had none.
Peter was about to say something further, but then didn’t. It was almost as if for the first time, he was ill at ease with something-a feeling, a thought, an emotion, maybe. In any case, he gave it no voice. Instead, he turned and gave her a quick final hug. Then he turned away quickly and went to the first class check-in line for Iberia. His trip was to be a long one. Iberia to New York, then China Air to Hong Kong, and a connecting flight to Beijing. It would be twenty-seven hours before he set foot on his home soil. And who knew when or to what he would next be assigned?
She watched him all the way through the passport check, the ticketing, the checking of two sizeable bags. She had the wistful notion that someone she liked very much was stepping out of her life. She would miss him.
A quick reality check reminded her that he was a hired agent and assassin of a state that wasn’t always on the best terms with her own. And then a third instinct clicked in, that Peter Chang was a man who had done what he had to do, done it with honor, and done it in a way that she could respect.
In that way, he had been a soldier. A soldier and a very good one, one in which she had also fought with in the trenches. She respected soldiers.
As for his country, his employer, she didn’t care much for their system and their shortcomings, and vastly preferred her own. But his system worked for him, much the way hers worked for her. So who was she, she wondered, to pass judgment? At this stage of her life, he had been exactly what she had needed, in ways large and small.
She had more than the notion of liking him. She did like him, and it would take some time to adapt to the new reality of daily life without him.
She stood near the exit gate, not wanting to pull herself away. Her eyes were on him. There were police all over the place. She wondered, Were the police looking for Peter?
Suddenly, he turned. He scanned the terminal and found her. He said something to the security people. They nodded. He turned and jogged briskly in her direction.
Now what? Passport trouble? Was he going to make a run for it? He came to her.
“Sorry, I meant to mention something,” he said. “I left the box for your bracelet at the bank. In the safety deposit box in the vault. I like to keep things tidy. Can you deal with that for me when you stash the pistol?”