Well, he also could hate. And he hated the weaklings that dominated the world. The meek. The little people. They were mere ants under his boots. He would trample them. He would trample them all. And he laughed loudly. He didn't care if his men heard him. He didn't care if the world heard him.
It was rare when he laughed.
Chapter 8
Nick watched the parade from the tearoom where he had ordered tea and rice cakes. How the Chinese loved parades. They were shooting off firecrackers and beating kettledrums.
It was better than a mob of chanting, pushing, screaming Red Guards, but the Red Guard frenzy hadn't finished. They were still active in many provinces. Only the army could stop them, but it was obvious they had been told to keep their hands off.
Mao used the Red Guard to get rid of his enemies. He knew how to handle them, but sometimes they did get out of hand; too many incidents that were embarrassing to Mao.
He left the tearoom and walked down the street. There were many foreign visitors in Peking, so he wasn't out of place. Although Red China had strained relations with almost every country except Albania, she didn't mind foreigners. The people themselves were friendly enough unless steamed up by the Red Guard. Then they usually went after the English.
He found the small park in the square and sat down on a metal bench. It was quiet there, with just a few people taking the sun. He lit a cigarette and looked like any other white tourist. He knew he hadn't been followed from his hotel. He had been careful He hoped Lotus had also been careful.
He was lighting his third cigarette when she showed up.
"How did it go?" he asked.
She smiled, showing her tiny white teeth. "It is arranged. He will come tonight."
"I don't want to rush things, but…"
"I understand," she said, not letting him finish. "His name is Maximilian Able. He is a captain like Stryker, but not close to the man with the frozen face."
"You must keep him occupied…"
She nodded her head. "Yes. You told me."
"It will be over with quickly," he promised.
"It does not matter," she said firmly. "I have been with him before. Do not make an angel out of me, Nick. We both know what I am."
Nick wanted to tell her that she was a sweet kid, but he thought it would sound lame. Instead, he patted her knee. "I'll be there early." He offered her a cigarette, and she accepted. He realized he was running low on cigarettes and asked her if she knew where she could get some American or Canadian cigarettes.
"I know what it is," she sighed. "The cigarettes the tobacco shops sell here axe awful. But I know someone."
"You're an amazing creature."
"I live by my wits. I could work in a factory or a farm, but that isn't for me. I don't even have a philosophy, and that's bad. I only know I'm not happy with the way things are being run here. It's a feeling. There will never be any changes. Not drastic changes anyway. That's the way I feel about it That's no good, Nick. But I can't help the way I feel, can I?"
He didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything.
Soon it was time for them to part. She got up and walked away and he watched her trim hips under her very slim waist. Some young men entering the park turned to stare at her tight buttocks.
Nick stood up, dropped his cigarette butt, heeled it against the ground, and started to leave the park.
Two Chinese police were entering the park. They were walking toward Nick. He casually kept going till one of them spoke to him in perfect English. He was tall, looked graceful as a ballet dancer, and wore a thin mustache. "Just a moment, please. May I see your passport?"
Nick stopped. He grinned easily at the man. "Sure. Why not?" He showed the man his passport. "Anything wrong?"
Still polite, the policeman said, "Just routine, sir." He examined the passport. "Where are you staying?"
Nick told him.
"That is odd," the man said. "I thought all the correspondents stayed at the Lenin Hotel."
"You know how it is," Nick said easily. "All the boys want to do is talk shop. Then they try to get you drunk and steal your story if you have one."
The policeman handed back Nick's passport. His lips pulled back in a waiter's surface smile. "Sorry for the slight inconvenience. Just routine. We hope your stay here is a happy one."
"I'm having a ball," Nick confided.
The two men continued on their way.
Nick left the park and crossed the square. He didn't believe that nonsense about it being just routine. Probably stemmed from his activity of last night. He wondered if they would check his hotel room. That policeman who had looked at his passport was no dummy. He looked plenty shrewd.
Well, to hell with them. Nick was out of the square and walking slowly and easily, like a man who didn't have a care in the world. Let them check his hotel room. The pistol he had taken from the Chinese assassin was in Lotus's room, and so was the costume she had made for him. If they searched his room they would come up with a big fat nothing…
It was two hours before he got back to his hotel room. The hotel clerk tried to avoid looking at him. Nick went through everything and knew his stuff had been gone through with a fine-tooth comb. As far as he was concerned he was safe.
They couldn't have found anything that would have given him away. And if they had they would have been waiting for him. So he was safe, for the time being, anyway.
He took a bath, changed into a blue linen suit, and went out. He had a light dinner in a small restaurant, then hopped onto a bus and went part way. He walked a few blocks, retraced his steps to make sure he wasn't being followed, then continued on his way to Lotus's flat.
She was wearing red silk pajamas that clung to her. "I found American cigarettes. Three packs." She kissed him. "And I have two bottles of rice wine."
"You've been very busy, I see " He opened a pack of cigarettes and they lit up. "I came up the back way," he told her. "Force of habit, I guess."
"It is safer for you."
They drank some wine, and he stood by the window, watching the far distant moon edging upwards. The sky was clear and there were a thousand stars to keep the moon company.
"He is coming," she said, her arm around his waist.
He saw the tall figure crossing the street. The man didn't seem too steady on his feet.
Nick stepped away from the window, and Lotus went to get the Spanish pistol. He stuck the gun in his belt and she made room for him in the bedroom closet by removing dresses and stuffing them into a bureau drawer. He got into the closet and closed the door, but not completely. Just a narrow crack so he could see into the room.
There was a loud knock, and Lotus went to answer.
He heard the front door open and close. It was stifling in the closet, and he started to sweat. The man's voice came to him, loud and guttural. A slur on words due to whisky, too much whisky. There was some laughter, forced laughter on Lotus's part. Then, finally, they came into the bedroom, and Nick had a clear view of the man.
Tall, with wide shoulders. Handsome. Dark brown hair. Maximilian Able. A captain in Bormann's secret army. He started to take off his plain uniform. "A night made for love, my Chinese beauty. That couple was downstairs again. You should rent them your room. Make some money on the side. Five marks an hour." He laughed and removed his shirt. There was a scar above his left hip.
Lotus took off her pajamas and, naked, she crawled into bed. The man stared at her greedily. He took off his shorts and followed her into bed.
Nick took the pen from his jacket breast pocket. He watched the man fumble, paw, kiss, and prepare for the invasion of the girl's body.