The telephone broke Tanner’s reverie. He stared at it, then reached out and picked it up.
“Briggs, it’s Leland. I’m back.”
“And?”
“You may want to dust off your passport.”
Dutcher arrived an hour later. Tanner made coffee and they sat on the deck overlooking the cove; beyond it, a rain squall was closing over the bay.
Dutcher recounted to Tanner his meeting at Langley. “Whether he’s really still alive or not …”
“What do we know about the embassy’s contact?”
“Chang-Moh Bian. Not much. Mason’s going to ask his station chief to arrange a face-to-face. If Soong is still alive and Bian is in contact with him, he’ll have some details.”
My God, Tanner thought, could he really be alive? After all this time, was it possible?
“Here’s the interesting part,” Dutcher said. “Soong won’t accept anyone else. Just you.”
“Just like last time.”
“Yep. It’s got Mason nervous.”
Tanner understood. However remote, all this could be a setup designed to lure him back into China. Though Kyung Xiang had managed to rise to the top of the Guoanbu, his career — and life, possibly — had hung in the balance for several years after the Soong affair. Could Xiang have been waiting all this time for a chance to get his hands on Tanner?
Briggs didn’t think so. Xiang was a professional. It was unlikely he would hold a grudge this long — even more unlikely that he’d create this scenario to satisfy that grudge. Still, as the head of Guoanbu, Xiang had enormous power. If he wanted a little revenge, who would deny him?
The more likely scenario was that Soong himself was a plant. After this long they could have turned him into a marionette. The professional side of Tanner’s brain couldn’t discount the idea, but the emotional side — the side that still considered Soong a friend — refused to believe it
“The truth is,” Dutcher said, “whether this is genuine or fake isn’t the issue.”
“I know: Dick’s a little worried about my head.”
“He knows you’ve got the skills, but the environment … Hell, this is China. The Guoanbu, PSB, and PAP are forces unto themselves. Given what you went through last time….”
The odds are against me, Tanner thought. Too much emotional investment; too much “preexposure” to the target country; too many triggers that might derail him. In the eyes of the CIA, he was a bad gamble. Problem was, if they wanted Soong, they had no choice but to use him.
“Leland, there’s something else you should know. While I was there, Soong’s daughter and I … There was something between us.”
Dutcher stared at him. “Pardon me?”
“It was my first time on this kind of op; I was young … stupid. It shouldn’t have happened—”
“Damn right it shouldn’t—”
“—but it did.”
Dutcher exhaled. “Christ, Briggs.”
“I know.” Like her father, Lian had probably broken and told the MSS everything; if Tanner went back into China, she could be used as leverage against him.
Dutcher asked, “Did this thing with her affect the outcome?”
“I don’t think so,” replied Tanner. God, I hope not.
Dutcher studied his face, then nodded. “We’ve still got a problem. I have to tell Mason.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Briggs—”
“Leland, I can do this.” Tanner suddenly felt slimy. Leland was more than a boss; he was like a second father. Was he trading on their relationship for a chance to ease his own conscience? I can do this…. Was he certain? “I can do the job.”
Dutcher sighed and shook his head. “God almighty … I must be getting soft in my old age. Okay: What Dick doesn’t know can’t hurt him. But I’ll tell you this: If it goes wrong, they’re gonna hang us both from the nearest lamppost.”
Tanner smiled. “Then I’ll just make sure it doesn’t go wrong.”
Latham and Randall got back into town in the early evening and parted ways. When Charlie got home he found Bonnie standing at the kitchen counter. He kissed her, then looked down at the bowl she was stirring. “Is that that cold salsa soup stuff?”
“It’s called ‘gazpacho,’ Charlie. You like it”
“I do?”
“You said you did last time I made it”
Uh-oh. “Oh, yeah … gazpacho. I was thinking of that other stuff.”
Bonnie smiled. “Liar. Go shower. We’ll eat when you get done.”
An hour later, Latham decided he did in fact like gazpacho. How was it that Bonnie knew what he liked when he couldn’t even remember if he’d had it before? Ah, the joys of marriage … Bonnie was a wonderful wife and mother, and he made it a point to remind himself daily how lucky he was.
“Sammie called today,” Bonnie said. Their oldest daughter, Samantha, was a sophomore majoring in economics at William and Mary College. “She said to say hi.”
“Everything okay?”
“She’s just a little homesick, I think. Finals are next month; she’ll be home after that.”
“Good. I kinda miss the patter of … young adult feet around here.”
Bonnie gave him a sideways smile. “We could always—”
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m kidding.”
The phone rang and Bonnie picked it up, listened, then handed it to Latham. “Hello?”
“Charlie, it’s Paul. The coroner’s done with the Bakers. She may have something for us.”
“I’ll meet you there.” He hung up and turned to Bonnie. “The Baker thing. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, go ahead. I’ve got paint swatches to look at.”
“Paint swatches?”
“We’re painting the kitchen, remember?” She shook her head and smiled. “Go, Charlie.”
The medical examiner, a gangly woman in her early fifties, was sitting in her office finishing the report. “Hello, Charlie. Been a while.”
“Not long enough, Margaret,” Latham replied. “No offense.”
“None taken.” She looked at Randall, and mock-whispered, “Charlie doesn’t much like morgues. I think he’s got a phobia about stainless steel.”
“Just one of his many quirks.”
“Come on, I’ll show what we found.”
She led them into the examining room. The air was thick with the tang of disinfectant. The tile floor reflected the grayish glare of the overhead fluorescent lights. Each of the room’s four stainless-steel tables were occupied: four sets of sheets — two adult-size, two child-size.
What used to be the Baker family, Charlie thought. He didn’t know how coroners did it. Two weeks in this place and he’d be drinking his lunch every day.
“First, the routine stuff,” said Margaret. “All were negative for narcotics or toxins. No signs of disease or degeneration in any of the major systems. Aside from bullet wounds in each of the victims and ligature marks on the extremities of the woman and the children, there were no gross injuries.”
“Did you check the syringe?”
“Yep. No toxins, no narcotics. It was brand-new — fresh out of its blister pack, in fact. There were minute traces of adhesive residue on it: the manufacturer uses it to keep the syringe seated in the pack while it’s going down the assembly line. If it had been handled any significant amount after opening, the residue would have been wiped off.”
“The needle?”