Lethal Risk. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
and outside the bureaucracy, he ascended the political ranks with ease. But the higher he went, the more troubled he became. He grew more and more stressed, even drinking in the evening when he came home. He was always unfailingly kind and polite to his wife and children, and never raised his voice or laid a hand on them in any way. But he just as firmly refused to discuss what was causing him so much distress, despite Baozhai’s efforts to get him to confide in her.
It had all come to a head one night a few weeks earlier, when Zhang had finally spoken to her after the children were asleep. He told Baozhai enough to make her fearful for their safety; even though Zhang had assured her that she and their children were safe. But she knew better. Even in her world, she had seen men and women disappear after they had said the wrong thing, talked to the wrong person. Zhang thought his family connections would save him, that his lineage’s long, distinguished record of service to the nation would save him. But she knew he was wrong.
She had tried to warn him, tried to make plans to get out of the country. But by then it was too late. And when the man from the US Embassy had shown up at her door for her and their children, she’d known that even if the United States somehow managed to get her and her children out of the country, their life was over as she knew it.
Since the brave American’s—Carstairs was his name, she made a point of remembering—sacrifice for them had all come to naught, her next priority was to somehow protect her children. Baozhai was desperate to know where her husband was, but a colder, more rational part of her had pushed him to the back of her mind, simply because she had absolutely no idea where he was right now, but she did know where her children were.
That was how the men who questioned her every day were trying to break her—by limiting her interactions with her children. They only allowed her to see one at a time and only for about an hour each day. Baozhai could already see the toll this was taking on Zhou, her daughter, and Cheng, her son. Both quiet, polite children, Zhou was now spending hours each day playing that maddening game, and becoming more insolent and resistant during their time together, while Cheng was withdrawing further inside himself. If something didn’t change soon, she feared the emotional damage would have long-term repercussions—
“Mrs. Liao?”
The question jolted her back to the present, and the man sitting casually across from her. Despite herself, Baozhai was impressed with him. He was either military or had served, but hid it well enough to fool the average observer. Not so her—she had participated in far too many government parties to not recognize the type.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”
He smiled. That was also his problem; he looked too damn affable. In her experience there were only two types of government people: humorless elder leaders or young men who thought they could change the world. Both could be easily corrupted, with the right leverage. This one didn’t fit into either stereotype.
He was handsome—not movie-star handsome, but an honest, regular face. He wore his hair short and neat—not buzzed, like many military personnel, but short enough. She figured he got it cut every other week. He was dressed well, not well enough to be on the take, but his suit was only a year out of date and his shoes were relatively new.
It was his eyes. His warm, inviting, brown eyes that were his most dangerous weapons. The majority of government men she had met often used their stares as a weapon, to intimidate, menace, demand. He had never raised his voice to her, never threatened her, never shouted. He just asked his questions in the same steady, inviting tone, and stared at her with those eyes that made her want to believe that he wanted to help her, that if she could just say the right things, just tell him what he wanted to know, then all of this messy business would go away and she and her children would be free to leave.
There were just two problems with that scenario.
“What can you tell me about your husband’s subversive activities with the Americans?”
First, other than the vague conversation they’d had had that one evening, she had absolutely no idea of the details of what her husband had been doing with the US Embassy. Any answer she would give would have been a lie, because Zhang hadn’t wanted to tell her—for her own protection. That omission was what was now keeping her here. Trapping her here.
But, of course, if she had known the truth, it wouldn’t have helped, either. Once she told them what she knew, she would be either sent to prison or killed. There was no way out of this, not for her.
Not for her children.
And yet, Baozhai clung to some faint yet slowly dying hope that she could find some way to protect her children. She understood that it was very likely that her own life was forfeit, but she would gladly sacrifice herself if her children wouldn’t suffer because of what their father had done.
But how could she make that happen? What could she possibly offer this genial, smiling man that could guarantee her children’s lives?
Baozhai sat straighter in the wing-backed chair and flashed her best smile—the one she’d honed on hostile reporters—on her interrogator. “I wish very much to help you, Major, but I am afraid that I cannot tell you what I do not know. My husband was very secretive about his business, and never discussed it at home.”
That part was mostly true—Chinese men rarely discussed their business at home. While it wouldn’t gain her any real sympathy, she could hope for pity, perhaps?
The major nodded, his smile slipping a bit. “That may be, but tell me, how did you come to be in a United States Embassy car, with an American attaché escorting you to what I can only assume was their embassy?”
Well, she had to try. Baozhai licked her lips and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of her slacks. “I am not exactly sure why that happened myself. I had received a call from my husband earlier that evening saying to meet him at a restaurant in the vicinity.” She named a place near the American building. “Since my husband’s work had him associating with the Americans, we often went there for dinner. I didn’t think anything of it when he sent a car for us, as he planned to meet us there. It was only when we were detained outside our house that I feared something was wrong.”
“Yes, let’s talk about that, if you don’t mind.” The man shifted in his chair, still mostly radiating calm and openness. “You claim that two men from the Ministry of State Security attempted to take you into custody, and that this—Mr. Carstairs—fended them off, injuring one in the process, and then ordered his driver to leave the scene, is that right?”
Baozhai nodded, trying to stay ahead of the major long enough to weave some kind of plausible story. So far, she wasn’t coming up with anything besides her usual answers—an in-the-dark housewife caught up in larger events that she didn’t understand.
“And all the while, you had absolutely no idea as to why representatives of the Chinese government would be looking to take you and your children into custody?”
Baozhai crossed her legs to try to stop them from shaking. “I…can only assume that they were sent for my family’s protection.”
“Yet you did not go with them when ordered, but stayed with Mr. Carstairs.”
“I could not hear exactly what was said between the two men. I just saw them together, then the American did something to the other man, making him shout and move away, and he got into our car. The rest of what happened is in my statement.” Although regrettable, Baozhai thanked her lucky stars that the American had been killed in the accident, so he wouldn’t disprove her story. She had heard enough about the prisons of her homeland to know they would have gotten the truth out of him in short order.
Realizing that she, too, had nothing to lose, she decided to try being a bit more assertive. “Begging your pardon, but we have already gone over all of this several times in the past few days. I have not gotten the chance to see my children yet today. I would like to see them now.”
He snapped shut the manila folder he had been reading from and tucked it under his arm. “Rewards are granted for positive results, Mrs. Liao. Since we have