Chapter 46
Liu was on a military helicopter on the way to Hong Kong when the message came in.
From Alice.
Alice, alive. Alice.
He turned his face to the window so that the pilot wouldn’t see his eyes. Alice. He rubbed them dry, then went back to reading her message.
Alice had found the terrorists. They were in the tomb of Emperor Qin Shi Huang.
Liu sat back and shook his head. Of course they were. How could he not have guessed. But he knew how. Like everyone else, he’d stopped thinking of it as a worldly place. The tomb was sealed and could never ever be opened.
But Alice, not imbued with, infected with, this magical thinking, saw what they’d all missed.
The attack was stopped thanks to a symbol Liam had written on the li bien ball, and an old black-and-white photo of a little girl.
Nüshu, Alice wrote. He brought out his own copy of a black-and-white photo. The one he’d found in Wang’s office. Of the little girl. He turned it over. Nüshu. Lan’s last word before he’d left her to die in the hospital.
Then he looked again at the little girl. Her face so solemn. But now he saw something else. Something familiar he’d seen in other eyes.
He looked at the face and added years. And knew who he was looking at.
“We have to tell the American President,” said Kai-wen. “He needs to know that someone with access to him is leading Pangu.”
“Yes, but who can get him that information?” asked Alice. “We already know that McAllister is involved. And now this. A woman.” And not just any woman.
She looked at her mother, who was staring out the window. They’d changed course, from Beijing to Hong Kong. And from there, they’d all get on flights home. Kai-wen and Ming-na to Taipei, home to their noodle shop and the recluse scholars.
Alice and Vivien would go back to DC.
They’d done their part. Or so they thought. Until that memory of the meeting in the White House and an innocent compliment of a pretty scarf had landed the final, huge part right in their laps.
It wasn’t over. And would not be until Alice and Vivien could warn President Pardington.
“If there’s a woman in the US running Pangu, there must be one in China,” said Vivien. “Probably even the ultimate leader.”
Infinite, ultimate glory …
Out the window, they could see another military helicopter also heading for Hong Kong.
Their pilot turned to his passengers.
“We’re being warned off. There’s a senior Ministry of State Security official in the other helicopter.” Their pilot veered to put more distance between them.
Alice and Vivien looked at each other. Then both looked at their phones. Which had finally run out of juice.
They stared out the window at what was now a speck ahead of them.
“Ask his name,” said Vivien.
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Okay, then just tell the other pilot to say to their passenger, ‘Coconut buns.’”
“I’m not doing that either.”
“Do it,” Captain Hu commanded, then looked at Vivien. And nodded.
The pilot did it.
They waited. Waited.
“‘Alice? Vivien?’” the pilot said. “That’s what the other passenger is saying.”
“Tell him yes. And we need to talk. Urgently.”
Their helicopter swung back until it was following Liu’s. Hong Kong rose in the distance.
Their helicopter had barely landed before the door was yanked open and Liu was standing there.
He practically lifted Alice out of the craft, hugging her, holding her close. “I thought you were gone. I thought you were all gone.”
Then he opened his arms and brought Vivien into the embrace. Trying to ignore the stench coming from what was left of her Shanghai Tang.
“Sir,” said Captain Hu, “we need to send troops to Xi’an.”
“Already on their way. I got the message.”
But there was no time to celebrate.
“We’ve found out who’s behind Pangu,” said Alice.
“I know.”
“Then you know we need to get word to President Pardington,” said Vivien. “Not in a text, it needs to be over a secure channel. Video.”
“I know he needs to know eventually, but first we need to get to Auntie Gugu before anything else happens.”
“Agreed,” said Vivien. “But rescuing her can’t be the priority.”
“Rescuing? We need to arrest her. Stop her. She’s the leader of the terrorists. She’s running Pangu.”
The four of them stared at him, their mouths open.
“Have you lost your mind?” demanded Vivien. “She sacrificed herself for us. So we could get away.”
“No. She was never arrested. She let you get away.”
“Why?”
“So you could tell me, tell everyone, about her sacrifice. So no one would ever suspect her.”
“Your own aunt?” said Alice. “Why do you think she’s involved?”
“I found a photograph in Wang’s office, of a little girl—”
“This one?” Alice dug out the one she had.
“Yes. How did you get it?”
“Long story,” said Alice.
“Why would this picture—” Vivien began. Then stopped and stared.
That was why the picture, those eyes, that expression looked familiar.
“That’s Auntie Gugu, as a child,” said Liu. “And the Nüshu? The code? It’s on the sign outside her stall in the market. For all to see.”
“And not see,” said Vivien. “Invisible, like Auntie Gugu herself. Like the women who invented Nüshu. But she can’t be running Pangu. The head of the terrorists isn’t a baker, it’s a member of Pardington’s administration.”
Which made more sense. And yet …
“Why do you think that?” asked Liu. His eyes were sharp, searching.
Alice told him about the meeting in the White House. About the scarf.
Now it was Liu’s turn to stare. Then he brought out his phone and sent a message.
Chen felt his phone vibrate in a certain pattern. It was the signal, the warning, of a crisis.
Christ. He’d thought the crisis was past. He could hardly be seen by the world, by his citizens, to be looking at his messages while the parade marched past.
The phone vibrated again. Shit.
He grabbed it. Read the message. Then, to the astonishment of hundreds of millions, he gave one final salute and left the stage.
The soldiers parading past, not knowing what to do, just kept marching. Saluting an empty dais.
Once off the stage, while aides scurried around him, Chen stared at his phone.
The attack had indeed been stopped, but the attackers were still active. Including one close to Pardington. Chen needed to give Liu the American President’s direct line so that Vivien Li could speak with him.
Are you kidding me? thought Chen. She’s still alive? How many times does she need to die for it to finally take?
Chen’s natural paranoia, nurtured and fed by decades in a hermetic world where paranoia was the only rational response, came to the fore. Suppose this wasn’t Liu but Pangu?
His aides were swarming him. Asking questions, some even touching him. But the Chinese leader remained in his own little bubble. Thinking.
He had to chance it.
We know about US traitor. McAllister. He’s dead.
A moment later came the reply. Not just McAllister. Another.
The cursor throbbed, while Chen thought. Thought.
Then he sent the confidential direct line to the American President. One set up just for these two leaders. Pardington would answer. If this was a mistake, well, he could blame and then execute Liu. And probably, finally, that Li woman.
There was comfort in that.
Chen replaced the phone in his pocket and returned to the stage.
The hundreds of millions watching exhaled. In a world gone mad, at least one thing was stable. Eeyore was back saluting. To wild applause.
“Break the door down.”
“I’m sorry?” said the security chief.
“Do it! Something’s wrong,” said Secretary Clavelle. “The President’s being held hostage in there.”
“He’s in there with his Chief of Staff,” said the agent. “Ms. Wells. There’s no one else.”
“How do you know?”
That brought the agent up short. He considered and realized he didn’t know. He had the President’s word for it, but there could be a gun to his head.
“There’s a national crisis. We’re under attack,” said Clavelle. “And he barricades himself in? It makes no sense. Do it!”
What was the worst that could happen, the agent quickly asked himself. Well, if he broke the door down and the President was killed, that would be bad.
Or he might be saved.
That would be good.
Either way, the terrorists would be stopped. If there were any terrorists in there in the first place.
Maybe the threat was out here. He looked at Secretary Clavelle. So intense.
But the benefits far outweighed the risks.
Liu handed his phone to Vivien.
“Hit send and you’ll be on video call with President Pardington.”
She hit send.
President Pardington looked down at his phone.
Chen was calling. On video.
He looked from the phone to the monitor, where Chen was back on the reviewing stand, saluting.
If not Chen, who was it?
“Fraser, don’t,” Kathleen warned.
He hit answer, but not before wondering why his Chief of Staff had suddenly used his first name.
“Mr. President?”
“Yes?”
He didn’t recognize the face, though the voice, with its soft Asian accent, sounded familiar.
If he took away the filth. Fixed the hair that was sticking straight up. And what was she wearing? A garbage bag?
He squinted closer to the screen. Could it be? “Madame Li?”
“Mr. President, I have vital information. A member of Pangu, one of the leaders, is in your inner circle.”
“Yes, I know.”
Vivien exhaled. He knew. She didn’t have to convince him.
He knew, and it had been taken care of—
On the screen, Kathleen Wells appeared behind the President.
On seeing Vivien’s face, President Pardington smiled slightly. “It’s all right, Madame Li. It’s just us. We’re safe.”
The door to the Situation Room was locked not with a key but a code. One only three people had.
The President, the Vice President, and the Speaker of the House.
The VP was called. Reluctantly, she gave the code.
“Ready?” The head of White House security looked at his team.
“Ready, sir.”
The code was put in. Joanne Clavelle stood close behind them. The agent in front of her wore a bulletproof vest and held an automatic rifle. Clavelle’s hand reached for the gun in his holster and softly drew it out.
She’d flown attack helicopters during her time in the armed forces. She knew exactly what to do.
The lock clunked open, the door burst open, and the armed agents flooded in and fanned out.
“Hands where I can see them!”
President Pardington, wide-eyed with shock, raised his hands, dropping the phone as he did.
“What is this?” he demanded. “Lower your weapons! How dare you draw on me!”
The head of security, scanning the room and seeing the President and his Chief of Staff were indeed alone, signaled for the rifles to be lowered.
From Hong Kong, Vivien and Alice watched, horrified.
There she was. In the room with the President.
“Mr. President?” The tinny voice came out of the tiny speaker.
He ignored it.
“Listen to me,” demanded Vivien Li.
Others in the Situation Room were baffled by this voice. And by the fact President Pardington was now turning his attention to the phone, the face, on the floor.
“Move slowly over to your head of security,” said Vivien.
“But—” He picked up the phone and turned the camera so Vivien could see who else was there. Could see Joanne Clavelle. And now they all saw what she was holding.
A gun. Aimed at the President.
“Trust me,” said Vivien. “We stopped the attack. We’re the only ones you absolutely know you can trust.”
“Chen must’ve given them this private number,” Kathleen whispered. “They must be in his pocket. Don’t trust them.”
Pardington looked at the disheveled woman on the screen. Then at Joanne Clavelle. His protégée.
Then another face appeared on his phone. A young woman who introduced herself as Alice, Vivien’s daughter.
She too was a mess. And not at all like the person he’d met days ago. That young woman had sat cross-armed and moody. Insolent, unwilling to listen.
But then they hadn’t exactly listened to her, and what she’d said turned out to be true.
“What do you have to say to me, Ms. Li? You have one chance, make it quick and make it count.”
He took the phone off speaker, off video, and brought it to his ear. Everyone in the room was staring at him.
The phone went to audio.
Alice could no longer see the room. She could no longer gauge his reaction to what she was about to say. She thought quickly.
Then she told him about Nüshu, the code hidden in garments. The code used by the terrorists. They’d seen it before. On a scarf, worn by one of his closest advisors.
“I see,” said the President when she’d finished. Then the line went dead.
“What happened?” Liu asked.
Kai-wen, Ming-na, and Vivien were all staring at her.
“He hung up.”
“Did he believe you?” demanded Vivien.
“I don’t know.”
President Pardington lowered the phone and considered. His next move, he knew, would change everything.
He looked at Kathleen Wells, who was still holding the gun. “Arrest her.”
He’d turned and was pointing at Joanne Clavelle. It happened so quickly she didn’t resist when the head of security twisted the weapon out of her hand.
“For treason. For murder. For anything you can think of.” He turned away, ignoring her protests.