“It’s about time someone took out that little bastard,” said the chief justice, giving a thumbs-up to Dewey.

The door opened and DeGray stormed in, a trickle of blood on his chin, coming from his mouth.

“You son of a bitch!” he screamed at Dewey, stepping toward him. His helmet was off. Dewey didn’t flinch, calmly continuing to untie his skates, ignoring him. “That was the dirtiest hit I’ve ever seen.”

DeGray stood in front of Dewey, who pulled his helmet off and put it down. Dewey looked up at him.

“Fuck off,” said Dewey dismissively.

DeGray looked around, his face beet red with anger. Suddenly he swung at Dewey. Dewey caught the fist with his left hand, then stood and, in one fluid motion, grabbed DeGray by the neck. Holding DeGray’s forearm in his left hand and neck in his right, Dewey thrust up at him, throwing DeGray backward, off his skates, to the ground in front of Hastings.

“It was a clean hit,” said Hastings, as he untied his right skate and stared at DeGray on the floor. “And don’t forget, I’m the chief justice of the United States.”

“I thought there wasn’t any hitting, Mr. President,” said DeGray from the ground.

“Dewey just gave you a little dose of your own medicine,” said Dellenbaugh, laughing. “Now stand up like a man, take your skates off, and get the hell out of here.”

DeGray slowly sat up. He looked around for sympathy but found none.

“Does this mean … can I come back?”

“Absolutely,” said Dellenbaugh. “Just not between the hours of five and six on Saturday mornings. If you do, I’ll have one of the agents put a load of buckshot in your ass.”

6

RESIDENCE OF THE PREMIER

ZHONGNANHAI

BEIJING

The black sedan carrying Fao Bhang passed through Xinhua Gate. A four-man watch of armed soldiers needed only for Bhang’s driver to lower his black-tinted window a few inches to see whose limo it was; Bhang’s drivers, a rotating group of three, were all known to the guards at Zhongnanhai.

At the front entrance to the premier’s residence, Bhang was escorted by a soldier down a long hallway, its walls decorated with murals. At the end of the hallway was a set of closed double doors, where another soldier stood. Upon seeing Bhang, he turned and knocked.

“Send him in,” came a voice from inside the room.

The soldier nodded at Bhang, then opened the door and showed Bhang in. As he went to shut the door, Premier Li called out.

“Stay inside the room,” he ordered to the soldier.

The soldier followed Bhang in, shut the door, then stood at attention just inside the door.

The room was a library, its crimson red walls lined with books. Premier Li was seated on a maroon sofa, beneath a chandelier. Across from the sofa were two leather chairs.

Li was dressed casually; a button-down beneath a green cashmere V-neck sweater. He stared at Bhang as he entered.

“Premier Li,” said Bhang, bowing before him. “My humblest appreciation for seeing me on such short notice.”

Li said nothing. Instead he glared with a blank, seething anger at Bhang. He did not ask Bhang to sit down. Understanding the signal, Bhang stood between the two chairs, across from Li.

“What happened?” asked Li curtly, in a manner that contained what could only be described as controlled fury. “You destroyed a little girl’s birthday today, Bhang?”

“I am here to apologize,” said Bhang, in a soft voice. “I am most sorry. I have all ministry resources trying to determine what vile creature played such a mean-spirited joke.”

“Joke?” Li yelled. “He had an ax in his skull! An ax! Covered in blood! Who would do such a thing?”

“I did not send it, so I don’t know,” said Bhang. “This was a cruel strategy employed by China’s enemies for God knows what reason. Perhaps to do what is occurring right now, to foment anger among the leaders of our government. But I will find out who did this, sir, and justice will be brought to them.”

“My granddaughter had to be sedated,” said Li. “My wife is distraught.”

“And for this, I am deeply sorry. Sometimes, it would seem, the world in which I live and work, a world of secrets, spills over. It’s not something I chose.”

“Who was this dead man?”

Bhang remained silent.

“Who was this man?” bellowed Li.

“I’m here to apologize,” said Bhang. “There is nothing more I can say, with all due respect, sir.”

“I am ordering you to tell me who this dead man was,” seethed Li.

Bhang returned Li’s angry glare with a calm, kindly expression.

“Mr. Premier,” said Bhang, “there are aspects to every job that do not necessarily bring clarity or edification to the world. This question would fall into a category of what I would call unnecessary detail.”

Li sat back, considering his next words.

“You’re not going to tell me?” he asked, taken aback, his voice rising. “What have you exposed China to, you insolent bastard? Your arrogance knows no boundaries, Bhang.”

Li pointed at the soldier. The soldier, standing at the door, looked nervously at Li. Then he reached to his holster and removed his gun. He targeted it at Bhang.

Bhang registered the sight of the muzzle, now aimed at his head. He nodded calmly, pondering what to say, remaining silent for several seconds. Then he cleared his throat.

“Mr. Premier,” said Bhang, “his name was Dillman. He was an Israeli. He provided China with much information over many years.”

“And why was his corpse sent to my granddaughter?”

Bhang swallowed, saying nothing. He stared meekly at Li for several seconds, letting the premier vent his anger. Finally, Li waved a finger at the soldier, ordering him to put the pistol away.

Bhang bowed.

“I must reiterate my humblest apologies to you and your family. This afternoon, a bounty of gifts is being delivered to your granddaughter, sir, and I can assure you, because my own deputy was responsible for their purchase, their packing, and their delivery, that there will be no similar mishap. Good day to you, sir.”

Li said nothing, looking toward the window. He waved his hand dismissively, telling Bhang to get out, then made eye contact with the soldier, letting him know he was to escort Bhang out of the residence.

Bhang turned and walked toward the door. He walked quickly down the corridor, with the soldier trailing him. Outside, he crossed the brick walkway in front of the residence. He climbed into the back of the idling sedan.

The soldier followed Bhang to the sedan and stood watching as Bhang shut the door quietly. After a moment, the black tinted window lowered a few inches.

“Well done, Lieutenant,” said Bhang, quietly looking at the soldier who minutes before had aimed his sidearm at Bhang’s head. “Your performance was most convincing.”

“Thank you, Minister Bhang.”

Bhang raised the window and looked in the rearview mirror.

“Drive,” he said.

The sedan moved slowly away from the house as Bhang removed a cigarette from his suit-coat pocket and lit it. He took a long drag on the cigarette, staring at the burning ember, feeling new emotions: embarrassment, shame, and humiliation. Even the harsh burn of the nicotine could not quell the taste of bitterness in his mouth.

“You’ll pay,” he whispered to himself.

But he wasn’t thinking of Li. Li was a sideshow. Rather, Bhang pictured nothing but a figure, a dark, featureless face, the anonymous one who’d found Dillman. “Yes, you’ll pay, my friend, whoever you are.”

7

OVAL OFFICE

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

As national security advisor, Jessica Tanzer had carte blanche to enter the president’s office whenever she wanted to, but on this particular morning she’d made an appointment. Jessica checked her watch, then walked to the door that led to the Oval Office.