An American Spy Read Online Free PDF Page A

result from that disorder are their fault.”
    “You can’t treat a bureaucracy like an individual. Imagine if we were treated that way.”
    “I’d expect no less from the fathers of our victims,” Zhu said, knowing as he said it that they would all be dead if that really came to pass. He waved at a parking area up ahead, a scenic outpost. “Pull over.”
    As they slowed and parked, two cars passed. One had Laoshan plates, the other Beijing. Zhang Guo nodded at them. “You don’t think . . .”
    “I have no idea,” Zhu said, then gazed out the open window. Sea, horizon. He said, “It wasn’t just revenge, you know. Everyone thinks that’s what it was—the committee, you, probably even the Americans. Revenge factored into it, but it was also a practical decision. That’s something I’ll have to explain on Monday morning. By eradicating one of their secret departments, we have sent a serious message to the Americans, the same message we want to send with the Olympic Games. That we are the primary force in the world. We are a nation that has suffered long enough—that’s the past. The present is this: We are a superpower of unfathomable riches, and we will not stand for interference, particularly from a country on the other side of the planet that still refers to itself as the world’s only superpower.”
    Zhang Guo let that sit a moment before shaking his head. “Then they see fifty thousand die in Sichuan. Is this how a superpower takes care of its people?”
    Zhu didn’t answer, because he’d had this thought himself. Instead, he turned in his seat as best he could, reaching toward the bag he’d left in the back, but his hand only batted air inches from its handle. An involuntary grunt escaped his lips.
    “Just sit back,” Zhang Guo said, sighing.
    Zhu did so, and, without looking, Zhang Guo reached his long right arm back and deftly snatched the bag. He tugged it up to the front and handed it to Zhu.
    “Thanks.”
    Zhang Guo watched another car pass, then got out and walked around to where slanted trees framed the view of the sea. Inside the car, Zhu unlatched the strap and fingered at a thin file inside, finding a 4R-sized blowup of a passport photo. Here was the real reason for this meeting. He sat staring at it a moment, at the black woman, midthirties, before opening his door and placing his feet on dirt. The freshness of the salty breeze was a shock after the car’s smoky interior. Down below, surf raged. “Come look at this.”
    Zhang Guo wandered back and took the photo. “Pretty,” he said after a moment, “for one of them.” He passed it back.
    “You’ve seen her before?”
    “Should I have?”
    There was no sense being coy with Zhang Guo. “She’s one of the ones who survived.”
    “One of the Tourists?”
    “She went by the name Leticia Jones. We never did learn her real name.”
    “Why are you carrying around her photograph?”
    Zhu sniffed. “A week ago she landed in Shanghai on another passport—Rosa Mumu, Sudanese.”
    A bang sounded as Zhang Guo hit the roof of the car with his fist, then walked away, feeling his chest for another cigarette. Once he had it lit, he turned back. “Where is she now?”
    “She left Beijing last week, flying to Cairo. As for the week she spent here, we’re just starting to piece it together.”
    “But why would she be here? An agent on her own can’t expect to do anything, particularly one that’s blown.”
    “She did elude us for a week, all by herself. I only found out that she’d been here once she was gone. A border guard heard her speaking English to another Sudanese. The Sudanese tried to speak Arabic with her, but she didn’t know it. It wasn’t reason enough to hold her, but the guard noted her name for later examination. Someone from Sun Bingjun’s department passed it on to me, as a query. I recognized her photo from my Tourism files.”
    Zhang Guo cursed loudly.
    “It means little at this point,” Zhu said, as much