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did.
    â€œTu—Tu—Tuesday,” was all the senator said, sounding hysterical, and ended the call.
    Xiang, who had created the code, knew exactly what the senator meant. Tuesday, at five in the morning, Jasper wanted to meet on a path in Rock Creek Park, which was generally deserted at that hour. If anyone passed by, Xiang and Jasper would look like two joggers who had a chance encounter in the park.
    From Jasper’s urgent request for a meeting in the middle of the night and the sound of the senator’s voice, Xiang feared that Operation Trojan Horse had been compromised. Xiang pondered his options. Liu had told him that if there ever was a threat to Operation Trojan Horse, Xiang was to call him immediately and without explaining what happened on the phone, announce that he would be flying to Beijing for a briefing.
    But until he spoke to Jasper, Xiang told himself that he had no idea what had happened or how serious it was. No point alarming Liu until after the Jasper meeting. For now, he’d have to operate on his own. Besides, notifying Liu was only a last resort. The spymaster didn’t tolerate failure, and he never took responsibility himself. Xiang had observed how savagely Liu dealt with underlings whom he charged with failing to perform up to his high standards. “We have a zero tolerance for failure,” Liu lectured agents. Those words, “A zero tolerance for failure … A zero tolerance for failure … ” reverberated in Xiang’s brain. They sent a shiver up and down Xiang’s spine.
    His meeting with Jasper was twenty-seven hours away. He turned back to Vertigo . He doubted if he’d sleep at all until he learned what had happened to Jasper.
    * * *
    Lying in bed, Martin glanced at the illuminated clock on the bureau. It was 3:11 a.m. And he hadn’t slept at all. Francis was snoring softly, burrowed under the down comforter.
    He never had trouble sleeping. But this night was like no other. He had been wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The enormity of what he had done hit him like a wall crashing down on him.
    He should have made Jasper go to the police. Or called them himself. Gorton? What the hell was he thinking? This went against his whole life. He counseled a million clients that you don’t try and cover up illegal or embarrassing situations with lies. You’ve got to play it straight—not just because it’s the right thing, but because in the end you’ll get caught.
    Damp with perspiration and trying not to wake Francis, he got up, put on a robe and went downstairs. In the den he sat in the dark, staring into space. His body shook from time to time. He thought about other mistakes he’d made. Once during a lawsuit, he failed to produce a critical document, which a client had concealed. Another time, when relying upon an associate, he mischaracterized a legal precedent. Both times, as soon as he became aware of the error, he’d notified opposing counsel and the court and faced the unpleasant consequences. He could still call Anguilla to rectify this.
    But then he’d be destroying the marriage and career of one of his best friends. And the death had been an accident.
    No, c’mon. He realized he was kidding himself. This wasn’t merely about Jasper. Martin would have to pay, too. If the media got a hold of it, they’d crucify him. They would claim he didn’t merely lend his Anguilla house to a friend. He lent it to the powerful chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee which dealt with legislation affecting Martin’s clients. He was using his house to buy influence. Arthur and Braddock would cut him from the short list for chief justice at the first sign of trouble. Jasper and Vanessa were standing in his way. If he hadn’t asked Gorton to move the body, he’d have been doomed.
    But he could be wrong. Maybe he’d have been alright if all he did was let Jasper use the house. Wes was his friend.