Deceived Read Free

Mr. Chairman," Nick said, chastened. "We did not
originally intend to include a review of the subcontracts within the scope of
our audit."
    "Then I
suggest, until such time as you can produce evidence, you limit your testimony
to facts on hand."
    "Yes, Mr.
Chairman."
    Chairman
Callahan turned to Senator Raine. "Senator, do you wish to continue?"
    "I do, Mr.
Chairman. A few more questions."
    Senator Raine
spent the next few minutes rehabilitating Nick; when she finished the questions
from the other subcommittee members began.
    The senator
from Kentucky asked technical questions, the senator from Oregon insisted on
making speeches that weren't questions at all, and the senator from Florida
made mild, noncommittal statements, waiting for Senator Whitford, the big gun,
to join the battle.
    Nick risked a
few glances at Whitford, each time to find the senator glowering in his
direction. Whitford, however, seemed content to let the other members carry the
questioning; he sat sternly, his hands folded in front of him and his famous
glasses parked in his suit pocket.
    The hour of
testimony ended with just the one outburst from Senator Whitford — for
that Nick was grateful .
    Scott leaned
into Nick when Senator Callahan declared the short afternoon session closed. "Man-o-man,"
he whispered, "you really hit some kind of major nerve with Whitford. I've
never seen anybody turn so red. What the hell was that all about?"
    Nick shook his
head. Whitford was about the last person he wanted as an enemy. "I wish I
knew, Scott. I really wish I knew."

2
    The curtains
parted and the waiter reappeared. In his right hand, by a bamboo handle, he
carried what looked to be a box cloaked by an embroidered red silk cloth. He
set it gently on the table in front of Pu-Yi.
    Pu-Yi eyed the
silk covered box for a moment, then continued with his meal. He left the waiter
standing with hands folded in front of him, head and eyes to the ground.
    From the plate
before him, Pu-Yi used chopsticks to pinch the last piece of roasted eel. The
few bones he encountered on chewing he spit on the tablecloth to the side of
the plate — a small mound of bones which joined a half-dozen other mounds.
    If the waiter
or Pu-Yi's eating companion gave the action a second thought, they did not show
it. Spitting — of food, of phlegm, of almost anything — was not only
accepted but common throughout China, though rarely at the dinner table. However,
in Huizhou it was unwise to remark upon anyone's manners. The city, a rapidly
expanding metropolis of luxury hotels and skyscrapers seventy miles north of
Hong Kong, catered to the triads, the Chinese criminal syndicates. China's Las
Vegas, though Pu-Yi had a much more interesting diversion than gambling in mind
tonight.
    He examined the
young woman sitting beside him — sixteen, maybe seventeen — dressed
in a dark blue cheongsam , a silk dress with high slits up the sides,
worn tight and form-fitting. A traditional costume long in disfavor except at
houses such as this one. Pu-Yi caught the hint of fear and embarrassment in the
girl's eyes. The job was still new to her, Pu-Yi guessed; catering to the
sexual whims of a stranger still shocking .
    What would
those eyes hold, he wondered, when he had her pinned beneath him? When she
bucked at the pleasure, and at the pain?
    The proprietor
had offered her to him. A gift. Pu-Yi, after all, was a man of importance.  He
worked for John Li, and John Li's reach stretched all the way to Beijing. A
favor to one of John Li's men, especially his Hung Kwan , chief
lieutenant, might be repaid many times over. A good investment..
    Pu-Yi finished
his soup, and only then acknowledged the waiter with a curt nod. On signal the
waiter gripped a corner of the silk cloth and jerked it to the air .
    Underneath was
not a box, but a metal mesh cage. In its bottom a snake, dusty colored and
mottled, lay coiled and unmoving.
    Pu-Yi
considered the animal dispassionately for a moment, then reached for his