Darkness Under Heaven by F. J. Chase Page A

the time.”
    â€œYou tell anyone about that? ” said Marquand.
    â€œThat I told them about,” said Avakian.
    â€œSo they plan on throwing the grenade,” said Kinney. “Toss it maybe in the middle of all the press. It goes off, lots of blast and smoke. All the cameras swing in that direction. And in the confusion the Taiwan security guys shoot their own president.”
    â€œAnd maybe even get away with it,” said Marquand. “If they’re carrying a couple of throwaway pistols they can drop on the ground.”
    â€œBut the grenade doesn’t go off the way it’s supposed to,” said Kinney.
    â€œThanks to our boy here,” said Marquand.
    â€œBut they start shooting anyway?” said Kinney, as if he couldn’t quite believe that part.
    â€œI suppose you’ve got to admire having the balls to stick to the plan no matter what,” said Marquand.
    â€œFace,” said Avakian.
    They both looked at him.
    â€œYou’re given the plan by your superiors,” said Avakian. “Something unexpected happens, you still stick to it. Because it was the plan given to you by your superiors. How do you think we beat the Japanese? Face.”
    â€œThis is going to be such a fucking mess,” Marquand breathed. He looked up at the ceiling. “Thank you, God, for not dropping this one in my lap.”
    â€œAll your clean living finally pays off,” Avakian said dryly. He gingerly slid off the edge of the massage table and tested his ability to stand. So far so good. Unless he missed his guess, his jacket, tie and shirt were in the plastic bag under the table, thanks to Jozefa. So the Polish warm-up jacket was going to have to do. Nice souvenir anyway. “Can we get out of here?”
    â€œ We can,” said Marquand. “Chinese are holding the whole damn stadium incommunicado until they’re sure they’re not letting any co-conspirators go. But that’s not my problem. The Secretary of State’s back at the embassy already.”
    â€œIf it’s not your problem,” said Avakian, “it’s certainly not mine. Besides, I’m starving.”
    â€œThe embassy cafeteria can cure that,” said Marquand. “I’ll even buy.”
    â€œThe embassy cafeteria?” Avakian said, without any enthusiasm whatsoever. “I was thinking more along the lines of some Korean barbecue. I know a good place, and you can still buy.”
    â€œKeep thinking,” said Marquand. “But you’re going back to the embassy. I don’t think the shit is done hitting the fan for a good long while yet.”

5
    â€œT his is really good,” said Kinney, digging into a container.
    The three of them were seated around Marquand’s desk, cartons of food spread across the top. Traumatized by the thought of the embassy cafeteria, Avakian had talked them into stopping along the way. Unfortunately, Korean barbecue didn’t lend itself to takeout, since the meat was traditionally brought to your table raw and you grilled it yourself over a brazier. But a Xinjiang restaurant was the next best thing. They roasted their meat on skewers. No pork though—it was the Muslim part of China.
    They’d sent Marquand’s driver in for it, which was funny because in China Chinese takeout wasn’t all that common. You either went out to eat or you cooked at home. So the driver had to be persuasive and show them the color of Marquand’s money.
    Marquand was eyeing the meat on the end of his fork suspiciously. “You sure this is lamb?”
    Avakian had to finish chewing the steamed sesame bun impaled on the end of his chopsticks before he could reply. “Of course it’s lamb. You’re just not used to the cumin. Or having your lamb barbecued.”
    â€œIt’s really good,” Kinney offered, popping another kebab-sized chunk of meat into his mouth.
    Marquand shot him a dirty look and nibbled a