That was how Lieutenant General Tan Furen of the PLARF—jointly encrypted SONGBIRD by exultant Headquarters managers in Canberra and Langley—became the most prolific reporting source on the Chinese military in the history of China Operations. FIGJAM was put on the short list for selection as ASIS deputy director general; ASIS case officer George “Bunty” Boothby was given a two-grade promotion and became engaged to Marigold Dougherty; CIA’s Hong Kong Station received a unit citation; and Nathaniel Nash was sentenced to death by the politburo of the Communist Party of China.
Trouble was, Nash didn’t know it yet.
“Is that a real diamond?” asked Nate, holding Marigold’s hand up in front of his face to admire her ring. “What’s that discoloration inside the stone? Have you taken the ring in for an independent appraisal?” Marigold laughed, and Bunty flipped him the bird.
It had been ten days since Macao. They were having drinks in the rooftop bar of the Felix Restaurant, an elevated circular bar with beige padded bench seats and curved windows looking out onto Hong Kong Harbor, to celebrate the successful turnover of SONGBIRD to a joint ASIS/CIA internal handling team that had successfully deployed the new BRAINBAG satellite communications system to enable SONGBIRD to transmit gigabytes of information from the comfort of his new Beijing office in
The timely introduction of a satcom system had thankfully relieved Nate of the handling responsibilities in personally meeting SONGBIRD in Macao. Nate planned to finish his paperwork and conclude his TDY assignment to Hong Kong in a week. The future was unclear: he could return to London to finish his tour, or wait for a separate assignment, or be stuck in the Puzzle Palace. It would be up to Simon Benford. With the recruitment of SONGBIRD, Nate’s stock with Benford presumably would improve. Could that mean he would be reassigned to the DIVA case? Would Benford let him see Dominika? Or would the quarantine continue, with his being assigned somewhere far from Russian operations to preclude even the remote possibility of a reunion with her? He thought idly of requesting a posting to a domestic Station—flashes of Agnes in a hammock in Palos Verdes—or perhaps losing himself in South America Division.
He saw Marigold’s face change, and turned to see assistant general manager Grace Gao standing beside their table. She was dressed in a clingy black ribbed knit dress with a high collar and fitted long sleeves, which revealed only slightly less of her longbow curves than had she dipped herself naked in chocolate sauce. Her hair was up, revealing delicate silver huggie hoop earrings, and she wore a vintage Chinese silver cuff studded with salmon coral stones on her left wrist. Her glossy lips were the color of pink grapefruit.
“Do I see a ring? Is this a celebration?” said Grace. “Permit me to offer you a bottle of champagne.” She nodded to the bartender behind the doughnut-shaped bar, then looked at Nate. “I’m glad to see you again at the Peninsula. Please let me know if you need anything, Mr. . . .” Nate smiled.
“Nash, but please call me Nate. The hotel is magnificent,” he said. “You do a great job running it.”
Grace smiled. “We’re very proud of the ‘Pen,’ ” she said. “Are you aware of its history? Perhaps I can give you a tour someday.”
“I’d like that,” said Nate.
“Call my assistant anytime,” said Grace. She smiled at the table, turned, and walked out of the bar. Utter silence. Marigold and Bunty were staring at Nate, trying not to laugh.
“What?” said Nate.
“Quite a change of behavior,” said Marigold. “She suddenly likes you.”
Nate spread his arms. “Not hard to believe. She finally came to her senses, that’s all.”
“That’d be a cheeky root, mate,” said Bunty.
“Which means . . .”
“Having sex when it’s a really bad idea,” said Marigold.
“I’m thinking about recruiting her, not seducing her,” said Nate, all lofty and righteous.
“I thought it was the same thing,” said Marigold.
“Look, Nate,” said Bunty. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something shonky about young Grace; she could be a bunny boiler, like in that crazy girlfriend movie, what was it,
Marigold groaned, shook her head, and held out her hand, wiggling her ring finger. “Men are pigs. Take your ring back.”
Bunty ignored her.
