Day Of Confession

50

Beijing, China. The Gloria Plaza Hotel. Sunday, July 12, 10:30 a.m.

Forty-six-year-old Li Wen came out of the elevator on the eighth floor and turned down the hallway, looking for room 886, where he was to meet James Hawley, a hydrobiological engineer from Walnut Creek, California. Outside, he could see the rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through the overcast. The rest of the day would be hot and oppressively humid as predicted, with the pattern to continue for several more days.

Room 886 was halfway down the corridor, and the door to it partway open when Li Wen reached it.

'Mr Hawley?' he said. There was no reply.

Li Wen raised his voice. 'Mr Hawley.' Still there was nothing. Pushing the door open, he entered.

Inside, the color TV was on to a news broadcast, and a light gray business suit for a very tall man was laid out on the bed. Alongside it was a white short-sleeved shirt, a striped tie, and a pair of boxer shorts. To his left, the bathroom door was open and he could hear the sound of a shower running.

'Mr Hawley?'

'Mr Li.' James Hawley's voice rose over the sound of the water. 'Another apology. I've been called to an urgent meeting at the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries. About what, I don't know. But it makes no difference – everything you need is in an envelope in the top dresser drawer. I know you have a train to catch. We'll have tea or a drink the next time around.'

Li Wen hesitated, then went to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Inside was a hotel envelope with the initials L. W. handwritten on the front. Taking it out, he opened it, glanced quickly at its contents, then slid it into his jacket pocket and closed the drawer.

'Thank you, Mr Hawley,' he said at the steam coming from the bathroom door, then quickly left, closing the door behind him. The contents of the envelope were precisely as promised, and there was no need to stay longer. He had little more than seven minutes to leave the hotel, dodge the traffic on Jianguomennan Avenue, and get to his train.

Had Li Wen forgotten something and come back to retrieve it, he would have seen a short, stocky Chinese in a business suit exit the bathroom in James Hawley's place. Stepping to the window, he looked out and saw Li Wen cross the street in front of the hotel and walk quickly toward the railroad station.

Turning from the window, he quickly took a suitcase from under the bed, put James Hawley's carefully laid-out clothes into it, and then left, leaving the room key on the bed.

Five minutes later he was at the wheel of his silver Opel, picking up his cell phone and turning onto Chongwenmendong Street. Chen Yin grinned. Publicly he was a successful merchant of cut flowers, but on quite another level he was a master of spoken language and dialect. One that he particularly delighted in using was American English – speaking the way a man like James I Hawley, a polite, if harried, hydrobiological engineer from Walnut Creek, California, might, if he existed.