The Stone Monkey

dangerous, of course. But more than that, there were too many associations with my wife. I decided to come here, apply for asylum and then send for my children.” A faint smile. “After my mourning is over I’ll find a woman here to be the mother to my children.” He shrugged and sipped tea. “But that will be in the future.”
    His hand went to the amulet he wore. Her eyes followed it. He noticed and took it off his neck and handed it to her.
    “My good-luck charm. Maybe it works,” he laughed. “It brought you to me when I was drowning.”
    “What is it?” she asked, holding the carving close.
    “It’s a carving from Qingtian, south of Fuzhou. The soapstone there is very famous. It was a present from my wife.”
    “It’s broken,” she observed, rubbing the fracture with her nail. Some of the soft stone flaked off.
    “It got chipped on the rock I was holding on to when you saved me.”
    The design was of a monkey, sitting on his haunches. The creature seemed humanlike. Wily and shrewd. Sung explained, “He is a famous character in Chinese mythology. The Monkey King.”
    She handed the amulet back to him. He replaced it and the charm dropped back against his muscular, hairlesschest. The bandages from the Ghost’s gunshot wound were just visible under the blue work shirt. Suddenly she was keenly aware of Sung’s presence, inches away from her. She could smell disinfectant soap and harsh laundry detergent from his clothes. She felt an inexplicable comfort coming from him—this man who was virtually a stranger.
    She told him, “We’re leaving a patrol car outside your apartment.”
    “To protect me?”
    “Yes.”
    This amused Sung. “The public security bureau officers in China wouldn’t do that—they’d only park outside your door to spy or intimidate you.”
    “You’re not in Kansas anymore, John.”
    “Kansas?”
    “An expression. I have to get back to Lincoln.”
    “To—?”
    “The man I work with. Lincoln Rhyme.”
    She rose, felt a stab of pain in her knee.
    “Wait,” Sung said. He took her hand. She felt a serene power radiating from his touch. He said, “Open your mouth.”
    “What?” She laughed.
    “Lean forward. Open your mouth.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m a doctor. I want to look at your tongue.”
    Amused, she did and he examined her mouth quickly. “You have arthritis,” he said, releasing her hand and sitting back.
    “Chronic,” she said. “How did you know that?”
    “As I said, I’m a doctor. Come back and I will treat you.”
    She laughed. “I’ve been to dozens of doctors.”
    “Western medicine, Western doctors, they have their place. Chinese medicine is best for curing chronic pains and discomfort—problems that seem to arise for no apparent reason. There always is a reason, though. There are things I can do that will help. I’m indebted to you. You saved my life. I would be shamed if I didn’t repay that.”
    “That was two big guys in black rubber suits.”
    “No, no, if not for you I would have drowned. I know that. So, please, you will come back and let me help you?”
    She hesitated for a moment.
    But then, as if prodding her to act, a bolt of pain shot through her knee. She gave no outward reaction to the twinge but kept a placid face as she took out her pen and gave Sung her cell phone number.
    •   •   •
    Standing on Central Park West, Sonny Li was confused.
    What was with the public security bureau here? Hongse drove that fast yellow car, bang, bang, like a TV cop, and now, it seemed, the officers were hunting the Ghost from a building as luxurious as this? No PSB officer in China could afford such an apartment, even the most corrupt (and there were some pretty damn corrupt public security officers).
    Li tossed his cigarette away, spat on the grass and then, with his head down, walked quickly across the street into the alley that led to the back of the building. Even the alley was spotless! In Li’s home of Liu Guoyuan—which was richer than most towns in China—an alley like this would have been piled high with trash and discarded appliances. He paused, looked around thecorner and found the back door of the building open. A young man, with perfectly trimmed blond hair, wearing dark slacks, a light shirt and a flowery tie, stepped out. He carted two green plastic trash bags with him, which he carried to a large blue metal container and tossed inside. The man glanced around the alley, picked up a few stray pieces of paper and