Free Ark by Charles McCarry Page A

darkness.
     
    When we arrived, we found a couple of military vehicles parked inside the compound. One of them was equipped with a machine gun, its long barrel pointed at the sky. Six impassive soldiers with assault rifles slung across their chests watched as we approached. Henry drove right by them. We were not challenged. Our dogs—the ones in the backseat—began to bark. There was no answer from the rest of the pack, and as the Humvee rolled on we saw that all the other chows lay scattered on the ground. They did not move. They looked stiff, as if frozen in place like Bear Mulligan’s dinosaurs in the last nanosecond of life. I saw no signs of blood or mutilation. I had never before seen the slightest sign of anger in Henry, but he was furious now. He drove up to the big yurt, slammed on the brakes, and leapt out of the vehicle. I followed. Before I could stop them, so did the dogs. They broke discipline, abandoning us humans, rushing to the prostate animals, sniffing and whining.
     
    Inside the yurt, a slender, erect Chinese with a Waterford glass in his hand was conversing amiably with Henry. He wore an immaculate uniform with many campaign ribbons and decorations. His blue-black hair was turning gray. Three younger men, also in the uniform of the People’s Liberation Army, stood by, also holding glasses. I smelled Scotch whisky. Daeng appeared, smiling as though he knew nothing of the dead dogs lying just outside the door. He carried a tray of canapés and passed light-footedly among the officers as if serving at a cocktail party.
     
    Henry beckoned me closer and introduced me to the older man. His name was General Yao. He was from the China Association for International Friendly Contacts, otherwise known as the counterespionage arm of the intelligence service of the People’s Liberation Army.
     
    Smiling, he said in flawless California English, “I must apologize for the dogs. Let me assure you they will soon wake up and be as good as new. Unfortunately they attacked us when we arrived. We were forced to subdue them with a humane gas. Had I realized they were going to sleep so long, I would have had them removed from sight. We didn’t know exactly how much gas is required to render a dog unconscious. I am assured they will soon be all right.”
     
    “Thank you, General Yao. That’s very comforting,” I said.
     
    The general’s eyes became colder by a degree or two. Henry shot me a cautionary look. Clearly he and General Yao knew each other well. Just as clearly, the general found it difficult to be entirely frank in my presence. I drifted away and joined the young officers. For the fun of it, I gave no sign that I spoke their language. I understood fragments of the things they were saying about me in Mandarin. Two of them didn’t like my blue eyes—”ghost eyes,” one man called them. The third found them mysterious. They all liked my body even though they agreed that the breasts were a little too large to be truly beautiful.
     
    General Yao joined us. If he harbored resentment of my earlier snippiness about the gassed chows, he showed no sign of it.
     
    “The dogs have awakened,” he said. “They’re quite frisky. In humans, recovery time is related to body weight. No doubt the same is true of dogs. Or elephants. You are an animal lover, I gather.”
     
    “You could say that. After all, we’re animals, too.”
     
    He smiled charmingly. He escorted me to the table and helped me into my chair. He poured mao-tai into my glass. He placed food on my plate in the Chinese manner, as if I were the honored guest and he the host. He asked polite questions about my family, my work, my education, my time in Shanghai. I got the impression that he knew the answers to his questions before I supplied them. He regretted that he had not read any of my books. I offered to send him one. No, no, he wished to buy one. He would order it from Amazon.com. Perhaps I would be so kind as to inscribe it the next time