Liar's Market

Do you think it’s possible?

Anything is possible. I would have had no way of knowing. You know what my husband’s position was in London. He was CIA Chief of Station there. He had contact with all kinds of people, but I wasn’t allowed to ask questions about any of it. That’s how that game works, isn’t it? Need to know—isn’t that the operational term? Does your wife need to know about this conversation we’re having right now, Agent Andrews? Are you going to go home tonight and talk it over with her? I’m guessing not. You guys and your precious little spy games and secrets. You just love them.

Mrs. MacNeil, if you and I were sleeping together, I guarantee you, my wife would know it in two minutes flat. She’d see the guilt in my face, for one thing, even before she found lipstick on my collar or whatever.

Ah, well, there’s the problem—you just put your finger on it. You, Agent Andrews, would apparently feel guilty about sleeping with another woman and your wife would pick up on that. Bravo. She’s a lucky woman. Nice to be married to a man you can count on.

Are you saying your husband was unreliable in a general sense? Or just that he didn’t love you? Mrs. MacNeil? Carrie? Would you like some water?

No, I’m fine. I just—I thought—at the time…I knew there were other women. I did. Not because Drum showed any sign of guilt, mind you. Oh, there was a little pro forma remorse, maybe, on a couple of occasions when I tried to confront him about it, but I wouldn’t call it guilt. He didn’t even try all that hard to deny it. He said it was the nature of the job, that it didn’t mean anything.

Not to him, maybe….

Look, you have to understand, Drum’s twenty years older than me. His career and his habits were firmly established long before I came along. Not that I knew that when I married him, mind you. But from the time I found out what he really did for a living, I had to accept that he would be keeping odd hours and meeting people I’d know nothing about—his intelligence contacts, agents, sources—whatever you want to call them. Women in my position—it’s mostly women, although these days, I suppose there are some husbands in the same boat, too—anyway, when you marry into this business, you soon learn not to ask questions.

And Alexandra Kim Lee?

Well, I guess it makes sense she was the kind of source Langley would want to cultivate. The papers said she was bribing western officials on behalf of Beijing.

So that’s what you think your husband was doing? Cultivating a source? Or eliminating a threat?

I told you, I’m not even certain he knew her.

And if there were proof he did?

What kind of proof?

Copies of CIA contact reports on meetings he had with her. Surveillance photographs.

You have those? Do you have them here?

I can’t show you the contact reports. Those are highly classified, obviously. But I do have these pictures I can show you—

Oh, God—then it’s true.

This last one was taken three days before she was murdered…. Carrie? What is it?

The park they’re in here? I recognize it. That statue of the soldier on the horse? Jonah, my son, used to call it the dancing horse statue. It’s across the street from the American International School in London—Bloody hell! Drum took that woman to our son’s school?

According to the surveillance report, they had been at her place in Mayfair that afternoon until your husband had to leave to pick up your son. The Brits had her apartment bugged. Apparently he told her you were at the British Museum—something about a seminar on African sculpture?

It was that day? I remember. I’d been updating the research on my master’s thesis, trying to finish it. The British Museum was having a lecture series on African art that was right up my alley, so Drum agreed I should attend. Our housekeeper was off sick, so he said he’d take care of Jonah after kindergarten. Damn him! Then he goes and takes one of his bimbos to our son’s school? What a bastard! Did he—

What? Introduce her to your son? No. Apparently she left when the school bell rang. Honestly, Carrie? I doubt this woman had much interest in playing stepmom to anyone.

Still—

Anyway, she flew back to Hong Kong the next day and two days after that, she was thrown off a twenty-eighth floor balcony.

And you think Drum had something to do with her murder?

What do you think?

I have no idea.

Do you remember where he was when it happened? Three days after you attended that lecture at the British Museum, it would have been.

Not the foggiest. I mean, I presume he would have been in his office at the embassy, but I can’t be certain. Who can remember every little detail of a week that happened over a year ago?

Well, let me remind you then. His calendar for that week says he left London two days after this to attend a CIA regional meeting in Delhi.

Okay, I remember that, now that you mention it. He did go to India for a few days last summer. There you go, then. That’s where he was.

Except he showed up late to the Delhi meeting. Arrived the day after Alexandra Kim Lee was murdered in Hong Kong. He said one of his connecting flights had been cancelled, but when we retrace his steps, there are thirty-eight hours unaccounted for. We have no idea where he was. He had no shortage of CIA aliases he could have been traveling under, but in checking flight manifests, we can’t find any record of IDs sanctioned by the Agency. Thirty-eight hours, though, would have given him enough time to get from London to Hong Kong, murder Miss Lee, as well as the maid and doorman, then hightail it back to the Delhi meeting.

Sounds like a stretch to me. But even supposing you’re right about all that, are you really surprised? She was bribing western officials, right? That’s what the papers said, anyway. I know the CIA’s not supposed to be assassinating people, but I gather there are exceptions to the rule. Langley could have ordered him to do it.

Oh, he was ordered to do it, all right, but not by the CIA. She was one of their own assets, you see—a double agent and a direct feed into the Chinese leadership. Whatever she did for Beijing was small potatoes compared to the influence she exerted on key Chinese officials and the gold mine of information she funneled back to Langley.

Now, we know from other sources that the Chinese found out she was playing both sides of the street, and so they ordered the hit on her. And how did they find out? Because your husband sold them the information.

You have proof of that?

Let’s just say it looks like your husband has been selling out CIA assets for some time now—and some assets our British allies were sharing with us, too, which is why Mr. Huxley here from MI-6 is being allowed to observe these debriefings. And we’re not just talking about Chinese operations, either.

It’s so hard to believe. I mean, Drum’s no angel, but I find it difficult to credit that he would commit treason, especially given his family’s history of service to the country.

All I know for sure is that I had nothing to do with it. The only thing I’ve been doing for the past few years is trying to make a stable home for my son under circumstances that haven’t always been ideal.

And yet, you do seem to be personally connected to a number of people who subsequently show up murdered.

What do you mean, a number of people? Who else? And while we’re on the subject, let’s not forget that my connection to Alexandra Kim Lee is secondhand, involuntary and after the fact. I don’t know why anyone would think I had reason to want her dead.

She was sleeping with your husband and getting too close for comfort to your child.

Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here.

You should sit down, Carrie.

No. This has gone far enough. I don’t have to listen to this. I agreed to come in and tell you what I know about my husband’s comings and goings. Now, I find myself being accused of God only knows what. You said I could leave anytime. Well, I want to leave now.

That’s not a good idea. You leave now, it looks like you’ve got something to hide.

Like, I murdered this woman in Hong Kong? Are you out of your mind?

All right, all right. Let’s forget about Alexandra Kim Lee for the moment.

Not until it’s clear that I had nothing to do with her death—or anyone else’s, for that matter.