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Lana Hayaak
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The day after the office party, I woke with a splitting headache. As I walked through the living room on my way to the kitchen, I noticed that Curt had left his laptop open on the glass dining table. He must have left in such a hurry that he forgot to close it. This was unusual for him.
On my way back from the kitchen, I gasped because Peter was hovering over my husband’s computer. His furry tail was stuck in the air, while he aggressively tore off keys. Peter ripped out the letters H, U, and N with the determination of a lion picking flesh from the bones of a dead gazelle.
I knew I should stop Peter, but my hands were full since I was trying to balance my glass of orange juice in one hand and scalding hot coffee in the other. “Ha, ha, serves you right, Curt.” I was still angry over what had transpired last night. So, I returned to my bedroom to focus on getting ready.
I pulled out my train ticket to double check the details. I was supposed to meet Aaron in the First Class cabin at 4:30 p.m. It would be a four-and-a-half hour journey to Beijing on the high-speed train.
I took my time getting dressed since I didn’t need to leave for a few hours. I organized important files on various flash drives and carefully packed a thin purse with items such as my passport, USB charger, and money. Then, I prepared a small shoulder bag.
***
I arrived at the expansive Hongqiao station early. I found our seats and waited for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. The train was about to depart when Aaron finally appeared.
He casually approached, removed his suit jacket, and took a seat opposite of me.”
“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” I confessed while observing the intricate tattoos that covered his well-defined arms.
“Would that have upset you?” Aaron asked.
“Not in the least,” I insisted.
“Are you sure?” he teased while summoning the waiter and ordering a glass of scotch.
“Isn’t it early to drink?”
“Lana, it’s almost 5 p.m.”
“Fine, I’ll have a vodka tonic.”
It felt early, but I realized that the sky was already black. The train was now charging into what felt like outer space. We might as well have been voyaging to a distant planet.
Aaron studied my face carefully. “You’re not the same person I first met.”
I shrugged. “A lot has happened.”
Aaron opined, “You were stronger back then.”
Startled I asked, “What do you mean?”
“You had fire.”
I snapped, “You hardly know me.”
Aaron laughed. “I know more about you than anyone.”
“You wish,” I quipped.
Aaron leaned forward and whispered, “Tell me the truth Lana ... you’re a drone, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
Aaron’s hazel eyes flickered with amusement as he downed his scotch and said, “Don’t play coy, Lana.”
“I’m not playing—”
“I know about the things you’ve done.”
I took a deep breath, adopted a more feminine demeanor, and implored, “Please, what can you tell me about my parents?”
Aaron relaxed, started a new drink, and shared, “Your parents were DEA.”
“How do you know?” I asked suspiciously.
“My partner was Special Forces during Vietnam. After the war, he continued to work on covert missions including one that involved your dad.”
“Who is your partner?”
“Doesn’t matter. Point is, Jason Canaan was corrupt.”
“I don’t think so,” I said flippantly.
“Yes you do. After all, you are your father’s daughter.”
I shook my head. “This is personal for your partner.”
Aaron continued, “Jason sacrificed his entire unit to save himself.”
“Based on what evidence?” I demanded.
“One credible witness, Troy.”
“Your father is hardly a reliable witness.”
“Hey, how did you know Troy is my dad?” Aaron became fully alert, sat upright, and clenched his fists.
“Just my gut.”
Aaron ignored my points and continued, “Jason was smart and spoke Vietnamese. When he was taken hostage by the Viet Cong, he shared military secrets that resulted in the capture and torture of his platoon.”
I thought about the case, “Queen v. Dudley, Stephens.” Was Dad like those defendants? Did he sacrifice his men to save himself? Or was Aaron lying?
“Jason was decorated a hero, got an education, and lived a cushy life,” Aaron said.
I nodded to encourage his candor.
“But Jason wanted more,” Aaron continued.
“Sure, Dad was very ambitious,” I agreed.
“So he made deals and accepted bribes, just like in Vietnam.”
“Again, what evidence?”
Aaron leaned back, smiled, and asserted, “Motive is everything.”
“Sure,” I conceded.
“Why do you think your parents vanished into thin air?”
“They made powerful enemies,” I suggested.
Aaron raised an eyebrow and said, “C’mon Lana, that sounds rather conspiratorial, doesn’t it?”
“You have no evidence, yet you think I’m conspiratorial?”
Aaron put a finger to his lips and cautioned, “Lana, please lower your voice. People are starting to stare.”
Furious, I shouted, “How dare you hush me. I’ll start screaming if you don’t give me straight answers.”
“Not with that attitude.”
“Fuck you, Aaron.”
Aaron was now laughing.
I lowered my voice and said, “Look I’m sorry my father wasn’t as honorable as yours, but what do you want from me?”
Aaron relaxed and confessed, “Dad is no saint.”
“At least you’ve still got one.”
“Not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad’s mind is going ...”
“I know it seems unfair that my father survived the POW camps better than others, but some of the Viet Cong were easier on people of color.”
“Oh, yeah?” Aaron asked skeptically.
“Some of the educated communists recognized that blacks had been oppressed by the same types who colonized Vietnam.”
“Jason Canaan wasn’t black.”
“True. Dad was Asian like your mother.”
“Mom was Japanese,” Aaron shared.
“Was?”
“She died, shortly before I met you.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“When we met, you were so easy to talk to.”
“How much do you know about the history of Japan and Korea?” I asked cautiously.
Aaron shrugged. “Didn’t learn much about Asia in Texas, and Mom didn’t talk about the past.”
“Texas? Your accent is Midwestern.” I deliberately changed the subject.
“I was born in Detroit, but moved around a lot.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Didn’t you get some big inheritance?”
“Nope.”
“There was some house —”
“My cousin got it.”
“Yeah, but there was life insurance.”
“Sure, but ...”
FLASHBACK — 2005
Dad’s attorney, sat in his Portland office against a beveled window.
“Natalia, I regret to inform you that there’s barely any money left.”
“What?” I asked in a shaky voice.
“Your father never paid the taxes.”
“But Dad only received a life-estate.”
“Correct, but your father was responsible for the property taxes.”
“So there’s nothing left?” I exclaimed.
“After my fees and the interest on the arrearages, you’ll have a few thousand dollars.”
Aaron intently listened as I described what transpired. Finally, he said, “Dad said you got some major insurance settlement.”
“I was in a car accident when I was twenty-three.”
“You look fine, so what happened?”
“I didn’t have insurance, but a personal injury attorney called the driver’s insurance company and negotiated a decent settlement. He hinted that a new statute could make him liable.”
“Must have been a good settlement,” Aaron remarked snidely.
“It barely covered my medical expenses.”
“Uh, huh.”
“So money is the reason you lured me out here?”
“Not exactly,” Aaron replied as he downed more whiskey.
“You’re a contractor, aren’t you?” I asked.
“How did you know?”
I didn’t, but you keep confirming my assumptions.
“I know who hired you,” I bluffed.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Cool, I’d like to know, because even Dad doesn’t.”
“So you both work for private contractors?”
“Yep, mostly security stuff.”
“The client is probably ...” I hesitated while thinking of what to say. Finally, I suggested, “My husband must have hired you.”
“Lana, I told you that I have no idea.”
I continued, “Curt is testing me.”
Aaron shook his head and said, “That sounds weird. Who would do that?”
“We signed an agreement whereby if I commit adultery, I’m not entitled to any money Curt makes while we’re married. There’s this upcoming deal —”
“What do you see in Steiger, anyway?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Since when are you at a loss for words?”
“We were in law school together —”
Aaron shook his head, dismissing my explanation. “You’re an illusion to Steiger.”
“Why do you say that?”
“How much does Curt know about you?”
“More than you think.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Curt might not know me well, but I understand him.”
“Why would you understand a German chemist?”
“Most of my childhood memories are of Berlin.”
“Yeah, but Steiger is from Stuttgart.”
Out of patience, I snapped, “Why do you care so much about my marriage?”
Aaron chuckled. “I don’t, but based on your behavior it’s obvious that you’ve got a lot of issues.”
“My behavior?”
“Yeah, you’re on a train with me and headed to Beijing knowing your parents aren’t there.”
I nodded and murmured absent-mindedly, “Curt and I have friends.”
Aaron shook his head, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Lana, you’ve got no friends.”
I took a deep breath, and digested the drunken man’s advice.
“I need to go,” I said. As I stood up, Aaron attempted to stop me, but he was extremely sluggish thanks to the sleeping pill I had slipped him earlier. He quickly passed out.
I collected my things, charged towards the doors, and jumped off the train, which had briefly stopped to refuel.
As I ran into the middle of China, I thought about things. I had long suspected that the drug my husband was working on was not a success.
I didn’t know much about pharmaceutics, but I was familiar with issues faced by startups. A company could falsify preclinical data and sell it to an unsuspecting company. However, I had no evidence and besides — would anyone even care?
As I wandered through the fog, I thought about an old film: Shanghai Gesture. The opening line was, “There are no heroes in Shanghai. There are only predators and survivors.”
“Daniel is wrong,” I whispered. “I’m no Batman. I’m no hero, nor do I aspire to be one.”
I ran into the dark night, where not even the moon or stars provided light. The cold air penetrated my clothing, and I felt chills run through my bones. I shivered as a rash of goosebumps erupted across my arms. I held my bag closely as if I was cradling a baby.