Liars and Tyrants and People Who Turn Blue (11 page)

“The artichoke is delicious,” Max lied.

“You like it?” asked Tee.

“Yes, indeed. Let's have 'em again soon.”

Shelby sipped at her wine to hide a smile. How Tee had managed to ruin four perfectly good artichokes was a mystery—they were so
easy
. Nice Max, with his kind lies.

“The steaks are even better,” Eric offered.

Tee smiled bravely. “Max did the steaks.”

Shelby laughed an easy laugh. “Tee, you know Eric is a meatatarian. Next time give him a plate of raw beef and save the artichokes for Max and me.”

Tee beamed.

“What happens next?” Max asked Shelby.

“Li Xijuan is up. I think they've decided Aguirrez is a dead end.”

“Li Xijuan? I'd have thought they'd go after Schlimmermann next. Li Xijuan has always struck me as being … inaccessible.”

“The commissioners probably think so too. I got the impression they're saving Schlimmermann for last in case they strike out with Li Xijuan.”

“Aiming for a strong finish?”

“I guess.”

“That's politics for you.” Max laughed. “Just like show biz.”

“The whole thing's show biz,” said Eric. “Far too public.”

Shelby groaned.

Tee said: “I think you were too polite to that creep who interviewed you today. You should have just brushed him off once he started on that ethics business.”

Oh, Tee, you're not the one to tell me how to stand up to people!
“I've been instructed to co-operate with the news media at all times,” Shelby said aloud. “To help compensate for the bungled attempt at keeping my function secret at first.”

“Co-operate, yes. But that doesn't mean you have to put up with abuse.”

“He wasn't abusive—just impertinent. Straw in the wind, though. It'll probably get worse.”

“Oh?” said Eric, slowly putting down his fork.

“That's what I'm told.” When Eric didn't say anything, she went on: “Better be prepared for it, Eric.”

Hands on the table, chair back, Eric gone.

The Bradleys stared at Shelby and then at each other, not knowing what to say. Shelby broke the silence. “I think Eric's just about reached his breaking point.”

Tee's eyes filled with tears. “What are you going to do?”

“Not much I can do, now. Eric's plan of starting over fresh in San Diego—well, that's shot to hell. All this publicity. He'll go out to California preceded by his reputation as the husband of a freak.”

“Oh, Shelby, I'm sure Eric doesn't think you're a freak,” Max said, concerned.

“You're glowing, Max.”

“Aw, Shelby.” Tee sniffled.

“Maybe it's my fault,” Shelby said. “Maybe I just expected too much of him, wanted him to be bigger than I had any right to expect. Everybody lies.
Everybody
. Stop crying, Tee. Ironic, isn't it? Eric earns a good living by spreading the word, but when he tries to keep something quiet—well, it turns around and works against him.”

Max looked glum. “You can't keep your talent secret.”

“Maybe it really is just too much to live with,” Shelby said. “Would you two be so blissfully happy if one of you knew every time the other was lying?”

“We don't lie to each other,” Tee objected.

“You might not think so, but you do. You can't help it. But where's the dividing line between white lies and the nasty kind? Why should truth be so … so
harmful?
”

“Ibsen had a few things to say about that.” Max smiled. “He didn't have any hard-and-fast answers either. Shelby, it's out of your hands now. You're going to have to leave it up to Eric.”

“That's what worries me,” said Shelby.

CHAPTER 25

TERENCE, IT'S
ALL
STUPID STUFF

Once there was a king of a tribe in Africa who was greatly loved by his people. To show their respect and admiration, the people built him a magnificent throne of solid gold. The king sat on his solid gold throne beneath the jungle trees, and his fame spread throughout the world
.

People came from everywhere to see this magnificent throne and the man for whom it was built
. National Geographic
printed a two-part article. WNET sent in a camera crew, accompanied by two bearded young men asking for pledges. The people of the tribe were happy, seeing the importance of their beloved king
.

But at last the long African summer came to an end, and the rainy season began. When the king's throne was moved into his hut, there was very little room left for the king and his family. So the king's people built a huge shelf in the hut, a sort of second ceiling. The throne was placed on the shelf and everyone was happy. But that night the shelf collapsed—the throne fell upon the king and his family and killed them all
.

Moral: People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones
.

The primate sitting opposite Shelby had been assigned to do an in-depth interview of the world's only living lie detector.

“Do you have any pet peeves?” asked the primate.

“‘The world is so full of lamentable things,'” Shelby misquoted, “‘I'm sure we should all be as miserable as kings.'”

“Whazzat?”

“Nothing. Yes, I have some pet peeves. Magazine inserts. The cheap glue the postal service puts on stamps. People who say
different than
.”

“Different than what?”

Shelby just looked at him.

The primate made a gesture that might have been a shrug and asked, “Who does your hair?”

“Who—? Oh, for crying out loud. I do my own hair.”

“What's your favorite recipe?”

Shelby gnashed her teeth. “Boiled water.”

“Boiled water?”

“It helps stimulate the circulation of the blood.” Shelby looked on with amazement as the primate dutifully wrote this down.

“How do you solve your sexual problems?”

“By consulting
The Aeneid
for advice.”

“How d'you spell that?”

Shelby spelled it for him. “Look, aren't you going to ask me anything about my ability to detect lies?”

The primate looked bored. “If you like.”

“Well, for the past four years I've been participating in a testing program at Rutgers—”

“What's your favorite television program?”

“
Screw the Press,
” said Shelby.

“Mrs. Kent,” coughed the walrus, “since I'm in charge of this circus, I must ask you to treat the communications media with a little more caution.”
Hack, hack
. “Stick to neutral, noncommittal answers. It's safer.”

“Have a cough drop,” said Shelby.

P. J. Martel accepted a medicinal candy but refused to be sidetracked. “We need their good will, you know. They do a lot of our investigating for us. Always have done.”

“What's the P.J. stand for?” Shelby asked idly.

“Pajamas,” the walrus deadpanned. “Now pay attention. Neither you nor I nor any of us can afford the luxury of telling the communications media where to get off. We need those people—this inquiry is just too delicate for us to risk alienating the press.”

“Have
you
ever been asked what your favorite recipe is?”

“I didn't say it was easy. But you must show respect for the press, Mrs. Kent.”

“But I do,” Shelby deadpanned in her turn. “I show them every bit as much respect as they show me.”

The walrus hack-laughed. “Now I'm not asking you, Mrs. Kent, I'm telling you—watch what you say in future.”

“Oh, all right,” Shelby sighed. “I'll watch it.”

“Good.”
Hackety-hack
.

CHAPTER 26

SIMONE SIMON SAYS

… a riddle wrapped up in an enigma inside a mystery
.

—Spoken of Russia by Winston Churchill, who never met Li Xijuan

Li Xijuan turned her almost-smile toward the walrus. “Yes, I support the United Nations. I do not advocate its overthrow.”

Yes
, signaled Shelby.

The walrus thought for a moment. “Do you support the United Nations as it is presently constituted?”

Was that a smile? “But naturally.”

Again,
Yes
. Li Xijuan was telling the truth.

The commission had spent seven days questioning the Chinese Ambassador's subordinates and associates, various bankers, shipping clerks, and truck drivers, and a few Burmese religious leaders. Proved beyond doubt was Li Xijuan's involvement in the useless weapons industry. She'd made it possible for the Burmese fanatics to create the circumstances of their own destruction. She'd later tried to purchase defective antitank missiles in Hong Kong. And UN Intelligence had just turned up evidence that Li Xijuan had been planning a raid on an arms factory in her own homeland—a factory with a low production record owing to the large number of weapons that had to be discarded because of some flaw in their manufacture.

The woman was guilty, all right. Guilty as hell.

“May I remind my fellow delegates,” the Oriental woman was saying, “that I was one of the architects of the UN Militia? It has been my purpose to support the UN and all its branches—to help, not to hurt.” She came even closer to smiling. “And I intend to do everything in my power to see that the Militia works.”

“How does arming hostile people accomplish that?”

“It doesn't.”

“Then why—?”

“A mistake, sir.”

Shelby stared incredulously. As clear as anything: an unmistakable red aura around Li Xijuan's body. She hit the
No
button, hard.

Smoothie the Walrus didn't miss a beat. “In what way, a mistake? Is the charge against you a mistaken one, or—?”

“Not at all. The charge is quite true.” (No point in her denying it: the evidence was overwhelming.) “I mean to say
I
was mistaken in my evaluation of a localized political situation. I was wrong about what was going on in Burma. And in Honduras as well—I was the one who drew Ambassador Aguirrez's attention to the rebel activity in San Pedro. I was also mistaken in presuming to take unilateral action in an attempt to correct the Burmese situation.”

Li Xijuan's red aura positively
throbbed. Lies
, signaled Shelby.

“Then you regret having taken such action?”

“Yes.”

No
.

The walrus declared a recess. “Are you sure?” he asked Shelby. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely. There's no mistaking that red glow. Li Xijuan is lying in her teeth. She doesn't regret arming the Burmese rebels in the least.”

Martel pulled at his mustache. “But she knows
we
know she's lying. She's aware of what you're here for.”

“And evidently doesn't care. Li Xijuan's a cool one. Maybe she wants people to know she's lying.”

“Why would she want that?”

Shelby lifted her shoulders
I-don't-know
.

“Well,” sighed the walrus, “keep your button-finger in good condition. We're in for a long session.”

Ten hours. And twelve the next day. Twelve the day after that. Saturday and Sunday sessions. Li Xijuan's answers plotted a labyrinthine course of truth and falsehood and evasion and dissembling that succeeded in thoroughly confusing everybody. The unofficial records-keepers were reduced to color-coding her answers: this is a lie, this is not.

The commissioner from Israel, a gaunt woman in her fifties, was questioning Li Xijuan. “Did you deliberately seek out defective weapons to send to the Burmese?”

“I did.”

“To sabotage their efforts?”

“Yes.”

“Ambassador Aguirrez has testified that he tried to help the Militia by making sure its enemies would not succeed in any uprising they might attempt. Was that your purpose as well?”

“It was.”

NoNoNoNoNo
, Shelby signaled.

The Israeli woman paused. “Did you have any
additional
purpose for arming the Burmese?”

“None. My only purpose was to mitigate the dangers facing the Militia.”

NO!

Eventually every member of the commission had a crack at shaking Li Xijuan's story. She didn't budge. Even when the commissioner from Brazil came right out and accused her of lying, Li Xijuan didn't so much as change expression.

“I am not lying,” she lied.

“We have reason to think you are, Ambassador.”

Li Xijuan didn't even glance in Shelby's direction. “You are mistaken.”

And another time: “Did you propose this faulty-weapon plan to Ambassador Aguirrez?”

“I did.”

“And to anyone else?”

“Yes.” Volunteering nothing.

“To whom, Ambassador?”

“To Heinrich Schlimmermann, Ambassador from West Germany.” Not holding it back, either.

Truth
, Shelby's machine told the others. Li Xijuan was responsible for involving the other two. It was her show from the beginning.

In the end it was the commissioners who broke, not the Ambassador from China. After six straight days of intense questioning, P. J. Martel declared a two-week recess for “re-evaluation and planning.” Vacation. Li Xijuan left the hearing chamber unruffled and in complete control of herself.

In fact, she almost smiled.

CHAPTER 27

MY HAND IS IN MY HUSSYFSKAP

“
My hand is in my hussyfskap
*
,

Goodman, as ye may see;

An it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year
,

It's no be barrd for me
.”

—“Get Up and Bar the Door,” Middle English ballad

“I'm husbandless,” Shelby told her sister. “Eric is gone.”

“Gone?” said a shocked Tee. “What do you mean, gone?”