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Rao sighed. He was familiar with superiors who required impossible results. Through the years, he’d learned to avoid confrontations with them. It wasn’t difficult. Silence was his chief weapon, and Chinese culture rewarded restraint. Rao had acquired the rare habit of seeming to agree. Calm and self-effacing, he posed no threat. He stated facts simply. Whatever the outcome, whether desirable or unfortunate, Rao personally earned the approval of his superiors. They liked him, enjoyed his nature, a virtue worth a thousand times any amount of intelligence and cunning. Rao didn’t lack the latter qualities. But it was as a humble, devoted servant of the state that he made his mark.
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A tangle of basement corridors fronts Solidarity Street in east Beijing. Few know of it. For one thing, the property is government owned and therefore shrouded in secrecy. For another, it is old and extraordinarily difficult to access. A jungle of false entrances and damp, half passages twist around each other, concealed at ground level by food stalls and underneath by ramshackle storage bins. Noisy barkers maintain a perpetual din. And apparently lazy policemen stand here and there, picking their teeth to deter the idle tourist. The police insouciance is belied by the machine pistols they carry, loaded with safeties off, and their burly fitness. It is only the initiated who pass easily – and stealthily – to and fro.
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Milly was assistant to Arthur Vincent, the finicky head of the Governor’s legal department. Arthur kept Governor Brull’s legislative program on track and ensured the Governor was current on legal issues from around the country. But it was Milly who kept Arthur on track. Milly followed up, spotted the issues Albert Brull should know about and prepared the memos that the Governor received. She did the work, but Arthur got the credit. Which was OK with Milly. Arthur was in the firing line if anything went wrong.

Milly had a difficult job. Or so she and others perceived it. It was challenging and had important consequences. People depended on her to get things done and get things right. But it wasn’t rocket science. Despite the application of intellect it seemed to require, a lot amounted to tireless sifting of figures and inspired guesswork. Milly saw it as pigeonholing paper. There was nothing creative about it. Perhaps it was rocket science in the worst connotation of the term. It was engineering, the application of known formulas, not a reconfiguration or reformulation, not a discovery of new patterns. Milly could retire in 25 or 30 years and feel she’d helped file paper. Nothing more. At least not through her formal employment.

In fairness, the job was safe. And Milly could do it while thinking of other things.
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When Milly climbed up out of her dark well, she was famished. On the other hand, she didn’t want to risk meeting Fred. Her mind drifted as she wandered among the dolls.

The room automatically controlled light, temperature, humidity, dust and static electricity. Piped music further tempered Milly’s mood. There wasn’t much the room didn’t do. The rule was two people at a time, so as not to overburden the system. Milly hadn’t permitted anyone except herself to see the collection. She told herself this reduced water vapour and ensured no mould or other micro-organism would take hold.
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Kerry piloted his black sedan through Marlborough, Albany’s sleepy suburb of cul-de-sacs and ivy covered manors. “Here’s dad in his easy chair,” Milly gestured, “falling asleep after supper. He thinks he’s special because he has a two-car garage. Mom pops uppers to lose weight, while their 12 year-old daughter calculates to the day when she’ll accidentally have unprotected sex with the school quarterback. I don’t collect dolls. That’s a lie and you know it. But if you think there’s something odd about collecting dolls, look around you.”

“Can’t argue with that. World’s a mess.”

Milly got out. Kerry beckoned her to the driver’s window. “You’ll work with Carrie, won’t you? The fewer people who know I’m alive the better.”

She shrugged. “You’re sure of yourself.”

“I’ll take that as yes.”

“If I help out, nobody will know, right?”
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