by Adam Hamdy
Clifton sighed. ‘Tate Blaine Carter was my best friend. We met at college and were friends until he died.’
‘If you’re helping Huxley, you probably also think his father was murdered,’ Leila surmised. ‘So this is about revenge.’
Clifton turned his attention to the busy road.
‘It’s about righting a wrong,’ he said flatly.
Chapter 26
Clifton took them to a sixteen-storey high-rise near Pike Place Market and drove into the parking lot under the building. He steered the car down to the fifth sub-level, which was only accessible to those who had a code for a security shutter that covered the ramp.
‘This is one of Hux’s buildings,’ Clifton said. ‘This level is yours. You each have the vehicle Ms Attali requested for you.’ He pulled into a space beside a blue Yukon SUV and a silver Yamaha R1. ‘There are other tenants in the building, but you have the entire fifteenth floor to yourselves.’
Clifton led them to a bank of elevators, one of which was controlled by an alphanumeric keypad.
‘Only people Hux trusts have the code,’ Clifton said, demonstrating it to them.
They rode up in silence. Leila was surprised when they reached the fifteenth floor and elevator doors opened to reveal an entirely open-plan space. The whole floor had been stripped of walls and fixtures and was only broken up by the concrete elevator shaft that stood in the centre of the football-pitch sized office. The only other barriers between them and the huge windows that offered panoramic views in four directions were a few pieces of furniture. There were two beds positioned behind short partitions, a long table and chairs, a couple of couches and two desks. Half a dozen large Peli cases were lined up beside the desks.
‘The gear you asked for,’ Clifton said.
‘You staying here?’ Pearce asked as he dropped his holdall onto the carpeted floor.
‘No. I’m not from Seattle,’ Clifton replied. ‘I just wanted to meet you both.’ He hesitated. ‘I know you refused Hux’s offer of a job, but you should have another think about it. We could do a lot of good together.’ He handed Pearce a piece of paper. ‘This is how you reach me.’ He backed towards the elevator. ‘Good luck,’ he said, stepping inside.
‘Thanks for the ride,’ Pearce responded, and the elevator doors slid closed.
Leila walked to the nearest window, pressed her forehead against the glass and peered down at the tiny figures on the streets below. A group had gathered at the edge of a promenade that overlooked the shoreline. They were gazing out over Elliot Bay, but Leila had a better view of the large expanse of water and the bluffs of Seacrest Park beyond it, rolling hills of lush green vegetation which sprouted around magnificent waterfront homes. Movement in the crowd at the foot of the building caught Leila’s attention and for a moment she thought she saw Hannan looking up at her. But the woman wasn’t her sister, and hope died away as quickly as it had risen. You’ll see her everywhere, until you really see her, Leila thought sadly.
‘You OK?’ Pearce asked.
‘You going to keep asking me that?’ Leila replied, backing away from the window. ‘What did you make of him?’
‘He wanted to check us out,’ Pearce said. ‘I think he’s on the level.’
‘You think we can trust him?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Pearce scoffed. ‘I don’t think we can trust anyone. Apart from each other. And even then . . .’
Leila nudged him playfully. ‘So, how do you want to do this?’ Her legs were screaming at her to climb into one of the comfortable-looking beds, but the bright Seattle sunshine shimmering on the calm bay said it was mid-afternoon, and no matter what her body might want, it was time to go to work.
‘I’ll take the port,’ Pearce said. ‘See if any of Richard Cutter’s colleagues saw anything suspicious the day he died. You check out the detective in charge of the investigation. See what they’ve found out.’
Chapter 27
Echo Wu looked as far from the archetype of a spy as Wollerton could have imagined; she was struggling to get a large baby seat out of her MG6 Hybrid.
‘Let me help,’ Wollerton said, stepping forward, but she brushed him away.
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t like strangers. I have to convince it to come out.’
Wollerton stepped back and joined Brigitte, who watched Echo from the empty space next to the MG. No more than five foot three, the diminutive thirty-something waif who’d met them in the arrivals hall at Qingdao Airport cut a comic figure, wrestling with the chair and the web of straps that held it in place.
‘How do you know her?’ Wollerton asked Brigitte quietly.
‘She was the intelligence liaison at the Chinese embassy in Paris. We became friendly and stayed in touch when she retired,’ Brigitte replied. ‘Don’t fall for the act. She’s razor sharp.’
Echo turned to them and her pretty, delicate features twisted into a grimace. She stuck out her tongue and groaned.
‘Are you sure?’ Wollerton asked.
Brigitte nodded solemnly.
‘Got it!’ Echo exclaimed, clasping the baby seat. ‘I told you. I just needed to convince it,’ she said, carrying the unwieldy seat to the boot. She placed it beside Brigitte and Wollerton’s leather holdalls. ‘Sorry I didn’t do this earlier, but life runs away when you’ve got kids. Hop in.’
Wollerton climbed in the back and Brigitte took the front seat. Echo skipped round to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. The rear footwells were full of toys, and Wollerton gently nudged some under Brigitte’s seat to clear a space for his feet.
‘Sorry it’s such a mess,’ Echo said. ‘If I cleaned as much as I should, my buttocks would never rest.’
Wollerton wondered where Echo had learned English. She spoke it fluently with a Home Counties accent, but used odd idioms. She put the car in drive and reversed, but the proximity sensor sounded and a car horn blasted simultaneously, and Echo stepped on the brakes to avoid a collision. She lowered her window and unleashed a stream of angry invective in Mandarin. The startled driver of the other vehicle tutted and shook his head before driving on, and when he was clear, Echo resumed her manoeuvre.
‘Bloody drunk on lager or something,’ Echo remarked, as the car lurched back.
If he’d been called as a witness in a court of law, Wollerton would have said Echo was entirely at fault, but he kept quiet, and when he caught Brigitte’s sardonic smile, he simply raised an eyebrow in reply.
Chapter 28
Wollerton hadn’t been to China for over ten years. He’d been a family man on his last trip, married with two kids. That was before Esther had decided he was an inferior version of the man she’d married and took herself and the kids off to live in Aberdyfi, a tiny seaside town on the Welsh coast. He rarely saw them, and felt their loss every single day. Freya and Luke had been his world. Their sweet faces had always lit up even the darkest day and he missed them terribly. More so because he spent most of his time alone in Overlook, the family bolthole that had cost years of self-denial. No drinks with the lads, no expensive holidays, no flashy car. But the sacrifice would have been worth it if he’d been able to live the dream he’d had throughout his years in Six. The house, situated on the Moray Firth, was supposed to be where he and Esther grew old together and welcomed armies of grandchildren to be spoiled with jams and treats. Now it was just an empty cave where he drank too much and moped around feeling sorry for himself. Maybe he needed to move on, to live somewhere more vibrant? And there were few places in the world with more energy and dynamism than China.
Echo had given them a potted history of Qingdao and its recent explosive growth. Situated on the Yellow Sea, the city had long been of strategic importance and had been occupied by the Japanese twice in the twentieth century. After the Second World War, Qingdao developed as a trading and manufacturing hub, and when the Chinese government implemented an open-door policy in the mid-eighties, it became one of the largest ports in the world. But Echo’s enumeration
of the tons of steel, concrete, miles of cable, railtracks, roads, population and GDP growth didn’t impress Wollerton. What gave him the best sense of the scale of human endeavour was the view. They’d driven south from the airport, passing through a vast residential neighbourhood made up of towering apartment blocks, until they’d reached the Qingdao Haiwan Bridge, one of the longest in the world. It straddled Jiaozhou Wan, a large bay, heading towards Hongshiyacun, another residential district on the Huangdao side of the bridge. They branched off and continued south, down the peninsula towards downtown Qingdao. When the heart of the city finally came into view, Wollerton couldn’t help but be impressed. The gleaming skyline of the business district lined the shore to the south, and to the west of them lay the vast port complex. Everywhere he looked there were huge glass and steel structures that rivalled anything a western city could aspire to, and there were so many of them. Such grand symbols of prosperity had taken centuries to materialize in Europe, but this city would have been nothing but fields fewer than forty years ago. Wollerton had always had to adjust his British sense of scale when visiting the grand open spaces of America, but he now had a new benchmark: China. The Covid-19 pandemic had slowed China’s relentless growth, but the country had quickly adapted to the testing and public health challenges and was on the upswing again. The speed and scale of the transformation here was a testament to the strength of human will. Whatever its politics, it was impossible to see such grand achievements and not believe the People’s Republic would play a defining role in the twenty-first century.
‘Of course, we never talk politics,’ Echo said, veering away from her tour guide spiel. ‘I’m not sure I could even tell you what our politics are anymore. But at least there’s money,’ she shrugged. ‘For some, anyway.’
‘What are you doing now?’ Brigitte asked.
‘Same as before. Public relations for a manufacturer. We make body armour and specialist military equipment. They like my intelligence background.’
‘How many kids have you got?’ Wollerton chipped in.
‘Two. A boy who’s four and a girl of two.’
‘Any names?’
‘Their English names are Alex and Bethan,’ Echo said. ‘I’d like them to go to school in the West.’
‘And your husband?’ Wollerton asked.
‘Sorry about the interrogation,’ Brigitte said.
‘What? I’m just making conversation. Just because we’re . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Well, whatever we are, it doesn’t mean we can’t be human.’
‘He’s a lawyer.’ Echo tooted her horn at a van that veered into her lane. ‘It’s not the most exciting job in the world, but it’s stable and the money’s good. So, since you’re –’ she mimicked Wollerton’s hesitation – ‘well, whatever you are, what brings you to Qingdao?’
‘The fresh air,’ Brigitte replied, and Echo giggled.
One consequence of the relentless industry was the air pollution which hung low over the bay.
‘Still keeping things close,’ Echo remarked. ‘You’ll never change. Well, I’ve got you an apartment for whatever it is you’re doing. It’s owned by a friend of my aunt. He’s in Hong Kong on business for a couple of months, so the place is free. It’s on the seventeenth floor too, so you might be high enough to get some of that fresh air.’
‘Thank you,’ Brigitte replied.
‘Anything for an old friend,’ Echo said as she turned off the main thoroughfare through Qingdao and took them into a development of four octagonal apartment blocks that towered above them.
They were so close to the sea Wollerton could smell brine in the air. Echo drove through the complex to the building nearest the waterfront and double-parked by the entrance.
‘We should have drinks one night?’ she said.
‘Sure. Let me know when you get a babysitter,’ Brigitte replied.
‘Of course,’ Echo said with a broad smile. ‘Well, must dash. I’ve got to collect the kids from their grandma.’
‘I’ve got your number,’ Brigitte said, and she and Echo embraced.
Wollerton stepped out of the car and grabbed their bags from the boot.
‘Apartment one seven six. The porter is expecting you.’ Echo dangled a set of keys at Brigitte, who took them and got out.
‘Thanks again,’ she said.
‘No problem. Call me.’ Echo stepped on the accelerator and the car lurched forward.
‘She always like that?’ Wollerton asked as they started towards the building. ‘Or is this her losing her touch?’
‘She’s not losing anything,’ Brigitte assured him.
They entered an air-conditioned lobby that was decked in brown marble and trimmed with gold. A porter in a uniform that could have been snatched from a 1950s cinema usher sat at a counter and nodded curtly as they walked towards the elevator.
Their apartment faced the sea and had a great view of the waterfront park and wide promenade. Beyond the calm waters was a lighthouse that marked the southernmost tip of the bay. Echo’s aunt’s friend was a man of peculiar taste. The décor made Wollerton think of an eighties stockbroker. Everything was black, red or gold, and the walls were lined with framed prints of performance cars and scantily clad women.
‘Where do we—’ Wollerton began.
But Brigitte cut him off. ‘That was pretty outrageous what that guy did on the plane,’ she said.
Wollerton had no idea what she was talking about until he saw her pull something from her holdall. He put his bag down on an eight-place glass dining table. ‘You think that was outrageous? I heard a story about a guy in LA who used to go up and down Venice Beach and—’
‘I hope this isn’t gross,’ Brigitte cut him off. ‘We should see what the beach is like.’
She crossed the room, opened the sliding doors and stepped onto the small balcony.
‘I thought we were talking about the gross guy,’ Wollerton remarked as he followed her out.
‘We were,’ Brigitte replied, manipulating a small computer tablet. The device was slightly larger than a cell phone and a red sensor strip ran along one end. ‘Now we’re talking about beaches.’
Wollerton looked at the seafront and saw a long wide stretch of sand to their west. He glanced down at the device Brigitte was concealing from unseen eyes, and saw the screen had come to life. She pressed a button that said ‘Run Scan’, and the sensor, which was pointed at Brigitte’s midriff, emitted a low light in a series of pulses. A processing spiral appeared on screen.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Brigitte said, nodding towards the bay. ‘And Echo was right, you can see everything from here.’
‘It’s really something,’ Wollerton agreed.
Whatever programme Brigitte was running came to life and the device displayed a three-dimensional representation of the living room. Emphasis was placed on any electrical items, such as the television and lights. Brigitte zoomed in on the 3D model to reveal six listening devices and three cameras concealed in walls and objects around the room. She turned the device slightly and the image updated to show a listening device directly above them – but no camera.
She took Wollerton’s arm. ‘What do you want to do tonight?’ she said. Her fingers silently tapped Morse code. Said Echo sharp. Need know if she is curious or threat.
‘I don’t know,’ Wollerton said. ‘Maybe grab something to eat?’ He took her hand and tapped his genuine reply. How do we find out?
Bugs I planted on dress and in car will help, she replied, flashing a crafty smile. ‘Sounds good. Why don’t you see if you can find some towels?’ she suggested aloud. ‘Let’s check out the beach.’
Chapter 29
They rode the lift in silence and Wollerton followed Brigitte through the lobby. It might have been paranoia, but Wollerton sensed the porter watched them with more than casual interest as they left the building. They walked along the busy main road to the waterfront park. It was late afternoon and families gathered on the grass. The bay was about twenty miles long and much o
f it was devoted to commerce or industry. Around them loomed the hotels and offices of Qingdao’s business district. Stretching into the distance in both directions were more high-rises, then a sprawl of residential blocks, and beyond them, industrial plants, factories and refineries. Wollerton and Brigitte joined the broad promenade and turned right, weaving between groups of people walking the coastline. He could smell the sea on the gentle breeze, but beneath it was a chemical taint, a hint of metal blended with a touch of crude oil.
They soon reached the wide beach they’d seen from the balcony. When her shoes touched the sand, Brigitte surprised Wollerton and the people around her by taking off her top.
‘You can’t wear clothes on a beach,’ she said, throwing the garment to the ground. A black bra stretched across her paper-white chest.
‘I think you can,’ Wollerton replied, indicating the locals who were on the beach fully clothed. A few wore shorts and T-shirts, but most looked as if they’d just finished school or work.
‘But we’re Europeans,’ Brigitte responded. ‘We see sand, we strip. It’s the law.’ She unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down to reveal matching black underwear. Maybe from a distance it would look like a bikini. ‘Come on,’ she said.
Wollerton hesitated, but she gave him an emphatic look, and he started to get undressed. He knew what she was doing. She couldn’t be certain Echo hadn’t bugged their clothes during the journey. Wollerton glanced around nervously. He was used to operating beneath the radar and felt uncomfortable being this exposed. Brigitte’s striking pale skin and white hair – a consequence of her albinism – were turning heads. Wollerton threw his shirt onto the sand and slipped out of his trousers. He kicked off his boots while Brigitte bent over to retrieve something from the pocket of her jeans. Wollerton couldn’t help but admire her lean physique, but earned himself a severe glare when she caught him looking.
‘Come on,’ she said, standing up and walking towards the water. ‘Let’s go for a swim.’
