Chang could never watch tai-chi without thinking of that moment, which solidified his stance as an outspoken dissident and changed his life--and that of his father and family--forever.
He now looked down at his wife and, next to her, the little girl, who slept with her arm around the white stuffed cat Mei-Mei had sewn for her. He gazed at them for a moment. Then walking into the bathroom, he turned the water on full. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, resting his head against the tiles that Mei-Mei had somehow found the time to scrub last night.
He showered, shut off the scalding water and dried himself with a towel. He cocked his head, hearing the sounds of clanking metal in the kitchen.
Mei-Mei was still asleep and the boys knew nothing of cooking. Alarmed, he climbed out of bed and pulled the pistol from beneath the mattress and walked cautiously into the main room of the apartment. He laughed. His father was making tea.
"Baba," he said, "I'll wake Mei-Mei. She can do that."
"No, no, let her sleep," the old man said. "When your mother died I learned to make tea. I can cook rice too. And vegetables. Though not very well. Let us take tea together." Chang Jiechi lifted the iron pot, the handle wrapped with a rag, and took cups and hobbled into the living room. They sat and he poured the tea.
Last night, when Chang had returned, he and his father had taken a map and located the Ghost's apartment building, which was not, to their surprise, in Chinatown but farther to the west, near the Hudson River.
"When you get to the Ghost's apartment," his father now asked, "how will you get inside? Won't he recognize you?"
Chang sipped the tea. "I don't think he will, no. He only came to the hold of the ship once. It was dark too."
"How will you get in?"
"If there is a doorman I'll tell him I'm there on business and give the name Tan. I practiced my English all night. Then I'll just take the elevator up to his door and knock on it."
"And if he has bodyguards?" Chang Jiechi said. "They'll search you."
"I'll hide the gun in my sock. They won't search carefully. They won't be expecting me to be armed." Chang tried to picture what would happen. He knew they would have guns too. Even if they shot him as soon as they saw the gun he would still be able to shoot one or two bullets into the Ghost. He realized that his father was gazing at him and he looked down. "I will come back," he said firmly. "I will be here to take care of you, Baba."
"You are a good son. I could not have asked for a better one."
"I have not brought you all the honor I should have."
"Yes, you have," the old man said and poured more tea. "I named you well." Chang's given name, Jingerzi, meant "shrewd son."
They lifted their cups and Chang drained his.
Mei-Mei came to the door, glanced at the teacups. "Have you taken rice yet?" she asked, the expression meaning simply, "Good morning." It wasn't a reference to food.
"Wake William," Chang told Mei-Mei. "There are some things I want to say to him."
But his father waved for her to stop. "No." She did.
"Why not?" Chang asked.
"He will want to come with you."
"I'll tell him no."
Chang Jiechi laughed. "And that will stop him? That impetuous son of yours?"
Chang fell silent for a moment then said, "I can't go off like this without talking to him. It's important."
But his father asked, "What is the only reason that a man would do something like you are about to do--something foolhardy and dangerous?"
Chang replied, "For the sake of his children."
His father smiled. "Yes, son, yes. Keep that in mind, always. You do something like this for the sake of your children." Then he grew stern. How well Sam Chang knew this look of his father's. Imperial, unyielding. He had not seen it for some time--ever since the man had grown sick with the cancer. "I know exactly what you intend to say to your son. I will do it. It's my wish that you don't wake William."
Chang nodded. "As you say, Baba." He looked at his wristwatch. The time was seven-thirty. He had to be at the Ghost's apartment in an hour. His father poured him more tea, which Chang drank down quickly. Then he said to Mei-Mei, "I have to leave soon. But I wish that you come sit by me."
She sat beside her husband, lowering her head to his shoulder.
They said nothing but after five minutes Po-Yee began to cry and Mei-Mei rose to take care of the girl. Sam Chang was content to sit in silence and watch his wife and their new daughter. And then it was time to leave and go to his death.
*
Rhyme smelled cigarette smoke.
"That's disgusting," he called.
"What?" asked Sonny Li, the only other person in the room. The Chinese cop was groggy and his hair stuck out comically. The hour was 7:30.
"The cigarettes," Rhyme explained.
"You should smoke," Li barked. "Relaxes you. Good for you."
Mel Cooper arrived with Lon Sellitto and Eddie Deng not far behind him. The young Chinese-American cop walked very slowly. Even his hair was wilted, no stylish spikes today.
"How are you, Eddie?" Rhyme asked.
"You should see the bruise," Deng said, referring to his run-in with a lead slug yesterday during the shoot-out on Canal Street. "I wouldn't let my wife see it. Put on my pajamas in the bathroom."
Red-eyed Sellitto carried a handful of pages from the overnight team of officers who'd been canvassing recent contractors that had installed gray Arnold Lustre-Rite carpet in the past six months. The canvassing wasn't even finished and the number of construction locations was discouragingly large: thirty-two separate installations in and around Battery Park City.
"Hell," Rhyme muttered, "thirty-two." And each one could have multiple floors that had been carpeted. Thirty-two? He'd hoped there'd be no more than five or six.
INS agent Alan Coe arrived, walking brightly into the lab. He didn't seem the least contrite and began asking questions about how the investigation was going--as if the shoot-out yesterday had never happened and the Ghost hadn't escaped thanks to him.
More footsteps in the corridor outside.
"Hey," Sachs said in greeting, entering the room. She kissed Rhyme. He started to tell her about the list of recently carpeted buildings but Sellitto interrupted. "Get some rest last night?" he asked her. The detective's voice had a definite edge to it.
"What?" she asked.
"Rest? Sleep? You get plenty of rest?"
"Not exactly," she replied cautiously. "Why?"
"I tried you at home about one. Had some questions for you."
Rhyme wondered what the reason for the interrogation was.
"Well, I got home at two," she answered, a flare in her eyes. "I went to see a friend."
"Did you?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Well, I couldn't get in touch with you."
"You know, Detective," she said, "I can let you have my mother's phone number. She can give you some pointers on checking up on me. Even though she hasn't done it for about fifteen years."
"Ho, boy, that was good," said Sonny Li.
"Watch yourself, patrolman," Sellitto said to Sachs.
"Watch what?" she snapped. "You got a point to make, make it."
The homicide cop backed down. He muttered, "I couldn't get in touch with you, that's all. Your cell phone was off."
"Was it? Well, I had my pager. Did you try to page me?"
"No."
"Then?" she asked.
The argument mystified Rhyme. True, when she was working, Rhyme insisted that she be instantly available. But after hours it was different. Amelia Sachs was independent. She liked to go for fast drives, she had interests and friends other than him.
Whatever drove her to scratch her skin, to mourn her father, to mourn her former lover, a cop busted for being one of the most crooked in recent history, whatever drove her at the crime scenes--the same force drove her off by herself at times.
Just as there were times when he booted her out, s
ometimes asking nicely, sometimes ordering her away. A crip needs time alone. To gather strength, to let the aide take care of the piss 'n' shit stuff and to consider little questions like Do I want to kill myself today?
Rhyme called the Federal Building and asked for Dellray but he was in Brooklyn checking out leads to the attempted bombing last night. Then he spoke to the assistant special agent in charge and was told that they were meeting that morning about assigning another FBI agent to GHOSTKILL to replace Dellray. Rhyme was angry; he'd assumed the bureau had already picked an SSA for the team.
"What about SPEC-TAC?"
The ASAC replied, "That's on the scroll for the powwow this morning too."
The scroll for the powwow?
"Well, we need people and we need them now," Rhyme snapped.
The slick man said, "We're prioritized."
"Oh, that's fucking reassuring."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Rhyme? I missed that."
"I said, call us as soon as you know something. We need more people."
Just after he disconnected, the phone rang again. Rhyme snapped, "Command, answer phone."
There was a click and a Chinese-accented voice asked, "Mr. Li, please."
Li sat down, absently pulled out a cigarette, which Thom swooped by and lifted from his hand. Li leaned toward the speaker and began to talk rapidly in Chinese. There was an explosive exchange between him and the caller. Rhyme thought they were arguing but Li finally sat back, jotting notes in Chinese. Then he hung up and smiled. "Okay, okay," Li said, "here I got something. That was Cai, from the tong. He ask around about minorities. There this group of Chinese called Uighurs. They Muslims, Turks. Tough guys. They got take over by China--like Tibet--and don't like it so good. Treated bad. Cai find that Ghost hire people from Turkestan Community and Islamic Center of Queens. The guy Hongse shot, he one of them. Here address and phone number. Hey, was I right, Loaban? I say he from minority."
"You sure were, Sonny."
Eddie Deng translated the information into English on a second slip of paper.
"Should we raid it?" Sellitto asked.
"Not yet. Might tip off the Ghost," Rhyme said. "I've got a better idea."
Deng was right with him. "Pen register."
"Yep."
These were phone company records of incoming and outgoing calls for a particular number. Since they didn't record the content of a conversation, it was far easier for law enforcers to access these records than to monitor the actual transmissions under a Title 3 or state wiretap.
"What's that going to do?" Coe asked.
"The Ghost got to town yesterday morning and called the center at some point--presumably to arrange for his muscle. We'll check out all incoming and outgoing calls to the number of the place after, say, 9 A.M. yesterday."
In a half hour the phone company had provided a list of about thirty numbers into and out of the Uighur center in Queens in the past two days. Most of those numbers they could eliminate immediately--like those called before the Ghost arrived, as Rhyme had pointed out--but four were cell phones with local exchanges.
"And they're hot phones, right? The mobiles?"
"Stolen as bad as the Mets' second base," Sellitto said.
Because the phones were stolen, this meant there was no billing address where the Ghost might be. But the cell phone providers were able to give the team information about where the callers were located when each call had been made or received. One phone had been in the Battery Park City area and, as the security chief from the company dictated intersections to delineate the cell zone, Thom drew them on the map. The result was a wedge about a half mile square downtown near the Hudson River.
"Now," Rhyme shouted to Sachs, feeling the excitement of narrowing in on his prey, "did any of the buildings in that area have Arnold Lustre-Rite carpet installed?"
"Crossing my fingers," Eddie Deng said.
Finally Sachs looked up from the list and shouted, "Yes! Got one."
"That's the Ghost's safehouse," Rhyme announced.
She said, "A new building. Eight-oh-five Patrick Henry Street. Not far from the river." She circled it on the map. Then she sighed, looking over the information from the Arnold company. "Hell," she muttered. "They installed carpet on nineteen floors. Lots of apartments to check."
"Then," Rhyme said impatiently, "you better get going."
GHOSTKILL
* * *
Easton, Long Island, Crime Scene
* Two immigrants killed on beach; shot in back.
* One immigrant wounded--Dr. John Sung.
* "Bangshou" (assistant) on board; identity unknown.
* Assistant confirmed as drowned body found near site where Dragon sank.
* Ten immigrants escape: seven adults (one elderly, one injured woman), two children, one infant. Steal church van.
* Blood samples sent to lab for typing.
* Injured woman is AB negative. Requesting more information about her blood.
* Vehicle awaiting Ghost on beach left without him. One shot believed fired by Ghost at vehicle. Request for vehicle make and model sent out, based on tread marks and wheelbase.
* Vehicle is a BMW X5.
* Driver--Jerry Tang.
* No vehicles to pick up immigrants located.
* Cell phone, presumably Ghost's, sent for analysis to FBI.
* Untraceable satellite secure phone. Hacked Chinese gov't system to use it.
* Ghost's weapon is 7.62mm pistol. Unusual casing.
* Model 51 Chinese automatic pistol.
* Ghost is reported to have gov't people on payroll.
* Ghost stole red Honda sedan to escape. Vehicle locator request sent out.
* No trace of Honda found.
* Three bodies recovered at sea--two shot, one drowned. Photos and prints to Rhyme and Chinese police.
* Drowned individual identified as Victor Au, the Ghost's bangshou.
* Fingerprints sent to AFIS.
* No matches on any prints but unusual markings on Sam Chang's fingers and thumbs (injury, rope burn?).
* Profile of immigrants: Sam Chang and Wu Qichen and their families, John Sung, baby of woman who drowned, unidentified man and woman (killed on beach).
Stolen Van, Chinatown * Camouflaged by immigrants with "The Home Store" logo.
* Blood spatter suggests injured woman has hand, arm or shoulder injury.
* Blood samples sent to lab for typing.
* Injured woman is AB negative. Requesting more information about her blood.
* Fingerprints sent to AFIS.
* No matches.
Jerry Tang Murder Crime Scene
* Four men kicked door in and tortured him and shot him.
* Two shell casings--match Model 51. Tang shot twice in head.
* Extensive vandalism.
* Some fingerprints.
* No matches except Tang's.
* Three accomplices have smaller shoe size than Ghost, presumably smaller stature.
* Trace suggests Ghost's safehouse is probably downtown, Battery Park City area.
* Suspected accomplices from Chinese ethnic minority. Presently pursuing whereabouts.
* Uighurs from Turkestan Community and Islamic Center of Queens.
* Cell phone calls lead to 805 Patrick Henry Street, downtown.
Canal Street Shooting Crime Scene * Additional trace suggesting safehouse is in Battery Park City area.
* Stolen Chevrolet Blazer, untraceable.
* No match on prints.
* Safehouse carpet: Arnold company's Lustre-Rite, installed in past six months; calling contractors to get list of installations.
* Location of installations determined: 32 near Battery Park City.
* Fresh gardening mulch found.
* Body of Ghost's accomplice: ethnic minority from west or northwest China. Negative on prints. Weapon was Walther PPK.
* Details on immigrants:
* The Changs: Sam, Mei-Mei, William and Ronald; Sam's fath
er, Chang Jiechi, and infant, Po-Yee. Sam has job arranged but employer and location unknown. Driving blue van, no make, no tag number. Changs' apartment is in Queens.
* The Wus: Qichen, Yong-Ping, Chin-Mei and Lang.
Chapter Thirty-one
You are part of the old. Do you repent?
The Ghost stood at the window of his high-rise apartment on Patrick Henry Street in Lower Manhattan and watched the boats sailing through the harbor, fifty meters below him, a mile away.
Some streaking fast, some bobbing awkwardly.
Some pristine, some rusty like the Fuzhou Dragon.
. . . part of the old. Your decadent way of life is disgusting . . . .
He greatly enjoyed watching the panorama below him. He rarely had such views in China; once away from Beijing and the big cities in Fujian and Guangdong there were few towering buildings. Because there were few elevators.
Which was a condition that the Ghost's father came close to rectifying in the 1960s.
His father was a man blessed with the rare combination of careening ambition backed up by sensible schemes. The stocky businessman had his hands in many ventures: selling military products to the Vietnamese, who were gearing up to defeat the Americans in their appendix of a country to the south, operating junkyards, lending money, building private housing and importing Russian machinery--the most lucrative of which were Lemarov elevators, which were cheap, functional and rarely killed anyone.
Under the auspices of a Fuzhou collective, Kwan Baba--the given nickname meaning "father"--had signed contracts to buy thousands of these elevators, sell them to the building collectives and bring in Russian technicians to install them. He had every reason to believe that his efforts would change the skylines of China and make him even wealthier than he was.
And why wouldn't he succeed? He wore conformist unisex suits, he attended every CCP rally he possibly could, he had guanxi throughout the southeast and his cooperative was one of the most successful in the province of Fujian, sending a cascade of yuan to Beijing.
But his career was doomed. And the reason for this was simple: a solid, humorless soldier-turned-politician named Mao Zedong, whose capricious 1966 Cultural Revolution incited students across the country to rise up and destroy the four olds: old culture, customs, ideas and habits.
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