Xing covered his mouth and appeared to be thinking. His head bobbed as he seemed to consider options. “It would be very complicated.”
“We want him to board his plane this evening, satisfied that he has the money in his account. He’ll be none the wiser until he lands in Los Angeles and the FBI can break the news.”
Xing thought more. “That would be too perfect. And I think I can do it.”
“Yes?”
“It’s complicated, and I would have to do some careful programming, but I believe I can. Do you have a computer with you?”
“I do,” Feng said.
“I will do the work on mine. Then, if I can successfully transmit it to you, I’ll know immediately whether it works. If it does, do you want me to go through the whole transfer with Mr. Pitts, take the boy, and then hand him over to you?”
“No,” Boone said. “There is no need for you to stay, if you can set this up and show us how to do it, you can be on your way.”
“How will you get the child?”
Feng went to the closet and put on his new jacket and the glasses. He smoothed his hair and returned.
“Astounding,” Mr. Xing said.
The man fetched his computer and immediately set to work. Feng completed his outfit with dress slacks and expensive shoes, and Boone planted his new sidearm deep in the cargo pocket of his own pants.
About forty minutes later, Wang Xing was ready to try his creation. Feng Li gave him his e-mail address, and the man transmitted a mountain of data. It worked perfectly, so he showed Feng how to do it. Soon he was packed and ready to go.
“I am deeply saddened and yet grateful for your every kindness,” he said. “Can you somehow let me know when the child has been safely returned to his parents?”
“I let you know,” Feng Li said.
“You might want to leave the back way,” Boone said, “in case Mr. Pitts arrives early.”
“I had some gifts for the boy. Perhaps he would still like them.”
Xing set two electronic games on the table, gave his room key to Feng, shook hands with both men, and was gone.
Boone was drained already, praying he could keep his wits about him for another hour. “Knowing Max is here is driving me crazy,” he said. “I still want to just go get him.”
“No, no. Spoil everything. Stay with plan.”
“You know I’m only going to be pretending to know what you’re saying when you speak to me in Chinese.”
“You smart man. Can do this.”
40
Payoff
At a little after 6 a.m. in Chicago, Jack Keller and his cohorts sat bleary-eyed in the coffee shop on the first floor of Mount Sinai Hospital, shaking their heads at what they’d overheard on their phones from halfway around the world. “As soon as this is over,” Jack said, “I’m gonna sleep through Independence Day.”
Ragnar Waldemarr looked grave. “I just hope Boone won’t have to use the gun.”
“If this works, he won’t need it,” Jack said. “We’d have a tough time getting him out of there if he opens fire. Especially with all the cameras in that hotel.”
“I just wish I could be there,” Antoine said. “And I’d give anything to be in LA when the FBI busts Pitts.”
Boone had worked undercover before, but never had the stakes been so high. Not only was he determined to pull this off, but he was also committed to not throttling Jammer Pitts where he stood. It would be all he could do to control his rage. Part of him wished the man would give him a reason to use deadly force.
Feng Li exuded wealth and class as they strolled down to the History Lobby and sat on a small couch. “Let me do acting,” Feng said. “You just interpreter.”
Boone nodded. Was it possible he would have Max in his arms within the hour? He heard thunder and hoped the storm would not stall Pitts.
The man of the hour arrived a few minutes later in all his splendor, a mushy mountain carrying only a computer bag and brushing rain off his arms. Boone thought he saw a flash of hesitation when Pitts noticed him, but he focused on Feng and said, “Mr. Xing at last! What a pleasure to meet you!”
Feng leapt to his feet and shook Pitts’s hand, looking every bit the sophisticated multimillionaire trying to keep his emotions in check. “You make my wife and me very, very happy,” Feng said.
“Well, that’s what we do, sir.” And he turned questioningly to Boone, who extended his hand.
“American friend,” Feng said, “Dean Booker. My English not so the good. He help.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Booker. Happy Fourth of July.”
“Same to you, Mr. Pitts. I’ve heard a lot about you and your work.”
“Thank you! Are you a parent?”
“Yes, sir. Two boys. One in heaven.”
“Sorry to hear that. If you’re ever thinking about adding a child, you know whom to call.” Pitts pulled out his wallet and handed Boone his card. “I’ve got the best job in the world. I put kids who need parents with parents who need kids.”
“What could be nobler than that?” Boone said. “I imagine it’s very gratifying.”
“Now, Mr. Xing, before we repair to your suite and make the joyous transfer, I just need to see some ID so I know you’re who you say you are. You understand.”
“No,” Feng said.
“Sorry?” Pitts said, glancing at Boone.
Feng whispered urgently to Boone in Chinese. Boone turned to Pitts. “I’m afraid he’s slightly offended. Everyone here knows who he is, and he’s wondering if this is entirely necessary.”
“Oh, merely routine!” Pitts said. “Just have to cover my bases. I’d like to see your ID too, Mr. Booker. Maybe that’ll set his mind at ease.”
“Good idea.” Boone pulled out his passport.
Pitts glanced at it and immediately turned to Feng. “See, that’s all. This is a mighty important day for both of us. The future of a child. A business transaction.”
Feng looked appropriately cloudy and glumly produced his ID.
“There, see?” Pitts said. “That’s all I need. Shall we go do some business?”
Pitts allowed Feng and Boone to board the elevator first, which meant that Boone wound up directly behind the big man. He was breathing on Pitts, his gun two feet away.
In the suite Pitts plugged in his notebook. While it was booting up, Feng beckoned him to the table, where he showed him the screen on his computer and mumbled in Chinese to Boone.
“He wants to know if everything is as you agreed.”
Pitts hunched over Feng’s notebook and stared at the screen. “It is indeed, gentlemen. Once my unit is ready and you trigger the transaction, I’ll have little Mark brought down. And as soon as my account reflects the activity, I’ll be wishing you all the best and will be out of your hair.”
“Just so you know, Mr. Pitts,” Boone said, “I’m going to slip into the other room before the boy arrives so as not to confuse him and to give Wang his personal moment with him.”
“How thoughtful,” Pitts said. “A capital idea. All right, it looks like I’m up and rolling. Whenever you’re ready, sir.”
Feng rubbed his hands together and dramatically pushed Enter. Pitts pulled his cell phone from his breast pocket, punched a key, waited, and said, “Ms. Shi, please bring the boy.”
Boone shook with anticipation as he slipped into the next room. How would he be able to keep from rushing out and enveloping Max? God, help me!
A few minutes later he heard a tentative knock. Pitts opened the door and said, “There’s the little man! Come in, come in! Now, come on; don’t be shy! I’d like you to meet someone. . . . Well, naturally he’s a little scared. Ms. Shi, just leave him with me, and thank you again.”
“Good-bye,” she said.
“Bye,” Max said, and Boone’s throat caught. He sounded so tiny, timid, scared.
“Why does everybody lie to me?” Max said, and Boone clenched his fists, fighting the lump in his throat. “She said I was going to see m
y daddy.”
“This is your new daddy, son!” Pitts said. “Look what he’s got for you over there!”
“I don’t need a new daddy! I’ve got a daddy!”
“He’s confused. He’ll be all right.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Wait, wait,” Feng said. “This not child you promised.”
“Sure it is!”
“Why hair is the short and black? Picture was blond!”
“You know kids. They want what they want. His real hair is blond; it’ll grow out.”
Feng was perfect, Boone thought. Resisting showing his ID and reacting to Max’s hair was just enough to make Pitts work, the perfect prescription for an effective sting. But now Boone just wanted the phony transaction to go through so Pitts would get out.
“I want my mommy and daddy!” Max wailed, and Boone clenched his teeth, trying to keep from sobbing. Enough already!
“There it is!” Pitts exulted, and Boone could hear him slapping shut his computer and yanking cords. “The boy will be fine; the hair will grow out—blond, I promise! I just know you’re all going to be happy. All the best now!”
As soon as the door opened and slammed, Boone put his hand on the doorknob of the room he was in. To keep from scaring Max to death, he had to endure a few more seconds.
“What’s gonna happen to me now?” Max said.
“I know real name, son,” Feng said softly.
“What?”
“Your name Max. Your daddy policeman.”
“Yes!” Max was crying.
“Everybody lie to Max.”
“I know!”
“Not me. You tell me you want Daddy; I show you Daddy.”
“I want Daddy!”
“Here I am, Max,” Boone managed, tears streaming.
The boy looked up, eyes wide, and ran to his open arms.
Boone had to hand it to Jammer Pitts, scoundrel that he was. He knew enough to coach his people on how to treat a young boy so he wouldn’t panic and cry for help at every new venue. Boone had agonized over what he assumed was Max’s fear and trauma over being kidnapped, but the truth was—to hear Max tell it—he had proved the perfect victim.
“I liked Uncle Alfonso,” he told Boone. “He was fun. Is he with Mom?”
Boone was at a loss. How much to say? He wanted to tell Max he would never see “Uncle Alfonso” again, ever—that the man would not likely see freedom in his lifetime.
And Max had also liked the woman he thought was “Miss Virginia,” though he didn’t remember much about her. “I was so sleepy.” He said the “old lady babysitter” talked funny but gave him good snacks. “She seemed worried all the time. But she kept telling me I would see you very soon. Uncle Alfonso said he was taking me to see Mom. Miss Virginia said that too. Then the old lady said I’d see you. I didn’t believe her ’cause it was like everybody was lyin’ to me, even though they were nice. Mr. Feng finally told me the truth.”
Boone considered it had been by the grace of God that Max was too young and naive to realize the danger he had been in. Regardless, he had been away from his parents long enough to now be clingy. He sat on Boone’s lap on the bullet train back to Beijing, and when Boone treated them to a night in a luxury hotel, he slept in Boone’s bed.
Max was excited about getting to “fly on the big jet” again and fondly remembered the food. But he stayed close to Boone and often sat on his lap when the seat belt signs were off.
When Max finally slept, Boone asked a flight attendant for a pad of paper. It was time to get back to his letter to the boy, and it was also time to deep-six what he had started with and begin again.
Keeping in mind that Max would not be reading this until he was at least twelve, Boone wrote:
My beloved Max, the first thing you need to know and understand is that the story I’m about to tell you is nobody’s fault. It’s certainly not Aunt Flo’s fault, though she blames herself. We were all the victims of very cunning con artists, and if you don’t know what that means, you will by the end of this letter.
As you know by now, you didn’t become my son in the usual way. You came into my life when I fell in love with your mother. The first thing I wanted to do after we married was to adopt you, give you my name, and make you my forever son. . . .
Later in the letter Boone told Max why they were flying back from China at the time of the writing and that he was about to tell Max what had happened to his mother. That prospect gave Boone some sleepless hours, even when the letter was finished. No way would he take a sleeping pill on this flight.
Jack met the flight at O’Hare, having been brought up to speed by Boone via texts.
Max looked surprised when Boone sat in the backseat with him. “Need to talk to you, bud,” Boone said. “I have to tell you something about Mom.”
Boone was careful not to make Haeley’s condition sound as serious as it was. The boy had been through enough, and as it was clear that Haeley was slowly getting better and would be conscious soon, there was no point in telling him how close to death she had come.
“Has she got a bump on her head?” Max said.
“A pretty big one, actually. And her face is bruised. She’s going to be sleeping for a few more days, so do you want to wait and see her when she wakes up?”
“No! I want to see her now.”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
Boone called Nurse Chaz Cilano and then Dr. Sarangan. Both thought it would be all right for Max to see Haeley, and the doctor said, “For all we know, it might be good for her too. She may hear his voice, feel his touch.”
One thing was certain: Boone decided to say nothing about Max’s little brother or sister, leaving that for Haeley to tell him.
Three weeks later, Florence Quigley’s apartment at Bethune Arms was so crowded her twenty-one guests had to sit in shifts. She had worked with Boone on the invitation list for an open house to honor Haeley’s first outing. All had been briefed on the fact that Max had only a vague idea of what his long, mysterious trip had been all about.
Haeley’s amazing recovery was in full bloom, and while she still had to sit most of the time—nobody could pry Max off her lap—and use a cane when she walked, her mind and her speech were nearly restored. Everyone promised to give Haeley some space, but over the course of an hour, everybody got to greet her.
Florence stood at Haeley’s side, shyly meeting two of Haeley’s doctors and her nurse, Boone’s former boss and his wife, one of Boone’s detectives and his wife, and the Drakes’ pastor and his wife.
Florence’s own pastor and wife were there too, and at one point she had to pull him off to the side and tell him to “quit apologizin’. None of us meant no harm, and there’s enough blame to go ’round.”
Florence even invited Willie and Scooter, telling the wino, “They’s no alcohol up in here, and don’t be bringin’ your own.” He was the first to leave, and Willie had to get back to the desk.
The strangest trio, to Florence, was an older gentleman with a funny name whom Boone called Rags, his wife, and a woman named Brigita. Rags was the one who brought a computer and connected with the guy in China Boone had worked with to get Max back. Florence’s guests seemed excited about the video conference with Feng Li, but Florence found him hard to understand.
Fortunately for Florence, only seven of the guests were staying for dinner. When everybody was gone except the Drakes, their friends Jack and Margaret, and Pastor Sosa and his wife, Florence told them to give her a little time to finish at the stove and she’d finally keep her promise to Boone.
Finally they all crowded around her table, and after Pastor Sosa prayed, Florence set a heaping, steaming pile of pigs’ knuckles before them and beamed in their laughter.
“I jes’ got to say, Haeley, ” she whispered while Max was distracted, “one thing that nasty con man got me on bad was knowin’ about your unspoken prayer requests. He said they was about him, but you didn’t even know him. What were they?”
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Haeley chuckled, and as everyone strained to hear her still-weak voice, Max perked up and listened too. “I was just praying I could have a baby with this man,” she said. “And I’m going to. A healthy one in spite of everything.”
Everyone clapped and cheered, and Max raised both fists and said, “You’re havin’ a baby! Yes! A boy or a girl?”
“We don’t know yet, honey,” Haeley said. “But you’ll be the first person we tell.”
Jack Keller cleared his throat. “I’d like to say something, if you don’t mind. Pastor Sosa sent me a verse—as he likes to do—in the middle of all this, ah, stuff, and I memorized it. It goes, ‘You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.’ Well, I’m doing that. With all my heart.”
Pastor Sosa said, “He keeps his promises, Jack, so watch out. Now can I give you all one more verse?”
“Nobody better say no,” Florence said.
“Ephesians 3:20 and 21,” he said. “‘Now to him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.’”
The Breakthrough Page 28
