“It’s ok,” Fa-ling said, sensing Cynthia’s fear. “We’ll come with you.” She spoke in Mandarin, making it clear to the officers she and the group stood in solidarity with their guide, and they would not abandon her to become a scapegoat.
“We only have a few questions,” the senior officer said. “There is no need to go to the station at this time. We just want to speak with you away from the group.” He led Cynthia to a spot in the lobby out of hearing from the parents.
“What the hell is going on?” Chris repeated, watching Cynthia being led away.
Fa-ling had committed the note, including the foreign bank account number, to memory.
“Please, be calm,” she said. “It is not a good idea to ruffle feathers in this part of the world. I’ll tell you what the note said.” She took a pen from her pocket and reached for a hotel notepad that was lying on a coffee table. Quickly she wrote the details of the ransom note in English onto the top page and tore it off for Chris, writing it a second time for herself, in case she should later forget the specifics.
Where, she thought, is Yong-qi at this moment? No doubt he was dealing with bad guys of his own. His presence would lend a sensible air to this chaos, and his experience might help to recover the child safely.
Fa-ling reviewed the events leading up to the kidnapping, turning over remembered images and bits of information carefully like the pieces of a clarinet which would fit together in only one way to produce the crystal clear sound for which it was named.
Everything in life, every human act and deed, she knew, came down to motivation. In the absence of clear evidence, one had to correctly read human behaviour if one was to guess what another’s motivation might be.
Behaviour was a form of evidence. We are always in one way or another announcing to the world who we really are. We wear our masks and practice the social graces meant to provide a screen to protect us from prying eyes. In the end, we can’t help it — we are driven by an invisible force to express the core of our beings, to speak from the chi, as it were.
Fa-ling considered everything she had seen, and everything she had heard since arriving in China. Based on her own understanding, she was certain Cynthia had played no part in Daniel’s abduction.
In fact, she was beginning to form an opinion about the guilty party, though her theory was not grounded in anything she could point to as ‘evidence’.
She did not like the conclusion she found herself drawing. It made sense, though; in fact, it was the only thing about this situation that made any sense at all.
Who else, she wondered, knew the truth about the Brahns? Because of her close connection to the Conservatory of Music, Fa-ling knew who they were, and what kind of money they had at their disposal. She thought about the interaction Chris and his wife had shared with others in the group. Had any of them treated the Brahns with kid gloves, as if they were aware of their heightened social status?
No one had, at least not in front of Fa-ling. However, there was one person who, more than any other, had behaved out of character with the purpose of their trip: namely, to complete the adoption process.
In the absence of hard evidence, Fa-ling filed the thought away. If she raised it, she might cause a world of trouble for an innocent family. She would talk it over later with Yong-qi when he arrived in Beijing.
She would be interested to hear his opinion on the matter.
**
Wang Yong-qi lifted the GPS locating device from the picnic table. A slow smile spread over his face. His partner, Cheng, laughed out loud, until his laughter sparked another coughing fit. Shopei patted Cheng on the back, thinking he was choking, but he waved her hand away.
When Cheng regained his composure, the trio shared a brief moment of victory, grinning at each other as though they had won the lottery. Then Yong-qi stood and motioned for the others to join him.
“Let’s go,” he said.
SIXTY-FIVE
Guy tried the door. Of course, it was locked.
Once again he heard the voice he recognised as Paula’s. She sounded frightened. All of his doubt and annoyance fell away. His wife was in danger. Nothing else mattered.
He kicked the flimsy door open on the first try to discover Paula wrestling on the floor with a wiry Chinese woman. A man stood over her holding a clock radio he obviously intended to use as a weapon against Paula. The man hesitated. Guy was shocked by the sight of his educated wife fighting like a boxer, raining blows on her hellcat attacker.
Guy left the women to deal with each other. He knew the man’s size and strength made him the bigger immediate threat. He reached the man within two strides, easily knocking the clock from his hand. Unarmed, he lacked Guy’s bulk.
Guy managed to land a blow on his left ear that sent the smaller man reeling. Gege fell head first against a wooden writing table, losing his senses long enough for Guy to render him helpless by gripping his head and striking it repeatedly against the table’s hard edge.
Guy stared at the helpless man. Although he hoped he hadn’t killed him, he felt strangely devoid of remorse. After everything Paula had put him through, he was shocked to realise he still loved her, and he could still allow himself to be dragged unwittingly into such a bizarre situation in order to defend her.
So, he thought, staring at the unconscious man, this is who I am, the husband of a criminal. For whom, other than a criminal, would have led him into this room?
He turned. Without a glance at his wife, who still struggled with the rabid woman on the floor, he kicked Miao squarely in the jaw. The blow was sufficient to force her to let go of Paula, who scrambled to her feet.
One more kick, and then Guy dragged the unconscious woman to rest beside her partner.
Paula dumped the pair’s luggage onto the bed, searching for something that could be used to restrain them. She found a pair of bathrobes in the closet and they used the belts to tie the woman’s arms and legs, using a telephone cord to bind the man.
“We have to get out of here,” Guy said.
“We can’t.”
Guy stared at his wife, debating whether or not to ask the obvious question. Suddenly he heard the sound of cries coming from the bathroom. Dumbly he thought the Chinese couple must have a child.
Paula took a pair of socks from one of the suitcases, stuffing a rolled ball of cloth into each mouth. Miao began to move. She nearly managed to bite Paula’s hand, but Paula was quick, getting the sock into the woman’s mouth before she could be injured.
Gege did not stir.
Paula sat down at the writing table and picked up the Blackberry, which was still logged onto Miao’s African bank account. Communicating in her halting Cantonese, she was able to find out the ransom note had already been delivered. The deadline for payment was 3:00 pm. Paula looked at her watch.
It was now 2:00. She and Guy would have to wait.
Guy sat down beside Paula, holding the frightened Brahn baby on his knee.
“I left Mei Mei alone in our room,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’d better tell me what’s going on.”
SIXTY-SIX
Wang Yong-qi kept his eyes on the chaotic Shanghai streets. Beside him, Cheng watched the locator screen and gave instructions to his partner.
Cheng felt terrible, worse than he had since he’d contracted a bout of pneumonia six months earlier that had knocked him off his feet for weeks. Ma-ma had attempted to fill his body with herbal remedies, pleading with him to allow the healing powers of meditation to cure him, but he’d ignored her, opting instead to see a doctor who prescribed a series of useless antibiotics that dulled his senses without lessening the terrifying sensation of drowning.
At last the infection receded on its own, not quite leaving him altogether. It had been years since Cheng had experienced the careless drawing of breath most people took for granted. In China’s heavily polluted cities, the slightest exertion could set him off. Today, though, was not a good day, even compared to most.
He spoke
the directions softly, not wanting to stir up any more phlegm in his chest. Cheng was a pragmatist. He recognised the likelihood he might die soon, perhaps having never married, and perhaps leaving his mother alone to fend for herself in her final years. He was not afraid of death, but he was deeply afraid of leaving his life unfinished. To Cheng, it was important that he marry and fulfil his duty as a son.
Of course, there were his other duties. Cheng felt his duty as a detective sharply, probably even more so than Yong-qi did. Especially now, with the unresolved murder of the Falun Gong practitioner Wu Tang hanging over his head. On the night when he and Yong-qi had first arrived at the Golden Lion Hotel to find the corpse destroyed by fire and the subtle yet undeniable evidence of foul play, Cheng had decided he would solve this one, even if he had to do it alone.
Cheng became even more determined after witnessing the horrible suffering and death of Wu Gui-Jing, Tang’s tragically young widow. He would not allow this crime to remain unpunished. Someday, somehow, he would bring Tang’s killer to justice.
He was relieved to learn his friend, Yong-qi, shared his commitment to that cause. When this immediate danger was past and they had rescued Master Long’s operator from the Ministry agents, he and Wang would return to Nanning where their ‘nearly accurate’ reports awaited follow up.
In the back seat, Tan Shopei wrestled with demons of her own. More than anything she longed to make her family proud, for she believed at this moment they were watching her, judging how she would react to this most difficult of times. She struggled to maintain her dignity, reminding herself of Long’s excellent advice regarding revenge.
Still, the insidious point of anger’s dagger pricked her chi, until the satisfying notion of herself as the avenger began to get the upper hand in her internal debate. She barely heard the conversation between the men. Cheng’s voice was too low to break through her thoughts.
At last Cheng announced the dot on the locator had stopped moving. Moments later, they arrived within a block of the agents’ car.
“Let’s walk from here,” Wang said, hoping his partner was up to the effort.
“Stay here,” Cheng said to Shopei. It was a command, but the girl opened the rear door anyway and made to follow them.
“You are a civilian,” Wang said. “We’re cops. If we have to, we can come up with a reason for going in there. But we can’t come up with any excuse for your presence.”
Seeing the reason in Yong-qi’s argument, Shopei slid back across the seat. She watched the men walk slowly, side by side, up the block. They looked like any pair of associates or unlikely friends, the one fellow as burly as a Russian and dressed in a rumpled brown suit, the other trim and handsome, looking more like a cop in a detective show, one of those Hollywood versions, than a real Chinese serviceman.
She wondered why they walked so slowly. She was tempted to yell after them “Hurry up!” but held her tongue. After all, they had put their lives on hold to rush to Shanghai on a single call from her grandfather. These were men of integrity and spirit, and not the kind who needed reminding of their duty.
Yong-qi set the pace, keeping it deliberately slow. He needed Cheng to make it all the way. His partner’s intuition and lightning reflexes would be essential in a confrontation between themselves and the Ministry agents. Cheng would be useless if he fell into another coughing fit.
Finally they arrived at an unused marketplace that had been boarded up. Old and battered wooden fruit trays were turned upside down for protection from the weather and were leaning against the wall of the building. The locator indicated this must be the place.
Cheng followed Wang noiselessly to the back of the building, where they found the brown sedan parked near a service door. They had no way of knowing how many agents were already inside the market. They knew only that surprise was their greatest weapon.
The alleyway was filthy and narrow. Since the marketplace had closed, neighbouring businesses had taken to using it as a dumpsite. It was filled with refuse at every stage of decomposition.
Yong-qi wrinkled his nose in disgust. Cheng only smiled.
Between a pair of dumpsters they discovered the market’s rear entrance. Looters or vagrants had long since pried off the padlock, leaving gaping holes in the door where it had once hung. Cheng listened for a moment before pulling the door open. The men slipped silently into a dark space that must have once been a break room for the store’s clerks.
Cheng put a finger over his mouth, though he didn’t need to remind Wang to be quiet. The door leading from the break room to the main market was hanging partially open, allowing weak streams of natural light to slide around the window’s boards and filter into the back. Cheng moved the door slightly, hoping its creak would not be heard by anyone inside.
Cheng peered into the large room. It was filled with un-stocked trays and shelves, where rows of produce had once been displayed. He saw no one inside; however, he could hear voices coming from the direction of another door, which must lead to yet another room, perhaps the private living quarters of the former shop owners.
Yong-qi followed his partner, taking care not to trip over the litter that lay between the aisles. When they got closer to the door, he recognised the voice of the man from the park, the Ministry agent who had trapped him in the hospital.
“It is lucky for us,” the voice said, “you came along. There is nothing to gain by being stubborn. Let’s be reasonable.”
His words were followed by a thud and a muffled call for help.
Drawing his gun, Cheng kicked open the door and lunged into the room, followed by Wang. Jiu Kaiyu stood behind Sun’s operator, Betty, who was bound to the wheelchair. Jiu almost smiled, holding a large knife pressed against the woman’s throat.
Ng-zhi, who was standing near the door, ploughed into Wang, ignoring the detective’s puny weapon and knocking him off of his feet. He wrapped his massive arm around Wang’s neck, strangling him. Ng-zhi calmly pressed the barrel of his gun against Wang’s temple.
**
Shopei waited in the car for all of sixty seconds. She was tired of cowering, and tired of letting other people fight her battles for her. The men were easy to follow, moving so slowly along the city sidewalk. In fact, it was hard not to pass them.
When they slipped through the back door of the abandoned market building, she waited a moment before following. She watched them creep down the filthy aisles until they stormed the inner quarters. She followed, crouching behind the empty fruit trays as near to the door as she dared.
**
In the millisecond it took for Cheng to process what he was seeing, Jiu Kaiyu made a fatal mistake. Holding the knife against Betty’s throat, he allowed his ‘almost smile’ to become an ugly grin. To Cheng’s eyes, the Ministry agent became the earthly representation of everything he knew to be evil. Without so much as a wasted thought, Cheng pulled the trigger of his massive M-77B pistol and blew the bastard’s brains all over the wall.
Cheng turned in time to see the other, larger agent dragging Wang through the open doorway. Wang struggled, with Ng-zhi’s iron arm closing off his breath. Cheng tried to get a clean shot on the Ministry thug, but Ng-zhi used Wang as a shield, blocking Cheng’s sight.
From her hiding place under a wooden fruit tray, Shopei saw the agent dragging Wang by the neck. She recognised him as one of the three men who had been at her apartment building when her family was murdered.
All of Master Long’s words fled from her mind, along with the noble intentions she had been nurturing. They were replaced by a black anger such as she had never before experienced.
Shopei sprang to her feet. Before the men could register her presence, her foot flew through the air and delivered a roundhouse kick to the back of the agent’s head. Not satisfied she had done more than disrupt his balance, she grabbed a loose board from the wooden fruit tray. As Ng-zhi turned, she landed it squarely on his face.
Annoyance was replaced by fury as Ng-zhi recovered from the blow, st
ill holding Wang in one arm. He pointed his pistol at Shopei. She stared at the weapon, too lost in rage to acknowledge her own death was imminent.
Cheng Minsheng never missed his target. Before Ng-zhi could fire on Shopei, Cheng took aim. His bullet was precise, entering the back of Ng-zhi’s head. The agent fell in a heap on the floor, losing his grip on Yong-qi. Gasping for air, Yong-qi collapsed. He sputtered while Cheng calmly removed Betty’s bindings and freed her from the wheelchair.
Basking in his own display of strength, Cheng produced a smile that momentarily turned his ugly mug into the face of a hero. He helped Betty to climb out of the chair, but her legs were not ready to take her weight, and she was disoriented without her glasses. She slumped against his chest.
Cheng’s face turned a bright shade of red, which thankfully Wang did not notice, being too busy attempting to regain his own breath. Despite his embarrassment, Cheng did not move, allowing the girl’s hair to tickle his nose and her warm body to rest against him. For the first time that day, he did not feel the urge to cough.
“Let’s hope,” Cheng said to his partner, “our little Ministry friend back at the hospital is as stupid as he looks. If he discovers who we are, we might find ourselves facing some very powerful enemies. The Ministry of State Security, no less.” Cheng could not suppress a smile.
Wang tried to answer “Indeed”, but the word came out as a rasping cough.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Yvanna fought to keep her panic under control. She remembered what her mother said, that a person of wealth and privilege was constantly in the public eye. The simple things other people took for granted, like the ability to display emotion openly, were not possible for Yvanna. She always felt her human reactions were being watched and judged.
The First Excellence: Fa-Ling's Map Page 28
