White Ginger

by Thatcher Robinson

  “Can I see that?”

  Lee took possession of the phone. He looked at it for several seconds. His face scrunched up as he looked down at Race then back at the phone.

  “Does it have a signal?” she asked.

  “Yes, I have no doubt it has a signal. It’s a government-issue satellite phone. The only problem with this phone is that once you push this button, this place will be crawling with cops. It’s your call, both literally and figuratively.”

  He handed the phone back to her with a look of disappointment. It took her a moment to register what he was saying. Race had lied to her. He was a federal agent. She didn’t know whether to hit him for lying to her or kiss him for saving her life. At the moment, she wanted to do both.

  She momentarily debated whether or not to make the call. In the end, she didn’t really see any choice in the matter. Race needed medical attention. He might die if she procrastinated.

  She took a deep breath and pushed the first speed-dial button.

  The answering voice was male and spoke in a clipped tone. “Special Agent Jim McKay.”

  She hesitated. As a triad affiliate, she had ample experience with being questioned by federal agents. She’d made a habit of avoiding them whenever possible. Old habits were hard to break.

  “Who is this? Identify yourself.”

  “You don’t know me,” she said haltingly. “You have a man down with serious injuries. Send help.”

  “Who is this?” the agent repeated.

  “My name is Bai Jiang. I’m about three miles south of the town of Folsom on a dirt track that’s supposed to be the Golden Heights subdivision, but strangely enough isn’t. The man with the injuries is known to me as John Race. I’m not sure whether or not that’s his real name.”

  She looked down at Race. He was still unconscious. There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

  “Hello, is anybody still there?” she asked, fearing the connection might have been lost.

  Agent McKay came back on the line. “Just hold on. Keep the line open and don’t hang up. I’m sending help. How bad are his injuries?”

  “I’m not a doctor,” she said sharply, losing patience, “but his wounds look serious to me. He got caught in a blast from a car bomb. I have a tourniquet on his leg, and he has another wound to his scalp.”

  “It’s all right. Don’t panic. We have help on the way. Just stay put until we get there, and please keep this line open. We’re using it to GPS your location to the medevac helicopter. We also have ground units in transit to your location. What else can you tell me?”

  “I’m not panicking,” she replied in a surly voice. “This is me being angry. Somebody was shooting at us. Then they tried to blow us up with a car bomb. It’s been a really bad day.”

  She was dangerously close to telling Special Agent Jim McKay to stuff it.

  “Are you under fire?” he asked, his voice harried.

  “Nobody’s shooting at us at the moment. Maybe the explosion scared them off, or maybe your agent took care of them. He said a shooter was on the ridge.”

  There wasn’t any response, so she guessed Agent McKay was tired of talking to her. She lowered the phone but kept it gripped in her hand. A few minutes later, she could hear sirens in the distance. It was another ten minutes before a fire truck came lumbering down the muddy road with a half dozen police cars trailing behind.

  While she watched the procession slowly make its way toward her, she became distracted by the sound of beating helicopter blades. Dropping down from the rain-drenched sky was a red and white Life Flight copter. It hovered as the pilot looked for the best place to land before setting down in the middle of the road about a hundred feet away. Three people jumped from the cockpit of the medevac unit to run toward them.

  The fire engine came alongside and stopped. Firemen were the first to reach Race, but they stood back when they saw the medical personnel from the helicopter approaching. Everyone was asking questions at once. She ignored them as she watched the medical team working on Race.

  The medics strapped him on a board, then lifted him onto a gurney before racing him toward the waiting helicopter. Within moments, he was airborne.

  Lee and Bai were left surrounded by curious police officers and solicitous firemen. The police asked for identification and demanded an explanation as to exactly what had taken place while arguing among themselves as to who had jurisdiction. Firemen wrapped them in blankets and offered hot coffee.

  She had forgotten she still held Race’s phone until she heard it squawking. She put the phone to her ear. “Is anybody there? What’s happening?”

  “I’m still here.” She suddenly felt very tired. “Your man has been airlifted.”

  She looked at one of the nearby firemen who smiled at her. She seemed to be a hit with the firemen, at least.

  “Thank you. Ms. Jiang, is it?” Agent McKay asked for clarification.

  “Yes.”

  “We have an incident team on the way to pick you up. Just stay put, and we’ll be there in a few minutes. And, Miss Jiang . . . ?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t talk to local law enforcement. Simply tell them we’re on the way and stay put.”

  “Who are ‘we’?”

  “We’re the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” replied the man who called himself Special Agent Jim McKay.

  “Swell.” She handed the phone to a sheriff’s deputy who seemed intent on arresting her for something, though he wasn’t entirely sure what. “It’s the FBI,” she said to the persistent deputy. “He wants to talk to you.”

  She turned away to see Lee chatting up a brawny fireman, his broken arm obviously forgotten for the moment. He looked so happy. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the Feds were on their way.

  The FBI arrived in force. Four black SUVs rolled single-file toward them, oversized wheels throwing mud and debris onto the following car. Windshield wipers slapped back and forth on high to scrape the mess off in clumps. The locals—highway patrolmen and sheriff’s deputies—turned around to watch as the caravan braked to a halt and eight agents disembarked from the splattered vehicles. A parade of Feds in bright-yellow slickers headed their way. Each wore a fluorescent jacket with “FBI” emblazoned in big letters on its back.

  “Do you think the big letters are a reminder in case they forget who they are?” asked Lee.

  “I don’t think so,” she replied, watching the approaching agents with interest. “The letter jackets are for when they get lost—kind of like self-addressed envelopes.”

  “That makes sense.”

  An authoritative-looking agent, who seemed to be in charge, gave directions. His arm pointed first to the wreckage of Benny’s car and then to the BMW in the ditch. He watched as agents carrying large metal cases descended on the damaged cars to gather forensic evidence before he turned to march over and stand in front of Bai. He seemed annoyed. The corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown as he placed his hands on his hips to glare at her. A female agent—young, blonde, and pretty-without-makeup—came to stand deferentially at his side.

  “Ms. Jiang?” the man inquired. “I’m Agent Rivers, and this is Agent Carrey.”

  Bai nodded. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off she felt cold, wet, and tired. She was sore from being tossed around in the car, and her mood wasn’t improved by his officious attitude. Dry clothes, a warm fire, and a big tumbler of scotch would have been her choice at the moment. A wistful smile started to form on her lips at the thought.

  Agent Rivers waited for her response, then abruptly stated, “You’ll come with us.”

  His voice was harsh and challenging. He managed to drop Bai out of her happy place.

  “Am I under arrest?” she asked, her voice calm but resentful.

  Lee moved closer to her. He still had his gun in his waistband. After viewing their concealed carry permits, the local cops hadn’t bothered to disarm either of them. She though
t they might have been warned off by McKay, which left Bai to conclude that either his word carried some authority or confusion had triumphed once again. The locals looked unhappy with the situation and stood a few feet away—too curious to leave the scene despite having nothing to do.

  Agent Rivers noticed Lee’s gun and hesitated a moment before responding to her question. “Not at this time, but we have some questions for you.”

  “What if we don’t want to go with you?” asked Lee.

  “That’s not an option. You’re both material witnesses to an assault on a federal officer. You’ll have the opportunity to retain counsel if you feel it’s necessary. I’m hoping you choose to cooperate.” His tone changed when he saw his suggestion wasn’t being met with even polite acceptance. “I would ask you to please accompany us. It’s in everybody’s best interests if we clear up this incident as soon as possible.”

  She somehow doubted Rivers had her best interests at heart but appreciated his need to get statements. Race probably wouldn’t be doing much talking for a while. His condition left only her and Lee as witnesses. Stalling would only prolong the inevitable.

  She looked at Lee, who shrugged his shoulders in capitulation. He knew the drill as well as she did. Turning back to Rivers, she said, “My friend, Mr. Li, has a broken arm. He needs medical attention.”

  Rivers turned to the young woman standing next to him. “Agent Carrey, will you ask Agents Little and Branner to escort this gentleman to the emergency room and have his injuries seen to? Once he’s been cared for, he can join us in our offices downtown.”

  The young woman nodded in understanding. “Mr. Li, your gun?”

  Her outstretched hand waited patiently. He reluctantly handed his weapon to her.

  “If you’ll come this way?” the female agent said as she gestured for Lee to precede her toward the waiting vehicles.

  He balked and looked at Bai with a questioning gaze.

  “I’ll be all right,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “See to your arm and we’ll meet up later.”

  He nodded once in acceptance then turned to accompany Agent Carrey.

  Bai knew it wouldn’t have made any difference if Lee had decided not to be compliant. The authorities would have separated them anyway. Their stories would need to be compared and corroborated to see if there were discrepancies.

  She’d been having little chats with law enforcement officers since early adolescence. It was a consequence of being a triad associate. The routine might have slight variations but never really changed much. Government agencies were big on standard procedures.

  Rivers addressed her again, his tone formal. “Miss Jiang, are you armed?”

  She turned around and raised the back of her jacket to expose her holstered gun. Rivers removed the Beretta from its holster. When she felt the weight of the gun being lifted, she turned back to face him.

  He looked speculatively at her gun before speaking. “What do you say we get out of the rain and find someplace dry to have this conversation?”

  He gestured toward the line of waiting SUVs then walked by her side as they made their way toward the cars. He opened the back door of a vehicle and waited while she climbed into the seat before shutting it. She watched as he walked around to the driver’s seat.

  Agent Carrey opened the door opposite her and slid into the backseat, smiling a greeting. Bai couldn’t muster a smile in return. Benny was dead. The investment property was a bust, and Elizabeth’s car was toast. Lee’s arm was broken, and John Race, or whatever his name was, was an FBI agent. She didn’t have a smile left in her.

  She was trying to remember if she’d ever had a worse day when Carrey interrupted her thoughts. “I think we’re about the same size. When we get to the office, I’ll try to find you something dry to wear.”

  Bai looked at her blankly. She had a hard time forming a response. “Thank you.”

  From the front seat, she could hear Rivers on the phone telling someone he was returning to FBI headquarters and about Lee’s injury. She didn’t try to follow the rest of the conversation. It seemed pointless. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

  Carrey leaned over to direct a question at her. “Do you know what this is all about?”

  Bai thought about Benny and the ballsy move he’d made to acquire the housing development. Poor guy hadn’t a clue as to what he was getting himself into. She doubted he’d even understood why he’d been killed. The sad turn of events had bad karma written all over it.

  She opened her eyes to stare at the young woman. “It’s about a rat that bit a cat’s tail.”

  The agent looked at her in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “My people have a saying, ‘A rat that gnaws at a cat’s tail invites destruction.’” She could see the agent couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. “I fear that’s exactly what has happened. And now I have to exact revenge on a very large, very mean cat because that’s what friends do.”

  Bai put her head back against the seat again and closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. It wouldn’t do to show weakness to the enemy. And that, unfortunately, was exactly how she viewed the FBI.

  Agent Rivers turned the SUV around and headed back to the main road. The four-wheel-drive vehicle sloshed through deeply rutted mud while rain continued to beat a steady tempo on the roof. When the vehicle approached the brick walls announcing “Golden Heights,” a line of men in dark fatigues with rifles braced across their chests jogged past in the opposite direction.

  “Somebody called in a SWAT team,” Agent Carrey remarked.

  “This is turning into a photo op,” Rivers replied, his disgust showing. “The crime scene will turn into a three-ring circus if we don’t shut it down. Make the calls. Get this road sealed off until we can clear the scene.”

  The SWAT command vehicle sat outside the brick-walled entrance. A behemoth, it would have become mired in mud on the unpaved road. Pulling up next to the SWAT motor coach was a smaller vehicle, a white van with a satellite dish on top. It wouldn’t be long before talking heads would be standing in the rain to inform the public they didn’t have a clue as to what had happened. Reporting live—nothing—for as long as someone—anyone—was willing to watch.

  When they reached the freeway, Bai leaned back in the seat to relax. The warmth of the car provided a welcome relief from the wet and cold. It didn’t take long, however, before the heat and confined space intensified the smell of her ditch-slimed jeans. She reeked. Agent Carrey, her nose twitching, slowly edged away.

  She looked aside at the agent and scowled. “It feels even worse than it smells.”

  Her trainers squished and she could imagine the skin on her toes pruning inside her socks. Her underwear was binding and chafing. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Carrey stared inquisitively.

  “Shorts are in a twist,” Bai explained blandly.

  The black SUV eventually pulled off the freeway and into Sacramento’s business district to arrive at a large gray building located on the Capitol Mall. The mall was composed of several blocks of government buildings anchored on the east end by the domed capitol. The one-way streets were divided by a grass strip. The mall was considerably less grand than the name implied.

  Wheeling into a basement garage, the vehicle came to a halt next to a bank of elevators.

  “We’re here,” Rivers announced.

  Carrey motioned for her to get out of the car. Both agents joined her in front of the elevators, where Rivers used his identification badge to gain access to a lift. Bai looked around while waiting for the elevator. She spied two closed-circuit cameras trained on them. Security was tight.

  They boarded the elevator and rose to the seventh floor, where she and her escorts stepped out of the lift and into a secured lobby. A manned guard station, just outside the elevator doors, required both agents to show identification. Rivers took the opportunity to turn Bai’s gun over to the guard for safekeeping. She th
ought about keeping her sheath knife but recognized a metal detector leading into the inner offices. She decided to relinquish the blade before it was taken from her.

  Rivers took the knife and immediately turned it over to the guard. He held out his hand again. “And your phone, please, Ms. Jiang.”

  She hesitated, reluctant to give it up. The cell was her lifeline to her family and the outside world. She wasn’t a trusting soul.

  “It will be returned to you when you leave, along with your knife and your gun,” he said, gesturing with his hand.

  “I hope someone is taking notes on how cooperative I’m being,” she remarked as she handed him her phone.

  He smirked, leading her to conclude the Feds weren’t giving out points for good behavior.

  The guard buzzed them into the inner offices, where Rivers led her straight to a glass-walled enclosure. An agent, male, sitting behind a desk, stood up to greet her. He offered her his hand while beaming a smile in her direction. “Miss Jiang, I’m Special Agent McKay. We spoke on the phone earlier.”

  She studied him as she took his hand, her eyes eventually meeting his gaze. Special Agent McKay was tall with hair clipped short to hide the fact he was balding. Black plastic-rimmed glasses made him look scholarly. The white shirt and dark tie with an American flag pin made him look like a Fed. He didn’t look especially special to her.

  His eyes studied her, in turn, with the same guarded intensity.

  Not stupid, she decided. They stood with hands locked, warily sizing each other up.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” he finally asked, releasing her hand and edging back to give her space.

  “And some dry clothes, please,” she replied, “unless, of course, this interview is going to be a short one. In which case, I’ll just answer your questions and be on my way. I don’t want to smell up your office.”

  He hesitated, his eyes taking in her soggy attire.

  “Agent Carrey,” he said, not bothering to look at his subordinate, “why don’t you go with Miss Jiang and find her some official FBI sweats while I arrange for coffee? Agent Rivers, thank you for escorting Miss Jiang. I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to your team in the field. I won’t keep you waiting.”