The Spy Across the Table

by Barry Lancet

  CHAPTER 21

  THE next course arrived.

  “We do an arepa,” Will said, setting down a chicken arepa in front of each of us, “as a nod to the original Mr. Pollo, which was a Colombian fast-food place before the tasting menu.”

  My Chinese host ate with gusto. Juicy chicken laced with cheese and a light tomato sauce was sandwiched between hot grilled bread made of white-corn flour. Highlights of cumin and a cilantro garlic aioli blend added nice accents.

  “Let her go,” I said, my thoughts on Karen but straying unavoidably to the second course, which proved equally impressive.

  Engrossed in the food, Zhou’s expression moved from satisfaction to displeasure. “Had you honored my request to come alone, we could have enjoyed our meal in peace and perhaps enlightened each other.”

  “Uh-huh. What are you doing in San Francisco, Zhou? At Mikey’s funeral, of all places?”

  Ignoring my questions, he plowed on with his reprimand. “Had you honored my request, your pretty friend would not be my hostage.”

  The word hostage clued me in to how far he was willing to go. Even though Karen stood on a public street, Zhou could do plenty of damage before either Renna or I could reach her. But it turned out I’d underestimated the master spy. He had a far worse scenario in mind.

  “You need to release her,” I said.

  “I don’t need to do anything.”

  Stalemate.

  “What are you doing in my town, Zhou?”

  His glance had shifted upward, to a movie poster of Big Trouble in Little China. It looked to be an original.

  Zhou’s gaze lingered on the Hollywood handbill. “Maybe I’m visiting my people. The city’s got one of the best Chinatowns around.”

  “Try again,” I said.

  Dark eyes dropped suddenly. “What was the connection between Dillman and Sharon Tanaka?”

  I studied him for a moment. “They both designed stage or movie sets.”

  “Is that all?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “You and Dillman went to school together. You were at the Kennedy Center. The Tanaka woman was at the Kennedy Center. You knew both victims.”

  “It’s not a crime.”

  “But it’s suspicious. What was going on there?”

  “What can you tell me about why you’re in town?”

  We glared at each other. During our first meeting, Zhou had tried to buy me off with a substantial piece of San Francisco real estate if I would finger a longtime Chinese dissident hiding in Tokyo. His government had been hunting the man for decades. I had just met the activist, knew his associates, and could make an educated guess about where he lived, but I didn’t bite. So this time Zhou had found stronger leverage.

  The eternally paranoid spy pushed his advantage. “You are in no position to dictate terms, Brodie, since you’ve been kind enough to gift me your friend.”

  I had slipped up worse than I thought. Zhou had come looking for a more persuasive bargaining chip and I had unwittingly supplied him a game changer.

  “You’re not going to hurt her.”

  “Actually, I am seriously considering it. One of the things I dislike most in this world is having my picture taken, so I am not inclined to extend any favors to your photographer friend. Unless you have something of value for me.”

  “If you touch her I’ll—“

  We grew silent as the main course, fresh braised lamb and sautéed summer squash, arrived at the table. It smelled wonderful and looked as delicious as its predecessors.

  Neither of us touched it.

  Since we’d polished off the saké, Will poured us each a glass from a decanting bottle of Napa cabernet. Neither of us touched the wine either.

  Once we were alone again, Zhou said, “Do you know how many bones there are in the human hand, Brodie?”

  I stiffened but said nothing.

  “Between twenty-seven and twenty-nine,” he told me. “Curiously, the number varies.”

  “If you—”

  “Do you know which hand Ms. Stokely uses to take her photographs?”

  “I’m warning you, Zhou.”

  He waved a finger at me. “Shame on you. Your friend is left-handed. I have done my homework. I am prepared, while, quite apparently, you are not. So this is how it will go. You will tell me what I want to know or my men will escort Ms. Stokely to a quiet place where they will give her a local anesthetic and pulverize every bone in her left hand. I can assure you we are not without heart. The ‘operation’ will be quite painless. Not even a whimper will pass Ms. Stokely’s lips. This I can promise you.”

  “I don’t believe that for an instant.”

  Zhou shrugged. “It’s true, at least until the medication wears off. By that time we are gone and it is out of our hands, so to speak. The process is extraordinary. It involves a small grape press and a ball-peen hammer. The bones are pressed in stages. Gently. The hand is passed through a large gap in the press, which is set to ever-narrower gaps. A fraction of a millimeter at a time. The bones will be—”

  “Zhou, if one hair on her—”

  He dismissed my protest. “—pulverized to the granular level in a way that leaves the muscle and veins functional. They, unlike the bones, are elastic. The hammer comes in at the end only if the pressing is uneven. It is a delicate procedure, which my men have nearly perfected. The genius is in the end result. The hand will not need amputation. It will just flop around like a distended water balloon. The skin of the hand acts like a sack for the powdered bone. She will be disfigured, of course. And her career will be over. But she will be alive and an ever-present reminder to you of your trespass.”

  He set his cell phone on the tabletop. “One call . . .”

  I slid my phone across the surface until it nudged his. “One call,” I said, “and my cop friend grabs your men.”

  “He can’t get them all.”

  “I just need one.”

  He shook his head sadly. “You play badly, my friend. Diplomatic immunity.”

  “You, yes, but not all your men, I bet.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I’m willing to take the chance.”

  Zhou’s expression gave away nothing.

  “But either way,” I said, “it doesn’t matter whether whoever we catch is eventually released, because your man will be charged with attempted kidnapping. If he lacks immunity, he will go away for a long time. You’ll try to hush it up but I’ll make sure some of my journalistic connections in the Bay Area have enough ammunition to run a very convincing story. The SFPD will be heroes, having caught the right-hand man to a master spy. Which will lead to another round of stories and most likely an escalation in the news media. In all the stories, your name will be prominent, with the phrase ‘alleged spy’ attached. Your protégé will become the poster boy for the Chinese menace skulking around on American soil. The scandal will play from Washington to Beijing. Who knows what they might do to you back home? Everything I know about the People’s Republic tells me you won’t return to a hero’s welcome. And we both know it will give your enemies an irresistible window of opportunity. I imagine they will happily absorb your territory. China Rules.”

  “I take it back. You play well.”

  I offered no reply.

  “Maybe there is more to you than I can see.”

  “Not along the lines you’re thinking.”

  “Maybe you are an operative for someone after all.”

  “I’m not. I’m an art dealer.”

  “So you always claim.”

  “I happened to have inherited a stake in my father’s PI/security firm in Tokyo, and I’ve picked up some tricks about the family business. That’s all. But what I do there is secondary to the art. We’ve been through this before, Zhou.”

  His eyes glittered. “An exchange, then?”

  “Information and people?” I said.

  “Done.”

  “Your word. My cop friend leaves your people alone
. Karen walks away unharmed.”

  “On the life of our mutual friend.”

  I consented with a nod. With a temporary truce agreed to, we dug into the lamb with relish. It was superb—succulent and lightly flavored with curry and coconut. The Napa red complemented it to perfection.

  After we finished, the dessert arrived, a pastry spilling over with passion fruit and fresh whipped pineapple cream, the filling garnished with toasted macadamia nuts.

  We ate and, between bites, exchanged information, all as I wondered how much Zhou valued the life of our mutual friend—or the life of anyone, for that matter.

  CHAPTER 22

  I LOST, Daddy,” Jenny said, stomping into the apartment.

  “Sorry to hear that, kid. Did you do everything the sensei said?”

  Renna and I planned to meet at his office in ninety minutes for a wrap-up session, but as I was flying to Japan tomorrow I wanted to squeeze in as much time with my daughter as I could. Guilt always trickled in whenever I had to leave her behind for an overseas job.

  Jenny yawned. “Sorta, but everyone’s bigger than me, even the girls.”

  She crawled into my lap, rubbed her face against my chest like she was settling in for the night, and closed her eyes. My seven-year-old had long black hair, quick brown eyes, and a pert nose exactly like her mother had had.

  “Hey,” I said, “don’t doze off on me.”

  “What am I going to do, Daddy?”

  Jenny was in pre-tournament mode, and struggling. My policy consisted of offering encouragement in the form of paternal pep talks but leaving the technical side to her sensei. Clearly this time my daughter needed more.

  “We can work on it early tomorrow morning before I head off to Japan. Would you like that?”

  She twisted her head around. “Yes, Daddy, yes. I have to beat Donna. I almost did today, but she’s bigger and really really mean.”

  A Tokyo policewoman by the name of Rie Hoshino had inspired Jenny to take up judo. The two met while Rie and I worked a case in Japan’s capital involving a Japanese war veteran. The same case brought me Zhou. Fortunately, Rie’s entry into my life far outweighed the conniving loose cannon that was Zhou. Rie and I were in the middle of a long-distance romance that was due to pick up again once I hit Japanese shores.

  “Then it’s settled,” I said. “A special coaching session tomorrow morning, early. Now let’s get you into your pajamas and your teeth brushed.”

  She jumped off my lap and landed lightly on her feet, assuming a judo pose. “Okay, but show me one thing first.”

  I held firm. “Shower, pajamas, and teeth.”

  “Then one thing?”

  In the way that only children can manage, her brown eyes sparkled and seemed to grow larger.

  I caved. “Okay, one.”

  She washed, slipped into her red cotton sleepwear with the plump Japanese cartoon character Totoro scattered all over them, then grabbed her toothbrush and began brushing furiously, baring her teeth in the bathroom mirror.

  “Slow down there, Jen,” I said. “You’ll tear up your gums.”

  With a mouthful of foam, she shook her head. “The sooner I finish, the more time we have for judo.”

  Specks of white foam flecked the mirror.

  She wrapped up, we trooped into the sitting room, and Jenny showed me several of her starting positions. I corrected each stance. Jenny listened and asked questions. I soon found myself tweaking her throwing technique and demonstrating how she could better leverage her smaller size for the takedown. Before I knew it “one thing” became more. I pretended not to notice, and as the session progressed I felt the guilt over my leaving begin to ease.

  Twenty minutes later I said, “We can review everything again tomorrow before I take off for the airport, but now it’s upstairs to bed.”

  “Piggyback!” Jenny began jumping up and down, reaching out for me.

  I acquiesced, she clambered onto my back, and I carted her off to her best friend’s place one floor above ours. Flinging open the door as we approached, Lisa Meyers said, “Totoro pajamas!”

  Jenny slid down from her perch. “Oh, yeah, Daddy, I forgot. Lisa loves Totoro too. Can you bring her back some pajamas like mine?”

  Lisa smiled up at me expectantly. She was an Iowa blonde, like her mother, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “You’re the best daddy ever,” my daughter said, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her cheek into my stomach. “Especially when you’re here.”

  The guilt trickled back in.

  THE SoMa DISTRICT

  San Francisco Homicide was in the Hall of Justice.

  The HOJ was a formidable, if dated, ferroconcrete building south of Market Street at Bryant and Seventh Streets. As I’d driven by I’d taken a moment to appreciate the twenty-five-foot bronze jungle gym of a sculpture by the late great Bay Area artist Peter Voulkos gracing one corner of the lot.

  Now Renna and I sat facing each other across his battered metal desk, behind his closed office door. Two tumblers had appeared on the desktop.

  “No dust on those glasses,” I said.

  “I keep a clean house.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Renna’s admission arrived with a shrug. “They might see more use than Miriam would like.”

  After the standoff in the Mission, we wanted a drink to unwind, but neither of us felt like heading to a bar, so we settled for the Jack Daniel’s stashed in his bottom drawer. Which showed up next.

  “These lips are sealed. Looks like a new bottle.”

  “We can probably remedy that.”

  “When duty calls.”

  He poured, we drank, Renna dispensed refills. In the outer office, a large Irish flag reigned benignly, while we batted around ideas, sorting threads and trying to match ends. Most of them didn’t line up.

  “Full-body armor,” Renna said eventually.

  “What?”

  “Forget it. Just thinking out loud. Glad the woman photographer got away unharmed.”

  “It was close.”

  “Zhou is a vindictive prick. How much is the damaged camera equipment going to set you back?”

  “Five thou.”

  Renna shot me a sympathic look. My Chinese adversary had kept his word about releasing Karen but slipped in a costly slap-down so I wouldn’t think him a pushover.

  “Expense it to your client.”

  “FLOTUS?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Only if Sharon turns out to be the focus of all of this.”

  “Doubt this came from Mikey’s end.”

  In some ways San Francisco’s a small town. Renna had attended high school with Ian and Mikey but only knew them in passing.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He had his secrets, and Zhou grilled me about him.”

  Secrets I’d sensed over the years but knew nothing about. Shy soul that he was, Mikey kept his own counsel. He’d been an usher at my wedding. On the day of the ceremony, he’d stood proudly in the groom’s party. His ruddy Irish-American face had beamed at me throughout the festivities. Later that night, after too much champagne, Mikey had embraced me. “This is one of the best days of my life, Brodie.”

  “That’s supposed to be my line,” I said.

  He gave me a sloppy, inebriated grin. “To see you so happy makes me happier than you could know.”

  And his expression backed up every syllable of his drunken proclamation—until a phone call later in the evening sent him rushing out the door with the deepest of apologies.

  Mikey had had his secrets.

  I downed the rest of my whisky. Renna tipped in some more of the amber liquid, then asked, “You think Mikey was hiding something? My boys haven’t found anything.”

  “I know he was. Just don’t know what. Wasn’t my business back then.”

  “Think it got him killed?”

  “Might have. If it did, I plan to put
it straight.”

  Renna nodded, his SFPD face securely in place. “I’ll look into it. There are other avenues. What about Zhou?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Renna scowled. “I don’t like Asian bullyboys messing up my town. I don’t answer this, who knows what he and his buddies will try next. You mind?”

  “No. Save me the trouble. If you can find them.”

  “I set up a tag team while you were being wined and dined. My boys trailed them back to the Chinese consulate.”

  “You get photos?”

  “Of the pair outside, yes. Zhou, no. His boys pulled up curbside at Mr. Pollo’s and Zhou slipped into the car, chin to his chest and wearing one of those ugly floppy hats seniors hide under to ward off the sun. There was no shutter chance. My men got a license plate, though. I move on him, you want your name on it?”

  “No need. He’ll assume.”

  Renna nodded, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling. The silence lengthened, and I thought once more about how close I’d come to getting one of my friends crippled for life. I’d drawn Karen into the game I’d inherited from my father. I stepped consciously into the world of Brodie Security. It was my skin on the line and I could watch out for myself. But this time I’d put Karen in harm’s way. She’d worked war zones, so I figured she could handle herself, but she’d been a mouse before Zhou’s snake.

  Renna’s gaze drifted back down, an inquisitive gleam in his eye. “Isn’t all this above your pay grade?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Spooksville.”

  I inhaled deeply. “You have a point.”

  “You told me about the shooting in DC, the first lady’s interest, and Homeland Security. Am I missing anything?”

  “No.”

  “Think Zhou’s appearance has something to do with White House involvement?”

  “I don’t know. But he’s a big gun.”

  “Do you have any idea as to why he’s here?”

  “Not a clue. Even after his story.”

  Marbles rolled. Renna’s cheeks inflated in turn. “Then you’re missing something.”

  “Can you do better?”

  “As a matter of fact, I can. But you won’t like it.”