The Spy Across the Table

by Barry Lancet

  I kept in constant, slow, and random motion. Shadows have density. Layers. Shades. Like seawater at different depths. Within that density, I hoped to replicate the indistinct mass of the lovers we had glimpsed. We’d known there had been only the twosome, but as they shuffled about in their impassioned caresses it looked like more.

  His annoyance rising, the policeman commanded me to show myself. I said nothing. What was he going to do? Shoot us all? I continued my charade. Tight steps. Up and back. Circular, straight lines, diagonals. Leaning left and right. Bending at right angles.

  If nothing more came out of my probe into Sharon’s and Mikey’s deaths, we would get Sharon’s daughter safely out of China.

  I would accept nothing less.

  A hard-fought and worthy victory.

  At a cost yet to be determined.

  CHAPTER 75

  THE policeman’s patience was unraveling. He inched closer. His eyes would soon adjust to the darkness and I would be unmasked.

  I saw him straighten and gain confidence. His squint vanished.

  Time to make my exit.

  Five short blocks.

  Noda and company would be indoors by now, or only a few steps short of the threshold. Unknowingly, the cop had stationed himself near my intended escape route—the same passage between buildings Noda and Pak had taken. He was close enough to fully penetrate the shadows and intercept me, so I’d have to use the far pathway. I edged toward the alternate route. I could slip around the corner without leaving the protective confines of the eaves. Maybe without the cop realizing I’d left him behind.

  But the second option turned out to be gated and locked. I’d assumed that all the alleyways would be accessible.

  Resigned, I had only one other choice. I stepped from cover and waved my passport at him. I raised my empty hand above my head and swung the passport arm in a wide, unthreatening arc straight out in front of me. The cop cocked his wrist, his club at the ready.

  Fortunately, he was still only a force of one. A number I could overcome.

  Five short blocks.

  Then the odds changed drastically. His shoulder radio chirped. He hit the reply button and reeled off a short string of words. I heard loud chatter on the other end, then a disconnect, then running footsteps and two more uniforms rolled into view. Eyes locked onto my position, the cop backed up two paces to join them. One-on-one had morphed into three-on-one. They moved quickly into a tight V formation, senior officer on point, an underling on each flank.

  I scanned their equipment belts. Flashlights, handcuffs, billy clubs, interphones, tear-gas canisters, Chinese revolvers. The guns were holstered and locked in place with leather straps and chains connected to their belts. Clearly a measure to prevent the weapons from being grabbed in a crowd situation, which was a common occurrence in China. The upside for me was that a rapid draw was not possible.

  The three advanced as one. The leader issued commands in a loud voice meant to intimidate. The trio was still four paces away. I didn’t move. The first cop, the youngest by far, gestured with his club at the black area behind me. He thought more people might be crouching in the dark.

  At four paces, they determined that the shadows held no secrets and they pressed forward with renewed confidence.

  In what I hoped looked like a peace offering, I held out my passport with my left hand.

  The senior by age and probably rank said something in Chinese and they spread out, the first cop to his left and a more experienced one to the right. They inched forward in a straight line, coming within four feet and stopping.

  I stood stock still, passport extended.

  Raising his arm, the youngest took a step closer.

  I let the passport drop.

  Reflexively, he bent to retrieve the falling document. His training kicked in a fraction of a second later—but not soon enough. As his torso bounced back up, I drove a fist into his solar plexus, pivoted, and slammed the heel of my right shoe into the kneecap of the leader. My first target went down gasping for breath, the second howled as his leg collapsed under him.

  Two blows. Two down. And both out of commission for the foreseeable future.

  I whirled and faced the last cop. If I could take him out in short order, I could fade into the warren of backstreets and rejoin my group.

  The third man had his truncheon out. Knowing I could jump him before he could release his firearm, he’d gone for the club. Then he surprised me. He shifted into a Chinese martial arts pose with all the calm of an experienced fighter. He wove the baton in a complex pattern in the air between us, then charged.

  I backpedaled and dodged left toward the center of the street. I circled, giving myself time to gauge his speed, skill, and confidence. He followed with supreme assurance. His glance swept over my limbs and torso, scouting vulnerable strike zones.

  Then, unexpectedly, he began to whirl. The movement soon became hypnotic. Which may have been the point, at least partially. He spun around in a complete three-sixty. He kicked out a leg long before I was within range, extending it fully, his thigh nearly parallel to the ground. Then, bending his knee, he gathered the limb back in, and in some sort of ballet-like move continued to spin, keeping his momentum going with a series of leg extensions and retractions, kicking out again and again.

  He was tireless. He gained speed. He edged forward in my wake. With each rotation he kept a fierce stare locked on my features until, at the last possible moment, his sharp-angled features would whip around. I’d see the back of his head for the briefest instant, then his livid brown oval face would come around again and glare.

  I’d never seen anything like it.

  Not in real life. Not in this combination.

  The next revolution brought him within range. I backed off. His club rose and fell in a pattern independent of his leg thrusts. He had two lines of attack going on simultaneously. His leg shot out and was withdrawn, but not always at the same height. I could no more fathom a way to approach than I could guess how to grapple with a porcupine with its quills raised.

  The gambit was of a piece and I was alert for some hidden trigger. The move required phenomenal stamina and training. It was gymnastic in composition, operatic in appearance, and either as deadly as a cobra or as harmless as a garden snake.

  After a few more cycles, I came up with an idea: the glare. It was meant to intimidate and it did, but in a curious way he was not its master. No more than he was a master of his own strikes. Once in motion, they controlled him more than he controlled them. They were rhythmic and predetermined. He was committed to each rotation, each kick, until he brought himself out of his continuous spin.

  His body twirled away before his threatening visage, which stayed glued to my position. The leg and the truncheon were in the lead. They retreated first. The next time around, as soon as the kick and club swept past, I leapt forward. He strained his neck to keep his head in place and his eyes locked on my advance.

  But he couldn’t change the physics of the move.

  His face was yanked away. I struck with the same bent-knuckle jab I’d used against Habu’s knife attack in the Dragon Skin. The cop’s head whipped around and his face came back into rotation. My jab met his nose perfectly. I rolled the rest of my body into his. I heard his nose crack and felt it begin to collapse as the nightstick and leg swung around yet again. His upper thigh banged harmlessly into my thigh, and the truncheon struck my hip, the power of each stroke partially blunted by my proximity. His head bounced off my knuckles and his body stopped as if it had slammed into a tree. He staggered back, then toppled over.

  The final exchange had taken less than a minute, but it had eaten up too much time. I needed to vacate the area. The trio was sprawled across the pavement in various stages of hurt. Where the twirling dervish had connected—hip and thigh—my body pulsed with pain. I took a step and stumbled. My hip revolted. The blow from the club had caused more damage than anticipated.

  I sucked up the pain and lurched toward
the narrow passage Noda vanished into with Anna.

  Behind me, I heard a weapon being cocked.

  “No bouncy bouncy bullets today, mister.”

  I understood the reference and froze.

  Instantly and clearly so there could be no mistake.

  He was talking about his police-issue, Chinese-made 9mm revolver. The guns were specially designed for the patrolling badges. They carried proprietary ammunition, meaning bullets unique to them and sold only through government channels. They also shot rubber bullets. The “bouncy bouncy” was his way of telling me his weapon was loaded with lead. Not rubber facsimiles.

  “Hand high up, mister.”

  He’d come from around the corner and snuck up on my blind side. I was only two paces from the exit passage and its protective cover. If I could find a way to distract the newcomer, or overcome him, I could still manage an escape.

  I turned to face him, raising my hands and taking a step in his direction.

  “No move, mister.”

  “Not an inch,” I said.

  Then I heard a commotion from the lane that was to be my escape route. The barrel of a firearm pressed against my spine.

  “Step into street, mister.”

  I did as I was told, glancing behind me as I did so. Three militiamen had arrived, with rifles leveled. To the left and right, other passageways erupted with life. Uniforms poured forth. In seconds there were upward of ten officers, a pair of secret police among them. All had weapons drawn and aimed my way.

  I heard the click of hard wood on a steel casing, then the length of a baton crashed against the backs of my knees. I grunted in pain and my legs buckled. My kneecaps slammed into the ground. I grimaced and fell sideways. The point of a polished boot slammed into my stomach. I curled into a protective ball as the pounding started from all sides.

  In the near distance, tires screeched to a halt. A command was bellowed. The kicking stopped. Heels slapped the blacktop. I opened one eye. My attackers had snapped to attention. A tangerine-colored hatchback with tinted windows stood some ten yards off. The vehicle was compact and primitive and ugly. But relief in any form was a welcome sight.

  An iron-toed boot prodded me in the ribs. “Stand up, mister. Now.”

  I dragged myself to my feet.

  “Hand high up.”

  I did as I was told.

  Five short blocks were now as good as five long miles. There would be no safe house for me.

  A tangerine door swung wide and Zhou stepped onto the street, wearing a stylish knee-length beige overcoat and a look of extreme annoyance. He ran a jaded eye over the scene. Over the bristling array of weapons pointed my way. Over the bodies on the ground. Two of them struggling to stand, my final conquest unconscious and immobile.

  The master spy’s smile was sad. “This, my friend, is one reunion you should have avoided.”

  CHAPTER 76

  ZHOU’S gaze lingered on the men on the ground. “It looks like I missed a fine display of talent.”

  I looked from the fallen men to the circle of weaponry pointed in my direction. Rifles, revolvers, and more revolvers. Fifteen and rising as police and militia continued to arrive.

  I shrugged. “Are you planning to help?”

  “Are you planning to tell me where the girl is?”

  The master spy was speaking only English now. Being as open and transparent for the others as he could, given my lack of Chinese.

  “No.”

  “Then you’ve answered you own question.”

  I nodded, got down on my knees, and clasped my hands behind my head.

  * * *

  “How did you find me?” I asked.

  We sat in the rear seat of the orange hatchback. A Geely GC5. It had a black interior with chrome-colored highlights. Mostly silver painted over plastic. Manufactured by Geely, one of a nearly uncountable number of Chinese carmakers.

  Zhou said, “It’s my business to know everything and be where I must.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I don’t owe you an answer. Give up the girl’s travel route and they will go easier on you. I can guarantee you that much.”

  “That’s all you’re offering?”

  The inside of the vehicle was immaculate. The seats were stiff and new. The padding underneath was buoyant and responsive. A new-car smell was prominent. In contrast, the exterior was dented and dusty and noticeably smudged. Two policemen occupied the bucket seats up front. The one on the passenger side leveled his revolver at my chest.

  “That is all I am able to offer.”

  I gave no reply and Zhou said, “The girl, Brodie. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “She’s long gone.”

  Zhou snorted. “She has gone to ground is what you mean. Hiding in some hole. The police are already swarming into the district. Roadblocks are being set. Your friend Noda and the other gentleman won’t get ten blocks. They certainly cannot get a woman out of China.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said, a response that only angered him further.

  I thought of Sharon’s husband, distraught and disheveled and shut up in his home. There was no way I was going to allow anyone to get their hands on another member of the Tanaka family, least of all Zhou.

  With the authorities’ attention focused on me, Pak and Noda would gain the time they needed to spirit Anna out of the country. And they needed the time. After Pak’s double takedown, they would be running a tougher gauntlet, and it was going to take all of Pak’s resources to cross over into Mongolia.

  “Who was the third man?”

  Anna Tanaka’s ticket out of the country. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t toy with me, Brodie. Not now. The man’s name.”

  “There was only Noda.”

  “Do not bother to lie, Brodie. There are witnesses.”

  I shrugged. “More of a denial, less of a lie.”

  “With or without your cooperation, the People’s Police will find her. However, without your cooperation, your cause will go from bad to worse. Be careful, my friend.”

  “How much worse could it get?”

  The Geely moved down dark paved roadways. The streets were empty of life.

  Zhou spoke Japanese for the first time. “You should think carefully before refusing my offer. The People’s . . . technicians are capable of cracking even the most stubborn minds.”

  There was a new solemnity to his words.

  “I see,” I said eventually.

  “I do not think that you do. But you will.”

  I twisted my cuffed wrists behind me. There was no give in the manacles. No flexibility in the chain.

  The movement did not escape Zhou’s notice. “Let me point out that the ugly officer with the gun has orders to shoot should you attempt to escape.”

  Again in Japanese.

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Zhou gave me a look I couldn’t decipher. “For all the good it will do you. Their kind has a habit of defining escape in a creative manner.”

  “We hit a bad bump in this tin can, it could happen sooner. His finger is riding the trigger.”

  “That’s a chance they are willing to take.”

  Not a promising avenue. I changed the subject. “How’d you find me?” I asked again.

  Zhou gazed out into the night. “It is there, more than anyplace else, where you disappoint, Brodie. Passenger manifest. Even the most amateur among us travels under a false passport when an assignment requires it. Perhaps, after all, you are only an art dealer.”

  “It was a false passport.”

  “A known false passport ceases to be false. I red-flagged your name and known aliases after our meal in San Francisco. I never expected one of them to trigger.”

  Brodie Security ran on a tight budget, and we thought we could stretch the passport for a while longer. Clearly we’d misjudged.

  The car reached the edge of the Changbai urban sprawl. All signs of opu
lence had vanished. The homes had turned scruffy. They were squat and flimsy and patched with scrap wood and corrugated plastic.

  “Nice car,” I said, still in Japanese.

  “It is Chinese-made. I am a patriot and a humble servant of the People’s Republic.”

  “Not your usual style.”

  “There is a time for everything.”

  “It’s an eyesore.”

  “Eye of the beholder, my friend.” He nodded once at my knees pressed into the back of the front seat. “Try not to punch a hole in the upholstery. You will only anger our traveling companions, and where you are going they are sure to extract repayment for any breach.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “The end of the world. To our worst hospitality suite. Reserved for top criminals.”

  “I’m a criminal now?”

  Once more, for an instant, I got the unreadable look. But there was no gloating. No satisfaction. Only dark eyes inexplicably growing darker.

  “No, my friend, you have distinguished yourself yet again, I’m sorry to say. You have risen above the masses. You have become an enemy of the State.”

  CHAPTER 77

  WE drove in silence for more than thirty minutes.

  An enemy of the State.

  With those words, a coldness swept through my entire body. Practically speaking, I wondered what the designation meant. It occurred to me that of the hundreds of people I was privileged to call an associate, acquaintance, or friend, not one of them knew where I was. Not even Noda, my usual fallback. And probably not Pak, our guide through this hostile land. Nor could anyone find me electronically. The first thing Zhou had done was deactivate my cell phone. I was isolated, anchorless, and more vulnerable than I had ever been.

  We came down off the edge of the Changbai mountain range and onto a high flat plain of scrub. Early signs of dawn had turned the sky from black to navy. On the horizon a thin cobalt line glowed.