by Chris Goff
“There she is!”
Jordan looked down from the top of the escalator. A gangster pointed up at her. Three others were already on the moving stairs.
She bolted to the right. None of the storefronts she passed appeared to have exits. At the end of the corridor, wide doors opened into a department store. Racing inside, she spotted another escalator. Running through the accessory department, she snatched up a pink silk scarf, then rode up a floor, again threading her way through the people above her. She kept her eye on the store entrance.
One of the men entered and pointed straight at her. “There.”
Damn! Reaching the top of the escalator, she turned to the sales women manning the floor and begged for help.
Several turned away, but one woman stepped forward. “Come with me.”
She moved swiftly, and Jordan stayed tight on her heels. Her only hope was for the woman to show her an alternate way out of the store.
“In here.” The saleswoman ushered her into a stock room full of racks of women’s clothing and pointed to an emergency exit. “This leads into the warehouse. You can get back to the ground from there.”
“You don’t have much time. Cover your hair.”
A commotion outside indicated her time was up.
“Hide!” the saleswoman ordered.
Jordan slithered behind several racks of dresses and ducked down. Through gaps in the fabric, she watched as four men pushed into the room.
“Where did she go?” one demanded.
The saleswoman pointed to the door.
Three of the men took the ruse. Shoving the woman aside, they ran for the warehouse exit. The fourth man paused, casting his gaze over the racks of clothing. He tossed one rack to the side, pawing his way toward the back of the stacks.
The saleswoman fled the stock room. Jordan was on her own.
“Come out, come out,” the man said. “I know you’re here. I can smell you.”
Jordan held her breath and remained still.
“Don’t be foolish, girl. This will be much easier if you just surrender. We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to talk.”
Which is why the waiter came at me with a knife?
“You should have let sleeping dogs lie,” the man said, flinging another rack to the side. He was within spitting distance now. Jordan gripped her pen tighter.
The man’s hands grabbed the edge of the rack Jordan was hidden behind. She glanced up. Their eyes locked.
He flung the rack sideways, and Jordan sprang to her feet. She lunged, driving the tactical pen deep into his sternal notch.
The man grabbed his throat. Blood gurgled out between his fingers.
Jordan sprinted for the exit. Drawing a deep breath, she pushed through the door, hoping no one waited behind it.
Inside, the warehouse appeared to be empty. Pallets of boxes formed long rows, bisected by wider aisles on either end and down the middle. Jordan chose the center aisle and headed for the back of the building. Finding a set of stairs, she descended to the ground floor that ended at an exit presumably to the street. Above, footsteps pounded on the floor.
The gang members must have circled around. Shouts indicated they’d found their friend. Jordan had no choice but to push open the door.
She found herself in a narrow alleyway with only foot and bicycle traffic. No one waited for her. People moved in both directions past multiple vendors hawking their wares. Quickly, Jordan wrapped the scarf around her head hijab-style, stooped her shoulders to appear shorter, and fell in step with the other pedestrians. To hurry would draw attention. Right now, her best chance of escape was trying to blend in.
A few moments passed before she heard the shouts of the men reaching the alley. By then she was at the intersection with Di Shi Fu Road. She could see the gang members in the glass reflection of the storefront on the corner. The men were searching the crowds in both directions, while one man studied his phone.
Was he tracking her?
Pulling out her cell phone, Jordan removed the SIM card and dropped the casing into the birdcage of a vendor walking past in the opposite direction. With luck, they would follow the signal, and it would buy her some time.
At the corner, she merged with the crush of pedestrians moving away from Di Shi Fu Street, aware the gang members were searching for her and unsure where to go next. She had to assume the Triad didn’t want her to find Kia Zhen. But why? And how had they known she was there? How had they known she was even in China?
First things first, Jordan told herself. Right now she needed to put some distance between herself and the gangsters. Once she was safe, there would be time to figure things out.
Chapter 16
Stopping next to a bronze statue of a man pouring tea out of an oversized pot, Jordan took stock of her surroundings. The gang wouldn’t be far behind her. She needed a change of clothes.
Shangxiajiu Commercial Pedestrian Street teemed with people—tourists and locals alike—looking for cheap fashions. The wide granite-tiled street stretched into the distance flanked by a mixture of Qi Lou, veranda-style architecture, and more European buildings. Adding to the business, horizontal signs of every color advertised a variety of stores. The area pulsed with energy.
Across the street was a four-story building bearing an H&M sign. Ducking inside, she bought herself a pair of skinny black pants, a white T-shirt, and a black purse. After changing in the dressing room and transferring the money and rest of the items from her jacket pockets into the purse, she plaited her hair, winding the scarf in to disguise the color, then discarded her clothes in a trash receptacle on the street. Moving onto the next store, she bought a pair of black flats. Two stores down from there, she purchased a pair of sunglasses, a parasol, and three cell phones, topped up with minutes, from a vendor who didn’t ask to see her ID.
Back on the street, Jordan found an open bench and opened the parasol. Many of the women walking the street were using them for shade. Hers was for cover. Then pulling one of the new phones out of the bag, she dialed RSO David Lory’s direct line.
When he answered, she got right to the point. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but things have gone south.”
“What the hell happened?”
The details poured out. “I have no idea how the others are. Detective Yang’s likely to have a headache. Todd was stabbed in the stomach. She lost a lot of blood.”
She heard Lory dialing on the main office phone. “Mary, put a call through to Todd’s office. Get me an update, now!” Then he was back talking to Jordan. “You need to get back to the consulate.”
“The Triad knew I was here,” Jordan said. “How did they get that information? Who can we trust?” She couldn’t help but remember that McClasky hadn’t trusted anyone in his time here. He’d jumped the first flight out of the country and look where that had gotten him.
What she wanted to know was who knew she was coming who also knew about McClasky’s having been here? Five people jumped to mind: the legal attaché, RSO Todd, the consulate’s political officer, Detective Yang, and his bureau chief. Giving Yang and Todd the benefit of the doubt narrowed her choices to three: the legat, who worked out of Beijing and had minimal contacts in the Guangdong province; Yang’s chief, a potentially corrupt Chinese police official; and the PO, who—if Lory was correct—was Guangzhou’s CIA chief of station.
“Don’t trust anybody,” Lory said, confirming what Jordan already suspected. “Sit tight. I’ll call you right back.”
Minutes after the phone went dead, Jordan spotted the first gang member weaving his way through the crowd. He was easy to pick out. If the dragon tattoo spiraling his forearm and the bandana looping his neck weren’t enough, the parting of the crowd leaving him wide berth was a dead giveaway.
Jordan lifted her phone and snapped a picture. He turned and looked in her direction.
Hunkering down under the parasol, she kept track of him in her peripheral vision and texted the photo to the forensic lab in Kyiv. S
he considered processing it through the lab in Israel, but it was Lory’s case. Besides, no sense in depleting her own office budget when she knew she could trust Henry. With luck, he could help her ID the gangster, or at least tell her something about the tattoo. Until then, her best hope was anonymity.
Several more gang members entered the street, moving through the crowd and scattering people before them like schools of fish. Jordan stayed seated, feigning interest in her phone.
Finally, Lory called her back. “Todd is in the ICU. It doesn’t look good. Yang was checked out at the hospital for a possible head injury and then released. Can you find your way back to the consulate?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We’ve just received an official request from the director-general of the Public Security Department of Guangdong Province to stop our investigation into Kia Zhen’s activities in China. From here on out, the local police will handle the case. They will inform us when they learn something. Pack it up, Jordan. We’ve been benched. Your job is done.”
“But sir—”
He cut her off. “It’s not open for discussion. They view our investigation as a means for the U.S. to gather intel on China.”
“They think I’m spying?” Jordan wished she had some water. The Chinese had been known to execute spies.
“They haven’t gone that far, but we can’t afford to antagonize them. Not with what’s happening in the South China Sea. As far as the Chinese are concerned, they gave us our guy and got rid of a drug dealer. End of story.” An ice cube clinked into a glass, and it sounded like he was pouring a drink. “Just get back to the consulate, Jordan. We’re bringing you home on the first flight out.”
“I don’t think that’s smart.”
“It isn’t a choice.” Frustration infused his voice. She wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or the situation.
Jordan’s wet her lips. She needed to come clean about the fragment she’d taken from the PR Flight 91 crash site. She hadn’t intended to withhold information, but there had never been an opportunity to bring it up—until now.
“Agent Lory, there’s something I should have told you.” She described her find and told him what Henry had figured out.
“Go back to the beginning. Did I hear you right? Are you suggesting it was a Chinese weapon that brought down that plane?”
She understood his incredulity, but things were starting to take shape in her head. “Think about it, sir. The person McClasky brought out of the People’s Republic, the man claiming to be Kia Zhen, swore he had information of vital importance to our national security. It would make sense that the same information could be harmful to China.”
“Keep talking.”
“So who orchestrated the prisoner swap? Our government, the Chinese government, or the Triad? Probably not China, they would want to keep whatever Zhen or his replacement knew from reaching the U.S.”
“Motive to shoot down a plane.”
“Maybe the crash victim was a valuable asset the CIA needed to get home. What better way to smuggle someone out of China?”
“Another motive for China to shoot down the plane.”
“And what if you’re Zhen? Can you think of a better way to get the U.S. off your back than to fake your own death?”
“Are you suggesting the Triad had something to do with this?”
“They knew I was coming.”
“What are you proposing we do, Jordan?”
“First we have to find Zhen. Then we need to figure out who the actual victim was and why he was on the plane. And let’s not forget the men who ambushed the transport. They were Russian.”
“I don’t get where you are going with this.”
Jordan puffed out a breath. He still hadn’t connected the dots. “The Russians. The Chinese. It takes a pretty big gun to shoot down a plane.”
She heard him set his glass the down hard as the ramifications sank in.
“Shit. You’re thinking this has something to do with a weapons deal.”
“Bingo.” From the noise, Jordan figured he’d spilled his drink. “What is Zhen accused of stealing?”
“Sit tight, Jordan. I’ll call you right back.”
Famous last words, she thought when the line went dead. Slipping the cell phone into her purse, she folded up the parasol, stood, and stretched. He’d deflected her question, and she’d been sitting so long, her muscles were stiffening up from the fight in front of the restaurant. Plus she was beginning to draw curious stares. As the sun moved low in the sky, neon lights had flared on, creating the illusion of a Chinese Times Square where tourists and locals congregated once the night descended.
Jordan knew one thing for sure. She needed to get off this street.
Pulling up a map on her phone, she headed down a narrow side street toward the nearest place she might find a taxi. Hemmed in on both sides by tall buildings and vendors manning pushcart stands, she felt slightly claustrophobic, amplified by the feeling of being watched. She glanced back over her shoulder and felt her heart skip a beat. She wasn’t being paranoid. Nye Davis stood talking to a vendor two kiosks back.
Quickly she reversed directions, moving with the crowd until she was up in his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”
A woman behind her pushed her hard, and she found herself slamming against his chest. He steadied her and pulled her out of the pedestrian traffic.
“Nice running into you, too.”
She took a step back. “Cut the crap, Davis. Why are you following me?”
He held his hands wide. “Let’s just say I’m intrigued.”
“How did you even know where I was?”
“I have contacts.”
They had to be good. Only a handful of people knew she had left Ukraine. “You need to back off. This situation is dangerous.”
“I get that.” He jerked his head in the direction of Shangxiajiu Street. “I considered jumping into the fray back there, but you handled yourself like a pro.”
“It’s my job.” Though, clearly she’d lapsed in employing her observational skills. How had she not noticed him sooner? “Where were you when that went down?”
“The café across the street from the restaurant. I was trying to find out who you were meeting with. I recognized Todd from my research, but who was the guy she introduced you to?”
Worried someone might overhear their conversation, Jordan looped her arm through his and leaned in close. “Let’s walk.”
He duplicated her visual sweep, then pulled his arm free and draped it across her shoulders like they were a couple. “Why not?”
Turning around, they headed back along the street. She had to admit it was the perfect cover. Anyone searching for her would be looking for a lone American woman, not one half of a duo out for a stroll. Yet it bothered her how safe she felt in the circle of his arm. “Why so much interest in what I do?”
“Like I told you back in Kyiv, you look like a girl with a story.” When she tensed, he hugged her closer. “It’s true, Agent Jordan. Every other journalist I know is camped outside IIC headquarters. They’re all being fed the same cock-and-bull story. I chose to follow a hunch. I think you know something we’re not being told. And from what happened at lunch, it’s clear I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
As much as she wished for a confidant, a Reuters reporter didn’t fit the bill. Anything she said would be fodder for his reports. So for the second time, she fed him the party line. “I’m only here tying up loose ends.”
“Like finding out what your dead agent or Kia Zhen knew that got PR Flight 91 blown out of the sky?”
How did he know about Zhen? His name hadn’t been officially released. “I told you before, the crash is being ruled an accident. McClasky didn’t know any—”
Davis spun her toward him, gripping both of her shoulders tightly. “Don’t play me for a fool, Agent.”
“Lower your voice and let go of me, now,” Jordan said.
Davis dropped his hands. �
�Sorry, Agent Jordan, I—”
“Shhhhh.” She glanced around to see if anyone was watching them. “Drop the job title. Call me Jordan or Rae.”
“Okay, Rae. Why not play straight with me? We both know there’s a story in here. Maybe we can help each other, maybe we can—”
Her phone rang. It was Lory.
“Hold that thought,” she said.
Raising a finger, she stepped away and answered the call.
“I’ve taken this up line, Jordan. The consul general was unavailable, so I spoke with the ambassador in Beijing. He says you need to come in. The director agrees. With the tension in the South China Sea, the trade alliances, and China’s dumping of steel, the diplomatic situation is touchy at best. No one feels we can afford to ruffle feathers right now, not based solely on conjecture. I’ve had Mary book you on a flight for Ukraine leaving tomorrow afternoon.”
“Any concern someone might try to shoot down my plane?” She hadn’t meant it to be funny, and he didn’t take it that way.
“Do you have a problem with that, Jordan?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” She knew she’d pissed him off. Too bad! Still, she chose her next words carefully. “My packing up and leaving without Zhen plays directly into somebody’s hands. Whoever that someone is, he doesn’t want us to find the kid. You’ve got to ask yourself why.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t want us to recover whatever it is Zhen stole, or maybe they still need him? The fact that the NSA is guarding the information on the espionage charges just backs up my theory.”
Lory fell silent. Maybe she was getting through.
“The police are looking for you, Jordan. They want to question you regarding what happened at lunch. If they get to you before you can get to the consulate, you will be detained. The ARSO is a little overwhelmed by what’s happened, so let me give you the PO’s cell number in case of emergency.”
She committed the number to memory. “What about Zhen?”
“We’ve been over this, Jordan. Let’s work on an extraction plan for you.”
“I understand your concern, Agent Lory. I’m just not sure we can afford to walk away. If Zhen sold the weapons plans, it may still be possible to retrieve them. If they’ve built prototypes, we need to destroy them.”
