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Leaving the consulate, Alison sighed with relief. There was no telling when it came to the Japanese immigration office. She’d had to pay fines for overstaying her visa, and they’d even made her write a damn letter of apology. But she’d gotten a new visa, so all was good. Except for now she was stuck wearing a monkey suit and carrying a heavy briefcase. She hailed a cab back to her hotel.
Alison changed into her favorite no-iron travel pants and blazer. Businesslike enough to make a good impression at Green Space’s branch office but comfortable enough for sightseeing. She spread out on the hotel bed with her guidebook and Kiyoshi’s list of must-see places and planned her day.
First, she would stop by Green Space’s office, deliver the disk, chat a bit with the locals who would love her and tell Ms. Yamada that she had to give Alison a job. Or something like that.
After Green Space, she’d take in the sights of Hong Kong. She could visit the Tiger Balm Gardens or Victoria Peak, or — go shopping. Given her budget, she’d better stick to window shopping. But one never knew.
According to the guidebook, Hong Kong offered not-to-be-missed shopping bargains from clothes to cameras. The Silvercord Building housed nothing but computer stores selling hardware and software at rock-bottom prices.
Silvercord sounded interesting, but so did the backstreet clothing warehouses that abounded in Hong Kong. Alison decided to ride the Star Ferry across Victoria Harbor. The ferry departed from Kowloon Peninsula not far from her hotel and landed at Hong Kong Island. The short voyage would fulfill her self-imposed minimum sightseeing requirement, then she’d see what shopping adventures called to her.
Impatient passengers waiting to board crowded the entrance to the ferry on the Kowloon side of the harbor. At the ticket window, Alison opted to go first class — for less than twenty-five cents U.S. No wonder the room service guy had been full of smiles for her. She’d tipped him enough to buy at least thirty first-class round-trip tickets. Alison joined the odd mix of tourists, local people and business types all waiting for the ferry to start loading.
Finally, the gates opened to allow the first-class compartment passengers to board. A swell of bodies carried Alison forward like a piece of flotsam.
The ferry pushed off from the Kowloon peninsula with a heave and began its short voyage to the island of Hong Kong. Alison stood on the deck and watched as tiny fishing boats and a huge Chinese junk decked out with dramatic orange sails all plied the waterway with equal authority. A parade of centuries of seagoing history floated by.
Hong Kong was a working harbor. Not a coastal area that had been relegated to sightseeing and tourist attractions like San Francisco, but a harbor that was about serious trade and transportation. So what if the water looked a tad polluted, even gave off a trace odor of gasoline. People on the water had business to conduct and ports to call on.
In less than fifteen minutes, the ferry pulled into its berth on the Hong Kong Island side of the harbor. Caught in the riptide of people surging out of the ferry terminal, Alison paused on the street to take in her surroundings.
There was a palpable buzz in the air. With the regularity of a metronome, a steady stream of Mercedes limousines pulled up to towering international bank buildings and deposited business executives. Elegant Tai-Tai ladies toting shopping bags from Fendi, Dior and Valentino marched to the music. It was the buzz that infected Wall Street, the hum that was unmistakable in midtown Manhattan, the same vibration that was practically an undertone in Tokyo. The sound of money. Of money being made and money being sold. The music of commerce. Getting and spending. Alison could feel it animating the island like a heartbeat. Money. Money. Money.
She walked over to an array of bank booths displaying currency exchange windows. The money booths were as unremarkable as fast-food windows in a suburban shopping mall in the States. Yet here, at these windows, the world’s coin was being bought and sold at rates that flashed on screens in front of Alison’s eyes. Rates that changed with each monetary transaction in the financial centers of the world.
Being in this milieu made her think of Charles. Alison could feel the rush, feel what he must feel, knowing that he was one of the market makers in this international orgy of finance. This is the energy, almost a sexual energy, that Charles gets off on in his job.
She didn’t want to think about Charles now. This was her time, a chance to get her affairs in order. She’d straightened out her visa problem, and now she’d visit Green Space’s local office and deliver the disk.
She consulted the business card Yuko Yamada had given her and studied her map. Green Space’s office was seven blocks up the hill and five blocks over. Alison began the steep ascent and regretted not thinking ahead to bring her walking shoes.
At the top of the hill, she turned the corner and headed down two blocks. The retail business exteriors gave way to warehouses and manufacturing plants. Hardly a soul on the street. Where was the crush of humanity she’d experienced everywhere in Hong Kong and Kowloon?
Was she on the wrong street? Alison reconfirmed the address on the card. No, she was standing in front of the address where the branch office should be. But it wasn’t there. Nothing was there. The street numbers jumped over the Green Space address completely.
Alison examined the computer disk in the envelope from Ms. Yamada to see if there was an address. The disk’s label was blank. Alison chided herself for not having asked the concierge for directions, for not having had a cab drop her off. In Hong Kong, she was back in an English-speaking territory, on relatively solid ground compared to Tokyo, and had set out with a certainty that she’d find the place, no problem. Wrong.
She would try one more block. Her frustrating experiences getting lost in Japan had taught her that addresses in Tokyo were at best creative suggestions as to what general area you wanted to go to. Maybe Hong Kong streets were equally jumbled.
She continued to tread down the broken sidewalk. Alison could hear footsteps behind her. Good, she could ask the person where the Green Space address was.
She turned around. A young guy, maybe twenty-five years old, in jeans and a Chicago Bulls T-shirt, was walking her way. Alison waved.
“Excuse me.” The man advanced but did not respond. Alison held up her map. “Can you help me find an address? I’m looking—”
The man picked up speed and torpedoed right for her. Alison stood immobile. Too stunned to react quickly, too surprised to move. The man tackled her to the ground, grabbed the envelope she was carrying for Yuko Yamada and fled down the street.
31
“I told you. It was a CD. A disk for a computer.” Could the cop really be as dim-witted as he seemed?
There wasn’t much hope of recovering the disk, but it would be prudent to get a police report in case Ms. Yamada needed one. Alison had wanted to impress Yamada, but now she’d managed to lose the computer disk she’d been entrusted with. Ms. Yamada would be impressed, all right. Impressed by Alison’s ineptitude.
“What kind of data was on the disk?” The young policeman’s uniform looked too clean, too new, too unsullied. And what was with that beret posed on the side of his head? Altogether too jaunty. Then Alison recalled Tiananmen, remembered what the Chinese police could do if challenged. But this was Hong Kong. It wasn’t exactly China. Yet.
“I don’t know. I was carrying it for a friend.” Alison massaged her knee.
“You don’t know what was on the computer disk?” The ferret-faced policeman taking down the report all but blew his cigarette smoke in Alison’s face. Alison waved the air in front of her and gave a little cough. Maybe the jerk would get the message.
“Like I said, I was dropping the disk off.”
“Where is your copy of the disk?”
“I don’t have a copy. I’ll say it again. I was walking down the street, looking for the address for Green—” Oh. Now she got it. She was the dim-witted one. Dense, Alison, dense. Ms. Yamada had said that Green Space had enemi
es around the world, that sometimes the government was working against Green Space. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come running to the police.
“The address for who?” The cop puffed on his cigarette while he stared at Alison through narrowed eyes.
“I’m sorry, what were you asking me?”
“Who were you looking for? Where were you going with the disk?”
“I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time, officer. I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Alison stood up to go.
“Sit down, miss.”
The policeman’s tone surprised Alison. She sat.
“I asked you who were you going to meet?”
“A friend. A friend from law school.” Maybe the cop would back off if he knew she was a lawyer, on his side. Sort of. “A friend of mine from law school is visiting Hong Kong. From Australia. And we thought we could meet, catch up. Before her plane took off. I’m sure she’s already gone by now. The disk was for her.” Alison wished she were more skilled at making up convincing lies on the fly.
“What was on the disk?”
“Vacation pictures, I think. I’m sure it’s nothing important. Sorry to bother you.”
Alison got up. This time the cop didn’t try to stop her. She took the opportunity to bolt out of the police station. They couldn’t arrest her, could they? She was the one who had come in looking for their help. Even so, she checked behind her to make sure no one was following her as she hurried down the street.
32
Alison caught the Star Ferry to the Kowloon side of the harbor and returned to her hotel room. Reflexively, she glanced at the telephone’s message light, but there was no red light flashing. The hotel operator apparently was on the case doing as she had directed, holding all calls and faxes to her room.
Charles still hadn’t called. Even if the hotel operator had blocked his call, he knew her cell number. Maybe he was giving her time to clear her head. Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move and apologize. He could wait. She didn’t feel like revisiting old, depressing issues. Especially while on vacation in an exotic new city.
She hunted through the business cards in her wallet and used her cell phone to call Ms. Yamada at Green Space in Tokyo. Alison gnawed on her cuticle while the long-distance call rang. How could she explain to Yamada that her precious cargo hadn’t made it to its destination without blowing her chances of getting a job with Green Space?
The phone clicked into a recorded message. The electronic voice of a woman blathered on about something or another in Japanese, Alison had no idea what. While she was waiting for the phone to beep so that she could leave a message, the call disconnected.
Maybe the office was closed. She’d try again tomorrow. Alison wasn’t in any big hurry to pass on the bad news of her botched delivery attempt.
She stripped off her dirty clothes, noticing that she’d torn a hole in the knee of her pants when that punk knocked her down. And she’d really liked those pants. The jerk. She took a hot shower to revive herself.
Rays from the setting sun beamed low in Alison’s hotel room window. Now was the optimal time to visit the hotel’s cocktail lounge. Kiyoshi had said that its view was not to be missed.
She changed into a cobalt blue Issey Miyake pantsuit, an architectural accordion of pleats that defied wrinkling, pinned up her hair, and slipped on sandals. Into her evening bag went Kiyoshi’s list of restaurant recommendations and her guidebook, hidden behind a paper cover. She didn’t want to look too much like the tourist she was.
Alison rode the elevator to the lobby and walked to the lounge. Not seeing any host, she seated herself at a small table next to the soaring floor-to-ceiling wall of windows, which presented a panoramic view of Hong Kong.
The cityscape had captivated Alison during her Star Ferry voyage to get her visa. But now, at dusk, the skyscrapers’ sparkling lights danced against a shadowy backdrop of mountains and cast a watery reflection in the sea. Even at this hour, vessels large and small traversed the harbor.
The view of San Francisco from Sausalito was picturesque. On a clear day. When there wasn’t any fog. But this larger-than-life IMAX display of the Hong Kong harbor was spectacular. Alison took mental pictures so that she wouldn’t forget. Maybe she’d even break down and buy some postcards. Just like a tourist.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” A waiter materialized beside Alison’s table and jolted her from her reverie. He was holding a cordless phone. “Are you Miss Alison Crane?”
“What is this about?” The muscles in her stomach tightened as she glared at the handset.
“The concierge has forwarded a call for you.” The waiter placed the phone on Alison’s table and departed before she could stop him.
She was settling in to enjoy an evening by herself, but barely a moment had passed before it started again. He started again. The intrusions, the unrelenting assaults. But maybe it wasn’t the freak. Not all the way here. It might be Charles. There was only one way to know. She steeled herself and picked up the handset.
“Hello.” There was no sound from the other end of the phone. “Who is this?” Silence. Alison hung up the phone and gestured for the waiter. “Would you please remind the front desk that I don’t want any phone calls. None. Not in my room, not in the lobby. No calls. Can you do that?”
“I’m very sorry, ma’am.” The waiter removed the handset. He stood staring at his feet, looking dejected. “May I get you something to drink, ma’am?”
All Alison had wanted was to relax, enjoy herself and not think about the shit she’d been dealing with in Tokyo. But she didn’t need to unload her anger on this guy who was just doing his job. She’d leave him a good tip.
“Thank you. What kind of champagne do you have by the glass?”
“We have Dom Perignon, Perrier-Jouët, Mumm’s, Krug—”
“A glass of Perrier-Jouët, please.”
In a few minutes, the waiter set a champagne flute in front of Alison, popped the cork on a bottle of Perrier-Jouët and poured a sample. Alison tasted the champagne and nodded her approval. The waiter pulled up an ice-filled bucket on a tall stand and parked the bottle of champagne in it. He turned to walk off.
“Excuse me,” Alison called after him. “I just wanted one glass of champagne, not a—”
“The gentleman ordered a bottle for the table.” The waiter bowed and retreated toward the kitchen.
Gentleman? What gentleman? Alison’s teeth clenched. She remembered yet another reason why she didn’t like drinking alone in hotel bars. Unsolicited offers were an annoyance.
An even more worrisome thought entered her mind. Could it be that techno-geek who was hounding her? He had said in his fax, “Let’s meet in Hong Kong.”
She looked around to see who might be the man who had her in his crosshairs. With a scowl to ward off any potential hopefuls, she scanned the lobby bar.
Several couples enjoyed the harbor view. A smattering of tourists laughed. No one was looking her way, no one at all. What the hell. After the day she’d had, she needed a drink. Or drinks.
Alison lifted the delicate crystal flute to her lips and drained the glass. The waiter was nowhere in sight for a refill, so she reached into the ice bucket to retrieve the bottle.
A man’s hand locked over Alison’s. “I’ll get that,” he said.
33
Alison swung around, ready to fight. “I don’t need any—”
In front of her stood a quietly attractive Japanese man, tall, athletic build. Black hair shot with silver. The man smiled. His eyes looked like they were accustomed to laughing.
“Hajimemashite, Alison-san. I’m Kiyoshi.”
Alison sat, speechless.
“From online?”
Alison laughed. “Kiyoshi? Really? What are you doing here?” She held out her hand, and he shook it firmly. She liked his grip, the warmth of his skin.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not. Sit.”
Alison was unexpectedly
tongue-tied. She hadn’t recovered from how much she was immediately attracted to this man. His stylish charcoal gray suit — Armani? Brioni? — showed off his broad shoulders. And in his face, she saw an earnestness as well as an openness that she found disarming. Altogether a one-two knockout punch.
“I was sitting at my desk in Kobe, and I thought that better than faxing you a list of places to visit in Hong Kong, I could show them to you. If it’s all right …”
“Of course it’s all right. I’m mildly shocked, is all. You scared me.” Alison gestured to the waiter. He brought over a champagne flute for Kiyoshi and filled it.
“Scared?” Kiyoshi asked. “How did I scare you?”
Alison shook her head as if to erase her words. She’d had plenty of scares that day. The threatening fax. The mugging on the street. The mysterious phone call.
But now, all she wanted was to enjoy meeting her new friend. Her handsome, online friend. And in such a magical setting, she didn’t want to think about her mishaps. And she certainly didn’t want to think about Charles.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“I got in this afternoon.”
“I hope this doesn’t screw up your work schedule.”
“No, nothing I can’t handle. Have you been to the consulate?”
“I went this morning. Breezed in, got my visa, and breezed out. No problem.”
Alison and Kiyoshi clinked champagne glasses and settled back in their chairs, watching the sun set while the lights came up over the harbor.
After a few moments of silence, Alison said, “This view is mesmerizing. Thanks for the recommendation.”
“It’s one of my favorite spots,” Kiyoshi said. “So, what about dinner? Do you have plans, or can I take you on an adventure?”
“I don’t have any plans, but I don’t know if I’m ready for an adventure.” She didn’t want to tell Kiyoshi that the jerk from online was providing all the adventure she could stomach.
“What’s the matter, Alison? Don’t you trust me?” Kiyoshi laughed, one part chuckle and one part cough.
Tokyo Firewall: a novel of international suspense Page 15
