across leather. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that Chen Song had drawn his Beretta from its holster and was gripping it in his right hand.
The situation apparently wasn’t desperate enough for Chen Song to feel any particular urgency.
“I don’t take orders from a hired man!” he snarled.
“Do as he says!” Chen Gui said, turning his head this way and that nervously. “We don’t have time to argue, and I don’t want to wind up in a Japanese jail! Keep an eye on the Fujianese, you fool!”
“But what if they pull up next to us?” Chen Song asked reasonably.
“We bail out of the car,” Manning replied. “It’s that simple. Then we get lost in the confusion.”
“And if we get separated?” Chen Gui wanted to know.
“Get on the rail system. Anywhere out of Narita, then phone me when you can. I’ll come and collect you as soon as I’m able.
Chen Gui merely sighed and tried to lean back in his seat and collect himself. He had started to sweat profusely.
Slowly, inexorably, the car drew nearer to the Terminal 2 parking garage. Manning jockeyed his car in and out of lanes, trying to give the following Fujianese the impression that he was headed for the departure level. Horns blared, and some drivers even shouted epithets. The noise volume grew when the following Fujianese emulated Manning, though far less artfully. Manning caught glimpses of the silver Camry in his car’s mirrors; the Fujianese were causing quite a stir, and Manning hoped that the airport police would take notice.
At last, they approached the car park ramp. Manning timed it just right, scooting past an airport shuttle bus and charging for one of the entry lanes. It would buy them a few moments, unless the Fujianese had an accident trying to follow. Manning pulled up to the gate and took a ticket; the gate lifted, and he accelerated into the parking garage, much to the consternation of the parking attendants. One of them waved Manning up to the second floor, which was his intention anyway.
“Chen Song, keep an eye out for our friends,” he ordered, accelerating up the ramp. “They’re not going to have much of a choice but to follow us.”
On the second level, more parking attendants waved Manning toward the third level. Manning ignored them and charged into the parking area, even though multilingual signs proclaimed it to be full. The parking attendants shouted and one of them trotted after Manning’s Legend for a few moments before decided it wasn’t worth it.
“Where are we going?” Chen Gui shouted. “There’s no room here!”
“Keep calm,” Manning insisted.
Chen Gui elected to do otherwise. “There, stop there!” he shouted, pointing at the elevators that would invariably lead to the departure area. They were clearly visible, painted in whites and blues, with a mural of a cartoon seal cavorting on the doors. Manning jerked the steering wheel to the left, tires screeching as he pulled the Legend down the lane. Each space was filled.
“Where are you going?” Chen Gui screamed.
“Do as my uncle says, you fool!” Chen Song added angrily. “Are you an incompetent?”
Manning jammed on the brakes, and the tires squealed again as the Legend came to an abrupt halt. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a key ring. He held it over his shoulder to Chen Song.
“Make yourself useful and get to that black Friendee.” Manning pointed to the late-model Mazda van, one of Japan’s more ubiquitous transports, the equivalent of a soccer mom ride in the United States. “Back it out so I can park this car in that space. Be quick about it.”
When Chen Song hesitated, Manning turned and threw the keys at him. “Hurry!
Chen Song swallowed loudly and took the keys. “But I can’t drive,” he said finally, an admission that cost him much face, given the circumstances.
Manning didn’t know whether he should slap the younger man or just shoot him and his uncle and get out of the entire situation.
“It’s an automatic,” he told Chen Song. “Just start it, put your foot on the brake, slide the shifter in the center to reverse, and back out. That’s all you have to do.”
Chen Song grunted and threw open the door. He ran to the black, square-shaped Friendee and tried to open the driver’s door. He dropped the car keys while fumbling with the lock, then finally opened the driver’s door. Manning put the Legend in reverse and backed up quickly, giving Chen Song a little extra room. He watched as Chen Song groped about the cabin awkwardly, then finally got the Mazda started. Seconds rolled by.
“Shall I get out?” Chen Gui asked nervously. His hand was already on the door handle.
“Sit tight.” Manning ran a hand through his dark brown hair. His scalp was moist with sweat and the muscles in his shoulders and back were tense.
The Friendee’s reverse lights flicked on, and the van suddenly lurched out of the space, its front tires chirping as they spun momentarily on the concrete. The Friendee pulled out and crossed the entire lane, tapping the rear bumper of another Mazda, setting off its car alarm. The horn blared and lights flashed. Chen Song looked almost panic stricken, but he had enough presence of mind to put the Friendee in drive and lurch into a right-hand turn, giving Manning enough room to park the Legend. Manning gunned the engine and did just that.
“Let’s go!” he said to Chen Gui as he threw open the driver’s door. Chen Gui needed no additional hastening, though he did find it difficult to exit the Honda while still wearing his seatbelt. With a whispered curse, his pudgy fingers fumbled with the release. The belt snapped free and retracted into its recess.
Manning ran for the Friendee and threw open the driver’s door, then yanked open the van’s sliding door, shoving Chen Gui into the passenger compartment. He then tugged Chen Song out of the driver’s seat with perhaps more force than was necessary; Chen Song fell to his knees. The Friendee lurched forward. Chen Song had left it in gear.
“For the love of God!” Manning jumped in and stomped his foot on the brake. The Friendee lurched to a halt.
“Get down on the floor, where you can’t be seen! Chen Song, get in and close the door, damn it!”
Chen Song struggled to his feet and leapt into the Friendee, driving his uncle to the floor.
“Aiyah! Get off of me, you oaf!” Chen Gui screamed in Chinese.
“Sorry, uncle!” Chen Song apologized, groping for the door. He found the handle, and yanked on it with all his strength. The door slid forward and slammed closed.
Tires squealed as the silver Camry crested the entry ramp. The Fujianese were driving a little too fast; the car rubbed paint against a cement support pillar.
“Stay down!” Manning ordered, dropping the Friendee into gear. Hanging from the mirror was a blue New York Yankees baseball cap; he slapped it on his head, then donned his sunglasses. He braced the Friendee’s steering wheel with one thigh and shrugged out of his jacket. It was the closest he could come to a disguise.
The car full of Fujianese slowed after brushing the cement pillar, and it now ambled down the parking aisle as the car’s occupants looked for Manning’s Legend. Manning accelerated toward the exit ramp slightly; the car alarm was still wailing, and it wouldn’t take long for it to attract the gang’s collective attention. Manning hoped they would find his car and spend a few moments milling about it before trying to actively reacquire their quarry.
By that time, Manning intended to be far, far away.
“I don’t understand, where are we going?” Chen Gui asked hotly. He was still lying on the floor before the second row of seats, right behind Manning. “Aren’t we getting on a plane?”
“Not from Narita,” Manning answered. He maneuvered the Bongo Friendee back onto the Shen Kuko Expressway, heading back in the general direction of Tokyo. He kept his speed centered around 80 kilometers per hour. Not terribly fast, but not terribly slow, either. He figured if the Fujianese were still on them, he’d find out soon enough.
“Then where are we going?” Chen Gui demanded.
“Haneda. And from there, you’ll go to Kansai, then onward to Dalian.”
