“And lost him,” the spy said, disgusted. “It is clear we botched the operation. We must have better people, General. The teams I sent covered only the main entrances of his hotel, assuming he was a stranger in our country, unfamiliar with the city, and therefore an idiot. He was obviously leaving and reentering the hotel other ways.”
“He’s been to Shanghai before?” Chu Kmu’rong was annoyed. “His records, and ours, did not indicate that.”
The major shook his head. “He must have had help.”
“Help? By one of our people? Impossible.”
“It’s the only answer,” Pan stated flatly. “Someone they’ve turned, most likely. But despite the help, after we received the authority to pick him up, my fools did finally use some common sense and surveil all entrances and exits. Still, they failed to see him reenter the hotel.
Fortunately, they had stationed a man inside in disguise. He’s the one who spotted Smith.” The general sighed with frustration, thinking, as he often did, that his budget for recruiting and training effective operatives was far too small. He sat forward on a straight chair, hovering like a giant bird of prey. His bald skull glared under the harsh fluorescent light, and his small, wind-sunk eyes bored into the major.
General Chu growled, “Then they lost Smith again?”
Major Pan related everything that had happened from the time his agents entered Smith’s hotel room tonight, discovered he had left everything behind including his clothes, and chased him through the subway and into the longtangs of the French Concession.
General Chu listened intently. When the major finished, he thought for a moment. “You still have no idea what this supposed scientist came to Shanghai to find or to do?”
“There’s no doubt of his scientific credentials. He is what he purports to be. The problem is what else he may be. While we don’t know yet why he’s here, some possible answers are starting to emerge.”
“What answers?”
“A series of events that — to my mind at least — suggests a pattern and direction.” Major Pan counted on his short, thick fingers: “One, a certain Avery Mondragon, a well-known American Sinologist who has been working in Shanghai for some years as a general representative of many American business endeavors, has disappeared. His associates report he’s been missing since early Wednesday.”
Chu hunched further toward Pan. “The day before Colonel Smith arrived in Shanghai?”
Pan inclined his head. “An interesting coincidence, wouldn’t you say?
Second, a cleaning woman in a downtown business building discovered a dead man in the office of Yu Yongfu, president and chairman of Flying Dragon Enterprises, an international shipping company with connections in Hong Kong and Antwerp. Third, the same Yu Yongfu and his wife also appear to be missing. At least, no one was in his mansion, and no cars were in his garage.”
“What do we know of him?”
The major indicated the dossier open on his desk. “This is his file. He is a young man who has come far fast and is now wealthy. That he’s the son-in-law of Li Aorong may help to explain that. Since Li is a prominent official in Shanghai, and?”
Chu was interested. “I know Li and his daughter personally. He is an old and honored Party member. Surely?”
“Nevertheless, the daughter and son-in-law seem to be missing, and the treasurer of her husband’s company is dead. In fact, shot to death. More coincidence?”
Chu sat up. “The dead man in the office was this treasurer? I see. That is interesting. Are we looking for Yu and his wife?”
“Of course.”
“And her father?”
“Li Aorong will be questioned in the morning.”
Chu nodded. “What else?”
“Another corpse has been found in a car at Hongqiao airport. A young man who was a tourist interpreter and chauffeur. Curiously, he studied for many years in the United States.”
“You’re suggesting he may have been someone who helped our Colonel Smith?”
“His photo has been identified by Peace Hotel employees. He was seen in the lobby earlier today after Colonel Smith checked in. To summarize: An American resident here disappears. The next day Colonel Smith arrives, the treasurer of a shipping company is murdered, the president of that company and his wife disappear, and an American-educated Shanghainese interpreter and chauffeur is killed the same night and found at an airport.”
“You have a theory?”
“Merely a possible scenario,” the major cautioned. “Mondragon discovered something about Yu Yongfu’s company he considered of importance to the Americans. Smith was sent to find out what Mondragon had discovered and retrieve it. Something went wrong. For whatever reason, the interpreter was assigned or employed to guide and interpret for Smith.”
“If you’re correct … there are those in this country who don’t want the Americans to have what Mondragon discovered.”
The spy inclined his head. “Indeed.”
The general reached into an inner pocket of the civilian Mao suit he wore tonight and removed a long, slender cigar. He bit off a piece of the tip, turned it as he lit it, and puffed one of his smoke rings.
“Did Colonel Smith get what he came for?” he asked.
“That we don’t know.”
“That is what we must know.”
“Agreed.”
Chu blew another ring. “If Smith did get it, he will attempt to leave the country.”
“I’ve covered all points of departure.”
“I doubt it. We have a long coastline, Major.”
“He isn’t on the coast.”
“Then you know what to do.” Another smoke ring, this one quicker. “And if he did not get what he wanted?”
“He’ll remain in Shanghai until he does.”
Chu Kuairong pondered. “No. In that case, he will also try to leave. His cover is blown; he will not be effective if he stays. He sounds too intelligent to try to use public transportation. Instead, he would be clever to arrange a private pickup on the coast. All we have to do is track him, roll up any American agents or assets who help him, stop him at his destination, and— with a measure of good luck — apprehend his rescuers as well as him.” The general puffed on his panatela, smiling at last. “Yes, that would be most agreeable. I leave it to you, Pan, to arrange it all.”
A piece of the wall moved. Dressed again in his black sweater, black jeans, and black soft-soled shoes, with his light backpack hanging from his shoulders, Jon waited where he could watch the section being pulled out open the entry into the hidden apartment. He held his Beretta behind him, waiting.
Asgar Mahmout stepped through and turned to help three solemn women who followed. Dressed in typical clothes — slacks and jeans, shirts and
blouses, sweaters and sweatshirts, one blazer — two carried makeup kits, the third a bundle of clothes. They were fairly tall and slender and had thick, shining black hair. The one holding the bundle of clothes was taller than the others, with a lean face. Her black hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck. There was a dimple on her chin, a half smile on her lips, and her cheekbones were prominent, sculpted. She was a beauty who knew it and seemed to find it amusing.
Two more men appeared, ducking in through the hole after the women.
Asgar glanced at them and nodded at Smith in greeting. “I see you put on your work clothes.”
“Thought it wise.”
The tall, beautiful woman was wearing the blazer over a sweatshirt and jeans. She looked Jon up and down. “Is that the latest fashion for men in Washington?” she asked in clear, American-accented English. The half smile grew broader.
“Only for secret agents on a mission.” He smiled back.
