“What?”
“I just wish we knew who took the family.”
It was Saturday, noon, when the call came. He was at home, having just finished a late breakfast with Sung Hui, who was turning on the television. He had spent so long looking westward that when the clerk from the Third Bureau, which dealt with the territories of Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan, said, “Comrade Colonel, we’ve come across one of your foreigners,” Zhu assumed he was calling about someone in Germany or Saudi Arabia. Perhaps it wasn’t even that he’d been looking westward, but that he’d spent the morning watching Sung Hui, wondering about Milo Weaver’s missing wife over in America. Either way, it was a surprise when the clerk on the line said, “You put a flag on Sebastian Hall, American. He’s about to land in Hong Kong. Would you like us to hold on to him?”
A gift from heaven. Alan Drummond was coming to him.
“Let him pass through, but put at least six men on him. Don’t lose him.”
“Understood.”
Two hours later, he was told that Sebastian Hall-a Caucasian man who fit Alan Drummond’s description-had checked into the Peninsula Hotel, room 212. He was dwelling on his pleasure when he received another call, this one from Sun Bingjun. “Xin Zhu,” he said slowly, sounding like he already had a few drinks in him, “Wu Liang just gave me some interesting news.”
“Yes?”
“He tells me Alan Drummond is in Hong Kong.”
How information traveled. “It’s true, Comrade Lieutenant General. He’s in a room in the Peninsula.”
“So you’ll be arresting him?”
“I’m not sure I will.”
“Good. I was going to suggest we take care of this more quietly.”
“Not that either,” Zhu said, for he didn’t want Alan Drummond dead. Not at this point, at least.
“Then what are you planning to do, Xin Zhu?”
It took him a moment to think it through, watching his wife smiling vaguely at something on television, but Sun Bingjun was waiting. He hated making decisions like this. “Alan Drummond expects us to detain him, or to attack him. Thus, we will do neither.”
“Are you sure, Xin Zhu? This could be your only chance to clean up your mess.”
“I understand that, comrade, but if we kill him, nothing will be cleaned up. If we arrest him, we’ll be forced to play the game the way he wants us to play it. No. The only solution is to wait and watch.”
“Maybe he wants to talk.”
“In that case, he can pick up the phone. He knows how to get in touch with me.”
Sun Bingjun said nothing.
“I’ve already recalled some agents from America. They’re familiar with the situation. In the meantime, I’ll send Shen An-ling with some men to assist the Third Bureau’s surveillance.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Xin Zhu.”
“So do I, Sun Bingjun.”
“And if you need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you, Comrade Lieutenant General,” Zhu said, thinking that things, finally, were turning his way. “Let’s hope I don’t need anything.”
3
Using the passports from the hotel, Milo and Leticia took a Cathay Pacific flight that left Jeddah at two ten, landing in Dubai to let off and take on more passengers before continuing on to Hong Kong International. While they sat on the tarmac in Dubai, Leticia checked her phone, read a message, then walked to the rear of the plane to make a call. When she returned, she had removed her abaya, and Milo got the sense that something else had changed as well. It wasn’t until they were a couple of hours from Hong Kong, nine hours into their journey, that she said, “By the way, Milo. Your father’s dead.”
She’d chosen an ideal moment, when his eyes were closed and he was starting to fade into sleep, but he used that to deflect, moaning, “Huh?”
“Your father,” she said. “Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Primakov. He’s dead.”
He snapped open his eyes and pulled back from her, glaring. It was the only thing he could think to do. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She was watching him so closely. “Milo, I don’t know how many ways I can keep saying it.”
“Says who?”
“Says Dorothy, that’s who. Homeland Security knocked down your door on Thursday night and found your dad’s body.”
He blinked. “What? In my- wait. What about Tina and Stephanie? Were they there when this happened?” He was trying to measure out the hysteria in his voice. “Did they see this?”
Quickly, Leticia shook her head. “No, they’re fine. Don’t worry about them. They were at a restaurant.”
Relief-just a touch for show-then confusion. “I don’t get it. Homeland was there? Why?”
“You tell me.”
“And who killed Yevgeny? Why was he in the apartment?”
“How’m I supposed to know?”
He put on his thinking face. “Call her back. Now. Tell her she has to protect my family.”
“Already done, Milo.”
“What does that mean?”
“She told me that they moved your ladies to a safe house uptown. They’re fine,” she said, and he marveled at how easily she could spin a lie. “What they don’t understand is who offed your dad. Any ideas?”
“Let me out.”
“What?”
He began to stand. “I said, let me out. Now.”
She got up so he could step into the corridor, then settled back down, looking up at him. He played up his anxiety, for it was the one true emotion he needn’t hide. He said, “You can thank Alan Drummond for it. Alan Drummond and Dorothy Collingwood and Nathan-fucking-Irwin. Even you, Leticia.”
“Ain’t none of us pulled that trigger,” she said, a touch of insult to her voice.
“We both know who pulled the trigger,” Milo said, “and he wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for all of you.” He looked as if he were going to spit on her, and, at that moment, talking himself through the emotions all over again, he nearly did spit on her. He held back, though, and decided to push her into a corner. “Call her back. I want to talk to them.”
“To your family?”
“They’ll want to hear from me.”
Leticia shrugged. “I’ll call, see what I can do,” she said, but for the rest of the flight, she didn’t take out her phone.
By the time they landed in Hong Kong it was six o’clock Sunday morning, and they’d spent eleven hours on the plane. Milo had taken some of Leticia’s Adderall-she’d gotten a refill in Jeddah-and he was alert as he showed his Canadian passport to a uniformed man with quick, efficient movements. Leticia went through a different line, and as Milo walked alone through the glittering airport, speculating on everything, he noticed a short man in cheap civilian clothes approaching him, catching his eye. As he neared, the man turned his left hand to reveal a cell phone nestled in the palm. Milo opened his right hand. As they passed each other, he accepted the phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
The phone didn’t ring, and by the time he met Leticia under the futuristic awning over the taxi station, where a steady South China Sea breeze cleared away cigarette smoke, he felt a pressure in his chest waiting for a call to come. Leticia grabbed one of the red taxis that went into the city center, and he climbed in after her, sitting behind the driver. “The Peninsula,” she told the driver. He hoped they were being watched, for a call from Zhu while sitting beside Leticia Jones would be worse than a disaster.
