It didn’t ring, and as they crossed bridges and passed expanses of water, finally sinking into the knot of claustrophobic towers, he tried to get straight in his head the various people he was dealing with here. Zhu, watching from a distance. Leticia and, by extension, Collingwood, Irwin, and Jackson, were close enough to touch. Somewhere, Erika Schwartz’s people were working with Alexandra and her United Nations people. In a crowded city like Hong Kong, with so many hands on the wheel, things could go very wrong.
He wondered what Leticia really knew. Had Collingwood told her the truth about his family, that they had disappeared, or had she lied to Leticia? Was it possible that Leticia believed what she’d told him?
He thought of his sister. Sister. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d faced off with Alexandra, nor that Yevgeny had had the gall to hire her for his agency. She, he suspected, was the assistant that their father had said did not want to take over his job. Who would?
And then a part of him, the tiny, wiggling, panicked mortal who lives inside all of us, even Tourists, wondered what would happen if Leticia’s phone rang and she said to him, “Here you are, Milo-you can talk to your wife.” What if Leticia was on the side of the angels?
The Peninsula Hotel, with its looped drive that in itself seemed a luxury on this crowded island, was bustling with activity when they got out of the taxi. Leticia smiled at the doorman who let them in, and it was in the creamy colonial lobby that Leticia finally leaned close to Milo’s ear and said, “Alan’s in 212. We’re here to get him.”
“Extract him?” Milo asked, looking around the bustling space. Faces of many colors and shapes floated around.
“Something like that. He’s been a pain in our asses for too long,” she said, striding toward the elevators.
Milo felt frustrated by her rush, and by the mix of nationalities. What did he really expect to see? Men hiding behind newspapers? Women waiting for dates who were never going to come? Perhaps, but the most useful way to approach any entrance was to begin by suspecting everyone and everything. Then he saw it, against one of the many squared columns.
Milo caught her arm. “Wait.”
“What?”
There, a large Chinese man, big boned, a black mole on the cheek, sitting in one of the thronelike chairs scattered throughout the lobby, actually thumbing a newspaper. “Not now,” he told her. “We’re being watched.”
“We’re always being watched,” she said, and pulled out of his grip, heading forward.
He jogged to catch up and grabbed her elbow. “Brooklyn,” he whispered. “I recognize one of them from Brooklyn. At my daughter’s school.”
That got her attention. “Well, it’s a popular hotel.”
“No,” he said. “He was only there a couple of days. Said he was a father, but no one saw him with a child.”
Leticia stared a moment into Milo’s eyes, then relaxed. If the Chinese had brought someone over from America who had already been watching Milo, then they’d likely do more than just watch the two of them take Alan away. “Okay, baby. Let’s go somewhere else.”
The modern Kowloon Hotel sat on a crowded stretch of the Middle Road, opposite the rear of the Peninsula. They installed themselves in a seventh-floor room, and then Leticia brought him into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Quietly, she asked him to explain himself one more time, which he did. Why did he remember this man’s face? “He was suspicious.” Did he think this man was connected to the murder of his father? “I strongly suspect it,” Milo said coldly, not bothering to mention that the man’s name was He Qiang and that he had kidnapped his family, the family that Leticia had told him was safe. Instead, “Are you planning to kill Alan?”
She took a breath, and the moisture from the shower made her skin glisten. She said, “A few days ago, he was spotted in upstate New York. Got away, but he’s definitely up to something. It’s our job to find out what, and for whom.”
“No suspicions?”
“Well, his wife’s disappeared, too.”
“We were looking for Penelope before I left.”
“By we, you mean you and your wife.”
“Yeah. Collingwood can ask Tina herself.”
She nodded at that, then bit her lower lip-that was a sign of.. of what? What did she really know about Tina and Stephanie?
“And while you’re at it,” he added, “remind her to let me talk to them.”
“You might want to get some rest,” Leticia said after a moment. “I’ve got to go see a guy about a thing. We’ll be having a guest soon.”
“Who?”
She turned off the shower and used a towel to pat her face dry.
Seven minutes after she left, a phone rang; it was the one he’d received in the airport.
“Yeah?”
Xin Zhu said, “What are you two doing in Hong Kong?”
“I’ve already made it clear that I want to speak to Tina. Is she with you?”
“I remember your demands, but I won’t be pushed into anything, least of all that. You’ll have to take my word that they’re in good health, but if you don’t work with me, they won’t remain that way.”
“A photo, then.”
“Mr. Weaver, they’ve only been gone three days-for you, four, because of time zones. There’s no need to crumble yet. Imagine that they’ve gone on a trip to see their family in… Austin, Texas, right?”
Milo didn’t answer.
“It’ll make you feel better. Trust me.”
It didn’t, but there was no point arguing. “We’re here to see Alan Drummond.”
“To what end?”
“To get him out of here.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s gone rogue.”
“You actually use words like that, don’t you?”
“It’s accurate,” Milo said.
“Do they know that he was once my agent?”
“I wouldn’t call him your agent, any more than I’d call myself your agent.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No, I don’t think they know about that.”
“Why is Alan in Hong Kong?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Milo said. “His wife is missing. If you don’t have her, then he’s put her somewhere safe. I suspect he’s here to kill you.”
“That would be a feat,” Zhu said.
“So is evading both the Guoanbu and CIA for two full weeks, while skipping around the world.”
“Point taken, Mr. Weaver. Please get rid of the phone, and I’ll be in touch again. Your friend is returning to the room.”
Dutifully, Milo took apart the phone and put the pieces under the mattress. He’d just lain down again and closed his eyes when the door opened. He sat up. Leticia walked in, not smiling, followed by a man in his early thirties, Latino, with a thin mustache on his long, dark face. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses. Before Leticia could speak, the man said, “Not much of a badass, is he?”
“Excuse me?” said Milo.
“The famous Charles Alexander.”
This wasn’t the only Tourist to mistake his checkered history for something glorious. There was no point arguing with the man, so he just said, “Hector Garza. Also known as Jose Santiago.”
“At your service.”
“Now all we need is Tran Hoang to round out the group. Is he still missing?”
“There’s a joke,” Leticia said, sounding impatient, “about two idiots with bad security in Hong Kong, but I can’t remember the punch line. Oh, that’s right! They end up dead. ” She turned and walked out of the room.
