“I almost forgot this,” Shelly said, barging into the room unannounced. She handed the picture to Peter, who stared at the intruder with disdain. He was just starting his morning routine and didn’t like to be interrupted until he was done. He dismissed Shelly with a flick of the wrist and read the note attached to the picture. He stared at the picture of Chow Ying, an unforgettable figure from the not-so-distant past, and read the small digital signature across the bottom of the photo that stated the time, date, and location of the shot. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and perused the details on the police-issued business card. The connection was lost on him. Why in God’s name would a D.C. Police detective provide him with a photo of Chow Ying? And why was Chow Ying standing in front of an ATM two blocks away from Winthrop Enterprises?
Peter stewed for a few minutes before yelling out the door. “When was this picture dropped off?”
“Sometime earlier this week,” the receptionist answered.
“
“You’re fired,” he half-shouted, not sure if he meant it.
Peter did what any irrational person would do in his position. He started worrying about himself. He didn’t believe in coincidences. The only rule to coincidences was that there weren’t any.
“Mr. Chang, please,” Peter said, his ear on the phone, his eyes on the clock on the wall, his mind calculating the local time in Beijing.
“Mr. Chang has retired to his quarters for the night.”
“Please, wake him up. Tell him it is Peter Winthrop. Tell him it’s important.”
Peter tapped his sterling silver pencil on a pad of paper while he waited. “Mr. Winthrop,” C.F. Chang said with a surprisingly spry voice for someone who had supposedly been in bed.
“Mr. Chang. Sorry to disturb you so late.”
“Not a problem, not a problem. If one wants to play on the international scene, one has to make certain accommodations for the time difference.”
“True. Very true. And how are things on the international scene, Mr. Chang?
“Good.”
“Working the angles as always?”
“Of course,” C.F Chang answered with a pretentious laugh.
“Would Chow Ying be one of your angles?” Peter asked, taking off the gloves.
“Chow Ying? I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Winthrop.”
“Sure you do. Chow Ying is here in D.C. Please don’t insult my intelligence by telling me you didn’t know. A man of power like yourself. A man in your position.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but I still don’t know what you are referring to. I was under the impression that Chow Ying was in Saipan.”
“Well, he’s not. He is right here in D.C. And do you know how I know this?”
“Mr. Winthrop, I am afraid that…”
“The D.C Police left a picture of Chow Ying with my receptionist, Mr. Chang. The D.C. Metropolitan Police.”
The words sunk into C.F. Chang like a needle slipping into the side of a balloon. Images of walking into the Oval Office and shaking hands with his close personal friend, President Day, started to fade. C.F. Chang had no idea how Chow Ying had ended up in a police photo. But as a long-term asset, Chow Ying’s value had reached complete depreciation.
“Chow Ying works for my son, Mr. Winthrop…”
“Very well, then. I will leave you with this thought. I hope, for your sake, that Chow Ying is here on vacation, Mr. Chang.”
“Mr. Winthrop. Your American bravado is surprising. You are so well cultured. So worldly. You should know better.”
“Mr. Chang, fuck ‘cultured.’”
“Let us not lose our professional decorum,” C.F. Chang said. “But if we are going to be rude, I will leave you with a thought of my own. Don’t ever threaten me, Mr. Winthrop. Ever.”
Peter wasn’t through. “In our last conversation I spoke of a particular employee that I was trying to locate.”
“As I recall.”
“Well, I believe this particular employee may put you in the position to have the undivided attention of a certain member of the U.S. Senate.”
“Mr. Winthrop, as you know, I pay a lot of money to have the attention of a lot of members of Congress. It is good business. Campaign contributions and lobbying are the only forms of bribery your country allows.”
Peter inhaled audibly through his nose. “Let me ask the question another way. How many other employees do you have working for you that are currently carrying the child of a U.S. Senator?”
C.F. Chang almost dropped the phone.
“Would holding the unborn child of a U.S. Senator for ransom be legal as well?”
C.F. Chang forced a transparent laugh. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Winthrop.”
“I’m going to make this very easy on you. I want in. I don’t care about the girl. But having a senator in
“Yes, well, just the same, I’m afraid your proposal is based on inaccurate information. Someone has misled you. You have reached conclusions on Senator Day that just aren’t true.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Chang.”
Both men were afraid of the other. In a city where he had congressmen on speed dial, Peter Winthrop could squeeze C.F. Chang’s political veins. With equal ease, C.F. Chang could put a stranglehold on Winthrop Enterprises in Asia. It was a fight neither man wanted. C.F. Chang knew he was caught. Peter knew that C.F. Chang could make Wei Ling disappear with a snap of his fingers. If both men held their positions, it was a stalemate.
Until Chow Ying completed his task.
“Good night, Mr. Chang.”
“Have a good day, Mr. Winthrop.” ***
Peter called out to his secretary, who was still at her post, ignoring the verbal offer for her walking papers. “Is Jake in yet?” he asked as she popped her head into the room.
“No, he said he was taking a few days off. Something to do with getting ready for school.”
“Nice of you to tell me.”
“There is a sticky note to this effect in the pile of mail and messages on your desk.”
Peter moved the mound of paper around, sneering at the communication gumbo. “You and I need to talk about how to run an office.”
He dug for his cell phone and punched the autodial key for Jake’s number. C.F. Chang was up to no good. Peter sure as hell knew that Chow Ying hadn’t suddenly taken the urge to travel the globe. It was a game of chess, and Peter called his son to check on one of his pieces. ***
The ringing phone in his pocket startled him. Chow Ying put his plate of fried eggs on the table, fork tumbling onto the floor. He arched his frame on the sofa, couldn’t get his hand in his pocket, and stood.
“Hello,” he answered in standard Chinese.
“Chow Ying.”
The Mountain of Shanghai immediately recognized the voice.
“Laoban.”
“You should have completed your job by now.”
“There have been complications.”
“I don’t want to hear about your complications.”
“Mr. Winthrop is a hard target to reach. He travels, works in a secure building, has a driver. He’s never alone. He lives in a secure neighborhood. Very remote. I don’t have a car and I can’t rent one without creating a paper trail.”
“Take a taxi.”
