Field felt the sweat prickle at his armpits.
“Lu’s routine during the day is always the same. He leaves the house at one o’clock and returns at between five and ten minutes past two.”
Field waited.
“You want me to go in there?”
“I want you to save yourself.”
“You want me to do it?”
“I want a life for us.”
Natasha stared at him, her eyes shining with loss and loneliness, with love and betrayal and insecurity and doubt.
She pulled Alexei’s head gently to her shoulder and stroked his hair with her fingers as she looked out of the window.
Field did not take his eyes from her face.
“It is big,” she said. “A dressing room, but also a study.”
“And that is on the floor above the place where you are told to wait?”
“Yes.”
“If you went in and said that he was expecting you, they would eventually send you up there?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone? Are there servants about? Would they stop you? Could you get up to the second floor if you were there alone?”
She didn’t answer.
“Tell me about the room where the ledgers are kept.”
“Clothes. Cupboards, always closed, with long mirrors. To the right, drawers, more clothes. Beyond that, a leather-topped desk . . . a light. Beneath, there is a silk curtain and behind that a safe.” Her voice seemed to come from somewhere far away.
“You saw the ledgers?”
“Two, yes, both open. Big.” She indicated their size with her hands. “Leather-bound. Many entries. Very, very small writing. And a pair of reading glasses beside them.”
“They are always there?”
“Yes. Lena also saw them. She began to take notes. The man she had been seeing told her about the shipments. The man told her that Lu paid off many people, in the police, in the council; that many were involved, many important people. You are right. She thought it would help her.”
“You saw names?”
“I think so.”
“Western names?”
“Yes.”
“Lewis?”
“I can’t be sure.”
Field swung around and rested his hands on the steering wheel. He looked at his watch, then pressed his foot on the low speed pedal and pulled out into the road. In the mirror he saw her continue to gaze sightlessly out of her window. Then she sat back, drawing her terrified nephew toward her once more.
Field drove back onto the Bund and brought the car to a halt outside the Cathay Hotel. He told them to wait and dashed inside. “Where’s the manager?” he asked brusquely, and as a Chinese man in a neat suit emerged from a room at the back, Field produced his identification. “I need to make a telephone call in private, urgently.”
The man looked around nervously before ushering him through a side door to the back office. Field pulled out the crumpled piece of paper that Chen had given him, and asked the operator to ring the number. It rang and a woman answered. Field asked for Chen and waited. He could hear the sound of children in the background.
“Who is it?”
“Chen, this is Field.”
There was a pause. “You should not be here.”
“I need you to tell me something. I pulled Lu’s surveillance notes from Registry. They said that he goes out to Nantao every day at one o’clock and returns an hour later. That’s what happened the other day, but I need to know whether his routine ever changes for any reason. Does he come back earlier? What does he do there? The notes say he conducts business from some tea—”
“Don’t do it, Field. Don’t risk it.”
“I have no choice.”
“You’re right. Get on a boat. Go home. Survive.”
Field paused. “I want more than just my own survival.”
