‘What? Which one do you mean?’
‘Precision landing. Central reservation. See you soon, old friend.’
Tu’s Silver Surfer had been designed as a two-seater with an ejector seat. Under the combined weight of five people, two of them massively obese, it shed some of its agility. It also became horribly cramped. They shifted Daxiong to the passenger seat and squashed in together behind him. Hopelessly overladen, the Silver Surfer took off with all the elegance of an arthritic duck. Jericho was surprised it could fly at all. Tu guided the machine over the uniform red-brown roofs of the residential complexes of Hongkou, crossed the Huangpu and headed for the northern shore of the financial district. Within view of the Yangpu Bridge lay the park-like gardens of the Pudong International Medical Center, a collection of weightless-looking glass cocoons, nestling in spruce gardens with artificial lakes, bamboo glades and secret pavilions. The renowned private clinic had been built only a few years previously. It represented the new, ‘natural’ Shanghai, based on plans which demonstrated that if you built something shaped like the neck of a brachiosaurus it might provide lovely views, but otherwise it created nothing but problems. (The ultimate example of architectural phallic delusion, the Nakheel Tower, also loomed half-finished above the now bankrupt city of Dubai, as if to confirm the platitude that the biggest guy isn’t the one with the longest. The monster had been planned to reach a height of 1400 metres. After just over a kilometre the work had been suspended; the architects, in their bid to climb to heaven, had been defeated by the banality of their concept; the casa erecta was ripe for inclusion in the book of heroic failures.) Structures like the interlocking cells of the Pudong International Medical Center came much closer to the demands of a metropolis that saw itself as a gigantic urban protozoon; its metabolism was based on neuronal interconnections rather than unfeasibly vast dimensions.
‘I know someone here.’
As ever when anything new happened in Shanghai, Tu was on intimate terms with people at the top, in this instance the head of surgery. After they had handed over Daxiong, the men had had a quiet chat. It ended with the assurance that Daxiong’s injury would be treated, with no questions asked. The giant had to be stitched up, and would have to get used to the idea of a nice smart scar. And he would be in pain for a while.
‘But there are things we can do about that,’ the surgeon said as he left, smiling reassuringly at everyone. ‘There are things we can do about everything these days.’
In private clinics, his expression added.
Jericho would have liked to ask what he planned to do about Yoyo’s pain over the loss of her friends, about Chen Hongbing’s emotional torment, and his own inner movies, but instead he just shook Daxiong’s hand and wished him all the best. The giant looked at him expressionlessly. Then he let go of his hand, stretched out his right arm and drew him to him. Jericho groaned. If Daxiong could hug you with a gaping wound in his back, he preferred not to know what declarations of love he was capable of in a state of perfect physical health.
‘You’re not so bad!’ said Daxiong.
‘My pleasure,’ Jericho grinned. ‘Be nice to the nurses.’
‘And you look after Yoyo till I’m out.’
‘Will do.’
‘So, see you tonight.’
Jericho thought he had misheard. Daxiong turned his head to one side as if any further discussion about his release were a simple waste of time.
‘Leave it,’ said Yoyo as she left. ‘I’m just glad he didn’t want to come with us straight away.’
‘And now?’ asked Chen Hongbing as they trotted back to the Silver Surfer. It was the first time he had said anything at all since they had left the park. His blank face, whatever hell had caused it, made him seem strangely uninvolved, almost uninterested.
‘I think there are some things I should explain to you.’ Yoyo lowered her head. ‘Except – perhaps not right now.’
Chen raised his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I don’t understand all this.’ His gaze wandered to Jericho. ‘But you’d—’
‘I found her,’ Jericho nodded. ‘Just like you wanted.’
‘Yes,’ Chen said slowly. He seemed to be wondering whether this was really what he had wanted.
‘I’m sorry about what happened.’
‘No, no. I’m the one who should be thanking you!’
That sounded exactly like the man who, two days ago – had it really only been two days ago? – had come into his office, conspicuous for his excessive formality. But lurking in the background there was also the question of how someone might seriously expect thanks for having set off on a simple missing-person job and come back with the Horsemen of the Apocalypse in hot pursuit.
Jericho said nothing. Chen said nothing back. Yoyo had discovered something fascinating in the sky. Tu paced about for a while among ferns, bamboo and black pines, and issued a stream of instructions into his phone.
‘So,’ he announced when he came back.
‘So what?’ asked Jericho.
‘So someone’s going to the Westin to collect your computer and the rest of your stuff and bring them to my place, where you’ll be living for the next little while.’
‘Oh. Fine.’
‘And I’ve organised two people to keep an eye on your loft in Xintiandi. Two more are on their way to Siping Lu. To clean up and stand watch.’ He cleared his throat and put his arm around Chen’s shoulders. ‘Of course we’ll have to ask ourselves, my dear Hongbing, what we will tell the police when they come to examine the state of your sitting room.’
‘That means we’re flying to your place?’ Yoyo concluded.
Tu looked at them all. ‘Does anyone have a better idea.’
Silence.
‘Anyone rather spend the night at home? No? Then excuse me.’
With a quiet hum, the Silver Surfer lifted its wing doors.
‘The highest are the wise,’ Jericho whispered as he climbed into the back seat.
Tu glared at him.
‘Those who are born wise,’ he said. ‘Get Confucius out of your head. I can do it better than you. Longnose!’
Without Daxiong, who counted as two, the flying machine swiftly gained altitude. Tu lived in a villa in a gated area, a fortress-like guarded compound in the hinterland of Pudong, surrounded by park-like areas of green. They landed right in front of the main building, peeled themselves from their upholstered seats and climbed a flight of steps leading to a porch with double doors.
One of the doors opened. An attractive Chinese woman with red-dyed hair appeared in the doorway. She was the complete opposite of Yoyo. Less beautiful, but more elegant in her appearance and, strangely, more sensual. A person with no gaps in her CV, who was used to having the world rotate around her. Tu greeted her with a hug and marched inside. Jericho followed him. The woman smiled and kissed him fleetingly on both cheeks.
‘Hi, Owen,’ she said in a sonorous voice.
Jericho returned her smile. ‘Hi, Joanna.’
Pudong
Tu had instructed Joanna to focus all her care and attention on Chen as soon as they got back. What he really wanted was for her to distract him for a while, a task which Joanna dedicated herself to fully. Steering the confused Chen into her palatial kitchen with the same uncompromising attitude as someone pushing a shopping trolley in front of them, she demanded to know what tea he preferred, asked whether he would like a sauna, a bath or a hot shower, where it hurt, what had happened, whether he would like some cold chicken from the fridge. He didn’t know how it had all ended up like that, the guy just suddenly appeared in the room with the gun, and oh God, how did he even get in, and oh, you’ve got scratches all over you, they could get inflamed, hold still, don’t argue, and so on and so forth. She didn’t have a clue what was going on, of course. But Joanna wouldn’t have been Joanna if that had been a problem. She exuded the bountiful aromas of her optimism, bathing Chen in confidence until he was ready to believe that everything would be okay, purely because she said so. Jericho had never met any other person with such powers of conviction that things would turn out fine, without having the faintest idea how. Joanna bluffed for all she was worth. In her world, the tail wagged the dog. Presumably Chen was convinced that he was having a conversation, or even that he had started it. Joanna had a way of driving a man in front of her in such a manner that he would swear it was her following him.