“I will,” I assured her before hanging up.
Zhang Daiyu was busy on her phone sending texts.
“Most of the team already know about the office,” she remarked without looking up. “The authorities want us to come in for questioning.”
“How do you feel about that?” I asked.
“I think this would be a bad time to start trusting strangers.”
“I agree.”
“Do the other offices know?” she asked.
I could tell something was on her mind.
“Yes. I spoke to Justine last night and told her to alert everyone.”
“What were you doing at the office?” Zhang Daiyu asked, giving voice to what was troubling her.
I felt that I’d betrayed her by going looking for evidence she was somehow involved in whatever was going on. The attack on the New York office proved my initial suspicions were unfounded; it was Private that was being targeted rather than her.
“I had some things I wanted to check out.”
“Okay,” she said. “Do you have any thoughts on why we’re being targeted like this?”
I shook my head. “No. But although this has spread wider than Beijing, it began here. We need to review all cases from the last six months.”
“I can ask Huang Hua to recover the case files from the Cloud,” Zhang Daiyu replied. “It will take a few hours perhaps.”
“Good to know.”
“I’ll get him on it now,” she said, tapping furiously into her phone. “I’ll instruct everyone to work from home until further notice. The IT team will implement our remote working protocols.”
“This started with the investigation into David Zhou,” I observed. “I want to rule him in or out of this. He’s either been very unlucky or he’s part of whatever’s going on, and I need to know which. Who was our client?”
“Molly Tan,” Zhang Daiyu replied. “She’s a technology entrepreneur. She owns China’s second-largest online auction site and retailer. She and David Zhou have a history of being on opposite sides of deals.”
“OK.” I nodded. “I think we need to pay Ms Tan a visit.”
Chapter 25
It was gone 8 p.m. and Justine was still in the Private New York office, working in the conference room on the thirty-fifth floor, trying to put together a profile of the person who had planted the bombs intended to kill her and her colleagues.
She had developed a couple of scenarios. In the first, whoever planted the devices was the same person who shot Jessie and Lewis. The second possibility was that they were separate and unrelated people. Bombers tended to be meticulously careful individuals with little appetite for encountering death up close. Someone capable of gunning down two people in close contact had a very different attitude. But if there was one person who combined the discipline and technical knowhow needed for bomb-making with an appetite for close combat, then that suggested someone with military or paramilitary training.
Justine had written up two different profiles but it had taken her much longer than normal because she had found herself frequently distracted by her concern for Jack. Speaking to him hadn’t helped. He had sounded dead tired and worried, and she hated to think of him fighting for his life in an unfamiliar city. She had, however, heard good things about the Beijing office’s number two, Zhang Daiyu, and hoped she lived up to her reputation.
There was a knock at the door and an Atlas Security officer entered. He wore a gray uniform shirt and was accompanied by an English Springer Spaniel sniffer dog, held on a short leash.
“Sorry to disturb you again, ma’am,” he said. “We’re doing another sweep.”
“Go ahead,” Justine replied, watching as the security officer allowed the dog to sniff the corners of the room in search of traces of explosives.
It spent a while under the table and its handler opened the cupboards built into the storage unit behind her. She watched the dog check inside the large piece of furniture, tail wagging.
“Looks like he’s enjoying himself,” Sci said.
The forensics expert was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“He knows he gets a treat if he does a good job,” the security officer said. “You’re clear,” he told Justine, and he and the dog squeezed past Sci to leave the room.
“I have news,” Sci said, shutting the door and taking a seat at the boardroom table. “NYPD has been able to trace the detonators to a demolition firm based in Connecticut. Ryedale Engineering. Guy called Seth Ryedale runs the place. Mo-bot is working up a background on him and the firm. Detective Salazar has asked us to give him a clear run and not to make contact until lunchtime tomorrow at the earliest. They want to question Ryedale and search the place for evidence. They don’t want us doing anything to tip him off.”
“We can do that,” Justine replied. “We need to cooperate wherever we can.”
“How’s Jack?” Sci asked.
“He’s doing okay,” she said. “Considering.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be glad when he’s home.”
“We all will,” Sci agreed.
“Is Mo-bot in the computer lab?”
Sci nodded.
“I’ll join her,” said Justine, getting to her feet. “See if any of the staff at Ryedale Engineering fit the profiles I’m working on.”
Chapter 26
Zhang Daiyu and I took a taxi from the hostel to Chaoyang Park, one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in the province. The place was alive, humming with traffic and activity, and watching from the cab window I really got a sense of the magnitude of Beijing. We drove through individual areas the size of Manhattan, city-sized districts within this sprawling metropolis. It wasn’t spread out like Los Angeles but as densely populated as New York. Everything was on a different scale here. Twelve-lane highways crisscrossed the city, and the flowing lanes of traffic became a moving blur of colors as automobiles, buses, and trucks raced about their business.
Zhang Daiyu put her head back and shut her eyes. I didn’t disturb her, partly because she looked as though she needed the rest, but also because I didn’t want to discuss the case in front of the taxi driver. So I kept my gaze on the city, watching our surroundings as we turned off the 4th Ring Road and joined Chaoyang Gongyuan Road, a wide tree-lined boulevard that ran to the south of Chaoyang Park. This neighborhood reminded me of Fifth Avenue in New York, or some of the upmarket cross streets near Central Park. Sidewalks were packed with rich people carrying shopping bags branded with the names of the luxury boutiques that lined the street. Designer clothes from every corner of the globe were displayed in the windows of these exclusive shops. Dark-suited doormen ushered the big spenders into these temples to capitalism.
It seemed odd to have such conspicuous consumption in an ostensibly communist country. We left the retail district and took a right onto the broad perimeter road that ran alongside the grand park. We were heading into the residential part of the neighborhood and it managed to make Manhattan look impoverished. Skyscrapers lined the perimeter of the park, overlooking the broad, exquisitely manicured green space. Each building was newer and more impressive than the last, glass-and-steel mega-structures that featured garden balconies, huge atriums and multi-level penthouses. The cab drew to a halt outside a gold-and-black tower that stood at least fifty floors high. I nudged Zhang Daiyu, who stirred.
“I think we’re here,” I observed.
She nodded, said something to the driver, and handed him some money.
We climbed out of the cab and started toward the building.
“You okay?” I asked her.
“Exhausted,” she replied. “But okay.”