I ran along one side of the building, past three fire doors to the rear north-west corner where I stopped. I could see another three fire doors opening on to the busy street behind the building, where life was carrying on as though nothing had happened. There was a huge, bustling market further along the street, which was drawing crowds, and through the flurry of pedestrians I caught sight of Zhang Daiyu on the opposite corner, her eyes switching rapidly between her side of the building and the rear. I did likewise, watching for suspicious movement. We’d be in trouble if the building was evacuated, but that was unlikely unless the gunman posed a threat to those inside, and in the chaos of the moment, building security probably hadn’t yet established the shooter was on their roof. I watched and waited.
In my mind the shooting had confirmed Liu Bao’s involvement. No one else knew we were here.
He had the knowledge and resources required to organize a quick hit, and when I got my hands on the shooter, I was going to make him tell me everything.
Chapter 42
Three minutes later, the rear middle fire door opened and a man in a gray boilersuit emerged, hands in his pockets, walking nonchalantly though his eyes told a different story. They were the eyes of a predator scanning its surroundings for rivals, and they found one in me.
He looked my way and held my gaze for a moment. The tattoos on his face and neck were more typical of a criminal than a janitor. He raised his right hand and almost arrogantly ran his fingers through his hair. I saw the tattoo on his forearm: two dragons entwined around a third. It was the same design I’d seen on the gunman who’d attacked us near Qincheng Prison and on the men who’d tried to kill Molly Tan.
I looked beyond the sniper and saw Zhang Daiyu heading his way, but he didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned. He flashed me an arrogant grin before crossing the busy street and weaving through the crowd on the other side. I heard police sirens as I ran to intercept him. Glancing to my right, I could see flashing lights further down the road.
The sniper was running in my direction and I would have cut him off if it hadn’t been for the Mercedes S-Class that screeched to a halt to avoid colliding with me. It had almost stopped, but the impact was enough to knock me down, giving the sniper the chance to get ahead of my position. I jumped to my feet, waving away the angry shouts of the Mercedes driver, and chased the sniper through the crowds.
Zhang Daiyu was about fifteen paces behind me. The two of us closed the gap on the sniper, who kept glancing over his shoulder. He was heading for Chenxingcai Market, a large bustling hall with an outer perimeter of crowded shops, near the junction of Canzheng Hutong, a broad ten-lane highway, and Naoshikou Street, a quieter road lined with retail outlets. The sniper pushed his way into the packed market, Zhang Daiyu and I in pursuit.
He pressed through the throng that packed the aisles between the bountiful food and textile stalls. We went after him. The place was buzzing with the hustle and cacophony of trade. The sniper sprinted round a lychee stall and headed for a side exit that led to a quiet backstreet.
I ran behind the display table, cutting into the stallholder’s space, and closed the gap to about ten paces. By the time we reached the street, I was almost within touching distance.
I pressed on, legs burning, lungs heaving, and closed the gap between us.
I grabbed the gunman by the shoulder, but as I pulled him round, he surprised me by shoving a pistol in my face. I slapped it away instinctively and it discharged into an adjacent wall. The loud gunshot set my ears ringing, and the sniper caught me with a heavy blow to the head, which sent me staggering back into Zhang Daiyu’s arms. My vision blurred and my head rang as I watched the man sprint down the sidestreet and disappear round the corner.
“I’m okay,” I said to Zhang Daiyu. I took a moment then ran on.
When we reached the intersection, I looked east to see a motorcyclist yelling at the gunman, who was riding away on a stolen bike.
I looked at Zhang Daiyu and shook my head in frustration.
“So close,” she said.
“It’s not a total failure,” I replied. “I spotted he had the same tattoo as the others.’
“We still have no idea what it means. I’ve checked with Chen Ya-ting and he hasn’t come across it before either,” she replied, referring to the Beijing detective who was investigating the case of Shang Li and his team. “For us and the police never to have encountered it, well, it’s either new or very, very secret.”
“It does tell us one thing, though,” I replied. “This guy attacked us outside Liu Bao’s office. No one else knew we were coming here, which means he was almost certainly sent by Liu. And the tattoo connects him — and Liu — to everything that’s happened to Private so far.”
“We still need to find out why he wants us dead,” Zhang Daiyu reminded me.
I nodded and rubbed the back of my head gingerly.
We started back the way we had come. When we reached the main market, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen, saw it was Justine calling and answered.
Nothing could have prepared me for what she was about to say.
Chapter 43
“Jack,” Justine said. “I’m in the executive meeting room at Private New York with Seymour and Maureen. We have Rafael Lucas with us. There’s no easy way to put this.”
She was flushed with anger and adrenaline in anticipation of what she was about to say. Part of her still didn’t believe their associate could have done this.
“Rafael betrayed us. He was coerced by a Chinese national into the plot against Private New York. He gave this man, known as Angel, Lewis and Jessie, and he just tried to walk Mo and Sci into a trap.”
Rafael was seated on the sofa near the door, head in his hands. He was trembling and couldn’t meet the gazes of those around him. Mo-bot and Sci sat on opposite sides of the boardroom table, avoiding looking at the man responsible for such treachery.
Jack was silent for so long Justine worried the line had gone dead.
“Go on,” he said at last.
His dead tone told her he was seething.
“He says his wife was abducted—”
“She was,” Rafael cut in. “He has her and he says he’ll kill her if I don’t do everything he wants.”
“Quiet!” Mo-bot shouted at him. “We’ll tell you when we want to hear from you.”
Jack sighed, his pain audible.
“You sold out your friends for nothing,” he said, and his words hit home. Rafael sagged visibly. “You’ve got blood on your hands, and he still has your wife. What did you think was going to happen? The nice man would keep his word and bring her home if you were a good boy and did as you were told?”
The question seemed to suck all the air from the room. Rafael choked back a series of sobs that made his chest heave.
Private had procedures for such eventualities. Rafael wasn’t strictly part of the agency, but he worked for Private and knew the correct protocols. If he’d come to them when Alison had been taken, they would have worked with the cops and FBI to find her, and would have had a good chance of recovering her by playing on Angel’s need to complete his mission. But now the assassin would probably guess Rafael had been compromised, which would place Alison at greater risk. Whichever way you looked at it, Rafael had made the wrong choice, and Justine wondered whether that realization had sunk in yet.
“Have you informed the police?” Jack asked.