“No.” Alison tensed again, her face drawn. “No. He wouldn’t do that. No. Not even for me.”
“I’m afraid people were hurt, killed, because of his actions,” Justine said, putting a hand on Alison’s shoulder.
“No!” she yelled, brushing the hand away. “He’s a good man. He wouldn’t help that monster.”
“He thought it was the only way to get you back.”
Alison broke down completely then, sobbing, and Justine put her arm around her to try and console her.
They stayed like that for a while until Alison’s tears subsided.
“I want to see him,” she said, inhaling long gulps of air between her waning sobs.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Justine said, rising. “Wait here.”
She left Alison alone in the bedroom and went into the living room. The place was run down and sparsely furnished with cast-offs. It reeked of misery.
Justine signaled Salazar, who stood over Angel. The powerful assassin was now seated on the floor, hands cuffed behind his back. Sci and Mo-bot sat on a ragged blue corduroy couch.
“Can I talk to you?” Justine said, and Salazar came over. “She wants to see Rafael.”
The NYPD detective nodded. “Understandable. I can arrange it.”
“You hear that?” Justine asked. There was a thrumming sound at the edge of her perception that rapidly grew louder.
“It’s a chopper,” Salazar said.
He went outside and Justine followed to see a small helicopter loom larger as it descended fast. Soon it was wheels-down on the street, bringing neighbors to their windows. Four men in dark suits emerged from the sleek black bird. One of them ran to meet Justine and Salazar. He was about six feet one with wild blond hair.
“Miss Smith, Detective Salazar, my name is Tate Johnson. I’m an independent contractor with the Department of Defense. Secretary Carver sent me to take care of a problem.” He yelled to make his voice heard above the sound of the rotors.
Sci and Mo-bot hustled Angel out of the house.
“That’s the suspect,” Justine replied. “Known only as Angel.”
“We’ll see what we can find out,” Tate said, before nodding to three colleagues.
The men ran over and took custody of the assassin.
“The Secretary asked me to pass on his thanks,” Tate announced. “To both of you.”
Justine nodded and watched him and his colleagues force Angel into the chopper. There were more neighbors at their windows now, and a few out on their lawns, and they were treated to the sight of the chopper rising into the sky.
As the sound of the powerful engines died away and the helicopter became a speck, Justine hoped Carver’s people would be able to find out why a Chinese hitman had been briefed to target them, so that she, Jack and the rest of the Private team could escape the web that had ensnared them.
Chapter 56
It took a day for Hua and his team to get full surveillance on Liu Bao up and running. Hua was young, but he was as careful and methodical as a seasoned veteran, and went to great pains to ensure his electronic surveillance wouldn’t be detected by any counter measures Liu’s people might employ.
He was very ingenious: replacing the target’s toothbrush in his penthouse apartment with a replica that contained a listening device, hacking into the webcam on Liu’s laptop and compromising his digital personal assistant at home and in the office. Within twenty-four hours, Zhang Daiyu and I had eyes and ears on most of Liu Bao’s life.
And what a life it was.
Money had washed him clean of the dirt of the street, but success hadn’t changed everything about him. He clearly had a drug problem, which he indulged in the company of the girls who visited his home and office. His penthouse apartment was located on the top three floors of a magnificent tower block in Chaoyang, the diplomatic district, which was full of fashionable restaurants, clubs, and bars. His home was as much of a status symbol as his office block.
But for all the trappings of power and success, Liu Bao’s life looked empty to me. Full of distractions but lacking in meaning.
Zhang Daiyu and I had established a makeshift command center in our room in the hostel. It consisted of three laptops Hua had provided us with, each connected to the Private backup server network by high-speed wireless dongles that fed us Liu Bao’s movements and conversations. In addition to the digital surveillance we now had a team of eight agents working in shifts. There was no higher priority for me than finding out why Liu had targeted Private, and ensuring that he and the people who had killed so many of our colleagues were punished.
“Any idea where he’s heading yet?” I asked Zhang Daiyu as I came through the door with dinner: a couple of cartons of noodles. Liu Bao had left his apartment with his security detail shortly before I’d gone to get our food.
“It’s a drinks reception for the American Friends of China Business Consortium,” she replied, shifting slightly so I could sit on the bed next to her.
I handed her the spring chicken noodles she had ordered while watching Liu Bao on-screen mingling with people in cocktail dresses or black tie.
“How did our agent get inside?” I asked.
“Fake Beijing Police identification,” Zhang Daiyu revealed, and I frowned.
That was definitely beyond our permitted activities in China, but the situation was sufficiently desperate for us to be flexible about interpreting the law.
Liu Bao was glad-handed and had his back patted by many people as he walked around the room. It made me wonder how many of Beijing’s rich and powerful knew about his background as a street criminal. Would they have cared or was money the great absolver?
On-screen, he made a beeline across the room for a guy who could only be American. He had carefully combed, wispy blond hair and was carrying a few extra pounds beneath his tux. There was a Stars and Stripes pin fixed to his lapel.
Liu Bao greeted him warmly, and the two men smiled as they engaged in friendly chatter together.
“Do we know who that is?” I asked.
Zhang Daiyu shook her head. “We can find out.”
“Looks like they are friends,” I remarked.
“I’ll ask Hua to find out who the American is.”
Her phone rang as she was texting the request and she answered. She listened for a short while before hanging up.
“Interesting,” she said, and I was immediately intrigued. “That was a friend I’ve been trying to speak to ever since you followed that man to Guoanbu headquarters.”
She put her noodles down, untouched, and got to her feet.
“Come on,” she said. “We need to go. She wants to meet us tonight.”
Chapter 57
We took a taxi to the park in front of the Temple of Heaven, one of a series of former imperial halls set in beautifully landscaped parkland. Zhang Daiyu told me the place was popular with kung fu and tai chi schools in the morning, but it was virtually deserted when we arrived at 9:45 p.m. We headed for a circular three-tier pagoda.
“This is the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest,” Zhang Daiyu said as we approached.
“Your friend obviously has a good sense of irony,” I remarked. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Ma Fen and she works for the Guoanbu.”
“Chinese State Security?” I asked, and Zhang Daiyu nodded.
“If she’s caught talking to us it would mean prison for her,” she said.
I wondered why her friend would risk her liberty and life for our investigation.
We hurried across the park toward the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvest. As we drew closer I could see the bottom tier of the pagoda was painted deep red and the upper levels dark blue. The building was set on a mound lined with balustraded terraces. We had no need to make the climb though. I saw a tiny lone figure at the foot of the terraces, near the steps to the grand hall.