They parked in the alley behind a row of identical, nondescript, two-story frame structures that Bogner figured had been built by the Kong Ho regime in an effort to alleviate the city's infamous housing shortage.
Shu Li was about to open the door, but paused when Bogner put his hand on her arm. "Two rights, two lefts, and two more rightsyou know someone is following us, correct?"
The woman nodded. "What really surprises me is he didn't pull into the alley. Either he intends to wait until we leave, or he's taking a chance on finding us. It's a labyrinth back in here."
Bogner looked back, stepped out of the Renault, and waited for Shu Li. "Here," she said as she worked her way past him, "you may need this." She reached in her handbag and handed him a steel-gray .45-caliber Beretta.
"Use this often?" he asked with a smile.
"Not unless I have to. Most people back off when they see what I'm packing."
With that she started up the steps to the second floor. Bogner stepped back, pinned himself up against the masonry partition, and waited. From the alley he was completely hidden by shadows.
Shu Li knocked, and when the door opened she went in. Within minutes, a black Subaru sedan began inching its way into the alley beside the Dauphine and stopped. The door opened and the dome light flashed on and then off, just long enough for Bogner to see that there were two men in the car.
One of the men crawled out, circled Shu Li's car, glanced in, and looked up at the light on the second-floor landing. Then he motioned for the driver to pull ahead and wait.
For Bogner it seemed like an eternity until the man sized up the situation, circled the landing, and started up the open stairway to the second floor. This was where patience came in. He waited. Then he leaped. He caught the intruder in the middle of the back with his forearm, heard the air gush out of him, and then heard him cry out when Bogner's weight pinned him against the steps.
Bogner jammed the barrel of Shu Li's Beretta into the hollow area just below the base of the skull, making certain the man heard the metallic click of the automatic being cocked.
"Understand English?" Bogner growled.
The man tried to nod, and in the process scraped his face against the rough-hewn steps. At the same time, Bogner was frisking him for a gun. When he didn't find one, he jerked the man to his feet, spun him around, pinned him against the wall of the building, and lodged the barrel of the Beretta against the man's temple.
"Listen very carefully, because I'm going to say this one time and one time only, cowboy. You're fucking with something bigger than you are. You and your partner would be real smart to find yourself another diversion." He spun the man around, slammed him down against the steps again, reached in his pocket, and stuffed one of the cards Spitz had given him into the man's shirt pocket. "Got the message?"
The man nodded and started to get to his feet. That was when Bogner realized, if only for one split, ultimately painful second, that he had forgotten all about the man's accomplice. He heard the thud even before he felt it. The blow caught him across the side of his head and the whole world went from black to blacker. Bogner felt himself rock backward, start to crumble, and the wind rush out of him. He fell forward, but it seemed to take forever until he went down. When he did, he plummeted three steps down to the alley level, rolled over, and viewed an abbreviated panorama of pure pyrotechnics.
In the distance there were footsteps, the sound of screeching tiresand then silence.
There was something cool and damp on his forehead, and something equally cool and hard on the back of his head.
"I'm sorry," he heard Shu Li say, "ice is at a premium in Haikou. It's the best we can do."
Bogner pushed the woman's hand away and sat up. When he did, he felt a wave of nausea and shooting stars began erupting from places that hadn't previously hurt. "No sorrier than I am," he managed. "I'm a little out of practice for this kind of stuff. I might have expected this in New Yorkbut not Haikou."
"That's us," Shu Li said, "all the accoutrements of a big American city, I'm unhappy to say."
"Welcome to Haikou," Zhun Be said. Under the circumstances, he was being a shade too glib to suit Bogner.
In the light of an unshielded incandescent bulb hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room, Bogner got a look at his host for the first time. Zhun Be was short, fragile looking, wearing a white silk shirt and a carefully tailored pin-striped business suit; he smelled like a fugitive from the cologne bar in an upscale men's department store. It occurred to Bogner that he looked too young to drink, and far too young to be involved with anything Shu Li might have up her sleeve.
Shu Li Wan glided through the introductions. "This is Monsieur Marcel Cormea," she said, "the gentleman from Toronto."
Zhun Be smiled and bowed slightly. It was not so much what Shu Li had said as what she had implied. Zhun had obviously heard the street talk, and he had long heard of the organization known as Toronto Jade.
Despite his discomfort, Bogner managed a semicivil grunt and handed Zhun Be one of his bogus business cards.
"And, Monsieur Cormea, this is the gentleman I was telling you about, Zhun Be. Zhun Be is also a supplier to our friends at Danjia."
Zhun Be preened. He was pleased with the way Shu Li had introduced him. It made him sound important.
"I apologize for the welcoming committees," Zhou Be said. "It comes with the low-rent district."
''Did you get a good look at them?" Shu Li asked.
"They were driving a black Subaru sedan."
Zhun Be nodded. "An encounter with our Russian friends," he confirmed. "They have been here before. Like you, Monsieur Cormea, they wish to do business with Han Ki Po."
"What kind of business?"
Zhun Be's response was cautious. Bogner deduced he was aware that he had to be careful how he answered the question. If he intended to sell information to the Canadian, offering too much without negotiating would make him appear less than professional. "I believe it has something to do with an airplane," he said.
It was Milo Schubatis's second session of the day with Colonel Quan and the fourth time he had met with Quan since he had informed his abductors that he felt strong enough to make the journey from the infirmary to Quan's office.
Now he was sitting across the teak desk from Quan and sensing the evil in the man who it was said would someday replace Chairman Han Ki Po. Quan stood no more than five and a half feet tall and weighed less than 120 pounds. He had hollow temples and pockmarked cheeks, and wore thick glasses to shield his dull-gray eyes. He smoked an endless chain of cigarettes, always with an ebony and ivory cigarette holder, and he had a deceptively deep, raspy voice, frequently punctuated by a racking cough. At each of their previous meetings, Quan had worn the drab, olive-green "people's uniform" Schubatis associated with the late Chairman Mao.
The wall behind Quan was decorated with starkly framed portraits of Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai. Only the image of Hua Guofeng, the Party Chairman following Mao Zedong's death, seemed inconsistent. Compared to the others, Hua was a lightweight.
Quan offered Schubatis a cigarette and invited him to take his usual seat across from him. "You are feeling better, Comrade?" he inquired.
"Somewhat," Schubatis admitted, "but I will feel even better when I am told why I am here."
During their three previous meetings, Quan had said nothing of the Su-39. Instead, their conversations had revolved around philosophy, the state of China's economy, and the comparative political views of Russia's Moshe Aprihinen and Chairman Kong Ho of the People's Republic. Quan not only saw but recited significant similarities. Schubatis did not share his views.