When she came out of the washroom, Robbins was at the table again, a second beer freshly opened. “Did you reach your brother?” she asked.
He nodded. “You can send the email.”
“I want to change first. I don’t feel like eating pizza in these clothes.”
“Whatever.”
She took off her jewellery first, putting everything neatly away. Then she slid off her skirt and reached into her panties for the folded piece of paper, which she put in the pocket of the Shanghai Tang bag that held her Hong Kong passport. She unbuttoned her shirt, thinking that with any luck she was done with dress shirts for a while, and reached for her last clean T-shirt.
“Your brother did tell you that I can stay online and book a flight after I send this email?” Ava asked as she re-entered the living room and walked towards the kitchen.
Robbins nodded and then got to his feet to stand behind the chair where she’d been sitting. Ava resumed her place. The email was still exactly as she had drafted it. She hit the send button. “There we go — the easiest two million dollars Captain Robbins ever made,” she said.
The apartment intercom sounded. Davey’s familiar voice said, “Pizza man.”
Robbins went to the door and pressed the button. “Can you get in?”
“Not without a key.”
“Okay, I’m coming downstairs,” he said and then looked at Ava.
“I’m looking for flights. I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
He hesitated.
“What am I going to do, for God’s sake, jump off the balcony?”
“Be back in two,” he said.
Ava found an American Airlines flight to San Juan. From there she could catch the midnight flight to Montreal or any one of a number of connections to Toronto through Miami, Chicago, or Newark. She did a rough calculation. If they moved fast in Hong Kong, Robbins would have his copy of the wire by morning — the middle of the night, actually. That might allow her to get a morning flight to San Juan, an early afternoon flight to the U.S., and a connection that would get her into Toronto in the evening. Why not? she thought, as she signed off on that itinerary.
Just as she finished, Robbins was back with three large pizza boxes in hand. He put them on the counter, the aroma filling the small kitchen. He opened the top one and put it aside. “That’s yours,” he said.
Ava salivated as she took a plate from the cupboard. As she did, Robbins took her place at the computer. He hit the messages sent tab. The email to Uncle was top of the list. He switched to deleted messages. Nothing. Ava forgot about any growing notion that Robbins trusted her, even in the slightest.
She watched until he was finished. When he stood up, she leaned down and turned off the computer. It’s almost over, she thought, as she put three slices of pizza on her plate, poured a glass of sparkling water, tucked her notebook under her arm, and headed for the balcony.
(39)
Ava didn’t sleep well. She had gone to bed early, way too early. She hadn’t been tired, just bored. With Jeremy Bates out of the way, the money sent to Hong Kong, and the Captain at least half managed, her mind was now purring along in low gear. Robbins had parked himself in front of the television and she wasn’t about to join him. She had no phone and didn’t want to have to ask permission to turn on the computer again. That left the view of the harbour from the balcony, but bobbing boats have their limitations, especially in the dark. Around nine she went to check on Seto. He was still sleeping, but she figured the chloral hydrate would wear off soon, so she taped his ankles and mouth again and reapplied the handcuffs. Then she went into her bedroom and opened the James Clavell novel.
She had been reading for no more than ten or fifteen minutes when her eyes began to close. The first time she woke it was just past midnight, and she was on top of the bed with the lights on. She opened the bedroom door and saw that Robbins had fallen asleep on the couch, the television still running, four empty beer bottles on the coffee table. She made a quick bathroom run, turned off the lights, and crawled under the top cover.
Sleep was now more difficult; thoughts about the day ahead kept intruding. She pushed them aside, only to have Tommy Ordonez slip in through the gaps. She hoped she wouldn’t have to spend any time in the Philippines. Guyana had offered enough hardship to last her for a while. And then Captain Robbins intruded on her consciousness. Had she overplayed her hand with him? No, she thought, his greed aside, they had connected at some level. He was a man who understood how things really worked, what motivated people to do things they wouldn’t normally consider voluntarily — the right things for the wrong reason, although his definition of what was right might differ sharply from hers. Still, they had connected. They had some measure of mutual respect, respect that had nothing to do with approving what the other actually did. It was more for the manner in which each operated. Style points, Ava thought — they gave each other credit for style points.
The next time she woke it was two thirty. For ten minutes she fought to get back to sleep and then gave up. She turned her light on and picked up James Clavell again. She read for more than an hour before sleep encroached enough for her to turn off the light and give it another try.
It was dawn when she opened her eyes. She looked at her watch: ten minutes past six. She closed her eyes and began to pray to St. Jude. She had barely started when the tones of the William Tell overture interrupted. It went on and on and then cut out. She went to her door and opened it a crack. Robbins was still asleep. The volume on his cellphone was louder than she remembered, but not loud enough to wake him.
She started her prayer from the beginning, only to have William Tell start up again. “Answer the phone,” she said under her breath. As if on cue, the tune ended and she heard him say, “What is it?”
She was almost finished when he knocked on her door.
“Yes?” she said.
“My brother needs to speak to you,” said Robbins.
Ava thought about the time, and an immediate feeling of disquiet crept through her. Why would he call so early? Had something gone wrong on the Hong Kong side? No, she thought. Uncle never failed her. “I’m coming,” she said.
A few last words to St. Jude, the name Robbins in her prayers for the first time, and then she went to the door.
“Here,” Robbins said, handing her the phone, and then turned and walked to his bedroom.
Ava went to the kitchen and sat facing the balcony, the harbour glittering in the morning sun. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning, Ms. Lee.”
“It’s rather early for a phone call.”
“Well, I’m too perturbed to sleep.”
Ava felt a surge of worry. “How so?”
“The Hong Kong wire.”
“You didn’t get it?” she asked, her disquiet expanding.
He paused. “I got a copy of a copy. I got it by email and fax.”
“Was the amount wrong? The date? Did they make a mistake with the bank information?”
He said, slowly and carefully, “You know, Ms. Lee, I don’t know which annoys me more, the fact that you tried to play me for a fool or the fact that, even though you’ve been caught, you keep trying to play me for one. At this very moment I think it’s the latter, and I warn you not to persist along those lines.”
Ava closed her eyes. Why did I try it? How the hell did he catch on so soon? She wished him away, wished away her attempt to keep the money, but she was not yet ready to concede a single thing. “I can’t even begin to respond to that until you tell me what the problem is.”
“There is no money.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“And there you go again with your bullshit,” he said, his voice harshening.