“That’s right. This will help with the Westerners, but to most people around here, even with the mask, you’re still a gweilo.”
“A gweilo?”
“Sorry. A foreign devil.”
“That’s harsh.”
Adam nodded. “Yeah. It would serve you to remember that the Chinese are a prideful people. They think, in general, that they are superior to foreign races. They aren’t an inclusive society, overall.”
“I’m not planning on buying a condo here. Just tailing Zha.”
Adam chuckled. “Let’s get back to the Mong Kok Computer Centre. Zha will be leaving work in about an hour.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
At eight-thirty p.m. Zha Shu Hai left the side exit of the Mong Kok Computer Centre with a security detail of four. Chavez had the eye; he was up the street in the 7-Eleven, heating up some frozen dumplings in the microwave. He started to turn away to announce to Ryan and Yao that the bird had left the nest, but he saw Zha stop suddenly and turn on his heels, as if someone had called out to him. He moved with his entourage back to the entrance of the building, and there he all but snapped to attention like a lance corporal. Chavez caught a glimpse of a man just inside the light from the streetlamps. Zha was talking to him with obvious deference. Ding knew this could be important, so he risked blowing his cover for action in the convenience store, pulled his big Nikon camera with a three-hundred-millimeter lens from his backpack, and took a picture of the men fifty yards up the street. Quickly he looked away from them, walked to the back of the 7-Eleven, and checked the digital image in the viewing pane of the camera. It was fair, at best. He could sort of make out Zha, and he could make out the one Triad sentry who was facing the 7-Eleven, but he could not see many features of the man in the dark.
Quickly he used the e-mail function on the camera, sent the image to Gavin Biery back in the suite in the Peninsula, and then took himself off the eye.
“Ryan, move in, I need to back off for a bit.”
“Roger that.”
He headed up the street and called Gavin.
“What’s up, Domingo?”
“I just sent you an image.”
“Looking at it right now.”
“I need a favor.”
“You need photography lessons.”
“Yeah. Right. Anything you can do to make that clearer?”
“No big deal. I’ll send it to all of your phones in a few minutes.”
“Great. From the way our boy FastByte leapt to attention when this guy called him, we may be looking at the MFIC.”
“MFIC? I don’t know that acronym. Is that from the Chinese military or something?”
Chavez said, “Just work on the pic and send it back to us.”
“You got it.”
Five minutes later the three Americans were back in the Mitsubishi Grandis, following the white SUV carrying Zha “FastByte22” Shu Hai and his six 14K minders as it left the gritty streets of Mong Kok and headed south through late-rush-hour Kowloon into Tsim Sha Tsui.
The SUV stopped at a corner in a chic retail area. Five of Zha’s security men climbed out, and then Zha himself appeared. He wore black jeans with silver studs running up the side, a bright pink tank top, and a black studded leather jacket. His detail, on the other hand, all wore the same blue jeans and drab T-shirts under denim jackets.
Zha and his entourage entered a clothing store as a group.
A steady rain had begun to fall; this did nothing for the oppressive heat but only added uncomfortable moisture to the mix. Adam pulled his car over to the side of the road two blocks past the store, then produced four collapsible umbrellas and passed one black and one red umbrella to each man. Ding and Jack slipped the red one in the small of their backs under their shirts and went with the black. This would virtually double their chances of remaining covert, as they could switch out umbrellas to reduce the risk that someone who spotted them earlier would notice them a second time.
As the two Hendley Associates men climbed out of the Mitsubishi, Adam called to them, “Remember, for some reason Zha’s security has been alerted that he’s under surveillance. You’ll have to watch yourselves. Don’t push it, stay back, if we lose them tonight we’ll pick them up tomorrow night.”
Jack and Ding split up immediately and took turns passing the shop every few minutes. The darkness, the heavy crowds on the sidewalks, and the large glass windows of the clothing store made keeping an eye on the young hacker easy work, even when one of the 14K men stood outside the shop to smoke and scan the pedestrians passing by.
Zha and the others left without making a purchase a few minutes later, but they did not climb back into the SUV. Instead the five guards popped umbrellas, one covered Zha with his, and they headed south, stepping into and out of several stores along the way.
Zha spent half the time window-shopping or looking at clothes and electronics inside the various shops, and the other half of the time either talking on his phone or using a tiny handheld computer as the man on his arm led him through the busy streets.
He bought some cables and a new laptop battery in a small store on Kowloon Park Drive, and then he and his goons ducked into an Internet café on Salisbury Road, near the entrance to the Star Ferry port.
Ryan had the eye at the time. He transmitted to Yao. “Should I go in?”
“Negative,” said Yao. “I’ve been in that place. It’s a small, narrow space. He might be meeting someone, but we can’t risk compromise by sending you in.”
Ryan understood. “I’ll hang back at the Star Ferry entrance with visual on the front.”
Yao said, “Ding, that place has a back door. If he takes it he’ll end up on Canton Road. Hustle over there in case they are trying to shake a tail.”
“Copy that.” Ding had been two blocks behind Ryan, but he picked up the pace and made a right on Canton. He put himself on the far side of the street and stood in the rain, his umbrella shielding his face from the streetlamps above.
Just as Yao suspected, Zha and his entourage appeared on Canton road a few minutes later. “Chavez has the eye. Headed south on Canton.”
Adam had noticed that the Triads had been doing SDRs, surveillance detection runs, more and more in the last few days. The American CIA operative still had no idea how he had been burned, but whatever he’d done to expose himself, he was damn glad to have the help from Chavez and Junior.
Just minutes after Ding announced he had the eye, Jack saw Zha and the others, moving under a tight pack of umbrellas, approaching his position near the ferry entrance.
Jack said, “Looks like they are getting on the ferry.”
“Excellent,” said Yao. “He’s probably going to Wan Chai. That’s where the bars are. He’s done that several times in the last week, hitting the girlie bars around Lockhart Road. I don’t think he gives a shit about naked girls, but the Fourteen-K run most of those clubs, so it’s probably where his guards feel comfortable taking him.”
“Can we go in without being compromised?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, you’ll just have to watch yourselves. There will be other Triads in the crowd. They may not be working on the Zha detail, but they are a rough bunch when they are drinking.”
Jack said, “Don’t they all know martial arts?”
Yao chuckled. “It’s not one long Jackie Chan movie over here. Not everybody is a kung fu master.”
“Well, that’s comforting.”
“It shouldn’t be. They all carry pistols or knives. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather take a donkey kick to the chest than a nine-millimeter round to the chest.”
“You got a point there, Yao.”
“Jack, you go ahead and get in line for the next ferry across. They shouldn’t suspect you if you are in front of them, but be careful where you position yourself.”