Must Come Down

by Brett Baker

  Fabrice’s mouth dropped open, and he felt his heart begin to race. He couldn’t believe his luck. “Are you serious?”

  Dian started laughing. “Fuck you, American. No I don’t know, Yuzhan Li. You think we all know each other just because we’re Chinese? Do you know everyone in New York? There are almost as many people in Quanzhou as in New York. Should I expect you to know Kyle Shapiro just because he lives in New York and you live in New York? Ridiculous, man.”

  “I’m sorry. I just figured it was worth a shot.”

  “That’s a long shot, Fabrice. If that’s your plan—to keep asking people in Quanzhou whether or not they know Yuzhan Li—then you better come up with a new plan.”

  “Fair enough,” Fabrice said.

  “So who’s this Yuzhan Li, and what do you want with him?”

  “Well, I really can’t tell you that. Not specifics anyway. He’s part of a complex business deal that I’m involved in with some other guys from New York, and he’s gone missing. We expected him to show up in New York a few days ago, and never heard from him.”

  “And you’ve come to Quanzhou to find him?”

  “Precisely.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Just me.”

  “Are you a private detective? A cop? Something like that?”

  “No, I’m a banker. Money market funds, municipal bonds, things like that.”

  “What the fuck do you know about finding someone then?”

  “I suppose we’ll find out,” Fabrice said. “I’ve only been in-country for an hour or so. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “It’s a needle in a haystack, Fabrice. What do you have to go on?”

  “His name’s Yuzhan Li and he’s from Quanzhou. That’s it.”

  “You goddamn Americans. You think anything’s possible. Win a war, go to the moon, invent computers, and all of a sudden you come to a Chinese city of eight million people with no information except for a guy’s name and you think you’re going to find him.”

  “I have no choice,” Fabrice said. “This is the biggest deal any of us have ever had, and we can’t let it go now.”

  “So you could use some help,” Dian said.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Dian nodded, smiled, and took a drink of his water. “Have you met anyone who might be helpful? Someone who knows the city? Someone who can get you from here to there, and warn you away from whores and monsters? Know anyone like that?”

  “Not yet,” Fabrice said, deadpan. “Let me know if you have any connections.”

  “Fuck you, American. This is a big business deal. I assume that means there are some big bucks involved. And you’ve already told me that it’s falling apart without Yuzhan Li. So if someone helps you find Yuzhan Li, and saves the deal, then that person should be compensated, don’t you think?”

  “I think that’s fair,” Fabrice said.

  “Five-thousand dollars if we find Li,” Dian said.

  Fabrice expected the guide to come at him with a much larger number. He’d been prepared to offer Dian a thousand dollars just to remain with him for the duration of his stay. He had no problem offering a few thousand more for Dian’s active assistance.

  “We can do that,” Fabrice said. “You help me and when we find Li I’ll give you five grand.”

  “Deal?” Dian asked, extending his hand across the table.

  “Deal,” Fabrice said, grabbing the man’s hand. His grip exhibited a strength that surprised Fabrice, and he saw a slight change to the look in the man’s eyes. A grinding intensity took over. Dian seemed like a man who appreciated a challenge.

  “By the way, who’s Kyle Shapiro?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know. It’s the New Yorkest name I could think of on the spot. Why? Do you know him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Big surprise.”

  16

  Chapter 16

  Paranoia had been a recurring theme of Buster’s life in China. Almost from the time he landed in the country, he constantly looked over his shoulder. It had served him well, as he’d encountered few situations that he hadn’t expected. His business deals had always been on the cutting edge, so anticipating what might go wrong made complete sense to him. The key had always been not to let the paranoia paralyze him. Caution only became useful when it drove action rather than inaction.

  Despite the ever-present paranoia that lingered over everything he did, Buster had never experienced the intense paranoia that consumed him in the days following Yuzhan Li’s death. After visiting Li’s home, he returned to his own home and could do nothing but sit and stare at the entrance door to his apartment, fully expecting police to break through at any moment and take him into custody. Alice did everything she could think of to break through to him, but he shut her out, at times scolding her for getting too close to the door, as if the police might apprehend her simply for straying near the outside.

  He slept minutes rather than hours for three nights in a row, at times hearing phantom knocks at the front door. Sirens outside his window sent him into a frenzy in which he hid behind curtains in the living room, but peaked through the window, hoping to see the police before they arrived, thinking that a warning of their arrival would help him avoid arrest.

  At work he sat in his office and alternated between staring out his window onto the Luoyang River below, and watching the glass walls of his office, over which hung blinds that were usually closed, but which had remained open since Li’s death. The ding and buzz of the elevator had become ominous, and he contemplated never leaving the relative insularity of Chinchew.

  It was while sitting in his office, long after everyone else had left for the day, and two hours after he ate a late dinner—which he’d had delivered to the security desk in the lobby, and then sent a maintenance person to retrieve—that Buster decided he needed to talk to his partners in New York. With the thirteen-hour time difference, communication between them often lagged, or required parties in one or the other city to keep abnormal hours. But with the late hour in Quanzhou, his partners in New York would be well into their workday.

  Neil Driscoll had helped him devise the scheme, and he remained in charge of the New York side of things. Driscoll had become a legend in New York for his ability to turn unheard-of profits in the money market, primarily through deals involving high-risk commercial paper. Most money market funds are rather conservative and won’t purchase commercial paper from high-risk companies, but over a number of years Driscoll had developed a formula that allowed him to calculate which companies were more likely to default on their promise to payoff the loan for which they issued the commercial paper. His formula not only warned him of which companies he should stay away from, but also gave him an advantage because he knew which of the high-risk companies were the safest bet. He’d never divulged the existence of his formula, instead choosing to explain his long track record of success as just making lucky guesses.

  Trading in the gold market and currency market had become Driscoll’s hobby over a number of years, and he applied the same sort of analysis and outside-the-box thinking to those markets as he did to the commercial paper market. Buster and Yuzhan Li were the final pieces to a puzzle he’d created, and if everything worked as he expected, everyone involved would find success thousands of times greater than he’d achieved in commercial paper.

  Buster closed the blinds in his office, even though everyone else had left the building, and no one could hear his conversation simply by looking into his office. But closing the blinds provided another barrier from the outside, which is what Buster sought more than anything at that point.

  He dialed Driscoll’s private office number. After a brief delay, the phone began ringing. Buster heard eight rings before Driscoll answered.

  “Driscoll.”

  “Hey Neil, this is Buster Dodge. How the hell are you?”

  “Hello Buster. I’m about to leave for a meeting, but I’ve got a minute or two. What can I do for you?”
>
  “I’m calling about Yuzhan Li,” Buster said. “Do you know what he’s up to?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Driscoll said. “Li’s your guy. You’ll know better what he’s up to than I will.”

  Buster wanted to scream into the phone that he knew Driscoll was lying and that he should know better than to assume that he’d just retreat and accept Li’s betrayal without putting up a fight. He wanted to tell Driscoll that he’d killed Li, that he wouldn’t permit this deal to happen until he was ready for it to happen, and that despite whatever financial knowledge and connections the New York crew held, that he, Buster, was the man in charge.

  “I haven’t see Li for a few days, and I’m growing a bit worried about him.”

  “Why are you worried?” Driscoll asked. “Is it unusual for him to be out of contact?”

  “Not terribly unusual, I suppose. But I’m worried about what he might be doing. I’m afraid he’s off the reservation.”

  “Off the reservation?” Driscoll asked.

  “Yeah, no longer devoted to the plan we’ve worked. No longer respectful of the fact that many people have put many hours into creating this thing. I’m afraid he’s ready to act on his own, and that it could be detrimental to all of us.”

  Buster listened closely to detect any change in Driscoll’s tone, or perhaps a nervous sigh, or a pause carried on too long while he tried to think of a plausible answer. Instead he heard resolute annoyance.

  “I’m fully aware of what off the reservation means, Buster. I don’t need you to explain it to me. Why do you think he’s off the reservation?”

  “Well, it’s sort of complicated, and I’m afraid if I tell you about it at this point that I’ll be tainting your view of Li. I might be wrong about this. And if I am wrong then I don’t want Li to suffer the consequences. It’s the type of idea that once it’s suggested, a person will never shake. Like murder. As soon as a guy is accused of murder, whether he’s guilty or not, everyone will always wonder whether he is a murderer. He could be a goddamn saint, and people will still look at him and wonder, ‘Did he really dismember that young woman on Block Island?’ There’s no getting away from it.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Driscoll asked. “Are you saying that Li’s a murderer?”

  “No.” Buster paused so that Driscoll would think he was gathering his thoughts, choosing his words. “He’s not a murderer, but I’m not so sure we can trust him.”

  “What makes you say that? Can you please get to the fucking point here, Buster? I’m now late for a meeting. If you’ve got something to say, say it. If not, can we talk about this later?”

  “Forget it,” Buster said. “If you want to throw away the whole fucking deal because you’ve got to get to your meeting, then go right ahead. Just don’t put this on me when the whole fucking thing falls apart.”

  “What are you talking about?” Driscoll asked.

  “Li’s working with someone else,” Buster said.

  Driscoll swallowed hard, but said nothing. He worried that Li had divulged the change of plans to Buster, and that Buster could call off the whole thing.

  “What makes you say that?” Driscoll said in the most casual, disinterested voice he could muster. “I have supreme confidence in Li. I haven’t questioned his integrity at all on this.”

  “About a week ago Li came to my office. We meet every so often to discuss the plans for our operation here, what’s going on with you in New York, and how events from the rest of the world are going to impact what we’re doing. Nothing seemed unusual during the meeting. We had a good discussion, he was well-informed as usual, and had thought about things from every angle. After we were done, we were talking to one of the associates from a different division of the company, and Li excused himself, said he had to go to the bathroom. While he was gone I finished with the associate, and I planned to return to my office, so I picked up Li’s stack of folders to bring them with me, but I left a folder behind on the table. When I grabbed it, some papers slipped out, and as I shoved them back in, in the upper right-hand corner of one of the papers, I noticed the flag of Singapore. Do you know what it looks like?”

  “Do I know what the Singapore flag looks like?” Driscoll asked. “Why the fuck would I know that?”

  “I thought you were a man of the world,” Buster said.

  “Do you have a point to all of this?”

  “The top half is red, the bottom half is white. It’s got a white moon and five stars in the top half. It’s really eye-catching. And it caught my eye, both because of the design, and because Singapore has nothing to do with this. They run too tight of a ship over there, and there’s so many damn rich people in such a small space that there’s no doubt someone would find out, and when they did, everyone in the country would know. In fact, Li mentioned bringing in a partner, some Singaporean he knew from a deal over there. But I vetoed it. The flag caught my eye though, and I pulled that sheet out, and it’s a table of the daily exchange rate of the Singapore dollar to the American dollar and gold.”

  “And that proves that he’s off the reservation?” Driscoll asked.

  “He’s going another direction here. The Singapore dollar has nothing to do with this. We’re dealing in gold, U.S. dollars and yuan. What the fuck does he need to know about the Singapore dollar for?”

  “I’m hanging up now,” Driscoll said. “This is ridiculous. You want to implicate this man because of a table of exchange rates? You’d find similar tables in the paperwork of every bank in the world. It’s ridiculous.”

  “All right, hang up, Driscoll. But before you go, maybe you can tell me if every bank has a memo from the Singaporean deputy prime minister, addressed to Li, which discusses a warehouse in the Suzhou industrial park, which, as you know, is jointly owned by Singapore and China. Or if every bank has a printout of an e-mail exchange between Li and the ministers of Finance, Economic Policy, and Trade, in which they offer assurances to Li that a Singaporean tech company can create a virtual smokescreen so that money temporarily appears in international bank accounts, and then disappears.” Buster waited for Driscoll to respond, but heard nothing. “Are these standard documents for most banks?”

  “You saw these documents?” Driscoll asked.

  “I read them with my own two eyes,” Buster said.

  “Send me copies.”

  “I said I read them. I didn’t say I have them. I couldn’t just steal his documents. I’m quite sure he would have noticed they were missing. That’s some rather vital information.”

  “You couldn’t have scanned them, or made copies?” Driscoll asked.

  “I read the fucking documents,” Buster shouted. “He came back before I could copy them.”

  “Did you confront him?”

  “No. I wanted to try and collect more information. I needed more evidence, more background. But he disappeared before I could do anything else with it.”

  “And you think he’s gone to Singapore?” Driscoll asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s gone underground. He could be putting the final touches on this deal right now. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s trying to work an entirely different angle here, leaving us high and dry.”

  “He can’t do that. Even if he brings in the Singaporeans and diverts, he still needs a connection in the States. Someone to organize the transfer.”

  “Are you sure he doesn’t have that?” Buster asked. “I mean, there aren’t many of us involved, and we’re sort of all relying on each other to vouch for one another. But if one guy pulls out and goes his own way, it’s possible none of us would know until it’s too late. Anyone around there acting suspicious?”

  “No one’s sweating bullets in meetings, or having someone else taste their food for poison before they eat, if that’s what you’re asking. Everyone’s all in.”

  “If you say so,” Buster said. “But just keep in mind, Li’s done a lot of work on this. If he’s got the right connections in Singapore
, and the right connections in New York, he can probably pull this off without any of us. I don’t want to be left here holding my dick in my hand.”

  “He’s got no one here,” Driscoll said. “You take care of things there, and I’ll protect things here. Let’s keep in touch. I’ll make some calls and see if anyone’s heard from Li. Be sure to let me know if you hear from him.”

  “All right,” Buster said. “But no one’s going to hear from him. He’s on his own now. We have no idea what he’s been up to.”

  “He’s got to be around somewhere. And as long as we keep an eye on things here, he can’t do anything.”

  “Pay attention, Driscoll. Sometimes people do things right under your nose and you don’t even know.”

  Buster hung up, satisfied that he’d planted seeds of doubt in Driscoll’s mind. He had hoped that he gained the upper hand by killing Li, but his paranoia over being caught had mitigated his advantage. And even if Driscoll didn’t react to Buster’s claims like Buster expected, he knew he’d at least created some space, some uncertainty, into which he could claim that Li disappeared.

  17

  Chapter 17

  Mia looked at Oglesby, Krasner and Brown and tried to read their expression. She hadn’t consulted with them before offering the exchange of information to Randy. She didn’t know any of the three men, but they all had the same training, and her training told her to exchange information. She had a gut feeling about Randy, and his inability to offer any explanation about his purpose for being in the middle of the ocean only confirmed her feeling.

  She understood the risk in divulging the truth to Randy, but she knew that facing hours together, in a contained environment, with mutual skepticism already established, the chances of concocting a fictional story that held up under questioning were minimal. And if Randy thought Mia was bullshitting him, then he wouldn’t be honest with her. Mia knew that if Randy had a covert reason why he, Graham and Fitz were at sea, it would insulate her from Randy’s reaction to the information she planned to share.