by Lee Goldberg
“Before you left the United States, you must have been briefed on emergency options,” Ian said. “What was your escape plan if everything went wrong for you?”
“There’s a fishing boat in Aberdeen we use to smuggle out assets as a last, desperate resort. But it won’t work for you and me now,” she said. “We’ve been exposed and there are too many eyes on us. We’d never make it and we’d burn that escape route for future ops.”
Her reasoning made sense. He glanced at the crowd behind the K-rail perimeter. It wasn’t hard to spot the faces of the Chinese agents. They were the ones watching Ian and not the movie action unfolding on the Big Wheel.
He shifted his gaze to the pedestrian bridge, the high-rise buildings, and the ferry terminal, knowing that there were probably dozens of cameras, and a couple of sniper scopes, trained on him right now. But watching was all they were doing, all they could do. He felt that familiar tickle of inspiration and he began to fill his imaginary dry-erase board with notes, story beats, plot moves.
“Perhaps all of those eyes on us can work in our favor.”
“How?” she asked.
Ian didn’t answer. He reached into a pouch on the side of his chair and pulled out a copy of the script with a shooting schedule attached to it. “Tomorrow night they’re shooting some of Wang Mei’s scenes in the taxi chase.”
“Yeah, so?”
Ian flipped through the script, finding the scenes scheduled for the next day. They were shooting Eve, the character played by Mei, steering a runaway taxi from the back seat while being pursued through Kowloon by assassins on motorcycles. The scene in the script merged in his mind with the new scenes he was sketching out on his imaginary whiteboard. A story was taking shape.
“I’ve seen that look before,” Margo said. “You’ve got an idea.”
“Do you have a map of Hong Kong?”
“I do.” Margo reached into her bag and handed the map to him. He opened it up and found the section of Lai Chi Kok Road where Mei’s scenes in the chase would be shot.
“I like this,” he said.
“Am I going to like this?” she asked.
“It’s something Straker would do.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We’re going to turn our disadvantages to our advantage.”
“Rephrasing what you said before into a line from a fortune cookie doesn’t make it any clearer.”
“But more relevant to our setting. Do you have another CIA contact in Hong Kong who can run a few errands for us without exposing himself to the enemy?”
Margo hesitated for a moment, then said, “Susie Yip.”
Now everything that had happened since they arrived made sense to Ian, but this was the first revelation that made him happy.
“She’s a CIA agent?”
“Why don’t you say it louder?” Margo said. “I’m not sure that Mei’s bodyguards, the film crew, and the assassins behind the police line all heard you.”
“So you didn’t really seduce her ten seconds after we arrived in Hong Kong,” he said. “You were already lovers.”
“We met when we were both in training,” she said. “Not that it matters.”
“It did to you,” Ian said. “You wanted me to believe that you had lesbian superpowers.”
“No, I didn’t. I was just protecting my cover. I’m a spy, remember?”
“You could have come up with a different story. But you chose to portray yourself as irresistible to women just to make me feel inadequate.”
“You’re being ridiculous. We have more pressing issues to worry about than your jealousy over my red-hot sex life. What’s your plan for getting you, me, and Wang Mei out of China alive?”
Ian found a pen in the pouch and began writing on the shooting schedule. “This is what we’re going to need for tomorrow and what Susie has to do for us. Don’t worry, she’ll never be in any danger.”
“But we will be,” she said.
“We already are,” Ian said. “What’s a little more?”
He tore the shooting schedule pages from the script and handed them to Margo, who looked over his notes, nodded to herself, and then smiled at him.
“If we’re going to die,” Margo said. “It might as well be spectacular.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The shooting didn’t end until 2:00 a.m. Ian and Margo went back to the hotel with Susie, the stars, and P. J. in the studio van. During the drive, Margo slipped Susie the list and Fung’s phone and kept her eye on the rearview mirror and the car that followed them.
Despite all of the bloodshed that he’d seen, the shocking secrets that had been revealed, the extreme danger that he was in, and the deadly challenges that he faced, Ian fell asleep the instant he got into bed and didn’t wake up until his alarm went off at 10:00 a.m. He felt rested, with only a mild hum of anxiety running through his nerves.
It was July 4, Independence Day in America, and today he would be asserting that independence in the face of communism. It was a ridiculous notion. But thinking of what he and Margo were going to do as an act of patriotism, rather than suicidal desperation, emboldened him. He actually had “The Star-Spangled Banner” playing in his head as he went down to the lobby for a late breakfast with Margo. They ate from the buffet instead of ordering from the menu in case agents of the Ministry of State Security tried to drug their food, make them sick, and put them in an ambulance to Beijing.
After breakfast, Ian and Margo piled into the studio van with some of the other American production crew members and stunt drivers and were driven to the nearby filming location on Lai Chi Kok road.
A six-block section of the street was entirely closed off to traffic north of Boundary Street. There were wooden sawhorses and a police car barricading each intersection to make sure that no vehicles or civilians wandered into the chase area. The second-unit crew had been shooting scenes from the chase, again and again, on this same section of street for several weeks, so crowd control had become routine for the police.
The van driver steered slowly through the crowd of onlookers, who parted to let them pass, and through the police line to the production base camp at the wide Lai Chi Kok and Boundary Street intersection. The dressing room trailers, makeup trailers, equipment trucks, and other vehicles were parked there. It was also where P. J., Larry Steinberg, the director of photography, and other key production personnel would watch the chase unfold on monitors displaying the feed from the movie cameras.
As Ian got out of the van, he looked north on Lai Chi Kok and saw the stunt cars, motorcycles, and buses parked along the six-block stretch, roughly in the positions where each vehicle would come into play in the chase.
The red-and-white Toyota taxi, with the stunt driver’s roll cage on top and the cameraman’s platform on the passenger side, was the star of today’s shoot. The stunt taxi was parked at the south end of the street, along with the three black motorcycles that the stuntman “assassins” would be riding.
The real assassins, Ian knew, were somewhere in the crowds behind the police line along the entire route. He guessed that the Ministry of State Security had probably hijacked the feeds from all of the private surveillance cameras on the six-block stretch and would also hack into the signal from the movie cameras mounted on the red-and-white taxi.
Ian saw P. J. supervising last-minute adjustments to the camera on the taxi’s passenger-side platform, which would be operated by a cameraman, and the stationary one mounted on the hood of the car. Both cameras were pointed at the driver’s seat, where Mei would be sitting for the chase.
There was a buzz of excitement in the air like static electricity. Something thrilling and dangerous was definitely about to happen.
Susie greeted Ian and Margo almost the instant they emerged from the van and led them to the dressing room trailers. She seemed like an entirely different person to Ian. More focused, capable, and serious. The bubbly, excited publicist persona had clearly been an act. Now she was all business.<
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“Everything is set. I found the container and a cargo ship. All you need to do is get to the port.” She slipped Ian a set of keys and he pocketed them.
“You make it sound so easy,” Margo said.
Susie pulled Margo between two of the trailers and gave her a hard, passionate kiss. Margo dropped her hands to Susie’s ass and pressed against her. Ian felt bad about staring but that didn’t stop him from doing it. They broke their embrace and Susie stared into Margo’s eyes.
“You will make it,” Susie said.
Ian asked, “What about me?”
Susie gave him a thumbs-up. “Good luck.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said.
“The cameraman and stunt driver were just served tea in their trailers,” Susie said, checking her watch. “They should be ready.”
Margo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay then. Let’s do this.”
Ian walked to the cameraman’s trailer, knocked on the door, and when he didn’t hear anything, he let himself in. The cameraman, wearing a black jumpsuit, lay unconscious on the floor, a shattered teacup beside him. Ian opened the bedroom closet, where he found a second black jumpsuit and the cameraman’s helmet on a shelf. He took them both.
At the same time Ian was doing that, Margo walked to the stunt driver’s trailer and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She opened the door and stepped inside. The stunt driver, also wearing a black jumpsuit, was slumped unconscious on the banquette table, his face in the plate of cookies beside his teacup.
Classified Location, Kangbashi District, Ordos, Inner Mongolia, China. July 4. 12:07 p.m. China Standard Time.
There were dozens of live perspectives of Lai Chi Kok Road up on the control room’s media wall, including a satellite view that gave them an overview of the entire street.
“We’ve got the location completely covered,” Pang Bao told Yat Fu. “In addition to what you see here, we’ll tap into the video feed from the movie cameras and the audio from Mei’s microphone once filming begins.”
“What ground resources do we have?” Yat asked.
“We have our operatives on foot and in cars around the base camp, where Ludlow and French will be.”
“What about along the chase route?”
“There are police barricades the whole way and we have a car at each intersection. It’s a tightly controlled environment to keep people out.”
And it had the unintended benefit of keeping Ludlow and French in a contained space. Yat Fu liked that.
“The studio made travel arrangements for Ludlow and French yesterday,” Pang added. “They are booked on the eight thirty p.m. flight to Los Angeles tonight.”
“It’s a ruse,” Yat said. “They have no intention of taking that flight. They know we’ll intercept them at customs before they can get on the plane.”
“So why do it?”
“Misdirection,” Yat said. “A magician’s sleight of hand. We’ll see them leave the hotel and head for the airport but there will be a switch somewhere along the line. They have a plan to be smuggled out.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Yat said. “But we’ll stop them.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Lai Chi Kok Road & Boundary Street, Hong Kong. July 4. 12:18 p.m. Hong Kong Time.
Ian and Margo emerged from their respective trailers wearing identical black jumpsuits and crash helmets with visors that obscured their faces. They both headed for the red-and-white stunt taxi. The other stunt drivers were getting on their black motorcycles and into the other vehicles.
Mei was already sitting in the back seat of the taxi and getting last-minute direction from P. J., who leaned in the open window, a viewfinder dangling around his neck. A dummy dressed like the cab driver was slumped in the front seat behind the steering wheel. There was fake blood and gore splattered on the driver’s side window.
“Are you nervous?” P. J. asked Mei.
“Terrified,” she said.
“Excellent. Don’t try to hide it. Use it in your performance.”
“I’m not even wearing a seat belt in this scene,” she said. “How much danger am I in?”
“Less than anybody driving on the streets of Hong Kong right now.” P. J. lifted his viewfinder to his eye and looked at her through it. “Beautiful. Love the fear on your face. But don’t worry. Nothing that is about to happen is random. It’s all in the script. We’ve got the entire street closed off for a mile. No outside traffic can come in.”
P. J. lowered his viewfinder and nodded toward Margo, who was climbing into the driver’s cage on the roof of the taxi.
“The stunt driver on top of this car has been training for this for months,” he said. “Every move and impact are tightly choreographed and timed to the split second. He could do it in his sleep.”
Maybe the actual stunt driver could, but this would be Margo’s first time. She’d be winging it. But P. J. didn’t know that.
“We’ve already shot the full chase sequence from multiple angles,” P. J. continued. “You saw the footage. You know what’s coming. So while it may seem like this taxi and every car around you is out of control, it’s all just a big, well-rehearsed dance sequence.”
“With speeding cars and buses smashing into me,” Mei said.
“Exactly. It will be fun,” P. J. said.
Ian climbed onto the platform mounted on the passenger side of the taxi, got into the seat behind the movie camera, and snapped on his seat belt. The snap of the belt got Mei’s attention.
She pointed to him. “So how come he gets a crash helmet and a seat belt but I don’t?”
“Because he’s hanging outside the car while you’re safe in a structurally reinforced cabin,” P. J. said. “Think about it. If anybody should be scared of dying, it’s him. One wrong move by the driver and he’s roadkill. But he’s got total faith in the driver and balls of iron.”
Ian wished P. J. hadn’t said that. It reminded Ian of how much real danger he was in. P. J. gave him a thumbs-up and Ian returned the gesture, though his balls of iron had gone into hiding.
Mei didn’t seem reassured by the danger Ian was willing to face. She still looked like she might bolt out of the car at any second.
P. J. pointed to the radio on the dashboard. “The radio is tuned to my microphone so I can give you direction on your performance, though I don’t think you’ll need any. That’s the beauty of visceral filmmaking. It’s raw and natural.”
Mei took a deep breath. “I wish I’d known that before I spent four years in London studying acting at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts.”
“You’ll just be using different muscles,” P. J. said.
“Mostly sphincters,” Mei said.
“That the spirit. Let’s do this.” P. J. walked away.
Ian’s fear turned into nausea. He was afraid he might throw up, which would mean removing his helmet, which would ruin everything. So he willed himself to stay calm and keep his breakfast down. It wasn’t doing the camera work that terrified him. He knew how to operate a camera and frame a shot from his years of working in network television. What scared him was Margo. She’d assured him that she’d been trained in “combat driving” by the CIA. But only a few top stunt drivers had ever tried driving a car from a roll cage on the roof.
They’d looked over the roll cage and the rudimentary cockpit beforehand. It was just a steering wheel, with a speedometer attached to the steering column, a “starter button,” a brake pedal, and a gas pedal. Pretty basic stuff, she’d said. No need for an operating manual to figure it out. Besides, she’d have a wide, clear view of the three-lane road ahead and she’d studied the script, so she knew what to expect. There was no reason for Ian to worry.
There sure the hell was. Everybody drove on the left here, and that was a big enough adjustment for an American driver to handle without the unique challenges Margo would be facing driving from a cage on top of the taxi. She didn’t know how hard to press the gas or h
ow far to turn the wheel to control the taxi for the high-speed driving and the evasive maneuvers she’d have to do. And if Margo made a mistake, it was Ian who would suffer the painful consequences.
He fought down his breakfast again.
P. J. settled into his chair behind his bank of monitors. The director of photography and Larry Steinberg were on either side of him and Mei’s two bodyguards looked over his shoulders.
The monitors showed the A and B camera views of Mei. The A camera view from the passenger side, where the cameraman was, showed an almost full-body view of Mei and the action happening outside the windows beside her. P. J. could give that cameraman directions and adjust the framing on the fly. The B camera mounted on the hood was locked in a loose close-up of Mei that also showed the street action behind her.
P. J. spoke into his headset. Ian and Margo heard P. J. through speakers in their helmets. Mei heard him through the dashboard radio.
“Okay, we are picking up right after the taxi driver has been shot and Eve takes the wheel from the back seat. ‘A’ camera, stay on Mei but just wide enough so we see the action happening outside the window. Mei, you’re terrified and desperate. Are we ready?”
The three of them all said yes at the same time.
“Stunt drivers, are you ready?” P. J. stood up on his chair and looked out at all the other stunt drivers. They all raised a hand and gave him a thumbs-up from their cars and motorcycles. P. J. sat back down in his seat and yelled:
“ACTION!”
Margo stomped on the gas pedal and the taxi shot forward, pursued by three gunmen on black motorcycles.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Ian got a great camera angle on Mei, capturing her character’s desperate efforts to control the runaway taxi, and on the cars veering away outside her window. There was an undeniable energy to the shot but also a raw edge, an almost documentary feel, as if what he was seeing was actually happening. Because it was. It was real cars, on a real street, in real collisions, with a very real Mei trapped in the back seat, terrified for her life.