The Tomb of Hercules

by Andy McDermott

  Eddie Chase.

  Nina opened her mouth to call out to him, then clamped it shut again, not sure what she would say. And what was he doing here anyway, after all the fuss he’d made about taking the morning off?

  Her confusion increased when she realized from which door he’d just come. It was the office of Hector Amoros. Not somebody with whom Chase dealt regularly … so why had he gone to see him now?

  The elevator doors closed on Chase—if he’d seen her down the corridor as they shut, he gave no sign. A chill suddenly hit her.

  Had he quit? Was that why he’d gone to the man in charge of the IHA, to hand in his resignation?

  The chill intensified. If it was because of her, then the IHA might not be the only place he was leaving …

  Nina was about to go to Amoros’s office and ask him what had happened when she heard her name over the PA system. Evidently Popadopoulos had come to a quick decision.

  She vacillated for a moment before turning and heading back to her office. One thing at a time. Get rid of Popadopoulos, and then find out what the hell Chase had just done. And hope it wasn’t too late to stop him from doing something stupid.

  Not, she reflected ruefully, that she’d had much success at that lately …

  The hunched historian stood waiting for her as she entered. “Dr. Wilde,” he said, somewhat reluctantly, “regarding the Hermocrates text… the Brotherhood has agreed to allow you to view it. Here in New York.”

  “Thank you,” she said, though without the pleasure she’d expected.

  “I have certain conditions that must be met regarding security and the handling of the pages, of course—I will e-mail the details to you by this afternoon.” His eyes narrowed behind the gold-rimmed glasses. “These conditions are not negotiable, no.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” said Nina, distracted, still concerned about Chase. Popadopoulos seemed surprised by her ready agreement, geared up for a confrontation and slightly disappointed not to get one.

  “Very well,” he said. “I will make the necessary arrangements to have the text flown over from Italy by tomorrow. I, of course, will be in attendance at all times while you—you alone, no one else will have access—examine the pages.”

  “Yeah, that’s great.” She blinked, snapping back to full awareness of the conversation. “I mean, thank you, Mr. Popadopoulos, thank you! I look forward to it. Thank you.” She shook his hand, then almost bustled the little man out of the office before sitting down, one hand over her mouth.

  What had Chase done?

  She was about to reach for the phone to call Amoros when it trilled. Startled, she picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Nina, hi.” It was Amoros himself. “When you’re free, can you come by my office?”

  “Is it—is it about Eddie?”

  “Actually, yes.” He sounded surprised. “I didn’t realize you knew. He said he hadn’t told you about it.”

  “About what?” she asked, feeling panicked.

  There was a pause. “Maybe you’d better come seeme…”

  “You’re going where?” Nina demanded. As soon as her meeting with Amoros ended, she’d raced out of the building and jumped into a cab back to the apartment.

  “Shanghai,” said Chase casually, as if flying to China on a moment’s notice was no more remarkable an event than taking the subway, while he stuffed clothes into a bag.

  “Why are you going to Shanghai?”

  He gave her a condescending smirk. “It’s classified. IHA business.”

  Nina bristled. “The hell it’s classified! Tell me what you’re doing!”

  “Sorry, love, it is classified. Amoros agrees with me—and so does the U.N.”

  She stepped up to him, hands on her hips. “Is this about us?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with us,” he said. “Something came up, I thought it was an IHA security issue, Amoros agreed, so I’m off to Shanghai to check it out.”

  “Why you? Why not somebody else? Like somebody actually in Shanghai already?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t tell me, or won’t tell me?”

  Not looking at her, Chase shut the bag, then slipped his passport and other documents into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “I’ve got to go.”

  “And how long are you going to be gone?”

  Chase shrugged. “Long as it takes.” He started towards the door, but Nina stood in his way.

  “You seriously expect me to believe that you’re flying halfway around the world at a moment’s notice, and you won’t tell me why, and it has nothing to do with what we’re going through right now?”

  “I don’t really care what you believe. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to work.” He pushed past her and left the room.

  “Son of a bitch!” Nina growled, shooting a venomous look at the back of the apartment door as it closed behind him. Fists clenched, she went over to the Cuban souvenir as if about to sweep it from its perch and smash it into a million pieces, but then turned away and threw herself onto the couch, shaking with anger.

  3

  Shanghai

  It was more than two years since Chase’s last visit to Shanghai, and he was impressed—though not surprised—by the scale of the change in the city’s skyline. New skyscrapers had sprung up wherever he looked, and the spaces between them were filled with towering construction cranes that formed gangly silhouettes against the dusk sky.

  The new structures weren’t the boring boxes that dominated cities in the West. Flush with money and determined to show off the fact, the booming corporations of Shanghai were engaged in an architectural arms race, competing to have the tallest, the coolest, the most outrageously designed headquarters. Ancient Chinese temples stretched vertically to a hundred stories or more, gleaming silver spires, domes, corkscrews and even some bizarre organic shapes that defied easy description, everything blazing with neon.

  The building Chase took a particular interest in as the taxi drove along an overpass on the city’s eastern side was not as tall as some, but it still made a statement with its size and design. The headquarters of Ycom—pronounced yee-com—were around thirty floors high, one side of the building a sheer cliff of black glass while the other dropped away in a smooth curve that reminded him of a skateboard ramp. The roof of the building was festooned with communications masts, all picked out in neon, with what looked like a helicopter pad at the center.

  Ycom, he knew, was one of Richard Yuen Xuan’s corporations.

  “So, Eddie, you still like Shanghai?” said the woman driving the cab. Her petite frame made to seem even smaller by her oversized, boyish clothes, Chao Mei appeared to be barely out of her teens. In fact, she was several years older than she looked, and her pretty, innocent face, partly hidden below the brim of a floppy turquoise beret, belied some of the less-than-legal activities Chase knew she’d been involved in through her family’s connections to the Triads.

  “Yeah, it looks pretty cool. All these towers, though—the whole place is like one giant dick-waving contest.”

  Mei giggled. “You still always joke about sex, Eddie. Maybe if not for this”—she patted her stomach. Not even her padded jacket could disguise the fact that she was several months pregnant— “we could have finally done it for real, hmm?”

  “Yeah, bloody Lo and his powerful sperm,” said Chase, knowing she was joking. “But I’m probably going to need to get out of town fast when I’m done.” His voice dropped. “Also, I’m sort of involved with someone.”

  “You are?” She looked back at him, pleased but also a little surprised. “Good for you! What’s she like? Is she beautiful?”

  “Eyes on the road, Mei,” Chase reminded her, trying not to wince as the taxi drifted out of its lane towards a bus. She jerked the cab back into line, then watched him in the mirror. “And yeah, she is.”

  “I knew it! When I told Lo you were coming, he got very jealous. Wanted to know how someone with your face always ende
d up with beautiful women.”

  Chase snorted, rubbing his flat, oft-broken nose. “Guess it’s because I’m just such a great bloke.”

  “That’s what I told him! So, tell me about her. Are you in love?”

  The skyline disappeared as the taxi descended into the tunnel under the river bisecting the city. “I… I don’t know. I dunno what we are right now, to be honest,” said Chase, wanting to change the subject. He looked out at the skyscrapers again as the taxi emerged from the tunnel on the city’s western side.

  Shanghai’s Grand Theatre was an ultramodern structure of steel and glass on the western side of the People’s Park. Mei pulled the taxi over by the plaza in front of the building. “Okay, this is it. You got everything you need?”

  “My ticket’s right here,” said Chase, holding it up.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get you a better seat. Very short notice.”

  “I didn’t come here to see some fat bloke singing,” he reminded her with a grin.

  “What about a signal when you want me to get you?”

  “Just keep your eyes open. You’ll know it when you see it.”

  Mei frowned. “Eddie, please don’t blow up the Grand Theatre. I like it, I saw Les Mis there.”

  “Sounds like a good reason to blow it up!” The frown deepened. “Okay, okay, I promise I won’t completely destroy the place.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Might be some breakage though.”

  “Eddie!”

  “Just kidding. Okay, time to go.”

  “Hold on.” Mei reached back and adjusted his bow tie. “There. Perfect.”

  “Aren’t I always?” He tugged the lapels of the tuxedo she had obtained for him.

  “Take care of yourself,” she told him as he stepped out of the taxi. He winked in reply, then set off across the plaza.

  Chase had deliberately arrived early, and he hung around in the Grand Theatre’s glass-walled foyer to observe the other audience members as they came in.

  He was quickly able to distinguish the genuine opera fans from the corporate show-offs. The former were excited to be there, filled with anticipation for the performance. The latter were more interested in braying loudly, displaying a dismissive, seen-it-all-before attitude to prove this was just another in a long line of expensive perks. Fancy phones, expensive watches and showy jewelery were on open display. Yuppies were as obnoxious in China as anywhere else.

  There was another division, as well. The auditorium in which Don Giovanni was being performed occupied two levels, floor and balcony. According to the seating plan in Chase’s program, the balcony level was mostly private boxes. He had no doubt that his target would be found there.

  Keeping watch on the main doors, he familiarized himself with the lobby’s layout, then climbed the stairs to the balcony level. Theater staff at the end of a velvet rope cordon examined tickets to make sure that only the wealthy gained access—and beyond them were a couple of heavyset, thick-necked men in dinner jackets. Private security. Holstered guns bulged noticeably under their jackets, and Chase was sure that was deliberate. A show of force.

  He looked back down at the main entrance—and saw the people he had been waiting for.

  Yuen swept into the lobby as if it were his own personal domain. Four men surrounded him in a protective square, tuxedoed hulks who could have been stamped from the same mold as the guards along the corridor. A few of the yuppies made moves as if hoping to get a personal audience, but glares from the goons deterred them.

  Sophia followed a couple of steps behind her husband. She was wearing a long cheongsam in shimmering red silk, and even her hair had been pinned up in a traditional Chinese style. She was also carrying a little handbag and wearing shiny black spike-heeled shoes—the platform soles making the heels even more ridiculously high, at least five inches—secured to her feet with a web of thin straps. Chase frowned. That could make things awkward.

  The group headed for the elevators at the back of the lobby. Chase made his way through the guests on the balcony level, also heading for the elevators.

  The doors opened and the four bodyguards emerged to clear a space, followed by Yuen and then Sophia. Chase stepped forward. One of the goons moved to block him—

  “Eddie!” Sophia cried.

  Yuen froze, regarding him suspiciously. “Mr…. Chase, isn’t it?” he said slowly. The bodyguard stepped back, allowing Chase to approach. “This is kinda unexpected.”

  “I’m a huge opera fan,” Chase said. “Never miss a performance.”

  Yuen’s suspicion deepened. “It’s a long way to come from New York.”

  “I get around. But it turned out well, because it means I can apologize to your wife.” He turned to Sophia. “I was … rather rude to you the other night. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “I know we had some problems in the past, but I wouldn’t want you to still be angry with me.”

  “I’m not. So, where are you sitting?”

  “Box number one,” Sophia told him. “Best seats in the house.”

  “I’m down in the cheap seats, I’m afraid. Oh well, maybe we can meet up later.”

  “We’ll be leaving as soon as the performance finishes,” Yuen said pointedly.

  “That’s a shame. Some other time, then?”

  “It’d be a really big coincidence if we met again.”

  Yuen nodded slightly at one of his guards, who interposed himself between Chase and the group. “We have to take our seats. Enjoy the opera, Mr. Chase.”

  “Nothing I like more. Oh, by the way, Sophia… nice shoes.”

  She stopped, tipping her right shoe on its toe to show it off to him. “They are rather good, aren’t they?”

  “Very high heels. What are they, five inches?” Sophia nodded. “They can’t be good for your feet. You really should take them off once you’re in your seat.”

  “I didn’t realize you were a podiatrist, Mr. Chase,” said Yuen cuttingly. “Or are you more of a shoe fetishist?”

  “Hey, they’re very handy when you need to get something off a high shelf.” Chase flashed him a grin. It wasn’t returned. “Anyway, nice to meet you again.”

  “You too,” Sophia said quietly as she was led away.

  From his seat on the auditorium’s main floor, Chase used his program to locate Yuen’s box. By hanging around in the lobby until just before the performance began, he had spotted two of the bodyguards who arrived with Yuen heading downstairs, apparently not opera fans. With luck that meant there were only two men in the box with Yuen and Sophia.

  There were still the two goons in the corridor, but he was sure he could handle them when the time came.

  It came roughly twenty minutes into the performance. He left his seat, earning annoyed tuts from the other people in his row as he squeezed past them, then headed for the lobby and went up the stairs. As he’d hoped, the theater staff manning the cordon had gone now that everybody was seated.

  That just left the two armed guards.

  Chase peered around the corner. They were stationed almost directly outside the entrance to Yuen’s box. One leaned against the wall by a fire hose on a large reel, looking bored out of his mind, while the other fidgeted and ran a finger around his shirt collar. Chase knew the feeling.

  He unfastened his dinner jacket, then stepped into view.

  Or rather, he staggered into view. The two guards straightened, watching him cautiously. As he got closer, he saw that both men had radios, coiled wires running down their necks from small earpieces.

  “Ay up, lads!” Chase said in a loud, slurred voice as he approached. “Couldn’t ‘elp me out, could you? Think I’ve ‘ad a bit too much to drink, an’ I’ve got a bit lost. Lookin’ for the bogs, but all the signs are in Chinese!” He was only ten feet from them, six… “Can you point me int’ right direction?”

  One of the guards extended a fat finger at a sign on the wall. Directions were given in Mandarin and English, as well
as the international symbols for male and female. Chase squinted at it. “Oh, it is in English! Bloody ‘ell, must be more pissed than I thought. Thanks, lads.” He gave the two men a bleary-eyed smile. They grinned back—and Chase drove his fist into the nearest man’s face.

  He fell backwards, out cold, a spray of blood radiating from his crushed nose. The other man gawped, then fumbled at his jacket. He barked a word in Chinese—

  Chase leaped at him and body-slammed him against the wall. He clawed at the man’s jacket, snagging the transmitter under his lapel and tearing it loose. A wire popped free as he threw it onto the polished floor, at the same time delivering a crunching kidney punch with his other fist. The guard’s face contorted in pain.

  But that didn’t stop him from smashing his fist against the side of Chase’s skull.

  Chase staggered, this time for real. Filled with sudden fury, he threw himself shoulder-first against the guard’s chest, plowing him back against the wall with such force that it drove all the air from his lungs.

  Before the man could even begin to catch his breath, Chase seized him in a headlock and hauled him back across the corridor. The guard’s head hit the reel of the fire hose with a bong! that left a dent in the metal. He instantly collapsed, unconscious.

  But he’d gotten off a warning, however brief. Yuen’s other goons would burst out of the private box at any moment.

  Chase grabbed the heavy brass nozzle of the fire hose and yanked it free of the reel, several feet of fabric-covered rubber playing out behind it. He swung it around his head, faster and faster, letting out more of the hose through his hand with each turn.

  The door opened—

  And the first of Yuen’s goons to emerge took the full force of the nozzle across his jaw. It hit so hard that he flipped over backwards in an involuntary somersault, blood and teeth arcing across the corridor.

  Shouts from the lobby. Chase glanced back towards it. He could hear footsteps clattering up the stairs: more of Yuen’s bodyguards on the way.

  And one more guy in the box.