Ruse

by Cindy Pon

  I cursed under my breath. That was too much time; Jin could easily track us down. “Is it safe to stay here?”

  Lingyi sighed, then stood and stretched. Her skirt was wrinkled, and another purple bruise was blooming on her arm where the damned brute had grabbed her. I went and got an iced tea from the hotel fridge. She took it gratefully, taking a long sip before continuing. “It’s as good as anywhere for now. I’d rather stay put and get this done as fast as possible. I’ll work on manipulating my passport info after, so I can leave the country without being flagged.”

  Arun nodded, and I resigned myself to being holed up here and waiting, until Lingyi was finished.

  “In the meantime,” Arun said, “I’d suggest we all stay offline. I don’t know if Jin is tracking any of us, but he knows I’m the person who made the antidote that curbed his flu epidemic. I’m definitely on his radar. And Zhou—”

  I flipped my butterfly knife and stopped him from going on. “I know. I’m with his daughter.” Or was, anyway. It hurt me to think how panicked she probably was by now, since I’d been out of touch. But I wasn’t ready to speak with her, confront her, deal with what might be the remnants of our relationship. I was grateful for Arun giving me a good reason to stay dark.

  “Actually, I was going to say you were the one who kidnapped his daughter and held her for a large ransom,” Arun said.

  “Oh,” I replied. “That too.”

  Iris leaned back against the sofa, her arm still wrapped around Lingyi’s shoulder. “Is no one going to say it?” she asked in a tone so fierce I nearly took a step backward. “You almost died today.” Iris slipped her arm off Lingyi and pressed her face into her palms, then doubled over as if in pain. Or in an attempt to protect herself. She made no noise; her shoulders didn’t heave. Instead, she sat hunched over and dead still.

  The thick silence that fell across the room felt worse than any sound Iris might have made. I rubbed my temple, slipping my butterfly knife back into a pocket.

  Arun and I avoided eye contact. Lingyi leaned forward and put a gentle hand on Iris’s shoulder. “But I didn’t die,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m all right.”

  “From luck,” Iris said in a muffled voice. “From sheer foolish luck.”

  “No,” Lingyi said. “Because you were there like we had planned. Because Zhou and Arun were there. We worked together and we took back what Jin had stolen.”

  “But what if I had failed?” Iris finally lifted her face and stared at Lingyi with red-rimmed eyes. “And I lost you.”

  Lingyi grabbed for Iris’s hand, holding it against her own chest, but couldn’t seem to meet Iris’s imploring gaze. “I’m sorry, love.”

  Iris stood. “I’ll take first shift tonight,” she said in a rough voice.

  We had all known what the risks were, and it had very nearly become reality again today. But if Iris had hoped Lingyi almost dying might have changed her determination to avenge Jany’s death—it obviously hadn’t. Lingyi was not going to run home; she would see this thing through.

  “Let me come with you,” Lingyi said. She still clasped Iris’s hand.

  Iris shook her head. “I do surveillance better alone. And you need to work on transferring Jany’s data. The sooner that’s done, the sooner we can leave here”—she swallowed—“and you’ll be safe.”

  Lingyi did meet Iris’s eyes then, and nodded once.

  Iris leaned over and kissed Lingyi on the lips before heading out the door. Arun pulled Jany’s laptop from his backpack, and Lingyi took it to the desk in the corner of the room. The determined look I had seen when she was trapped with Jin’s men had returned, and she went straight to work.

  Arun left soon after to gather plates of appetizers and desserts for us from the executive lounge. I cobbled together a meal of finger sandwiches and Thai chicken satay skewers. The hours dragged on, the passing of time marked by the fading daylight as the neon lights brightened on the skyscrapers across the river. Iris checked in on the hour with no news. Jin Tower was almost directly across from our hotel, and I watched the commercials and images play across its glass panels. It seemed there was no escaping the man—he was omnipresent like some amoral god in a Greek tragedy.

  Suddenly, Jin himself was projected on the tower, dressed in an expensive suit, literally bigger than life. He was speaking, but without sound, and subtitles scrolled vertically beside his image. I would like to welcome everyone to an opening ceremony like Shanghai has never seen. He lifted his arms. Jin Tower is the first self-contained vertical city, and all retail and residential spaces are almost sold out. Contact Jin Corp if you’d like to be a part of history.

  I was pressed against the window, glaring at the broadcast. Arun came and stood by my side. “The man never quits, does he?” he murmured.

  Then Daiyu was plastered onto Jin Tower’s glass surface, and I stumbled back from the window. It was an image of her dressed in her purple qipao, accepting the one-million-yuan donation check from Jin Corp at her fund-raising gala.

  “Shit,” Arun said.

  My daughter, the heir of Jin Corp, will be by my side for Jin Tower’s grand opening ceremony. The words scrolled down the building in simplified Chinese, and each character felt like a punch in the gut.

  Arun clasped my shoulder. “Zhou.”

  I stared blindly at Arun, then looked back at the building in time to see an image of Daiyu standing regally beside her father in a red sheath dress, before the image scattered into a million bright pixels, and a commercial for Jin Tower took its place.

  “Zhou,” Arun repeated.

  “How could I have been so foolish?” I asked.

  Arun shook his head. “You don’t know what the circumstances are. Maybe Jin is coercing her. Jin’s all about saving face and showing a united front. It’s no surprise he wants to bring Daiyu back into the fold. She is his daughter.”

  Of course.

  I wanted to pound my fists against the glass but clenched them at my sides instead, unable to put my jumbled thoughts and emotions into coherent words. She had been visiting her father’s mansion once or twice a week still, but none of Jin’s staff asked about her comings and goings. And I knew Jin had stopped supporting her financially since he’d fled to China, closing accounts and shifting his assets abroad. “I don’t think on purpose,” Daiyu had said to me. “But I’m just an afterthought.”

  Until Jin needed to use her again.

  “Even if her father is forcing her to do this, she’s still the heir of Jin Corp,” I finally managed. “I had assumed when she cut off ties with him . . .”

  But she had never cut off those ties.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Arun said after a long silence. “I know you like her.”

  The hotel room’s phone rang in that moment, and I turned from the window, glad for the distraction. It was ten p.m., and Iris was reporting that things were all clear. “Come back,” I said. “I’ll head up to the roof.”

  “I’ll give you five minutes,” Iris replied, and disconnected our call, even more sparse with words than I was.

  “Jin will know Lingyi has escaped by now,” I said to Arun. “He’ll regroup. The longer we remain in Shanghai, the more dangerous it’ll be.”

  Arun glanced toward Lingyi, who had been hunched over the laptop this entire time, rising only to use the bathroom. I had been keeping her mug full of hot tea the whole evening. “You call on the hour too, Zhou,” he said.

  I nodded, patting my clothing, checking on where all my hidden knives were tucked.

  “Will you be okay out there?” Arun sounded concerned.

  “I’m good,” I said. I didn’t look back when I shut the heavy suite door behind me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The summer heat lingered in the air, like cloying perfume that wouldn’t dissipate. I took the elevator to the roof first, needing to be away from people, needing time to think, and breathe. Unmasked, I took long breaths of the humid air, the pollution feeling worse than inhaling secondhand
smoke blown directly at me. Still, I left my face bare, an anomaly now in Taipei, and also in Shanghai. It seemed humankind wouldn’t be satisfied until our entire world was smothered in smog.

  I walked along the edge of our hotel building, peering over the shoulder-height concrete wall. The crowds had thinned this late in the night, but the Bund was by no means empty. Shanghai was a city that never slept. The historic buildings on the Bund were lit in golden light, juxtaposed against the flashing neon and advertisements on the modern skyscrapers across the river. I paced along the wall until I was above the main entrance of Les Suites. I could see two doormen standing outside as cars and taxis swept past. Aircars and limos hovered in the distance, headed to the exclusive restaurants and clubs that dotted the Bund.

  The night was still, with little breeze. Ignoring the warning signs plastered on the walls, I pulled myself easily up, sitting down and taking in Shanghai’s breathtaking skyline. Jin Tower continued to project its advertisements, and I wrenched my gaze away, the hurt and confusion taking hold again, clamping down like a vise on my breath. A fool indeed. I had thought dating Jin’s daughter—someone completely out of my league anyway—was an impossible dream. Well, I was right.

  Has he been in contact with you? I had asked Daiyu the last night we spent together in the Shangri-La Hotel after her gala. She had been annoyed, dismissive. I don’t want to talk about this right now. Now I knew why—they’d been in contact all these months, and Daiyu had chosen to lie to me about it.

  But part of me still couldn’t believe that Daiyu had lied to me maliciously, that her feelings for me hadn’t been true. Or maybe she’d finally realized that I would never be good enough—a street urchin, pretending to be someone I wasn’t. An outsider. Maybe she knew all along that our relationship would only be temporary. I pounded my fists into the concrete wall again and again, letting the pain bolt up my arms.

  Pathetic, Zhou.

  I surveyed the street below, taking in the pedestrians on the sidewalks and the cars coming and going. A silver BMW pulled up to the hotel entrance, and a black man in a tuxedo stepped out before reaching over to lend a hand to his partner; a beautiful black woman wearing a slinky red dress emerged from the car. Nothing suspicious. Maybe we’d get lucky tonight and it’d pass without incident. I jumped off the wall. When the lights along the Bund and across the river dimmed to darkness at eleven p.m., I took the elevator down to the sleek hotel lobby and rang up our suite to check in.

  “Iris is sleeping,” Arun said. “She’ll relieve you at four.”

  I agreed. “How’s Lingyi doing?”

  “Still working,” he replied. “I tried to get her to rest, but she refused.”

  “Iris was right to be terrified,” I said in a quiet voice. “It all happened so fast—she was choking to death.”

  Arun didn’t respond right away, and the silence was heavy. “I know. She’s all right now, thankfully.”

  From sheer foolish luck.

  I hung up and took a quick sweep of the lobby, empty this late at night except for the attendant behind the counter, before grabbing an apple and a cookie from the executive lounge and heading back up to the roof. It offered the best view of who went in and out of our hotel, but also, I’d know if Jin’s men decided to access it from the rooftop. The cars and pedestrians dwindled the later it got; the hours passed without incident. Iris met me on the roof.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She nodded, her eyes hooded. “But I barely slept.”

  If it had been any of my other friends, I would have given them a hug, but Iris wasn’t a hugger. Instead I said, “That’s rough.” We talked a little bit about what I had observed in these last hours canvassing, but not about anything that was really on our minds. She gave me a fist bump before I headed back to our suite.

  Our once immaculate sitting area was in disarray, with mugs and plates strewn all over the coffee tables and large glass tabletop. We’d opted out of housekeeping during our stay here. Lingyi was curled up on the sofa, and Arun sat across from her with his chin resting against his chest, dozing. His spiked orange hair had lost some of its stiffness from the long day, and he reminded me of a bedraggled rooster. Again, despite the maelstrom we were facing, with the odds piled against us, it felt good to be with my friends. I began gathering the dirty dishes and mugs as quietly as I could, setting them on a credenza where our espresso machine was. Arun jerked awake on my last trip, his hand tightening on the taser resting next to his thigh.

  “Zhou,” he said. “You’re back. Get some rest.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said in a low voice, watching Lingyi clutch a quilt to her chin, obviously in a deep sleep.

  “I’ve slept.” Arun rose, stretching. “Go.”

  I didn’t argue with him and retreated to the other bedroom in the suite, climbing onto the plush bed and falling asleep instantly.

  I woke to a string of loud curses from Arun in the main room. I glanced at my Vox; it was after eight a.m. I rolled out of bed and ran a hand through my hair. A boat’s horn sounded loudly on the river; I squinted against the hazy light that filled the main sitting area of our suite. Everyone, including Iris, was sitting on the sofas.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, glancing around, making sure nothing looked out of place.

  “I discovered in Jany’s notes just an hour ago that she had made a fully functioning prototype,” Lingyi said, sounding exhausted. “Arun and I were discussing what to do about it.”

  For a moment, I didn’t follow, and then understanding dawned. “Where is it?”

  Arun nodded at the wall screen. “Looks like we might be too late.”

  The screen was muted with subtitles, but I voice-commanded the volume up.

  A news reporter stood in front of a single-story building. Its walls had once been white but were a dingy gray now, and much of the paint had flaked off years ago. Double glass doors with faint blue trim were flung open, with paramedics streaming in and out. Above the doors was a faded wooden sign with the characters QIBAO BLESSED MERCY CHILDREN’S CLINIC, originally etched in black, but long since worn away.

  “This is an image of the robbers responsible for stealing the air filter from the clinic two nights ago,” the reporter, a woman dressed in a sleeveless silk shirt and tan skirt, said to the cambot. A grainy image of three men in dark suits flashed across our screen. I immediately recognized them as Jin’s thugs—the ones who had kidnapped Lingyi. “This single image was provided by the director of the clinic, Ms. Wang, as the facility is not equipped with a security system or cameras.”

  “No wonder they took Lingyi there,” I said. “Jin’s men were already in Qibao.”

  “It’s no coincidence,” Lingyi agreed. “Jany’s notes indicated that she donated the prototype to a clinic on the outskirts of Shanghai. She included an image, and it’s an exact match.”

  The program cut to another woman, older, with her hair cut short. She had been crying. “These are poor children from the city and countryside, abandoned or given to us by heartsick parents who didn’t have the money to take care of them. These men robbed us. I knew these kids’ lives were at risk if the filter was taken.” The woman’s hand shook as she swiped at her eyes. “I begged. I offered my life savings.” She took a quivering breath that turned into a sob. “We didn’t have the equipment to help these kids when the air quality worsened.” Ms. Wang bowed her head, unable to look directly into the cambot.

  “Shit,” I said.

  The news program cut back to the reporter. “To make matters worse, much of Qibao is suffering from a brownout since yesterday, and electricity has been off for large sections of the Minghang District—where Qibao is located—including the clinic. Due to lack of funds, the clinic has only one old generator that is not functioning.” The reporter shook her head. “Three infants and two children have already died. The situation is dire.”

  The director grabbed the mic from the reporter. “We’re in desperate need of a new ge
nerator, incubators, ventilators, and hospital-grade air filters. Please help!”

  I muted the program. “What can we do?”

  “I have to go on-site,” Arun said. “Iris can stay here with Lingyi. Come with me, Zhou.”

  “It’s too risky,” Iris replied.

  “I can’t not help,” Arun retorted. “Kids are dying. Babies.”

  Lingyi stood and wrapped her arms around Arun. She looked worn out, but Arun appeared somewhere between enraged and panicked. “Go with Zhou. Iris has her temporary device. We’ll be in contact. I should be done by the end of the day.”

  “You’re not safe, Lingyi, even if Jin has the prototype now,” I said. “His men got their hands on it before they took the time to kidnap you the next day.” I took my butterfly knife out and spun it, too restless not to have something in my hand. “Jin doesn’t like loose ends. You’re a loose end.”

  “You’re right,” Arun said. “And the reverse engineering on the catalyst could take at least a month, if not longer. Jin has no patience for that.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Lingyi said. “Go. Keep your hair unspiked and covered, Arun,” Lingyi said. “You’re too recognizable now. Keep your faces hidden.”

  We nodded in agreement. Arun and I took fifteen minutes to get ready and were out the door before nine a.m., headed back to Qibao.

  We hailed an aircar along the Bund. The day was already hot, and the Bund was crowded with pedestrians, including two large tourist groups. Their guides held colored flags, and the tourists all wore color-coordinated caps. A long barge drifted down the river, hauling what appeared to be heaping piles of dirt. Smaller tourist boats navigated past it, with people pressed against the railings on the deck, taking photos and videos and admiring the views. I was relieved to settle into the cool aircar as it soared into the sky, away from the masses. I stared at Jin Tower as we arced past, last night’s revelation about Daiyu hitting me again like a bad hangover. I concentrated on the city views from above, trying to distract myself.