by Rob Jones
“If I knew anything, I swear I would tell you.”
“Inspector, believe me when I tell you that in the next hour you will tell me everything you know and a lot more you don’t...”
The men laughed. One of them lit a cigarette and leaned against the boatshed door. The bay was especially hazy today, Luk considered.
“Who were the Westerners that Lao met in his Hong Kong office recently?”
“How should I know? I was told nothing by my superiors except I must follow you.”
“The problem I have with that is that a man of your rank is always involved in the strategic planning of such operations. So now you will tell me with whom and why Lao had that meeting. We know the American was a US Army general by the name of McShain, and we know why he’s here in China, and of course we know about Zhang Xiaolu, naturally. I want to know who the others were, and who they are working for.”
“I’ve already told you, I don’t know!”
Luk contemplated the man’s desperate pleas. They meant nothing to him.
He did the kind of jobs other men preferred not to do, but this kind of work had never kept him up at night. When he was nine, the care home where he was growing up in Kowloon had referred him to a psychologist for evaluation after he had stoned a wounded kingfisher to death.
After weeks of discussions, the diagnosis was that he was a sociopath, who could easily turn into a psychopath without extensive counselling. This meant he was among the four percent of people born entirely without a conscience. The standard advice for dealing with psychopaths is to avoid them at all costs. They might not be inclined to hurt you, but if they are, they have no conscience to stop them.
Luk had never found any of this to be at all problematic. In fact, he had found his total lack of conscience to be nothing but conducive to getting ahead in the world. It had proven particularly useful when he was navigating the series of juvenile detention centers and prisons he grew up in after the care home years.
But there was a downside: like most psychopaths, Luk got bored very easily. He often filled the void with drugs and alcohol, only this made him even angrier. He knew no joy, no love, no grief, no guilt. He knew only about gain and loss. Life to Luk was a simple zero sum game which he generally won.
Today, staring at the pathetic and forlorn spectacle of the inspector as he begged for his life, he was reminded of that kingfisher, the one he had killed in the hills of eastern Kowloon.
“Mr Inspector,” Luk said quietly, his hand gripping the blow lamp. Its fierce flame was blindingly bright in the half-light of the humid boatshed. “It is unfortunate for you that I do not believe a word of what you say.”
Luk stepped forward, his short, bulky frame now looming over the restrained police inspector. He smiled like a kindly teacher and raised the blow lamp. Moments later, the inspector’s screams frightened the distant herons and terrified them up into the sky.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Shanghai
Hawke glanced through the window of the Airbus A321 at the countless ships in Hangzhou Bay as the plane descended through wispy clouds on its way into Shanghai Pudong International. With a population over three times bigger than London’s, the city loomed up to the west of the aircraft like a terrible, sleeping monster. He hoped Victor Li hadn’t sent them all on a wild goose chase.
He checked his watch. The two and a half hour flight meant it was still before lunch and they had the whole afternoon to track down Johnny Chan and the missing portrait, which hopefully would lead them to Lea. But it turned out he’d been optimistic about local traffic and it took over an hour to get from the airport to their hotel. Eden had booked them into the Ritz-Carlton, which Hawke was certain wasn’t within the usual parameters of Her Majesty’s Government’s travel allowance, but that was a question for much later and he filed it with all the other questions he wanted answers to.
The ride had been tedious and stressful so when they finally arrived they took a few minutes to freshen up before starting their search for Johnny Chan. Standing in the heart of the Lujiazui financial zone the hotel offered a breathtaking view over the Huangpu River far below and the endless sprawl of the city beyond its far bank. Somewhere in all of that, Hawke thought, was Johnny Chan and the stolen Xi Shi portrait.
The others joined him on the balcony. Scarlet yawned and stretched her arms, surveying the massive metropolis for the first time. “Where the hell do we start?”
“Your man Lao didn’t give us much to go on,” said Ryan. “So far all we have is a stolen portrait of one of the famous Four Beauties and a dead German researcher with the Chinese characters for an ancient god of thunder carved into his stomach.”
“Who was murdered by someone trying to frame me,” Lexi said.
Scarlet raised an eyebrow. “And what was that other thing? Oh yeah, I remember – a missing Tesla device capable of levelling an entire city.”
“Oh yeah,” Ryan said. “That’s the best bit!”
Scarlet perused the drinks menu. “We’re going to need some refreshment.”
Moments later, Lexi ordered room service – a bottle of chilled vodka and some cigarettes to smoke on the balcony.
The door buzzed.
“That’ll be the room service,” Lexi said, looking through the spy hole in the door.
She opened the door and Hawke heard her thank the room service attendant. A moment later Scarlet was pouring out glasses of chilled vodka.
Hawke took a long drink and settled his mind. “Any progress on Lea?”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Not really. As we now know, Eden sent her over here to gather information on Felix Hoffmann. He was in Hong Kong researching something but then he flew out suddenly and without any warning. We know Lea never left the city because of passport records, and we also know what happened to Hoffmann in Paris, so the concern is that whoever killed Hoffmann has something to do with Lea’s disappearance.”
“But we don’t know she’s actually been taken though?” Scarlet asked.
“No,” replied Sophie. “She may have had to drop off the grid. We don’t know if she’s in danger or not, but it’s unlike her to break protocol in this way. That is why Eden has such grave concerns.”
“You all seem very well briefed,” Hawke said.
“Eden contacted me less than an hour ago,” Sophie said in a matter-of-fact tone.
Hawke got serious and slammed his glass down with a smack. “All right, then we know what we have to do. Our priority is the safe return of Lea and to get to the bottom of this Hoffmann murder. Eden says they must be linked and so we’re working on them simultaneously.”
He turned to Ryan. “You and Sophie stay here at the hotel. We need some kind of temporary HQ and this may as well be it, plus I’ve asked an old friend of mine to join us – Commodore Hart. I called her when we left Lao’s office. If she turns up while I’m away, make her feel at home.”
“No problemo,” Ryan said, collapsing on the bed and powering up his laptop.
Hawke pulled on his jacket. “Stay in contact with us while you’re researching this Tesla machine and anything else in this mess that can throw some light on things. In the meantime, we’re going to have a word with Johnny Chan.”
“And where is Chan?” Sophie asked.
“According to Victor Li, he lives in a villa on the Hengshan Road in the Minhang district. How long will that take us, Lexi?”
“Maybe a half hour by cab.”
*
An hour later, Lexi paid the cab driver and he pulled away into the traffic. They were in a broad, tree-lined avenue in the heart of one of Shanghai’s up-market areas. It didn’t take long to knock out Chan’s CCTV and climb over the wall and then they walked casually up to the front door of his luxury villa.
Hawke paused along the way to peer through a side gate into the rear garden where he saw an expansive swimming pool surrounded by persimmon trees. “Very nice,” he said, nodding his head with genuine appreciation.
“Am
azing what the proceeds of crime can bring a man,” Scarlet said. “I’m obviously in the wrong line of work.”
“You think?”
“Uh-huh. Actually, I’ve been giving that a little thought. After our little sojourn into the vault of Poseidon I was thinking about what would happen if we located a large amount of treasure, only this time we should decide not to let the Americans walk away with it.”
“Do you ever think of anything besides money, Cairo?” Hawke said.
“Of course. Sometimes I think about sex.”
Hawke sighed. “We can talk about your early retirement later, but now I think it’s time for a chat with little Johnny.”
Hawke moved silently over the fake grass, but despite the lack of noise a man on an upper balcony began shouting and seconds later he was pouring fire down on them from the muzzle of a submachine gun.
Hawke leaped behind an enormous tea tree to avoid the hail of bullets now flitting past his head at the speed of sound and landing with an anticlimactic thud in the ground around him.
Straight ahead he watched another man join the first on the balcony. He wondered which was Johnny Chan and which the hired help. To his right, Scarlet was taking cover behind a low wall and returning fire at the men with her Beretta while Lexi sprinted behind Chan’s glistening SUV in the driveway.
He used the cover of the border plants to inch forward out of the view of the men in the house. Scarlet moved forward and went to the right where she hooked up with Lexi before both moved out around the side of the house. They were giving the men two fronts to fight, and he guessed this wasn’t going to be the hardest battle he’d ever fought.
He watched a particularly savage exchange of fire between one of the men and Scarlet which ended with the man taking three bullets in his chest and collapsing in agony over the balcony railing. He landed with a terrible thud on the pavement below.
“Damn it, Cairo!” Hawke said under his breath. “What if that was Chan?”
The other man didn’t react to the death of his colleague, and wasted no time in emptying his magazine in the direction of Scarlet Sloane.
Hawke took advantage of the moment to run forward and secure a position under the front porch. He snatched up the fallen man’s pistol and tried the door – locked. Next move was to pick up one of the plant pots and smash the window to the right of the doorway. Then he was inside.
With the sound of Scarlet and Lexi engaging the man on the balcony in a desperate firefight, Hawke moved up the stairs three steps at a time. On the upper landing he turned left and headed toward the front of the property where Balcony Man was firing at his team and occasionally dodging behind a plaster archway for cover. His footsteps masked by the sound of the gunfire, Hawke stuffed his gun in his belt and moved quickly behind the man, grabbing him by the throat with his left hand while disarming him with the other. A second later he drew the gun and held it at the man’s temple.
“Game’s Over, Chan.”
The man struggled in Hawke’s choke-hold. “Who the hell are you people?”
“Think of us as art restorers.”
“What?”
“You have some art and we’re going to restore it – to the rightful owners.” Hawke leaned over the balcony and shouted to the others to join him.
Chan began sweating. “I don’t know what you mean!”
Hawke sighed. “It’s better you talk now, because in about thirty seconds your worst nightmare is going to walk through that door.”
“I don't understand...”
About thirty seconds later Chan’s worst nightmare walked through the door.
The art thief looked at the svelte figures of Scarlet and Lexi as they walked casually into his office. “This is my worst nightmare? Looks more like a dream.”
“It’s no dream, kitten,” Scarlet said and kicked him swiftly in the balls.
Chan doubled over in agony and collapsed to the floor in a heap.
“I see you still favor the direct approach,” Hawke said.
Lexi glared at Scarlet. “Hey, not fair! I wanted to do that.”
“So go ahead,” Scarlet purred. “It’s not like I kicked them back up inside or anything... yet.”
Chan’s eyes widened and he gulped in fear. He glanced up at Hawke, tears in his eyes. “Don’t let her anywhere near me, please! You’re a man, you understand, right?”
Hawke crouched down and adopted a fake-buddy air, just two old pals in the pub. “What did we say about nightmares, Johnny?”
“Okay, okay... What do you want?”
“Like I said, you stole a piece of art recently from Hong Kong and its owners would very much like it back.”
“I don’t know what...” Chan stopped talking and put his hands between his legs as Scarlet took a step towards him. “All right! It’s in there.”
“Where?”
Chan flicked his head to a door on the far side of the office. “It’s there in the safe room. The first shelf on the right.”
Hawke glanced from Chan to the safe and moved forward. Scanning for booby-traps as he went, he stepped into the safe room and took a thin metal box from the shelf.
Back in the study he opened the box and they all peered inside.
They had found the Xi Shi Portrait.
CHAPTER NINE
Scarlet spoke first, and with undisguised contempt. “Is that it?”
“What do you mean?” Lexi said. “It’s beautiful.”
Hawke held the tiny portrait in his hands. It was much smaller than he had expected, and less colorful as well, but there was a certain beauty in its depiction of Xi Shi. She was sitting on a riverbank beside a peach tree in a pale blue dress, now faded by the centuries, and staring at herself in the water.
“So what have we got, Joe?” Scarlet said, and peered over Hawke’s shoulder to take a closer look at the portrait while Lexi strapped Johnny Chan into his leather chair and taped his mouth shut.
“We don’t want him telling his boss that we’ve got the portrait,” she said matter-of-factly, and shrugged her shoulders.
“But what’s so damned special about this particular picture?” Scarlet said. “I just don’t get it.” She took the portrait from Hawke and turned it over in her hands. “Makes you wish we had a vase to smash.”
“I don’t understand,” Lexi said, confused.
“A long story,” said Hawke. “Perhaps another time...”
Hawke took the picture back and studied it in close detail. He already knew it was a job for Ryan, and decided the quicker they got it back to the hotel the better.
“I want Ryan to take a look at this thing,” he said at last. “But first we have some loose ends to tie up here.”
Hawke stepped over Chan and tore the duct tape off his mouth.
“Who commissioned you to steal this portrait?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Chan said.
“How much did you get paid?”
Chan was silent.
Without warning, Hawke punched him hard in the face, breaking his nose. Scarlet rolled her eyes. Lexi winced.
Chan screamed and spat blood onto his polished floorboards. “You’re crazy, man! Why would you do that?”
“He’s not very good with words,” Lexi said.
“Lets his fists do the talking,” said Scarlet.
“Once again, and then I’ll reintroduce you to Cairo Sloane’s persuasive talents. “Who commissioned you to steal this picture, and where is Lea Donovan?”
“Seriously, I am very professional,” Chan said. “I never reveal the names of my clients. If I did, I would be out of business in a day and I have never even heard the name Lea Donovan in my life!”
“And you’ll be out of this world in less than a minute if you don’t overlook your touching little client-confidentiality agreement right now… Cairo?”
Scarlet purred with delight. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She stepped forward and pointed Chan’s Colt in his groin. The thief’s
eyebrows went to the moon and his eyes widened like saucers.
“Okay, maybe just this once I could bend the rules a little, just for you, you understand?” He tried to grin through the fear, his eyes crawling from the muzzle of the Colt and up Scarlet’s arm to her calm, smirking face.
“I want a name, Johnny,” Hawke said. “ A name, and the location of Lea Donovan, right fucking now.” His meaty fist hovered menacingly at a solid punching-distance above Chan’s bloodied face, his arm coiled like a spring.
“Please, I beg of you just one thing,” Chan said, his voice breaking with renewed fear. “When – or more likely if – you get close to this man, please don’t tell him where you got his name. He will kill me in a heartbeat, and when I say kill, I don’t mean shoot me like you want to shoot me, I mean he will torture me to death in the most terrible way you can imagine.”
“Name, Johnny. Now.”
“I was commissioned to steal the portrait by Sheng Fang.”
“Means nothing to me, darling,” Scarlet said.
“Me neither,” said Hawke.
But Lexi spun around and stared at Chan for a few seconds in horror. She spoke to him rapidly in Mandarin, and he returned a few short sentences.
“What are you saying, Lexi?” Hawke asked.
“I just asked him if he’s telling us the truth.”
“But we have no way of knowing that, do we now, darling?” Scarlet said, looking at Lexi with thinly veiled suspicion.
“It’s the truth,” she said. “I asked him if he was being truthful and he said he was. He stole the painting for Sheng Fang. He says he was supposed to deliver the portrait to him half an hour ago but couldn’t because we’ve got him taped to a chair. He says Sheng will just send some guys to get the painting and we’re all dead, basically, and I believe him. This is Sheng Fang we’re talking about, Joe.”
“And the significance of that is... what?” Hawke asked.
“Sheng Fang is one of China’s richest men,” Lexi said. “Ostensibly he made his money in the telecom sector but there are many rumors about him and his activities in the criminal underworld.”