But the roar of the engine prevented them from talking, and so all she could do was speculate. It got her nowhere but more and more frustrated.
The smell of the salt sea air grew stronger the closer they drew to the port, though it was never thick enough to sweep away the stench of decomposition. Finally, the vehicle stopped, and Mister Cheong pushed himself off the bench. He held up a hand for them to remain seated. “There’s a boat coming for you,” he shouted, leaning over at them. “It’ll take you to Shanghai, where a driver will pick you up and take you to your hotel. We’ll meet for dinner at—” He checked his watch, carefully pulling back the sleeve of his coat with a gloved fingertip. “Dinner at nine. Instructions will be left for you at the front desk.”
“Why?” Angel yelled back. “What instructions?”
“To discuss your assignment.”
“What assignment? Who are you? You haven’t told us anything! Who’s this 6X group you work for?”
His brow knit for a moment as he considered how to answer. Then he said, “You might say that 6X is an international consortium of concerned citizens.”
“Concerned about what?”
He tapped his wrist impatiently. “I’m terribly sorry for leaving you in such a lurch like this, but I have a very important meeting and my guest will not tolerate being kept waiting. I’ll explain more at dinner tonight.”
“What assignment?” Angel shouted after him as he climbed over the tailgate and jumped to the ground.
“Tonight,” he said over his shoulder.
With a signal from his hand, the truck lurched forward, its motor growling. A puff of black smoke spewed from the stack and whipped behind them as they accelerated away. Angel watched as Alvin Cheong jogged to the waiting chopper, ducking his head as its rotors began to churn the air. The sleek machine was shiny black, meant only to carry a single passenger.
Angel committed the tail number to memory.
* * *
DeBryan hadn’t dared to bring out his spare cell phone sooner, fearing that it would be confiscated by the Chinese Coast Guard sailors assigned to escort them back to Shanghai. But once the patrol boat left Huangxia Island behind and the two reporters had been taken to the vessel’s galley, they were pretty much left alone. He slipped it out of the secret panel in his pack and turned it on under the table.
“Just letting my contact know what’s going on,” he quietly told Angel. “Don’t want him showing up in that situation.” He shook his head grimly. “Whatever the hell is going on, it’s huge. And if the military is involved, who knows what they’ll do.”
“We shouldn’t have left.”
“You can’t argue with rifles,” he muttered. “Or the PLA.”
She watched him for a moment as he typed in a message below the table surface. “What do you think those soldiers did with the boys?” she asked him, clearing her throat as another sailor stepped into the galley. DeBryan dropped the phone into his lap and brought his hands up, resting them on the table with his fingers loosely twined. She watched the sailor warily as he went and helped himself to some coffee from the urn on the table behind her.
“What do you mean?” DeBryan asked. “Sergeant Zhang said he’d take care of them.”
“But what does that mean?” She didn’t wait for him to answer before adding, “I heard gunshots. Right after we got on the truck.”
He frowned at her, but didn’t deny her claim. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know.” She let out a deep breath and slumped in her seat. She was shaking, both from emotion as well as hunger. A warm, beefy smell rose from the ship’s kitchen, and she considered getting up to ask the sailor if they could get something to eat. She started to rise, but stopped when DeBryan whispered for her not to move.
“Just sit tight for a moment.” He kept his voice low and his head tucked down a bit. After a moment, he brought his hands back up and gestured for hers. She slid them over and he gripped them firmly, as if he were trying to console her. The sailor wandered back over and stared aggressively at them as he passed. Steam rose from the cup in his hand. The aroma, though bitter, made Angel’s head swim.
“Do you think we could get something to eat?” she asked him.
The sailor kept staring at their joined hands as he rattled something off in Chinese.
“Soup?” She pulled her left hand out of DeBryan’s and made a drinking motion.
“Coffee?” The sailor grunted and nodded, then said something else, also in Chinese, before pointing at the urn. Then he left in a hurry, probably afraid she’d ask him something else.
DeBryan released her other hand and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. Angel could feel the small object he had left in her palm and guessed that it was either a SIM card or a memory disk. She gave him a querying look.
“I suspect they’ll probably search us before we debark. They probably already know I’ve sent a text and will be looking for the phone. I’ve replaced the card with a blank and will leave it where they can easily find it. Hopefully that’ll satisfy them. If they do a more intensive search, you’re more likely to be able to slip it past them than I am.”
She nodded. “And what’s on it?”
He took a deep breath. “Honestly? I’m not exactly sure.”
Chapter Five
They waited for nearly an hour in the hotel bar before Alvin Cheong showed up and whisked them to a table in a dark back corner of the restaurant. Angel had already downed three martinis by then, very dry, and was feeling the effects of the alcohol. She seldom drank, but under the circumstances, and considering all the hassles she’d endured over the past several days, she was in no mood to care very much.
It helped that the drinks were insanely expensive. Indeed, they tasted that way, although it might’ve been her imagination; she wasn’t exactly the best judge. She could easily afford to pay the tab, but she took a secret pleasure in telling the bartender to add the charges to the room bill, which was under Cheong’s name. The spacious and richly appointed suites they’d been assigned also had to have cost him a mint. Though it helped dull some of the rage, neither they nor the drinks made up for the way he had jerked her and DeBryan around.
She wondered obliquely if the photog was also feeling the effects of the alcohol. He was on his third bar drink, too, but she knew he’d started before her in his room. She could smell it on his breath, the sickly sweet smell hanging about him like a fog when he showed up at her door to accompany her to dinner. He hadn’t bothered to iron his shirt and slacks, wrinkled from being packed tightly away. The ruffled look somehow suited him. She herself had given the room’s service bar only a passing glance, mostly out of habit and knowing it so seldom contained anything of interest to her.
The conversation had been awkward to begin, but once the liquor began to work its wiles on her, it muted her internal censor enough that she found herself actually enjoying his company. As the minutes ticked away and Cheong still didn’t show, she hoped he wouldn’t. His tardiness, however, only seemed to irritate DeBryan, and he started cracking jokes about him.
“What the hell is up with that name, anyway?” he said. “I mean, Alvin Cheong? Really?”
Angel had been studying her nails. She’d noticed that one of them had broken sometime, probably during the truck ride that morning and it kept catching on her clothes. Now she turned her head and blinked at him. Both of these actions seemed to take abnormally long and much more effort than necessary. “Alvin and the Chipmunks,” she said, and snorted, remembering an old LP her ex used to play at Christmas. “They must’ve teased that boy something terrible in school.”
“No way he grew up with that name. It’s too . . . Anglo.”
“That’s a bit racist, don’t you think? You don’t know where he was born. Maybe he grew up in Chicago.”
DeBryan gave her a quizzical look. “Chicago?”
“I don’t know,” she hiccupped. Although she suspected she’d said it because Chicago was where
David had been born, and he’d been on her mind a lot lately. “His English is better than mine.”
“No, he was born here in Shanghai. His real name’s Lizhen, Cheong Lizhen. Born and lived here till he was thirteen, then his parents moved to Hawaii. He attended college in Massachusetts. MIT. Studied accounting and made his money in the Chinese stock market.”
“Well, Alvin’s a — how do you say? — a preppie name. He could’ve picked it up there. Wait, you’re making this up, aren’t you?”
He chuckled. “No, it’s all true. I looked him up after we checked in, him and this 6X group.”
Angel straightened up in her seat. “How did—? I looked, too, but I couldn’t find anything on either of them. And that helicopter, I emailed a friend to find out who it’s registered to.”
He nodded appreciatively. “Good thinking. I actually had to dive pretty deep into the ‘Net, call in a few favors of my own. There’s this guy I know in NSA, he told me about his real name, so that helped. I’m not sure how much of it I understand or even believe. It’s definitely a strange little . . . . Well, I guess you could call it a pretty damn good plot twist to this story we’re working.”
“What do you mean?” She placed a hand over the top of her drink to signal to the bartender that she was done, and asked for water instead. The buzz was making her regret the martinis, the sloppy way the alcohol made her feel. She didn’t like not being her sharpest when working.
“The group is named for something called the Sixth Extinction.”
“Sounds like a bad John Cusack movie.”
“There are good ones?” He laughed, but quickly sobered up. “The Sixth Extinction is an event that some folks in academic circles and the press believe is happening right now as a result of human activity. The massive extinction of animal species. I’m still trying to understand how 6X fits in with Huangxia.”
“Maybe it doesn’t. I mean, the disaster there was natural, which would explain Cheong’s lack of interest in it. Although,” Angel mused, “some people believe that human activity is causing more extreme weather events.”
“An earthquake is not a weather event.”
“But sea level rise is a direct result of global warming, and that would exacerbate a tsunami.”
“6X’s main focus is technology — artificial intelligence, robotics, smart bullets, and nuclear war, that sort of thing — with the dangers that inevitably arise from unfettered technological advance, not climatologic dangers. Huangxia, an earthquake-created tsunami?” He shook his head. “That’s not really their thing.”
“Well, our buddy Alvin did say we wouldn’t find answers there.”
“Not the answers he’s interested in, anyway. That much is clear.”
“The answers he and this 6X group want us to find? I wonder what they might be. A way to stop the extinctions?”
DeBryan was quiet for a while, peering deeply into his drink. He looked troubled. “Their manifesto, 6X’s, said nothing about preventing extinctions, just preparing for them, as in our own. They seem convinced that the end of the world is a done deal, like it’s just a matter of time before it happens.”
“Great,” Angel said, letting out an unhappy exhale. “Another psycho whack job with an agenda. It’s 2012 and the Mayans all over again.”
“More like Dr. Strangelove.”
“Never saw it.”
“This is the End? No? Not a Seth Rogen fan either?”
Angel shrugged. She didn’t watch much television anymore, not since David left, and she never went to the movies.
“According to my guy, this group is very well-funded and well-connected. The names of lots of very influential folks popped up. So, the question is, are we dealing with a legitimate concern with this extinction thing? Do they know something the rest of us don’t? Or are they just a rich bunch of Doomsday followers?”
“It could be a religious thing. You know, the Rapture.”
“Eschatology doesn’t seem to be their thing, either.” He shook his head. “No, it’s technology. And it really terrifies me seeing the amount of money pouring into this group. I mean, these people are super serious.”
“Why does that scare you? Let them waste their money playing their little fantasy games, as long as it doesn’t affect me.”
“But it might. Like I said, I get this feeling that they know something’s coming. Or . . . ." He shook his head. "Or that they’re behind it.”
Angel chuffed at him.
“You put that much money into something,” he said firmly, “you expect a return on your investment. I can’t help wondering if 6X is bent on making sure that end is realized.”
“Now you’re saying they want global destruction, that they're crafting some massive disaster to make a point?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m saying. But money does make the world go round, so I suppose it could just as well make it stop. These people could very well be gleefully driving us toward some apocalyptic precipice of their own making. Self-fulfilling prophecies are the easiest to render.”
“Apocalyptic precipice. That sounds positively grim.” She frowned playfully at him, but the look on his face made her stop and look away. For just a moment, he looked utterly terrified, and it scared her.
He coughed uncomfortably. “Sorry, alcohol tends to take me to gloomy places.”
“Well, you can raise your suspicions with the man himself,” she said, jutting her chin at the mirror behind the bar. “Here he comes.”
Between the cut crystal display bottles of Glenfarclas, Macallan, and Dalmore behind the bar, they could see the reflection of their host making his way toward them across the darkened room. Angel was almost relieved to see him, though at the same time a feeling of dread had settled over her. What if DeBryan were right? Don't be silly. They turned and stood, and when Cheong reached them he nodded and gestured toward the dining room. He still wore his gloves. He didn't bother with the courtesy of removing them.
“I’m pleased to see that you’ve made yourselves comfortable,” he said, wending his way between candlelit tables. “And afforded yourselves of all the hotel’s amenities.” At this, he turned to DeBryan with a knowing glance. “You found the business lounge computers to your satisfaction?”
Once more, DeBryan coughed uneasily, but Cheong seemed nonplussed. “Good. It means we can dispense with the formalities and get right down to business.”
He waved at a server, who hurried over to seat them, and ordered three bottles of Lauquen Artes water. “Virgin glasses, please. Standard treatment. No ice. And open everything at the table.”
“Of course, sir.”
“For someone who believes the end of the world is nigh, you spare no expense,” DeBryan said.
“Precisely why I do. What good is all the money in the world after it ends?”
“Bet you don’t believe in rainy days, either.”
Cheong gave him a wry smile. “Let’s just say I’ve hedged my bets on several different horses, including the long shot. Nobody knows when the end will come, just that it will.”
“Might be a hundred years from now,” Angel said. “Or a thousand. Your bones could be dust when it finally happens. Your dust could be dust.”
She silently cursed the way her tongue felt in her mouth, the way her words seemed to trip over each other. She hoped they didn’t notice.
“A hundred years? Possibly. Certainly not a thousand.” He stopped when the waiter brought them their menus and told them the day’s specials. Angel noticed that the server was now also wearing gloves, except that his were white. When he left, Cheong said, “We are on the brink of a great transition, my friends. I believe we will see a massive global event within the next two decades.”
“Bet you use that line on all the girls, trick them into going back to your room with you.”
Angel gasped in shock and threw a hand over her mouth. But Cheong just laughed at DeBryan’s crude remark. “One’s outlook does certainly shift when the end is cle
arly in sight.”
“So you’re not denying it, the girls, I mean.”
“I am a faithfully married man, Mister DeBryan.”
“With children?”
“No, it would be irresponsible to bring children into such a world, wouldn’t it? But you already know these details about me.”
DeBryan nodded without hesitation.
“Seems fair,” Angel said. “You seem to know a lot about us.”
“It’s standard practice for an employer to do background checks on prospective hires.”
“I didn’t realize we were interviewing for jobs.”
“Well, I was hoping to hire just you, Missus de l’Enfantine, but I’ll take you both if necessary.” He made no apologies to DeBryan, and instead simply gestured at their menus, suggesting that they make their decisions.
Suddenly, Angel wasn’t hungry. She’d been looking at the swordfish, but now she wondered what her host might think if she ordered it. Was he some kind of environmental nut who only ate free-range, non-GMO, organically grown and humanely harvested foods? Maybe he was a vegetarian.
“The Milanese sounds delicious,” he said, referring to the exact dish she had been eying. He lowered his menu slightly and peered over the top edge at her.
“I— I think I’ll just have a salad.”
He shrugged.
After their bottled water arrived in a curious sleeve of black metal and was served, they ordered their meals. Finally Mister Cheong made his proposal. He wanted Angel — and DeBryan, if he were so inclined — to work for 6X investigating a series of mysterious disasters which had been occurring across the globe. “We know they’re linked, we just don’t know precisely in what way or who’s behind them.”
“Why me?” Angel asked, resisting the urge to rub her temples. Her buzz was wearing off, and her head was starting to pound.
“You have a unique skill set. With your medical background and your journalistic mind, you know which questions to ask, how deeply to look, and you’re not afraid to do what’s necessary to uncover the truth, even if it means getting your own hands dirty.”
THE FLENSE: China: (Part 1 of THE FLENSE serial) Page 4