Maybe he ought to go over and join her, Shepherd thought. A little intervention from the gods wouldn’t do him any harm right then either. Perhaps somebody really was stalking the people around Charlie. Perhaps he really was on somebody’s target list.
Shepherd took out his cell phone and called Jello in Bangkok. He told him whose head it was in the picture.
“What was this guy doing in Bangkok?” Jello asked.
“I don’t know. I had no idea he was there.”
“He wasn’t in Bangkok to see you?”
“No.”
“Then why was your number in his phone?”
“Charlie has my number. It’s no big secret. Maybe he gave it to Adnan. How would I know?”
“You didn’t give it to him?”
“No, I didn’t give it to him.”
Jello weighed that up in silence for a moment or two.
“If he wasn’t in Bangkok to see you, who else could he have been meeting?”
“I don’t know. It could have been anybody.”
“It wasn’t just anybody. It was somebody who wanted to murder him.”
There was a short silence.
“I can’t help you,” Shepherd said. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“Watch yourself,” Jello said. And then he hung up.
Man Mo Temple at night is an intoxicating and otherworldly spectacle. The intense reds and golds of the building’s lacquer work glitter in the low light and the eyes of the deities residing within it seem to examine those who come to pay them tribute. Dozens of huge red coils of incense hang suspended from its ceiling and, burning slowly, turning from solid to gas, they author a mystical transubstantiation of everything around them. Bright lights transform into little more than shimmering colors drifting in the haze, and solid objects turn to whirling smoke that disappears into the darkness.
Across the road, Shepherd sat silently for a long time and watched the clouds of smoke and incense drift away into the night sky. It looked to him as if the whole world were on fire.
***
AT SIX O’CLOCK the next morning the Mid-levels were as close to pleasant as they were ever likely to be. The narrow sidewalks weren’t yet choked with pedestrians and the streets were almost empty of vehicles. Using a lamp post for balance, Shepherd did a few quick heel cord stretches. Then he touched his toes a half dozen times to extend his hamstrings, wheeled his arms impatiently, and began a slow jog west along the sidewalk.
Running isn’t a popular sport in Hong Kong. The weather is lousy most of the time, the streets are unfriendly all of the time, and the Chinese think the whole idea of unnecessary physical exertion is absolutely laughable. About the only people who run regularly in Hong Kong are Americans, and even then only those Americans who don’t mind the Chinese thinking they are completely mad. When Shepherd was in Hong Kong, he ran regularly.
Shepherd wasn’t a big fan of running. He often thought that if he could find a better way to avoid turning into a living replica of a bowling ball he would be on it in a flash, but starvation as a lifestyle was even less appealing to him than running. What Shepherd did like about running was that it is uncomplicated. He didn’t need anyone’s permission to do it. He didn’t have to sit in traffic before he could do it. And he didn’t have to make any advance arrangements to do it. When the mood took him, he just pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, laced up his shoes, and headed out the door. What he hated about running was everything else.
It was not quite sunrise yet, but it was already warm and the city was suffused with the deep grey half-light of a heavy, humid dawn. The sky was indistinct, the division between earth and sky uncertain, and the air was so thick he could almost hear the moisture draining out of it.
Shepherd jogged along Caine Road, angled off behind the abandoned hulk of Victoria Prison into Chancery Lane, and emerged on Upper Albert Road in front of the Foreign Correspondents Club. Then, turning south across the Botanical Gardens, he made his way toward Hong Kong Park. Parks don’t make any money, which is probably why Hong Kong doesn’t have many of them. Hong Kong Park is the biggest public space in the central business district, but it is only a single square kilometer that was carved out of the site of the old Victoria Barracks when the British abandoned it a half century or so back. Entering the park from the north, he began circling it on the broad, smooth walkway that marked its boundary.
Shepherd took it easy for the first loop, but he gradually stepped up his pace and the sweat began to flow. A handful of other runners shared the path with him, all Caucasians of course, but he saw no one he recognized and was spared the ritual of exchanging insincere good mornings with people who, like him, were there precisely because they wanted to be alone with their own thoughts for a while. He felt good that morning, although he didn’t really see why he should. He had slept badly, the image of Adnan’s mutilated head hovering all night in the darkness just in front of his eyes, but by his second loop around the lake his feet were flying, the perspiration was pouring off him in rivulets, and his mind was as placid as a millpond.
The peaceful feeling lasted until he started his third loop. That was when he spotted the man watching him. He was seated on a green bench near a clump of banana trees and making no effort to conceal himself.
Shepherd, of course, recognized him immediately.
TWENTY-FOUR
SPECIAL AGENT LEONARD Keur was alone. He was wearing a dark blue golf shirt and khakis and sat with his legs casually crossed. He was sipping from a large Starbucks cup. Shepherd tried to remember if Keur had been sitting on that bench the first couple of times he had run past the grove of banana trees. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t completely certain.
They made eye contact and Keur pointed with his free hand to a brown paper bag on the bench next to him. Shepherd slowed to a jog, turned off the path, and walked over. Keur obviously wasn’t in Hong Kong Park at 6:30 A.M. by coincidence.
“What are you doing here?”
“Have some coffee,” Keur said, picking up the brown bag and holding it out to Shepherd. “Take a rest. Sit with me for a while. Let’s talk.”
“I asked what you’re doing here.”
“It’s a nice morning. I’m enjoying this lovely park. Go ahead and have some coffee. What can it hurt?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Sure, Jack. Everybody’s got choices. The trick is to make good ones, don’t you think?”
Shepherd looked at Keur for a moment. Then he pulled up his shirt, wiped the sweat off his face, and sat down. Keur was still holding the bag out toward him, so he took it. Inside was a large Starbucks cup with a white plastic lid on it.
“How do you know how I like my coffee?” he asked.
“I don’t. That’s a latte. You like lattes? There ought to be some sugar in there somewhere if you want it.”
Shepherd lifted the cup out and dropped the bag on the bench. The cup was hot, which meant that Keur had bought the coffee within the last few minutes.
Keur must have known he was running there in the park when he bought the coffee, but how could that be? Did the FBI have him under surveillance? That was awfully hard to believe. Maybe Keur had only seen him in the park by coincidence and then had gone and bought the coffee. Who was he kidding? That was even harder to believe.
Peeling the plastic lid off the Starbucks cup, Shepherd took a sip. He had to admit it was pretty good coffee, but it didn’t make him feel any better about finding Keur waiting in the park for him.
“Okay, Keur, what are you doing in Hong Kong?”
“I’m just doing my job, Jack.”
Shepherd sipped at the coffee and waited, but Keur didn’t say anything else.
“There is no investigation,” Shepherd said when he got tired of waiting.
Keur didn’t say anything. He just sat there, expressionless, and waited for Shepherd to go on.
“There is no FBI investigation underway involving either Robert Darling or Blossom Trading. I checke
d.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I asked Pete Logan. He says the FBI has no interest in either Darling or Blossom Trading. You lied to me.”
Keur chuckled. “You think?”
“I just don’t understand why.”
Keur stifled a yawn and leaned back on the bench, folding his arms in front of him. “Too bad about old Adnan, huh?” he said. “Man, that’s got to be rough way to go. You figure he was dead before they cut off his head, Jack? Or you think maybe he saw it coming all the way?”
Shepherd drank the coffee and stayed silent. He watched Keur with a neutral expression.
“How well did you know Adnan, Jack?”
“I didn’t really know him at all.”
“You don’t seem too upset about him getting his head cut off. You didn’t like him?”
“I just told you. I didn’t really know him.”
“Ever talk to him?” Keur asked.
“A few times.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Football. Religion. The usual stuff.”
“Yeah, if there’s anything those Lebanese love, it’s shooting the shit about football and religion.” Keur sighed. “If we’re going to get anywhere here, Jack, you’ve got to be honest with me.”
“Why do you think I want to get anywhere here?”
“What was your relationship with Adnan, Jack?”
“He was Charlie Kitnarok’s personal assistant. You already know I do some legal and financial work for Charlie. Other than that, I had no relationship with Adnan.”
“Then what was Adnan doing in Bangkok?”
“I have no idea.”
“He didn’t come to see you?”
“No.”
“How did he get there then?”
Shepherd shrugged. “I’m just guessing here, but maybe on an airplane?”
“You were a pretty well-thought-of guy in Washington once, Jack. A real whiz kid. You still get paid a lot of money for giving people financial advice. Maybe you were giving Adnan financial advice.”
“I knew you were from the IRS.”
“You ever give Adnan any financial advice, Jack?”
“Adnan who?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Jack.” Keur spread his hands, palms up. “I bought you coffee.”
Shepherd drained the latte. He picked up the brown paper bag and stuffed the empty cup back into it. Then, taking his time about it, he crossed his legs at the ankle, leaned against the backrest, and laced his fingers together behind his head.
“What do you really want from me, Keur?”
“I already told you. I need to know what General Kitnarok is involved in these days. I need your help to do that.”
“No.”
“I’d like to find a way to change your mind.”
“Is this where we get to the threats?”
“No threats. Let’s just talk for a while and I’ll bet you’ll come around to my point of view.”
“Who the fuck are you, Keur?”
“I’m exactly who and what I told you I am.”
“Bullshit. You’re not really FBI. There’s no FBI investigation of Robert Darling or Blossom Trading. Who are you? CIA?”
Keur pulled from his back pocket the same leather ID folder that he had showed Shepherd the first time they met. He opened it and held it up.
“I’m not with the CIA. I’m one of the good guys.”
In spite of himself, Shepherd chuckled at that. He bent forward and examined Keur’s ID closely. The badge on the left side of the leather folder was shaped like a shield. It was bright gold and glittered in the early morning sun. There was a gold eagle perched on the top of the shield and raised lettering all around it that said: U.S. Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Investigation. The ID card on the right was tucked behind a plastic window that was cracked and foggy and showing its age. The card had a color headshot of Keur about the size of a passport photograph and just about as sunny. It also had four or five lines of printing, but by then Shepherd had lost interest it what they said.
“That looks really good,” he said. “Can you get me one just like it?”
“Ask your pal Logan to check me out if you don’t believe I’m who I say I am.”
“I did.”
“And?”
Shepherd hesitated. “He says you’re an agent assigned to the Washington field office.”
“So there you go.” Keur spread his hands, palms up.
“But he also says the FBI isn’t conducting an investigation of either Robert Darling or Blossom Trading. So even if you really are an FBI agent, you’re just bullshitting me anyway.”
Keur sighed, downed the rest of his coffee, and shoved the empty cup into the brown bag with Shepherd’s. He exhaled heavily.
“Logan’s right,” he said.
Shepherd said nothing. He just waited.
“I’m on my own here,” Keur went on. “Officially, I’m on medical leave from the Bureau.”
“You look okay to me.”
“The Bureau killed the case I was building against Darling and I got pissed off. I took a medical leave and now I’m going to put everything together on my own and shove it right down their fucking throats.”
“The CIA would probably spin a story exactly like that if they sent out one of their guys to impersonate an FBI agent.”
“Look, jerk off,” Keur twisted his body toward Shepherd and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “I’m not CIA. It was those fucks at the CIA who buried my investigation in the first place. I’d bet my life on it. And whether you help me or not, I’m damn well going to prove it and hang this all right around their fat, flabby necks.”
Shepherd said nothing.
“About two months ago,” Keur went on, “I stumbled over Robert Darling and Blossom Trading in connection with a money laundering case I was working on involving the casinos in Atlantic City. It didn’t take much poking around to figure out that Blossom Trading was a major arms trafficker and Darling was laundering the revenue it generated through a number of different casinos. He wasn’t even trying very hard to hide it.”
Shepherd said nothing.
“I took what I had to the Special Agent in Charge of the Washington field office and asked him to authorize a full investigation with Blossom Trading and Darling as the targets. He sent it up the line. Less than twenty-four hours later, he called me in and said he’d been instructed to tell me that both Blossom Trading and Darling were off-limits, but he wouldn’t tell me where those instructions had come from. He ordered me to terminate my investigation immediately and to destroy whatever notes I had. It flat out stunk.”
“So you think somebody is trying to cover up something.”
“Of course they are. There’s no doubt about it.”
“But cover up what? That the CIA is involved somehow?”
“I don’t know.” Keur looked away. “I’m working on that.”
“Exactly how do you plan—”
“Here’s the thing, Jack. A doctor I know helped me get a medical leave from the Bureau, and… well, I’ve got a month now, maybe two. And I’m going to use it to find out what’s really going on here.”
“That’s it? That’s your plan?”
Keur looked off toward the lake. He didn’t say anything else.
Shepherd followed Keur’s eyes and saw that traffic around the lake was picking up. Two girls who couldn’t have been over twenty-five and who were probably Japanese or Korean jogged by together, both talking on mobile phones as they ran. They were slim and lovely, small boned and smooth skinned, and Shepherd had a moment’s regret that neither of them was talking to him.
“I need your help,” Keur said. “You need my help. That sounds to me like the makings of a deal.”
“Why do I need your help?”
“Somebody is closing in on General Kitnarok, Jack. They’re after all his key people, including you.”
“Who is it?”
&nbs
p; “Ask Adnan,” Keur said.
Shepherd said nothing.
“You help me, Jack, and I’ll help you. Nothing for nothing, man. You keep me in the picture about General Kitnarok and I’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“Why do you care about Charlie anyway? I thought you said it was Darling and Blossom Trading you were after.”
“I want to make certain General Kitnarok isn’t part of this. If he is, I’ll nail his ass, too.”
“That’s not a very convincing story, Keur. You want to try again or just give up right here?”
“Ah, go fuck yourself, Jack. Do you want me to watch your sorry ass or don’t you?”
“I’m not going to spy on a client for you.”
“You’d really be helping to clear him. That’s in his best interest.”
“No.”
“I can’t eliminate General Kitnarok as a part of this without your help.”
“No.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that, Jack. In my experience, people tend to be somewhat flexible about their principles when their butt is on the line.”
“I’m out of here, pal,” Shepherd said as he stood up. “I’ve had enough of this. You wasted your time coming here.”
“It’s not that easy, Jack. They’re not going to let you just walk away.”
“I’m not walking away. I’m running away.”
Then, before Keur could say anything else, Shepherd turned his back and broke into a jog. The sun was rising among the towers of Hong Kong’s financial district, a tight orange ball burning holes in the grey morning mist, and Shepherd picked up his pace, hurling himself straight at the sun until his breath came in ragged jerks and his legs screamed for him to stop. But he didn’t stop. He was sure he could hear a voice calling out to him from somewhere to run away from Keur as fast as it was possible for him to run, and that was exactly what he did.
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