‘So the real question is, why the hell wouldn’t I do this?’
Scott paused. ‘I’m also aware that your plans are watertight – that they’re going ahead no matter what. So since the die is cast, I might as well be winning out in all this.’
Scott released the button. The reply came quick:
‘My number two, Shuai Zhang, will meet you at Portsmouth Square at 11:35 exactly. He’ll take you to the safe house you mentioned. You’ll be safe there.’
Chapter 26
Sunday, December 12, 11:15 a.m. – 1584 Miramontes Street, Half Moon Bay, California.
We rolled into Half Moon Bay at just gone 11:15. And as we navigated the incongruously idyllic town, we sweated in silence: the unseasonable weather, combined with the enormous tension, generated a near-unbearable heat.
In no time, I hit Miramontes Street, and started down the 700 yard isolated stretch towards Yuelin’s house at five mph, watching for signs of life among the quiet greenery. Then, 200 yards along, I came to a pause.
It was time to start looking the part. I’d already been clutching the pump the entire journey for Minxin’s benefit: he had to believe the act, too. But now I also had to put the goods on display; so I carefully undid my shirt with my spare hand.
Minxin gasped as he caught sight of my chest in the rear-view mirror.
‘Holy God,’ he said.
I made no reply. Instead, I presented my free palm to Ellen. I wanted her walkie-talkie. Needed to say one last comment to Vann, and didn’t want to switch my talkie off Yuelin’s frequency. Ellen handed it over.
I pressed the button. ‘Vann, I’m going in. If something happens, let me know immediately.’
A second later: ‘I will. Then I’ll take action – even if it means getting arrested.’
‘Okay, Vann. And if you’re listening, Scott: hold tight.’
I handed the walkie-talkie back. Then I hustled the car forward another 300 yards – at which point, I hit the kink in the road.
Show-time.
Giddy with adrenaline, I withdrew my own walkie-talkie, and pressed.
‘Yuelin. I’m at the bend in the road just before your house – 200 yards away. I’m with Ellen and Minxin: she’s got a gun to Minxin’s head. But here’s the deal: I’m wearing thirty pounds of C4 plastic explosives and there’s a pump in my left-hand which, if released, activates the explosives. If you’re unsure, thirty pounds of C4 is enough to obliterate everything in a quarter mile radius.
‘Now, I’ve got a man at the Consulate, and in radio contact. If he gets even a whiff of a nearby barbeque, then every last one of us will be singing with the angels. Let me be clear: all I have to live for are the kids in that Consulate. And don’t think I won’t do it, because I’m at the end of my fucking tether.’
I let off, and started crawling round the corner. Didn’t want to give her time to think.
I’d let desperation enter my voice. She had to believe I was ready to gamble everything.
But of course, the tension in my voice was real. I was entering the dragon’s den with nothing but thirty pounds of soap between me and a bullet in the head…
As we turned the corner, and the house came into view – a simple, two-story house, with two men outside the frontdoor, though not obviously armed – Yuelin replied:
‘Okay, come inside, meet me upstairs – room straight ahead.’
She was trying to sound calm. But for the first time, I heard fear in her voice. I had to keep pushing.
‘No dice. I want to keep an eye on my car.’ I scanned the house. ‘The first room on the right, that’s where we’ll meet. Open the curtains, so I can see outside.’
There was a spell of silence, as I turned the car, so its nose was pointing back the way we’d came. Then, when I killed the engine, I looked again at the house. The two men were still outside, watching me intently. And whereas the four downstairs windows were curtained, the six upstairs were merely dark and I reckoned there were snipers positioned up there. Snipers who’d been charged to see if a brain-stem shot was on the cards as we arrived, and who’d been told definitely to try one as we exited.
Scarcely had I thought this when a muzzle appeared the central upper window, plus a shadowy figure lurking behind.
I knew Yuelin had ordered him to step forward in order to intimidate me.
I got out of the car, flipped off the sniper, and – once Ellen had hustled Minxin out – started towards the door, Ellen and Minxin in tow.
When we got halfway, Yuelin’s voice came through my talkie again. Urgent.
‘Drop the act. There’s no way you could’ve sourced that much C4 in the last hour – it’s impossible.’
I stopped in my tracks, and pressed the walkie-talkie.
‘If it’s a bluff, go ahead and shoot.’ A half-second later, I shouted: ‘DO IT!’
I stood stone-still a further five seconds, staring challengingly at the figure in the window. Now, both the men at the door had drawn weapons. Walthers, naturally.
As I started towards the door again, I said into the talkie:
‘The first room on the right as I come in. Open the curtains.’
I walked past the armed guards – both of whom nervously eyed my chest – then glanced over my shoulder to find Ellen still marching Minxin forward.
Ellen’s face was a blank.
I turned back to the front door. The moment I did so, it swung open. In the doorframe, a Walther in her right hand, a device that looked a lot like a detonator in her left, was Yuelin Lie.
I felt a primal animosity hit the bloodstream and involuntarily, I imagined smashing her head into the door. But however strongly I felt, I could tell by the contorted sneer on her gaunt, ungodly face that my feelings paled in comparison to hers.
‘Get in that room, and do the curtains.’
She produced a look of unparalleled hatred, studied my chest a long moment, then moved into the house.
I couldn’t see the windows from my position. But I looked back at Ellen, who – four seconds later – gave a nod of confirmation.
I noticed that Ellen’s face had changed from a moment ago. It, too, was now contorted by hatred. This was little surprise. She’d just come face to face with her brother’s killer.
I moved into the house – flanked by the armed men – and into the room on the right.
The room was bare, save for a large, wooden table. A rental property, I reckoned. Yuelin was standing to the other side of the table. I glanced out of the window at the car, then to the door of the room. Ellen and Minxin entering, Ellen’s gun still to Minxin’s head.
I saw Minxin and Yuelin exchange a look. Minxin’s expressed outrage. Yuelin’s, deference and regret.
The two men had their guns raised. Safeties off.
Yuelin turned back to me.
‘I ought to shoot you right now. Put an end to this charade.’
I let loose a mocking laugh. ‘Either do it, or let’s get on with this.’ I paused. ‘I know I’m not quite as defenseless as your usual prey, but at least if you shoot me, you won’t have to worry about that awful, wracking guilt you’ve been feeling after your other murders.’
She gave me a steely glare.
‘Put the detonator on the table. Slide it over.’
She shook her head. ‘First, make that traitorous bitch hand over my cousin.’
‘You don’t call the shots.’
She made a sneering smile. ‘Let me be clear,’ she said, mocking my earlier comment. ‘I’d sooner we all died than take any chances with my cousin.’
It was a game of nerves. I bit the inside of my mouth, contemplating my move. I’m doing this for the kids in the Consulate, I told myself. They are my priority.
I nodded at Ellen.
She put her hand on Minxin’s back. Shoved him unceremoniously towards the men.
‘Walk,’ she said.
He did. Everyone watched as he moved across, and joined the men.
Ellen was now marginall
y more vulnerable: they could shoot her without worrying about her post-death spasms harming Minxin. But my vest was still the trump card. If they shot Ellen, they had to hope I wouldn’t lose my cool…
Perspiration was swelling on my top lip. My vision blurred on the peripheries.
‘Now, the detonator.’
Yuelin laid it on the table, and gently pushed it over.
Immediately I could see my gut had been right. Whereas most remote detonators I’d encountered in recent years used cell phone technology, this one used radio. And this cohered with Yuelin’s back-to-basics efforts to avoid leaving a trace. After all, if you initiate your atrocity with a phone call, that call’s logged with the NSA, and sooner or later, someone will realize it wasn’t an accident.
I beckoned Ellen to my side.
‘Need you to hold it still. But keep an eye on our car, too.’
Ellen nodded. Then, placing the walkie-talkie on the table, I produced the Swiss-army knife I’d bought at Wall Mart.
Then I got to work, carefully prying the detonator apart with my free hand.
My first objective was to verify this device was the real deal. And as I looked around its insides, it quickly became clear to me it almost certainly was. First, radio detonators do not simply send a command to the explosive, because that’d be too risky; after all, someone may coincidentally be using the same frequency, and accidentally set the thing off. So instead, the detonator sends a signal, the explosive sends one back, and only then does the detonator send a second signal – on a different frequency – to initiate the explosive. And it was simple for me to send the initial signal to see if there was a response. And there was.
Secondly, it was clear that this detonator hadn’t been tampered with nor recently put together, and to have synchronized it to a new device, it would need to have been opened up.
So I knew for sure it was connected to a device and that the detonator and the device hadn’t been synced in the short time between now and when I’d first contacted Yuelin.
But though I was reasonably certain it was the real deal, it was impossible to be sure. In films, things are clear-cut. Destroy the detonator, and it’s crisis averted. But I knew things weren’t so simple. Perhaps this was a detonator intended for a different atrocity they’d prepared, and the kids in the Consulate would still be screwed. Perhaps – though it seemed unlikely – there were multiple devices in the Consulate, and therefore multiple detonators.
But I had little option but to accept this was the detonator.
I removed its battery– disabling it – and put it in my pocket.
I looked at Yuelin. She was staring at me hard.
‘This humiliation will not go unaddressed.’
I returned her gaze. I was weighing up my next move. A part of me wanted to demand that Minxin would be leaving with me. But given the look in Yuelin’s eyes, I reckoned she’d sooner force things to an endgame than allow me to retain such leverage. And if things descended into a shootout, there was no way both Ellen and I would be leaving alive.
Likewise, a part of me wanted to put a bullet between Yuelin’s eyes. But the same thing applied – it was suicidal.
Yet while, on one level, I was assessing my options here and now, on another, I was already assessing what to do once we’d blown town. My gut still wanted to evacuate the Consulate, just to be safe. But I knew that that was still a long-shot. And really, if Yuelin still had the means to get the fire going, she’d do it as soon as we were far enough away to escape my retribution. That is, within ten minutes of my departure.
If fifteen minutes passed without word from Vann, we’d know we were home-free.
I turned to Ellen. ‘Let’s go.’
She set her jaw. She then began heading out of the room. I followed.
Yuelin said: ‘As soon as you start driving, my sniper will put a bullet in you.’
‘Good. Saves me the effort of having to track you down to kill you.’
Ellen and I exited the house, and started towards the car. Slow and sure and confident, like we had nothing to fear. Before we knew it, we were in the car, the engine running.
I looked back. Yuelin sneering in the doorframe. The sniper at the ready.
I gave them both a wide smile, a wave, then started crawling the car forward.
Any second. Any second, the bullet would smash through the back of my skull and hit my brain’s stem and I’d be nothing more than an absurd pile of brains and soap.
My hairs raised, my mouth went metal, my muscles contracted.
But I kept on going, kept on staring dead ahead.
The next instant, I was round the corner. No bullet. In the clear.
Chapter 27
Sunday, December 12, 11:34 a.m. – Portsmouth Square, San Francisco.
Scott Brendan checked his watch. 11:34 a.m. exactly.
He’d arrived at Portsmouth Square – the heart of San Francisco’s Chinatown – only a minute ago. He’d spent the last twenty stowing not only the DVD and the USB stick, but also the rest of Saul’s gear, in a secure location. Or, at least, in as secure a location as he could conjure at such short notice.
A luggage locker at a nearby Greyhound Station.
And now all Scott had on him was the walkie-talkie in his hand, set to the friendly frequency, and the Walther in his pocket.
He checked his watch again. Thirty seconds till meet time. And as of yet, still no show.
Scott’s mind turned to Saul. He knew he’d entered the rendezvous with Yuelin: Saul had reported as much. But Scott had no idea how long that might go on for. Theoretically, it could go on for hours, depending on how things played out…
The moment he thought this, the walkie-talkie came to life.
‘Vann, we did it. Made the swap. Leaving town now. If we can go fifteen—’
Saul was still mid-sentence when a black Crown Victoria, driven by a harsh-looking man of East Asian descent, powered up, and squealed to a stop in front of Scott.
As it did so, Scott hastily turned off the talkie, and tucked it into his pocket. He made eye-contact with the driver, exchanged a nod, and got in the passenger seat.
The guy said, ‘Here’s how we’ll do this. You give us Hao’s location. I send my men there, who will confirm. Then we go to the safe house. But en route, I stop off, and frisk you for bugs. We have to be careful.’
‘Okay. But I’ve got a Walther on me, and I’m keeping it for my protection. And, as you saw, I’ve got one of your walkie-talkies. I’m keeping that, too, because it gives me a direct line to Yuelin.’
The guy nodded. ‘I’m Shuai Zhang.’ He fixed Scott in a stare. ‘The bomb-vest. It’s phony, right?’
Scott nodded. ‘I couldn’t tell you that beforehand, though. Would’ve weakened my bargaining position if I wasn’t also offering Saul’s next port of call.’
Shuai nodded. ‘So, the location?’
Scott exhaled hard.
‘169 Stillman Street. Just west of South Park. He’s upstairs.’
Shuai took out his own talkie, repeated this information, then changed frequency:
‘Yuelin, the vest was a bluff.’
The response was vitriolic.
‘That piece of shit. I’ll kill him. Slit his fucking throat.’
Shuai took this with equanimity. ‘Switching frequency. Waiting for confirmation on the address Brendan’s given us. Will keep you updated.’
And before she responded, he’d switched frequency again.
He turned to Scott. ‘Shouldn’t take them more than ten minutes to confirm.’
They fell into an uneasy silence. As they did so, Scott realized he felt physically broken – like he’d just run a marathon: light-headed, throat constricted, palms soaked.
But although his body was in distress, he knew this was the right choice. The only choice. And more than that, there was no turning back now; so, since he was swimming with the sharks, it was imperative he kept his wits about him. Because while he was pretty certain the
ir deal would hold, he had to be alert to foul play.
He took a few deep breaths, and looked out the window.
The statue in the middle of Portsmouth Square caught his eye: a replica of the Goddess of Democracy – the statue the pro-democracy protestors raised in Tiananmen Square, Beijing, in 1989. The protestors that were brutally put down by the Chinese government.
At the time, in the eyes of the world, Tiananmen represented the defeat of democracy in China. But, more profoundly, it signified the death of communism. And now, Scott reflected, the world was living with what the Chinese government had replaced it with: an aggressive, jingoistic nationalism.
Scott tore his eyes away: he was only working himself up.
He needed to be calm, collected, clinical.
He concentrated on the dashboard clock.
‘He’s here,’ came a voice over Shuai’s talkie eight minutes later. ‘Meet you at the house.’
Shuai nodded, and started driving.
‘And we’re heading to the house where Lawrence Kelden was living when he was working with you to crack the Dark Net?’ said Scott.
Again, Shuai nodded.
Shuai navigated south through the city. And though Scott had no idea if they were heading the right way, he had no reason to suspect otherwise. And when Shuai pulled into a quiet side-street, and – as agreed – frisked Scott, Scott’s worries were further assuaged: things went down just as discussed
Soon enough, they were back on the road again, working south.
No going back.
Chapter 28
Sunday, December 12, 12:03 p.m. – I-280.
At three minutes past midday, as I was tearing through San Fran’s Outer Mission District on the I-280, the world came crashing down around my ears.
Vann came in on the talkie. Distressed. ‘It’s happened. The Consulate – it’s on fire.’ I was utterly disorientated. After we’d blown Half Moon Bay, I’d put my fifteen minute theory by Ellen and Vann – and they’d both agreed the logic was irrefutable. So, once we’d lasted out those unbearable fifteen minutes, and hit 11:41, we tentatively allowed ourselves to believe we’d dodged the bullet. And as every further minute passed, we’d grown more and more relaxed.
Never Forget Page 19