Jerome ignored him.
“Qù nǐde!” There were a few murmurs from the man’s friends. They were beginning to stir.
The man let his suit jacket fall open, revealing the dark outline of a holstered gun. Jerome didn’t flinch. He unbuttoned his own jacket. The man glared up into Jerome’s eyes, then his gaze flickered down toward the hip. He looked back up again.
Jerome held up the photograph once more. The man muttered something incomprehensible, then nodded in the direction of the booths.
The murmurs stopped. The man went back to collect his drink and sat back down on the barstool. He took a long drink and kept his eyes down.
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” said Jerome, heading for the booths.
“He was about ten seconds away from shooting you,” said Leopold, following.
“My gun was bigger.”
“It’s all about size with you, isn’t it?”
Jerome ignored him and kept walking. Just across the floor, two of the booths were full. Nine people in total, most of whom were wearing the same ugly suits. Some had their jackets off. One man sat in the center of one booth, wearing a white tee shirt and jeans and nursing a complicated-looking cocktail. He looked bored.
Jerome headed straight for the man in the tee shirt. The men in the suits noticed him approach and got to their feet.
“You Kang Sheng?” Jerome asked.
The man in the tee shirt looked up at the suit standing closest to him and said, “Get rid of them.” He waved his hand dismissively.
The man lurched forward, both hands reaching for Jerome’s jacket lapels, presumably in an attempt to wrench him off his feet. It was a dumb move, poorly executed. The position of the booth’s table made it worse, getting in the way of the man’s movements, severely reducing his momentum.
Jerome sidestepped the attack effortlessly, grabbing hold of the man’s outstretched wrist as he did so. With a casual flick, Jerome twisted his attacker’s arm behind his shoulder, altering the direction of travel. With one final shove, the bodyguard forced the suit face down onto the table. He drew his gun from its holster and pressed the barrel into the base of the man’s skull.
“I said, are you Kang Sheng?” Jerome asked again.
The man in the white tee shirt sighed impatiently. “This is my private club and my private time,” he said, in heavily accented English. He pushed his drink away. “You are not welcome here. Please leave.”
“You attacked first,” said Jerome, pressing the gun against the man’s head a little harder. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“You pushed your way into a private club and refused to leave. It was a reasonable response.” A pause. “But, as you wish.” He muttered something in Chinese to the other suits. They nodded and shuffled out of their seats, making their way toward the bar. A few of them glanced back at the table as they left.
“Are you more comfortable now?” the man said, once his companions had retreated. “You can put away your weapon.”
Jerome let his attacker stand up. The man flexed his shoulders, muttered something under his breath, and stalked off to join his companions. He kept his eyes down.
The man in the white tee shirt took a sip of his drink and looked up at the new arrivals. “Now,” he said, “who the hell are you?”
Leopold held up the handwritten note he had found at the money drop. “We were given your name by Huang Bo. Does that name mean anything to you?” He scanned the man’s face for any sign of recognition.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” The man slapped his palms down on the table. “You must be Blake. And you...” he looked at Jerome. “I don’t know who you are. My name is Kang Sheng, as I’m sure you already figured out.” He grinned. “Come, take a seat.”
Leopold obliged. Jerome holstered his sidearm and perched at the end of the bench.
“So, how can I be of service?” asked Sheng, taking another sip of his drink. It was bright pink, with a long straw and a paper umbrella.
“You’re familiar with our situation, I assume,” said Leopold.
“First, I believe you have something for me,” Sheng said.
Leopold sighed and fished out the bag of cash. He took half and laid it on the table. Sheng took the money, folded it up, and slipped it into his jeans’ back pocket. He didn’t seem to care if anyone noticed.
“You have an American problem,” Sheng said, eventually. “And you are stuck here.” He smiled. “There are worse places to get stuck.”
“We need eyes and ears, yes. We’re flying blind right now.”
“A man of your resources can’t arrange this himself?”
Leopold pushed back a flash of irritation. “Those resources are currently unavailable to us. We need someone who can get us reliable intel from the US without raising any red flags.” He paused. “But you already know this.”
Sheng sighed deeply. “Do you know who runs this place?”
“A shady bar in one of the poorest parts of Shanghai? Yeah, I can take a guess.”
“The Liang Shan family owns this district. I pay them the usual protection money, they leave me alone. I don’t make trouble for them, because I keep my eyes down and my nose clean.”
“What’s this got to do with us?”
Shen took another swig of his cocktail. “The Liang Shan family are part of the 14K Group Triad. They have interests all over the world, but particularly in Canada and the Pacific Northwest of the United States. Mostly human trafficking, some counterfeiting.”
“Why does this matter?”
“Well, let’s just say the Canadian border, with its thousands of miles of unmonitored entry points into the US, is an attractive spot for certain...” he paused. “For certain holidaymakers. And you can imagine your government doesn’t like the idea all that much.”
Leopold sighed. “Get to the point.”
“When your government sticks its nose in over here, who do you think they talk to? They find out who the families work with. They apply pressure.” He scowled. “When the CIA shows up, you don’t really have much of a choice.”
“You’re an asset?”
Sheng drained the last of his cocktail. He lowered his voice. “Not by choice. They made it clear I either help them, or they make sure the Liang Shan family finds out I’ve been talking to outsiders. I didn’t have any other option.” He took a deep breath. “But, such is Chinese business.”
Leopold looked around the empty bar. “And business is booming, obviously.”
Shen ignored him. “So, of course, I send them what information I can, and they leave me to my work. My other work.” He grinned. “So, maybe this is a way I can help you and square my debt with Huang Bo.”
“You have a CIA handler?” Leopold said, with mounting interest. “I’ll need you to arrange a meet.”
“I can get a message out.”
“Today. As soon as possible.”
“A deal, then.”
Leopold nodded. “Set it up. But I’m not going into this blind – give me all the details you have on your handler. I don’t want any surprises.”
Sheng shrugged. He found a pen and scribbled something down on his cocktail napkin and handed it over. “Here. But you should know – she’s not to be trusted.”
Leopold studied the words written on the napkin and felt his stomach clench as he read the name Sheng had given him. “Isabel Kane,” he said. “Your handler’s name is Isabel Kane?”
Jerome raised an eyebrow. Sheng tensed up a little.
“You know her?” Sheng asked.
“Yeah, I know her,” Leopold said, folding the napkin and slipping it into his pocket. “And let’s just say, I don’t think she’s going to be too happy to see me.”
Chapter 41
RICHARD WARD EYED up the shotgun leaning against the wall of the spacious farmhouse living room and took a deep breath. A man and a woman sat on the couch opposite him, the farm owner and his wife. They looked to be both in their late fifties. T
he husband was lean and muscular, but the wife took up two seats. She was wringing her hands nervously.
“We didn’t mean to scare you,” said the husband, putting one hand on his wife’s shoulder. “But Cheryl gets kinda trigger-happy when she’s in the house by herself.” He offered an apologetic smile. “And we don’t get too many people like, uh... like you in these parts.”
Ward said, “You mean, black people?”
The wife inhaled sharply.
“No,” the husband said. “I mean, people dressed up in fancy suits. We don’t get many guests, especially ones who walk right on up without checking the courtyard first. What were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry,” said Ward, relaxing a little. He glanced at the shotgun again.
“Don’t worry,” the man said. “It’s only loaded with rock salt. We use it to scare off animals. Wouldn’t have done much more than lay you out on your backside for a little while. Mighta stung a little at that range, though.” He chuckled. “My name’s Hal, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Hal. My name’s Richard.”
Cheryl smiled a little. “We keep the other shotgun with the real shells upstairs,” she said. “I was never going to use it on you. Promise.”
“Well, it’s all water under the bridge,” said Ward. “And, like I said, I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
“Your friends picking you up?” Hal asked.
“Yeah. They won’t be far off by now.”
“Are you sure they’ll be able to find this place? It’s a little remote out here. Easy to get lost. Though, I guess you know that.”
“They’ll be fine,” said Ward. “They, uh... they’ve got sat-nav.”
Hal changed the subject. “So, what kind of business you in?”
Ward hesitated. “Uh... insurance.”
“Oh? Sounds interesting.”
“It isn’t.”
Hal and Cheryl both nodded silently. Hal opened his mouth to reply, but something caught his attention. A low rumbling noise coming from somewhere outside filtered through the walls. It was getting louder. Ward recognized the sound immediately – Burke had sent the chopper.
He smiled.
Hal got up onto his feet. “What the hell is that?” He headed for the door. “Cheryl, I’m going to go check it out.” He left the room.
Ward followed him through, caught up with him in the hallway. “Listen,” he said, “I just wanted to thank you for letting me use your phone. You got me out of a real situation.”
“You’re welcome,” said Hal, reaching for the door handle. “I’m guessing you needed the help.”
Ward heard the rumbling noise get louder. The chopper couldn’t have been more than fifty feet away, judging by the racket. He had to raise his voice a little. “Well, thanks. And like I said, it’s kind of a long story.”
“Ain’t none of my business. I always find it’s best not to ask too many questions, just in case you don’t like the answers.”
“That’s good,” said Ward, almost shouting. “Because, after you open that door, you’re going to have a whole bunch of them.”
Chapter 42
MARY’S EYES FLICKERED open. She found herself lying face-down on asphalt, a high-pitched whistling in her ears. Her confusion was quickly replaced with an agonizing pain in her back and shoulders. She blinked hard, trying to focus. She could see the parking lot, and not much else. Everything looked a little blurry.
What the hell...?
Mary tried to sit up, but the pain proved too much. With considerable effort she rolled onto her back and looked up into the sky. She closed her eyes again, trying to remember what had happened.
She scuffling noise somewhere behind her.
“Is everyone okay?” A male voice.
Marshall.
Everything came flooding back at once. Images flashed through Mary’s head, making her wince. She glanced down at her arm. It was all red raw and sticky, the skin almost peeled away. She must have been thrown a considerable distance over the rough asphalt.
That’s going to sting tomorrow.
“Mary? You okay?” Marshall’s head appeared in her field of vision. “You in one piece?”
Mary stared up at him. The special agent looked a little bruised and battered, the elbows on his jacket were ripped to shreds, but he seemed otherwise uninjured.
“Kate. Where’s Kate?” Mary ignored the tugging pain in her arm and shoulders and forced herself up onto her feet. “Kate?”
“Over here, sis.”
Mary looked over at her sister. She was sitting on the blacktop, cradling her left arm in her right, a bright red gash across her cheek. She looked a little dazed, but sounded lucid.
Mary felt a wave of relief wash over her, quickly overshadowed by the pain in her back. She got to her feet shakily, and made her way over.
“Jesus, Kate,” she said, as she got a little closer. “You look like hell.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“What the hell happened?”
Marshall made his way over to the two women. “Someone activated the explosives remotely. Thankfully, the warehouse contained the most of the blast. We got hit by the shockwave. It could have been a lot worse.”
Kate groaned. “It doesn’t feel like it.” She flexed her injured arm and winced.
Mary took her hand and felt along the bone, all the way up to the shoulder. “Doesn’t look broken. You’ll live.” She helped her sister up off the ground. “Maybe next time you won’t go charging in head first.”
Kate blinked hard, stared back at her. “Are you freakin’ kidding me? You’re choosing now to have this argument? Again?”
“It’s not an argument. It’s a fact. Going in without backup put us all at risk. I should never have listened to you.”
“Yeah, but you did. You knew as well as I did that our only chance to find anything was to go in ourselves. You can’t blame me for this. Take some damn responsibility.”
“Our only chance to find anything?” said Mary, raising her voice. She tried to keep her anger in check, but Kate wasn’t making it easy. “Look where it got us. We lost everything.” She took a deep breath. “I should have stopped you.”
“If you had, we’d still be sitting around on our asses waiting for the cavalry to show up. We don’t have the time to play by your stupid rules, Mary. We’re not kids anymore.”
Mary clenched her fists into tight balls. “Then stop acting like one.”
“Why don’t you drop the act,” said Kate, stepping in close. “We both know what your problem is. So, spill it. I’m tired of dealing with your bullshit.”
Marshall cleared his throat. “Maybe this isn’t the time to deal with family issues,” he said. “This place is going to be crawling with police any minute. We need to figure out what we’re going to tell them.”
Mary felt her fists shaking. She forced herself to calm down. “You’re right.” She glared at Kate. “We should deal with one problem at a time.”
“We’d better call this in,” said Marshall, looking around the parking lot.
Mary followed his gaze to where the warehouse once stood. The sheet metal and concrete blocks forming the walls and roof had been scattered across the blacktop, leaving only a charred pile of burnt rubble. The steel shelving units had melted and warped, like old candles. A plume of black smoke billowed up into the air, soot and ash carpeting the asphalt where it fell to the ground. Kate’s old car looked mostly unscathed, most of the damage concentrated around the area near the storage unit.
“How long were we out?” asked Mary.
Marshall checked his watch. “Maybe a few minutes. Hard to tell. But the emergency services will be here soon – no way this went unnoticed.”
“We need to be here when they arrive. Maybe they can get something off the computer.”
“Unlikely,” said Marshall. “The hard drives will be fried and the data we needed was stored in the cloud anyway. We won’t be able to trace it.” He sighed. “I
think I managed to get something transferred to my email before we got locked out. It might not be much, but it’s a start.”
Mary nodded. “I’ll make the call to Jersey P.D,” she said. “You see if you can get Deputy Director Burke on our side before this story goes public. Maybe we can contain it, figure out what we’re dealing with.” She looked at Kate. “And we better get you checked out.”
“I’m fine,” said Kate. “Just a sprain. Looks like you took the worst of it.”
Mary glanced down at her ruined arm. “Nothing some antiseptic and a few painkillers can’t fix. We’ve got more important problems right now.” She held out a hand. “I’ll need to borrow your cell phone.”
Kate hesitated, and then fished out a small handset from her jacket pocket. The screen was cracked. “It’s an old model,” she said. “It doesn’t have internet, but it’s solid as a rock. Should still work.”
Mary took the phone, then turned to Marshall. “Get Burke on the line.” She glanced over at the smoking ruins of the warehouse. “I’ve got a feeling whatever Blake’s planning is going to happen soon. We need to be ready.”
Chapter 43
NIGHTTIME HAD FALLEN in earnest and Songjiang was a teeming mess of streetlights. The dense streets looked even more crowded than they had earlier in the day, the houses almost leaning up against each other. Narrow alleyways wound through the buildings, a jumbled mess of dusty paths and dark hiding places.
Leopold and Jerome waited outside an old apartment block around the back and out of sight. The complex appeared mostly concrete; no paint on the outside, and the only entrance was secured with a locked iron gate. Some of the windows were smashed through, but a few of the apartments seemed to have tenants, judging by the dim light coming from some of the windows.
The vehicle traffic sounded distant and muted, most of the district’s cars and buses confined to more popular parts of the town. The only noises came from inside the houses and bars – muffled chattering and the soft thump thump of music lost in the breeze.
“This definitely the right place?” asked Leopold, starting to feel the cold.
Fallen: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers Book 5) Page 16