by Nova McBee
Finally, I stand up, grab my purse. “No. I won’t stay. I don’t ever want to see her face again.”
After spending all morning at PGF, a taxi drops me off at China Generation so I can focus on the J.J. Bond for the afternoon. When I enter the office, Chan is talking to Phillip but waves at me. I smile and walk to my office. Other employees greet me, too. Warmth rises in me from that unnoticeable blessing called normalcy.
I don’t feel completely at ease. Losing my gift has been heavy and Madame on the loose makes me nervous, but back in my office I notice how lighthearted and hopeful I am, how comfortable I feel here.
At six in the evening a driver takes me to the cottage. The same lighthearted feeling stirs as I head through the gate and into my house. The sun is setting through my living room windows, bathing the art on the walls with golden light. The colors are magnified. I even have a skip in my step as I head to the kitchen for a cup of tea. As I walk over the marble floors, I pause to examine everything around me.
For the past several months, this house in the Shanghai French Concession has been my home. Though I don’t really spend much time here, it has made me feel safe and comfortable. Good memories are planted here.
On the dining room table are more flowers from Kai in full bloom. Next to them are financial reports for his father and finally the keys to the factory on High Street—Kai, work, girls. Those three things have regulated my life since my last “death”. They brought purpose back into my life. It hits me that things haven’t been so bad lately, like fate is finally smiling on me.
Kai should be here soon to eat dinner and help me work. The interviews from abroad for the J.J. Bond have started and we have a lot to do now that Chan’s on board.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Kai walks in holding a box from our favorite Beijing duck restaurant. He sets it down and comes over to me. I’m about to reach up and kiss him when I notice he’s frowning. My stomach knots up. He had wanted to tell me something.
“What is it?”
He holds out a piece of paper. “A police report. Read it.”
“Did they find her?”
“No. But—”
“I don’t want to read anything right now.” I sigh. “You and the others are taking care of Madame. The Pratt is gone. I have to focus on the J.J. Bond. Can it wait until tomorrow?” I grab the box, breathe in. “Yum. I’m hungry.”
“It’s not about Madame.” He takes the box from me. “You’ll want to read this.”
“Why?”
Kai won’t back down. “Read it.”
I sigh my submission, take up the paper, and read the headline out loud, “Benjamin Jones Survives Boating Accident.”
“Who’s Benjamin Jones?”
“He’s the man who supposedly died in the Seattle Sea-Fair boating accident two years ago along with his two brothers,” he says, his face straight, waiting for me to react. “The boat that crashed didn’t belong to Jeff Rivers.”
Did all oxygen just get sucked out of the room?
“Is this a joke?”
“I did some investigating on my own. Jeffery Joseph Rivers is not dead.”
“Kai. Stop. I saw the article. My family is dead. Madame planned their death. And she carried through.”
“Did you actually read that article?”
My brain races backwards, not through numbers but memories. That day, Madame had just learned about Lev and the swimming pool incident. She was steaming with anger, holding a crushed piece of newspaper in hand, about to throw me to King. I glimpsed only the headline—Family of Three dies in Fatal Boating Accident—but I didn’t actually read it. My mouth dries up.
“The article she showed you was real. There was an accident, but it was a family of three brothers. It wasn’t your family. She used it against you. Your father lives. Your family lives.”
“Impossible.” Questions, emotions rip through me.
Pure gold doesn’t fear…
“I’ve looked, too. There’s no sign of their business in Seattle. The house is gone. There’s no address for them. Not even a bill in their name for the last two years.”
“I followed the same trail you did, and...” He takes my hand. “I want you to be very calm as I say this. After your death they moved…to China.”
My knees give out. All the screams I’ve ever heard now ring in my ears like a rock concert. Dizziness sets in. I’m going to pass out. Kai takes hold of me.
“Where?” I remind myself to breathe.
“Not sure yet, but we’re going to find them. We’re going to get you home.”
41
Present: Phoenix
FRENCH CONCESSION, SHANGHAI, CHINA
Home. Family. The words fall off my lips in a whisper, like I’m not permitted to say them out loud. Like if I do, that girl of fifteen, curled in a corner, crying for home in her sleep will come back.
So…I’ll see my family again and then what? What would I say to them? How can we ever go back to normal?
I kick the couch and throw my purse on the floor. If only we were visiting the Sang brothers, I’d take my feelings out on the burlap punching bags.
“Stupid!” I scold myself. That day with Madame, there was a chance she was lying about my family. I always knew that—she lied to everyone—but I saw the headline and heard her tell me. I was scared to die and a complete fool to believe her.
Why now? I don’t know what to feel. Seeing them again was never a possibility.
My hands hold my head. Kai is silent, but his hand rubs the center of my back. I’ve just gotten used to living here. To being without them. To starting over.
Why couldn’t the news have been delivered slowly, like drips from an IV needle instead of a harsh injection? Why on the same week do I have to lose my gift and watch Madame escape? And now this?
I’m used to pain like this, I remind myself—immediate and sharp, like ripping a splinter out of a wound. I can bounce back. The fire only makes me stronger, right?
I look up. Kai’s confused. He doesn’t understand what I’m feeling. He thinks I should be happy. Am I? No answer surfaces. I should be preparing for our week, but I can’t wrap my mind around seeing my family alive or going home. What if I do go home? What about Kai? Do I just leave him?
All over again, another kind of death knocks on my door. Death to my expectations, ideas, and plans. Once again, I must modify and adapt. It’s the kind of death Red talked about.
“Seeds only bloom into a new plant after they’ve died,” he’d say, “you’ve died twice. You get to bloom more often than the rest of us.” He knew, like I did, that we all face these things, as we enter new seasons. Red would say losing my gift is a seed that will blossom into something new.
There I go thinking about my gift again. Or lack thereof.
What will my dad think about that?
I’m still good at math, but I can’t see the numbers any more clearly than the next guy. My father will be disappointed for sure, but Mara? Elated. And Lily, who knows? Does she even think about me anymore?
The clock ticking is the only sound in the room. “It’s getting late,” I say. “We have work to do. Chan will meet with more Asia Bank managers tomorrow. People will be lined up at China Generation’s door. Don’t forget our meeting with Officer Bai about Celia tomorrow.”
I tear open the box of take-out. Grab chopsticks. “Let’s eat.”
We don’t mention my family for the rest of the night.
Interviews last all morning. At lunch Kai does all the talking, about everything, except my family. I refuse to bring up the subject.
He tells me that the Pratt inmates are willing to testify and Rafael agreed to testify after Interpol gave his father a plea-deal.
“What about Yu Tai?” I ask.
“His family sold the Pratt to the government for a huge sum and are moving to Hong Kong.” Finally, Kai puts a hand on my shoulder. I know what’s coming. “No luck with finding
your family yet,” he says. “I’m looking everywhere, but China’s a big—“
“Country?” I interrupt. “3.705 million square miles. Yeah, I know.”
He takes the hint that I’m not ready to talk about it. We head back to the office. We work until after dinner when we get a call from Detective Hansen.
“Get here quick. The video worked.”
We drop everything and race out the door.
As soon as I see Agent’s Bai’s face I blurt out, “Where is she?”
“At Pudong Airport.”
“Quick!” I say, an idea rising. “Give me a list of all the airlines leaving Shanghai tonight. I know what to look for.”
A search is done. They give me a list. I know Madame better than anyone. My brain may not be “calculating” but I feel neurons firing, connecting to different parts of my brain, not like a prodigy but like any person figuring out a new game. There are eight airlines with gold in their names like Golden Japanese Airlines. Golden Lotus.
With Agent Bai and Detective Hansen, a list of all the passengers is made available. She’s tricky. She’s bought tickets on eighty-eight flights all with and without gold in their names. On the eight airlines with gold in their names we identify seven of Celia’s pseudonyms. Celia Marsovich to Miami. Dora Sanchez headed to Barcelona. Silvia to Venezuela. Maxima Moreau headed to Johannesburg, South Africa.
One catches my eye. Maryam Maatar on the Golden Myanmar flight to Brisbane, Australia. Madame doesn’t do business in Australia, King had said. That number I saw in her files long ago. Brisbane’s not connected to anything gold, is it? Yet my gut is churning. Red would tell me to trust that, even if it doesn’t make sense.
“She’s going to Australia,” I say. Kai, Rafael, and Agent Bai look at me with wide eyes.
“Australia?” Agent Bai looks doubtful. “With her real name? What does she think we are, fools? No evidence points to that. Lev said Spain. And this morning she made a call to Venezuela.”
“Yeah, I know. But using her real name is like hiding out in the open. She’s done it before.” I remember her permutation locks on the keypad on my door in the Golden Angel Hotel. “Besides, there are only seven fake passports and eight real choices. The eighth is her real name. She won’t go anywhere else. She’s too smart.”
“Why Brisbane?”
“I don’t know, but she knows Lev confessed, that we’re on her trail. What if she kept her real passport hidden from Lev. She’s leading us on a goose chase.”
“Celia’s desperate,” Detective Hansen says. “Desperate people don’t think clearly. They always go where they have help. It’s probable that in Spain she has more passports, money, and an escape plan. Like Lev said. Besides, you and King said she never works in Australia.”
“Exactly. It’s a place we don’t expect.”
“King described her as obsessive and maniacal. She avoids Australia for a reason. Using her real name is a ploy to throw us off in a direction she’d never go. Lunatics don’t suddenly embrace their fears. Now, we have eighty-eight flights with all her names to choose from, and seven viable options. We have bank transfers, calls, and leads for Spain and Venezuela,” Agent Bai argues. “We only have two teams available to move into those locations immediately.”
“Sorry, Phoenix,” Detective Hansen says, “The other teams can’t be redirected that quickly, especially without solid proof. We have to stick with the most likely leads on this one.”
“A year ago, there was a number written in her notes with an area code for Australia. That’s something,” I blurt out.
“Are you referring to the nursing home again?” Agent Bai asks.
“Yes.”
“We have checked it out. There’s nothing there. No gold names in Brisbane. She’s called tons of other cities in the last year but Australia only once.”
“But –” My stomach tightens even more. Even without numbers I sense something is wrong. “I know her. She’s going to Australia.”
“Look, Phoenix, you’ve been a huge help. But Australia’s too far of a stretch. All the evidence points to Spain or Venezuela.”
“All right.” There’s nothing I can do to convince them, so I let it go. But that number in Australia haunts me.
Agent Bai calls in the directions to his team.
I excuse myself, telling Kai I’ll meet him later.
I check the clock. The time difference is six hours between China and Australia. The sun just came up. Before I think twice, I taxi over to my office, dig up that number, and pick up the phone.
“Summer Centers. How can I help you?”
“Can I talk to one of the nurses there?”
“Actually, ma’am, there are no nurses here. Brisbane is the main office. We handle the finances and registry. To talk to one of the nurses you have to call directly to our facilities on the Gold Coast. Can I give you the number?”
“Gold Coast?” I choke.
“Yes, ma’am,” she says. “Want the number?”
“No, thanks.” I hang up.
Gold Coast. The eighth location. The eighth name.
If Interpol won’t stop her, I guess I’ll have to do it myself.
But how? I don’t know anyone in Australia.
Oh wait…I do.
I rummage through Chan’s accounting files as I did that the very first day and locate the random wire transfer.
A man answers. Bad Australian accent, smoky voice.
“Bob Lee?” I say. “It’s Double-Eight. How’d you like to be on the good guys’ side? I need your help to take down a queen.”
42
Present: Phoenix
SHANGHAI TOWER, SHANGHAI, CHINA
The next day is painful as I wait for news. Thankfully, I’m busy. People from all over China are standing outside our gate, hoping to have a chance to be enrolled in our bond and loan program.
The secretary comes into my office and sets the book of appointments on the desk. “There is another construction company online asking for an appointment for an interview. Foreign owned. Their file is on top.”
“We’ve filled the quota for construction already. Tell them we’re sorry and to try World Bank.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I pull the pile of applications towards me, ready to discard the construction file, when the name leaps off the page. I nearly tear the paper as I pull it up to my eyes.
It can’t be.
My hands fumble as I reach for the phone. They’re shaking so strongly I can barely grab the line and punch lobby.
“Secretary Lin?” I gasp into the line. “Get that construction company back on the line and inform Ms. Mara Rivers that I can see her tonight.”
I slam the phone down before I change my mind. My shaking fingers manage to dial Kai’s number.
After I listen to him explain that Interpol raided Venezuela with no success and are waiting for news from Oro, Spain, I tell him about Mara.
“Phoenix, I’ll leave now if you need me,” he says, concerned.
“No, it’s okay.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Be strong,” he says. “No coincidence. You’ll have the right words. I’ll wait with PGF until they have news, but I’ll come directly afterwards. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Ms. Mara Rivers arrives at five o’clock as requested, but I delay our meeting until seven, forcing her to wait awkwardly in the executive cafeteria. My personal secretary serves her dinner, assuring that nothing is wrong only that I’m a very busy woman.
After sunset, they escort her to the boardroom. I want it poorly lit when I meet her. An interpreter arrives promptly, as usual for all my meetings.
My hair is down, dark-chocolate and straight. I touch up my make up with darker shades and lines than usual, and even wear a dark pair of glasses. The tall heels and a long dress hide my frame. By the time I look in the mirror, even I don’t recognize myself.
I don�
�t have a plan, or calculations to help me.
I let her go, buried her in peace back in the Pratt. Did she do the same? Did she bury me? But now we’re raised from the dead. And in this life, her fate is in my hands.
As I walk in, the office secretary announces, “Ms. Phoenix, ma’am.” The room has a soft glow from a standing lamp. Da Li, my interpreter, follows me and translates everything from Chinese to English.
“How do you do?” Mara stands to greet me. I nearly lose my balance as I take her in. A perfectly delicate woman stands before me with a striking resemblance to my mother, only years younger and less joy in her gaze. “I’m Ms. Rivers.” She extends a hand.
My Phoenix persona immediately takes over. I bow my head at her and acknowledge her hand but walk towards my desk without grabbing it.
“Please sit.” The interpreter translates. Mara takes her place on the leather couch across from me. Her hands fold nervously in front of her. The interpreter sits beside her.
“Thank you,” she says. There’s no sign she recognizes me but her eyes flick to every part of my face. If I’m not mistaken, she shivers a bit and rubs her arms. “We are very thankful you granted us a meeting so quickly. I understand applications are backed up. They’re calling it the miracle bond. How can China Generation have the assets and generosity for this?”
I tilt my head into the shadow. Mara’s voice is sweet. Is she flattering me, or has she softened? I can’t tell because I’m not listening very attentively. I’m watching her eyes. Watching for something—truth, lies, justice, repentance, anything. Whatever it is, I need to see it before I take any action. The equations I crave never arrive.
“It’s our destiny, perhaps.” I reply in a low voice.
“My proposal.” Mara offers another file.
But I don’t pick it up. I have read it twice. No, three times. But I’m not interested in her application. I’m interested in her family. My family.