Choke Point (16 page)

Condemning
—the man made it sound like everything had already been decided: accused and tried, convicted and sentenced. “Contrived would be a more accurate description.”

Wu frowned impatiently. “We have a witness. Someone who saw you enter the room, who heard the shots and saw the door close.”

Simon had heard the claim—a maid who had miraculously survived the attack—and realized that nothing he said would make the slightest bit of difference. “You know how it is, all us Caucasians look the same.”

The look of impatience melted into incredulity. “Mr. Leonidovich, this is not a matter of levity.”

Simon forced an agreeable smile, suppressing the rage that had been building up over a long night of intense questioning. The man was a bureaucratic gnome, without any sense of irony. “We can certainly agree on that.”

Wu gestured toward the steel bench on his side of the table. “May I sit?”

“Please do, I can’t very well stand.”

Wu set down his briefcase, a thin attache made of faux leather, pulled a slightly yellowed handkerchief from the breast pocket of his shiny black polyester suit, and carefully wiped the steel bench before sitting. “It would be best,” he began, “if you would cooperate with the investigators.” He opened the handkerchief, laid it carefully on the table, and folded his right hand over his left.

“Best for who?”

“For everyone, of course.”

“Really?” Simon tried to sound genuinely mystified. “I gave them a statement. It didn’t seem to help.”

“Mr. Leonidovich, these games are not productive. Your statement does not agree with that of the witness.”

Simon nodded slowly, being careful not to arouse the demons. “So you’re saying it would be best for everyone if I confirmed the woman’s story?”

“Of course.”

“Even though it’s a complete fabrication?”

Wu frowned, his frustration etched in furrows across his forehead. “This woman has no reason to lie.”

“I suggest you look under her mattress.”

The furrows deepened. “Her mattress?”

“The woman was paid, Mr. Wu. She’s hidden the money somewhere.”

“Mr. Leonidovich, these foolish attempts to blame an innocent domestic…” He emitted a disappointed sigh. “This is not the conduct of an honorable man.”

“Mr. Wu, do you really believe I was clever enough to kill seven people, then stupid enough to lock myself in a room with two of the victims?”

“Of course not. There were five victims outside the room. Killed with two different weapons, so we know you had at least two accomplices. Unfortunately, they escaped before the police could apprehend them.”

That was a new twist; one, Simon suspected, the police had invented to fit their imagined scenario. “And the witness? She was able to identify these men?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to say.”

“I’ll bet.”

Wu stared across the table, eyes blank, clearly confused by the idiom. “I assure you, Mr. Leonidovich, your cooperation in identifying these men would not go unnoticed by the People’s Republic.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wu, but I’m finding it hard to take these accusations seriously.” He didn’t really expect the man would fall for such an obvious ploy, but tried anyway. “I don’t even own a gun.”

“We have a witness, Mr. Leonidovich, we don’t need a gun.”

Despite his relief, Simon managed to hide his surprise. “If you believed that, Mr. Wu, you wouldn’t be here.”

Wu nervously kneaded the knuckles of his left hand with the fingers of his right. “I’m here to help, Mr. Leonidovich, nothing more. By your own admission, you visited the home of Madame Chiang in the belief she had somehow been involved in the attack on Mr. Rynerson,
neh
?”

“That’s correct.”

“Something happened in this meeting that prompted you to react in an inappropriate manner,
neh
?”

Inappropriate manner!
—now that was an interesting way to describe the slaughter of seven people. “No, that is not correct.”

“Yes, Mr. Leonidovich, I believe this is quite correct, and the sooner you admit this, the sooner this matter can be placed behind us.”

Typical bureaucrat, would lock up his own mother if it would clear his desk. “Mr. Wu, with all due respect, this matter will be put behind us when your investigators stop trying to pin this on the dumb
qai loh,
and start looking for the guy who put the dent in my head.”

“I assure you, Mr. Leonidovich, if you would cooperate with the—”

“Mr. Wu, please excuse my interruption, but I’m very tired, I haven’t eaten, and I’m not interested in your assurances. When are you going to let me speak to someone at the American Embassy?”

“These things take time.”

“That’s what you said about finding the people who attacked Mr. Rynerson. How are you doing with that investigation?”

“I assure you, this matter—”

“Puah-leeze, enough with the assurances. I’ve cooperated. I’ve been patient. Now put me in touch with the American Embassy or bring out the rubber hoses. Until then I’ve got nothing more to say.”

“I assure—” Wu stopped himself. “We do not physically abuse prisoners.”

Simon believed it—at least the
qai loh
prisoners—the repetitive, never-ending questioning was probably more effective. “Good-bye, Mr. Wu.”

Wu stood up, carefully folded his handkerchief and slipped it into his pocket. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Besides out, you mean?”

Wu smiled tolerantly.

“Some aspirin would be appreciated.”

The man nodded, made another shallow bow, and disappeared out the door.

Unable to fold his arms, Simon leaned forward and placed his head on one elbow, hoping to catch a few minutes of sleep before the next team of investigators swooped in to harass him. He had barely closed his eyes before the steel door scraped open.
Inhuman bastards!

“You okay?”

The familiar voice brought his head up with a jerk, waking the demons with their little jackhammers.
Oooooweeeee-sonofabitch!
“Define okay.”

Kyra slid onto the steel bench just vacated by Mr. Wu. She was dressed in a white, open-neck cotton blouse and khaki slacks—no purse, no makeup. “You don’t look so good, Leonidovich.”

“You sure know how to perk a guy up, Rynerson.”

“I’m serious. You okay?”

“I’m fine, just a little tired. How did you find me? How did you get in here?”

“I’m learning how to use the Rynerson name. My father has pumped over four billion dollars into this economy; they can’t just ignore me.”

“Good for you. What about your father? Any change?”

She shook her head, a look of weary resignation. “Let’s talk about you. What happened?”

He gave her the sanitized version, careful not to say more than what he told the investigators.

She nodded, looking more unhappy than when she first came in. “So what happened to the gun?”

So they had told her about that, hoping he would be stupid enough to incriminate himself. He lowered his head, just enough so the fisheye lens high in the corner couldn’t pick up his eyes, and gave her a warning look, letting her know their conversation was being recorded. “Good question.” He wasn’t about to lie or say anything that could be used against him if they found the damn thing, which he assumed they would. “It sure put a dent in my head, I can tell you that.”

She nodded, an acknowledgment of understanding. “You may have a concussion. Have you seen a doctor?”

He gave her a little wink and leaned back. “Not yet. If I die, make sure you sue the bastards.”

“Count on it. I’ll make it my mission in life to see that the warden of this joint spends the rest of his days shooing frogs out of rice paddies.”

A bit racist, Simon thought, but the threat would probably buy him some sleep. “What about getting me out of here?”

“I’ve already spoken to the Consul General in Hong Kong. He promised to notify the State Department immediately.”

More bureaucrats; by the time anything got done he’d be speaking Chinese and dribbling green tea out the end of his pecker. “That should be quick.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll stay on it.”

“I have an important job coming up.” He gave her another pay-attention look, making sure she got the message. “Looks like I may have to cancel.”

“That would be unfortunate. I’ll mention it to Jim.”

Jim now
—things were obviously warming up between her and Atherton. “Good idea. And I’d appreciate it if you’d call my sister.”

“I already did. Typical Lara, she wanted to jump on a plane and start dropping bombs on Beijing. I told her I thought she could accomplish more by pushing the State Department from her end.”

“Good.” Knowing his sister, she’d have half of Washington playing duck-and-cover by the end of the day. “I’m not sure her kind of fireworks would play very well over here.”

“That’s what I thought. She said to tell you she loves you.” Kyra leaned forward, covering his shackled hands with her own. “I do too, you know?”

Though he knew how she meant it—like a brother—her touch still sent a flicker of heat pulsing through his body. “Thanks.”

She gave his hands a reassuring squeeze, then sat back. “This is all so stupid. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting you out of here.”

He forced a confident smile, but doubted if that was true. The attack had been well-planned and well-executed, the gun no last-minute, take-advantage-of-the-moment decision. Someone knew he would be there, and wanted him out of the way. But out of the way for what? “Right. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

Macau

Saturday, 7 July 16:15:21 GMT +0800

“What kind of brain-dead operation are you running out there!”

Given the power, Mawl would have reached back through the phone and crushed the man’s windpipe, but there was nothing he could do—not yet. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the gun! The motherfucking gun! What happened to it?”

Good question,
almost as good as how Trader got his information. “It was right there. Less than a meter from where we left Leonidovich.”

“Well they haven’t found it!”

“That isn’t my fault,” Mawl answered, fighting to control his anger. “It couldn’t have been any more obvious if we’d given the idiots a map.”

“What’s
obvious
—” The words came hissing through the phone’s tiny speaker, a climbing sarcastic drawl. “—is that you got nervous and forgot to leave it.”

That was exactly the accusation Mawl expected, but unless those idiot cops got busy and found the thing, there was nothing he could do to prove otherwise. “It’s there. It’s in that room. It has to be.”

“Then Leonidovich found it before the cops got there.”

“It wouldn’t matter, he couldn’t get out of the room.” Mawl realized he was making an argument against himself. If it was there, why couldn’t they find it? “It’s there someplace.”

“Then you underestimated the man.”

Maybe, Mawl thought, but he wasn’t a bloody magician. “They’ll find it,” he said, trying to sound confident, but now suspecting one of the SWAT cops had grabbed the gun as a souvenir. “They have to.”

“But they won’t,” Trader snapped. “They’re not even looking. When they couldn’t find the gun immediately, they got suspicious and turned their attention back to the maid. She’s starting to embellish, thinking that will please the investigators. Her story is breaking down.”

Bloody hell!
Where was this man getting his information? “You don’t need to worry about her, she doesn’t know anything.”

“Apparently that’s the problem.”

Though Mawl could almost predict the response, he could think of no way to avoid the question. “What do you want us to do?”

The answer came slow and hard, as if the man were speaking to an idiot child. “I…want…you—” He screamed each word, hard verbal bullets that vibrated through Mawl’s head. “—to…finish…the…fucking…job! Is that so difficult?”

Of course it was difficult, but Mawl realized he was being baited, and resisted the temptation to strike back.

“You missed Rynerson,” Trader continued, “and now you’ve missed the opportunity to pin this thing on Leonidovich. Believe me, if the police don’t connect the dots, he will. The man’s no fool. We can’t afford to have him sniffing around. Not after this. I want him eliminated.”

“It’ll take time. It won’t be easy getting to him inside those walls.”

“Well isn’t this your lucky day—”

Mawl waited, ignoring the sarcasm.

“—because unless those investigators find that gun pretty damn quick, they’ll have no choice but to release him.”

Was the man guessing, or did he know something? In Mawl’s experience, the Chinese could never be counted on to do the predictable when it came to civil rights. “We’ll be ready.”

“And he’ll be expecting it,” the man shot back. “Just how do you plan to accomplish this magnificent feat?”

This time the question was real, but Mawl didn’t have an answer. “Does it need to look like an accident? Is that still important?” He was stalling, trying to come up with some kind of reasonable response, but as he said the word
accident,
he knew exactly how he would do it.

“More than ever,” the man answered. “After this last fiasco, there’s enough questions being asked.”

“Then we’ll do it at the hotel. They have a history of construction problems. One more won’t seem unusual.”

“Do it.”

“What about collateral damage?” Mawl asked, not wanting to leave the man any reason to complain later. “If others are involved it won’t appear personal.”

“I don’t care how you do it. And I don’t give a fuck who gets in the way. Just get it done!”

That was all Mawl wanted to hear.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

Coloane Island, Macau