The Wild Beasts of Wuhan (31 page)

“Yes, I can get eighty.”

“Okay, Harrington’s gets ten percent and I’ll guarantee you and Glen five million each, regardless of the final selling price. I’ll still want the money to go to Liechtenstein until I give instructions for where my portion is to be sent.”

“And your clients will be okay with that?”

Ava thought about May Ling and Changxing high up in their castle in Wuhan, ready to unleash another killer. “My clients are my concern. I’ll handle them,” she said.

“When you say ‘sell them quickly,’ what kind of time frame do you have in mind?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Good God.”

“Is it possible?”

He paused and then said slowly, “It is, but we’re now most definitely in the eighty-million range.”

“I told you, I can live with that.”

“Then I’ll make my calls. I have one client on standby in Japan and the other is in Germany. I’ll press them to close. If I can get them to do it, I’ll let you know. I won’t call you directly, though. You’ll receive an email and probably a voicemail from my wife. Her name is Roxanne. And Ava, I think we should make it a matter of practice in future to conduct all this business between her and you.”

“Then I’ll look to hear from Roxanne.”

“That still leaves the other three paintings, especially the Modigliani that Locke is fretting about.”

“That paper you wanted me to sign this morning — show it to Locke and send it over to my hotel, will you? I’ll sign it and have it sent directly back. That should mollify Frederick. Tell him that as well as protecting Harrington’s, we decided under the circumstances to keep Edwin’s reputation intact. That’s one more piece of security for Locke.”

“I thought the very same thing. I think Locke will be completely onside with this.”

“Locke is your problem now,” Ava said. “I just want to finish this job. I’m ready to go home.”

( 34 )

Ava hung up from speaking with Sam Rice feeling that she had reassumed some measure of control.
Now I need to talk to Uncle
, she thought.

She tried his line and it again went directly to voicemail. She had a long list of phone numbers of people associated with him, and the first and most obvious choice was Sonny.

“
Wei
,” Sonny answered on the second ring, the sound of traffic audible in the background.

“It’s Ava. I need to talk to Uncle. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s inside.”

“I don’t have a magic phone, Sonny. What do you mean by inside?”

“Massage.”

“This late?”

“He’s been sick. He slept most of the day and is better now. He thought that a
guasha
treatment would help.”

Ava had experienced a
guasha
treatment once: a hot porcelain spoon was dipped in hot oil and used to scrape the back until it was almost raw. It was supposed to leach out impurities. All it did was leave her back red and sore for a week. “When will he be done?”

“Maybe ten minutes.”

“Have him call me as soon as he’s out.”

“Okay.”

“Sonny, this is very important.”

“I’ll tell him.”

She turned on her computer and logged on to a site that listed all the U.K. newspapers. The Hughes Gallery killings were front-page news: a robbery gone wrong; three bodies found in the back office, hands tied, a bullet in the back of each head. The office had been ransacked and two paintings were missing. There were no known suspects, although several people in the area saw a tall blond man leaving the gallery around the time of the shootings.

Her cellphone rang.

“Why didn’t you phone me to tell me about the shootings?” she said before he could speak.

“I was ill,” Uncle said. “Not thinking very clearly, and I knew we would have an intense conversation.”

“Uncle, what happened?”

“What we feared when we first met the Wongs in Wuhan. Wong Changxing wanted revenge more than he wanted his money back. The wife, though, really wants the money. That’s why Glen Hughes is still alive.”

“But they killed the wrong man.”

“No, that was deliberate.”

“Why?”

“Despite your information, Changxing believed that Edwin and Glen had to be in it together. They were brothers, after all, brothers in the same business, brothers who had worked together before. And even if they weren’t in it together, he thought killing Edwin would send a very clear message to Glen that he was next. They want their money, of course, and they won’t do anything until they have it. In the meantime, I’m sure Wong likes thinking about the terror he has brought to Glen Hughes.”

“They told you all this?”

“Wong called me so he could gloat. He was very pleased with himself, and he thought that I would be pleased too. Remember, I am from Wuhan. I know how they think, I know how they act,” Uncle said. “In Hubei province, killing or seriously injuring a person who owes you money is considered to be stupid. If they are dead, how can they pay? So you always pick someone close to them as a way of delivering a message that cannot be ignored. That is the way it was when I was a young man. That is the way it still is with some people. He thought I would appreciate the fact that some of the old ways survive.”

Ava thought of Glen Hughes, oblivious to the subtleties of messages from Wuhan.

“May said you weren’t pleased with them,” she said.

“I knew what it would mean to you.”

“They lied to me.”

“They did.”

“I gave my word to Edwin Hughes that if he helped, he would be safe.”

“They knew that. I told them.”

“So they made a liar out of me as well.”

“I know,” Uncle said.

Ava struggled to keep her emotions in check. “They played me for a fool.”

“You are never a fool.”

“So what am I supposed to do now?”

“Let us finish the contract, collect our money, and move on.”

“I wish it were that easy for me,” she said.

“There are times when you have to —”

“And there are times,” Ava interrupted, “when I can’t roll over and close my eyes and pretend nothing happened.”

“What are you saying?”

“I may not want to finish the job.”

He paused. “I thought it was done,” Uncle said, “that the money is secured, that we are waiting for some transactions to conclude.”

“The money isn’t secure at all. With one phone call I can make it disappear.”

Ava waited for Uncle to reply.
Please, don’t disappointment me
, she thought.

“That is your decision. You do what you think is best.”

“And you’ll support me?”

“That is a question you know you never have to ask,” he said quietly.

She felt her face flush. His reprimand stung. “I’m sorry, Uncle, I meant no disrespect. This job has affected my emotions.”

“I prefer it when you are thinking with your head.”

“My head is still working,” she said. “And what it’s telling me is that we need to go back to the Wongs and remind them who they’re doing business with.”

“You have something in mind, don’t you.”

“Uncle,” she said, avoiding his question, “are you prepared to walk away from our commission?”

“Money I never had is money I cannot lose.”

“I may make enemies of the Wongs.”

“Ava, for what it is worth, I do not think that is possible. Changxing sees things in me that even I do not see in myself anymore. He will do what he can to avoid conflict with me.”

“It is May Ling who is my worry.”

“You have too much malice for her. She is formidable, that is true, but when I separate her in my mind from her husband, all I see is a practical woman whose love for her husband has pushed her to do things she would not have done by her own choosing.”

Ava thought of the woman who had sat on her bed in Wuhan, of the strange conversation they’d had, of the tears. And then she thought of Edwin, Lisa, Bonnie Knox.

“Uncle, I have to save Glen Hughes’ life.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“We need to renegotiate our agreement with the Wongs.”

“That would be difficult for me to do over the phone. I believe I would have to go to Wuhan.”

Ava drew a deep breath. “I don’t want you to do that,” she said quietly. “I want to do it.”

“You do not know the man,” he said.

“No, but I know the woman, and I think she can persuade the man.”

“You are so sure of that?”

“I am.”

The line went quiet and she heard Sonny yelling in the background. She realized they were still on the street outside the massage parlour. “A drunk just bumped into the car. Sonny is sending him on his way,” Uncle said.

“I’ll talk to the woman,” Ava said.

“Yes, I think that might be best.”

“Thank you.”

He sighed. “We men pretend we control things.”

“Uncle, if you don’t want me to do this —”

“No, you have assessed the situation properly. May Ling is the one who can be reasoned with. If there is any chance to renegotiate the agreement, then it has to be between you and her.”

“I’m going to call her now.”

“Let me know when she succumbs.”

( 35 )

Ava went to the window and looked out on Kensington Gardens. She thought of Wuhan, of the cranes that formed its skyline, of air so foul that streetlights filtered through construction debris. She thought of May Ling and Changxing sitting on the top floor of their eight-storey mansion with the entire world living below, looking up at them.

Westerners couldn’t understand power as it was exerted in China. As men like Changxing accumulated wealth and contacts and influence, they correspondingly became increasingly immune to the everyday nuisances of life, and from the laws and constraints that applied to most citizens. As long as they were careful not to flaunt their status, stayed within the broad guidelines of the law, and didn’t cause any public embarrassment or become a threat to their political and military allies, there was hardly anything they couldn’t do, and there was virtually no one who would risk raising a hand against them. It gave men such as Changxing an overblown sense of security, a sense of invulnerability to the vagaries of the outside world. It had taken an Englishman to prick the bubble he lived in, the bubble that Ava had been hired to patch. Now all she wanted to do was take that small tear and turn it into a gaping hole.

She picked up her phone.

“
Wei
,” May Ling said.

“Auntie, it’s Ava.”

The line went silent. “I did not expect to hear from you so soon,” May Ling said finally.

“I spoke to Uncle.”

“What did he say?”

“Auntie, he said I should do what I think is right.”

“I’ve asked you not to call me Auntie.”

“I can’t call you anything else.”

“Why?”

“You know or you don’t know — what does it matter? The thing is, we need to renegotiate our agreement.”

“We finalized it with Uncle.”

“Auntie, the ground has shifted. This is now between you and me.”

“My husband —”

“Fuck your husband.”

She could hear May Ling breathing deeply. “Shall I have Changxing call Uncle?” she asked coldly.

“Yes, do that, Auntie. Have the two men talk. And then say goodbye to your money and watch Wong Changxing become the biggest fool the new China has ever seen.”

The line was quiet. “Why are you doing this?” May Ling whispered.

“You lied to me.”

“And no one has done that to you before?”

“You took the lives of three innocent people.”

“I’ve explained that.”

“Auntie, your explanation does not excuse the fact that you betrayed me.”

“Don’t call me Auntie anymore,” May Ling snapped, and then went quiet, composing herself. “Tell me,” she said calmly, “what is it that you want?”

Ava looked up Church Street and thought she could see the barriers that surrounded the Hughes Art Gallery. “I want our fee to be its regular thirty percent.”

“Uncle and I agreed on twenty.”

“It’s now thirty, which is what it should have been in the first place.”

“And if I agree, are there more demands?”

“Yes.”

“So why should I agree?”

“Because the demands are joined. It isn’t one or the other.”

“What else do you want?”

“Glen Hughes lives. He lives for as long as his health allows. He lives, and all his family and his friends live. No one who is close to Glen Hughes has an accident.”

“If that isn’t possible?”

“Then, Auntie, from our side, three things happen. The money — all of it — disappears. More important, perhaps, is that the world will find out that Wong Changxing bought fifteen fake paintings and paid seventy-three million dollars for them in a pathetic attempt to be something he’s not. And finally I will somehow, in some way, link — at least in the public’s mind — the death of those three people to the two of you.”

“Does Uncle know what your position is?”

“Call him and ask.”

“I may.”

“Call him on another line. I’ll wait.”

May Ling paused. “Thirty percent?”

“And Glen Hughes lives.”

“I need to talk to Changxing —”

“No, you don’t,” Ava snapped. “You and I alone will agree on how this business is to be concluded. The men may be told, but not consulted.”

“Or?”

“As I said, there will be no money and I will do everything I can to shame and humiliate your husband. Maybe no one in China will ever know what happened, but the rest of the world will. And I can guarantee that by the time I’m finished there will be so many rumours about the killings in Kensington that not a country in the world will give either of you a visa.”

May Ling went quiet. “Thirty percent,” she whispered, “and Hughes lives?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“And we get the seventy-three million?”

“No, I think by the time I’ve paid certain expenses, I’ll recover about sixty million. Subtracting our commission, that will leave you about forty million.”

“You would sacrifice twenty million in commission for Glen Hughes’ life?”

“And you would forgo forty million and risk your husband’s reputation, everything he’s built, for the life of a man you’ve never met?”