Jintao Page 10

  “You’ve been helping with the investigation into Master Jintao’s disappearance, haven’t you? Are there any new developments?”

  “The case is still open and we’re looking into new leads. How is the family holding up?”

  “I’m concerned about my banlu. He’s troubled by not knowing what happened. He hasn’t been sleeping well.”

  Just then, Quan entered the room fresh from his shower, dressed, but with his hair still slightly wet.

  “You must be Lieutenant Zhao,” he said. “I’m Quan Jintao. I see you’ve met Sealy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for coming. I have a few questions.”

  “No problem. It’s part of my job to keep the family informed.”

  “I assume you have no information on my father’s whereabouts.”

  “The investigation is ongoing.”

  Zhao studied Quan’s manner. Considering his upbringing, one would expect to hear the jingle of money in his tone. Instead, his delivery was unpretentious, direct, and disciplined.

  “How wide an area has the search included? Have you looked outside of New Hong Kong? Have you included all of China? What about other countries?”

  “Only the Central Intelligence Committee has authority to conduct investigations outside China. My department covers all of New Hong Kong and the neighboring provinces including Kowloon. We have open communications with the National Police and they have access to the case file.

  “I see. Are these other agencies actually investigating?”

  “I’m not sure. It may be early for them to be involved. Our department is still in charge.”

  “I can tell you, my father was careful and he was no fool. So, it’s not easy for me to believe that someone might have tricked him. However, I wonder, is there anything, anything at all, that would indicate a kidnapping?”

  “There have been no demands,” said Zhao.

  “What if it’s not money they want but information that he may have?”

  “What would make you think that?” asked Zhao.

  “That should be obvious. He heads of one of the largest industrial corporations in the world. The company holds many patents and trade secrets.”

  “We have no credible information pointing to an abduction. However, I must say, that sort of thing has been known to happen.”

  “And what’s the usual outcome?” asked Quan.

  The lieutenant’s mind delved into memories of kidnapping cases, some that ended well and others that were heinous. She was careful to frame an answer that was both truthful and considerate of the young Jintao. “Various outcomes are possible. In the case of your father, because of who he is and because they left no clues, if in fact someone abducted him, they would have to be very professional. If that is the situation, the perpetrator would most likely take good care of your father.”

  Quan’s thoughts climbed to a new level of awareness. “So, if that’s the case, if someone is holding him, sweating him for information, where would you look?”

  “We’ve reached out to the community, both overtly and covertly. We’ve been watching blog sites, social media, and the dark net for any chatter that might be relevant. So far nothing has turned up.”

  “Have you questioned the Tongs and the Triads?”

  “Police don’t just open a com line to those people. We use informants and undercover agents. And yes, we’ve explored that possibility.”

  Quan suspected her answers were not the whole story. Or, perhaps the police were just not very effective. Quan’s mind quickly fashioned a key to entry. “I want to talk to your undercover agents.”

  Zhao’s eyes widened and she said, “Agents’ identities will always be protected. Look, I understand how you must feel, but you have to understand our position. We are trained to do this kind of work and we’re doing all we can.”

  “If I need to, I’ll go to the Chief Secretary for approval.”

  “The Chief Secretary will not be able to force us to disclose who our agents are. It would put their lives at risk.”

  “One way or another, I’ll get the information,” said Quan, abruptly standing up.

  “If you intend to take matters into your own hands, I would advise against that. You’ll only complicate the investigation,” said Zhao.

  “I appreciate your advice and I appreciate all you’ve done. Let me know if anything turns up,” said Quan, dismissively. “Thank you for coming. Ning will show you out.”

  Zhao stood for a moment, studying the young Jintao’s face, then said, “You would be wise not to try to investigate this yourself. Leave it to the professionals.”

  Quan turned his attention away from her and repeated, “Thank you for coming.”

  After the door closed behind detective Zhao, Sealy came up next to him. “You were less than courteous with her. Don’t you trust the police?”

  “It’s not that so much. It’s just that they’ve been investigating for weeks and they haven’t turned up anything.”

  “I think the detective was giving you good advice.”

  “I respect that, but I can’t sit around and do nothing. There has to be someone who knows something. I wanted to talk to the undercover agents, but they won’t allow that. I need answers. The best way forward may be what you suggested a few days ago… hire a private detective.”

  12.

  Anyone wanting to kidnap Master Jintao would need to know his movements and carefully plan an untraceable intercept. That would require sophisticated tactical support that only a well-organized team could deliver. Quan considered the possiblity that someone from inside the company may have been an accomplice. Feeling that time was running out and the police weren’t digging deep enough, he turned once again to the one man he trusted, Gregory McGowen.

  Within a few hours McGowen secured the services of a private investigator named Jianjun Yang, a former intelligence officer who had done reconnaissance for the Jintao Corporation. With contacts in government and industry as well as access to some of the undercover agents embedded in the gangs of New Hong Kong, Yang was well suited for the task.

  Over a secure com line, Quan explained what he wanted. “Consider anyone who might benefit from the technologies we have at Jintao Corporation, as well as anyone who may have been hired to kidnap my father.”

  “Would that include people inside Jintao Corporation?”

  “Yes, and I want this done discreetly. As soon as you have any information, I want you to report directly to me. I’ll compensate you for your time and, if you come up with actionable information leading to his rescue, there’s a substantial reward.”

  Yang directed a battery of questions to McGowen regarding people within the company who should be considered—people who had been dismissed or who had resentment for being passed over. As soon as the call ended, the former intelligence officer went to work, conscripting three other private investigators to assist him, one of whom was a top-level hacker. His job was to penetrate employees’ private data files, looking for clues. Yang took it upon himself to have a secret meeting with a contact who he knew to be working with local criminal organizations.

  In front of a battered metal roll-up door in the older part of Kowloon, Yang stood watching the foot traffic on the other side of the street. His tech jacket hung loosely from his shoulders as he lifted his arms to light another cigarette. Behind dark glasses, his eyes followed people going in and out of a restaurant across the street. Characters on the window read, “Nanking Market—Take Out—Eat In.” Below the lettering, on the other side of the glass, rows of desiccated ducks hung on lines, one over the other, their orange roasted hides glistening in the daylight. Next to the restaurant, windows of the Wing Fat Laundry were covered with newspaper.

  At the other end of the block, an old man in a gray Mandarin jacket slowly crossed the street. He wore dark sunglasses, and carried a white paper package under his arm. This was the sign Yang was waiting for. The old man proceeded down the sidewalk, stopping in fro
nt of the laundry. He turned his back to Yang, unlocked the door, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Yang heard the door close with a dull thump, and watched it recoil slightly—not fully latched. Taking his cue, Yang crossed the street and stood next to the laundry door. With one hand, he applied even pressure and the door opened without resistance, revealing a countertop just inside with the white paper package sitting conspicuously on top. Yang stepped in. The laundry was quiet and the old man was nowhere to be seen. Reaching behind him, he closed the door.

  Beyond the countertop, racks of clothes extended as far as the eye could see and the air smelled of cleaning solvent. There was movement halfway down one of the aisles. The old man was there beckoning to him. Circumventing the countertop, Yang followed down a narrow aisle flanked by racks of clothing in plastic bags. At the back was a clearing where a woman was hefting clothing from a canvas lined bin into a dry-cleaning machine. A shirtless man stood behind a pressing machine, his body shining with sweat. The platen lifted and steam rose with a hiss. hiding his spindly form.

  The old man who had carried the package gestured toward a door with a window of obscure glass. Yang went to the door and paused, looking to the old man, who nodded. Yang turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door until he could see inside. Behind a wooden table sat a heavyset man in a black suit and dark sunglasses. Above him, a skylight shed a soft glow. Yang recognized the face, the mouth turned down in a permanent scowl.

  “Hopsing,” said Yang with a half smile. “How long’s it been?”

  “Not long enough. I thought we were done. What do you want?”

  “You’re not holding a grudge, are you? Come on. We worked well together. If it wasn’t for us, those migrants would be dead.”

  “Who are you fooling? You didn’t give a crap about them. You were only in it for the money. Leopards don’t lose their spots.”

  “Hey. We did a good thing there,” said Yang. “And what? You don’t like money?”

  “Nothing wrong with money, but there’s more to life. The people I’m with now are like a brotherhood. I don’t do freelance anymore. Shut the door.”

  Yang closed the door behind him and said, “So, you went in-house. Never been much of a joiner myself, but good for you. Which gōngsī picked you up?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Respect. You’re a stand-up guy, Hopsing, and I know you’ve got connections. I just need a little information. Be a pal and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’m not your pal.” Hopsing pushed his sunglasses back up to the bridge of his oily nose. “Get to it. What do you want?”

  “Master Jintao is missing. You know who I’m talking about. I need to know where he is. And yes, there’s money in it—a lot of money.”

  “I’ve seen the reward—a million yuan. Anyone can claim it. Why would I help you?”

  “Look. We’re both professionals. I can make sure we get paid. I’ve got a direct connection.”

  “This is old news, dumb ass. Everybody wants the reward and nobody knows who grabbed him.”

  “Somebody’s got him. You’re a smart guy and I think you can find out has him.”

  Hopsing got to his feet. His lips pursed as he came around from behind the table. He walked right up to Yang. He was taller than Yang and his oily chin was in direct view. He lowered his voice and said, “You’re not CIC anymore. You’re little people now and I don’t owe you anything.” He poked a finger into Yang’s chest and said, “Understand?”

  “You’re a big guy Hopsing and I know you can probably kick my ass,” said Yang, patting Hopsing’s shoulder, “but I’ve got dozens of ways I can make your life a living hell and I don’t think you’ll like that. So, let’s skip the bullshit. Just answer the question. Who’s got Master Jintao?”

  Hopsing’s eyes became intense and he said, “If you had told me this is what you wanted I would have told you it was a waste of time. I’ll tell you again… nobody knows. Now, leave. I can’t help you.”

  “All right, all right. Just trying to do you a favor.” Yang opened the door, stepped out, and turned.

  “For the record,” said Yang, pointing with his forefinger, “if I find out you’re lying . . .”

  Behind him, the old man in the gray Mandarin jacket touched Yang’s arm and gestured toward the front door. Yang looked down at the man’s hand. Seeing the callused knuckles and the three small tattooed dots between the thumb and forefinger, it was clearly time to go.

  Yang walked to the end of the block and parked himself under the shade of a tattered awning extending from a tropical fish store. He lit another cigarette and pushed a receiver bud into his ear. Linking it to the transmitter he had placed on Hopsing’s shoulder, he waited to hear who Hopsing would contact first.

  13.

  A glide came sprinting low across the water, transporting McGowen and Dr. Lee to Kau Yi Chau Island. McGowan’s steady hands made subtle adjustments.

  “Using a compass is grossly imprecice. Why don’t you use the guidance system?” asked Lee. “It compensates for acceleration and turning vectors.”

  “I do the compenssating. Just relax. I’ll get us there.” His hands tightened on the steering yoke.

  Seeing the ring on McGowan’s finger, Lee asked, “You are married?”

  “I was. My wife died three years ago.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know. Very sorry. Sorry for your loss… but you still wear the ring?”

  “It just feels right. I’m still married to her.”

  The craft swept around and landed, facing the direction they had come and moments later McGowen entered the dark basement with a chocklight in one hand and a box covered by a blue vinyl jacket in the other. He walked toward the bright lights surrounding the reactor with Dr. Lee hustling to keep up. He set the box down on top of the black mesh.

  “Hello. What’s this?” asked von Ang.

  McGowen removed the cover and the overhead lights reflected off the top of a clear polycarb enclosure. Inside the box, a pure white lab rat looked around, curious about its new environment.

  “Our next subject,” said McGowen.

  He watched the little albino sniff and stand on its hind legs with its paws against the plastic wall. Pointing a finger at the animal’s nose he said, “I call her pinky.”

  At the photonics rack, Dr. Lee inserted a data stick. A view field projected in front of the rack and she scrolled through the lines of code, making sure it was complete. Using a live subject, with all of its physical systems in motion, was orders of magnitude more complicated. If the machine lost track of lungs or blood cells or any of a trillion other targets, the results could be fatal.

  Von Ang cross-checked the equipment settings and said, “Reactor is ready.”

  “Scan data is loaded,” said Lee.

  “Pinky is good to go,” said McGowen, holding up a thumb.

  Dr. Lee looked at McGowen in humorless disbelief.

  Von Ang initiated the transfer sequence then turned to look at the mesh. In a matter of seconds, the rodent was gone.

  “So, you don’t know where the wee muter went. Is that it?” asked McGowen.

  “Not yet,” said von Ang. “We’re looking for discernible changes in physical properties that might give us a clue.”

  A minute later the subject reappeared, wiggling its nose, pressing its diminutive pink forepaws against the enclosure.

  “Excellent,” said von Ang, moving quickly toward the specimen. “The equipment maintains homeostasis. I’m impressed with the stabilizer.”

  “I agree. This is extraordinary,” said Dr. Lee. “Now, I need to examine the subject carefully. There may be side effects.”

  “First rat in cyberspace,” quipped McGowen, looking closely at Pinky.

  “Don’t joke,” grumbled Dr. Lee. “You can’t know anything just looking with your eyes. I need to examine the specimen—and monitor for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

  “The rat seems unaffected, however, if the test r
esults show something abnormal, we’re still far from explaining what we just witnessed.”

  “Pretty damn remarkable though, don’t you think?” said McGowen. “I need to tell Quan.”

  Dr. Lee held up a hand to McGowen. “No. Please wait until we have more information. Dr. von Ang is correct. We know very little. We need to study the scan results and may want to repeat the test again. We have more questions than answers.”

  “Now that you know it’s safe, why not do a real test? I know one animal that would answer all your questions,” said McGowen.

  “You are, of course, referring to the human animal,” interjected von Ang. “Yup. A test pilot would tell you a lot more than Pinky can.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” said Dr. von Ang.

  “Absolutely not. That is entirely premature,” warned Dr. Lee. “We agreed on a systematic, scientific approach and I say no to anything of the kind. There may be latent effects. Human trials are out of the question.”

  “I have to agree with her,” said von Ang. “It’s probably too soon.”

  “Your recorders didn’t tell you anything and our little friend here can’t talk,” said McGowen. “Test pilots are hired every day for missions like this. You should at least get started down that path—consider what precautions you might take. You know you’re going to end up there sooner or later.”

  Dr. Lee looked down for a moment, then shook her head. She shot a glance at von Ang over the top of her glasses. “It was promised that I would have a say in how we proceed. We don’t have a clear understanding of what this machine is doing and I think we are months if not years away from subjecting a human to this experiment. This whole discussion must stop.”

  “I agree, we need more data,” said von Ang, pointing at the mesh. “Even though the rat is alive—and that’s a very good sign—the liability is too great. But that is not to say we can’t start thinking about a human trial.”

  McGowen weighed in again. “Ma’am, we have a long tradition of putting ourselves at risk for the sake of exploration. Better to stay at home in bed if it’s safety you want. Don’t you want to know what’s going on here? Sooner or later somebody’s going to have to go for a ride in this contraption. You know what they say: No risk, no reward.”