Scott Brendan checked his watch. 11:34 a.m. exactly.
He’d arrived at Portsmouth Square – the heart of San Francisco’s Chinatown – only a minute ago. He’d spent the last twenty stowing not only the DVD and the USB stick, but also the rest of Saul’s gear, in a secure location. Or, at least, in as secure a location as he could conjure at such short notice.
A luggage locker at a nearby Greyhound Station.
And now all Scott had on him was the walkie-talkie in his hand, set to the friendly frequency, and the Walther in his pocket.
He checked his watch again. Thirty seconds till meet time. And as of yet, still no show.
Scott’s mind turned to Saul. He knew he’d entered the rendezvous with Yuelin: Saul had reported as much. But Scott had no idea how long that might go on for. Theoretically, it could go on for hours, depending on how things played out…
The moment he thought this, the walkie-talkie came to life.
‘Vann, we did it. Made the swap. Leaving town now. If we can go fifteen—’
Saul was still mid-sentence when a black Crown Victoria, driven by a harsh-looking man of East Asian descent, powered up, and squealed to a stop in front of Scott.
As it did so, Scott hastily turned off the talkie, and tucked it into his pocket. He made eye-contact with the driver, exchanged a nod, and got in the passenger seat.
The guy said, ‘Here’s how we’ll do this. You give us Hao’s location. I send my men there, who will confirm. Then we go to the safe house. But en route, I stop off, and frisk you for bugs. We have to be careful.’
‘Okay. But I’ve got a Walther on me, and I’m keeping it for my protection. And, as you saw, I’ve got one of your walkie-talkies. I’m keeping that, too, because it gives me a direct line to Yuelin.’
The guy nodded. ‘I’m Shuai Zhang.’ He fixed Scott in a stare. ‘The bomb-vest. It’s phony, right?’
Scott nodded. ‘I couldn’t tell you that beforehand, though. Would’ve weakened my bargaining position if I wasn’t also offering Saul’s next port of call.’
Shuai nodded. ‘So, the location?’
Scott exhaled hard.
‘169 Stillman Street. Just west of South Park. He’s upstairs.’
Shuai took out his own talkie, repeated this information, then changed frequency:
‘Yuelin, the vest was a bluff.’
The response was vitriolic.
‘That piece of shit. I’ll kill him. Slit his fucking throat.’
Shuai took this with equanimity. ‘Switching frequency. Waiting for confirmation on the address Brendan’s given us. Will keep you updated.’
And before she responded, he’d switched frequency again.
He turned to Scott. ‘Shouldn’t take them more than ten minutes to confirm.’
They fell into an uneasy silence. As they did so, Scott realized he felt physically broken – like he’d just run a marathon: light-headed, throat constricted, palms soaked.
But although his body was in distress, he knew this was the right choice. The only choice. And more than that, there was no turning back now; so, since he was swimming with the sharks, it was imperative he kept his wits about him. Because while he was pretty certain their deal would hold, he had to be alert to foul play.
He took a few deep breaths, and looked out the window.
The statue in the middle of Portsmouth Square caught his eye: a replica of the Goddess of Democracy – the statue the pro-democracy protestors raised in Tiananmen Square, Beijing, in 1989. The protestors that were brutally put down by the Chinese government.
At the time, in the eyes of the world, Tiananmen represented the defeat of democracy in China. But, more profoundly, it signified the death of communism. And now, Scott reflected, the world was living with what the Chinese government had replaced it with: an aggressive, jingoistic nationalism.
Scott tore his eyes away: he was only working himself up.
He needed to be calm, collected, clinical.
He concentrated on the dashboard clock.
‘He’s here,’ came a voice over Shuai’s talkie eight minutes later. ‘Meet you at the house.’
Shuai nodded, and started driving.
‘And we’re heading to the house where Lawrence Kelden was living when he was working with you to crack the Dark Net?’ said Scott.
Again, Shuai nodded.
Shuai navigated south through the city. And though Scott had no idea if they were heading the right way, he had no reason to suspect otherwise. And when Shuai pulled into a quiet side-street, and – as agreed – frisked Scott, Scott’s worries were further assuaged: things went down just as discussed
Soon enough, they were back on the road again, working south.
No going back.