33

HOW NOT TO JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. AGAIN.

Danny tells their side of the story succinctly, as precisely as he can. No point wasting energy.

“. . . And then we gave the triads the slip on Cheung Chau. Found the sheds at the pier,” he concludes, rubbing his head. “We found a chart on the wall. We were about to try and find Sing Sing and go back to Ricard. Then we saw Chow—and then they got us.”

They’re sitting in the dark on the bare floor of the storeroom, trying not to move too much, to breathe easily, but the heat and humidity are almost unbearable, pressing against them, sweat welling on their skin.

“Poor Charlie,” Laura says. “He was a decent guy. What about Sing Sing, though? Do you think she got away?”

“We don’t know.”

Silence.

Laura forces a laugh, trying to lift the atmosphere.

“Well done, though, boys! I’d have given anything to see you on that ladder, Major. And the fireworks! And you mesmerizing that triad, Danny.”

“But we failed,” he says.

“We’re not beaten yet. We’ll get a chance, I’m sure. Maybe Sing Sing got back to Ricard.”

“So Ricard is a friend?” Zamora asks.

“Oh yes. One of the best. I’ve never met him before, but he comes highly recommended.”

“Who by?” Danny says, but he knows the answer even before Laura says it.

“Your father, Danny. They go waaaay back. We can trust him.”

So my instincts were right, Danny thinks. I read him right. And the link to Dad gives his mood a kickstart.

“And Sing Sing?” he asks. “And Chow? Where do they fit?”

“Sing Sing kind of works for Ricard now and then. Like an informant—unofficial capacity. Keeping an eye on the nasty fish swimming around Chow. He was generally on the side of the angels since his conversion. But nasty acquaintances. And they never noticed Sing Sing. She’s been a part of that world all her life as far as I can tell.”

“And Lo?”

“As bent as you like. Most of the Hong Kong police are clean these days. But he’s up to his neck in kickbacks and cover-ups.”

Danny inches closer to Laura.

“And you, Aunt Laura? What happened?”

“Made a mistake. Underestimated the size of their operation. They bundled me into their car and chloroformed me—or something similar. I woke up in that gym or whatever it was and managed to scribble you a message. Then they hooded me, bundled me out the back into another car. Then we had an awful drive through the city with me crammed in the trunk squashed up against a spare tire. Then a speedboat to Cheung Chau. Then another one out to here. And I only managed to hit one of them the whole way.”

“But what about Dad? And Ricard? Does this have anything to do—”

The light flickers on overhead, making them all look up—blinking hard—to see the door swinging open, silhouetting a small figure.

“How nice of you all to drop by.”

The figure steps forward into the sickly fluorescent light.

Kwan.

He’s squinting through the thick glasses. Smiling at a private joke. Slowly he removes the spectacles and tosses them to one side.

“I forgot to tell you something,” Laura says. “Guess who’s in charge round here.”

Danny stares in disbelief at Mister Kwan. Zamora too.

“Carajo! Are you trying to tell me—”

“Yes, Major Zamora. I’m the top dog round here. Mr. Kwan, the nice taxi driver. In Chinese we have a saying: trying to judge by appearances is like trying to measure the sea with a bucket. Hopeless task.”

“But I picked you randomly! Third one off the rank.”

“Which is what I guessed you would do. Took a bit of doing to elbow into the line. Time it so that I was in the right place at the right time. It’s quite easy to read what people will do sometimes. But I expect you know about that, Danny. Don’t you? A kind of magician’s force.”

“Who are you?” Danny says, squaring up to Kwan.

Two gunmen step forward, guns flicked in Danny’s face.

“Black Dragon Number One. This is my operation.”

“And what do you want from us? A ransom?”

“Not at all. This ship—the radioactive cargo—that’s our bargaining chip. We’re selling it on to another party. They want to use it in the Mediterranean. Release the sand onto beaches there, let it blow in the wind. Still radioactive enough to create havoc.” He steps up to Danny. Face to face.

“That’s mass murder.”

“That’s their business, not ours. I’m just the middle man. No, I’m just carrying out orders, Danny. For someone higher up. They want you out of picture. Seems you could cause big problems. And they want you dead. It’s personal, apparently.”

“No.” Laura’s getting to her feet, color rushing to her face. “I won’t allow it.”

“You don’t have a say in it,” Kwan says quietly. “We’re holding all the cards.”

He turns on his heels and is gone, guards backing out, closing the door tight.