Chapter 15

The Sing Kee restaurant was located on Di Shi Fu Road near a busy shopping district. Tall buildings lined the street, the upper stories protruding over the sidewalks, creating arches protecting pedestrians from the rain and sun. Colorful signs with cascading Chinese characters bedecked the structures and delighted the eye, but an acrid odor caused Jordan to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

“What is that smell?”

Todd grinned. “There’s nothing quite like the odor of fermented bean curd. It’s a delicacy called ‘stinky tofu.’ You get used to the smell.”

Jordan wasn’t convinced, but her own stomach growled as she followed Todd into the restaurant. The eatery was busy and crowded, and it took a moment to adjust to the chatter of voices floating on the techno beat. The chartreuse and white tiles covering the walls and floor offered little in the way of acoustics. Glass chandeliers hung from high ceilings, lighting up round banquet tables. Green metal chairs cushioned in brown vinyl provided the seating. One small countertop station to the left was used to pass food from the kitchen to the wait staff.

A young Chinese man with a neatly trimmed beard and square black glasses sat in the far corner, his back to the wall. Detective Yang, Jordan guessed.

He stood as they entered, and Todd made a beeline toward him. “Li, I’m so sorry we’re late.”

“Not a problem. I am enjoying my tea.”

“May I introduce Agent Raisa Jordan.”

Introductions made, Yang gestured to the chairs around the table. “Please, sit.”

A true cop, he’d already secured the best seat at the table for himself—the one with a full view of the room. Jordan chose the second best. The one to his left. From there she still had close to a full restaurant sweep. They ordered more tea, then a variety of steamed and fried dim sum: prawn and pork dumplings, chiu chow dumplings with peanuts, chicken claws in bean sauce, duck rolls, and crispy calamari. Once the waiter walked away, Detective Yang got right to business.

“Agent Todd says you want to know about the apprehension of Kia—”

Todd cut him off. “I haven’t told you yet, but you didn’t get him, Li.” She filled him in on the details. The detective looked dumb struck.

“That isn’t possible.”

“Except it is,” Todd said. “Somehow his picture was switched in the system. The photos and IDs we used to get him out of the country are an exact match to the man pretending to be Zhen. It suggests an inside job.”

“And I’m telling you, it’s not possible,” Yang said. “Agent McClasky showed me a picture of Zhen taken in San Francesco.”

That surprised Jordan. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she scrolled to the picture of Zhen. “Was it this picture?”

Yang squinted at the screen, moving it closer to study the picture. “It’s the same photograph, different man.”

“This is the real Kia Zhen,” Jordan said. “We believe McClasky received doctored photos and or falsified documents allowing someone else to be transferred.”

“On whose orders? Someone at the consulate?” Yang looked genuinely surprised.

The U.S. consulate employed more than four hundred people in various capacities and processed over one million visa applications a year. Someone could easily have been paid to alter or delete Zhen’s photos. And considering what little she knew about Chinese cybercrime and their rampant government corruption, it didn’t seem too much of a stretch to believe the People’s Republic had at least one hacker capable of doing the same.

“Or someone at the police district,” Jordan said, not willing to let all the blame fall on the Americans.

Todd bobbed her head in agreement. “We’ve got our experts looking into it, but I’m afraid it’s possible we’ll never know who perpetrated the act.”

“To be honest, I’m not that interested in how it happened,” Jordan said. “I’m more interested in finding Zhen. Detective Yang, can you walk me through what went down that day?” She dredged a dumpling through the char siu sauce and popped it into her mouth, savoring the tender pork while concentrating on Yang’s recounting.

“Agent McClasky came to my office with that picture and a suspected location. We headed straight there and spotted Zhen. Then before we could move in, the Guangdong police department initiated a drug raid on the apartment complex. They brought a full contingent of men and moved door to door, arresting everyone. The chief inspector was even on scene. The police took thirty-seven people to jail that day, including Kia Zhen.”

“Did you or McClasky tell anyone on scene why you were there?”

“We tried, but no one listened. We ended up going back to police headquarters. Your legal attaché is stationed in Beijing, so Agent McClasky contacted the consulate’s political officer while I spoke with the chief. Together your PO and my chief arranged for Zhen to be released into U.S. custody.”

From where Jordan was sitting, it appeared that one of two things had happened. Either the Chinese had substituted someone for Zhen in order to keep him in China or the PO had used Zhen’s capture as a means to smuggle someone out of the country. The question was, which scenario fit best? And what made silencing the man on board PR Flight 91 worth the lives of over three hundred men, women, and children? More and more, it seemed that Zhen was the key.

“What can you tell me about the Guangdong Triad?” she asked, reaching for another dumpling. “According to our sources, they’d put a hit out on Zhen.”

Yang heaved a sigh. “The gangs are the biggest disgrace in our country. The Guangdong Triad is one of the largest, with a membership of approximately forty thousand worldwide. They and their numerous subgroups control the drug and weapons smuggling throughout the region and have their fingers in all the illegal gambling and extortion rackets in the Guangdong Province. They’re also heavily involved in the illegal mining of rare-earth metals.”

Jordan blew out a soft whistle. They had enough members to fill two towns the size of the one she’d grown up in. “It’s rumored the Triad has strong ties with the police and a significant number of the communist elite. Could they have had a hand in this?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The Guangdong Triad is unstoppable,” Yang said. “Chinaweek even lists its dragon head as one of the fifty most powerful people in Asia.”

Todd, who’d been picking at the rice on her plate with her chopsticks, looked up. “It’s hard to combat them. Many of the communist leaders consider the gangs patriotic. Leaders have even called on them to disrupt protests in times of civil unrest.”

Yang nodded, swirling the tea in his cup. “The worst part is that the Guangdong Triad is only one of our gangs. We have documented as many as twelve hundred others. It is the scourge of my country.”

Jordan glanced up as the waiter approached carrying a fresh teapot in his left hand.

Odd. She remembered him being right-handed.

A knife flashed in his hand. Instinctively Jordan threw up her arm, deflecting the blow. The teapot fell to the floor and shattered.

Yang jumped to his feet and reached for his gun. “Stop! Police!”

The dining room erupted. Patrons jumped up and fled, knocking over tables, streaming toward the exits. Jordan spotted eight young men in various sizes and shapes, dressed in black and wearing bandanas across their faces, coming through the front door and pushing toward them through the crowd.

The waiter jumped up before Yang could clear his gun from his holster.

Jordan lunged. Grabbing the waiter’s wrist, she twisted the man’s arm. He spun, his sleeve riding up to reveal the bottom half of a dragon’s tail tattoo. Jordan forced him to face her, then jabbed him hard in the throat, and he fell to the ground.

Yang wrestled his pistol free and fired it once in the air. “Police.”

Again the waiter staggered to his feet, hitting Yang hard on the back of the neck. The detective grunted and went down, falling on top of his weapon. Just as quickly, Jordan slammed the waiter back to the floor. Behind her, she could see Todd grappling with an assailant.

“Run,” Todd yelled.

The attacker lunged, then stepped back holding a bloody knife. Todd screamed and gripped her side, blood streaming through her fingers.

“Go!” she yelled.

Jordan sized up the advancing team. They carried knives, no guns, and they were focused on her. If she ran, they would follow, hopefully leaving Todd and Yang alone. Still, she found it hard to abandon them.

“Go!” Todd yelled again.

Jordan bolted. Taking the emergency exit, she found herself on the busy street. “Gau mehng ā!” Help!

People all around ducked into doorways. Only two men remained in the open. They approached and didn’t look friendly.

“Stop her,” yelled a man running into the street behind her. He grabbed hold of her hair, and Jordan instinctively stepped back, releasing the tension that threatened to pull the strands from her scalp. Grabbing his hand with both of hers, she rotated until his arm bent backward and then pulled back his pinky finger until she heard the bone snap. He quickly released his grip, and she kicked him hard in the groin.

Seeking an avenue of escape, she found herself face-to-face with one of the men in the street. He was big. A dragon tattoo wrapped his arm. He looked like he thought this was fun.

“You want to fight?” he said, grinning.

Jordan feinted to the right. He dodged in front of her. She moved left, and he dodged left.

“You want the police?” He threw back his head. “Gingchaat!” he shouted, then looked around, spreading his hands wide. “What, no officers coming to help you?”

The group of assailants had formed a semicircle at her back. Through the restaurant window, she could see people bending over Todd and Yang. Help may have been summoned, but she would likely be captured or killed before they arrived.

The first rule of defense was “when placed in a dangerous situation, find an escape route.” Her best option was through the man blocking her path. With luck, he would trip up his friends.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her “tactical pen.” She’d carried one since academy training. It looked like an ordinary writing instrument, but it was made out of aircraft-grade aluminum and had a strong pointed end that could be used as an ice pick. It was the next best thing to a gun.

Palming the pen in her right hand, she raised her hands as if ready to fight.

“Ooohh, the lady wants to box,” the man said. Pulling back his right arm, he took a swing.

Jordan raised her left arm, and his fist connected with her elbow. She braced for the jolt. At the same time, she swung her right hand and drove the point of the tactical pen hard into his pectoral muscles. When the man dropped to his knees, Jordan jumped over his body and ran.

“Catch the bitch!” the man yelled, one arm clutched tight to his side, his right hand cradled in his lap. Two blocks down, Jordan could see the entrance to the Di Shi Fu Shopping Mall.

She pushed herself faster, putting the results of her daily physical training to the test. She held a thirty-second lead when she hit the front door.

With no time to assess her best move, she pushed through the crowd and jumped on the escalator to the second floor, taking the steps two at a time, pushing past angry customers while ignoring their angry protests.

“There she is!”

Jordan looked down from the top of the escalator. A gangster pointed up at her. Three others were already on the moving stairs.

She bolted to the right. None of the storefronts she passed appeared to have exits. At the end of the corridor, wide doors opened into a department store. Racing inside, she spotted another escalator. Running through the accessory department, she snatched up a pink silk scarf, then rode up a floor, again threading her way through the people above her. She kept her eye on the store entrance.

One of the men entered and pointed straight at her. “There.”

Damn! Reaching the top of the escalator, she turned to the sales women manning the floor and begged for help.

Several turned away, but one woman stepped forward. “Come with me.”

She moved swiftly, and Jordan stayed tight on her heels. Her only hope was for the woman to show her an alternate way out of the store.

“In here.” The saleswoman ushered her into a stock room full of racks of women’s clothing and pointed to an emergency exit. “This leads into the warehouse. You can get back to the ground from there.”

“You don’t have much time. Cover your hair.”

A commotion outside indicated her time was up.

“Hide!” the saleswoman ordered.

Jordan slithered behind several racks of dresses and ducked down. Through gaps in the fabric, she watched as four men pushed into the room.

“Where did she go?” one demanded.

The saleswoman pointed to the door.

Three of the men took the ruse. Shoving the woman aside, they ran for the warehouse exit. The fourth man paused, casting his gaze over the racks of clothing. He tossed one rack to the side, pawing his way toward the back of the stacks.

The saleswoman fled the stock room. Jordan was on her own.

“Come out, come out,” the man said. “I know you’re here. I can smell you.”

Jordan held her breath and remained still.

“Don’t be foolish, girl. This will be much easier if you just surrender. We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to talk.”

Which is why the waiter came at me with a knife?

“You should have let sleeping dogs lie,” the man said, flinging another rack to the side. He was within spitting distance now. Jordan gripped her pen tighter.

The man’s hands grabbed the edge of the rack Jordan was hidden behind. She glanced up. Their eyes locked.

He flung the rack sideways, and Jordan sprang to her feet. She lunged, driving the tactical pen deep into his sternal notch.

The man grabbed his throat. Blood gurgled out between his fingers.

Jordan sprinted for the exit. Drawing a deep breath, she pushed through the door, hoping no one waited behind it.

Inside, the warehouse appeared to be empty. Pallets of boxes formed long rows, bisected by wider aisles on either end and down the middle. Jordan chose the center aisle and headed for the back of the building. Finding a set of stairs, she descended to the ground floor that ended at an exit presumably to the street. Above, footsteps pounded on the floor.

The gang members must have circled around. Shouts indicated they’d found their friend. Jordan had no choice but to push open the door.

She found herself in a narrow alleyway with only foot and bicycle traffic. No one waited for her. People moved in both directions past multiple vendors hawking their wares. Quickly, Jordan wrapped the scarf around her head hijab-style, stooped her shoulders to appear shorter, and fell in step with the other pedestrians. To hurry would draw attention. Right now, her best chance of escape was trying to blend in.

A few moments passed before she heard the shouts of the men reaching the alley. By then she was at the intersection with Di Shi Fu Road. She could see the gang members in the glass reflection of the storefront on the corner. The men were searching the crowds in both directions, while one man studied his phone.

Was he tracking her?

Pulling out her cell phone, Jordan removed the SIM card and dropped the casing into the birdcage of a vendor walking past in the opposite direction. With luck, they would follow the signal, and it would buy her some time.

At the corner, she merged with the crush of pedestrians moving away from Di Shi Fu Street, aware the gang members were searching for her and unsure where to go next. She had to assume the Triad didn’t want her to find Kia Zhen. But why? And how had they known she was there? How had they known she was even in China?

First things first, Jordan told herself. Right now she needed to put some distance between herself and the gangsters. Once she was safe, there would be time to figure things out.