The rain had stopped. The wet streets of Shanghai had a glossy sheen that reflected the lavishly illuminated buildings on both sides of the Huangpu River, the dividing line between the city’s past and future.
On the western side of the Huangpu was the Bund, which in the mid-nineteenth century had been the Wall Street of the Far East. The surviving buildings were a trapped-in-amber artifact of the city’s rich colonial past as a trading post. This nineteenth-century city had been carved up by the British, French, and Americans into districts that looked like their faraway mother countries.
On the east bank was Pudong, a booming Tomorrowland of skyscrapers rising from the swamps. The most iconic high-rise was the Oriental Pearl Tower, perfectly symbolizing Shanghai’s aggressive new attitude on the global economic stage. There were 90 billionaires and 140,000 multimillionaires in Shanghai, and the majority of them lived, worked, and partied in Pudong. This was where Nick Fox liked to ply his trade when he came to town.
He stayed at the Park Hyatt Shanghai. The luxury hotel occupied the seventy-ninth to ninety-third floors of the 101-story Shanghai World Financial Center. It was a landmark building with a massive, rectangular hole at the top that made the sleek, shimmering tower look like an enormous bottle opener. The similarity was so striking that bottle openers shaped like the SWFC were sold as souvenirs on the tower’s hundredth-floor observation deck and at tourist shops throughout the city.
Nick showed up carrying an Hermès suitcase and wearing some of the clothes he’d bought at Shanghai Tang. He wore a perfectly tailored black blazer, a light blue-and-white-striped chambray shirt, stretch denim slacks, and a pair of casual Ecco leather boat shoes. He registered as Sonny Crockett and took the elevator to his ninety-third-floor suite.
The suite’s dim lighting, muted colors, and minimalist décor made the breathtaking view of the Huangpu River and the Bund through the floor-to-ceiling windows appear even more dramatic. But what really heightened the drama for Nick was the reflection of the man standing behind him holding a gun.
Inspector Zhaoji Li entered Kate’s room carrying a neatly folded set of blue surgical scrubs, which he placed beside her on the gurney.
“If you were chasing Nicolas Fox in Shanghai,” he asked, “where would you start looking for him?”
Zhaoji asked this in his politely enigmatic way, but Kate knew there was nothing trivial about the conversation. Just as she instinctively knew he already had the answer.
“I’d go to the five top hotels in the city,” she replied.
“Why?”
“He believes in hiding in plain sight, and he likes his comfort.”
“Would the Park Hyatt Shanghai qualify?”
Her heart skipped a beat. She knew that was where Nick was staying, and apparently so did Zhaoji.
“Is it a five-star hotel?”
He nodded. “It’s also one of the tallest hotels on earth.”
“Then yes, definitely, it would be at the top of my list.”
Her answer seemed to satisfy him, which only deepened her concern. He sent Rigor and Mortis out of the room with a nod of his head and unlocked the handcuffs on her wrist.
“Your shoes are in the closet, but you might prefer this clean set of scrubs I brought for you to the clothes you were wearing when you were brought in.” He pocketed his handcuffs. “I hope they are your size.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Does this mean that I am free to go?”
“Yes, though you won’t get far without identification or money and wearing only scrubs. We could drop you off at the U.S. consulate if you like.”
“I’d rather stick around and help you catch Fox,” Kate said. “How is the search going so far?”
“It’s over,” he said. “We’ve found him.”
She tried to look happy, though she was filled with dread. “Do you have him in custody?”
He shrugged. “I suppose you could say that.”
The plaza outside the Shanghai World Financial Center was cordoned off with crime scene tape, though none of the passersby seemed the least bit interested in the police activity or the corpse under the blue tarp.
Kate, in her surgical scrubs, stared up at the building. The shattered window was on the ninety-third floor, but she couldn’t see it. The room was too high up. She knew that a body falling from that height would hit the ground like an exploding water balloon, so she’d declined Zhaoji’s invitation to look under the tarp. There would be nothing left to identify. But was the dead man Nick? And if it wasn’t him, who was it?
Zhaoji exchanged a few words with one of the forensic technicians scurrying around the scene in their hooded white coveralls and plastic gloves. The tech handed Zhaoji several evidence bags, which the inspector brought back with him to Kate.
“We recovered this.” The inspector held up a baggie containing the pieces of two broken keys and an intact leather-strapped keychain with the word DAYTONA stitched in yellow on it. “They appear to be the keys to the Dodge Charger.”
“That doesn’t mean the dead man is Fox.”
Zhaoji nodded. “I showed the concierge and the people at the front desk a picture of Fox. They knew him well here—not as Nicolas Fox, of course, but as Sonny Crockett—and gave him his usual ninety-third-floor suite, the same one the body fell from.”
“Sonny Crockett? Really?”
“Is the name significant?”
“He was a cop on Miami Vice,” Kate said. The inspector stared at her blankly. “You know, the TV show? With Don Johnson?”
“I don’t watch TV,” Zhaoji said.
“Fox likes to pick his aliases from TV shows. Usually the aliases are a little more obscure than this one. What do you think happened here?”
“I think he was murdered. There are signs of a struggle in the room, a chair was thrown out the window, and we recovered a bullet from the wall.”
Kate knew the list of people who wanted Nick dead was long and colorful. Carter Grove was up there at the top.
“What does the security video on the ninety-third floor show?” Kate asked. “Who went into Fox’s room before the fall, and who left afterward?”
“There is no video,” he said. “The footage for that floor, as well as for the elevators and stairwells leading to it, has been erased, either by the killer or by an accomplice.”
“Or by Nick Fox.” Kate pointed to the tarp. “I won’t believe that’s him until you have the DNA results to prove it.” Even then, she’d have her doubts. Nick was very good at fooling people.
“That could take weeks.”
“And in the meantime, I will keep looking for him.”
The inspector reached into his pocket and produced a Park Hyatt room key. “Tonight you’ll be staying here, courtesy of Mr. Stanley Fu, who is grateful for your extraordinary efforts to prevent the rooster from being stolen.”
“I was stuck in the trunk of his car. I didn’t do anything, extraordinary or otherwise.”
“Nevertheless, he would like to express his gratitude. Someone from the U.S. consulate will deliver a temporary passport and a plane ticket to your room in the morning. You are to leave China by the end of the day tomorrow.”
“What about Fox?”
“He’s dead.”
“And if he’s not?”
“You can keep looking for him,” he said. “But not in China.”
She was being allowed to leave the country, and the Chinese authorities were dropping the hunt for Nick. That was a big relief, and it gave Nick a real chance to escape, assuming he wasn’t the corpse under the tarp. She believed he was still alive, despite the compelling evidence to the contrary, because she couldn’t accept the alternative.
But Kate still had a role to play—the FBI agent obsessed with Nick’s capture—and if she slipped out of character now, she might raise the inspector’s suspicions. So she tried to work up a little rage.
“That’s it? You’re done?”
“There’s nothing for us to investigate. The
rooster is safe.”
“Two people are dead.”
“The woman was a French citizen killed in international airspace. The man who killed her is now dead himself. It looks to me that everything worked out.”
“Let’s suppose you’re right. What about Fox’s killer? You’re just going to let him walk?”
“We have limited resources that are better served solving the murders of innocent people, not felons from other countries.” It sounded to Kate like he was repeating verbatim what somebody else had told him, rather than expressing his own opinion.
“I see,” she said.
“I hope your flight home is more pleasant than your journey here.” He offered her a polite smile and turned to go.
“May I ask you one question?”
He stopped and looked back at her. “You may ask, but that doesn’t mean I’ll have an answer.”
“Where did you get the tip that Nick Fox was after the rooster?”
He hesitated a moment before answering. “The tip was given to one of my superiors. It came from BlackRhino Security.”
Kate went to her room on the eightieth floor and undressed. The bruise on her side was dark purple and had spread across her stomach. She started the shower, setting the temperature to its hottest setting, and stood under the rainshower head for thirty minutes, washing away the smudges of blood. She dried off, being careful not to disturb her wounds, making a mental note to get some giant-size Band-Aids. She was slipping into a bathrobe when she heard the pop of a champagne cork in the bedroom, and a wave of relief rushed through her so strongly it almost buckled her knees.
She’d worked hard to believe Nick was okay. And she’d pretty much convinced herself. So why were these tears suddenly running down her cheeks? For cripes sake, she told herself, there’s no crying in the FBI. Get a grip!
She took a moment to get herself under control. She cinched the robe. And she stepped out of the bathroom, smiling wide, feeling as if it were Christmas morning.
Nick was stretched out in his new clothes on top of her king-size bed, his back against the headboard, his legs casually crossed at the ankles. His hair was lightly tousled, and she saw a tiny cut on his chin amid the stubble. A champagne bottle chilled in a bucket beside the bed. He held a crystal flute of bubbly out to her and smiled.
“I’m afraid they don’t stock these minibars with Toblerones,” he said.
“I’ll live.” She slid onto the bed beside him and took the glass from him. “I’m glad to see that you will, too.”
He poured himself a glass. “I had my doubts earlier this evening.”
“I didn’t.”
“Really?”
“I have faith in your resourcefulness,” she said. That much was true.
“Likewise,” he said.
They tapped their glasses, sipped their champagne, and took in the spectacular view of Shanghai through the window in front of them. They were quiet for a while, enjoying the peace of each other’s company.
“Tell me what happened in your room,” Kate said. “Who got killed?”
He shook his head. “First I want to hear how you conned the police.”
“I was brilliant,” Kate said. “I played the victim card. I told their inspector I was tracking you. You had an accomplice. I was caught by surprise. Blah, blah, blah. Spent the whole time locked in the trunk. Didn’t know anything.”
“And he bought it.”
“Yes!”
“I’m seeing you in a whole new way. You could have a bright future in my line of work.”
“I’d rather do the dinner theater circuit with Boyd.”
“Wow, that’s harsh. I thought we were a team. Until death do us part.”
“That’s a marriage vow. We aren’t married.”
“We took a vow in a monastery.”
“We made an agreement in a cave!” Kate said. “We committed to work together on covert missions for the FBI.”
Nick grinned and refilled her champagne glass. “It’s sort of like a marriage, but without the benefits. You watch my every move and nag me. Unfortunately that’s where it ends.”
“Good grief.”
“I’m sure you’ll come around eventually,” Nick said.
Kate secretly worried that this was true. “In your dreams.”
“Frequently,” Nick said. “How about you?”
“I want to know who’s down there on the sidewalk.”
“He didn’t formally introduce himself, but I’m assuming he’s a BlackRhino guy. I walked into my room carrying my suitcase and was admiring the view when a guy holding a gun with a silencer came up behind me. He made a big mistake not shooting me the instant he came out of hiding.”
“Because you’re such a dangerous, ruthless individual?”
“Because it revealed that he needed me alive, at least for a few minutes. He probably had a list of questions he was supposed to ask me before putting a bullet in my head.”
“And then?”
“And then I spun around and swung the suitcase at him. He shot the suitcase, and I kicked him in the nuts.”
“Classy.”
“Yeah, but obviously I didn’t kick him hard enough, because he still thought it was a good idea to shoot me. We struggled over the gun, a few shots went into the window, and I got tossed across the room. I’m no Kate O’Hare when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, so I threw a desk chair at him.”
“I’ll use whatever weapons are handy. A chair counts.”
“Thanks. The chair slammed him against the cracked window, and he went through it. I tossed the keys to the Dodge Charger out after him.”
“Where have you been since then?”
“Dinner. I had to sacrifice my reservation and eat at a small café on the next block, but the steak was still excellent.”
Kate was torn between wanting to lose her bathrobe and have her way with him and ordering room service. She was starving, and the mention of steak had her salivating.
“Aren’t you taking a big risk being here?”
“This is the last place anybody would think to look for me now, if anybody is even looking.”
“The staff knows you.”
“I can slip in and out of here without being seen. I know where every camera is, and I’m a master of disguise.”
“You have a disguise?”
“I’ll color my hair and wear a false mustache.”
“You have a false mustache?”
“I never leave home without one.”
She wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, but the conversation brought up another question that had been nagging at her since he’d told his story.
“How did Carter know you’d be here?”
“I’m sure he questioned Duff MacTaggert. Duff knows that I travel in China as Sonny Crockett. Wouldn’t be hard for Carter to find out if I was registered here. The question is, did Duff give me up for a price or was he coerced?”
“Does it matter?”
“I need to know,” he said.
“So tomorrow you’re going to Kilmarny.”
He nodded and freshened her champagne. “But we still have tonight.”
“I need food,” Kate said. “Something other than rice.”
Kate ate a monster-size double cheeseburger and had a manly wedge of New York–style cheesecake as a chaser. The food, combined with her long day and several glasses of champagne, practically put her in a coma. When she awoke at 6:30 A.M., Nick was gone. He’d washed his champagne flute and put it back on top of the wet bar in the living room. There was no sign that he’d ever been there. It was as if she’d dreamed the whole thing, though her dreams about him tended to be X-rated and their evening had been a chaste PG.
Kate sat up slowly, her side aching, her knife wounds stinging. She ordered a room service breakfast of fried eggs, sausages, pan-fried pork dumplings, fresh berries, deep-fried crullers, spring onion pancakes, steamed buns, and jellied, salted tofu topped with ground pork, cilantro, and
glassy tree ear, a type of mushroom found on fallen trees. She washed it all down with a pot of tea.
It was midmorning when Susan Chow knocked on Kate’s door and introduced herself as a representative from the U.S. consulate. She was in her early forties, wearing a crisp gray business suit. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She handed Kate a passport, a plane ticket to Los Angeles, and a shopping bag containing underwear, socks, a long-sleeve burgundy jersey top with a scoop neck, and black denim jeans.
“A car is waiting for you downstairs,” Susan said. “Your flight leaves in three hours.”
“I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.”
“On the contrary, our diplomatic spin on this is that you foiled an attempt to steal the rooster and prevented an international incident that would have strained the relations between our two countries.”
“So if I’m such a hero, why am I being hustled out of town?”
“You defied authority. That’s not a popular attitude here. If you would do that to your bosses at home, the Chinese government is concerned about how you might behave in Shanghai. And so are we.” She handed Kate a bottle opener shaped like the building. “Good luck.”
Susan left. Kate changed her clothes and went down to the lobby, where Rigor and Mortis were waiting with a car to escort her to Shanghai Pudong International Airport.
Nick and Kate left Shanghai within a few minutes of each other, and from the same terminal, but they made no contact.
Nick departed on the 10:50 A.M. British Airways flight to London, and had booked a connecting flight to Glasgow. He traveled as “Jonathan Hart” and sat in first class in a seat that gave him a soothing shiatsu massage.
Kate took an 11:00 A.M. Shanghai Airlines flight to Seoul, Korea, where she caught an Asiana Airlines flight to Los Angeles. On both flights, she was stuck in a center economy-class seat next to the restrooms. Still, it was an improvement over riding in the trunk of a car.
Nick arrived in Glasgow at 7:25 P.M., rented a Range Rover, and made the three-hour drive northwest to Mallaig, where he spent the night at the quaint West Highland Hotel so he could take the first ferry to Kilmarny the next morning.