Chinese Burn Read online

  "And your head's ok now?"

  "Pretty much, I get dizzy spells, pass out sometimes. I can't drive no more, they took my license away, and that's what I did, that's what I loved. So I prefer to live cheap, and not have to work. More coffee?"

  "Thanks," Sam leaned forward so Lucy could pour the coffee from her blackened pot. "So this is it? Just you and a few things?"

  "Yeah, I carry a bit more than a toothbrush, and I wear my clothes for longer, but otherwise, it's pretty much Jack Reacher-style."

  "I guess you don't go around bumping into conspiracies and murder plots every couple of days either."

  "Not till now." Lucy looked up.

  Sam shrugged, managed a half-smile, and sipped from the coffee. A blackbird hopped along the parapet of the building towards her.

  "What happened to your Dad?" asked Lucy.

  Sam looked down into the black hole of the coffee mug."The Battle of Nasiriyah, March 2003. That's all we know, all they would tell us."

  "Some Special Forces shit?"

  "If so, he never talked about it to us. He was a Marine Sergeant on the base, at home, everywhere. That's what doesn't make any sense, if he was Delta, that would be out in the open—"

  "CIA, black ops?"

  "I thought that was only in thrillers."

  "I wish."

  "One day, I'm going to find out."

  "Atta girl."

  Sam fell silent, and then drained the coffee mug.

  "You want to get some food? I got beans and shit, but there's a decent place on the street. Maybe put one of my old jackets on?' asked Lucy. "I think you're pretty safe in the dark. And they're looking for a girl alone. Most folks don't even see us street people, stick with me, blend in, and you're invisible."

  This time, Sam managed a proper smile. "Sure, let's go get something to eat, I'm seriously hungry."

  Sam followed Lucy all the way to the ground floor before she realized the risk that she was taking. What if this was a trick to get her out into the open where Lucy could just bounce her off to the nearest cop? She hesitated as Lucy ducked outside and headed down the alley to the street. It was dark now, and a couple of weak streetlights barely extended to the alley's entrance. Sam stopped, and Lucy turned.

  "Where are we going?" asked Sam.

  "Right there." Lucy pointed across the street. Opposite the entrance to the alley was a tiny food stop, Chick P in the D. Not much more than a serving hatch. "It's hot, and filling."

  Sam glanced up and down the street. There was traffic to the right, on the road she had walked up earlier. Nothing moved to her left, just a deserted car park. No cops. It appeared to be low risk, and Sam was starving. She could smell fresh baked bread.

  "Let's go." They crossed the road together, and Sam let Lucy order for them both. They took the hot paper bundles and a couple of 20 fl oz cups of coke, then handed over a ten dollar bill and headed back. No problems, no betrayal.

  Sam flopped onto the roof felt, breathing heavily from the walk up the stairs, and tore open the steaming, greasy bag. Her mouth was so ready for this she was almost dribbling.

  Lucy settled beside her, took her first mouthful, and then between chews asked the question that Sam had been waiting for, "So, what happened in China?"

  "Are you sure you want to know? Wouldn't this make you some sort of accessory or something?"

  "Only if you tell 'em I know and they care enough to believe you — with that haircut, there's a good chance a homeless bum like me wouldn't know who you were."

  Sam chewed and nodded. She had arrived at the point where she trusted Lucy, and even if she hadn't, she didn't have much to lose. She told her the story between huge mouthfuls.

  "Wow. Wrong place, wrong time. Just like me when that goddam shell went off."

  "I guess," said Sam through another mouthful, she was starting to feel a lot better with the hot food inside her.

  "So what are you going to do?"

  Sam shrugged.

  "Canada's the other side of that river down there," Lucy pointed south as she spoke.

  "I left my passport in my room." She took a long slurp of her coke. "And anyway, I don't want to run, I want to stay here and prove that I didn't do this. I have a friend flying in tomorrow. He's coming to help. I need to find out what the hell it was that Ravert was doing in China that made someone want to kill both him and his wife."

  "You want some help with that?" asked Lucy.

  Sam hesitated before a swig of coke. "You don't have to do that."

  "It's kinda boring sitting around up here, could use some excitement. If you're going to meet this guy, I can watch your back out on the street."

  Sam put down the empty coke. "Thanks," she said.

  Lucy shrugged, bit off another mouthful, "No biggie," she mumbled.

  Jobert had caught the Merc at the second junction, thanks to a red light. Otherwise, Terry New would have been long gone. In fact, he still might have been; Jobert had hammered up right behind him without realizing, and if New'd had half his wits about him, he would have seen that he had a tail and abandoned whatever he was about to do.

  Terry New did not have half his wits about him, and now sat twenty feet from Jobert in a downtown jazz bar that went by the name of Cliff Bells. It was dark, it wanted to be smoky, and the art deco interior perfectly matched the trumpet's whine of Gershwin’s Summertime.

  Jobert took a sip of his very watery Scotch and watched New over the rim of the glass. The target was seated at a table for two with a very pretty and much younger woman. Blond, a little fragile looking, picking at her food. New didn't seem to have eyes for anything or anyone else. His own meal sat largely untouched. Unlike the lurid cocktail, already the second of the night. Jobert felt the opportunity step up and tap him on the shoulder.

  He hesitated for a moment. He was far from convinced that Terry New was involved. It seemed more likely that Ravert had been a lone player; it was just the way of these things. This idea wouldn't be particularly fair... but then, who the hell said this game was fair? He might need the leverage. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

  "What the hell do you want now?" said Wallace.

  "I need a number at Detroit PD, downtown precinct, a uniform, someone who will do us a favor without asking any questions."

  "And how the hell am I supposed to come up with that at..."

  Jobert could hear the cuff slide as Wallace twisted his wrist to look at his watch.

  "...almost 8.30 at night?"

  "It's ok; I think you've got a couple of hours." Jobert explained what he wanted, and hung up before Wallace could complain any further. Then he called over the waiter, and asked for a menu. No point in sitting here hungry, he figured. New wasn't going anywhere soon.

  It was almost three hours later when Terry New finally escorted the young lady towards the door. Jobert had already paid his bill, but he waited till New was gone before he made a move to follow.

  Outside, it was still warm; Jobert stretched and glanced to his right, where New had left his car. The couple was just getting in. Jobert waved to a taxi idling hopefully at the kerb twenty feet away. He got in, held out a twenty and said, "The silver Merc, half a block up, straight ahead. The guy's got my wife with him, there's another twenty for you on top of the fare if you don't lose him and don't let him know that we're here."

  The driver took the money. "Sure." He turned back to the wheel. "The one pulling out right now?"

  "That's him, the slime ball."

  "All right, ace, we're onto him."

  They didn't go far. Onto Woodward, then south for maybe half a mile. New pulled up and parked. Jobert got the taxi driver to carry on another fifty yards before they pulled over. Then he handed over thirty bucks, told him to keep the change and got out. He was just in time to see New and the girl disappear into an apartment block. Jobert pulled out his phone and dialed.

  "Yeah, I got the number," said Wallace.

  "Go." Jobert tapped it in as Wallace recited it.

/>   "His name's Seamus, Irish, third generation, a patriot," finished up Wallace. "He's expecting you to call. I told him your cover name."

  "Thanks." Jobert hung up and dialed the new number.

  Twenty minutes later, Seamus met him under a rather feeble tree, right by the coffee shop as instructed.

  "Are you clear about what you need to do?" said Jobert.

  "Clear enough," said Seamus, with no trace of Irish in his accent, but every trace of Guinness in his waistline.

  "It needs to look completely random, you were just in this part of town, and thought he looked a little the worse for wear. What's the best excuse you've got for being here at this time?"

  "I thought of that; there was a double shooting up here a couple of nights ago, about this time. We're just coming in from patrol, and I thought I'd take a look-see, just in case someone's around here at this time regularly and saw something."

  "Perfect, good work. The car's up there, silver Merc, pick a spot in the shadows about thirty yards up from it and wait. I'll be across the street in that doorway," Jobert pointed, "and when he comes out the door, I'll light my phone up for a couple of seconds."

  Seamus nodded.

  "Let's do it."

  Jobert wasn't surprised to see New coming back out just 20 minutes later. He didn't know what excuse he had given his wife, but the chances were that he was still expected home at a half-way reasonable hour. He flicked on the flashlight app on his phone, and saw Seamus stir in the shadows.

  The whole thing took less than five minutes, and as far as Jobert could tell, the cop handled it tidily. Terry New was on his way to a lock-up for the night, with a DUI charge outside a downtown apartment block to explain to his wife. That should ratchet the pressure up nicely. He turned south to find another taxi to take him back to his car.

  Chapter 6

  Sam woke not long before 6am. It wasn't the first time, she hadn't slept well. She rolled onto her back and gazed upwards. It was still quite dark, just a warm orange glow to the east to show for the dawn. Pete had probably landed by now, might even be in a taxi on his way to the rendezvous. She wondered what it would be like to see him again. It wasn't going to be easy, they had left a lot unresolved. Too much.

  She heard Lucy stir beside her. Sam threw off the blanket that she had been lent, along with a precious few inches of the foam mattress that had eased her hips and head on the concrete floor of the A/C room. She shivered slightly; the sun had yet to give the day any heat.

  "I'll make coffee," mumbled Lucy, sitting up. "The plan is still to take the bus up there?"

  "Yes," replied Sam, wiping sleep from her eyes and thinking about the hot shower in the Holiday Inn. She hated feeling this grimy.

  "Ok, we got a little time, but not much." The gas burner hissed into life. It took ten minutes to make coffee and then drink it with a couple of Oreos.

  "We take the 53 bus up Woodward and get off at Warren," explained Lucy as they headed down the stairs. "It's about half a mile short, so I can then walk in, just a local street gal looking for a few cents for a coffee. Shouldn't be a problem. Any chance the cops know about this meet? How careful do we gotta be?"

  "I was careful; I didn't refer to the place directly on the phone when we talked about it."

  "But just in case—"

  "Just in case, we'll do it like we planned."

  "You want me to bring this?" Lucy tapped the pistol, lying next to her bedroll.

  Sam looked at her, and was met by an equally steady gaze. "Do you normally carry it on the street?"

  "Uh-huh. For protection. I could look vulnerable, out there on my own."

  Sam took a breath. "If we have it, the temptation is to use it. I'd rather take my chances with American justice than turn this into a shooting war."

  Lucy looked down at the weapon reluctantly. "This ain't the safest of American cities..."

  "No, but there're two of us, and soon there will be three."

  Lucy nodded slowly, "Well, ok, I guess it's your gig."

  Jobert rolled upright as though he had been electrocuted. The phone was at his ear before he even got vertical.

  "You asswipe," he said, "do you know what frickin' time it is?"

  "Yeah, well, I needed to get my own back," replied Wallace. "How did it go last night?"

  "Solid, hopefully Terry is still cooling his heels before going home to Mrs New to explain what he was up to outside that apartment block at 11pm, with half a dozen expensive cocktails inside him."

  "Ok, well, you'd better get dressed, because we got another lead."

  "What?" Jobert struggled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

  "NSA finally got around to trawling through everything and they picked up a call from our girl to her old boyfriend."

  "What did she say?"

  "She wants him in Detroit; they're meeting this morning at 8am."

  "Where?" Jobert glanced at his watch; 6.30.

  "That's the tricky part, she didn't say, just told him to meet her at the same place that they split up in Goa."

  "We don't know where that is do we? I'd pulled the surveillance down to just comms by then."

  "Yeah, that's right. I checked the files anyway, and there's nothing. She talks about the break-up to her Mum in a call, but there's no detail. Well, no practical details, lots of other details..."

  "Great, so it could be anywhere." Jobert started to pee loudly.

  "Really? You had to do that right now?"

  "Shut up, I'm thinking... did we check Homeland Security for his arrival? And put a watch on any credit card or phone activity?"

  "Not yet, I only just got this info—"

  "Let's do that, we missed a trick, I should have expected him to come and help."

  "Ok, I'm on it, what are you going to do?"

  "I can't stake-out every restaurant or hotel that has a name match with one in Goa, and how the hell would Halland find that place anyway? So, we got a choice between bus, rail and airport — 3-1 what do you fancy?"

  "It always seemed like India was her idea, it wasn't his kind of place. I'd say he flew straight out."

  "Not bad, but how would she know the flight number? That phone's still dead right? So where in the airport?"

  "Maybe they had a final smooch under the departures board, how the hell would I know?"

  "No, it doesn't feel right. It's India, it's train or bus."

  "Flip a coin."

  "You flip a coin; I got my wazzer in my hand."

  "Oh, way too much information."

  Jobert could hear as Wallace put the phone down. A few seconds later he was back on the line.

  "Heads, so what's that?"

  "I'll tell you when I get some pants on."

  Sam glanced at her watch; it was dead on 8am. Show time. Or no show time. She couldn't have been more nervous if she was standing outside the church waiting to hear whether the groom was either at the altar, or naked and wrapped in duct tape and on a bus headed to Kansas.

  She looked back at the station. The place was tiny, and her original notion that they would sit at a cafe and watch him get off into the bustle of a busy throng of commuters couldn't have been more wrong. They sure as shit weren't going to miss him if he was here — but then, neither was anybody else.

  Sam surveyed the car park from her vantage point in the doorway of a boarded up bar and grill, on the corner across the street. All the cars were empty. There was one man standing by the entrance to the station reading a newspaper. No one else around.

  "See him?" asked Lucy.

  "No, but he could be inside."

  "You want me to see if I can find him, like we said?"

  Sam glanced at her watch. It was a minute to eight. "Yeah, let's do it."

  Lucy pushed off the wall, glanced left and right and then wandered across the road. Sam saw the man with the newspaper look up to clock her arrival and then go back to his reading. Lucy walked up the steps, and disappeared inside.

  "Holy crap." She was trying
hard to contain the anxiety that was bubbling up inside her and threatening to overflow. A minute passed, and then another. He wasn't coming, he'd let her down. Finally she could see his true colors. He wasn't even a decent friend. "Damn you!" she spat out loud.

  Then Pete Halland pushed open the main door of the Detroit Amtrak Station, glanced around the car park, and headed down the wheelchair ramp and over to the gate. Sam didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She threw her head back, and punched the air tightly with both fists. All right!

  She adjusted her position behind a column in the doorway, and watched him exit the car park and head south on Woodward, just as Lucy should have instructed him. He looked good, she had to admit. The curly blond hair was bleached almost white, his face deeply tanned. He carried the bulky backpack lightly, just on one shoulder strap, but she could see the weight in its slow swing from side to side as he walked. She took a breath, ready to step out and follow him.

  Then the man with the newspaper came out of the car park, and headed south after Pete.

  Sam pulled back into the shadow from the doorway. Goddam! Could Pete really have a tail? Just on the basis of that brief oblique telephone conversation? Were they that good? Did they care enough to watch all the possible meeting places?

  Lucy appeared at the gate just after newspaper-man and glanced in her direction. Sam waved her over and she ambled without hurry across the street.

  "He's got a tail," said Sam.

  "The guy with the newspaper?"

  "Yeah, he just followed him out of the station."

  They both watched the pair disappearing south down Woodward. They were nearly out of sight under a bridge when Sam finally spoke.

  "What exactly did you say to him?" asked Sam.

  "Walk south; take the first bus from the first stop. Get off at Woodward and Adams, and take a seat by the statue in Grand Circus Park. Wait there for further instructions."

  "Ok, so there's no rush, no need to panic, he'll wait all day."