“It’s me!” Lung called from the kitchen. “Do not shoot.” He parted the curtain with an open hand and shoved the girl in ahead of him, pushing her to the ground behind her brother — or whoever he was.
Chau picked a thin shard of glass from the point of his chin and threw it at the girl to get her attention. “Where did you think you would go?”
“The police, I imagine,” Ruslan said, sneering. “You come in our shop making demands without identifying yourself. What do you think we will—”
Chau drove the toe of his shoe into the hollow of Ruslan’s hip.
The Russian yowled, falling sideways on top of the injury, protecting it from another blow.
Chau reared back to kick Ruslan again, but was stopped by a banging at the door.
“Come back later!” Chau yelled.
“Help!” the wounded Russian cried in slurred Mandarin.
The girl joined in. “Robbers! Murderers!”
A stern voice demanded entry. Chau recognized it.
Chau nodded to Lung to make certain he covered the Russians with his pistol before letting in Deng Li Wan, a major and regional supervisor of counterintelligence for the Ministry of State Security. Unlike Chau’s and Lung’s casual slacks and sports shirts, Deng wore a dark suit and heavy black glasses. Close-cropped hair and a crisp white shirt made him look more like a Party functionary than one of the Ministry’s top spy catchers.
Major Deng took one look at the dead Russian draped over the shattered glass display case and closed his eyes.
“What is all this?”
Both Chau and Lung snapped to attention.
“We believe these Russians took a scientist we were watching.”
“Ah,” Deng said. “The nautical engineer, what was his name?”
“Liu Wangshu,” Lung said.
“That is the one,” Deng said. “So, am I to understand that you lost him?”
Chau and Lung exchanged glances. The Russian on the floor grinned, despite his injury.
“We,” Chau began, careful not to shoulder the blame alone, “… we are assigned to check on Liu once or twice each month — as needed. He was—”
Deng cut him off. “
Chau began to protest, but Deng raised his hand. “So you believe the Russians took him against his will? Or do you believe he defected of his own accord?”
Chau looked at Lung, who nodded.
“It doesn’t matter,” Deng said, growing tired of speaking to these underlings. “I will tell you this much. Whatever happened, the Russians were not involved.”
“You are certain?” Chau asked. Had Deng not so severely outranked him, he would have pressed harder.
“Quite certain,” Deng said. “While you were supposed to be watching Professor Liu Wangshu, my squad and I have had eyes on these SVR operatives.”
Both the Russians looked up at the major.
Ruslan muttered: “We are not SVR. I told them that already.”
Deng raised his hand again, shushing the prisoner. The young Russian’s head slumped to his chest, knowing, no doubt, how this was going to play out for him.
Lung ran a hand over his bald scalp, leaving it there for a long moment while he worked through an idea.
“Liu Wangshu’s loyalties to the Party appear to be firm enough,” he said. “He has made no recent withdrawal of funds. He is not living above his means.” Lung raised his index finger, tapping the air as he thought. “The video showed he had only a briefcase when he left his home for the last time. He was not planning a trip.”
“The North Koreans?” Chau mused, going back to an old thought.
Deng shook his head. “Naturally, they have operatives here. But we have people on them as well.”
“Not the Koreans,” Lung said, almost to himself, before looking down at Ruslan. “And your people do not have him?”
Chau and Lung both spoke at the same moment.
Major Deng gave a slow nod.
Chau’s head snapped up at the scrape of a footfall in front of the shop. “Closed!” he managed to say as the door flew open. A tall man in a long wool coat stood with a pistol in his hand. A felt hat was pulled down low, over his brow, completely obscuring his face. Major Deng attempted to draw his sidearm, but the man shot him twice in the neck. Chau registered danger a hair too late, catching two rounds in his chest before he could will his hand to move toward his own weapon. The rounds were suppressed, loud enough to crack inside the small shop, but hardly loud enough to cause concern to anyone in neighboring shops or even on the street. The man in the hat continued to fire, taking down Lung with a head shot. The girl lunged through the curtain, running, while the newcomer dealt with the others. Chau had planned to shoot her himself only moments before, but now he hoped she got away. Mortally wounded, he lay on the floor. At first he thought the man in the felt hat was an SVR asset, but he shot the Russian as well, twice, as he did everyone in the room.
