Hanging the Devil, page 31
No one could see for several seconds.
Ely was paying a bigger price for looking at the beam while aiming. He dropped the plasma rifle at his feet and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Cape and Sally were blinking spots away as they made it to the banister. The marble was hot to the touch.
Cape looked over the side, and Sally started down the stairs. The ghost was gone.
73
“We need to be gone.”
Cape’s eyesight had yet to return to normal, but his hearing was good enough to register the sirens. An all-too-familiar doppler whine indicated they were coming fast and getting closer.
Sally looked up from the stairwell below. “Get Grace out of here.”
Cape wanted to argue but knew the futility of trying to get Sally off a scent. He blinked spots from his eyes and tracked her progress. There was no body, only a charred remnant of white fabric on the first landing. He called to Sally before turning away from the stairs.
“Two minutes.”
Sally’s voice carried from below. “Five.”
Cape intercepted Grace before she could run down the stairs. “Forget it.” Grace made a harrumph sound that belied her age until Cape added, “I need your help getting everyone out of here.” He turned to Maria. “Thanks, by the way.”
“Not me.” Maria spread her arms expansively. “Thank Pasha and Ely.”
Cape nodded at the brothers. “That’s quite a gun.”
“It’s a bastard blaster,” said Pasha.
Ely squinted and gave a thumbs-up. His eyes were watering profusely.
Maria headed back toward the special exhibitions gallery. Cape caught up to her.
“We have to leave, or your visit to San Francisco could become an extended stay behind bars.”
“I have to check something,” said Maria. “Then we leave.”
Cape turned to Pasha and Ely. “You work for Valenko?”
They both nodded.
“He owes me a favor.” Cape saw Maria’s right eyebrow shoot upward. He bent to retrieve the plasma rifle from the floor and handed it to Ely. “How long till this thing recharges?”
Ely pressed the buttons on the side of the rifle. “Five minutes maybe?”
“Perfect,” said Cape. “Go outside and hide in the shadow of the building. When the police arrive, light up the sky.”
Pasha frowned. “Sorry?”
“If you can distract them or get them talking on the radio, you’ll buy us time.”
“But don’t get caught,” said Maria.
“That’s right,” said Cape. “Do not get caught. As soon as you have their attention, run.”
“And don’t hurt any police,” added Maria. “Or blast anyone with that lightning gun.”
“I told you lightning gun wasn’t a bad name,” said Ely.
“I still prefer bastard blaster,” said Pasha.
“Agreed,” said Ely, “but as a backup—”
“—it’s a great name,” said Cape, “but it’s time to go.”
Pasha turned to Maria and bent one knee as if genuflecting. “Goodbye, Maria.”
Ely mimicked the move. “We will m—”
“Now,” said Cape.
“Goodbye, boys.” Maria kissed each of them on both cheeks. “Muchísimas gracias.”
Pasha and Ely practically skipped down the stairs.
Cape jogged next to Maria as she headed for the gallery, Grace alongside.
“How did you get them to cooperate?” asked Cape.
Grace smiled at Maria. “I think they’re crushing on you.”
“Not at all,” said Maria. “‘The enemy of my enemy—’”
“—is my friend.’” Cape gasped as a rib took a stab at his lung.
“I implied that I still worked for Interpol,” said Maria, “and could grant them immunity.”
“And you give me a hard time.” Cape slowed his pace to walk the rest of the way. Maria and Grace went on ahead. As soon as Maria crossed the threshold, she began cursing in Spanish. When Cape reached the entrance, he understood why.
The first three paintings of the Summer Palace hung as before, unmolested and undisturbed. The fourth, Harmony with the Past and Present, was missing. There was no harmony, and no past. Only the present, where Maria stood swearing at a bare rectangle on the wall. Cape counted to twenty before interrupting.
“Time isn’t our friend.”
Maria turned, her dark eyes alight with anger. “How di—”
“I was so worried about Feng,” said Cape. “I forgot about Fang.”
Maria’s nostrils flared as she took a deep breath to unleash another stream of invectives, until she made eye contact with Grace. Maria looked at the young girl for a long moment before glancing back at the blank space on the wall. Then Maria exhaled, as if she’d been holding that breath her entire life and realized now it was okay to let it go.
“We got what we came for,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
74
Going home for Freddie Wang was as easy as climbing the stairs.
That’s because he lived where he worked, in the restaurant where he kept his office. The older Freddie got, the more paranoid he became, and not without reason. After several failed assassination attempts by erstwhile rivals, Freddie converted the top floor of the restaurant into his office and living quarters.
It was too early in the day for tourists, so Freddie dined with Fang in a booth on the main floor of the restaurant. The young man had lost his brother the night before, and Freddie reassured him that Feng’s sacrifice would be honored in the next life and rewarded in this one. That was Freddie’s way of saying that Fang would be given both his share and that of his dead brother for what he delivered.
Fang came directly to the restaurant from the museum. He delivered three forgeries, still in their packing crates; one original painting, still in its frame; and a severed hand.
Freddie wasn’t sure why Fang had brought him the hand, but he appreciated the gesture.
As soon as Fang was fed and done talking, Freddie lit a fresh cigarette and smiled. Nothing had gone according to plan, but things could not have turned out better. Freddie now possessed three forgeries indistinguishable from the original paintings. He also had the original of the fourth painting that completed the set. And the best part? The only expert capable of telling a forgery from an original had died in a factory fire in China.
Four paintings would be shipped to China, and no one on the receiving end would ever suspect three were fake. Freddie was merely returning the forgeries they provided, an inside joke he would never tell. His obligation would be fulfilled, his bank account would be full, and both the Triads and their handlers in the central government would leave his city alone.
Freddie scribbled a phone number on a napkin and handed it to Fang, who departed with a quick bow. The paintings would leave on a charter flight in less than an hour.
When the cigarette burned to ash Freddie rose from the table. He was tempted to visit the kitchen and check the industrial freezer where the albino hand had been stored. To avoid unnerving the kitchen staff every time they opened the freezer, the hand rested inside a rectangular wooden box that once held chopsticks. It reminded Freddie of a little coffin.
Freddie didn’t know why he kept the hand and resisted the urge to take a look. There was a gnawing feeling in his gut that one day someone might come looking for it. On that day, Freddie didn’t want to show up empty-handed.
He waved his apprehensions away and left the dining room. The real prize was waiting in his office, the bronze Buddha covered in gold that was stolen by the ghost on the night of the helicopter crash. The museum could afford to lose a painting on loan from another museum, but the Buddha was priceless.
Freddie was more of a capitalist than he was a Buddhist, so possession was its own reward. The statue sat on his desk as a daily reminder that a cunning man could always get what he wants even when plans went awry.
Freddie climbed the steps as swiftly as his decrepit knees would allow. By the time he unlocked his office door and deactivated the alarm, he was desperate for another cigarette. He made a beeline for his desk but froze in mid-stride and forgot all about his craving.
The Buddha was gone.
In its place were two small animals. Freddie squinted to focus his good eye and saw they were made out of paper. An origami dragon of such intricacy it might have been alive. Next to the little dragon, folded with the same precision, was a little rooster.
Freddie sat down heavily and reached for his cigarettes. Though he would never admit it, deep down he knew this wasn’t his city. Not anymore.
75
“This city of yours is not at all what I expected.”
“The postcards can be deceiving,” said Cape.
“Verdaderamente.” Maria ran her hands through her hair and turned it into a stretch, tilting her head back to soak up the warmth. The sun was winning its afternoon battle with the fog, but thick clumps of cotton were gathering around the Golden Gate. It was just a matter of time before the breeze across the bay cut the temperature in half.
The bench where they were sitting gave a clear view across Marina Green. Frisbees, kites, and volleyballs took turns flying above the grass with the seagulls. Sailboats on the bay wrestled with the wind to circle Alcatraz. A container ship drifted lazily under the bridge, and Cape couldn’t help but wonder what cargo was hidden inside.
The fresh air was a caressing hand that made the night before seem like a fever dream, but Cape still had the copper taste of blood in the back of his throat. A vague scent of lightning tinged his nostrils. On the bench next to him was a discarded copy of the San Francisco Chronicle.
The headline simply read, BOMBING AT CITY HALL. The page one story described the attack as a coordinated assault against democracy, according to the mayor, masterminded by his political opponents. The mayor had spoken on the record from his house in Napa and wouldn’t be returning to the city until repairs were made to the building, but to maintain public confidence he recommended raising taxes to create a “war chest” in case of future incursions. He also recommended donating generously to his reelection campaign. There was no mention of the museum beyond a reference to the original robbery in an article on page ten about surging crime downtown and its effect on the tourist trade.
Cape had thrown the paper down as soon as he read it.
Maria turned to look at him. “You’re the one who warned me about politicians, so don’t tell me you’re surprised. Besides, we didn’t want to make headlines.”
Cape nodded but his eyes were locked on Sally as she circumnavigated the park with Grace. They were fifty yards away when Cape lowered his hand from his eyes and blinked against the sun to focus on Maria.
“Thanks for making those calls.”
Maria shrugged. “I still have some friends in faraway places, but even with connections at Interpol, it’s impossible to know if the information is reliable. Law enforcement in China isn’t known for sharing.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
“Her parents are dead,” said Maria. “Grace is an orphan.”
“Yeah.”
“Sally reacted as if she already knew,” said Maria.
“Sally is not someone surprised by bad news,” said Cape.
“What about you?”
“I’m only surprised by good news.”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Maria. “How are you feeling?”
Cape pulled up his shirttail to reveal green medical tape stretched across his ribs. “Hospital issue, doctor applied.”
“The neon green is very stylish,” said Maria. “Much better than duct tape.”
“The ribs are cracked, not broken,” said Cape. “Apparently there’s a difference.”
“You need a vacation.”
“You’re not the first person to say that,” said Cape.
“You talked to your friend, the police inspector?”
“Right up until he hung up on me.”
“Does he want you to come in for questioning?”
“Officially, yes.” Cape stretched out his legs and looked toward Alcatraz. “Unofficially, Beau suggested I leave town for a few days.”
Maria nodded. “Did he say anything else?”
Cape suppressed a grin. “You mean, did he say anything about you?”
“Sí, quizás.”
“He mentioned that someone disabled the museum’s security cameras—”
“—you’re welcome,” said Maria.
“And that same person dialed 9-1-1 from the control room…”
“Mm-hmm.”
“…but the police were told to converge on city hall, because that’s where their paychecks get signed.”
“So there was no one at the museum to arrest by the time they got there,” said Maria. “How sad.”
“Tragic,” said Cape. “Beau has a dead body and a mayor who doesn’t give a shit.”
“And he’s angry with you?”
“Conflicted,” said Cape. “It’s not like I didn’t try to warn him.”
“There is a corpse.”
“Beau already identified Feng—or what was left of him—as one of Freddie Wang’s foot soldiers, so that’s a line of inquiry that will lead nowhere. A bulletin has been issued for two men spotted near the museum shooting lightning bolts at trees, but the most they could get is attempted arson.”
“You must have told him about Grace.”
“That’s the reason I’m not in an interrogation room,” said Cape. “The only charge that would stick—if there was any interest in placing us at the scene—is trespassing. Everything else is conjecture without corroborating testimony. Said another way, I’m a big waste of his time.”
“I wish I could have spent more time with Inspector Beauregard,” said Maria. “He sounds like a good man.”
“Better than this city deserves,” said Cape. “You sound like someone whose vacation has come to an end.”
Maria half-smiled. “I have a new job.”
Cape raised an eyebrow. “Italy?”
“Not the Carabinieri, but yes, Italy,” said Maria. “As of today, I am self-employed.”
“Let me guess,” said Cape. “Art retrieval?”
“Among other things,” said Maria. “You can make a good living finding lost things, especially things that have been underwritten by an insurance company for millions of dollars.”
“Like a stolen Rembrandt.”
“Exactamente.” Maria sounded wistful as she added, “Which you helped find.”
Cape shook his head. “I wouldn’t know the difference between a Rembrandt and a black velvet Elvis without a crib sheet.”
“I could teach you,” said Maria.
Cape shifted on the bench to take a long look at Maria. Her smile didn’t waver, and her eyes never blinked. “Are you offering me a job?”
“You’re good at finding people,” said Maria, “and I’m good at finding things.”
Cape didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say.
“Transporting priceless art by yourself isn’t easy,” said Maria. “I could use a partner.”
Cape let his eyes drift across the park until he found Sally. She and Grace had rounded the corner and were twenty yards away, walking toward them. They were holding hands.
“I have a partner,” said Cape. “But I could use a vacation.”
“How much did you get paid for this case?”
“Twenty-five cents.”
“Then how about a working vacation?” Maria smiled. “Italy is lovely this time of year.”
Cape laughed and held out his hand. “Deal.” Maria took it warmly and they shook.
Sally and Grace arrived at the foot of the bench.
“What did we miss?” asked Sally.
“I’m going on vacation,” said Cape.
“You never go on vacation.”
“Figured I’d try,” said Cape. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could blow something up in another country,” said Sally.
Maria laughed.
Cape turned to Grace and asked, “How about you?”
“I’m going to move in with Sally.”
“Someone has to take care of the cat,” said Sally.
Cape made eye contact with Sally before turning back to Grace. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“Will you come visit?”
Cape held out his hand. Grace took it firmly in hers and they shook.
“Deal.”
Epilogue
Bohai made the only deal he could to escape Hong Kong.
At the time he was desperate. Now, months later, he was grateful.
The captain of the fishing boat recognized a fugitive when he saw one, but Bohai wasn’t naïve enough to walk into a trap. Bohai spent the week prior visiting stalls in the Aberdeen Fish Market on Shek Pai Wan Road, befriending merchants and listening to gossip. Fishmongers were garrulous by nature, accustomed to haggling and telling stories to pass the time.
Bohai was affable, and his pet monkey, Junjie, made them laugh.
Casual conversation turned to conspiratorial whispers of people being smuggled out of Hong Kong. Rumors of fishing boats that made the crossing to Taiwan but never returned. It was a long trip for a small boat, but a larger vessel could never sneak past the patrol boats that cruised along the mainland harbors.
Bohai found a fisherman willing to take him on as a member of the crew.
The day they set off from Aberdeen Harbor, Bohai worried over the rough seas until the captain explained it was easier to veer off course and disappear when skies were gray and rain was heavy. Bohai spent the next week vomiting over the side of the boat but never complained. It was only a year ago that a desperate man attempted the crossing in a rubber dinghy but got captured three days into his journey. Bohai counted himself lucky every day they sailed east with no other ships in sight.
Now he smiled at the memory of that hazy morning when the coast of Taiwan came into view. The captain waited until sunset to join the other fishing boats bringing their day’s catch into the Port of Anping.
