20
Little India / Singapore Financial District / Raffles Hotel
August 28, 4:00 p.m. SGT
I hurled myself down the stairs and down the sidewalk toward the metro. A block from the station, I slowed to a walk and glanced behind.
Connor hadn’t followed me. Not that I could tell, anyway. The entire world felt filled with invisible watchers. The elderly woman with a shopping cart. A young man on a bicycle. The Malay woman with a backpack.
Weary, afraid, Cass a ghost walking beside me, I strode past the metro station and turned down a side street, entering a maze of 19s-era shophouses. Since the rain had stopped, a relentless heat pressed down. I was soon drenched in sweat. Vendors called out from the shadowy interiors of their shops, offering henna tattoos, gold bangles, souvenirs, sweets. The smells of curry and chilies floated on the air from mom-and-pop restaurants. Across the street, pilgrims removed their shoes and entered a Hindu temple, hands clasped in prayer.
My heartbeat slowed. The burn in my chest faded.
In place of my terror and rage, I became numb.
From the shade of an awning, as rows of gold Buddhas winked behind me, I called Emily and told her to send a driver.
Emily greeted me when I walked into Ocean House’s suite of rooms. She held a stack of papers in her arms. I heard the rest of the staff talking in their offices. The door to the suite of offices belonging to George Mèng’s single family office—where members of his staff managed their parts of the build—remained closed.
“You have been busy,” Emily said.
Our eyes locked. I imagined we were both thinking of what she’d said to me while I hid on board Red Dragon .
Had Emily been Cass’s friend? Or her betrayer? I scowled. Damn the torpedoes. “Emily, Charlie Han—”
The papers slid from Emily’s grasp, plunging to the floor and scattering.
She dropped to her knees. “I am sorry. So clumsy.”
I joined her on the floor. We collected the papers. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. I decided I didn’t want to talk about Charlie Han after all. Or anything else. I’d determined on the ride over that my next task was to handle the most immediate requirements for Red Dragon , then get Cass home. After that ... after that was a giant question mark. Could I help Mr. Mèng’s family without endangering myself or my family? As well, thoughts of justice for Cass pinwheeled through my mind. But how can you get justice for your dead sister when the authorities refuse to investigate, and her likely murderer is a foreign intelligence agent?
A voice slithered into my mind: By taking up her work.
I ignored it.
“I spoke with Mr. Mèng,” Emily said. “He will come first thing tomorrow.”
I gave her the papers I’d gathered and stood. “Cancel that. I’ll meet with him another time.” The last thing I needed was to look Mèng in the eyes and inform him that I was a coward.
She rose as well and trailed after me into Cass’s office. “I don’t understand. Mr. Mèng wants to speak with you. You need to meet face-to-face.”
I rounded on her. “What I need is to get my sister home and get Red Dragon back on schedule. I don’t require Mèng for either of those things. If the authorities agree, in two days I’m taking Cass’s body home to Seattle, and I will stay there at least until her funeral. After that, I’ll reevaluate where we are with Red Dragon and decide on my next steps.”
Her eyes widened. “But we need you here, Nadia. To finish the boat. To do it quickly. Then you can go home.”
“You and the staff and Mr. Declough can manage without me until I return.”
And maybe forever.
Life would go on. I would be bent and battered but still intact. Wasn’t that what Cass would want?
Emily interrupted my thoughts. “What about me?”
I stepped into her space. I stood a full head over her. “Yes, Emily. What about you? What will you do while I’m gone?”
She backed away. “Nadia, what has happened? You are angry.”
“Angry? Imagine that.” I forced myself to lower my voice even as my hands curled into fists. She trusted you, Emily, I thought. She cared about you. And maybe you gave her to Han. Or to the Second Department. God alone knows.
Emily watched me with wide eyes. She looked like a deer herself.
To her credit, she’d tried to warn me on Red Dragon .
I forced my hands to relax. I stepped back and made my voice soft. “‘Chu songs on all sides,’” I said, quoting her own words back to her, the words she’d spoken on the yacht. Besieged on all sides. “I heard you. And now I understand. It will be good for me to get away for a short time. Then I’ll return to—quickly—finish Red Dragon .”
She watched me, her face neutral. “That is good,” she said after a moment.
“You still have a job, Emily. I need you here. George Mèng needs you. I just hope you’re doing what is right. I hope your loyalty is where it should be.”
She blinked at me, then went to the windows, a slim figure silhouetted against the light. She looked as frail as I felt.
I hoped for a confession. A revelation. But all she said was, “Would you like me to bring you some tea? Perhaps some lemon balm to ease your mind?”
The metaphorical door between us—barely opened—slammed shut.
“Lemon balm tea would be lovely.” I settled myself behind Cassandra’s desk. “Maybe in an hour. Right now, I need to be alone with my thoughts.”
She retreated, closing the door behind her. I sent Uncle Rob a text telling him that he should take the train from the airport or arrange for a car. He had a room near mine at Raffles, and I would meet him in the lobby or somewhere on the grounds.
He didn’t answer. He always paid for Wi-Fi when he flew, but by now he was probably asleep. His plane wouldn’t land in Singapore until tomorrow morning.
I locked the door, put my phone in “Do Not Disturb” mode, and got down to the business of Red Dragon . Ocean House would deliver the boat. That would end our obligation to Mr. Mèng.
No other Brenner would die for his family. I’d made my choice: finish Red Dragon without involving ourselves with Guóānbù or the CIA.
Then move on.
The next morning, leery of the office and Emily and of being followed, I decided to work from my laptop at the hotel. I dressed in lightweight flowing pants, a sleeveless blouse, and an equally lightweight jacket, then twisted my hair into a chignon and applied makeup with a light touch. After adding gold earrings and heels, I took a final check in the mirror and drew on lipstick with a steady hand, completing my uniform as if it were a normal day.
Pretending darkness didn’t lurk in the shadows carved by Singapore’s sunshine.
Downstairs, I did a quick scan for Charlie Han and Dai Shujun. Seeing neither, I settled at a table in the courtyard, ordered breakfast, and handled emails and phone calls from the staff while I waited in the shade for Uncle Rob to arrive.
An hour in, I paused and poured more coffee. I needed to decide what to tell Uncle Rob about my planned stay in Seattle. I tried out a few conversational scenarios in my mind and finally determined I would tell him nothing except that I needed to remain in Seattle for a time to complete some tasks. Connor had spoken in confidence, and to share what he’d said—even with Rob—was inviting trouble. Plus, Rob would find the idea of spying romantic. Smuggling hapless dissidents! Saving the world! It wouldn’t harm Ocean House. It would make us mysterious. Valuable. Even glorious.
He’d want to jump in with both feet.
I had to keep him safe and blissfully unaware only until tomorrow, when—with the blessing of the authorities—we’d board a plane for Seattle with Cass and leave all this behind.
The waiter took away my barely touched breakfast and brought a fresh pot of coffee and a warm-from-the-oven croissant with coconut jam. I removed my jacket and returned to my work. Everything required to finish the boat was in place. Now that NeXt Level Security was no longer creating a delay, the build just needed a few nudges, a little oversight, and some overtime to haul it back on schedule.
When Rob hadn’t appeared or called by noon, a cold unease filtered through the day’s heat. I confirmed that his plane had landed on time, then sent him another text, telling him where I was.
Fifteen minutes later I phoned him.
“I’ll be on my way soon, Naughty,” he said when he answered. “I hope so, anyway. Bit of a mix-up with the luggage. We’ll see how quickly they can get this sorted out. How do you lose a man’s luggage on a flight with no layovers?”
“Sorry, Rob,” I said, swept with relief at the sound of his voice. “God forbid you should have to wear the same set of clothes two days in a row.”
“With the length of the flight, I already have been. And a man needs to be at his best.”
I managed a small laugh. “Let me know when they get it figured out.”
I scanned the courtyard, as I’d done every half hour all morning. The tourists had vanished into the day’s activities, or at least into the air-conditioning of the shops and restaurants. But I’d been joined by a member of the Guóānbù. A wall of human flesh, Dai Shujun sat on a bench in a ball cap and button-down, the collar turned up. He sat in profile to me, watching the fountain, or pretending to. The courtyard’s fountain was lovely but likely didn’t warrant much notice from a man like Dai.
Charlie Han’s promised forty-eight hours weren’t up. In theory, Dai was here to protect rather than harm. But gooseflesh rose on my arms even in the heat.
One more day. Two at the most. Then I could stop looking over my shoulder.
It was three o’clock before Rob arrived, trailing his oversize suitcase. I stood to greet him, happier than I’d ever been to see his aristocratic mien and graceful posing.
“Planning on staying a few months?” I teased, gesturing toward his bag.
“I’m a true Boy Scout—I like to be prepared.” He kissed my cheek. He looked rumpled and pale. Haggard. Still aristocratic, but not his usual debonair self. “Nadia, my sweet child. I’m so glad to see you. How are you holding up? What a horror this has all been.”
We hugged, and I waved him to a chair. “Sit down. Are you hungry?”
“I devoured everything they put in front of me on the plane. Trying to build up my strength.” He shuddered. “I’m not even entirely sure what they served me. What I need now is a cocktail.”
A waiter appeared at his elbow with that almost magical sixth sense they have at Raffles.
“A Singapore Sling, of course,” Rob told the man. “When in Rome, and all that.”
“Of course, sir. Would you like the original Singapore? Or perhaps the Maldives version?”
Rob feigned horror. “Only the original will do.”
The waiter vanished. Rob picked up my glass of water with a rhetorical “Do you mind?” and downed it.
“Now. About Cassandra.” Sudden tears stood in his eyes, and he blinked. “Guy and Isabeth have provided electronic signatures on everything that needs to be signed. They’ve released the body to a funeral company, which will perform a cremation. Not what we would wish for, but otherwise everything is delayed. The director is seeing to the paperwork and working with the consulate to arrange for Cassandra to fly home with us. She’ll be ready as soon as we are.” He blew his nose. “I’m a foolish old Catholic who wants her to have a coffin even though she’s only ... only ashes now. If you don’t like the casket I selected, we’ll get another in Seattle.”
“Oh, Rob,” was all I managed.
He reached across the table. His hand was liver spotted, the veins like swollen rivers. I raised my eyes to his face, startled to see how the skin had shrunk around the bones. Uncle Rob had always been bigger than life to me. But now I saw him for what he was—a sixty-three-year-old man who’d just lost someone he deeply loved.
“Well,” he said. He eased his hand free of mine and pulled a cigar from an inside pocket of his travel jacket. He looked at it ruefully. “Once, Raffles offered its customers Davidoff Dominicana cigars. Now?” He glanced around as if surveying just how far Raffles had fallen. “This hotel is as overregulated as the rest of the city. I miss the old days.”
“When were you last at Raffles?”
He sighed and tucked away the cigar. “I was twenty-six. Pop and Nana brought Guy and me to stay here. They came through Singapore when they fled Europe after the war, and they wanted us to see the place. Not that they could afford to stay at Raffles their first time through.” His smile was sweet, his gaze far away. “Pop and I spent delightful evenings smoking and drinking in the billiard room.”
I retrieved the mezuzah from my purse and placed it on the table in front of him. “I found this at Cass’s condo.”
For a moment Rob didn’t move. Then he pressed his index finger against the inscribed Hebrew letters, his chin tucked toward his chest.
“Rob, were Pop and Nana Jewish?”
He jolted as if my words startled him, then picked up the mezuzah and slid it into a pocket. “This should be at home on Bainbridge. You don’t mind if I return it, do you? Cass had no right to take our mezuzah.”
Charlie Han’s words came like the whine of a mosquito: Perhaps Cassandra felt there was nothing left to save, given that Ocean House was built on the bones of a questionable—even immoral—past.
I said, “I’d like to know the truth about our family.”
He lifted his eyes. “A lot of people changed their identities when they came to Singapore. Pop and Nana made that choice, and I respect it. Let sleeping dogs lie, Nadia.”
I considered fighting him. But now wasn’t the time. And it didn’t seem terribly important with everything else that had happened. I intended to rouse the dog at some point—Cass had all but ordered me to. But I’d wait until the immediate crisis was over.
Rob twisted in his chair. “Where is that drink?”
A waiter entered the courtyard holding aloft a tray with a tall glass filled with bright-red spirits and garnished with slices of pineapple. He set the cocktail in front of Rob with a flourish.
“Excellent,” Rob said. “Bring another, please. My niece is going to want one.”
I shook my head. “It’s too early for me.”
“Nadia, trust me. You’re going to want it. I did a lot of thinking on the flight over.”
I took in the grim expression on his face and nodded my agreement to the waiter.
“Go light on the gin,” I told him. “And add lots of ice.”
Rob barked a sound that might have been a laugh. “She doesn’t mean it. Bring me a second while you’re at it. Heavy on the gin for both of us.”