Bad Seed (24 page)

‘Yes, Li Tonggui,' said Lara. ‘Would you like me to spell it for you?'

Finally the
Shanghai Daily.

‘Yu Guangming,' said Lara. ‘Got that?'

Cato awoke with a start, his heart racing, panic surging. He'd woken several times during the night with recurring dreams of suffocation, of drowning, of being buried alive. Each time it would take a moment for him to remember where he was. He wasn't sure which was worse: the nightmares or the reality. Was his father's premonition about to come true? Cato would die in China. He lay still, listening, trying to work out what was going on in the world beyond his hood. In an adjoining room people were speaking low in Mandarin. He recognised one voice as Yu Guangming's but the other sounded oddly familiar too. The door opened and somebody came in. By the footsteps, it was at least two people. Cato's hood was pulled off. The other voice had been Rory Driscoll's. They must have negotiated a release or ransom deal. Driscoll tutted at the state of Cato while he removed the tape and gag.

‘Been in the wars, mate?' He gave Cato a sip of water from a bottle, wrinkling his nose. ‘What's that smell?'

Cato had lost control of his bladder again during the night. He tried to sit up, gesturing at the cable ties. ‘Get these off me.'

Driscoll shook his head. ‘Not so fast, buddy.'

So that was it, realised Cato, with cold certainty. Driscoll and Yu were working together. It accounted for Yu's untouchability as he flew around the Asia Pacific wreaking mayhem.

‘You know why Mr Li specifically requested your presence in Shanghai, don't you?' said Driscoll.

Cato's tongue probed a loose tooth. ‘We connected meaningfully?'

‘You could say that.' Driscoll crouched down and reached a hand towards Cato's face. Cato flinched, expecting a blow. Instead his hair was gently brushed from his forehead. ‘Quiz time. List the Bali Nine.'

Cato played along. ‘Renae Lawrence, Scott Rush …' He ran out of names, quickly.

‘Who were Barlow and Chambers?'

‘The two Aussie drug traffickers that got hung in Malaysia in the eighties?'

‘Van Nguyen?'

‘Who?' said Cato. Then he remembered, a few years ago a Vietnamese-Australian had been executed in Singapore for drug trafficking.

‘Schapelle Corby?'

‘I get the picture.'

‘Of course you do,' said Driscoll. ‘The Great Australian Public couldn't give a toss about you. You're not one of them. You could be a bogan fuckwit with a record as long as your arm and we'll be rooting for you all the way. Or you could be as pure as the driven snow but if your face and name don't fit you're finished. Nothing. Your eyes are the wrong shape so nobody gives a damn and nobody will remember your name.'

Cato didn't want to believe that, he wanted to believe that when push came to shove he had more friends than Driscoll credited him for. ‘What's your point?'

‘People like you and me, when we're not sticking out like a sore thumb, we're invisible. Me? When I'm at the top of my game I can stop governments from toppling, but I can't stop a cab in King's Cross at the wrong time of night.' He leaned closer as if taking Cato into his confidence. His voice dropped a notch. ‘They can bury us alive here. Sure we've got a handful of friends and colleagues who might look out for us but if it needs higher powers …' Driscoll shrugged.

‘So I'm Tommy Li's hostage?'

Driscoll shook his head in pity. ‘To be a hostage you need to be worth something to someone.' A call came through on his mobile, in English this time.

‘Yes sir,' said Driscoll with a frown. ‘I'm onto it. I'll give you a ring in an hour with an update. Cheers.' He severed the connection and snapped something at Yu Guangming in Mandarin. Then he gave Cato a funny, almost sad look. ‘Gotta go. Few spotfires to put out.' He replaced Cato's gag and tape and pulled the hood back down. ‘Chin up, bro.'

A pat on the shoulder and he was gone.

‘You're in a shitload of trouble now, aren't you?' said Lara.

Sharon Wang nodded. ‘Probably. But some things are worth more than a job.'

‘Like Cato?'

Wang blushed. ‘I meant, like doing the right thing.' A pause and a smile. ‘But now you come to mention it.'

Lara thought she was doing a good job of her poker face but Wang saw right through it.

‘You've been there, haven't you?'

‘Truth be told, he didn't have much to do with it.' Lara gave the lowdown on her encounter with Cato in a Hopetoun motel room. ‘I've had worse,' she concluded.

Wang stifled a grin. ‘You shameless trollop!' They were interrupted by a call on Wang's mobile. An exchange of Mandarin. More media? She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘It's Li, he'd like to talk to you.'

Lara frowned. ‘In Pudong?'

‘No, he's downstairs at reception.'

‘Send him up,' said Lara.

Li came in with a big bunch of flowers and Phoebe. ‘Number one daughter,' he said.

So now she was Phoebe the Daughter instead of Phoebe the Lawyer, a softer, more pliant and filial version. Lara wondered how many more there were. She thanked them both for the flowers.

‘Terrible thing, this. Terrible.' Li looked troubled and Phoebe copied him. Lara wasn't sure whether he was referring to the violence and the abduction, or to the saturation media mention of his name in connection with something unsavoury.

No point wasting a meeting. ‘Did you have Richard Chan killed?'

He looked mortified. ‘Heavens, no!' Phoebe's stern lawyer face nearly returned but she stopped it just in time. Li unfolded a slip of paper from his pocket. ‘You'll find Yu Guangming here,' he said. ‘Hopefully we can bring this terrible business to an end and safely recover your colleague.'

Lara looked at the address, it meant nothing to her. She passed it over to Sharon Wang.

Li levelled his gaze at Lara. ‘You are a remarkable young woman, Ms Sumich. I do not appreciate your methods but I certainly admire your tenacity and your decisiveness. I wish you success in your endeavours.' He turned to leave.

‘One moment, Mr Li,' said Sharon Wang. ‘I request that you and your daughter attend Police Headquarters this afternoon for an interview.'

‘I believe I have some business appointments.'

‘Cancel them. As you are aware, there is now a great deal of local and international scrutiny of these matters. It is important that we are seen to be diligent in our investigations, without fear or favour.'

Phoebe's lawyer face was well and truly back. Li was also having some difficulty holding his composure. ‘As you wish, Ms Wang, these are turbulent times. Be we princes, satraps, or peasants, we all must learn to chart the stormy waters or be dashed upon the rocks.'

‘Yeah thanks,' said Sharon. ‘Two-thirty okay for you?' It was, but it earned her a dangerous look from Phoebe.

As Li and his daughter left, Driscoll returned. He too looked like he was struggling with his composure. ‘Whose idea was it?'

‘Mine,' they both said.

He shook his head at both of them. ‘Do you realise how difficult you've made my job, now?'

‘Tell me,' said Lara.

‘I'm combing this city looking for your mate. I'm gradually getting people to talk. Suddenly it's all over the radio, the internet, the newspapers. Bingo. They clam up again. Meanwhile I've got the top brass here, in Beijing, and Canberra all wanting to know what the fuck's going on and why they are being asked to comment to the media on something they've never heard about.'

‘Hmmm,' said Lara.

‘You know this could sign his death warrant?' said Driscoll.

Wang showed him the piece of paper. ‘It flushed somebody out. Li gave us this.'

Driscoll studied it. ‘Interesting,' he said.

‘So do we get a SWAT team in?' said Wang.

A call came through on Driscoll's mobile. ‘Wei?' He listened for a few moments then spoke some Mandarin to the caller. He put the phone to his chest. ‘This guy here reckons he's Yu Guangming and he knows where our man is.'

‘So tell us,' said Lara, trying to stay cool.

More Mandarin. ‘I'll put him on speakerphone, he reckons he's okay with English.'

‘Hello?' said the man who called himself Yu Guangming.

‘You have some information for us, Mr Yu?' said Driscoll.

‘Yes, I know where your colleague is. He is safe and unharmed.'

‘So release him,' said Lara.

‘Who are you, lady?' said the voice.

Lara now recognised it, the same voice that told her to fuck off home as he scrubbed James Maloney's bloody fingers in her face. Those eyes above the mask, the same ones from the file photo of Yu Guangming. ‘Lara Sumich, Western Australian police.'

‘Okay, this is what must happen now. You, Miss Lara, and your colleague must leave Shanghai, then Mr Kwong will be free.'

Driscoll muted the speakerphone and looked at Lara. ‘Not a huge ask,' he said. ‘And less dangerous for Kwong than a Chinese SWAT team, believe me.'

‘What's wrong with Chinese SWAT teams?'

‘Don't get me wrong,' said Driscoll. ‘They're great, very efficient, invariably get the job done. It's just that they operate under the political principle of the individual subsuming their needs to those of the greater good.'

‘Meaning?'

‘If the hostage survives that's a bonus.'

‘No,' said Lara. ‘We leave together or not at all.'

Driscoll unmuted the phone and reiterated Lara's view. There was a torrent of angry Mandarin. Driscoll picked up the phone and tried to calm Yu, stepping away into a corner and lowering his voice soothingly. Lara and Sharon exchanged a glance. Another nail in Cato's coffin?

‘I have an idea,' said Driscoll after a moment. ‘How about I go to
where this guy is, vouch for Kwong's wellbeing, and when you're checked in at the airport I confirm that to Yu. Then I escort our boy out of there. You all catch the same plane and Yu gets what he wants. Deal?'

‘Will he buy it?' said Lara, not wanting to push her luck.

‘He already did,' said Driscoll with a grin.

A few details were finessed and the call concluded. Lara was uneasy. ‘You're putting yourself into some danger there.'

‘We'll still have a SWAT team nearby as back-up,' Driscoll reassured her.

‘That's all he wants? Us gone?'

‘Face. Never underestimate its potency.' He pulled up a chair and turned to Sharon Wang. ‘You need to call your boss in Beijing. He'd like a word.'

‘What about?'

Driscoll shrugged. ‘Probably wants to know how much super, holiday pay and long-service you have owing and how soon you can clear your desk.'

Cato had been allowed a shower and provided with a change of clothes. Something bought from a nearby market: a pair of jeans that were a size too small and a Union Jack emblazoned T-shirt with the logo ‘London Cool Boy'.