Hong Kong

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“You guys have a way to go to perfect those York units,” Jake Grafton told Virgil Cole as they drove through Kowloon on their way to the railroad station at Lo Wu, a mile or so from the border. The army was gathering there.

“If they were any better you wouldn’t be here.”

“I grant you that, but still…”

“Write a letter to my company, a guy named Harvey Keim. Tell him what you observed, what you think. He’ll be pleased that you took the time to help.”

Callie was sitting in the middle of the limo’s backseat, between her husband and Cole.

“Is that all you two have to talk about? Those damn robots?”

“Well—” Cole said, coloring slightly. “I’m sorry it wasn’t much of a vacation for you folks.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Callie stated emphatically. “You guys haven’t seen each other in twenty-eight years.” She made a gesture of exasperation.

“It’s been an exciting visit,” Cole agreed.

Callie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it when she felt Jake squeeze her hand.

As they rode they watched the people walking beside the road. Many carried army weapons on their shoulders and a makeshift pack on their back. There were so many of them …

“Looks to me like you have more than ten thousand troops,” Jake commented.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Be honest. How would you rate the chances of overthrowing the Communists?”

Tiger Cole thought a moment. “Fair. I think a majority of the Chinese people are ready for a change, and a revolution is the only way they’re going to get it. Rebellion has busted out all over. There’s fighting in every major city, units of the armed forces are refusing to fight the rebels, people are thinking seriously about what comes next. If the Chinese want change badly enough, they can accomplish anything. We’ll just have to live the tale and hope it turns out well.”

The driver pulled the limo to a stop as near to the station as he could. The passengers got out and stretched their legs.

The aroma of shark cooking in a deep-fat fryer wafted across them. A street vendor had set up business nearby.

The driver opened the trunk and passed out a sleeping bag and a small backpack. Jake had given Cole the Colt in the shoulder holster, which he was wearing. Now Jake helped Cole put on the backpack.

“This is ridiculous, you know,” Jake said to Cole. “You’re on the Fortune magazine list of five hundred richest Americans, and you boil your earthly possessions down to a pistol, a backpack, and a sleeping bag?”

“In the age of hypocrisy a man has to travel light.”

“I’ve heard there is such a thing as underpacking,” Callie remarked, “though I’ve never gone there myself.”

“After a couple hundred miles I’ll be down to a toothbrush and one extra pair of socks,” Cole replied. “I’ll give the backpack to some lucky soul who wants to make it into a hat.”

Another car drove up. Rip Buckingham and Wu Tai Kwong got out, along with two women, one old and one in her thirties.

The younger woman had been crying. Rip took her in his arms and held her tightly as he swayed ever so slightly back and forth. He didn’t seem to care who was watching.

“I wish you would stay,” she whispered.

“I’m a newspaperman, Sue Lin. This is the story of a lifetime. I have to go.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Wu hugged the old woman, bent down and whispered something to her, then picked up his backpack and walked away. He looked back once, paused, then continued on into the crowd, which swallowed him.

Rip lingered. “I want you and Lin Pe to go to Australia,” he said to his wife. “I mean it. No ifs, ands, or buts. I don’t want to walk all over China worrying about you.”

“We’ll worry about you.”

“That’ll be enough worry for the whole family. Lin Pe, will you and Sue Lin do as I ask?”

Both women nodded.

He put them back in the car finally, murmured something to the driver. The car pulled into a gap in the passing traffic and crept away.

Rip came over to where Cole and the Graftons were standing. “Hello, Admiral. I owe you a debt of gratitude for rescuing my brother-in-law.”

Jake just nodded and shook the outstretched hand. “Good luck, Mr. Buckingham. Don’t be too harsh in your stories on the archcriminal Virgil Cole.”

“I’ll try to be objective and fair.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Cole said, serious as always. Buckingham winked at Grafton, shook Callie’s hand, then shouldered his packs and walked away.

“How long will you stay in Hong Kong?” Cole asked Jake.

“A couple of weeks, according to the weenie at State. He’s probably lying so I won’t squawk too much. You know how it is — I’ll leave when they tell me to go back to the states, and not before.”

“I love Hong Kong,” Cole said, quite unnecessarily. He stood looking around, breathing in the sights and smells and sounds. “It’s a unique, magical place. Nowhere else quite like it.”

Callie Grafton found herself nodding in agreement. She too found Hong Kong fascinating. “When you get back to America,” she told Cole, “come see us. If you’re broke, call and we’ll wire you the price of a bus ticket.”

That remark brought a shadow of a grin to Cole’s features. “I’ll remember the invitation,” he said, offering his hand. Callie shook it, then Jake.

“There is one thing I still don’t know,” Jake said as Cole picked up his bags. “Who shot China Bob Chan?”

“Ooh,” Cole said, grunting a little as he hefted his pack. “I did, of course. He knew too much.”

“Why didn’t the CIA tape pick up a conversation?”

“I knew the office was bugged, so I stopped in the secretary’s office, and Chan stopped because I did. We discussed our business right there. He decided he wanted to show me a letter he had received, so he opened the door and walked across to his desk, me tagging along behind.

“You see, he knew everything and he wanted money, a lot of it. Even if I paid him off, I thought it probable that he’d tattle to the authorities with specifics they could check. So as I followed him to the desk I drew the pistol from my pocket and shot him in the head when he turned around. Bob didn’t even see it coming. Not a bad way to check out, if you gotta go, and he did. Then I ditched the pistol in a trash-can and went downstairs and got on with the mixing and mingling.”

“So you knew there was nothing on the tape that would implicate you?”

“I was pretty sure there wasn’t, but the truth was that I didn’t care. Still don’t. I wouldn’t pay ten cents for a videotape of me doing the shooting, if one existed. Sonny Wong never understood that simple fact, which tells you how bright he really was. You can tell State I shot Chan if you want to — now that the revolution has begun, it just doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re planning on returning to the states any time soon.”

“I’m not.” Cole sucked in a bushel of air and let it out. “Life’s an adventure. I’ve been a high-tech exec long enough, been a diplomat, been rich, been to all the black-tie parties I can stand. Now I’m going in this direction, going wherever the road leads.”

“Keep the faith, shipmate.”

“Yeah, Jake Grafton. I’ll do that. For you and me and all of those guys who fought the good fight in their time.”

They shook hands, then Tiger Cole walked out of Jake Grafton’s life.

Jake turned to Callie. “I hate to say this, but I’m up to my ears in work at the consulate. Want to have the kitchen make us a pizza and help me tackle the paperwork?”

“Yes,” she said and put her arm around his waist as they walked back to the car.