The Lost City

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Tiger kept his songbirds in little bamboo cages. The cages hung from a Chinese plum tree in the corner of his garden. Some preferred teak cages, but this was too showy for Tiger. Tiger liked to keep things simple. A bird does not sing because it has an answer, he thought, but because it has a song.

He cocked his head almost robotically as he cooed at a Sichuan Bush Warbler and tapped his forefinger on the bamboo bars. He sighed and sat back on his bench, surveying his garden. It was a modest affair in Beijing’s Shunyi District. Here in the northeast quarters he was happy enough in his little villa and the pollution was much lower than further in the city. That was important to him, and especially important to his songbirds.

Over his wall he heard some people arguing about prices in the flower market. This was all normal enough and rarely disrupted his contemplation as he sat in his beloved Chinese garden. It was here where he did his most precious thinking, among the bamboo, plums and pear trees. Last year he had planted a pomegranate tree but it had failed to shoot. Another crease to iron out, but now he had a job to do.

Zhang Xiaoli was a problem, but perhaps Zhou Yang was thinking more of his reputation than any security risks. He had worked with Xiaoli several times and he found it hard to imagine her spilling Chinese state secrets to Westerners. Half of him thought it was more likely she had infiltrated them with a view to gathering intel and then returning to the fold. Yes, that sounded like something she might do. She had the devil in her somewhere, he knew that. Spying on new friends and flying back to the nest like a good little songbird would not be beneath the Dragonfly.

But orders were orders, and Zhou had been very clear. She was to be hunted down and killed, and all of her new friends must share the same fate. He sighed and closed his eyes. Rat would be easy to recruit. He was called Rat for a reason and wouldn’t turn down the chance to kill. Pig would also not represent too many problems. Thanks to some pretty chunky mahjong gambling debts he would be grateful for the extra cash. Then there was Monkey. He wondered not only if he could find Monkey, but if it was a good idea in the first place. Monkey was highly unpredictable and difficult to manage. But he was also the very best at what he did.

“Daddy!”

He turned to see the little girl. She was growing so fast, now just a couple of months past her fifth birthday.

“Darling, how are you?”

“Fine,” she said.

“And how was school today?”

“Boring.”

Behind her in the kitchen he saw his wife. She was unpacking a grocery bag of vegetables but stopped to smile at him. She didn’t know what he did. She thought he worked in the payroll department at the Ministry. It was better that way.

His daughter skipped back up the garden path and disappeared inside the house.

He nodded his head at some long-vanished thought and returned his attention to the songbirds as he started to plan Agent Dragonfly’s assassination.

Orders were orders.