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David looked at Hulan. “What do you think?”
“We don’t even know if any of these people will be coming through today. If one or more does, then let’s keep an eye on them. See what they do.”
Campbell cut in. “And there’s nothing to say that it will be someone from this list. It looks like they—whoever they are—were relying on variety, on new faces.”
“I’ll alert our plainclothes officers,” Melba said, “but maybe you’ll want to circulate with the passengers as well.”
Their five minutes were up, and the first-and business-class passengers were already scrambling to be fir
st in line for passport control. David, Hulan, Campbell, and Peter drifted apart and into the center of the room. Peter, trying to look inconspicuous, wandered off to see what carousel the Beijing baggage would come in on.
Gradually the travelers passed through the passport line and into the baggage area. The first-class passengers looked remarkably refreshed after their full night’s sleep. The rest looked as if they hadn’t slept in a year. Melba came by once, whispering that Hu Qichen, one of the people who had appeared three times on the list, had indeed arrived. She discreetly pointed him out to David, then went to notify the others. David kept a safe distance from the man. Hu Qichen wore a gray polyester suit and a navy knit vest. His face was full and his hair was a thick black mop. Like many of the other travelers, Hu Qichen was loaded down with a carry-on bag, a coat, and a plastic shopping bag filled with gifts.
David surveyed the crowd, looking for Hulan. He spotted her on the other side of the carousel standing next to a Chinese man who had two plastic bags wedged between his feet. Hulan walked by the man, circled back to him, leaned in and said something.
Then everything seemed to happen at once. The Chinese man quickly looked from side to side. When he saw one of the uniformed officers take a few steps toward him, he suddenly bolted, almost tripping over his bags, and shoved through the other passengers. “Stop him!” Hulan called out. Some of the passengers ducked instinctively, others pushed out of the way. David saw two officers grab Hu Qichen. As the other man ran back toward the passport-control area, David took off after him.
The Chinese man knocked over a woman in a yellow pantsuit standing at one of the Immigration booths. David leaped over her sprawled body and shouted, “Get help, for Christ’s sake!” But everyone seemed too dazed to move. The fugitive ran down a corridor and up a flight of stairs. Just as David seemed to be closing in on the man, he pushed through a set of double doors and disappeared from view. David pushed through after him and suddenly found himself on the tarmac beneath the belly of a 747. The engine noise was deafening.
He stopped for a moment to get his bearings, desperately looking for the runaway or security guards. David saw a fuel truck pulling away and several baggage handlers throwing luggage onto a conveyor belt leading into the giant plane. With his hands clapped over his ears, he took a few tentative steps forward. One of the handlers saw him and started shouting, but David couldn’t hear a word. He jogged to just past the plane where he could see several gates at once. The Chinese man was running down the pavement between two of the terminal’s wings. David broke into a run. Finally he was just able to reach the man’s shoulder, and as he did so, they both lost their balance. They tumbled to the tarmac. For a moment they both lay still, panting, trying to catch their breath. Then the man began struggling. David had never hit another person and didn’t want to start now, so he tried to pin the man’s arms down.
David heard a voice say, “Hold it right there!” Then another yelled in Mandarin. The man beneath David went limp. David slowly released his grip, edged back, and stood on unsteady legs.
“Not bad, Stark,” Campbell said. The FBI agent had his gun aimed at the Chinese passenger, as did three uniformed men. “Inspector Liu,” Campbell said, “can you please tell this fellow to stand up real slow, put his hands on his head, and not try any more funny stuff?”
Hulan barked out these commands. As soon as the man stood, one of the other officers grabbed his hands and handcuffed him.
The two Chinese passengers were put in separate holding rooms. Inspectors were brought out to find their bags and carry-ons and bring them to their owners. Melba bustled about with computer printouts of the information that both men had given as they passed through Immigration. Both said they lived in Beijing. Hu Qichen reported that he had $2,000 in his possession, while Wang Yujen, the man who had attempted the foolhardy escape, carried just $50. Both said they were in Los Angeles for pleasure and would return to their native country in three days. Both said they would be staying with relatives and not in a hotel.
In one room, Jack Campbell, Peter, and a couple of other officials did their best to question Hu Qichen. His responses were circumspect. He was in town for a family visit. (But he wouldn’t give an address or a name to go with that family.) He had brought in a few gifts, all under the acceptable allowance. (But he wouldn’t say who they were for.) When asked about his frequent short trips to Los Angeles, he jutted his chin noncommittally. (So that’s how the Chinese shrug, Campbell thought.)
What Hu Qichen lacked in answers he more than made up for in arrogance. “Go ahead,” he said. “Search my bags. You will find nothing. But if you detain me, I promise I will make a full complaint to our embassy.” Two Customs agents did search his bags and found only clothes, a few tourist curios, a rice cooker, and a tea thermos. This activity prompted more vociferous complaints from Hu Qichen. Investigator Sun shut him up with a powerful punch to the jaw, which caused all manner of consternation among the American law enforcement officials.
In the other room, a first-aid kit had been brought in. David’s hands had been scraped on the asphalt and Hulan dabbed at the raw spots with Mercurochrome. She then bandaged the knees and elbows of Wang Yujen, who seemed dazed and disoriented.
“Maybe he’s in shock,” David said.
“I don’t care what he is,” Hulan said unsympathetically. “He needs to answer some questions.” She turned her attention back to the man and spoke to him in Mandarin. She was breaking every personal code she valued, but like David in China, she felt off kilter, not herself. “Who do you work for?” she demanded. “Do you know Guang Henglai? Do you know Billy Watson? Are you a member of the Rising Phoenix? How were you going to stay in Los Angeles for three days with only fifty dollars? Who were you going to meet? If you really have family here, as you reported to the inspector, who are they? Where do they live?” When Wang Yujen didn’t respond, Hulan shouted at him, “Answer my questions!”
Wang Yujen shivered uncontrollably.
“Hulan, I can’t let you do this,” David said.
“Then step out of the room!”
“You know I can’t and won’t do that.”
Jack Campbell poked his head in the door. “Is everything all right in here?” Hulan glared at him, but Campbell went on. “We’ve gotten all we can from next door. Can we come in and search Wang’s bags?”
Campbell and the other inspectors entered the room. They opened the suitcase and found a couple of folded white shirts, an extra suit, some underwear, and toiletries. Then the inspectors started on the plastic shopping bags that Wang had abandoned when he ran away. They found a bottle of whiskey and a carton of Marlboros bought in the duty-free shop in Tokyo, half a dozen sandalwood fans, a rice steamer, and a thermos. At these last two, Campbell said, “Wait a minute. The other guy also had these.”
“We get those all the time through here,” Melba said. “They like to bring them as gifts to their families here in the U.S.”
“This man has no family here,” Hulan said.
Melba glanced at her computer printout. “He says he does.”
“He lied.”
