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“Hello.”
“Rafael, it’s Maureen Roth. I’ve got Justine with me, and Sci is patched in.”
“Thanks for calling,” he replied. “I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid.”
He sounded tired and downbeat. Whatever it was must be serious because he paused for a long while.
“You still there?” Mo-bot asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” he replied. “Jessie Fleming and her partner Lewis Williams were shot last night. Lewis died at the scene, but Jessie managed to escape and is under police guard in an induced coma in Mount Sinai Hospital.”
“Jeez,” Sci remarked. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m afraid I’m not,” Rafael responded.
“Oh, God.” Mo-bot sighed sadly.
“That’s unbelievable,” Justine said. “This can’t be a coincidence, can it? Another attack on our staff so soon after what happened in Beijing. What’s Jessie’s condition?”
“Touch-and-go.”
Justine couldn’t be certain, but it sounded as though he was crying.
“Any leads on the shooter?” Sci asked.
“None,” Rafael replied. “That’s why I’m calling. With Jessie in a coma and Lewis dead, the team here needs leadership.”
Justine looked at Mo-bot, who nodded.
“I can move some things around.”
“Same here,” Sci chimed in.
Justine had submitted her profile of the Griffith Park Strangler last night and was between assignments.
“I think we can make something work,” she told Rafael.
“Thank you,” he said, his relief palpable. “Send me your flight details. I’ll meet you at the airport.”
He hung up.
“Beijing and now New York? You’re right to be alarmed, Justine,” Mo-bot observed. “I don’t like this.”
Justine nodded. It could have been a coincidence, but two attacks on Private personnel in the space of twenty-four hours was more than unusual. And what if this was only the beginning?
CHAPTER 7
I’D SLEPT FOR most of the Air China flight from LAX to Beijing. One of the flight attendants woke me to say we were beginning our approach. The first-class cabin remained dark as people raised their window blinds. A moment later, the cabin lights came on, rousing the last of the heavy sleepers. Beijing was fifteen hours ahead of LA and the flight had taken a little over twelve hours. We’d be landing just after 1 a.m. local time.
I raised my blind and looked out of the window as the aircraft banked so the wing on my side was pointing toward the ground. Seen from the air Beijing was magnificent, shimmering with millions of lights that stretched into the distance like a galaxy of stars. It was roughly twenty times the size of New York, and it was impossible not to be in awe of the sheer scale of Chinese industry. It was hard to believe this would have been considered an underdeveloped economy less than four decades ago.
The pilot made his announcement in Mandarin and then in English, informing us of the local weather conditions—warm—and our estimated time of arrival—1:06 a.m.
We were at the gate a minute early, after a very smooth landing, and soon I was walking through the huge terminal building with my overnight bag slung over my shoulder. Even at this late hour, the airport was well staffed and my journey through customs and immigration was quick and painless. I still had time to run on my most recent business visa and was accorded a warm welcome by the immigration officer who dealt with me.
“Xièxie ni,” I said to the man, who smiled indulgently at my poor pronunciation of “thank you.”
Once I was through immigration, I checked my messages and found one from Justine. She sounded distressed, so I called her as I made my way through the terminal building.
