AMAN WAS WAITING FOR THEMin the airport with Lynn Ryder’s name on an iPad. He led them to a large Mercedes passenger van in the parking garage. There were four men there in addition to the driver. Nash could see that all of them were armed. After their bags were loaded in they were driven off; one sturdy guard sat on either side of both Nash and Temple. They passed through a tunnel under Victoria Harbour and emerged into daylight on the other side. After negotiating a series of surface roads they reached a high-rise building in the Hung Hom neighborhood, which was located in the southeast section of Kowloon Peninsula. Nash recognized the area because he had stayed nearby on a previous trip while working for Sybaritic.
The Mercedes parked in the building’s underground garage, and a minute later a glass elevator was carrying them skyward.
Temple looked nervous, Ryder confident, and Nash, despite his anxiety level riding pretty high, did his best to appear calm.
The doors opened directly into an entry vestibule, where two armed men appeared. They efficiently searched Nash and Temple, and promptly confiscated Nash’s two guns and both men’s phones.
“I want those back,” demanded Nash. However, nothing was returned.
They were escorted into a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows and sweeping views of the dazzling harbor. Ryder took a seat next to a large chair set in the center of the room, while Nash and Temple were directed to a pair of seats across from her.
Nash’s gaze took in every aspect of the room, especially the armed men. What Nash was observing was not good, since he had no weapons and the exits were guarded by men who did. And he was in a foreign land that was controlled by China.
Your margin of error is basically zero.
Then she came into the room.
Prior to this Nash had seen only a photo of Victoria Steers, briefly shown to him during a meeting with the FBI. Steers was the product of a Chinese mother and an English father. Tall and lean, with long black hair and porcelain skin, Steers glided across the floor dressed in sleek dark clothing that covered all of her body except her neck, face, and hands. She carried no weapon and did not look particularly threatening, yet at her appearance every hair stood up on the back of Nash’s neck. There was an aura around the woman that was undeniable; it filled Nash with a sense of foreboding that something violently destructive could happen without warning.
When he eyed Temple, Nash noted that his boss was staring at Steers with palpable fear.
Steers smiled at Ryder. “Thank you, Lynn, for all your good work.”
“Of course, Ms. Steers.”
Then Steers looked at Temple. “Mr. Temple, introduce me to your colleague, whomyouinsisted accompany you on this trip despite my objections.”
Temple cleared his throat and said, “This is Dillon Hope, my personal bodyguard.”
“Your personalbodyguard? Do you have something to fear, Mr. Temple?”
“Everyone has something to fear, Ms. Steers.”
She glanced at Ryder before saying, “I also understand that Mr. Hope has been told some things?”
Temple’s lips curled in displeasure in the face of Ryder’s smug features. “He had to be toldsomethings about our business, Ms. Steers. But he is a professional, and everything will be kept in the strictest confidence, I can assure you.”
Steers’s features turned even more stern. “You have revealed some of ourbusinessto a man I do not even know? You have, without question, performed an act that istrulyunforgivable.”
“I was told you had approved it,” Temple added, with a sharp glance at Ryder. “And he can be a real asset to you,” he added. “He’s top-notch. I’ve seen that for myself.”
“I have manytop-notchpeople in my employ already, Mr. Temple. I require no others.”
She slowly withdrew her searing gaze from him and swung it around to Nash. “However, Mr. Hope, now that youarehere, it will be interesting to see if youcanbecome an asset. I trust you understand all that this entails?”
“I do, Ms. Steers,” Nash said in a casual tone, although every muscle in his body was tensed in the face of her threatening phrasing.
If I can just reach the man who took my guns . . .
As though she were reading Nash’s mind, Steers held out her hand. One of the guards produced a Glock nine-mill and placed it in her palm. She gripped it, checked the mag, and racked the slide, loading a bullet.
As she looked at them Temple went rigid in his chair, and Nash felt his butt cheeks involuntarily clench.
“A good choice in a personal sidearm, Mr. Hope,” she said. “However, I prefer a Norinco NP42 Mini. But then again, I like to buy local.”
“The Chinese also make good weapons,” Nash said.
“Indeed they do. They mademe, after all. I also understand that three of my people are now in the custody of the FBI. That is a decided setback that I find unacceptable. Accountability must be served.”