Casanova (22 page)

‘He’s in the house,’ Xing said.

‘I’ll call Jemima,’ I said.

‘Have you looked at the pictures?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Have you seen the boy?’

‘Yes, we’ve seen him.’

‘Yes right, well, he was driven to a house on Coloane,’ Jemima said. ‘It’s in the village. He stayed there for about an hour and half. The Mercedes waited for him. Both men remained with the car throughout. Then they drove him straight back. There were no stops en route.’

‘Give me the address,’ I said. ‘Enter this address into your K106,’ I said to Xing. She took out her K106 and held it ready. Jemima read out the address and I repeated it to Xing. She tapped it in. She waited for the satellite. ‘Got it,’ she said.

‘Maintain your surveillance,’ I told Jemima. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

I ended the call and looked at Xing. ‘How would you like a trip to the seaside?’ I asked.

‘In the rain,’ she said.

We left the museum and walked outside into the Square. The rain had stopped, the cloud had broken and the sun was shining.

‘Sunshine,’ Xing said.

‘On a rainy day,’ I said.

I checked Xing’s K106, not because I didn’t trust her ability to work it but because I wanted to visualise the location on the map. ‘Do you know where this is?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘I’ve been there before. It’s a little village on the west coast. There’s not much there. It has narrow streets and old buildings.’

‘Why did you go there?’

She made a face. I didn’t really need to ask. It was obvious why she had been there before. It was the same reason that she went anywhere.

‘How do we get there?’ I asked.

‘By bus,’ she said.

We walked to the bus stop. Xing checked the timetable. ‘Not long,’ she said.

The plastic seat was wet. I brushed the rainwater off with the palm of my hand. It was dry enough so I sat down. Xing looked at the rainwater on the seat beside me and then brushed it off too. She sat down but kept her back straight and her feet together. She turned her head and glanced at me. We sat like that and waited.

‘It moves faster,’ she said, ‘now that we begin.’

She was referring to my comment from earlier. I didn’t reply. The silent waiting returned. Xing wriggled in her seat but she didn’t stand up. I copied the address into my own K106 and studied the directions.

‘We must make certain of the boy,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ I agreed.

A bus arrived. It was ours. We boarded and found a seat. The diesel engine shuddered and then grumbled deeply. We chugged slowly away and headed south. At the roundabout, we left the peninsular and drove onto the bridge.

‘This is Nam Van Lake,’ Xing said. ‘Do you recognise it?’

I did. We crossed the lake and went out over deeper water. I glanced through the windscreen.

‘Can you see the land yet?’ she asked.

We reached Taipa Island and headed southeast. The bus stopped to let people off. We left Taipa village behind and turned due south. The causeway was long and straight. The driver changed gear and the bus gathered speed. Low hills edged the horizon. At the end of the causeway, the bus slowed before turning east.

‘We have to go around the coast,’ Xing explained. ‘The village is on the other side.’

We passed a hotel and a golf course. Beyond the coast road, I saw the sea and then a long wide beach with black sand that seemed to stretch forever. We reached the south coast and turned west. A second beach appeared. The heavy rainfall from earlier had washed the sand flat. We turned north and headed for the west coast and the village.

‘This is Seac Pai Van Park,’ Xing said. ‘The village is just a little further.’

The bus stopped on the open access road. We got off. I checked my K106.

‘It’s this way,’ Xing said. We walked into the village. Other tourists from the bus followed. I noticed a man who got off last. He was alone. His black trousers were baggy and he wore a straw hat.

Xing looked at her K106. ‘It’s just up here,’ she said.

The road was narrow and uphill. White terraces pushed together like footballers making a wall. The house was on the end. It had a first floor balcony and a trellis covered in foliage. The front door was recessed and decorative columns supported each side. We strolled by like tourists. Both of us studied the house carefully. We continued and then stopped. Our embrace was just like lovers on holiday. Anyone seeing us would have thought so.

‘It’s possible from here,’ Xing whispered.

‘Yes, the road is good,’ I said, ‘It’s just the location.’

‘What’s wrong with the location?’

‘It’s too isolated,’ I said. ‘It makes the exit strategy difficult.’

We walked to the end before doubling back. We studied the house for a second time.

‘They would park right outside,’ Xing whispered into my neck. We had stopped again and were embracing. Our bodies pressed together. ‘It wouldn’t give us much time.’

‘No, it wouldn’t,’ I agreed.

We ended our fake hug and continued.

‘The village square has a cafe,’ Xing said.

It was only a short walk. Cafe Nga Tim had tables outside. We ordered coffee and waited. I scanned the other tables and checked the milling people as they came and went. The waitress brought our order. When she left, I saw him. It was the man from the bus. His straw hat was on the table. His hair was straight and black. He sat facing the cafe door and read a newspaper. He was just too indifferent.

‘We have a friend,’ I said.

Xing searched my eyes for an explanation. ‘The man sitting behind you, by himself, he may be following us. He travelled with us on the bus. He’s not a tourist and he’s not in any hurry to get somewhere.’

‘Perhaps he waits.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said.

‘What do you want to do?’

‘Talk to him,’ I said.

Xing smiled. ‘Sit with him at his table,’ she suggested, and then she stood up and went into the cafe. I got up and walked slowly to the man’s table. His eyes looked up, they were questioning. I pulled out the chair and sat down. The man dropped his newspaper and continued to stare expectantly.

‘It’s a nice day,’ I said, ‘now the rain’s stopped.’

He spoke to me in Cantonese with a confused expression creasing his forehead.

‘Don’t you speak English,’ I said.

Again, he replied in Cantonese, and his confused look deepened.

I grinned at him. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I have an interpreter.’

Xing had approached silently from behind. The concealed knife dropped from inside her sleeve into her fist with the sleight of hand of a skilled magician. She bent down, grabbed the man’s ear and pushed the steel point into his neckline. She whispered rapidly to him in Cantonese. He jolted with shock, and one of fear instantly replaced the expression of confusion. He replied to Xing in equally rapid Cantonese before he looked back at me and said, ‘Duckling, I duckling.’ His words diffused the situation. I sat back and smiled, Xing put her knife away, and the duckling slumped with relief. Xing sat down. She and the duckling conversed. I didn’t speak Cantonese but I understood the gist. The man grabbed his newspaper and his straw hat and left. We returned to our table. I drank my coffee.

‘Why do they always follow us?’ she asked.

‘I’ll speak to Jemima,’ I said.

‘It’s not Jemima, its Charlotte. Speak to her.’

I drank more coffee.

‘It might not be her this time,’ I said. I didn’t believe it. Xing made a face. She didn’t believe it either. ‘I’ll speak to her,’ I said.

The sun had gone in. Tall clouds were moving forward like rows of advancing infantrymen. Bigger clouds with smaller ones on top and flat, dark undersides like stomping army boots.

‘We should check the boy,’ I said. Changing the subject was a good idea. ‘We can be back in Senate Square is under an hour. Is Vong available?’

‘I will call him and find out,’ Xing said. She started pushing buttons. ‘Once he confirms the boy we can plan more.’

I nodded and looked at the clouds. They were thinning again. One of them had the outline of a sandcastle.

Xing spoke quietly into her phone. The conversation was in Cantonese. It ended quickly.

‘Can he meet us?’ I asked.

She sat up and put her elbows on the table. ‘He wants us to go to his home,’ she said. She began entering the address into her K106.

‘Why?’ I asked.

She looked up. ‘He didn’t say,’ she said, ‘but I think we should get there quickly.’

We took a taxi from the cafe. A taxi would be quicker than the bus. Xing gave the driver the address. We sat on the back seat and she studied her K106.

‘I think I know where he lives,’ she said.

The Toyota saloon accelerated with urgency. Xing had promised extra money in exchange for speed. We overtook a smoking bus and sped onto the causeway.

‘When we get there we need to be careful,’ I said. ‘I’ll take point.’

‘...point,’ she said.

‘I’ll go in first,’ I said.

‘Is
point
an army word?’

‘I’m serious,’ I said. ‘Why would Vong want us to meet him at his home? I don’t like it. If we’re going in, then we do it my way, no argument.’

‘...yes, sir,’ she said.

She put away the K106 and pulled out her pistol. Her hands controlled the weapon with the same experience and professional expertise as a tennis ace grips her racket or a heart surgeon holds her scalpel. I watched her. She completed her practiced routine. ‘You said we needed to be careful,’ she said.

I checked my own weapon. The Glock felt light in my palm. It gripped comfortably and I tested the balance. I liked the way it felt, dependable and loyal like a well-trained attack dog.

We reached the peninsular. Ahead, giant clouds threw threatening shadows over the buildings and sunlight streamed across the tarmac like a hunted fox.

The taxi driver steered us skilfully into the centre of Macau. The residential area with tall apartment buildings and streets touched where they crossed with neighbourly affection.

The driver checked the street name on the sign on the building and then pulled over. We were on a narrow crossroads. I got out. Xing paid and then joined me at the corner of the building. I held cover and studied the street. Xing remained tight to my side and looked up the street from under my arm.

‘Is it safe?’ she asked.

‘You agreed,’ I said.

‘Okay, how do you want to do it?’

I studied the street. It was on an incline with high, Portuguese style two-storey terraces lining both sides. A close row of black metal posts on one side and tightly parked cars on the other kept the street access narrow. I searched for danger. Was anyone standing around or sitting in one of the parked cars? I saw nobody. The street was empty. Above our heads, ornate black lamps jutted from the buildings and hung down like sleeping bats. The air was cool and still, shaded from the falling sun. I searched for the doors. The buildings were apartment conversions with a single entrance half way down. I pointed this out to Xing.