917 052 009 008 007 004 003
500 278 100 065 057
616 384
370 325 300 005
844 092 060 001 001 001 001
“Whaddya think?” said O’Brien, grinning at Gideon with amusement. The man didn’t see the pattern. Some people were just thick when it came to numbers.
“Ah, yeah?” Gideon said.
“Look. Ten groups of three-digit numbers. Look at ’em. The pattern should be obvious to any idiot.”
“Each group of numbers is in descending order?”
“Yes, but that’s not the big thing. Look at each group — add ’em up.”
A long silence. “Oh my God.”
“Right. Each group adds up to a thousand.”
“Which means…?”
“I’d guess they’re lists of percentages, each one adding up to a thousand — or one hundred percent with one significant digit to the right of the decimal point. This is a formula of some kind: ten formulations set out with the ratios of their various components adding up to one hundred percent.”
“One hundred percent of what?”
“It might be some kind of high-explosives formulation, an exotic metallurgy formula, a chemical or isotope formulation. I’m not a chemist or a condensed matter physicist — I’d need to bring in an expert.”
“You have someone in mind?”
“Sadie Epstein. She’s a professor in the Physics Department, an expert in metastable quasicrystal analysis.”
“Is she discreet?”
“Very. But I’m not going to tell her much.”
“Give it to her with a false cover story. Dream something up. Say it’s a contest of some kind. You could win a trip to Oxford for the Isaac Newton Maths Conference in September.”
“Can’t you not lie? You make up a story even when there’s no need.”
“I take no pleasure in lying.”
“You’re the Holy Roman Emperor of liars. And since when are you so flush? Usually it’s the poor mouth with you. Where are you staying?”
“I’ve been moving around town — spent last night at a twenty-dollar-an-hour motel in Canarsie. Tonight I’ll crash at the Waldorf. Got a morning flight to Hong Kong.”
“Hong Kong? How long are you going to be away?”
“No more than a day. I’ll drop in when I return, see what you’ve found. Don’t call me. And for God’s sake, make sure this Sadie Epstein keeps her trap shut.”
31
Norio Tatsuda had been a flight attendant on Japan Airline’s Tokyo—New York run for almost six years, and when he first saw the man sitting in the wrong seat, he instantly recognized the type: one of those inexperienced and combative travelers who were sure they were going to get disrespected and taken advantage of at every turn. The man was wearing an expensive suit and a silly, floppy American hat, and he clutched a plastic carry-on as if it might be snatched away at any moment by one of the many obvious thugs and criminals roaming about the cabin.
With a warm, fake smile, Tatsuda approached the gentleman and gave a little bow. “May I trouble you to see your boarding pass, sir?”
“What for?” the man responded.
“Well, it seems the lady here”—he indicated the woman standing behind him—“has a seat assignment for the seat you are sitting in, and that is why I wanted to check your boarding pass.”
“I’m in the right seat,” the man said.
“I am not at all questioning that, sir, it could very well be a problem with the booking system, but I need to check nevertheless.” He bestowed another broad smile on the scowling ape.
With a frown, the man searched his pockets and finally extracted a crumpled boarding pass. “There it is, if you’re so interested in it.”
“Thank you so very much.” Tatsuda saw immediately the man was in the wrong seat; the wrong section, even. “You are Mr. Gideon Crew?”
“That’s what it says, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed it does. Now, Mr. Crew, according to this boarding pass”—another expansive smile—“you are actually booked in our business-class section, up front.”
“Business? I’m not traveling on business. I’m visiting my son.”
This man, Tatsuda thought, was almost miraculously stupid. The pugnacious expression on the man’s face, the protruding lips, furrowed brow and tilted chin, only confirmed it. “Mr. Crew, business class is not just for business travelers. There’s more room up there and a higher quality of service.” He waved the boarding pass. “You’re supposed to be in a much more expensive seat.”
Crew frowned. “My son bought the ticket, I don’t know anything about that, but I’m settled in right here, thank you.”
Tatsuda had never quite dealt with a situation like this before. He glanced back at the woman whose seat Crew occupied. Being Japanese, she had understood nothing of the exchange. He turned back to the man. “Sir, do you mean to say you would prefer to remain here for the duration of the flight? Your seat in business class will be much more comfortable.”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I? I don’t like businesspeople. Bunch of crooks. I want to be right here, in the middle of the plane where I’m safe, not up front in the death zone. That’s what I told my son, and that’s what I want.”
Another bow. Tatsuda turned to the woman and switched to Japanese. “The gentleman,” he said, “would like to exchange your seat here in economy class with his business-class seat at the front of the aircraft. Does this meet with your approval?”
It met with her approval.
With a passenger such as Gideon Crew, Tatsuda knew that the ordeal was only beginning, and the next challenge came as soon as the captain turned off the seat belt sign. As Tatsuda passed down the aisle taking drink orders, he found Crew on his feet, hunched over his seat. He had pulled up his cushion and was feeling all along the seams and in the spaces behind the seat.
“May I be of assistance, Mr. Crew?”
“I lost my damn contact lens.”
“Allow me to help.”
He squinted at Tatsuda with one eye. “Help? How’re you going to do that when I can hardly turn around in here?”
Tatsuda could see the passenger next to Crew rolling his eyes in exasperation.
“If you do need help, please let me know. In the meantime, may I have your drink order, Mr. Crew?”
“Gin and tonic.”
“Yes, sir.” Tatsuda withdrew, but he kept an eye on Crew from the galley. The man had finished searching and palpating the seat cushion and was now fumbling about in the seat compartment. He could see that the man’s rough handling had actually caused one of the seams in the cushion to come apart, and the seat covering as well seemed to be falling loose. He would have to carefully monitor the man’s alcoholic intake, as he looked exactly like the type who used a long plane journey as an excuse to get drunk.
But Crew did not order a second drink, and after an endless and obsessive search that even involved several overhead compartments, as if his contact lens might have somehow fallen upward, the man fell back in his seat and went soundly to sleep. And, to Tatsuda’s great relief, the difficult passenger proceeded to sleep like a baby all the way to Tokyo.
32
Gideon Crew stepped into the vast interior of the Tai Tam Hotel in Hong Kong. He stood still for a moment, looking around while buttoning his suit, taking in the acres of white and black marble, the cold opulence of gold and glass. There did not seem to be anything untoward about his arrival; he had gotten through customs without a hitch and everything had gone smoothly. He was fairly sure he had shaken Nodding Crane and any potential henchmen from his trail long before he left America. Who would imagine a person, being chased by a Chinese agent, getting on a plane and flying to China? The unexpected way was often the safer way.