The secretary just nodded and stepped alone through a doorway.
A minute later she opened the door and showed the American in.
Wu appeared to be around eighty years old, but he seemed in reasonably good health. He sat behind his desk with a can of orange soda in front of him and a suspicious look in his eyes.
Wu spoke good English, a result of living in a British protectorate for the majority of his life. He asked Court what he wanted, and Court sat down in the one chair in front of the desk. “Same as anyone who comes through that door. A little information.”
“The lawyer in London you mentioned does not exist. So… how do you really know about me?”
“I give you money, you tell me things. Isn’t that the way it works?”
Wu smiled a little more. “You are American?”
Court lied; second nature. “Canadian.”
Wu gave Court a wink. “Canadian. Very good. What do you want?”
“I want to know the whereabouts of someone here in the city. A prominent person from abroad, who arrived recently. How much will that cost me?”
“You give me the name. If I know nothing, it costs nothing. If I know something, it costs what it costs for what I know.”
“Right,” Court said, “I am looking for a British national who is visiting Hong Kong.”
“Name?”
“His name is Sir Donald Fitzroy.”
Wu did not hide his recognition of the name. “Sir Donald. Here? In Hong Kong? Why? Is there someone here who needs to die?”
Court heaved a big sigh and stood up. “Obviously I know more about this than you. Good-bye.”
Wu held a hand up. “Five thousand Hong Kong dollars.”
“For what?”
“I know Sir Donald is here, and I know where he is. Not exactly where, but what district. Maybe a little more about what is going on than this.” He repeated his price. “Five thousand.”
Court pulled a thick envelope of bills from his money belt, but he just held it up. “I pay for what I receive, not what you tell me I will receive. If I’m satisfied, really satisfied, I’ll give you three thousand.”
It was clear on Wu’s face that he both had expected to bargain and felt pleased with his powers of negotiation. Whatever he had, he would have probably let it go for one thousand.
Wu said, “Okay. He’s somewhere in the Peak.”
Court knew this was a district on Hong Kong Island, up in the hills south of the harbor. “What’s he doing there?”
“He is under the protection of the authorities.”
“The… protection?”
Wu shrugged but didn’t elaborate directly. He just said, “For what reason, I do not know. What I do know is Fitzroy’s men came to me last week, and they wanted information about a crime gang here in HK.”
Court wanted to ask more about Fitzroy’s men, and he especially wanted to know what they were looking for. But he refrained. That would not be in keeping with his secondary cover, so he just pressed for information about Fitzroy’s physical location.
“You said officials. Are you talking about security officials?”
“Maybe you give me other two thousand, and I give you more information.”
“Fine,” Court said. It wasn’t his money, anyway.
“These are men from the mainland. The Ministry of State Security. They are all over Hong Kong. Usually they are very quiet. A man here, a man there. Starting last week, they are everywhere. They even came to see Wu.”
“What were they looking for?”
“One of the Triad groups. This is the same group Fitzroy’s people were looking for. Days later I heard Fitzroy was taken from his hotel and up to the Peak by mainland security men. Maybe I can get you the address… for another five thousand. I’ll need two thousand in advance.”
Court wasn’t surprised Wu was trying to put him on the hook for another two Gs, but he knew he wouldn’t get, nor would he need, the address from Wu. Still, Court had a plan, and to see it through he agreed to the terms.
Court said, “I’m staying at the Pleasant Southeast Orchid Guesthouse at sixty-three Ki Lung Street. When you find out where Fitzroy is, you can reach me there. I’ll give you the extra five thousand then. Nothing in advance.”
Wu scrunched up his white eyebrows in confusion. Not many of his drop-in clients offered up their physical location — it wasn’t the best move from a tradecraft standpoint — but the Chinese man only said, “I will try to find out more.”
Court thanked the man and left the office, then made his way through the labyrinthine halls and stairwells of Chungking Mansions back down to street level.
He headed back in the direction of his windowless room in Mongkok, traveling directly, with no attempt at an SDR. His only side trip on the way home was stopping at a dim sum restaurant half a block from his building for lunch. It was the noon hour, the place was slammed, and Court ate his meal standing out front to avoid the congestion.
When he was finished with his lunch, he stepped over to a garbage can. Carefully he took the envelope in his money belt containing several thousand HK dollars, pulled a few bills out, and crammed them in his pocket, then took the nearly full envelope, folded it up with the paper plate and napkins from his lunch, and shoved it in the can.
Court was just about broke now, but it was part of his plan for the next phase of his operation.
He returned to his guesthouse, climbing the stairs past men waiting in line for a lunchtime “foot massage.”
Back in his hot cell of a room he took off his hat, but he kept his phone and his wallet in his pocket. He flipped on the overhead light, then lay down, fully clothed on the little bed, his body above the sheets. He was careful to keep his hands to his sides, away from his body. He felt this would present the most nonthreatening posture to the men who would soon kick in his door to kidnap him.
Court’s entire objective at the office of Wu K. K. Consultancy today was to give China’s Ministry of State Security the impression that a lone American had come to town looking for a British subject named Sir Donald Fitzroy. Fitzroy was Court Gentry’s former employer, and the Chinese would know this, and even if they did not, they would have reasons to be very interested in any strangers in town looking for Fitzroy.
He felt sure they would have been listening in to the goings-on in Wu’s office, and that meant they’d probably come for him soon.
That had been the CIA’s plan, anyway.
Of course this all would have been better if Court hadn’t climbed out of a CIA aircraft yesterday and killed two MSS goons at the Peninsula hotel; because of this incident MSS would already be aware that a new American who worked in the intelligence field was here in town, so Court had to somehow convince them he wasn’t that guy.
It would be tough to pull off, but Court Gentry had developed into one hell of an actor over the years.
And he felt certain he’d have to deliver an Oscar-worthy performance in the next few hours to stay alive.
Yeah, Court knew what was coming and he wasn’t looking forward to it one bit. He had a wound to his ribs from a recent mission that hurt when he moved in the wrong direction, and he was supremely confident that the jackasses who were about to kidnap him would move him in all the wrong directions.
This was going to suck, he told himself, and then he closed his eyes, hoping for a little sleep before it all went to hell.
Two hours later he woke to movement close to him. Rough hands grabbed him and rolled him onto his stomach. No one spoke, which meant these guys were pros.