Medusa

CHAPTER 47

WEN LO EMERGED FROM HIS FAVORITE NIGHTCLUB WITH A gorgeous prostitute clinging to each arm. His walk was unsteady, but the Triad triplet wasn’t too drunk to see that something was very wrong. His guards were gone. The two SUVs that escorted his armor-plated Mercedes everywhere were gone. His Mercedes was gone, and a black Roewe sedan had taken its place at the curb.

Standing on the sidewalk next to the car was a husky, granite-faced man in a dark blue suit. He opened the Roewe’s rear door and motioned for Wen Lo to get in.

Wen Lo looked up and down the street, as if he could make his guards and car reappear through sheer willpower. No pedestrians or traffic moved in either direction. The street obviously had been cordoned off.

Wen Lo dispensed the prostitutes with a shove and a brusque word and got in the Roewe. The husky man shut the door and slid in front next to the driver. As the car pulled away from the curb, a slender man in an Army uniform sitting in the backseat, said, “Good evening, Wen Lo. My apologies for spoiling your night out on the town.”

“Good evening, Colonel Ming. No apologies necessary. It is always a pleasure to see you, my friend.”

In this case, it was more of a relief than a pleasure. Colonel Ming was the liaison between the Army and the Triad, and both organizations profited handsomely from the hundreds of brothels that they jointly operated around the country.

“The feeling is mutual, of course,” said the colonel, a soft-spoken man whose patrician air seemed more suited to the diplomatic corps than the Army.

Wen Lo always trod carefully around Ming. He was not unmindful of the fact that the colonel’s comrades had nicknamed him Colonel Cobra.

“I must say that I was concerned when I saw my men were not at their posts and my car was gone,” Wen Lo said.

“Rest assured, they are in a safe place,” Ming said. “I thought it best not to have any distractions while we talked over a serious problem that has arisen.”

“Of course,” Wen Lo said. “What sort of problem? Are you looking for a more luxurious apartment . . . or car? . . . Or is there someone that you would like removed from the scene?”

“This is not personal,” Ming said. “This is business. The problem is in Pyramid’s pharmaceutical division.”

“That puzzles me, Colonel. The contaminated drugs have been destroyed. The poisoned infant formula killed only a few hundred children.”

“Perhaps this will explain the problem better than I can,” Ming said.

Colonel Ming stretched his hand out to a DVD player built into the back of the driver’s seat and pushed the ON button.

Wen Lo’s face appeared on the screen. He watched himself taking a tour of the secret lab with Dr. Wu, whose voice was narrating, and close-ups of the subjects and their disease-ravaged faces.

“Where did you get this?” Wen Lo asked as the video came to its end.

“That is of no importance,” Ming said. “But I am puzzled as to the nature of this facility your organization is operating.”

The colonel was being disingenuous. The video was quite detailed in its presentation.

Wen Lo glanced at the men in the front seat. Speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “I am taking you into my confidence, Colonel. The secret I am about to reveal is held by me and a few of the most powerful people in the government. The laboratory has been working on a revolutionary new vaccine that will not only contain a new outbreak of SARS but will cure dozens of other diseases caused by viruses.”

Colonel Ming lightly clapped his hands.

“That is wonderful news, Wen Lo! Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Colonel. It has been a long, hard road, but our work will put China in the medical history books. This will be a boon to mankind. And to the Army, I might add. You and your comrades will derive great benefits from our endeavors.”

“Excellent!” The colonel paused for a moment, then said, “I am not a medical person, but, since you mentioned mankind, I wondered if it is customary to use human beings as lab animals.”

“Pardon me, sir, but they would be very upset to be described in that fashion. They are all volunteers from the slums. They faced miserable lives, in any case.”

The colonel nodded.

“Yes, I see your logic, Wen Lo. Your lab served to shorten their misery. I applaud your humanity and your genius.”

“I do nothing solely for myself, Colonel Ming. I am always thinking about the good of my country.”

“And your country would like to reward your hard work and sacrifice,” Ming said. “But this video raises some concerns. It is easily copied and transmitted. I fear that it will surface in quarters where people will not be as enlightened as you and me. You see the potential for disorder?”

Wen Lo was well aware of the government’s aversion to disorder. Through intimidation and assassination, he and his thugs often had stifled dissent when the government choose to pursue a hands-off policy.

“Yes, of course,” Wen Lo said. “But the government controls the media and the Internet. We can claim that the video is a fake. My organization can deal with those who choose to make an issue of this matter.”

“All true,” Ming said. “But we cannot control the foreign media, and the government has no wish to be associated even by implication with what the video shows. Since you are the public face of Pyramid, we feel it best if you disappear.”

“Disappear?” Wen Lo croaked.

Ming patted Wen Lo’s knee.

“Don’t be alarmed,” the colonel said. “We are old friends as well as colleagues. We have arranged for you to quietly leave China. The government is prepared to work with Pyramid while you are out of the country.”

“I suppose that may work,” Wen Lo said with reluctance.

“We will need to know where and how to reach the number one person in your company,” Ming said.

“Impossible! We never meet face-to-face. We communicate electronically through holograms.”

A sad look came to the colonel’s face.

“That is a shame,” Ming said. “I’m afraid the onus will fall entirely on your shoulders. You will be brought to trial, and the outcome is a foregone conclusion. An example will be made of you.”

Wen Lo was well aware of the consequences of being made an example of in China. He knew a number of the men who had been tried and executed for corrupt business practices.

“Very well,” Wen Lo said with a deep sigh. “We use a simple telephone number to set up our hologram meetings.”

The colonel reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a small notepad, which he gave to Wen Lo. After a few seconds of hesitation, Wen Lo jotted down a number and handed back the pad and pen.

“Thank you,” Ming said, inspecting the number to make sure it was legible. He tucked the pad and pen back in his pocket. “Now we can deal with your future. How does London sound, for a start? We can move you around, to Paris and New York, as need be. And, when it’s safe, we can bring you home again.”

Wen Lo’s mood brightened.

“London is fine. I have a town house in Soho.”

“Too public. The government will find you a less obvious place to live. Do you still play tennis?”

“Every day. It’s my passion.”

“Splendid. You will have endless time to work on your backhand.”

Ming lit a cigarette, took a drag, and tapped on the window separating the backseat from the driver. The car pulled over to the curb, and the colonel said to Wen Lo, “See you in Paris.”

The husky man got out of the front, opened the door, and escorted Ming to a second Roewe sedan that had pulled up behind the first one. As Ming got into the second car, he said to the man, “Make sure it’s neat.”

As the colonel’s car pulled away from the curb, he tapped out a number on his cell phone. After a few rings, a man’s voice answered.

“Mr. Austin?” Ming said.

“That’s right,” Austin replied.

“I have the information you are looking for.”

WHILE THE COLONEL WAS talking on the phone in his car, the husky man walked back to the first car and got in next to the driver. He tapped on the glass behind him and slid the partition open. Wen Lo looked right at him. This gave the man a perfect target when he shot Wen Lo directly in the right eye with a .22 caliber pistol.

The shooter slid the glass partition closed and grunted an order to the driver. They drove Wen Lo’s warm body to a mortuary that was waiting to embalm it. A glass eye replaced the one the bullet had vaporized. The embalmed corpse was turned over to the Bureau of Police. A tag attached to the big toe there certified that he had died while being incarcerated in a Chinese prison.

The police noted the death on records that were promptly destroyed. The body was shipped to a warehouse where the receiver complained about the quality of the merchandise. The corpse was dissected, immersed in acetone to eliminate all traces of moisture, and then given a bath of polymers. The muscles and bones were touched up with paint, and the body bent into a standing position, the arm cocked and ready to smash a tennis ball.

When the transformed corpse arrived in London to join other bodies in an exhibition that would take it to Paris and New York, a tennis racket was placed in the boney hand.

In time, Wen Lo’s skinned body would adorn T-shirts, key chains, refrigerator magnets, even the cover of the catalog sold at the traveling exhibition.

And, as Colonel Ming had promised, Wen Lo had endless time to work on his backhand.