Ian Hamilton - The wild beast of Wuhan

“Food poisoning?”

“I ate some raw oysters last night. Not so good.”

“Take better care of yourself.”

“I try,” Uncle said, his voice sounding weak. “Lourdes said you called earlier.”

“It’s about the Wong matter,” Ava said. “It’s resolved.”

She had been in his apartment many times. In her mind’s eye she could see him leaning back in his old armchair, his feet not quite touching the ground, a small table to his right layered with newspapers and racing forms, the phone held to his ear. “Resolved?”

Ava realized the word was far too vague. “I got the money,” she said.

“How much of it?” he asked. There was anticipation, some pleasure in his voice.

“I think I have all of it — seventy million or so. I won’t know until we finalize all the liquidations of assets and the transfers, but I think I’m close.”

She heard him breathe deeply and knew he was already calculating their commission and planning his phone call to the Wongs. She had listened to him make such calls before. Low-key, slow-paced, building towards a climax, the good news hinted at, then delivered only when the massive scale of the task had been explained. Uncle made every successful job sound as if they had performed a miracle. He could have been an actor. And then she thought, Maybe he is.

“Ava, this is remarkable,” he said.

“Hughes was co-operative. The leverage we had through the other paintings scared him. We could have destroyed his reputation, set the animals loose on him, and probably have caused him to go to prison, or worse.”

“I am surprised he still has the money,” Uncle said. “Usually this type of person squanders much of it.”

“Lucky — we were lucky,” Ava said carefully. “It isn’t all in one place, though, and liquidating some assets and arranging the transfers will be a challenge. But I’ve already started the process, and in a week or two — maybe two, to be on the safe side — everything should be done.”

“Are you certain about the amounts?”

“Yes, within ten percent or so.”

“And you have control of the assets?”

“Yes,” she said, biting her lower lip.

“And the timing?”

She knew he was going to call Changxing Wong as soon as they hung up and that he was identifying the boundaries of what he could say. Knowing how cautious he was, she was sure he would fudge the amount she had given him even more: the ten percent would turn into twenty, maybe even thirty. He would also play with the timelines, and her two weeks would become three weeks or a month.

“Two weeks should see it done.”

He hesitated and she braced herself for more questions. Instead he asked, “Ava, would you like to call May Ling yourself and give her the news?”

“No,” she said, more quickly than she should have.

“They are too important for you to carry a grudge, and May Ling thinks very highly of you. She could be an important ally in the years ahead. I have told you, you need to build more bridges. It is all well and good while I am still active, but when I step aside, Ava, you need to have your own alliances — friends, guanxi.”

He said it slowly, carefully, and she knew he was speaking from love.

“Uncle, when you step aside, I step aside with you.”

“You are too young — ”

“Some things have nothing to do with age.”

“Ava, you know my religion is Tao.”

“Yes, I know.”

“May Ling is Taoist as well, and when we spoke of you, she said to me that the second she looked into your eyes she felt qi, life force, flow between you.”

“I’m not sure what that means, and right now I don’t have any interest in finding out.”

Uncle sighed. “I will phone Changxing tonight,” he said. “They have both been calling me, wondering about your progress. Regardless of your skepticism, they were tremendously impressed by the way you managed Edwin Hughes. Of course, they do not fully understand that gweilos do not have our sense of family. No Chinese of any character would do that to his brother.”

He had passed along her fax from Edwin Hughes’ office to the Wongs, she realized. It was unusual, and she felt unsettled. How close is Uncle getting to them? she thought. “Uncle, you gave them copies of the paperwork I sent you?”

“Yes,” he said.

Ava swallowed hard. “Well, when you speak with him tonight — with them — please ask that May Ling not call me. I am very serious about that.”

“I still think you are misjudging her,” Uncle said. “But I will tell her.”

It was just past seven o’clock in New York. Ava looked outside, hoping to see the sun, and there it was, its rays emanating like a personal invitation. She made herself a Starbucks VIA coffee, downed it quickly, put on her running gear, and headed downstairs.

She did a complete lap of the park, slowing down when she got to East 65th Street, thoughts of dropping in on Glen Hughes entering her mind. She decided against it and finished her run back to the hotel.

By nine Ava had called Gail and asked her to book a one-o’clock Air Canada flight back home to Pearson Airport. She emailed Mimi and her mother to let them know she was arriving that day, and that she’d call later. She wrote to Maria, I’m arriving this afternoon around 2:15 p.m. from New York on Air Canada. If you can meet me at the airport, that’s great. If you can’t, call me later at the apartment. Love, Ava.

She sat at the desk with her notebook. She laid out the gist of her agreement with Glen Hughes and then started making a list of loose ends, calls she had to make, promises that needed to be kept. There was a hotel in Dublin with twelve boxes in storage. Edwin Hughes and Helga Sorensen both deserved a call to calm their nerves. Then she thought of Nina, and just as quickly pushed the thought aside. If Ava was going to maintain her relationship with Maria, Nina would have to become a distant memory.

Back home, back to Toronto, she thought. It had been one hell of a week. And it wasn’t over; it wouldn’t be over until the money had found its way through Harrington’s to Liechtenstein to Uncle’s account in Hong Kong. Don’t start taking things for granted. Don’t be a jinx, she told herself. There are still so many things that could go wrong.

She called Glen Hughes, her mind still swimming in a pool of anxiety.

“Glen, it’s Ava Lee,” she said.

“My dear Ms. Lee, how nice to hear from you. I have to tell you, before you say anything, that was a wonderful dinner last night. I will be going back there again — under different circumstances, I hope.”

“I thought the meal was fine as well.”

“I also have to say that a friend of mine — a client, actually — was in the restaurant and saw us together. He’s insanely jealous. He called me this morning to find out who you are. He thought I was dating some Hong Kong starlet.”

“Tell him thank you.”

“You’re calling for an update, no doubt.”

“Exactly.”

“We’re bang on schedule. In about an hour, the Harrington’s team will be here to collect the paintings and send them to London. I spoke with our friend there last night, and he likes the idea of going private, even at a discount. He thinks it will be an efficient exercise. As for your time constraints, well, he thinks the deal can be concluded within ten days.”

“Mr. Hughes, I am impressed.”

“Coming from you, I assume that’s a compliment.”

“It is.”

“I appreciate it.”

“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. If we can stay focused for ten more days the compliments will mean something more,” Ava said.

“Let me assure you, I am focused.”

“I’m leaving New York this afternoon, but you can email me or reach me at the phone number I gave you if the need arises.”