Chris Jordan - Measure of Darkness

“What happened, exactly?” Naomi says, a little too casually. Those familiar with her technique pick up the signals-she’s about to bore in, shaking out something crucial to the case.

“Everything went wrong,” Ming-Mei says with a sigh. “That was the beginning of the end. At first it was very nice-he was so glad to see Joey, so amazed by his musical progress-by then Joey was starting to read music, and practicing some of the simpler Mozart sonatas. He came every day to watch and listen, and seemed to me to be as happy as I had ever seen him. Then one day he comes and I can see right away that he’s very upset. Some Chinese men came to his hotel and threatened him in some way, or said something that made him suspicious. He has decided that I am part of this conspiracy and I don’t admit it, but of course he’s right. Suddenly he’s looking at me like he looks at everybody else in the world, like I’m not quite there.”

“He knew?”

“He knew something was wrong. He became very angry and left us and went back to the U.S.A.”

“So they tried to recruit him but he refused to cooperate.”

Ming-Mei nods. “The colonel was very angry, too, and at first she tried to blame me. But they had bugged my apartment and they went over the audiotapes, which proved that I never said anything to make him suspicious. So they came up with another plan. And this was the most cruel thing of all. This is my curse, which has come back to haunt me.”

“You pretended that Joey was kidnapped,” says Naomi, glancing around to make sure we’re all paying strict attention.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Ming-Mei weeps freely, her lovely cheekbones glistening with tears. “That’s what I pretended. And then it really happened.”

“Please explain,” Naomi says, as if for our benefit. “The timing and sequence of this is, I believe, crucial to any possible recovery of your son.”

Ming-Mei sniffs, but doesn’t attempt to blot away the tears. “It was the colonel’s idea, but I obeyed. I knew what I did was evil. I let Joe believe that little Joey had been taken from the mall. That the authorities believe he had been stolen to be sold as a replacement child.”

“But Joey wasn’t stolen then. ”

“No. He was fine. I told him he had to stay with his piano teacher for a few days, for special lessons, and he was very enthusiastic. Of course, his father came to Hong Kong, very upset, and he did everything possible to find Joey.”

“He hired private investigators to search for the boy.”

“Yes, but that was all part of the plan. They used their own people. They led him to the mainland and told him if he didn’t cooperate, Joey would never be seen again. He called me from Beijing, so upset I can hardly understand what he is saying. Of course the call is being monitored, but he doesn’t care. He says he has failed, because he has no secret to share. He would give them anything they want, but he has nothing to give. Then the call is cut off and that’s the last I ever heard from him.”

“He had no secrets to share.”

“That’s what he said, and I believed him.”

“That was a year ago. When was Joey really kidnapped?”

Ming-Mei takes a deep breath, apparently determined to keep it together, no matter how difficult the subject matter. “Three weeks ago. As usual I took him for his piano lessons, but when I go to pick him up, he’s already gone. I find his teacher tied to a chair in her practice room. Three men came to take him away, moments before I arrived.”

“Could she identify them?”

Ming-Mei shakes her head. “Only that they were sai yan, Western. And that they were very quick and efficient, like soldiers.”

The confession concluded, Naomi sits back and surveys us, satisfied that we’ve all been sufficiently impressed by the revelations. “Gatling’s men,” she concludes. “I’d stake my life on it.”

Midnight on the roof deck. Apparently I’m not the only one who can’t sleep, because there’s a red glow bobbing when I get there. Jack Delancey, having himself a fine cigar. Then I hear murmuring and realize he’s not alone. Teddy, in his dark clothing, fully blended into the night.

“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t realize this roof was occupied.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jack says. He makes a welcoming gesture. “Join us, please. I was trying to explain to young Ted about the Benefactor.”

“Oh?” I sink into a chair, glad of the breeze, which is wafting the smoke elsewhere.

“He was surprised, shall we say, that our mystery guest could be so easily summoned.”

“I doubt it was easy,” I say.

“My point exactly. Just because the boss didn’t leave the residence doesn’t mean she wasn’t working the case, and working it hard. I’ve also been suggesting that, tempting as it might be to peek behind the curtain, it would be a mistake to try and identify the Benefactor.”

“I believe we all signed contracts to that effect.”

Teddy pipes up, “No, no, I wasn’t looking, not like that. Just speculating.”

“Maybe an ambassador, he was thinking,” says Jack, taking no position. “Or someone from the Justice Department.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe an eccentric billionaire using us as his giant game of ‘Clue.’”

Teddy makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a giggle. “That would be cool. Are there secret passages in the residence?”

Jack clears his throat.

I say, “As a matter of fact, there are.”

I like it that he doesn’t ask where. In the dark I can almost feel his young mind racing. It’ll give him something to do, other than obsess on the identity of the person who makes this all possible, and who obviously has the power to move a game piece halfway around the globe.

“Busy day tomorrow,” Jack says, standing up. “The boss has plans.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll stay for a few minutes,” I say when the two men get up to leave.

“Suit yourself.”

“Good night, Miss Crane. I mean Alice.”

“Away with you both.”

The lights of the city usually have a calming effect, as if some grand purpose is being illuminated from within, but tonight the calm part isn’t working. I keep thinking about helicopters hovering silently, painting targets on a screen, and men in black masks, and an assassin’s bullet crashing into the residence, and a few minutes later I hurry down to bed, if not to sleep.

Kathy Mancero has a weapon and a plan. She would have preferred a baseball bat, but none being available she had finally, after many frustrating, nail-breaking hours, managed to pry a length of two-by-four from the inside of a closet. It will have to do. As to her escape plan, it all depends on Joey.

“You want to get away from the bad man?” she’d asked him.

“Yes, please,” he’d answered without hesitation.

“I want you to play your music without the headphones on, so we can all hear it, can you do that?”

“Mozart,” the little boy had said. “I want to play Mozart. Sonata no. 1 in C Major.”

“Good. Lovely. When I say, you unplug the headphones and turn up the volume.”

Night has fallen. The time has come round at last. Kidder is up there, she can hear the dull thump of him moving around on the first floor of the guest cottage. She imagines him getting a beer from the fridge as he settles down to watch the ball game, and the thought of baseball makes her long for an actual bat, one she can wrap her hands around. A Louisville Slugger would be ideal, but the length of two-by-four will simply have to do. She knows from studying Randall Shane’s exploits that things are never perfect, that in order to save a child’s life it is sometimes necessary to use what is close to hand.