Dana Stabenow - Blindfold Game

It must have worked, because shortly thereafter Hugh found himself walking down the sidewalk, following Noortman as the other man wove a sinuous path between the moving mass of humanity that was Hong Kong. A horn honked, a jackhammer sounded, and people talked loudly in Mandarin and ten other languages, a few of which Hugh didn’t recognize, which only added to his feeling of unreality.

Noortman turned down a side street, much quieter in volume and much tonier in appearance, with awnings out to the curb and uniformed doormen guarding brass-fitted doors. Noortman went into one, Hugh tagging along behind and doing his damnedest not to look around for Arlene.

An elevator whisked them up seventeen floors, and Noortman let them into a spacious apartment furnished with leather and teak and glass. There were intricate Afghan rugs scattered artfully across a maple floor waxed to a golden shine, and the crystal lined up over the bar looked fresh out of the vat at Baccarat.

“A drink?” Noortman said. “I have some very nice scotch.”

“Sounds good,” Hugh said.

While Noortman busied himself at the elegant wet bar, Hugh admired the sweeping view of the mainland, the Star Ferries working the sea between it and Hong Kong Island. Even at this distance the ferries looked ready to sink beneath the weight of rush-hour traffic, which Hugh had decided in Hong Kong was probably twenty-four hours a day.

He wondered where the hell Arlene was. He wondered how long he could delay the inevitable before Noortman became suspicious. He wondered if this qualified as cheating on Sara. He wondered if the sweat pooling in his armpits was beginning to show.

He became aware of Noortman standing behind him. Deliberately relaxing his jaw, he turned.

“You’re so tall,” Noortman said in a soft voice. He reached a hand up to touch Hugh’s hair. “Your hair is beautiful. Is it real?”

“Am I a natural blond?” Hugh said. He tried to laugh and had to abandon the attempt when his voice cracked. “Yes.”

“And your eyes, so brown. It’s such a wonderful contrast.” Noortman took a sip of his drink. “People tell me I have a smile like- What is the name of that American singer? The one who shakes his hips?”

“Elvis!” Hugh said. “I knew you looked familiar.”

Noortman smiled, satisfied. He took another sip and set the glass down. He took Hugh’s glass and set it down, too. A foot shorter than Hugh, he let his hand slide up Hugh’s lapel to his neck, and pulled his head down.

A moment later there was a knock at the door. Noortman pulled back, swearing under his breath. “I’ll get rid of them. Don’t move.”

He went to the door, and Hugh, disobeying orders, followed behind on silent feet. Noortman opened the door and Arlene was there and already swinging her bag. It caught Noortman a hell of a thump on the left side of his head and he crumpled into Hugh’s arms.

“Where the hell were you?” Hugh hissed at Arlene, dragging Noortman into the dining room and sitting him down in one of the chairs. “I actually had to kiss the guy, for crissake.”

“Think of it as taking one for the team,” Arlene told him, and hauled out a roll of duct tape.

“Notice my self-control,” Hugh said. “You still live.” He took the duct tape from Arlene and wrapped it around Noortman’s torso and the chair back, Noortman’s wrists and the arms of the chair, and Noortman’s ankles and the legs of the chair.

“All right already,” Arlene said. “The idea is to immobilize him, not shroud him.”

“He’s a spurned lover,” Hugh said; “he’s not going to wake up happy.”

He added, “You tell anyone I kissed him and you’ll never work on this planet again.”

“It got the job done, didn’t it? Stop being such a big baby.”

Noortman groaned. After a moment his eyes opened and he stared at Hugh, at first bewildered, and then, as realization flooded back, hurt. Hugh felt ridiculously guilty.

“Mr. Noortman,” Arlene said.

His gaze shifted to her. His brows came together and his voice came out a raspy husk of its former mellifluous self. Everyone was speaking French. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“We have some questions for you, sir,” Arlene said formally. She reached into her bag and, before Hugh’s disbelieving and slightly affronted eyes, produced a large claw hammer. The wood of the handle was worn smooth and the metal of the head was rusty and flaking. “We have no wish to resort to violence, Mr. Noortman, but we mean to have the answers to our questions before we leave.”

After a moment Noortman got his jaw back into working order and said in a slightly shaky voice, “Questions? What questions? I demand that you release me at once. There has been some terrible mistake.” He appealed to Hugh. “We were having such a good time. I don’t understand what is happening here. Please let me go, and let us talk about this, get things straightened out.”

“Jaap,” Hugh said gently.

Noortman’s eyes widened. “How do you know my given name? I didn’t tell you. I-”

Hugh knelt down next to Noortman’s chair and smiled. “Jaap Noortman, Junior. Born in Singapore in 1970, graduated from the University of Singapore in 1986. Worked a year for your father in the Department of Customs, until you were recruited by the pirate Fang Ho to help him identify and move the cargoes he hijacks in the South China Sea. How am I doing so far?”

Noortman swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was born in Singapore, yes, but I am a respectable businessman. I run a legitimate freight concern here in Hong Kong, you can ask anyone. There has been some mistake.” He tried to smile, first at Hugh and then at Arlene.

The now familiar sneer was missing in action. “Please, untie me, and I will verify my identity.”

“We know who you are,” Arlene said, and took the hammer. “Gag him,” she told Hugh.

Hugh hesitated, and then did as he was told. This man had conspired in too many deaths for Hugh to feel compunction now. Arlene was right. The Koreans had been on the loose too long, Fang and Noortman had been active in their cause for too long, too much had been set into motion and too much was at risk. There was no time now for subtle.

Hugh overlapped the duct tape at the back of Noortman’s head and stepped back. Arlene raised the hammer. Noortman’s eyes bulged but Arlene didn’t wait, she brought the head of the hammer down as hard as she could swing it on Noortman’s right knee.

Her grunt of effort was drowned out by Noortman’s muffled scream. The duct tape strained as he tried to double over. Tears streamed from his eyes, mucus from his nose. He made gagging sounds. Hugh kept his face impassive and reached out to rip the duct tape from Noortman’s face. He lost some hair as well as some skin. He screamed.

“Quiet,” Arlene said, looking as bored as she sounded, “or we’ll have to gag you again.

“What do you want?” Noortman said, his breath coming in sobs. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!” The blood had soaked through his pants and his knee was already beginning to swell into a misshapen lump, straining his pants leg.

“I want to know where your partner is, Jaap.”

Noortman shook his head, moaning. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Gag him again,” Arlene said. Hugh, a little pale, stepped forward with the duct tape.

“No,” Noortman screamed. “I can’t tell you, I can’t, he’ll kill me!”

“Then answer,” Hugh said.

“We know you’re working for the two Koreans. What did they hire you to do? Where is Fang now?”

“I can’t! He’ll kill me, I tell you! He has killed others! He’ll kill me, too!”

“I know,” Arlene told him, “and I’m sorry about this, but I really am in a hurry.” She nodded at Hugh. A little pale, he tore off a length of duct tape and stepped forward.