Jeffery Deaver - The Stone Monkey

John Sung had changed clothes. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater – which seemed odd in the heat, though it made him look pretty stylish – and new workout pants. He was flushed and he seemed distracted, out of breath.

"Are you all right?" Amelia Sachs asked.

"Yoga," he explained. "I was doing my exercises. Tea?"

"I can't stay long." Eddie Deng had gone back to the Fifth Precinct but Alan Coe was waiting for her downstairs in the crime scene bus.

He held up a bag. "Here's what I wanted to give you. The fertility herbs I told you about last night."

She took the bag absently. "Thank you, John."

"What's wrong?" he asked, scanning her troubled face. He motioned her inside and they sat on the couch.

"That police officer from China, the man who helped us? He was found dead about an hour ago."

Sung closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Was it an accident? Or did the Ghost get to him?"

"The Ghost."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry."

"I am too." She said this brusquely, dismissing the emotion in the best spirit of Lincoln Rhyme. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a plastic bag of the plant material she'd found at the scene. "We found this where he was murdered."

"Where?" he asked.

"In Chinatown. Not far away. We think it's some herbs or spices that the Ghost bought. Rhyme was hoping if we can figure out what it is we might find the store where he bought it. Maybe one of the clerks might know where the Ghost lives."

He nodded. "Let me see it." Sung opened the bag then shook some out onto the counter. He bent down, inhaled the aroma and examined the substance. She thought Lincoln Rhyme would use a gas chromatograph and mass spectrometer to do exactly the same thing, separating a mixture into its component parts and identifying them.

Finally he said, "I smell astragalus, ginger, poria, maybe some ginseng and alisma." He shook his head. "I know you'd like me to tell you it's sold in only one or two stores. But I'm afraid you can buy it at any herbalist, drugstore or grocery in China. I would suppose it's the same here."

Discouraged, she thought of something else. "What do they do?' Maybe the Ghost was suffering from some sickness or injury and they could trace him through other doctors as they'd done with Wu Qichen's wife.

"It's more of an over-the-counter tonic than a medicine. It improves resistance, tonifies your qi. Many people use it to heighten the sexual experience. Supposedly it helps men stay erect longer. It's not meant to treat a specific illness."

So much for that theory, Sachs thought glumly.

"You could check the stores closest to where the policeman was killed," Sung suggested. "But I suppose you've thought of that."

She nodded. "That's what we'll have to do. Maybe we'll get a break." She started to stand and winced as pain shot through her shoulder – a muscle she'd pulled on the Fuzhou Dragon.

"Taking your medicine?" he asked, chiding her.

"Yeah, I am. But you know how disgusting it tastes?"

"You can drink beer for pleasure. Here, sit down again."

She hesitated and lowered herself painfully to the couch. He moved close behind her. She could sense his proximity from the way the ambient noise in the room grew mute. Then she felt his hands on her shoulder as they began squeezing – softly at first then harder, more probing.

His face was near the back of her head, his breath caressing her neck. The hands moved up and down her skin, pressing hard but just short of the point of pain. It was relaxing, yes, but she felt momentarily disconcerted when the palms and fingers nearly encircled her throat.

"Relax," he whispered in that calm voice of his.

She tried to.

His hands slid to her shoulders then down her back. They moved forward along her ribs but stopped before he touched her breasts and returned again to her spine and neck.

Wondering if there really was something he could do for her – to improve the chance of her and Rhyme's having children.

Dryness in the kidneys…

She closed her eyes and lost herself in the powerful massage.

She felt him shift closer to her, getting better leverage, it seemed. He was only inches away. His hands moved up her spine to her neck once more, encircling them. His breathing was coming quickly – from the effort, she supposed.

"Why don't you take off that gun belt of yours?" he whispered.

"Bad karma?" she asked.

"No." He laughed. "It's interfering with your circulation."

She reached for the buckle and started to undo it. She felt his hand close around the thick nylon strap to help her remove it.

But then a harsh sound interrupted them – her cell phone ringing. She eased away from him and pulled the unit off her belt. "Hello? This is -"

"Sachs, get ready to roll."

"What do you have, Rhyme?"

There was no answer for a moment as she heard someone else in his room speaking to the criminalist.

A moment later he came back on the line. "The captain of the ship, Sen, is conscious. Eddie Deng's on the other line, interviewing him… Hold on." Voices, shouts. Rhymes commanding: "Well, we don't have time. Now, now, now!… Listen, Sachs, the captain spent some time in the hold of the Dragon. He overheard Chang talking with his father. Looks like some relative or friend arranged for an apartment and job for the family in Brooklyn ."

" Brooklyn? What about Queens?"

"Sam Changs the clever one, remember? I'm sure he said Queens to lead everybody off. I narrowed down the area where I think they are – Red Hook or Owls Head."

"How do you know?"

"How else, Sachs? The trace on the old man's shoes, biosolids. Remember? There're two waste treatment facilities in Brooklyn. I'm leaning toward Owls Head. It's more residential and's closer to Sunset Park, the Chinese community there. Eddie Deng's having his people from the Fifth Precinct call printing companies and sign painters in Owls Head. Lon's putting ESU on alert. And the INS's getting together a team too. I want you over there. I'll let you know as soon as I have an address."

She glanced up at Sung. "John, Lincoln 's found the Changs' neighborhood. I'm going over there now."

"Where are they?"

"In Brooklyn."

"Oh very good," he said. "They're safe?"

"So far."

"May I come? I can help translate. Chang and I speak the same dialect."

"Sure." Sachs said into the phone, "John Sung's coming with me and Coe. He's going to translate. We're on our way, Rhyme. Call me when you have an address."

They hung up and Sung stepped into the bedroom. A moment later he came out, wearing a bulky windbreaker.

"It's not cold out," Sachs said.

"Always keep warm – important for the qi and blood," he said.

Then Sung looked at her and took her by the shoulders, Sachs responding with a smile of curiosity. With sincerity in his voice he said, "You have done a very good thing, finding those people, Yindao."

She paused and looked at him with a faint frown of curiosity. "Yindao?"

He said, "It's my pet name for you in Chinese. 'Yindao.' It means 'close friend.'"

Sachs was very moved by this. She squeezed his hand. Then stepped back. "Let's go find the Changs."

On the street in front of his safehouse the man of many names – Ang Kwan, Gui, the Ghost, John Sung – reached his hand out and shook that of Alan Coe, who was, it seemed, an INS agent.

This gave him some concern, for Coe, he believed, had been part of a group of Chinese and American law enforcers pursuing him overseas. The task force had gotten close to him, troublingly close, but the Ghost's bangshou had done some investigating himself and learned that a young woman who'd worked in a company that the Ghost did business with had been giving the INS and the police information about his snakehead operations. The bangshou had kidnapped the woman, tortured her to find out what she'd told the INS and then buried her body on a construction site.