The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [75]
Simms looked to Kitteredge as if he expected him to intervene.
Kitteredge did. “Yes, Mr. Simms, perhaps you could explain?”
“Neal Carey telephoned me from the YMCA in Kowloon and said he had Pendleton and Li Lan and please come and get him. I of course said I would, and sent the nearest available resources over. When they got there, perhaps forty-five minutes later, Carey, Pendleton, and the woman were gone. When I got there in another hour, they were still gone. That was six weeks ago. We have since managed to track them as far as a temple near the Walled City.”
“What’s that?” Levine asked.
“It is the eighth circle of hell. It is an area only about the size of three football fields, yet perhaps the densest maze in the urban cosmography.”
Kitteredge leaned over his desk. “Mr. Simms, please spare us any further demonstrations of your … erudition. We all acknowledge that you are intelligent. You may take that as a stipulation, and please begin to speak in English.”
Simms flushed. He didn’t particularly care for Yankees, or Irishmen, or for that matter Jews, and he was having to put up with an especially unpleasant combination of all three.
“The Walled City is a no-man’s-land. It had its beginnings as a fort that became a haven for squatters during the early days of British colonization. Neither the Chinese nor the British attempt to administrate it, so it is controlled by an uneasy confederation of tongs. Tongs, or Triads, are gangs—”
“We have them in New York,” Graham said.
“How nice for you. Anyway, the original walls have long since crumbled, but the area is actually an impenetrable maze, a hovel of the worst kind of crime: Drugs, extortion, slavery, and child prostitution flourish there. The police rarely venture inside, and tourists are warned that even to step into the Walled City is a risky proposition. People simply disappear.”
Gone, Graham thought.
“If Carey was lured into the Walled City, I’m afraid he is in desperate trouble.”
“He’s a tough kid,” Levine said, but Graham could hear the fear in his voice. Ed Levine always said that he hated Neal Carey, but Graham knew better. Besides, Neal was Ed’s employee, one of his people, and Ed Levine was fiercely protective of his people.
“That won’t do him much good, I’m afraid,” Simms answered. “If he’s in there, he’s in one of the most vicious slums in the world. A place without law, ethics, or morals. A jungle.”
“What will happen to him?” asked Kitteredge, who had a banker’s way of cutting to the bottom line.
“I doubt they’d murder him outright, unless the Li woman ordered it.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s much more valuable alive.”
“To whom? As what?”
Simms smiled tightly. “A white youth would be an oddity there, to say the least. A commodity. They will probably auction him off to the highest bidder. This really is excellent tea. What is it?”
Simms’s hand reached for the teapot but never made it. A hard rubber artificial arm slammed it to the table and held it there.
“Go in and get him,” Graham said.
“Impossible. Now remove your arm, please.”
“Go in and get him.”
“I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
Graham pressed down hard. “Yeah. Do some of your fancy CIA shit on me. Terrify me.”
“Ease up, Joe,” Levine said. Graham could feel that the big man was getting ready to move, to peel him off Simms.
“I’ll break his fucking wrist, Ed.”
“Have you all considered the possibility that your Carey isn’t in the Walled City at all? That perhaps he is cashing a check in Peking, or on a nice beach in Indonesia somewhere, laughing at all of us?”
Simms was trying to maintain his cool, but the voice betrayed pain.
“Mr. Graham,” said Kitteredge, “please release your … hold … on our guest’s arm.”
Graham pressed down a little harder before letting up. He looked Simms in the eye and repeated, “Go in and get him.”
Simms ignored him and turned to Kitteredge. He was red in the face and rubbing his wrist as he asked, “What do you want me to do, Mr. Kitteredge?”
“Mr. Simms, I want you to go in and get him.”
“Look,