Читать книгу Meet Phoenix - Marcia King-Gamble - Страница 11

“What do you mean there’s been a holdup on the project? Why didn’t anyone call me?” I asked Xiong Jing, our project manager, when I met with him in the lobby the next morning.

“These things happen, madam. You are to enjoy your stay at the hotel until you hear otherwise.”

I was ready to go to work. A delay would mean my bonus was in jeopardy, the one I’d foolishly agreed to split. Turning my brown-eyed gaze on Xiong Jing, I said, “I’m Phoenix, not madam. I’d appreciate it if you’d remember that.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “As you wish.”

Xiong Jing, our project manager, was an Oxford-educated man in his late thirties. I’d disliked him on sight and I got the feeling the sentiment was mutual. There was something about the way he refused to look me in the eye.

His behavior hadn’t fazed Damon one bit. He’d shrugged, dismissing the man’s aloof body language as a cultural thing. But I thought there was more to it than that. I was certain Xiong Jing disliked females and black females at that.

So why hadn’t he told me there was a problem last evening when he’d called and arranged this meeting?

I studied the elaborate chandelier in the hotel lobby and prayed for patience—not one of my better virtues. That little problem had cost me an assignment or two.

I’d convinced my travel companions to sleep in, reminding them that this might be their one night in the lap of luxury. Future accommodations would be at the monastery in refurbished monks’ and nuns’ cells. Luxuries such as comfortable beds didn’t come with that territory.

“I can arrange tours of our beautiful city for you and your group, madam,” Xiong Jing offered, his eyes not quite meeting mine.

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s happening?” I asked, trying my best to tamp down on my irritation. What I really wanted to do was reach over, grab the man’s chin, and force him to look at me.

“Security’s been increased around the monastery,” Xiong Jing answered through an almost-closed mouth. “Rumor has it there was a bomb threat.”

“I guess it would make some serious statement, blowing up the Deprung Monastery where the Maitreya is being housed.”

He didn’t seem that perturbed at the thought. “We live in an era of terrorism,” Xiong Jing said. “The discovery of Maitreya—considered ‘the future’—is bound to cause unrest. If you have political or social changes there are always disbelievers. Humans will sacrifice themselves for the cause.”

Was there a hidden meaning behind this? I didn’t have time to interpret double entendres, if that’s what it was. I’d reflect on Xiong Jing’s words later.

“So what do we do?” I asked. “Sit at this hotel and twiddle our thumbs until you contact us?”

“Madam, you can, or you can go on one of our tours and learn something about my country. That might be the smart thing to do until things calm down.”

I didn’t like his tone or the implication that I knew very little about his country. I also didn’t like it that he was perfectly accepting of the delay.

“Surely there’s someone else I can talk to,” I fumed. “Where is Liu Bangfu, the Minister of Religion and Culture? Will he not be meeting with us?”

“The minister is busy dealing with the police and such,” Xiong Jing responded smoothly. “I promised him I would take very good care of you. And I will.”

I took a step toward the smarmy project manager. A muscle in his jaw flickered. He stepped back, keeping an acceptable space between us. He probably wasn’t used to anyone getting in his face, especially a woman.

“Why don’t you take me to the police?” I asked, softening my tone a bit. “I’d like to hear what they’re doing about this bomb threat.”

“Madam, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Phe, are you badgering our project manager?” Damon’s amused voice came from behind me.

I turned to find him only feet away, so close I could smell the combination of body heat and musk, his characteristic scent. He’d been jogging. His silver-streaked curls were plastered to his head and sweat trickled down his solar plexus. In some ways, I’d once thought he was the best-looking man I knew. I still did.

Raising a corded arm, Damon took a swig from a foam cup he was carrying.

I shot him a disgusted look and turned my attention back to Xiong Jing.

“Don’t let her bully you,” Damon said, trying to be the peacemaker and buddying up to the man.

“Stay out of this.”

Xiong Jing, happy to have an ally, chuckled. “Ms. Phoenix is in no way bullying me. She has been most gracious.” He was comfortable with his own gender. He repeated to Damon what he’d just told me.

Damon pumped both arms in the air. “A small reprieve, a chance to go sightseeing. Buddha is good. And so is this magnificent hotel.” Grabbing my elbow, he attempted to propel me along. “Chica, you and I are going out on the town. I’ll even spring for breakfast.”

“I’ve had breakfast,” I snarled. “I need to find the Minister of Religion and Culture.”

“Find him later.” Damon made a production of sniffing under his armpits. “Turning me down, Phe? I guess I do need a shower.”

Despite my earlier irritation with him I laughed. He really was pitiful. Pitiful but funny. It was one of the things I had liked about him. He pretty much took everything in stride.

Besides, having Damon with us might come in useful after all. I was slowly finding out that being a female in this male-dominated city, dubbed the Roof of the World, was not going to be a picnic.

Two hours later after breakfast and leaving Damon to sightsee solo, I was seated in a crumbling old Tibetan building on the east side of Lhasa. Xiong Jing, who reluctantly agreed to accompany me here, paced the austere waiting room of the minister’s office. The expression on his face was inscrutable. Three puny miniature golden yaks, encased in glass, were considered decoration.

Tossing aside the newspaper I’d been pretending to read, I approached a petite secretary who was hunting and pecking on an old typewriter.

She was Chinese, and took her duties seriously, guarding the Minister of Religion and Culture like a zealous Foo Dog. So far she’d managed to keep me at bay by insisting Liu Bangfu was still meeting with the chief of police. The typewriter she banged on I hadn’t seen the likes of in years. No fancy technology here.

The secretary looked up nervously when I approached.

I drummed my fingers on her ancient desk and stared her down.

“Yes, madam?”

“I’m giving the minister another five minutes then I’m going in,” I said.

Scooting her chair back a safe distance, she squeaked, “Mr. Bangfu has given me strict orders that he is not to be interrupted.”

I straightened my five-foot-nine-inch frame. “Please remind him that I’ve been waiting here almost an hour,” I said, leaning in closer. She seemed to shrink.

Xiong Jing was still pacing. He darted worried looks at me. Judging by his mottled complexion, he would have preferred to be anywhere but here.

“I’m counting to ten, then I’m going in,” I said, beginning to count softly.

The frightened secretary picked up the receiver but hesitated before inserting a finger into the rotary dial.

Grabbing the receiver from her, I announced, “Ten,” and planted it back into its cradle. Leaving her openmouthed, I stalked by her and wended my way down a long corridor. Heels thudded behind me as Xiong Jing followed.

I stuck my head into the first open door and called, “Hello, sorry to interrupt. I’ve been waiting outside for quite some time.”

A middle-aged Chinese man held a receiver in one hand. He barked something into the mouthpiece before dropping it into its cradle. The brass nameplate on his desk confirmed that he was Liu Bangfu.

“Mr. Bangfu,” I said, pointedly glancing at my watch. “I thought perhaps you had forgotten me.”

An eyebrow rose. “Ms. Sutherland, welcome. You are the American restorer?”

The emphasis placed on American did not go unnoticed.

“Yes, I’m Phoenix Sutherland.”

“My apologies. Didn’t your project manager tell you a situation came about I needed to handle?” His natural graciousness kicking in, he stuck out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, madam.”

I accepted that hand, squeezing it hard enough to make him realize I wasn’t just some girlie-girl.

“May I offer you soja, our tea?” the minister asked, actually wincing. Gently he pried his hand loose and picked up the receiver again.

“Bring us tea,” he ordered into the phone, no doubt addressing the secretary.

“I’d just like to be told what’s going on and what the reason is for this delay,” I insisted.

The minister and Xiong Jing exchanged looks. For a moment I thought neither would answer.

“This bomb threat has us all nervous and aware,” Liu Bangfu said carefully.

“Isn’t the chief of police involved? What is he doing about this? I thought you were meeting with him.”

That produced another set of glances.

“Ten Seng Yang and I conducted our business over the phone. Have a seat.”

I sat in the one chair facing Bangfu and waited for him to go on. When no further explanation followed, I added, “Please tell me what’s going on?”

Liu Bangfu’s glasses slid dangerously low on his nose. He fidgeted with them then finally gave up. I could tell he wasn’t used to explaining himself to a woman and didn’t like it one bit.

“Didn’t I say the police are looking into it?” he said, the corners of his mouth turned up in what was supposed to be a smile. “I am certain they will keep us informed.”

“And just what are they looking into?”

“They’re interrogating groups that are known to be disruptive.”

A shriek came from the doorway. The noise sounded like a panic-stricken cat. We all jumped. The annoying secretary came scurrying in, arms flapping.

“Sir, sir,” she squeaked, hopping from one high-heeled foot to another. “We need to leave the building. Now. There’s been a bomb threat.”

“What!” Bangfu was up like a shot, gathering the papers on his desk. “You’d better leave,” he said, bolting from behind its safety. My project manager, who’d forgotten he had promised to take good care of me, raced after him.

Bangfu’s secretary’s high-pitched voice carried. “I got an anonymous call from a man who said a bomb was planted in the building. I telephoned the police. They told me to get out now. Come, come, we must go.”

I could be hardheaded but I wasn’t a fool. I sprinted right after her, but instead of leaping onto the creaky elevator they were all taking, I raced down three flights of stairs. I almost got run over by a number of uniformed men wearing visors and gloves on their way up.

I burst out of the building and spotted the majority of people milling around on the other side of the street. Neither Bangfu, my project manager, nor the minister’s high-strung secretary were among them. Suddenly I spun around.

Was I imagining things?

I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. I looked across the street and into the eyes of the pickpocket who’d attempted to steal my wallet on the plane. He took off running.

Without looking right or left I gave chase, darting across the street and right in front of a pedicab. The driver swerved, cursing at me. I was fast losing sight of my accoster. Pushing people aside, I raced after him, and came damn close to catching him, when I tripped and fell. By the time I’d steadied myself, he was plowing through the crowd.

I continued my pursuit. Brakes squealed and cars swerved as I wove through the traffic. Foreign curses came at me from every direction. Bent and determined as I was that he would not get away, I sprinted in front of a bus packed with locals. The vehicle swerved in a valiant attempt to avoid running me over.

Frustrated, I watched the thief hop into an idling cab and the vehicle inch its way onto the road.

I couldn’t just sit helplessly and let the pickpocket get away, not when there was a car at my disposal.

I spied an idling SUV and dove onto the driver’s lap. Opening the door, I pushed him out.

“I need to borrow your car. I’ll make it up to you!” I started the ignition and swerved onto the street.

Horns honked and metal scraped metal. I held on to the steering wheel for dear life. Another vehicle clipped the back bumper and the SUV catapulted upward before settling on the sidewalk. I tried steering around the crowd of scattering people and finally slid to a stop in front of a terrified woman clutching the hands of two children. The mother and children barely had time to make it out of the way before I lost control and the truck plowed headfirst into a brick building. There were popping sounds and a loud explosion.

Then everything around me crumbled in slow motion.

I knew I was alive because there was an acrid smell in my nostrils. I felt hands under my armpits pulling me from the vehicle. I was laid on my back looking up at a darkening sky alive with pyrotechnics. There was a buzz of conversation around me and the bitter taste of smoke in my mouth. My entire body burned.

Memory came back in vivid Technicolor. I had tossed a man out of his car and wrecked it. What was I thinking? I would need to make good on that somehow. Was that even possible? A huge adrenaline rush forced me into a seated position. I needed to find the man and make amends. Strong arms pushed me back onto the sidewalk and foreign words filled my ears.

In the distance, sirens wailed followed by more popping and loud explosions. Flames spiraled sky-high as people dived for cover. Now I was alone, left to claw my way through mass hysteria, bitter smoke making me choke. The vehicle I’d been in just minutes ago was engulfed in flames and so were several others. I hoped there were no humans inside.

Sick to my stomach, I fought the stream of traffic and retraced my steps, looking for the government building that I’d fled earlier.

My chest felt constricted and my lungs hurt. I passed injured people, and tripped over those way beyond help. I hit a wall of crying, screaming human bodies that police struggled to hold back. Those that still breathed life were being shoveled into the backs of ambulances. Only a charred column of the government building remained. I’d been lucky to get out.

I looked up at the spiraling smoke in disbelief and tuned out the popping and hissing. The skeletonlike building reminded me of a spent sparkler at the culmination of the Fourth of July. But this was not Independence Day and I was far away from the good old U.S. of A. The building I had just been in and had been driving near—had been bombed. Looked like those threats were true.

I was surrounded by shocked faces coated in gray-and-white film. For the first time in a long while I did not feel in control of my life. I stood there praying that the obnoxious project manager, the Minister of Religion and Culture and even the vapid secretary had been spared.

Life, sweet life. I breathed in and out, long and deep.

A voice I recognized filtered through the madness. “Madam,” Xiong Jing said, tapping me on the arm. “There you are. Are you okay?! I have a hired car. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

I hadn’t thought it was possible to be this happy to see anyone in my life. I could have easily hugged him.

Turning away from the sight that was destined to haunt me for the rest of my life, I followed Xiong Jing to a side street where several parked cars waited.

I wanted to kiss the sidewalk and give praise to Damon’s Buddha.