Chapter 14

"If someone had told me, following my rescue," I declared, "that one day, I'd be going back to China of my own free will ... I'd have said they were batshit crazy." I was wolfing down an Italian sub, complete with ham, capicola, pepperoni, Genoa salami, and a generous helping of provolone cheese, all doused with vinegar and olive oil. So much for eating right, but I was hungry, and I knew it would likely be quite a while before I had access to this brand of cuisine.

Odalys, picking her way through a salad, offered up a giggle, but made no other verbal comment. Jose replied with, "You never know what life will throw your way, eh?"

Just a short while ago, they'd picked me up at JFK, following my flight from Miami. We were having a quick lunch at a small eatery in Queens, not too far from the airport. I had a little bit of time to kill, and it made sense to spend it off-airport in the company of good friends who just happened to live and work in the area. They'd both taken an extra-long lunch break. There was a four-and-a-half hour layover before the next leg of my jaunt got underway: that interminable thirteen-and-a-half hour flight to Beijing. Essentially, I was in the early stages of the same trip I'd taken nearly two years ago, except in reverse. This time, there would be no consulate or embassy visits – at least not until I reached my destination. And, as I'd just pointed out, I'd planned this journey myself, and was most definitely a willing traveler.

True to form, it didn't take long for Odalys to transition into her 'let's give Jake a hard time' mode. "You never did tell us what Wendy looks like," she grinned, looking me straight in the eye, her elbow resting on the table, her hand propping up her chin. She tapped her fingers on the table, implicitly telling me, "C'mon, spill the beans."

I smiled a little. I pulled my smart phone out of my pocket, and proceeded to bring up my photo gallery. I located 'the shot' – the one of Wendy in the pizza place in Chengdu – and handed the phone to Odalys.

"She's beautiful, Jake," Odalys commented after a moment's inspection. She then handed the phone to her husband, who expressed his approval with a tongue-in-cheek grin.

"Like I said earlier, Jake, you don't have a hair on your ass if you don't..." Jose's comment was cut off by an elbow from his laughing wife.

"Men, " she cackled. "You're all the same." I looked on with equal parts bemusement and melancholy, recalling how nice it was to have a long-standing significant other with whom to share moments of levity such as this.

"The thing is," I put in, "Wendy knows I'm coming. I know she's excited. But at the same time, I'm concerned. She assured me that she is free of the triad. But I have doubts about just how free she is. She doesn't want to say much in her emails ... beyond small talk, that is. And I've had no contact with her except through email. She told me it would be best to stay away from the telephone. On top of that, my contact at the US consulate in Chengdu backed her up. He told me that it's likely they're monitoring her phone calls, and probably her email as well."

"But she's been using someone else's email account, right?" Odalys pointed out.

"She is, and I mentioned that to my friend at the consulate. He still thinks it's risky. In fact, he was dead-set against my showing my face in the vicinity. He even tried to talk me out of traveling to China, period. I have a trump card, though, and I played it."

"What trump card?" wondered Jose.

"The fact that I have a job offer in the area."

"Ah."

I had taken steps to implement that crazy idea that had flashed through my mind, and it had indeed borne fruit. Sometimes, you just have to go for it. I had applied for a contract position as an English teacher in the Chengdu area. Of course, I had no formal teaching experience, although I had gotten a teaching certification many years ago. A major point in my favor was the fact that I had spent two years in China, and cultural adjustment would be a non-factor. Wendy had stepped up for me here, and provided me with a much-needed reference. She related how I had taken her from almost zero knowledge of English to near conversational level in a little more than a year, and this was enough to persuade the hiring manager to make me an offer. The contract was for six months, with extension a possibility. I was given visa sponsorship; a free, private, and furnished apartment with Internet access; and a monthly salary of about eight thousand yuan. That's about twelve hundred dollars. Shortly after my arrival, I would go through a two-week training program, which would include some instruction in Mandarin, and afford me the necessary teaching credentials. If I stuck with the assignment for the duration, they'd reimburse me for the airfare. I wouldn't be living in luxury, but it would be a comfortable existence.

There was an ironic aspect to this situation that wasn't lost on me. Roger Benson – the man whose identity I had assumed following his untimely demise – had scratched out a living in China in exactly the same manner.

All of this had forced me to make a heart-rending decision. I reluctantly decided to put the home I'd shared with Erin up for sale. I didn't know what I'd be doing when the six-month contract ended; I was leaving that completely up in the air. I was heading down a blind alley with no sense of direction. Still, when I viewed the situation with cold hard logic, I had to acknowledge that regardless of what path I ended up taking, the residence was more house than I really needed. It had been listed for sale two weeks ago, and Steve Robertson had offered to keep an eye on it in my absence. With regard to my personal belongings, I threw away what I didn't need, and put the absolute essentials into two large travel bags which I checked at the airport. The rest went into storage; I would decide what to do with it when the future became clearer.

Needless to say, I'd resigned from my insurance job. The powers that be let me know that they were sorry to see me go, and assured me that the job would be available for me if I ever wanted it back. I told them thanks, and that I would keep their offer in mind. I was just being polite. Realistically, I knew my days as an insurance salesman had come to an end. I had a new calling in life.

Odalys brought me out of my reverie. "You told Wendy about Erin, didn't you?" she put in gently.

"I did," I said with a tight-lipped expression, offering no more on the subject.

Soon, it was time to head back to the airport. I offered profuse thanks to Jose and Odalys as I got out of their car, not too far from the security entrance. I didn't know when I would see them again, but I would never forget the support and friendship they'd both demonstrated, at a time when I really needed it.

This is nuts, I said to myself as I picked up my bags (I'd gone through customs in Beijing) and left the airport proper. Absolutely fucking nuts. I'd arrived in Chengdu, and I couldn't get over the fact that I was back.

First on my agenda was a side trip to the US consulate. A driver met me at the curb, and helped me load my jam-packed bags into the trunk of his vehicle. Rick Yeung had requested that I meet with him as soon as possible upon my arrival. Truth be told, I didn't relish making a consulate visit at that point in time. I knew what they were going to say to me. But since Rick had been unfailingly helpful over the past couple of years, I felt that dropping by was the least I could do. Just as Wendy had, he'd stepped up for me in a big way with regard to my new teaching job. I'd been 'Roger Benson' when I helped Wendy learn English. That little inconsistency raised the eyebrows of the staff at the school, and also increased the risk of drawing unwanted attention from the triad. Rick had collaborated with Chinese authorities to somehow merge the two identities. He was coy about exactly how they'd accomplished that, leading me to believe that perhaps a rule (or two) had been skirted in the process.

"I'll bet you never expected to be back in this building one day," Rick said with a wry grin the moment I took a seat in his office.

"Not in my wildest dreams," I deadpanned.

He proceeded to remind me of the caution he'd expressed to me over the phone. "Just for form's sake," he told me, "I need to repeat what I said earlier on the phone. Watch your step in these parts. There are elements out there that would love to get their hands on you, and they most certainly will if you don't keep a low profile."

"I'll consider myself duly warned."

"But will you also consider going a step further, and making yourself scarce in the area until things settle down?"

"Not a chance," I said without flinching.

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he laughed. He appeared to understand, which took my respect for him up a notch. "Anyway, a certain gentleman will be dropping by shortly that you really should meet."

I was curious about the visitor, but kept it to myself. Rick proceeded to offer another round of cautionary advice, which was certainly a normal and necessary component of his job duties. Eventually, there was a knock on the door, and in stepped a trim, wiry, distinguished-looking man who appeared to be in his fifties.

"Jake Gustafson, I'd like you to meet Michael Chapman," said Rick.

"Glad to meet you, Jake," said Michael, in a thick British accent, as I offered a firm handshake. "I've heard plenty about you." He was nattily dressed, with neatly styled silver hair. His demeanor, full of ceremonial seriousness on the surface, nonetheless gave a hint at a dry sense of humor underneath. I wondered exactly why he was here. Then, I ran his name through my mind again, and I made the connection.

"It's you ... you're the one who's been relaying Wendy's emails to me."

"That would be correct," confirmed Michael. "Let me explain who I am. I hail from Manchester, England. I'm a private investigator who is here in China in connection with a certain project, at the request of our consulate in Chongqing. In years past, I was a close friend of a gentleman named Douglas Finney."

My jaw dropped. "That would be Sandra Finney's late husband."

Michael gave a nod of affirmation. "Doug and I attended university together. Following his untimely passing, I fell out of touch with his widow, especially after Sandra moved back to China. I was informed about her lengthy disappearance not too long ago. I was distressed to hear about it, and made some inquiries at the consular office. They took note of my skills and background, as well as the fact that I'm a personal friend, and offered me this gig. So, here I am. I'm aiming to do all I can to uncover Sandra's fate. I recall her as a wonderful lady."

"That she is," I asserted. "What have you learned? Is ... she still alive?"

"There is increasing evidence that she is indeed alive, and being kept somewhere against her will." His answer was rather deliberately vague, and I took this to mean that he wasn't at liberty to say more. Consequently, I moved on to the other item of concern.

"What about Wendy? She mentioned she was having problems with the triad."

For the first time, traces of a smile appeared on Michael's face. "Perhaps you would rather prefer that she told you the story herself."

"How soon can that be arranged?" I blurted out, sounding more eager than I intended.

My anxiousness caused Michael to chuckle. "I know for a fact that she is at work right now, and it's almost her quitting time. I'll be more than happy to take you there."

Rick, who'd been silent during this whole exchange, raised his hand at that point to express mild objection. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Michael? Remember that..."

"I have a feeling, Rick," interrupted Michael with a gentle laugh, "that Jake plans to head in that general direction regardless of any advice he might receive to the contrary. Why don't I just make it easier for him?"

I had nothing verbal to add, but I joined Michael in laughter, implicitly verifying that he'd just stated the truth.

Rick knew that further objection was useless; he merely shrugged his shoulders and grinned in resignation. "Fair enough. Just be careful, Jake."

I assured Rick that I would steer clear of trouble. I found the interplay between Rick and Michael fascinating; they were more than cordial with each other, although their agendas seemed to clash. Both were merely doing their jobs. Rick was primarily concerned with my safety, whereas Michael had an assignment to carry out. This whole affair, which involved not only the US and UK consulates but also Chinese law enforcement, had drawn attention from officials of three different nations.

As he steered his consulate-provided vehicle through the streets of Chengdu, Michael regaled me with tales of Sandra and her hubby from years gone by. He seemed to know his way around, and I commented on that fact.

"I've been here for three months," he replied, "and my typical day includes a lot of driving."

"Three months?" I exclaimed.

"Three months. And there's still a great deal left to be done."

I had many questions left to ask, but no time in which to do so. Michael pulled up in front of a nondescript one-story building which faced a small side street. He produced a business card and handed it to me. "Please keep in touch. I have a feeling that in the not too distant future, you and I will need each other's assistance."

I nodded, and then put forth an obvious question. "Is this where Wendy works?" She'd told me that she was now a receptionist, working for a small software company, and this building didn't match up with what I had pictured in my mind.

"She sits at the front desk. Open the door, step inside, and Wendy will be the one to greet you."

I gave Michael a firm handshake and thanked him for the ride. He told me I could leave my bags in the trunk of his car, for now. I told I'd touch base with him later in the evening, once I knew my plans. I separated out a change of clothes, a few toiletry items, and something to wear while sleeping, placing them in a large plastic bag. I wouldn't be able to move into my new place until tomorrow at the earliest. I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and turned to watch him drive off. I took a deep breath. It appeared that the moment was at hand.

I opened the door of the building, which bore no lettering of any kind. I stepped inside, and was relieved to see that it housed a typical office, complete with cubicles, file cabinets, copiers and printers. Michael had been right, for seated at the front desk was the lady I'd come to see.

Wendy's eyes met mine, and she began to greet me in a businesslike manner, just as she'd greet a typical office visitor. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting me to show up at that particular moment. Nonetheless, it didn't take long for recognition to sweep across her face. She let out a little cry, bringing both hands up to cover her mouth. Appearing to momentarily forget where she was, she stood up, walked around the desk to where I was standing, and threw her arms around me. A powerful feeling of euphoria came over me as I squeezed her tight; she pressed the side of her face against mine. Then, she stepped back slightly, as her now somewhat moist eyes locked with mine again. She reached up and pressed the palm of her hand against my cheek.

"It's you," she said, her voice quavering. "It's really you."

At that point, both of us became aware that we were being watched. Several of Wendy's co-workers had taken in the scene, and were tittering and chuckling among themselves. Wendy made a face in their direction, but otherwise appeared unfazed.