Author's Note: It probably would've helped if I'd looked this up BEFORE I posted the previous chapter. It turns out there is no Great Britain Embassy in Los Angeles. The only embassy is in Washington, D.C. However, there is a Great Britain CONSULATE in Los Angeles, so I've made the appropriate changes to chapter ten. My apologies to anyone who actually knew this;) In the last few chapters of this story, my research muse has abandoned me. I'm trying to get myself back in line.

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Chapter Eleven

"Finally," Meg said aloud as the California coastline came into view thirty- five thousand feet below. Mia once again had her nose stuck to the window. She turned her head to grin at Meg. Meg grinned back and stifled a yawn. While Mia had gotten plenty of nap time in, Meg had been too worried to close her eyes for more than five minutes. Great, they had left Beijing at noon and were arriving in Los Angeles at one PM, after a seventeen hour trip. Greenwich mean time was a bitch.

Thirty minutes later, they landed and went through the process of deboarding and then to the nearest restroom to polish up their disguises. Meg put some drops in her eyes and smoothed the wig down. She would be glad to dump this particular disguise once and for all.

As they stood in line at customs, Meg began to have an uneasy feeling. She glanced casually around, but didn't recognize anyone, nor did anyone seem to be paying them any undue attention. She shrugged it off and tried to appear casual as she handed her passport to the customs clerk. The clerk eyed her passport, then Meg herself. He consulted a piece of paper at his elbow and picked up the phone. Meg's uneasiness grew.

"Is there a problem?" Meg asked, trying to inject just the right amount of customer irateness into her tone. The clerk held up a silencing finger as he spoke to someone in hushed tones over the phone. He hung up and turned to speak to her.

"Miss Thompson, could you please step aside for a moment?" he asked politely as a couple of armed guards walked around the booth. Don't panic, Meg told herself, nodding casually to the guards as if she was pulled aside quite regularly by airport security. Behind her, Mia had handed her passport over to the clerk. "Wait," he called out to the guards. "This one is on the list, too."

Mia came to stand beside Meg as they were guided down a hallway and into a room, which contained a battered table and two chairs. The door was closed behind them, the sound of a lock clicking into place. A mirror took up the wall just inside the door, obviously one of those one-way jobs where the officials get their jollies by watching you while you can't watch them back. A window looked out into the hallway, a set of blinds attached on the outside. Meg walked over to see what she could see, but a guard pulled the blinds closed.

The briefcase! Meg suddenly remembered. She opened the case and pulled out the diplomatic sheets. As she closed the briefcase, she leaned over to Mia's ear.

"Follow my lead," she whispered. Well, when in doubt, fake it. Meg walked boldly over to the mirror and knocked politely. "Excuse me! I need to speak to someone in charge, please. We're in Los Angeles on official business for the British and American Embassies of Beijing, we have appointments to keep at the British Consulate." No response. "Time sensitive material," Meg elaborated. A minute later, the door opened. A tubby rumpled man entered, closing the door behind him.

"Miss Thompson, Miss Ju," he said, smiling and nodding to each of them in turn. "I apologize for keeping you waiting." He turned to the mirror and nodded. He waited a few moments and then turned back to them, his pleasant demeanor now gone. "Meg Coburn and Miasu Lee, I presume. You two have given us quite a bit of trouble." Meg stepped in front of Mia and backed them into a corner.

"Who are you?" Meg demanded, glancing around the room for a weapon. Unless she wanted to pick up a chair and whack him with it, that pretty much exhausted her weapons choices. Tubby smiled again, but it was cold.

"My name doesn't matter. I work for Mr. Koy and Mr. Koy would like an answer to a question," he said as he walked slowly towards them. "Just one question." He was now standing no more than a foot from Meg, she could smell the breath mint he must've chewed on earlier. "Where. Is. John. Lee?" Meg looked him in the eye.

"Who?" she asked innocently. "I don't know any John Lee." Tubby's expression went flat and he signaled to the mirror. The door opened and two other men entered the room, big burly types who always seem to be named 'Guido'. Tubby turned back to Meg.

"No?" he asked, almost genial again. "You're certain of that?"

"Yep," Meg confirmed, nodding.

"That's a pity. Perhaps Miasu would be more knowledgeable concerning the whereabouts of her brother." He turned to the men and nodded, then backed away. Guido #1 grabbed Meg, Guido #2 Mia. Meg felt a surge of real fear. This was bad, very bad. With guns, she was top notch. Hand to hand she could hold her own, but against three men? She was about to throw caution to the wind and let loose with her fists and feet when they heard a commotion outside in the hallway. Everyone in the room froze.

The door opened admitting a tall gangly balding blond man, a shorter Chinese man, and two police officers. Meg almost didn't recognize the Chinese man as Chien Yau, the Buddhist monk. He was dressed in a business suit. He caught her eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly. She got the message and kept her mouth shut.

"My dear Miss Ju," the gangly man said with a British accent, coming forward and taking Mia's hand. He raised an eyebrow at Guido #2 holding Mia's arm, who immediately let go and backed away, throwing a confused look at Tubby and Guido #1. "I am so sorry I'm late. Traffic was atrocious, but unfortunately it often is in the City of Angels." Gangly turned to Meg. "And you must be Miss Thompson. Miss Ju can't say enough good things about you, so lovely to finally meet you," he gushed, shaking Meg's hand. Tubby stepped forward.

"Could I have your name, please?" he inquired, all politeness once again.

"Oh, of course, how rude of me. I'm Sir Randolph Cole of the British Consulate," he said, holding out his hand. "And you are?" Tubby didn't miss a beat, taking hold and shaking firmly.

"Anthony Steadham, head of security here at LAX."

"Excellent job you do here, Mr. Steadham, simply fabulous. I apologize for the inconvenience, my fault, I assure you. Pleasure to have met you, but the ladies and I really must be running along, we are late," Cole pattered on, maneuvering Meg and Mia to the door. Steadham wasn't easily dissuaded though, stepping in their path.

"I'm sorry, Sir Cole, but I really need to ask Miss Ju and Miss Thompson a few more questions." Cole clasped his hands behind his back and stood in front of Steadham, his easygoing manner evaporated.

"Mr. Steadham, I assume you've heard of diplomatic immunity?" Steadham's mouth tightened and he nodded. Cole went on as if Steadham hadn't responded. "It means that Miss Ju and I are not subject to American laws. Under normal circumstances, Miss Thompson would be, but since she is our laison, the same courtesy is extended to her." Cole's jovial nature returned. "Now if you'll excuse us, we really must be going, our police escort awaits." With that, he ushered Meg and Mia out the door along with Chien and the police officers.

The group made their way through the airport and out the arrivals terminal where a limousine with diplomatic tags and British flags a flyin' awaited, police motorcycles stood in front and behind. Cole, Chien, Meg, and Mia piled into the limo while the police officers mounted their cycles. In minutes, they were on their way into downtown LA.

Meg opened her mouth to say something, but Cole held up a hand and then pushed a button. A dividing window rose between the driver and themselves.

"Just a moment, if you please," he said as he picked up a pair of large headphones, the kind that cover the entire ear. He fit them snugly on his head and opened a folder with a stack of paperwork. "I like to maintain plausible deniability at all times," he explained, flipping a switch on a stereo system and lowering his head to read.

"Chien," Meg began, "what are you doing here? What was that all about?"

"John contacted me," Chien replied in a low voice. "Koy had discovered your assumed names and had people waiting for you at the airport, as you saw. I enlisted the help of Sir Cole to intervene." Mia sat forward.

"John is safe?" she asked, mirroring Meg's unspoken question.

"Yes, quite safe. And Koy will no longer be a bother to you." Meg and Mia looked at each other. "Do not worry," he continued, "John is on his way to Los Angeles, he will arrive this evening. You are Mia, I presume?" he asked. Mia nodded.

"And you are Chien. John and Meg say good things about you." Chien chuckled.

"I'm glad to hear that." The limo made good time with the police escort and they pulled up to the building housing the British Consulate on Wilshire Blvd. They exited the vehicle and Cole waved to the escorts, who continued down the street.

"Always a pleasure, Chien," Sir Cole told him, shaking his hand. "Ladies," he said, nodding at Meg and Mia. He then turned and entered the building.

"I will continue to the temple. You have a room at St. Regis," Chien told them, removing a key card from his pocket and handing it to Meg. "Number three-sixty." He smiled at them both and slid back into the limo. As it pulled away from the curb, Meg turned to Mia.

"Guess we're taking a taxi. I am really starting to hate taxis. In fact, I think we need our own wheels." She hailed a cab and they got in, heading for the nearest car dealership. An hour later, they drove out of Buerge Ford on Santa Monica in a brand new black Explorer, paid for in cash. Luckily, this wasn't an extremely surprising thing to happen in LA and the salesman barely batted an eyelash.

After another stop at the Los Angeles branch of Credit Lyonnais for an infusion of cash and shopping for clothes and essentials, they finally made it to the hotel. A room service meal and a shower later, Meg was ready for lights out. Mia stayed in the main room of the suite to watch American prime time while Meg crashed in one of the bedrooms.

Neither had noticed the white utility van that had followed them around most of the afternoon and was now parked in the hotel's underground garage. Empty.

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John's flight landed around ten PM, his trip through customs uneventful. He had thought it best to obtain a new passport before leaving Beijing, so he made another visit to Andrew Stilton from the British Embassy. If Koy knew the name Alan Chan, then others would as well. As soon as he was out of the arrivals terminal, he caught a cab and headed for the temple to see Chien.

The temple was just as he remembered it. He entered the main room, his step slowing as he neared the spot where Alan had died. He lit a stick of incense for his friend, inserting it into the brass bowl of sand in front of the statue of Buddha.

"John," Chien said behind him. John turned. "It is good to see you."

"And you, Chien," John replied, shaking hands. "How are Meg and Miasu?"

"They're fine, everything went as planned," Chien replied, motioning him to a sitting area off the main hall. He took a rectangular mahogany lacquered box about the size of a hardcover book down from a shelf and set it on the table. "As requested," he told John, who opened the box. John nodded at the contents and gave Chien a small smile.

"Thank you," John said sincerely. "For everything." Chien just waved his hand dismissively, holding out a key card and a Beretta with an extra ammo clip.

"I hope you will not need that," Chien told him, indicating the gun. "Meg and Miasu are at the St. Regis on Avenue of the Stars, room three-sixty. Good luck, John." John put the card in his pocket, the gun into the waistband of his pants, and picked up the box. With a final nod to Chien, he stepped outside to his waiting cab.

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Steadham was pissed. That limey prick bastard Cole, he fumed for the umpteenth time. Cole had made him look bad in front of his men and that was unacceptable. But considering Cole's political ties and importance, going after him directly wasn't worth the risk. Besides, he had to babysit those bitches from the airport until John Lee showed up.

He had heard a rumor that Koy was dead, that Lee had killed him in China. It was being neither confirmed nor denied. Whatever. As long as he got paid, he didn't give a shit. He glanced over the rim of the newspaper he was pretending to read and nearly dropped it.

John Lee was passing through the lobby of the St. Regis, walking towards the elevators. Steadham struggled to his feet and fell in step behind him, just a fellow passenger going up. John hit the button for three and looked politely to Steadham.

"Four, please," Steadhman responded. John pushed four and stood back. Steadham feigned boredom, bouncing on his heels. The doors opened on three and John walked out. Steadham waited until the doors were about to close and then slipped out.

He followed John, staying as far back as possible without losing him, waiting until each corner had been rounded before proceeding down that passage himself. John finally stopped at room three-sixty and pulled out a key card. He unlocked the door and walked inside, closing the door behind him.

Steadham smiled. Time to call in the troops.

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Another Author's Note: Okay, maybe ONE more shootout;) And it looks like there will be at least another chapter as well. But we're almost there, I promise!

Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah, real places, never been to them, made up details. 'Kay? Oh, and I honestly looked and looked for something on customs procedures at LAX and diplomatic immunity for foreigners in America, but came up with nada. So I made those up as well.