SIX DEGREES
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
Chapter 12|Tilting Windmills
Despite being long returned to its Chinese masters, Britain's influence still hung heavy over Hong Kong, no more so than in its grand hotels, still far eastern bastions of high tea and quinine beneath tropical torpor. Where Kowloon's Peninsula looked back to heady days of Empire however, the Mandarin debuted into England's 1960's resurgence, alongside James Bond, the pop invasion and a sense of modernist flourish, eyeing its dowdier competitor across Victoria Harbour's bustling waters. While half a century had rendered its twenty-five storeys less impressive than when they towered above rickshaws and junks, few newer, flashier competitors could match its cachet, woven now into the city's fabric.
This was where the world met Hong Kong.
Sparing a smile for milling business types as she glided under its wide portico, Monty swept past a waiting porter before tripping neatly up marble stairs. Pausing at their crest, conscious of the Type 54's bulk concealed above her white dress's short hem, she waited for the doorman to swing back heavy glass, ushering her into the long lobby, low ceiling endowment of a mid-century past. Ahead, more recently added dark stone and wood stretched away, tall boots clicking across cold flooring as she passed by squat furniture and oriental statuary.
Gaudy.
Even in the afternoon's empty hours, caught between a late lunch and early cocktails, conversation hummed through rarefied air as Hong Kong society mingled with guests; expat, ethnic Chinese, or otherwise, idling toward beckoning evening. Letting heavy lidded eyes slide languidly across those seated by polished walls, the occasional appreciative return glance was met with twitching lips as the girl sauntered unhurriedly on. Plenty of time to let them see, plenty of time to let them speculate on what she might be doing here…
…plenty of time hunting faces she knew, and committing those she did not to memory.
So far, so clear.
'Hong Kong Society', she treated another onlooker to that secretive smile, using it to conceal the wry expression which was her first impulse. Pity she was unlikely to mingle with it again in the near future given her current situation but, at the very least, that should simplify picking anyone appearing at some later date.
Turning at the space's end, stairs brought her to a wooded elevator hall and, standing aside to allow another pair of business types past, matching companions on respective arms, she slid into the lift herself, one eye on their retreating backs. Seemingly she need not have worried about arriving too early.
Fortunately the elevators were one thing which had been updated across the hotel's extensive lifetime and, stepping onto upper floors, Monty checked the hall over before continuing her smooth gait along thick carpet, sliding Vito's room key from a small purse. Making a show of checking the number embossed across its plastic face before halting outside the appropriate door, she slipped quietly in, one slender arm snaking back to present the world with a 'do not disturb' sign. A good start, seemingly the hotel were unaware their patron would not be returning.
Straightening as the heavy latch clicked shut, she placed her bag down on an entry table, sensual overtones melting away as her big pistol was withdrawn from its hiding place. Empty living room momentarily discounted, she moved quickly around the suite, through the walk-in-robe and bathroom with its veined marble and white, freestanding, bath. Those opulent surrounds were rather sullied by a small pile of clothes next to one cylindrical sink, albeit now neatly folded by some maid and, moving on, the bedroom showed similar evidence of a mess having been tidied. Seemingly Vito was yet to be housebroken.
Or she had been beaten here.
Ignoring that last thought the young spy returned whence she had started, gun holstered again to run evaluating eyes around the lounge.
No, she should not have been beaten, at least not by anyone she knew of, not by Zhang, and not by Charlie either. By all accounts Vito was not an idiot and, while admittedly her only information on him originated from the espionage world's pub leagues, an even semi-competent operator should have managed to hold out in interrogation this long. That did of course assume Zhang was still playing close to his chest, and not leveraging what resources Second Department would inevitably have embedded at the Mandarin to identify his captive.
For now, she could only assume being first here, though that assumption would need to be tempered with a second that she did not enjoy unlimited time. One way or the other, the competition would not be far behind.
Well, there was only one place to start.
The suite's safe was located near its bathroom entry, set above floor level with voids overhead and under to store luggage. Leaning in, Monty ran an evaluating eye over it: a tall item, better than the usual hotel fare, though not by much, but probably with a servo instead of solenoid driven lock, thus ruling out simply giving it a good, solid, thump. Reaching forward, she instead typed in a quick string of zeroes to its digital keypad, then hit the hash key, only to be rewarded by an angry beep.
So, the Mandarin had been conscientious enough to change the default override key.
Her next attempts yielded similar results, a dead end: continuing to try and guess codes was a waste of time, especially when hotel safes were traditionally so poorly secured. Giving up on her first attack, the young agent slid one slender arm down the appliance's side, feeling across its back. Running a hand over textured metal, searching fingers returned empty and, withdrawing once more, she changed tack a second time. Investigating under the shelf revealed nothing, no hold down bolts or signs of screws and, wrapping arms around her current endeavour once more, Monty shuffled it out, weight supported on one palm as thick steel threatened to teeter forward. The other hand began to search across its base and, this time, she found what she was looking for: a small hole, probably intended for a hold down bolt or similar covered, by the feel of things, with an inside carpet. Fair enough too, no need to let guests know the management had put security behind ease of maintenance.
Sliding the safe back just enough that it would not fall, the young agent quickly located a wire coat hanger, throwing another look at her target before untwining it to bend flexible metal into a rough zed pattern. Pulling the safe forward again, her knife made quick work of whittling a hole in the floor lining, creating enough gap to push whatever lay upon it out of the way and insert her makeshift tool, wrestling it up toward the roof. Feeling it bounce off the box's top, a little further teasing had it scraping the door instead and, in the upper hinged corner, the tip encountered a small protuberance.
Reset button, a fast way to clear the mechanism's memory for the next guest.
Positioning her wire carefully, Monty gave it a firm twitch, the lock's beep of compliance sounding in response. Still supporting heavy steel with one hand, she entered a new code and, hearing bolts retract, hauled the safe open.
Her wire was the first thing to fall out. Extracting that remaining length to be cast aside, she was able to push her burden back into place, attention turning to its contents which, as it eventuated, were sparser than hoped: a few passports, wad of assorted notes, mostly Hong Kong dollars or Euro and… a tablet, with keyboard folded up beside. The notes were tempting but, while the tiny transmitters of Bond fiction still remained, fortunately, fiction, she would not dare spend them. Assuming she remained first on scene was one thing, taking that which may be tampered with or traceable was pushing that assumption somewhat farther than comfortable. Ignoring those she instead gathered up passports and tablet, carrying them back to be spread across the lounge work desk, blinds behind already shut against an otherwise picturesque Victoria Harbour vista.
Laid beside Vito's effects, her purse disgorged a ruggedised handheld computer, one of Katherine's toys. Hacking had not been either of their specialities and, running a cable between it and Vito's device, she scrolled through its menu to configure the appropriate bypass program; uncannily similar to that provided to her by the SWA.
Seemingly not all the technology department's equipment was quite so bespoke as they liked to make out.
Setting it running she put the device down. Unfortunately, rugged did not equal powerful, and she had been warned any hack would likely require some time: recently updated database or not. Taking the first passport instead, she photographed its cover, carefully working through each page in sequence before moving onto the next. By Hilshire's report, Vito had been on the run when they caught up with him and, if he were bright, these identities would be reserved for just such an occasion. Of course, if they had not been… if they had not been Vito really was only suited to the pub leagues, which made them worth keeping all the same, though Rome was going to need to wait on that information for a bit.
Closing the final booklet, she glanced across at Katherine's handheld: still going. It had better hurry up, she did not want to be here all night.
Making a quick check of desk drawers, empty, Monty returned spent documentation to the safe and, stepping back, surveyed what could be seen of the suite again.
Like the work desk, bedside tables yielded little result, as did the mattress between, and adjoining bathroom, ceiling ventilation grates pushed aside to reveal nothing but dust concealed in cavities behind. Vito must have been travelling light and, at the thought, her eyes fell to his two streamlined hard cases, stashed below the safe's nook. Motorcycle panniers: Hilshire had said he fled on a bike.
Before she could act however, a soft chime from the lounge drew her attention and, hurrying back, she found the tablet displaying its home screen. Not a layout she was entirely familiar with and, glancing at her watch, the girl grimaced: if hauling data out took as long as breaking in had then time was going to be at a premium, and she had other appointments to keep. No chance to pick and choose then and, scrolling through Katherine's menus again, she instructed the handheld to simply image whatever it was attached to. That would take time as well, but right now she needed to be out, and this way she at least had a chance of interrogating the stored data later. Much longer here and her cover was going to require staying the night, a less than enticing prospect for multitudinous reasons.
Returning to Vito's minimal luggage she lifted both panniers, before selecting the heaviest, popping the top of which released a musky scent of unaired laundry and old cologne from clothes piled to its brim. Apparently it had been serving duty as a dirty clothes basket though, going by the quantity of garments also scattered around the suite, her mark had been shopping rather than washing.
Nose wrinkling, Monty dug soiled fabric from the case, hauled out in small lots lest anything of importance be concealed amongst crumpled folds. Finding nothing, her attention instead turned to the pannier itself, supported at arm's length for inspection. Flipping it around, she checked the interior, before holding it away again, one eyebrow raised: unless she were very much mistaken, the piece was distinctly shallower inside than out. Placing it on the floor, questing fingers began running over neatly lined sides inch by inch and, reaching the base, fabric shifted slightly under her touch. Pressing harder, she was rewarded with a click, the bottom plate jumping slightly as its latch released, and a thin smile cracked pink lips: her own suitcase contained a similar compartment, albeit smaller. That was probably now in the Autumn Orchid's possession, along with her suppressor, and the fratello's spare magazines and ammunition, which was vexing.
A hand swung back to brush again across the holstered Type 54… another good reason to carry that instead.
Lifting the floor panel away however found the compartment bare, cut outs in dense foam suggesting space for triple magazines and a compact handgun of some description, presumably that Vito had dropped during his scuffle with Katherine. Finding nothing did her little good though and, shoving dirty clothes back in place, her attention turned instead to its twin. That proved emptier than the first, giving up a few toiletries, a pack of condoms… probably more equipment case than clothing and, prying away its respective false floor, she hid another smile: now she had some idea where his priorities lay.
Perhaps more interestingly, his luggage was patently meant to go only as a set and, lifting out a box of .45 ammunition, she prized it open: still full. Seemingly he had not found cause to use that between Italy and Hong Kong, and it was certainly not for the second firearm concealed alongside. Extricating the small weapon, she turned it over in slender fingers, SWA's imbued knowledge offering a running commentary: Ruger LCP, .380 pocket gun. She dropped its magazine free; loaded, along with the two spares still in their foam nests. If nothing else, it loaned credence to the theory Vito originated from across the pond.
Pausing for a second she turned the gun over again, it would certainly suit her stature better than the bulky Type 54. Quashing that thought however she replaced the weapon, dumping those few items which had been in this case back atop its hidey-hole. No, nothing which may have been tampered with, and no - she suppressed a dry chuckle - smoking guns. Besides, leaving it behind would keep anyone following in her tracks guessing.
And speaking of those following in her tracks.
Moving to the bed she hauled neatly arranged linen back, crumpling until it resembled a fair approximation of somewhere two people had spent a restless night, one of the condom packets torn open and its contents disposed of for added effect. Vito did not seem the tidy sort either, and the first case supplied a set of clothes to be dropped in a corner, minibar raided for additional authenticity.
Continuing on, she gave the bathroom a similar once over, no need to go too far, the Oriental Suites were cleaned twice daily, so she would be keeping only the maid occupied prior to Zhang's inevitable arrival. On that thought though, she now had excuse to be a little rougher investigating the rest of the suite, as it transpired a perhaps unsurprisingly fruitless exercise, given minimal luggage and the apparent haste with which he had exited Italy.
Straightening a last painting, the girl stood back, contemplating her handiwork for a moment before moving back to the desk. Katherine's handheld had finally finished its transfer and, packing that away, she returned Vito's tablet to his safe, eyeing the wad of notes once more. Leaving them be a second time she secured its contents, before carefully re-positioning the heavy box, brushing dust lines from the shelf to erase any trace of movement.
Making one more pass through the suite she stifled a sigh: best intentions aside, her efforts were unlikely to fool either the SIS or Autumn Orchid. Still, it might keep the hotel staff, and thus anyone embedded therein, off her back a little longer, perhaps prevent the maid from gossiping to those who actually knew where their guests were… this not having time to do things properly was becoming irksome.
Retrieving her purse, she slipped out the door, dropping the 'do not disturb' sign back inside as its heavy latch clunked shut once more.
While Hong Kong's compressed streets remained a claustrophobic experience for the hunted, they also presented advantages for those wanting remain out of the spotlight, not least bringing most destinations within easy walking distance. Idling through milling Causeway Bay shoppers, Monty spared a moment from her scan of those around to glance up at shining glass façades, photogenic models smiling down from multi-storey adverts touting the sprawling, luxury goods spaces behind. It was stark contrast to her path east through Wan Chai to get here, that latter still wrapped in seedy daytime dilapidation shared by out of hours entertainment districts the world over, a facet laid bare despite dark clouds beginning to build for the inevitable evening downpour.
Shopping however was not her purpose and, even in the shiniest, most modern, districts, Hong Kong still possessed its secret spaces. Drifting closer the footpath edge through well-dressed throngs, Monty suddenly disappeared down a narrow alley, ignored by those outside, blinkered to that not befitting the fantasy built around.
Despite being bare metres removed it was a stark contrast to the area's clean public face, or even to the buzz of Mong Kok and Lei Yue Mun. Spaces like this in older districts flowed with the city's pulse, filling them with life and frenetic activity but here, among sterile glass sky scrapers, the stretch of concrete lay forgotten, dead and drained of vigour by the artificial world beyond.
Bereft stalls and flashing neon, garish wall signage was replaced by only the occasional slash of artless graffiti, skip bins below wading in stagnant water. Behind one of those hid the reason for her visit: a girl, probably a year or two younger than herself, oversize and obviously handed down shirt and shorts neat but threadbare. An even younger, similarly garbed, boy stood beside her, grubby hand clasped tightly and, as the spy approached, he quickly scooted behind his sister, peeping around her flank.
Halting before them, Monty surveyed the pair, managing to conceal any flicker of amusement. 'Find some urchins', Jethro had said. Well, she had done as instructed and found some urchins, now it was time to see if paying them to be useful would work here as in Dickensian London.
Cocking an eyebrow, she addressed the girl. "Well? Did you see?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"And?" Monty prompted.
For a moment eyes flickered away, her brother's fingers tightening, but then the pre-teen seemed to steel herself, responding in soprano Pidgin English. "First money."
"First proof."
Extracting a cheap, pink, mobile phone from one pocket, she clicked at its keypad, before holding it out. On the tiny display showed a grainy, washed out picture of John's apartment building, the Orchid agent's window dark bar where ill-fitting curtains created a slit of light, leaving maybe an inch or two clear. If the angle was any measure, it had been taken near where she herself had watched on her own visit.
And didn't that seem like a long time ago.
Passing the handset back, the cyborg extracted a sliver of Hong Kong dollars, fanning pre-counted low denomination notes out like a deck of cards so her opposite could read the markings. "Now, tell me what you saw."
Hesitating another moment, eyes glued to proffered money, the girl spoke quickly. "I go to place you say, men in apartment."
"How many men?"
"Not know, see two, they move around, talk to other. No see."
"Hiding man loud!"
Seemingly the younger child had gained courage enough to speak, slowly edging out from behind his sibling once the conversation started, hand albeit still gripping hers with white knuckles. At those words however, Monty's eyes narrowed, causing him to scoot back into hiding: one out of sight, consistently out of sight, that could be Vito. Of course, given how little she knew, it could be just about anyone.
Forcing a smile, the agent moved her attention to the boy, now peaking again from behind his sister. "What did the… hiding man… say?"
No response.
Stifling a sigh, she turned back to the original urchin. "What did he say?"
"Not much, only hear once. Not understand."
Probably gagged.
"And you stayed how long?"
"Long, you say stay long, so I stay. At least hour."
"And you never saw this other person?"
"No."
"Describe the two you could see."
The girl seemed to think for a moment, before waving one hand vaguely above her head, as if indicating height. "They… one small, one… pretty, like… I take photo."
Digging in a pocket she clicked through the battered mobile once more to proffer it again.
"See? That him."
Peering closely at the grainy picture, Monty grimaced: a dark patch was standing before pulled back curtains, backlit by the room, the camera's cheap sensor obscuring any further details. This girl might have kept it as a reminder, but she had seen that shadowy figure firsthand with memories to match, for purposes of later identification it was useless.
Well, if you paid peanuts you got monkeys, and she had not exactly been expecting staunch professionalism.
The question was what to do now?
Firstly, get rid of these two.
Passing her opposite's device back, the SWA agent gathered up her small wad of notes, handing them also over. Before letting go however, the eyebrow resumed its raised position. "Now you do remember our deal?"
"Yes, we no see or talk you."
"I see! Pretty!" The boy had emerged again, and was now pointing up at her.
This time he received a glare rather than smile and quickly disappeared back into cover. "Yes, and 'pretty' will also be 'angry' if you do not keep her a secret."
Again, no response, and her attention returned once more to his sibling.
"You will make sure he stays quiet?"
"Yes, I make sure."
"Good." She let go. "Now, get moving."
Quickly counting her spoils, the local child turned away, brother dragged along behind, and Monty scowled: that latter she was not happy about at all. She had probably a fifty-fifty chance the girl would keep her mouth shut, but the boy was harder to predict, young enough to neither understand fully what was going on, nor to have acquired any form of brain-to-mouth filtering.
And the affliction was not limited to children for that matter, some cyborgs could stand to employ a little additional filtering as well.
What was done was done though and, while small children tended to lack any sense of propriety, adult minds had a fortunate habit of disregarding obscure utterances for them as a result. Hopefully by the time enough people had heard a pre-schooler's blatherings enough times to wonder if there was anything in them, she would be long gone.
Now though, she was faced once again with the previous question: what to do? Knowing John's apartment was inhabited was one thing, but getting from there to placing Vito in it was a distinct leap of reasoning. Another grimace: it would probably be enough for Katherine to decide they should go rushing in though, not something she personally wanted to do without a little more confirmation. Wan Chai was not far away, maybe she could slip back and…
Glancing quickly at her watch, the young agent turned attention to the narrow slit of still darkening clouds above, just visible between towering sky scrapers. No, short distance or otherwise she did not have leeway to slip back, especially as she would require observation time into the bargain for any actual confirmation. Again, she had other appointments to keep, not to mention if she were spotted the game would be up entirely, and any freedom of movement currently enjoyed here on the Hong Kong side rapidly quashed.
The two children had disappeared now and, splashing the opposite direction, Monty was soon returned to the alley entrance, slowing as she drew level to melt into crowds washing across brick pavements beyond. Letting that carry her over a busy crossing, the girl cut through one of the glitzy emporiums, emerging once more onto a patch of footpath, the flow of which directed north, toward the harbour as streetscape features around began to change. Not that those milling shopfront to shopfront would likely notice, or even want to, but now marble and glass façades only went so high, luxury pretensions terminating abruptly at two storeys. Above that, aged concrete and flaking paintwork once more presided, rattling air conditioners dripping condensation on architecturally sculpted stonework as almost purely pedestrian thoroughfares were taken over by vans and red and silver taxis.
Finally even those low-rise boutiques melted away, buildings terminating abruptly in their absence at the wide expanse of Victoria Park Road, turbid harbour visible beyond. Finding a pedestrian gantry Monty started across, glancing west toward the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club, its white buildings squatting low to guard one end of the Causeway Bay Typhoon Shelter. Here protected waters, like the shopping district behind, displayed the gamut of Hong Kong's distributed wealth. Along its length sleek, white, cruisers and sailing yachts slowly gave way to wooden sampans, occasional work barge or decrepit launch towering like manor houses above rag-covered, floating peasantry. Turning from the club's inviting glow, warm against threatening skies, she made instead for the farther end and makeshift floating village coagulated there.
Paralleling moored vessels, the path she trod lost its elegant sashay as it stretched farther from the club house, previously wide, open pavements closing down to narrow, cracked concrete as it pulled in beside the motorway above. Under that latter's sweeping curve, dry ground was littered with bags and old clothes; detritus of the city's homeless, those unable to claim a rooftop or courtyard squat hidden here behind overgrown leaves. To her other side, neatly vertical harbour walls also gave way to sloped rock pitching, slippery steps running down its face and, pushing past another overhanging branch, she stopped at the top of one uneven flight. Descending onto a narrow ledge, just above high water mark, she edged along until foliage blocked any view from behind before extracting her phone from a pocket and using a hand to flash its light over the shelter's expanse. For a moment nothing seemed to happen then, somehow materialising amongst decrepit vessels, a tiny sampan emerged, old tyres around battered flanks skimming scuttling waves. Descending to just above those lapping tops, Monty waited until the blunt prow bumped into weathered concrete by her feet, studying its skipper under the covered stern before stepping aboard.
Vessel settling under her additional weight, the girl found a handhold before addressing him. "Did you get any visitors?"
"No, no visitor. All… quiet on Western Front."
"Indeed."
Dropping onto one of the covered gunwale seats as her transport backed away, the young agent ensured her bag remained firmly grasped as the boat swung around, puttering slowly through the floating maze. Between low riding hulls, planks had been laid to form rough walkways and floating jetties, those traipsing along boards from one deck to another pushing through hanging washing without apparent regard to whom it might belong. Watching as two children landed upon what was presumably their own boat she followed their scampering progress, pulling abreast its tarp and rag canopy to be offered a glimpse inside as they disappeared into the dingy interior. Obviously with time came familiarity, as it was a reasonable bet no map existed of those bobbing paths, or even any certainty they would remain consistent one week to the next.
As the final hull fell astern, her own sampan's thrum became more urgent, engine's vibration rising through timber seating to the accompaniment of waves slapping harder against flat keel boards and, passing the typhoon shelter's outer wall, they were suddenly in Victoria Harbour proper.
While perfectly scaled atop Causeway Bay's protected waters, beyond their tight confines the little boat suddenly felt very exposed, bouncing over larger chop as it edged into busy traffic lanes between Central and Kowloon. Across the expanse rose neat buildings of touristy Tsim Sha Tsui, lively, inviting, mess of Mong Kok hidden behind with its backstopping hills already obscured by sheeting rain.
Motoring along the Hong Kong foreshore, her skipper stuck close under the shadow of towering glass and steel, crossing the Star Ferry route before turning out to the harbour proper. Course settling to parallel the mainland peninsula's western flank, she could see toward Kwai Tsing's container wharfs, intervening bay thick with small, coastal freighters. There, new hulls in corporate colours mingled with rusting tramps riding at anchor, salt-streaked flanks forming a seemingly continuous barrier. Nearer the Lantau Island entrance their larger brethren also rested, shapes fuzzy and indistinct in humidity laden air, awaiting permission to pass under Stonecutters Bridge. At least she had not needed to deal with the shipping lanes proper and, angling in close to land again, they continued up its waterfront.
Heading farther inshore, spindly feeder vessel deck cranes gave way to the solid A-frame derricks of Hong Kong's working lighters, hulls rafted together in a solid mass, clothes and occasional plant once more hanging from high transoms; a modern take on the sampan village so recently departed. Where Causeway Bay remembered both its fishing and colonial past however, the New Yau Ma Tei Typhoon Shelter on Mong Kok's west was purposefully industrial, romantic roots suffering a slow consumption to sustain the bustling port. From water level, identical lifting tackle formed a forest of steel, obscuring container-lined frontages, crowded buildings of Sam Sui Po just visible through heavy latticework.
Some of that history still clung on however and, nosing past the shining southern entrance tug base, waters cleared ahead, steel mountains giving way to familiar wood and rags, though for how much longer who knew. Here, low hulls were not so tightly packed as their island brethren, somehow appearing thinner and weaker, gradually losing their stake on the bay, but her skipper was still forced to slow his vessel to a crawl, edging between as a light drizzle began to fall.
By the time worn tyres bumped against the shelter's public northern edge, warning drizzle had become full-fledged downpour, heavy droplets smashing into the water, kicking up a thick mist across its surface. Paying her dues, the girl scrambled quickly up tall harbour walls, dashing for the rudimentary shelter of shade trees in the small park beyond. Pausing as her boat pulled away once more, Monty looked up at surrounding sky scrapers, tops all but invisible behind sheeting rain. Certainty of getting drenched aside, she had timed that well, monsoonal torrent working both ways to obscure the view of anyone watching from windows above.
Best get somewhere more populace before it dissipated.
Checking her purse did indeed remain tight shut, she set off into the deluge.
Computer again forgotten, Jethro stared out the kitchen window, once more reduced to utilising the narrow gap it afforded onto streets below, Katherine, for whatever reason, having chosen this moment to expel him from her bedroom.
Fingers drumming restlessly on table top laminate, the former SIS spy attempted a return to the document currently his ostensible focus of attention. Finding a blank screen, he batted the laptop's mouse impatiently to rouse the slumbering machine, eyes returning to sodden pavements as it did. While their impromptu companion's timing may have left something to be desired, it seemed Monty had picked hers better, population just beginning to reappear in the wake of evening storms, people to lose herself amongst en route from the harbour... presuming she was running on schedule.
Of course, no matter how well a plan went, two sets of eyes would always be better than one, even one cybernetically enhanced, and his fingers returned to their restless drumming. He did not like being cooped up, forced to wait and wonder, a dead mass on the operation, and from here he could not even properly cover his girl's return.
The computer had woken now and, dragging reluctant eyes to it, he began to read.
Two minutes later, its lid was slapped shut again, handler standing from the table. If Monty really was running on time then, successful or no, she would be soaked. Walking quickly to the bathroom he retrieved her towel, soft fabric pressed briefly against one cheek to ensure it remained damp-free… not quite. Maybe he could run it through the dryer before she got back.
No, that would take too long and, returning to the kitchen, he settled for holding it up before the rattling air conditioner. If nothing else its output would have the moisture removed, which might do at least some good.
Hopefully Katherine wouldn't walk out right now, otherwise he was going to look a right berk.
Towel still held aloft, eyes fell once again on the closed computer: he really should be doing something with that, reading reports probably and, unfortunately, right now that was about all he could do. He couldn't even plan, not properly, not without the information Monty would be bringing back.
A knock interrupted that thought, followed by another, string forming into one of the little group's agreed 'all clear' codes, and with it a weight he had not realised was present lifted from his shoulders. Burden lowering to be neatly folded over one arm, Jethro grabbed his gun from the table, hiding it beneath fluffy layers. Then, taking two steps to the door, he peered through its peep hole as, from behind, came the sound of Katherine's bedroom opening.
So now she decided to show an interest.
Drawing bolts back, he opened the apartment entry just enough to allow his bedraggled partner inside, kicking it shut in her wake. Foregoing pulling her sodden form close however, he instead checked the door was secure then, hand settling on her waist, bent down to kiss damp hair, proffering the towel without a word.
Swapping that for handgun and purse, Monty began to scrub at soaked locks, normally well-structured A-line dress hanging limply to cling where it touched her body. It was Katherine, however, who spoke first.
"Did you find him?"
Motion pausing, the girl eyed her from beneath white cloth. "Possibly, and it looks like Zhang's presence may be less saturated on that side of the harbour too, which narrows the field somewhat, so…"
"…So what you are going to do now is have a shower and find some dry clothes." Interrupted Jethro. "Walking around under tropical heat whilst soaked is one thing, it's quite another to do so in air-conditioning."
Pausing in retort, the girl seemed to think better of it, instead pointing at her dripping purse. "Fine. I cloned Vito's tablet to the handheld, so get that off and onto an emulator."
"That will be onto my computer then," put in their SIS companion, "and the apartment?"
"Inhabited, but with no certainty regards by whom."
Shifting palms to his partner's shoulders as she said it, Jethro ushered her gently toward the bathroom. "Yes, and now, shower. I don't want to be sharing pillows with a runny nose."
Ensuring the door was closed behind her, the handler returned to their bed, extracting a cardboard box from beneath and rummaging through for a dry outfit as Katherine returned from her room once more, dumping a bulky, hardened laptop onto the table. Folding it open, she looked toward the crouching man.
"I said we should have moved straight on the apartment."
Arranging blouse, shorts and underwear in a neat pile he stood, turning to her, noting as he did that the Toughbook remained booting. Whatever she had been doing in her room, it had probably not been work, which raised the question then of: what?
"The benefit of hindsight perhaps."
"So you don't think we've wasted time?"
"No, I don't." Traipsing past, he knocked on the bathroom, continuing as he waited. "We'll see what Monty brought back, but we would've still needed to scout the place, and at the very least we covered more ground this way."
"Do you really believe that? Because I think you're letting affection colour your judgement."
He was saved an immediate reply by the door opening, far enough to let him pass through the wad of fresh clothes. Accepting their sopping predecessors in return he found slender fingers momentarily under his grasp and, giving them a brief, comforting, squeeze, shut the door once more.
For just whose benefit had that been?
Turning back to the living space, he eyed Katherine steadily, steeling for the next answer. "You know what? Maybe I am, or maybe whatever file you were given has turned out incomplete compared to its subject. I would be curious to know what you were expecting."
"I was certainly expecting someone who would give more credence to a fellow agent's opinion over whatever piece of tail he had most recently picked up. You may have been good at acquiring them but, if you really want to know what the file and rumour mill had to say, you were not exactly renowned for treating your pets as equals."
Reaching the sink, Jethro placed his girl's boots and underwear into it so they would not drip across the floor, then inspected the dress… looked like she had wrung it out for him already, hopefully it would still be salvageable. Finding a hanger, he began neatening the fabric's fall from its wire hook.
"Then there would be your first wrong assumption."
"That she's a pet, or that she's legal enough to be one?"
"If that's the way you want to put it, yes: that she is good for no-more than throwing a leg over."
"You agreed with me about picking up Vito."
"I did, because at the time it seemed the better option." Hanging his girl's dress from a curtain rail, the handler twitched out its last few stray folds, before leaning back against the sink and crossing his arms. "One of the nice things about not having a pet is she does not require constant control, pandering to, nor pretence she is the centre of the universe, on affection grounds or otherwise."
"What, and just kiss and make up later?"
"Not even that."
"Sounds like crap to me."
Standing fully, Jethro shrugged. This wasn't a conversation he particularly felt like continuing and, retrieving his partner's boots, he pulled one of the chairs out so as to sit facing the SIS woman, pointing to a small stack of newspapers piled on the fridge behind her.
"Pass those over?"
Sighing, she complied. Taking proffered pages he unzipped one tall go-go boot, feeling down inside: soaked as well, and he probably did not have enough paper to do both in their entirety. The lower parts could be addressed, but the rest would need to air dry. Scrunching up a sheet, he began to stuff it into sopping liners and, apparently taking the hint, Katherine turned back to her computer, typing quickly before plugging the handheld into it.
"Did your girlfriend say what sort of tablet Vito was using?"
"Don't think so."
"Damn."
Returning to his task, Jethro extracted another page from the open Hong Kong Standard, shoving it toward the boot's toe. It was a slow process but, by the time Monty emerged from the bathroom, both were placed at the door, paper having stretched just far enough hold them in shape, zippers left open to let air circulate. Cocking an eyebrow, she looked toward him.
"Better?"
"Yes, better."
Peering over Katherine's shoulder, the girl inspected her computer screen. "Did your gadget work?"
"Of course it worked, but I need to know what type of tablet Vito was using."
Moving closer, she pointed to something out of sight. "Scroll down… that one. I will be curious to know what is actually on there."
Twisting in her seat, the older woman eyed her suspiciously. "You didn't check?"
"Unfortunately I was rather pressed for time, and you did note it would be slow, but in the immediate future I'm hoping for some variety of 'find my phone' app."
"You're hoping."
The tone was tetchy and, hearing it, Jethro stood, moving around behind his partner to eye data as it began to transfer as well, arms lowering across her. Now dry, he drew her in close, giving a quick squeeze before some retort could form and, when they did come, her words were accordingly diplomatic.
"In the short term I am but, as he did not have a computer at Hermes, I suspect much of his business dealings will be on there also. At present though we could use something to help pinpoint where Zhang has taken him."
"Yes, because obviously Zhang would take his captives to the same place as he stores their effects."
"Considering he is likely short on real estate to choose from it is as good of a lead as any, and leverage is always useful in the interrogation room."
Eyes flicking to the screen momentarily, Katherine spun fully to face the standing fratello. "But we already know where he is, you said yourself that John's apartment was occupied."
"Which means there is a living body present, we have no confirmation of whom and, tricks aside, the only proof is two rubbish photos and the word of a child."
At that last the SIS agent made a sardonic sound, eyebrows rising in accompaniment, but she said nothing and, giving another squeeze, Jethro spoke up. "What did your hired urchin actually find?"
His partner sighed, shoulders relaxing slightly with it and, when she spoke, the words were resigned. "In fairness, it does sound like Zhang is using John's apartment. The kid stayed for about an hour, there were at least two men present, probably three, though the curtains were mostly drawn. If the place's fitout had been better she would have probably seen nothing at all, and part of me cannot help but wonder if leaving a gap was intentional. The third man was out of sight but, from the descriptions I was given, the other two could have been Zhang and Lau Fei-Hung."
"Do you know what they were doing?"
"Nothing for certain, but the one out of sight was apparently not very happy."
Now it was Katherine's turn to sigh, the noise edged in exasperation. "We're wasting bloody time here, that sounds exactly like an interrogation."
"Yes, because what I really feel like doing is charging in guns drawn on someone watching television." The words were scathing.
"Television. Television that sounds like someone being tortured for an hour."
"Are you familiar with the concept of a snuff film?"
"Of course I am, in which case going in guns drawn would be doing the world a favour anyway."
Before she could reply, Jethro gave his girl another warning squeeze: healthy scepticism aside, even he had to admit the evidence was pretty compelling, and they were short on time as it was. On the flipside however they were also still very exposed, a very long way from help in any form and, reputation or no, he had not remained alive this long in this business by being stupid.
The laptop binged, screen announcing its data transfer had finished. Seizing the opportunity, he pointed two fingers toward it. "Whichever way we jump, that should be looked at first."
"You're joking right?"
Fixing their opposite with a harder gaze, the ex-SIS man let a hint of steel creep into his voice. "Even if we decide to go, and I consider the evidence Vito is in Wan Chai compelling enough that we should to at least run an eye over there, it will take a couple of hours to get organised. We'll want a vehicle, a plan, and a route in and out, minimum… not to mention you, Katherine, need to get in touch with your contact again to find if we still have somewhere to stay after. That should be plenty of time to decide if Vito's tablet will be useful in the immediate future or not." He glanced downward at his partner, receiving a nod in reply. "So, you and I will start setting that in motion. Monty, go through Vito's data lest there's anything which can corroborate his location, or dispute it. If there is, so much the better, if not, we're just going to have to act on what we can."
There was a pause while that was digested. Finally though, Katherine spoke up.
"Fine, that I can live with, but when we get there we do this my way."
"No." The word was hard, finality dripping off every note. "We are going to do this carefully, and with caution enough to make a dormouse look like Don Quixote."