The Death and Life of Nicholas Linnear Read Free

registered the fact that his attacker’s breathing wasn’t deep and clear; rather it was being affected by his fast-approaching moment of triumph. He was panting a bit, with each breath leaving behind a small piece of himself. Nicholas used this, played on it, stretching his neck back, in tiny increments, giving the impression that he was losing the fight. An instant later, he slammed the back of his head against the man’s nose. Blood gushed, the man grunted in a combination of surprise and shock. His hold loosened enough for Nicholas to turn sideways. His intention was to slip the Damascus blade between the third and fourth ribs. Quilin’s lithe body somehow reeled away, and the tip brushed along the skin above his ribs instead of it finding the heart. The maneuver provided an instantaneous gap in Nicholas’s defense, but that was all Quilin needed. He raked his nails down the left side of Nicholas’s face, drawing blood. He went for Nicholas’s blade, but finding he could not wrest it away, he settled for slamming Nicholas against the bulkhead.
    The inside of Nicholas’s head exploded into shards of black and white. He recovered in a moment, but the brief lapse in consciousness was enough to allow Quilin to vanish into the shadows.
    Now, back on dry land, Nicholas watched as Shanghainese detectives poured out of two unmarked cars and began swarming all over his ship. Lieutenant Liu, a longtime friend, came up to him.
    “You need first aid for your cheek.”
    Nicholas waved away his words. “It’s nothing.”
    Liu shrugged. “This is bad shit, Nick. Very bad.”
    “I gave my statement,” Nicholas said. “You can check on the grave.” He pointed. “It’s over there.”
    “I know what you’re thinking, Nick, but it’s an ongoing investigation. What with the pack of C4 you led us to, your ship won’t be able to leave port for a while.”
    “That will kill my LNG business. I have deadlines.”
    “Don’t we all. Sorry. Force majeure .”
    Nicholas stood looking at Liu: his long, sad, Shanghainese face—the flat nose, planar cheekbones. “Liu,” he said with quiet force, “we both know that I’m going to make my deadline, no matter the length of this investigation.”
    Liu studied Nicholas for a moment, then gave off a sly smile. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make the attempt.”
    “Face must be preserved.”
    “At all costs.” Liu nodded. “You need anything, you know how to reach me.”
    “Always.”
    Nicholas watched him walk away. He looked down at his mobile, once again checked the short text message that had led him out onto the balcony and into the ambush. It had come from Joji, or so it had seemed at the time. But his head had been muzzy with Champagne. He punched in a local number, read off the time of the text and the number to the man who answered. He disconnected without uttering a word.
    Nicholas returned to the hotel, quickly washed up, and began the delicate process of covering the parallel wounds on his cheek, changing his appearance with a prosthetic nose and theatrical makeup. His mobile buzzed.
    “The trace was more involved than expected,” the laconic voice at the other end of the line said.
    “Still, you managed it in record time.”
    “Advanced years are good for something.” A low chuckle came down the line, then abruptly cut off. “The number isn’t listed. In fact, it doesn’t exist—officially.”
    “But you found out who it belongs to.”
    “Of course.”
    There was a pause, which made Nicholas slightly uneasy.
    “Encrypted line.”
    Uh-oh, Nicholas thought. “Government?”
    “That would have been less … involved.”
    “Do you have a name?”
    “I do, but you’re not going to like it.”
    “Like it or not,” he said, “I’m going to have to deal with it.”
    “Baron Po,” the voice said, and disconnected as if to absolve itself of the crime of delivering a name that could cause such disastrous consequences.
    For several minutes Nicholas