The Death and Life of Nicholas Linnear Read Free Page A

stared at his half-finished face in the mirror. It was a symbol of his status as an Outsider, from being the mixed-race son of a British colonel and an Asian mother of uncertain origin growing up in Tokyo, to his marriage to Justine Tomkin, which had royally pissed off her bigoted father, until he saw for himself Nicholas’s extraordinary business acumen.
    Completing his transformation, Nicholas returned to the ballroom, where he found the party had moved into high gear. The band had been replaced by a DJ; the space in front of him jam-packed with bouncing dancers, their hair swinging, arms held high. The scents of perfume, sweat, and liquor punctuated the air like fists thrust through the nighttime fug. It seemed no one had left in his absence. If anything, there were more partygoers than before.
    He made a slow circuit of the room, picking up a flute of Champagne for appearances’ sake; he was no longer in the mood for drinking—or even celebrating. Baron Po was out to sabotage his new life, and he was determined to find out why before Po had a chance to take another swing at him. The fact that he was not exactly on enemy territory—that he had many friends here in Shanghai, as well as elsewhere on the Mainland—had already proved useful. Not the least of those friends was Anna Song, head of the so-called Shanghai Clique, whose members also served on China’s Central Committee. How large a role Anna Song had played in his astronomical success was open for debate, but what was incontestable was their long history together.
    Speaking of Commissioner Song, he finally spotted her across the room. She was talking with three Chinese men in uniform. All were drinking Champagne; the men were smiling along with Anna. She was tall and willowy, with porcelain skin, wide-apart eyes, and a heavy, sensual mouth; she seemed to be pouting even when she smiled. Nicholas had never seen her laugh; he wondered whether she was capable. She wore a midnight blue Mandarin-style gown that looked as if it had been lacquered onto her sleek body. Like most Chinese, she stood very still, moving very little, never gesturing, never turning her head or revealing an expression that could give the watcher a clue as to her inner thoughts.
    He kept moving in and out of clots of people like the sun scudding behind clouds, all the while keeping his eyes on Anna. Another man glided up, this one dressed in a stylish but flashy suit of Shantung silk. Anna did not turn her head, but Nicholas saw a certain stiffness come into her spine. She did not introduce the newcomer to the military cadre; she didn’t have time. The newcomer brushed her right elbow with his fingertips, so briefly and lightly that anyone other than Nicholas would surely have missed it. She immediately placed her half-full flute on a tray held by a passing waiter, then with a curt bow took her leave of the uniformed men. Nicholas crossed the room diagonally as Anna and Shantung Suit exited the room via the terrace from which he had been abducted earlier.
    It was strange to see her moving swiftly and stiffly, as if with a military cadence, the stranger oddly close by her side. Chinese did not normally invade each other’s personal space in that manner.
    He followed them at a distance, watching as they descended a stone staircase hemmed in by thick, sculpted balustrades.
    Picking his way through the deep shadows, he kept her in sight as she moved down a gravel path that bisected lines of rose bushes, at the end of which a long, low limousine was waiting, engine purring like a drowsing tiger.
    There was just enough time to see another man, in an almost identical silk suit, pop out of the shotgun seat. Nicholas was running as soon as he saw the flash of a handgun, and was at his own car as the two suits guided Anna Song into the backseat. Shantung Suit climbed in beside her, while the other man returned to his shotgun position. The doors slammed shut and the limo glided forward.
    “Wake up,