The Great Zoo of China Read Free Page B

cell phone signals in or out.’
    ‘And the blacked-out windows?’ Hamish asked. ‘You don’t want us to see where we’re going?’
    ‘Please forgive us, but the location of our zoo is a closely guarded secret, at least for now,’ Na said. ‘Not only must cell phone tracking systems be disabled, but even visual references. You will understand why when we get there. I am very sorry.’
    The blacked-out Bombardier didn’t take off immediately. Apparently, it was still waiting for two final passengers.
    As the plane waited, the Chinese TV reporter approached CJ.
    ‘Dr Cameron?’ she asked. ‘Dr Cassandra Cameron from the San Francisco Zoo? I am Xin Xili, China Central Television. Would you mind if I interviewed you?’
    ‘Sure,’ CJ said.
    The reporter gave CJ a quick up-and-down, her gaze pausing for the briefest of moments on the scars on CJ’s left cheek. It was not exactly a pleasant evaluation.
    When the interview began, the fawning smiles of her interview with Wolfe vanished.
    ‘You are an expert in reptiles, are you not, Dr Cameron?’ Xin asked quickly.
    ‘I am.’
    ‘One of the world’s leading experts in large reptiles: the Nile crocodile, the Australian saltwater crocodile, the American and Chinese alligators.’
    ‘That’s correct,’ CJ replied.
    ‘Not for much longer,’ Xin said curtly.
    She then signalled for the cameraman to stop recording, smiled tightly at CJ and turned away.
    CJ watched her go, perplexed.
    Just then, another private jet pulled up alongside the Bombardier, a smaller and much older Gulfstream.
    Looking out the open door, CJ saw that it had an American flag painted on its side plus the words: UNITED STATES DIPLOMATIC SERVICE .
    Two men in suits emerged from the Gulfstream and walked over to the Bombardier.
    The taller and older of the two—he wore a perfect grey suit, had perfect silver hair, a perfect tennis tan and perfect teeth—swept into the jet as if he owned it. He smiled broadly at everyone, the practised smile of a professional politician.
    ‘So sorry to keep you waitin’, folks,’ he said with a distinctly Texan drawl. CJ noticed he was wearing expensive cowboy boots. ‘I’m Kirk Syme, US Ambassador to China. Just flew down from Beijing. Got caught on the phone to the President. You know how it is when the boss is on the line. You gotta take the call.’ He indicated his offsider. ‘This is Greg Johnson, my chief aide from the embassy in Beijing.’
    Johnson was a younger and more compact version of Syme: about forty, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and sharp dark eyes. He carried himself in an odd way, CJ thought, tensed, hunched, like an athlete who seemed uncomfortable wearing a suit. He did not, she saw, wear cowboy boots like his boss, just regular brogues.
    With everyone present and accounted for, the Bombardier’s airstairs folded up and the plane taxied down the runway.
    CJ still felt a little unnerved sitting inside the blacked-out plane. It was claustrophobic and, well, kind of weird. It was a very trusting thing to do, to allow yourself to be flown to an unknown destination. But then, she told herself, she was travelling with some serious VIPs—the US Ambassador to China and two high-profile New York Times journalists—and they seemed perfectly fine with the arrangement.
    The Bombardier took off, heading to God-only-knew-where.

T he Bombardier flew for about two hours.
    We could be anywhere in southeast Asia , CJ thought. Thanks to the blacked-out windows, she didn’t know if they had flown in a straight line or in circles.
    The Chinese were very keen to keep the location of their new zoo secret.
    When it finally landed, the Bombardier taxied for a few minutes before coming to a halt at an airbridge. The six American guests disembarked to find themselves standing inside a brand-new airport terminal. The walls and floors gleamed. None of the many shops was open but they looked ready to go. The entire terminal, built to handle the