to the twenty-third floor.
He negotiated the last security check, an enclosed glass turnstile affair that provided bombproof screens between the stairs and the department, and then he walked along the usual police corridors, the same anywhere in the world: abandoned file cabinets, fluorescent strip lights overhead and thin, stained carpets underfoot. A no frills environment, not softened with decoration, only the odd plant managed to survive on the ledge along the corridor.
The floor was laid out with offices around the outside, interview rooms, identity parade suite in the centre.
Ng and Shrimp were out of the office. Mann needed to clear his head. He picked up yesterday’s sandwich from his desk and took the elevator to the top floor, and then the fire escape up onto the roof. It’s where he always came to think. He needed head space now more than ever.
From below the sound of traffic was building. His eyes searched the horizon and spotted what he was looking for. He took a deep breath of smog-free air and smiled as he watched an eagle ride the air currents and circle over the buildings nearby. It flew by his window sometimes. It looked at him. It pitied him. It was free, ruler of the skies. Mann would have given anything to be able to jump on its back and fly away. He saw its mate on the horizon. They paired for life. He did not envy them that. He never wanted to feel the heavy burden of being in love, of caring too much, ever again.
He walked across the roof, past the massive tanks and noisy air conditioners that kept Headquarters’ heart beating and lungs breathing. He broke the sandwich in two and laid the pieces out on the parapet before turning his back to the sun and walking across to the dummy. He smiled when he saw it. Shrimp had obviously been using it. He had dressed it in a seventies Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. It made for a good target. Mann walked away from the dummy, took off his jacket and left it hanging over a pipe. Across his chest he had the sets of shuriken. His throwing stars. Each set contained ten. Each one of the ten was different from the others. Different in size and in design. They were weighted to wound, maim or kill. The smaller shuriken were perfect for disabling an opponent. They could be fired several at a time and do serious damage to several opponents at once. The bigger the set the more deadly until the ultimate – the death star. There was just the one. He carried it in its own pouch but he did not carry it routinely. He had designed it himself; it was a thing of beauty and of precision. But he could only fire it once. It had to find its target. It was silent, deadly and able to arc in the air so that it could curve around the side of a wall. It could cut a man’s head off.
Mann picked out the spikes from the sleeve on his arm, turned and ran towards the dummy; finding his mark he let fly the throwing spikes as he picked up pace. Three spikes embedded in its face, the other three across its chest. Mann turned at the sound of giant wings. The eagle kept one eye on him as it walked across the parapet. It picked up one half of the sandwich in its beak whilst grasping the other in its talons and it gave one last look at Mann before it dropped off the edge and turned and glided effortlessly away, the sun on the tips of its wings.
‘How big is that eagle’s wingspan?’ It was not a question. ‘Can I join you?’ Mia came to stand beside him. She knew where he’d be.
‘Sure.’ Mann picked up a discarded feather from the eagle’s tail. ‘It’s a black-eared kite eagle. Huge wingspan, weak legs, that’s why it spends most of the time soaring on the air currents. See the way it moves in the air? There’s no other bird like it for manoeuvrability. It’s all in the tail feathers, like a rudder but far more sophisticated. I could watch it for hours.’ He glanced across at her. ‘What is it, Mia? You didn’t come up here to talk about eagles.’
‘I know things are tough for you at the moment, Mann, but I have faith in you. I wanted to add something to what Sheng said. I know he’s not the best at putting stuff into words.’
‘That’s because he’s a twat.’
Mia shrugged and looked away for a minute. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. But even so he has a point. You are the best one for the job. It was a terrible thing finding out about your father but you can turn it to good. You want to make a difference, Mann. You could play with fire. You could step over to the dark side for a while.’
Mann looked at her to see if she was serious. She was.
‘You have the connections. Use them. Jump into the lions’ den. This is your chance to put your connections to good use. Go and see CK.’
CK Leung stood at the window, staring down at Hong Kong’s harbour. He was a slim, upright figure, narrow shouldered in a traditional black Chinese suit. His hair was silvered at the temples, neat, short at the neck before it touched the edge of his mandarin collar. He was watching the afternoon sun as it ignited the dark blue waters and blazed against the skyscraper walls. From the top floor of the Leung Corporation building he had a first-class view. A view like that didn’t come cheap but CK could afford it. He was one of the wealthiest men in a place where the term wealthy was pushed to new parameters. Hong Kong was long famed for having the most Bentleys per square mile and the most billionaires. Lots of it was Triad-connected money. Triads had been in Chinese society for centuries, originally they did some good and supported the people but after the Cultural Revolution they turned to crime. Now they were the Chinese mafia. They ran minibus companies, taxi firms and laundered their money through nightclubs and film companies. CK was the biggest Triad boss in Hong Kong, the Dragon Head of the Wo Shing Shing – the largest Triad society, not just in Hong Kong, but fast spreading to the rest of the world. CK was a great opportunist, always looking for new ways to make money, always ahead of the game. Right now the Wo Shing Shing was leading the world in pirate computer programs and child pornography.
The PA gave a flustered protest as he stood in the doorway and attempted to stop Mann from getting through. He hadn’t a hope in hell of stopping him and he knew it. They had met on a few occasions and they weren’t pleasant memories for the PA. Now CK allowed him to save face. ‘Let him enter.’
He shrieked as Mann’s shoulder caught him and knocked him back against the doorframe.
‘Sorry,’ Mann grinned, pulling him upright by his tie. ‘Didn’t see you there.’
Mann stood in the entrance and looked across the dimly lit office: plush, chrome, cool black and dark mahogany, a mix of carved Chinese furniture and elegant Western style. Lamps lit the enclaves: calculated chic. The cold in the room hit Mann full frontal; it was like a fridge.
Mann’s Armani soles made no sound as he walked across the black wood floor. The room was silent except for the low growl of the oxygen machine as it sucked in air, re-oxygenated it, and blew it out in an exasperated ‘Pah’.
CK turned from the window just long enough to gesture that Mann should sit.
Now, as he leant back in the cool folds of the black Italian chair and felt it cradle him like a baby, he was not sure he should have come. His jet black hair fell as a broken crow’s wing across his espresso pool eyes. In this chair, in this place, he found some comfort. Here he had something real and alive to hate, not a ghost, not a memory, not a nightmare. He had CK. Mann sat back in the chair and rocked gently. He turned his head towards the oxygen machine. He breathed in deeply as it breathed out. Pah.
CK turned away from the window and came to sit opposite Mann. Like everything about the room, the polished black mahogany desk was uncluttered by personal touches: a writing block, a laptop, but no photos of family. CK began slowly nodding his head as if answering an unspoken question. His expression hardly
