Meet Phoenix. Marcia King-Gamble
let her bully you,” Damon said, trying to be the peacemaker and buddying up to the man.
“Stay out of this.”
Xiong Jing, happy to have an ally, chuckled. “Ms. Phoenix is in no way bullying me. She has been most gracious.” He was comfortable with his own gender. He repeated to Damon what he’d just told me.
Damon pumped both arms in the air. “A small reprieve, a chance to go sightseeing. Buddha is good. And so is this magnificent hotel.” Grabbing my elbow, he attempted to propel me along. “Chica, you and I are going out on the town. I’ll even spring for breakfast.”
“I’ve had breakfast,” I snarled. “I need to find the Minister of Religion and Culture.”
“Find him later.” Damon made a production of sniffing under his armpits. “Turning me down, Phe? I guess I do need a shower.”
Despite my earlier irritation with him I laughed. He really was pitiful. Pitiful but funny. It was one of the things I had liked about him. He pretty much took everything in stride.
Besides, having Damon with us might come in useful after all. I was slowly finding out that being a female in this male-dominated city, dubbed the Roof of the World, was not going to be a picnic.
Two hours later after breakfast and leaving Damon to sightsee solo, I was seated in a crumbling old Tibetan building on the east side of Lhasa. Xiong Jing, who reluctantly agreed to accompany me here, paced the austere waiting room of the minister’s office. The expression on his face was inscrutable. Three puny miniature golden yaks, encased in glass, were considered decoration.
Tossing aside the newspaper I’d been pretending to read, I approached a petite secretary who was hunting and pecking on an old typewriter.
She was Chinese, and took her duties seriously, guarding the Minister of Religion and Culture like a zealous Foo Dog. So far she’d managed to keep me at bay by insisting Liu Bangfu was still meeting with the chief of police. The typewriter she banged on I hadn’t seen the likes of in years. No fancy technology here.
The secretary looked up nervously when I approached.
I drummed my fingers on her ancient desk and stared her down.
“Yes, madam?”
“I’m giving the minister another five minutes then I’m going in,” I said.
Scooting her chair back a safe distance, she squeaked, “Mr. Bangfu has given me strict orders that he is not to be interrupted.”
I straightened my five-foot-nine-inch frame. “Please remind him that I’ve been waiting here almost an hour,” I said, leaning in closer. She seemed to shrink.
Xiong Jing was still pacing. He darted worried looks at me. Judging by his mottled complexion, he would have preferred to be anywhere but here.
“I’m counting to ten, then I’m going in,” I said, beginning to count softly.
The frightened secretary picked up the receiver but hesitated before inserting a finger into the rotary dial.
Grabbing the receiver from her, I announced, “Ten,” and planted it back into its cradle. Leaving her openmouthed, I stalked by her and wended my way down a long corridor. Heels thudded behind me as Xiong Jing followed.
I stuck my head into the first open door and called, “Hello, sorry to interrupt. I’ve been waiting outside for quite some time.”
A middle-aged Chinese man held a receiver in one hand. He barked something into the mouthpiece before dropping it into its cradle. The brass nameplate on his desk confirmed that he was Liu Bangfu.
“Mr. Bangfu,” I said, pointedly glancing at my watch. “I thought perhaps you had forgotten me.”
An eyebrow rose. “Ms. Sutherland, welcome. You are the American restorer?”
The emphasis placed on American did not go unnoticed.
“Yes, I’m Phoenix Sutherland.”
“My apologies. Didn’t your project manager tell you a situation came about I needed to handle?” His natural graciousness kicking in, he stuck out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, madam.”
I accepted that hand, squeezing it hard enough to make him realize I wasn’t just some girlie-girl.
“May I offer you soja, our tea?” the minister asked, actually wincing. Gently he pried his hand loose and picked up the receiver again.
“Bring us tea,” he ordered into the phone, no doubt addressing the secretary.
“I’d just like to be told what’s going on and what the reason is for this delay,” I insisted.
The minister and Xiong Jing exchanged looks. For a moment I thought neither would answer.
“This bomb threat has us all nervous and aware,” Liu Bangfu said carefully.
“Isn’t the chief of police involved? What is he doing about this? I thought you were meeting with him.”
That produced another set of glances.
“Ten Seng Yang and I conducted our business over the phone. Have a seat.”
I sat in the one chair facing Bangfu and waited for him to go on. When no further explanation followed, I added, “Please tell me what’s going on?”
Liu Bangfu’s glasses slid dangerously low on his nose. He fidgeted with them then finally gave up. I could tell he wasn’t used to explaining himself to a woman and didn’t like it one bit.
“Didn’t I say the police are looking into it?” he said, the corners of his mouth turned up in what was supposed to be a smile. “I am certain they will keep us informed.”
“And just what are they looking into?”
“They’re interrogating groups that are known to be disruptive.”
A shriek came from the doorway. The noise sounded like a panic-stricken cat. We all jumped. The annoying secretary came scurrying in, arms flapping.
“Sir, sir,” she squeaked, hopping from one high-heeled foot to another. “We need to leave the building. Now. There’s been a bomb threat.”
“What!” Bangfu was up like a shot, gathering the papers on his desk. “You’d better leave,” he said, bolting from behind its safety. My project manager, who’d forgotten he had promised to take good care of me, raced after him.
Bangfu’s secretary’s high-pitched voice carried. “I got an anonymous call from a man who said a bomb was planted in the building. I telephoned the police. They told me to get out now. Come, come, we must go.”
I could be hardheaded but I wasn’t a fool. I sprinted right after her, but instead of leaping onto the creaky elevator they were all taking, I raced down three flights of stairs. I almost got run over by a number of uniformed men wearing visors and gloves on their way up.
I burst out of the building and spotted the majority of people milling around on the other side of the street. Neither Bangfu, my project manager, nor the minister’s high-strung secretary were among them. Suddenly I spun around.
Was I imagining things?
I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. I looked across the street and into the eyes of the pickpocket who’d attempted to steal my wallet on the plane. He took off running.
Without looking right or left I gave chase, darting across the street and right in front of a pedicab. The driver swerved, cursing at me. I was fast losing sight of my accoster. Pushing people aside, I raced after him, and came damn close to catching him, when I tripped and fell. By the time I’d steadied myself, he was plowing through the crowd.
I continued my pursuit. Brakes squealed and cars swerved as I wove through the traffic. Foreign curses came at me from every direction. Bent and determined