Part 20 (1/2)
”Nang, right? I heard Kim call you Nang.”
He nodded.
”Be a good fellow, Nang, and put your hands behind your head.”
He got to his knees for good measure.
She tugged Kim behind the back counter and picked up the gun, emptying the bullets and tossing them in an urn that had been serving as someone's spittoon. She'd intended to question Kim, but he was soundly out.
”Nang, I've got a few questions, and it would be in your best interest to answer them. You understand English fine, yes?”
Another nod.
Annja pointed at the chair she'd been tied to.
”Sit and make yourself uncomfortable.”
27.
The phone on the desk was an old rotary model that was practically an antique. She used it to call the consulate, where she talked to Rose Walters. She told Annja that Pete was out of the building. After providing the antiques shop's address and giving a quick recap of her activities, leaving out the sword fight, she hung up and turned her attention to her prisoner.
”How old are you, Nang?”
He replied, ”Twenty-two,” after she repeated the question with a trace of venom in her voice.
He looked a little older than that. She would have put him at thirty. Maybe smuggling was a hard life. ”Old enough that you should know not to get mixed up in something like this. Old enough not to wave a gun around unless you really know how to use it.”
”I can use a gun,” he retorted.
”Oh, you can pull the trigger. You just can't aim.” Or maybe he just didn't want to kill anyone. Maybe he could find redemption.
She put her palm against his chest, the little use of force serving as well as if she'd set a heavy anvil on him. He didn't budge, and the sweat beads multiplied on his face. She could hear his ragged breath, and the snores of the old man she'd propped up against the wall; she hoped she hadn't hurt him too badly. She didn't hear sirens, and she thought she would have by now, from the alarm she'd tripped in the other room.
”The police aren't coming, are they?” she asked.
Nang shook his head.
”Who is?”
He shrugged and she pushed harder against him.
”Men who work for my uncle,” he said. ”The alarm summons them.”
”How many?”
Another shrug. He shook nervously. ”I...I do not know. I just know that if trouble comes, the men come. They should be here soon.”
She removed her hand and stepped back. He looked at his lap, not wanting to meet her angry gaze. Kim was still unconscious, and she had no way to tell how long he would be out.
”Nang, I want to be gone before those men you mentioned arrive. Understand?”
A quick nod. He still avoided looking at her face.
”So you're going to talk quickly. Then I'll be away and you can go about your business.” She paused. ”I don't want to hurt you. But if I have to-”
”What do you want to know?”
”Who is behind all of this?”
His shrug was more exaggerated this time.
Annja growled from deep in her throat and stepped to the desk, sticking her pa.s.sport and wallet back in her f.a.n.n.y pack and strapping it on. She picked the crumpled business cards off the floor and flattened them as best as she could, then stuffed them back in her pocket. She took her camera, too, which they seemed to have repaired or at least jury-rigged to view the pictures.
”Try again,” she said. ”Who is behind this?”
Nang set his chin against his chest and mumbled something.
”Pardon...I couldn't hear you.”
”Lanh Vuong.”
The name didn't mean anything to her.
”Is that the Sandman? I heard your uncle talk to someone named the Sandman.”
”No.”
”So who is Lanh Vuong?”
He let out a great sigh, sounding like sand blowing in the dry wind. ”An old and powerful man,” he began. ”An important one where I come from.”
”Tell me more.”
He hesitated a bit too long, and she closed her fist.
”Where is Lanh Vuong?”
”Hue.”
She didn't need to pull the card out of her pocket. She remembered that one of the business cards was for an antiques store in Hue, Vietnam.
”Vietnam?” Annja wanted to be sure.
”Hue, Vietnam.”