The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,24

hope of recovering it. But it isn’t like Lam to steal. He just isn’t that kind of person.”

“So you insist,” Ava said. “But if he didn’t steal it, where did it go?”

( 10 )

Ava opened her eyes to the glare of cabin lights. She looked out the window onto the South China Sea, glittering under the morning sun and dotted with ships that would increase in density every kilometre they drew closer to Hong Kong. She stood, stretched, and then went to the bathroom to pee, brush her teeth and her hair, and get her mind settled.

Chep Lap Kok was one of a series of newer Asian airports — Bangkok, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, Beijing — built simply to move people and baggage as efficiently as possible. It had none of the romance of the old Kai Tak Airport in Kowloon, which was approached through a mountain pass over Victoria Harbour and was surrounded by apartment buildings so close that washing hung out to dry seemed to flutter against the sides of the planes.

Lap Kok was built on a manmade island in the middle of nowhere, about twenty kilometres from Hong Kong. Its virtue in Ava’s eyes was that she could deplane, clear Customs, and get her baggage (if it had been checked) in about fifteen minutes. Then, to get to the city, she could ride a high-speed train or take a cab along airport-dedicated six-lane highways. Kai Tak was only a ten-minute cab ride from Uncle’s apartment, but by the time she had cleared Customs — many times the lines in the arrivals hall extended into the corridors — and lined up for a cab, it took longer to get to Uncle’s than it did from Chep Lap Kok.

As usual, Ava was through Customs and into the arrivals area within minutes. She was starting towards the taxi stand when she heard her name called. She turned and saw Sonny. He was standing beneath the sign that read MEETING PLACE.

She blinked and then looked for Uncle. He wasn’t in sight. Sonny waved uncomfortably. Ava started to walk towards him, and as she did, tears welled in her eyes. The last time she had seen him, he was carrying her in his arms from the house in Macau. It had been a one-sided battle: three dead and one badly wounded on the other side, Ava the only one wounded on theirs. Sonny had probably saved her life.

“Hey, boss,” he said. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie, none of which did much to make him look any less menacing. He was just over six feet, broad, thick, and incredibly agile. Ava couldn’t think of another man more fearsome.

“Sonny,” she said, holding out her arms.

They hugged, something new in their relationship, something that had been changed by Macau.

“Good to see you. We weren’t sure you were coming back.”

“Neither was I.”

He reached for her carry-on. She resisted, but only for a second. They walked side by side to the exit. She had always felt small beside him, and never more so than now, as memories of Macau came charging into her head. She hadn’t thought about it, she realized. Or she had chosen to forget it. Either way, being with Sonny brought it all back.

“I told Uncle not to come to the airport,” she said.

“He sent me anyway.”

They left the airport and walked almost directly into the silver Mercedes S-Class that was Uncle’s new car. It was standing in a no-parking zone with a policeman alongside. He smiled at Sonny, and for a moment Ava thought he was going to open the doors for them. Instead he gave a slight bow of his head and moved away from the car. Ava started to open the front door, but Sonny put his hand on hers and opened the back. “You know Uncle always rides in the rear,” he said.

She hesitated and saw Sonny frown. She slid into the back seat and turned on her phone as they pulled away from the terminal. There was one voicemail from Maria, who sounded a lot more downcast than she had when Ava said she was going back to work. It was early evening in Toronto and Ava could have reached her. She decided not to. When she was on a job, she tried to keep her personal life and any distractions it might bring at bay. It was a good habit to get back into.

“We aren’t going to the Mandarin,” Sonny said, his eyes