over Mei-Zhen’s right shoulder into the crowd, searching for the face. He could sense her tensing in response to his sudden preoccupation. She was preparing to disappear when he raised his hand just an inch above the table.
“No. It’s OK,” he rasped. “Don’t move.”
“What was that?” she asked. “You looked like someone just walked over your grave.”
“Maybe they did,” he replied without humor, still searching.
“Are we good?” She took a deep, controlled breath.
He nodded although he was still unsettled. There was just too much activity. Too many faces. Who had he seen?
Lam was conflicted. Despite Chan’s threats to their lives, the uncertainty surrounding the operation’s viability and his instinct telling him he should convince Mei-Zhen not to go back in, he was also a cop impatient for progress; probably more so than her. He couldn’t stomach the idea of the operation being derailed, especially now. Chan’s warning to him was proof that they were on to something.
Lam had spent most of his career working these cases, identifying the emerging players, their weaknesses and patterns of operation. He had been pushing shit uphill for years, but now he knew them all – the big names in the region. The involvement of the Triads in human trafficking was his particular specialty and it had made him very unpopular in certain circles. The forced labor trade was an accepted part of life in this part of the world and the operators who kept it running were well connected. But he was determined to continue; so determined, in fact, that he had kept the details of Interpol’s infiltration of the factory from his immediate superiors, convincing them that he was merely assisting an intelligence analyst in a mid-level investigation. Only Assistant Commissioner Kwong knew the real story and even that had been sanitized. Maybe Chan was right. Maybe Lam was nothing more than an annoyance to the hierarchy and they saw this Interpol connection as a final “make or break” – with emphasis on the “break.”
Mei-Zhen had spent a month working at the factory and, despite her best efforts, had found nothing that, from an evidentiary perspective, could link Wu Ming unequivocally to its operation or the transnational human trafficking consortium to which he was suspected of belonging. The fact that the factory ran exclusively on the back of forced labor was an issue that, to date, had been overlooked by the powers that be – Wu Ming was too well connected. But if there was even the slightest hope of cracking the consortium, or even just Wu Ming’s part in it, Lam felt that they had to try, no matter what the personal risk to them both. If they made it through then maybe he would finally retire and leave Hong Kong for good.
“So, if you are hell-bent on going back in there, tell me why,” he found himself asking her. “Tell me what has changed.”
“Things there were going along without incident; all routine, nothing noteworthy. But there’s been a significant buildup of activity over the past week, and out of nowhere two new arrivals showed up. Mid-level management types in identical black suits, obviously nothing to do with the factory stuff.”
“Enforcers, coming in ahead of someone important?”
“That’s exactly what I thought … like a recon team. They arrived without notice, even the factory managers were caught off guard, and within no time these new guys started getting rough – with everybody.” She gestured to her bruised face. “If you get in their way, even just walking past … well, enough said.”
Lam drank his coffee and lit another cigarette; he knew not to offer her one. Instead, he remained silent as she continued.
“Late yesterday one of the factory supervisors was beaten within an inch of his life because something wasn’t done right. I don’t know what. It all happened downstairs and I couldn’t see from my desk in the office, but I heard the commotion as it erupted.
“No. It’s OK,” he rasped. “Don’t move.”
“What was that?” she asked. “You looked like someone just walked over your grave.”
“Maybe they did,” he replied without humor, still searching.
“Are we good?” She took a deep, controlled breath.
He nodded although he was still unsettled. There was just too much activity. Too many faces. Who had he seen?
Lam was conflicted. Despite Chan’s threats to their lives, the uncertainty surrounding the operation’s viability and his instinct telling him he should convince Mei-Zhen not to go back in, he was also a cop impatient for progress; probably more so than her. He couldn’t stomach the idea of the operation being derailed, especially now. Chan’s warning to him was proof that they were on to something.
Lam had spent most of his career working these cases, identifying the emerging players, their weaknesses and patterns of operation. He had been pushing shit uphill for years, but now he knew them all – the big names in the region. The involvement of the Triads in human trafficking was his particular specialty and it had made him very unpopular in certain circles. The forced labor trade was an accepted part of life in this part of the world and the operators who kept it running were well connected. But he was determined to continue; so determined, in fact, that he had kept the details of Interpol’s infiltration of the factory from his immediate superiors, convincing them that he was merely assisting an intelligence analyst in a mid-level investigation. Only Assistant Commissioner Kwong knew the real story and even that had been sanitized. Maybe Chan was right. Maybe Lam was nothing more than an annoyance to the hierarchy and they saw this Interpol connection as a final “make or break” – with emphasis on the “break.”
Mei-Zhen had spent a month working at the factory and, despite her best efforts, had found nothing that, from an evidentiary perspective, could link Wu Ming unequivocally to its operation or the transnational human trafficking consortium to which he was suspected of belonging. The fact that the factory ran exclusively on the back of forced labor was an issue that, to date, had been overlooked by the powers that be – Wu Ming was too well connected. But if there was even the slightest hope of cracking the consortium, or even just Wu Ming’s part in it, Lam felt that they had to try, no matter what the personal risk to them both. If they made it through then maybe he would finally retire and leave Hong Kong for good.
“So, if you are hell-bent on going back in there, tell me why,” he found himself asking her. “Tell me what has changed.”
“Things there were going along without incident; all routine, nothing noteworthy. But there’s been a significant buildup of activity over the past week, and out of nowhere two new arrivals showed up. Mid-level management types in identical black suits, obviously nothing to do with the factory stuff.”
“Enforcers, coming in ahead of someone important?”
“That’s exactly what I thought … like a recon team. They arrived without notice, even the factory managers were caught off guard, and within no time these new guys started getting rough – with everybody.” She gestured to her bruised face. “If you get in their way, even just walking past … well, enough said.”
Lam drank his coffee and lit another cigarette; he knew not to offer her one. Instead, he remained silent as she continued.
“Late yesterday one of the factory supervisors was beaten within an inch of his life because something wasn’t done right. I don’t know what. It all happened downstairs and I couldn’t see from my desk in the office, but I heard the commotion as it erupted.
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