The Disciple of Las Vegas (23 page)

Ava sat at the desk in her room until one in the morning, her notebook open, forcing herself to review the strategy that had gone so wrong.

She had bought a bottle of white Burgundy in the hotel bar and brought it up to her room. She had finished half of it, which meant that she'd drunk a bottle and a half of wine that night. It had little impact, however — her mind and her senses were as sharp as ever. And no matter how she rearranged her notes and reworked the strategy, both were telling her she was in big, big trouble.

She was going to have to call Uncle, and he'd call Chang, and Chang would talk to Ordonez, and then what? Would he blow the whole thing up? Would he go public? Would the accusations and the lawsuits start flying? And if they did, how could she keep the Mohneida out of it? Even as she asked herself these questions she knew the answers. Ordonez would sue The River, and if his lawyers were any good — and she was sure they were — they would sue the Mohneida as well. The letter of indemnification she'd given Chief Francis would be brushed aside as a useless piece of paper signed by someone not authorized to act on behalf of the Ordonez Group. As much as she cared about the money, the idea of Chief Francis's thinking she had lied to him and betrayed him bothered her more.

It was eight in the morning in Hong Kong. She knew she should make the phone call, but she went back to her notebook one more time. The only chance she had to resolve this was to get Roger Simmons to change his position. Everyone else was irrelevant.

She went online and began to read everything she could find on him. There was hardly anything of a personal nature. The first part of his life was all about business; his interest in politics had emerged once he became a rich man. In his earliest political days he had served two terms as president of the local Conservative constituency association. The media had identified him early on as a major financial backer of the national party and a potential parliamentary candidate. But about ten years ago he had gone public with his disenchantment about some Conservative Party policies, specifically those related to immigration. He had left the party briefly and attached himself to a right-wing movement that wanted to repeal immigration laws that gave preferential treatment to citizens of many of Britain's former colonies. The colonies cited were in the Caribbean, Africa, and Asia.
Now why isn't that a surprise?
Ava thought.

Simmons's public flirtation with the far right hadn't lasted long. He was wooed back to the Conservative Party and made a successful run for a seat in Parliament. His success in business had resonated with serious newspapers such as the
Times
and the
Guardian
, which earmarked him for a future Cabinet post. The party elite obviously thought highly of him; he was rewarded with a position as parliamentary secretary two years after the election and had become a full-fledged cabinet minister the year before. There was already talk of him as one of a handful of high fliers in the party, and that a more senior Cabinet posting, such as the Exchequer or maybe even the Foreign Office, wasn't beyond his reach. The
Daily Standard
had even gone so far as to say that the “local lad” had the brains and the toughness to become prime minister; that story had a link to a BBC television interview, which Ava clicked on.

The questions were general and gentle in nature. Simmons downplayed his business achievements, spoke glowingly about the prime minister and his Cabinet, and when asked about his own ambitions said he was happy to serve in whatever capacity his leader saw fit for him. The interviewer then asked if he had any interest in heading the party, in leading the country. Simmons laughed off the question, saying that his only ambition was to do his job as well as he could, every day of the week.

Ava remembered Jeremy Ashton's words about politics being Simmons's latest ego trip, and the remark he'd made about Simmons believing he was only one step away from the Prime Minister's Office. It brought to mind a Canadian client she and Uncle had worked with, a man who had a hand in both the business and political spheres. Ava had asked him how the two cultures differed.

“In business,” the client had said, “sooner or later most people find out where they fit best. The sales and marketing guy wants to do sales and marketing; he doesn't dream about becoming the chief financial officer. And the CFO, well, he's got no interest in product development. People find their level of competence and are normally content about where they fit in the structure.

“Politics,” he went on, “is a completely different animal. Everyone who's in the game has — whether they admit it or not — an oversized ego. The system fawns over them until most members of Parliament lose all sense of perspective. There isn't a single backbencher in the House who doesn't believe he or she belongs in Cabinet and could manage any portfolio. And there isn't a single cabinet minister who doesn't secretly believe he or she would make a terrific prime minister. That kind of ambition is the nature of the beast. Status and stature within the peer group becomes the most important thing in their lives. It's the only way the score is kept.”

Ava wondered aloud, “What in life matters most to Roger Simmons?” She stopped watching the BBC interview and saw that it was now past nine o'clock in Hong Kong. She knew she couldn't put off making the call to Uncle any longer.

“Uncle, it's Ava,” she said when he answered.

“Have you heard from the girl?”

“No, but I met with her father last night.”

“Will the girl sign?”

“Not unless he tells her to.”

“And will he?”

“Not as things stand.”

He paused. “That is unfortunate.”

“She is not her own woman.”

“Is there any way to persuade him?”

“I've tried to come up with something, and I have at least a sliver of an idea,” Ava said. She paused, taking a deep breath. “I need to speak to Tommy Ordonez. I'm not sure how he'll react to what I have to say, so I thought I would run it past you first.”

They spoke for fifteen minutes, Uncle listening quietly at first, then interjecting questions, anger steadily creeping into his voice. When Ava had finished, he asked, “Do you have Ordonez's phone number?”

“I have the number he used to call me.”

“That will work,” Uncle said. “But wait about half an hour. I want to call Chang first. He needs to know what you want to do. His support will be invaluable.”

“Thank you. I'm sorry I have to use this route.”

“What choice is left?”

“None that I can think of,” she said. “Uncle, one more thing. I'm going to be aggressive with Ordonez.”

He paused. “You have that right.”

Ava closed her cellphone. The notebook was still open in front of her, and she noticed the phone numbers for Lily Simmons.
I'm not entirely finished with you
, she thought.

She called the home number first, and after four rings it went to voicemail. Simmons's mobile did the same. Ava redialled the home number, and when Lily Simmons's voice prompted a message she said, “Ms. Simmons, this is Ava Lee calling. Please don't hang up until you've listened to my message. First, and perhaps most important to you, I am not going to release the tapes. I repeat, I am not going to release the tapes. But you should know that when I met with your father tonight, he told me to go ahead and do exactly that. I must say I was appalled by his attitude. He said he thought it was something you would get over fast enough, and that on the political side it might actually do him some good. I can't understand the logic of that, but then I'm not English, I'm not a man, and I'm not a politician. Anyway, your father's attitude is something you have to bear, and I can only say that I feel some sympathy for you in that regard.

“That's the good news. The bad news is that we will be pursuing The River and all its officers and directors for the $65 million. We will also have criminal charges brought against your fiancé and David Douglas in the United States. As far as the lawsuits are concerned, I can only tell you that I know we will eventually win. I don't know how long it will take or how much it will cost, but we will not stop until we get our money back.”

Nothing may come of it
, Ava thought,
but it's never unwise to plant seeds of doubt
.

She pushed her chair back from the desk and went into the bathroom, took off her slacks and shirt, and brushed her teeth and washed her face. Then she threw on a T-shirt and crawled into bed with her cellphone by her side. She waited until the full half-hour had elapsed and then waited another five minutes for good measure before picking up the phone.

“Ordonez.”

“This is Ava Lee.”

He breathed rapidly, as if, Ava thought, he was struggling for air. “Chang spoke to me and then the two of us spoke to Uncle. This man Simmons, he said I squeak like a monkey?”

“He did.”

“He said, ‘You can't shine shit'?”

“Yes.”

“And I'm the piece of shit that can't be shined?”

“Yes.”

“And he said I built my business using bribes and extortion?”

“He did.”

“And he called me a fucking chink?”

“You and others.”

“And he is a cabinet minister in the British government?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Where am I supposed to have met him?”

“Singapore.”

Ordonez's breathing slowed as he took deeper and deeper breaths. “I want you to get that fucker! I don't care what you have to do!” he screamed.

“No!” Ava yelled back. “This is on you, not me!”

He hesitated. Ava waited, determined to remain quiet until he asked the question.

“What do you mean?” he snapped.

“This has got to be about the money,” she said.

“What?”

“I've found the money, all of it, but I can't get it until Simmons's daughter signs off on the transfer. And she won't do that unless he tells her to. So this is about getting him to do exactly that, and the only person who can make that happen is you. So it's on you. What I don't know is whether you're up to it.”

“Up to what? I'd kill him myself if I could get in front of him,” Ordonez said.

“Listen to me. Simmons is a man who loves money more than his family, a man with an outsized ego, an inflated sense of his position in the world, and huge expectations for his future,” Ava said, conscious that she could be describing Ordonez himself. “The best way to hurt him is by getting your money back and at the same time threatening what he sees as that future.”

“What do you want me to do?” he said slowly.

“How powerful are you?”

“What?”

“I know what Chang Wang and Uncle say, but is it real?”

He paused, and Ava thought,
This is where I lose him
.

“Do you doubt them? Do you doubt me?” he snapped.

“I need to know what's real.”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he said.

“We need political pressure applied — serious and heavy political pressure. Can you deliver that?”

“You have to be more specific.”

“Your contacts need to put pressure on the highest levels of the U.K. government. Our story is that Simmons is a racist with a particular bias against the Chinese and that he has caused you personal harm. They need to know what he said and they need to be told that fences must be mended — especially the fences around Tommy Ordonez. Explain to them about the missing money and make sure they know that I'm here in London to collect it. Tell them that Simmons is the key to getting it back. Don't say he stole it; just emphasize that he has to play a major role if the money is to be returned. Your contacts need to get the Brits to understand that if the money is returned, Tommy Ordonez will be willing to forget some of the things that were said. If it isn't returned, they must make it very clear that there will be widespread repercussions.”

“I'll call Arellano,” Ordonez said.

Ava searched her memory. “The president of the Philippines?”

“Yes.”

“He'll cooperate?”

“I own him. At least, I own the biggest part of him.”

“That's good.”

“And I'll call Tong in Beijing.”

“The vice-premier?”

“His oldest son runs our Shanghai office.”

“Mr. Ordonez,” Ava said carefully, “those are big guns. Can you control them?”

“I said I'd call them!” he shouted. “They'll take my calls.”

“But can you control them?”

“Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because we can't have them running off half-cocked. We need to make sure the focus is on the money and an apology to Tommy Ordonez. We can't have them demanding Simmons's head. If he loses his Cabinet post, then he doesn't have any reason to cut a deal.”

Ordonez went quiet. All she could hear was his deep, heavy breathing, and she began to wonder if she had offended him again. Then he said, “You aren't the only one who understands how things work.”

“Of course not.”

“I'll make the calls.”

“Thank you.”

“You'll hear from someone,” he said, and slammed down the phone.

Ava closed her cellphone and rolled off the bed. She retrieved her half-full bottle of wine from the work station and poured a glass. “Cheers,” she said, raising the glass in the air. She took a long swallow.

She turned on the television and tried to focus, but her mind was in overdrive, imagining the conversation Tommy Ordonez was having with Felipe Arellano at that very moment. She finished off the wine, filled her glass with the balance of the bottle, and downed it quickly. She turned off the television and lay on her back.

Her last thought before falling asleep was that she had forgotten to tell Uncle about the two Chinese men she'd seen on the street.