The Stone Monkey

agent shook her head, smiling in a condescending way, as if astonished that the immigrant couldn’t figure out the obvious.
    Sachs left the somber family behind and motioned Li after her to the clinic exit. They paused at the curb then jogged between two fast-moving taxis. Sachs wondered if she’d been close enough to the second one to cut the tail off any demons pursuing her.
    •   •   •
    The building and the garage beneath it were virtually impregnable but the parking garage annex in an underground structure across the street was far less so.
    Concern about terrorist bombs had prompted the Government Services Administration to limit access to the garage under Manhattan Federal Plaza. There were so many federal employees that it would create huge bottlenecks to check every vehicle that entered the garage under the building itself, so that facility was closed to all but the most senior government officials and the one next door constructed for other employees. There was still security in the annex, of course, but since the garage sat beneath a small park, even the worst bomb damage would be limited.
    In fact, tonight at 9 P.M . the security was not at its best because the one guard on duty at the entrance booth waswatching some excitement: a car fire on Broadway. An old van was burning down to its tires—a conflagration observed by hundreds of happy passersby.
    The chunky guard had stepped out of his booth, watching the black smoke and orange flames dancing through the windows of the van.
    So he didn’t notice the slight man dressed in a suit and carrying an attaché case step quickly into the “autos only” entrance and hurry down the ramp into the half-deserted garage.
    The man had memorized the license plate number of the car he sought and it took him only five minutes to find it. The navy blue government-issue vehicle was very close to the main exit door; the driver had this choice spot because he’d arrived only a half hour ago—long after the offices had closed and most of the federal employees had left for the day.
    Like nearly all federal cars—the man had been assured—there was no alarm. After a fast glance around the garage he pulled on cloth gloves, quickly drove a wedge between the window and the side of the door, slipped a slim-jim tool inside the space and popped the lock. He opened his attaché case and took out a heavy paper bag, glanced inside for one final check. He saw the cluster of foot-long yellow sticks on whose side were the words: EXPLOSIVE. DANGER. SEE INSTRUCTIONS BEFORE USE . Wires ran from a detonator in one of the sticks to a battery box and from there to a simple pressure switch. He placed the bag under the driver’s seat, unwound a length of wire, then slipped the pressure switch between the springs of the seat. Anyone who weighed more than ninety pounds would complete the circuit and set off the detonator simply by sitting down.
    The man clicked the power switch on the battery box from OFF to ON and locked the door of the car, closed it as quietly as he could and left the garage, walking matter-of-factly past the still-oblivious security guard, raptly watching the NYFD douse the flames of the burning van though with a little disappointment in his face—as if he was sorry that the gas tank hadn’t blown up spectacularly, as they always did in action flicks and TV shows.

Chapter Twenty-six
    They sat in silence, watching the small television set, William translating those words that his parents didn’t understand.
    The special news report didn’t give the names of the people who’d nearly been killed on Canal Street but there was no doubt that it was Wu Qichen and his family; the story said they’d been passengers on the Fuzhou Dragon that morning. One of the Ghost’s confederates had been killed but the snakehead himself had escaped with one or two others.
    The story ended and commercials came on the television screen. William rose and walked to the window, looked out at the dark street.
    “Get back,” Chang snapped to his son. But the boy remained where he was for a defiant moment.
    Children . . . Chang thought.
    “William!”
    The boy finally stepped away and walked into the bedroom. Ronald flipped through channels on the television.
    “No,” Sam Chang told his younger son. “Read. Get a book and practice your English.”
    The boy dutifully stood. He went to the shelf and found a volume and returned to the couch to read.
    Mei-Mei finished