THE GATES OF BEIJING (8)
In which Jim, going against his own better judgment, keeps his appointment at the Formosa, only to discover it really was a honey trap after all.
THE RECKONING
Sailing into the driveway of the Formosa a few minutes before the appointed hour, I circled the cramped rotary drive looking for a strategic place to stow my bike in case I needed to make a quick getaway. With seven parts curiosity, three parts trepidation, I kicked back the kickstand, ran my fingers through my hair, tucked in my shirt, and slipped into the under-lit lobby like a seasoned regular.
Huamei had her clandestine appointments, and I had mine.
While I still had no idea what the person I was appointed to meet looked like, Huamei assured me I’d have no trouble figuring it out. When I suggested calling the whole thing off, she reminded me I promised to go, not that I remember making that promise, and even if I did, was it worth getting in trouble for?
I chose one of the many neglected tables on the far side of the lobby and slumped into a chair in the corner, facing outwards. When the sluggish waiter deigned to get up and take my order, I answered with a laconic “ka-f…