Covert One 4 - The Altman Code by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page A

hotel,

magnificent. The restaurants and amenities are beyond compare. You would

be most comfortable there, I assure you. In addition, it is far more

convenient to our Biomedical Research Institute in Zhangjiang, where we

will go when you are settled. The Peace Hotel is historic, yes–but it

is scarcely four star.”
    Covert-One’s research people had informed him that there were only three

Starbucks coffee shops in Shanghai at the moment, and all were on the

Puxi side of the river, two not far from the Bund.
    He smiled and said, “I’ve always wanted to stay at the old Peace Hotel,

Dr. Liang. Call it the whim of a history buff.” The scientist sighed.

“Then of course. Naturally.”
    The limousine turned south onto the scenic street that skirted the

river, with the Bund’s colonial buildings on one side and the Huangpu

broad and flowing on the other. Smith gazed out at the row of stately

businesses and houses that overlooked the river. Here was the heart of

the old British Concession, which had established itself in 1842 and

held convulsively to power for nearly a century, until the Japanese

finally captured the city during World War II.
    Dr. Liang leaned forward and pointed. “There is your Peace Hotel.”
    “I see it. Thanks.”
    Crowned by a green pyramid, it was twelve stories of Gothic architecture

by way of the Chicago School. A notorious Shanghai millionaire, Victor

Sas-soon, had built it in 1929, after making a fortune trading in opium

and weapons.
    As the limousine pulled to a stop before the arched entrance, Dr. Liang

informed Smith, “I will register you in the name of the Biomedical

Institute.” He climbed out.
    Smith followed, casually making a 360-degree survey. He saw no sign of

the dark-blue car that had left Pudong International with them. But as

he stepped into the revolving doors, he noted their driver had also left

the limo, raised the hood, and seemed to be examining the engine, which

had been operating with the perfection of a Swiss timepiece, at least to

Smith’s ear.
    The lobby was Art Deco, little changed since the Roaring Twenties, which

had roared especially loudly in Shanghai. Dr. Liang steered Smith left,

across the white Italian-marble floor, to the registration desk. The

haughty desk clerk looked down his nose at Dr. Liang as he registered

and then over at Smith. He made little effort to conceal his arrogance.

Dr. Liang spoke to him in low, harsh Chinese, and Smith heard what

sounded like the name of the research institute. Fear flashed in the

clerk’s eyes.
    Instantly he became almost obsequious toward the Western guest. Despite

the aura of freewheeling capitalism that had enlarged the city, Shanghai

was in China, China was still a Communist country, and Dr. Liang

appeared to be a great deal more influential than he had let anyone at

the Taiwan conference see. As the clerk summoned a bellman, Dr. Liang

presented Smith with his room key. “I regret a suite could not be

authorized, but your room will be most spacious and comfortable. Do you

wish to freshen up before we continue to the institute?”
    “Today?” Smith acted surprised. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be at my best,

Dr. Liang. I was in meetings and consultations until the small hours

last night. A day of rest, and I’ll be able to do justice to our

colleagues in the morning.”
    Dr. Liang was startled. “Well, of course, that will be fine. I will

alert my staff to rearrange our schedule. But surely you will join us

for dinner. It would give all of us a great pleasure to reveal to you

the beauty of Shanghai after dark.” Smith resisted an urge to bow; it

was not a Chinese custom. “I’d be delighted, thank you. But perhaps we

can have a late start? Would nine o’clock do?” “That is agreeable. We

will be here.” Liang smiled and nodded understandingly. But there was an

edge to his voice as he added, “We will not keep you up too late, Dr.

Smith. That is a