The Master of Rain by Tom Bradby Page A

don’t trust anyone from Granger’s mob.”

    “That doesn’t make sense. We’re from the same force.”

    “You think so? Then good luck to you, Dickie.”

    “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t patronize me.”

    Caprisi frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”

    “I may be new, but I’m not stupid.”

    “I’ll have to take your word for that, Dickie.”

    Caprisi held his stare. Field tried hard to see what was behind the American’s dark eyes. He suddenly felt as if everyone in this city were a total, unfathomable stranger, and would remain so.

    “All right,” Caprisi said, his face softening again. He took a pace toward him. “All right, Field. I’ve got some paperwork to do, but come down in a couple of hours and we’ll go from there.”

    Field looked at his watch, embarrassed.

    “You have a social engagement. Drinks at the Shanghai Club?”

    “He’s my uncle.”

    Caprisi looked as if he was going to say something else, then thought better of it. “Tomorrow morning, then. Nine o’clock, if that’s not too early for you. We’ll meet and then go to the ten o’clock briefing.”

    “What about Lu?”

    “Easy, polar bear.” Caprisi smiled. “As I said, welcome to Shanghai. It’s one slow step at a time, if we manage to take any steps at all.”
     

    Granger was on the phone when Field knocked on the glass door of his office a few minutes later, but shouted, “Come in.”

    Field stood awkwardly in front of him, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening to the call. Granger was discussing arrangements to go to the cinema with his wife. He smiled at Field as he suggested they see
Trifling Women.

    The office was small. A bookcase behind him was lined with leather-bound volumes. There was a black-and-white photograph of an attractive dark-haired woman.

    Granger said, “I love you, too,” and put down the phone. He leaned back on his chair, taking a cigarette from the silver case on the table and a box of matches from the pocket of his waistcoat. “Have a seat.” He pointed at the leather chair in the corner.

    Field shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you, sir. I just need the current file on Lu Huang.”

    Granger frowned. “Why are you asking me?”

    “They seemed to think you had it.”

    “Danny told you that?”

    Field hesitated. “He said he thought you had it.”

    “Shit. I don’t think I have.” Granger sucked in the smoke and blew it out slowly, still leaning back on his chair, his big head resting on the bookshelf behind him. “Biers is so bloody anal about all that stuff.”

    Field watched the thick smoke being dissipated by the ceiling fan. He decided Granger was one of those people it was almost impossible not to like. Doubts that crept into your mind when you were away from him were almost instantly quashed upon return to his orbit by the warmth and force of his personality. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”

    Granger stood, throwing his cigarette into the metal bin in the corner. He moved around the desk and placed a large arm around Field’s shoulders. “Anytime. Like to keep in touch.” They were at the door. “Must get you round for dinner. Caroline always wants to meet my new boys.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    Granger reached again for his cigarettes and lit another, inhaling the smoke and blowing it noisily toward the ceiling before offering one to Field. “How are you finding the city?”

    “Exciting.” Field hesitated. “Overwhelming, on occasions.”

    “You’ll get used to it.” Granger waved his arm expansively. “Greatest city on earth.”

    “Better than Dublin?”

    “Jesus!” Granger laughed derisively as he returned to his side of the desk and sat himself down once more. “The work’s a bit dull for you, but we’ll get you doing something more interesting . . . Ready for the match on Saturday?”

    “Yes.”

    Granger pointed his cigarette. “You know, you want to watch that little shit Caprisi. He’s their scrum half.