Like Clockwork

By MF Thomas

As he staggers away from the chaotic aftermath of an explosion in downtown Shanghai, American Jake Bannon has bigger problems than the ringing in his ears. He has reawakened into a world of amnesia where he is prey to relentless pursuers from China…and America.

Bannon is a man of method, a meticulous pharmaceutical scientist who leaves nothing to chance. As his business trip draws to a close, everything has gone like clockwork.

On a rare impulse, Bannon decides to take a stroll through an old haunt, a shopping district in Shanghai. It's a fateful decision that changes everything as an explosion rips through the early morning air. Chinese authorities, already on high alert from recent incident with Japan, are quick to the scene of the blast. Through the cloudy dust and eerie silence, they have already identified their man.

As Bannon struggles to reconcile the shattered fragments of his memory, he realizes that he is being hunted. And now Bannon has nothing but his instinct to guide him and a persistent voice ringing through his mind:

It's time to go.

At the center of a narrowing, ever more dangerous investigation, Bannon is stalked through the backstreets of Shanghai, an environment where survival and the machinations of fate throw him into the arms of Grace. Seeing Grace jolts Bannon's memories and his real identity slowly returns. Bannon knows he can't trust anyone – but with the authorities banging at the door, he has no choice.

Like Clockwork is a contemporary espionage novel in which MF Thomas, author of the acclaimed thrillers Arcade, Seeing by Moonlight, and A Sickness in Time, has created a suspenseful portrait of a Shanghai in tumultuous upheaval.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667864518

Book preview

Prologue

Shanghai, China

The Chinese characters that represent Shanghai mean, respectively, above and sea. Or taken together, upon the sea. Like so much that shaped the city, and China itself, there was a beauty in the characters, and in their definition. But also, like so much here, there was something twined to that beauty, something below that sea, which was darker.

For Jake Bannon, the city itself was a sea – of people, of sound, of photographic images that piled upon each other: the Pudong District’s glittery financial skyline, the sprawl of the Yu Garden, the Bund with its old, colonial buildings. Like a roiling, restless ocean, the city moved and thrummed with its crowds of people buying, selling, shouting, striving.

These days, the image seemed especially appropriate for the churning state of the city. The economy was reeling from a massive shock in the stock market; and that brought protests, nationalist speeches, small street riots stirring Shanghai’s already-tumultuous currents. If you just looked for the most obvious signs of civilization, you might feel protected – the airport was open, and its planes slid across the sky. Decadent hotels, restaurants, and clubs were ready to indulge your desires for a price, make it easy to forget those signs of trouble. But Jake was not the type to ignore the signs; and he was anxious to leave.

International tensions were already running high before the market bottomed out, due to China’s literal foray into the ocean, using dredged up sediment to create land out of water in the South China Sea, then topping these artificial islands with runways and radar facilities. If international sanctions – or worse – should descend on this city, igniting the already tense situation in the markets and the streets, a Westerner like Jake would not want to be caught here. He could feel the potential already, like a distant storm, already influencing the waters even if the clouds were unseen.

But tonight, he forced himself to put those thoughts out of his mind, at least for a little while. Tonight, from the window of his taxi, the Huangpu River glittered; a golden sunset-snake. The Bund was busy with people strolling its trajectory along the river from the Waibaidu Bridge to Nanpu Bridge. It was in many ways a perfect, shining night. All Jake needed to do was focus on that, leaving his darker knowledge to the side for a little while. Like all the worst truths, it would still be there when it was time.

The taxi pulled to the curb at the Peninsula Shanghai, where Jake’s brother was staying. No surprise – Greg always wanted, and usually got, the best. Their dinner was a reservation at Sir Elly’s, whose expansive view took in the river and the skyscrapers, and the romance of the Bund below.

Jake got out of the cab and straightened his jacket and tie. He was still wearing what he had all day, an off-the-rack suit perfectly adequate for his meetings as regional director for Lebo Medical. Mid-level meetings for a mid-level executive at a medium-sized pharmaceutical company. This hotel didn’t see many like him; but his intrusion wouldn’t last long.

As he ascended to the restaurant in one of the hotel’s sleek elevators, he imagined his brother, in a tailor-made suit, discussing his own meetings. Greg, five years older than Jake, always had to be the one who made it a little bit farther. Whether it was running track in school or studying at an Ivy League school instead of University of Maryland, Greg thrived on his victories and let his younger brother know that he did, too.

Jake didn’t mind. He liked being the quiet one, the one in the background. He was a lab rat at heart, with a dream to use science to change the world. Over time, of course, he’d come to believe that the real science was in tracking the way the world had already changed; the necessary alchemy was figuring out how it had changed, why, and whether there was anything to be done about it. If there was, the solutions had to be based on logical formulas for survival. It was all about executing simple plans, taking steps forward because there was no way back. The real world didn’t provide blank slates; every story since the Big Bang had already begun.

As the elevator door slid open, Jake could already hear his brother’s voice, smoothly speaking Chinese. Jake only spoke English here. Most understood it, and when some did not, Jake simply moved on. Simple steps. Greg would say life had to be about more than that. He could be dominating, or accessible, or both at once when he was really cruising. As he chose and sampled his wine, the waiter took a step back, obsequious. Greg smiled engagingly, nodded his approval. He was well practiced at this, Jake thought – the sophisticated connoisseur, the authority. Greg wore his prestige and respect with such jet-setting ease – he worked for a management consulting firm that ran with both governments and global corporations, or so he said. But his loosely offered geopolitical insights, the vague way he waved off details of his latest clientele, Jake had long suspected the position was merely a cover for work with more intrigue. Greg never openly teased such a thing; even if true it wouldn’t be in his nature. He preferred to seem just a bit ahead of his younger brother, even if it was a pretense. So he kept his secrets, and Jake kept his theories.

Greg saw Jake and smiled, his dark hair shining in the perfectly modulated lights of the restaurant, the diamond backdrop of the sparkling city spilling through crystal clear glass beside him. He waved his brother over; and Jake smiled back and joined him. Once the waiter had filled his own wine glass and retreated, he broke into conversation.

Was surprised to get your call, Jake said. The wine was a very good Syrah. Chinese grapes, he decided.

I heard you were here on business same as me, and when was the last time we got together, just the two of us? We don’t have to wait for Thanksgiving at Mom’s house to catch up, Greg said, loosening his very good Armani tie.

Jake smiled, No, we don’t. So what project are you working on?

A little of this and that, Greg grinned more broadly. You know I can’t go into it. Company secrets.

Company secrets, Jake laughed, pushing his always unruly blonde hair off his face. So hush-hush. Like spy games.

Greg’s smile stayed frozen but his eye twitched. Haha, my brother the jokester, he said.

Jake shrugged. He’d hit a nerve. But Greg was staying at the Peninsula, and Jake was across town, at the Holiday Inn. If he couldn’t take a little joke, how was he ever going to enjoy the luxury?

Not a lot of laughs in the air around here, with all this business about the Marianas, Jake said, taking them into political waters, a subject that other families might consider controversial, but not theirs.

Conflict is a way of life here, Greg said, accepting the transition. You’ve been over here often enough. The way people haggle in the shops – this is just the international version, that’s all.

This feels a little bit bigger than negotiating over knock-off handbags, Jake said. Neither of them needed to be spies to know that. China had shot down a Japanese fighter jet using a new long-range missile. Not only were the Japanese dealing with the loss of the plane, air traffic in the whole region of the incident had shut down; which disrupted things on every level. An act of minimal violence that wielded maximum political and economic leverage was one of the new ways that superpowers flexed their muscles at one another.

You don’t know the half of it, Greg responded. China is making all the nice excuses and apologies, but the message is sent. They’ve got a new toy and there isn’t much that can stop them from playing with again, for now.

I don’t follow the news the way you do, Jake said. When I’m not traveling, I just want to relax. Meditate.

Ha, meditation. You’re a scientist through and through, and then you undermine yourself with this hokum, Greg said.

Not hokum. Proven, Jake said mildly. Someday people will think about meditation the way they think about exercise. No one blinks an eye when you say you’re going to go to the gym and grab some exercise. But forty-some years ago, people would look at you like you were crazy.

He had somehow finished his wine and poured himself another glass. Greg followed suit. And what has brought you back to this hotbed of everything and anything?

Shanghai, Jake went on, raising his glass triumphantly, is now officially our test market for our new diabetes drug. Assuming all this turmoil settles down, we’ll be underway in two weeks.

Perfect timing!, Greg grinned. They’re going to need it after two hundred million dollars in ads for Snappy Pops Cereal start dropping next month. They’ll forget they ever ate anything else for breakfast. He laughed. That’s my big secret – giant puffs of sugar, and this company I’m advising is going to turn a whole country mad for it. Now don’t reveal the secret or I’ll have to kill you.

Dinner came and went: a whole fish, Blue Lake beans, a noodle dish that Greg requested in Chinese. A second bottle of wine. Green tea for Jake, black coffee for Greg.

Business talk gave way as the food and fermentation relaxed them. They talked about their mother, their stepfather, their sister, Greg’s ex-wife, whether either of them planned to settle down any time soon. They talked about the new Baskin-Robbins franchise across the river, and how people here didn’t seem to like chocolate flavors, preferring the fruit ones.

They reminisced about sharing a room as boys. The comic books they fought over. How they should’ve saved them all, probably worth a fortune now with comic book heroes taking over the world. Wouldn’t even need jobs. Yeah.

Why don’t you bunk here, tonight? Greg asked, predictably. There’s an extra bedroom in the suite, the breakfast will make you feel ready to conquer the world.

Jake demurred. Thanks, but I’ve got an early meeting; my hotel’s closer.

Greg asked what the meeting was about, and Jake just gave one of his small shrugs; it was his turn to cite the need to keep company secrets. If you think they’re guarded in the cereal business, you ought to try pharmaceuticals sometime, he joked, as he stared his tea swirling in its cup.

You need a poker face, Greg said.

But we’re not playing poker. Jake protested. They were sitting on the bottom bunk bed in their shared bedroom, playing 21. Despite Jake’s scientific, well-organized mind, he had never quite mastered it.

In most card games, the dealer is just providing a function, but in 21, you have the illusion that the dealer is your opponent. Fall for that and you’re done for. Greg explained, placing the cards in Jake’s hands. Deal them.

Jake dealt out two hands, turning one of his up as the dealer must. He struggled to grasp what lesson his wise older brother was trying to teach.

Now, Greg said, there’s house rules – as the dealer you have no decisions to make. You hit on 16 and stay on 17. I’m the only one with a choice. Your job is to make me try to read you instead of the situation, so look at me.

Jake looked at his brother. Greg shook his head.

That’s nothing. A poker face isn’t nothing. It’s nothing plus a challenge. Look at me like you know you’re going to win.

Jake frowned. So, I’m lying?

A bluff isn’t the same thing as a lie. This isn’t about cards and it isn’t about one hand. If your belief can disrupt my game, I start making bad decisions; then I try to make up for those bad decisions and suddenly I’m in twice as much trouble. If I just play the situation, maybe I get a couple of good hits and I can walk away ahead; but if I take your challenge, I definitely lose. The house does business and tricks me into making it personal. You get under my skin without letting me under yours. Remember that. In any game. Don’t let people in, don’t let them know what’s really happening.

Not even mom? Jake teased.

Not if she’s playing. Greg said.

Jake nodded. Later that night he’d stare at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to internalize the idea of the poker face. Not just for poker. For any game.

One memory leapt to another, sharper one, and the connection between them was painfully obvious.

You never let me in. It’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking or feeling, Sarah said, exasperated. She couldn’t have known just how accurately she was skewering Jake for his success at acting on Greg’s advice.

It was years later, and Jake was in college, affecting that first cynicism of adulthood that decided everyone around him was hiding their true agendas and true feelings. He hadn’t learned yet that if you saw everything as a game, you could win an awful lot; and then have no one to share the victory with.

I don’t get it. I’m not hiding anything from you, Jake had protested.

She spun toward him and ran her hand along the angular planes of his cheekbones, smoothed his hair. I’ll miss you. You’re really adorable when you smile, that dimple in your chin. But you don’t even know what you’re hiding. You’d make a great undercover cop if you weren’t born to be a scientist.

I don’t understand, Jake pleaded with her, too young and scared to know anything about himself. How did she think she knew so much?

You don’t have to understand. Sarah said, and her tone grew harsher now, less regretful. We are just not right together. And I’m not going to lie and say it’s me and not you. It’s all you.

Jake’s reverie had caused him to lapse into silence. Greg took the opportunity to pay the check.

When they got up to leave, they gave each other a bear hug that felt good, that reminded Jake what it was like to have a brother, even if you only saw that brother at family holidays and at the occasional dinner in a very fancy hotel restaurant.

Remember when we were kids? We’d tell each other everything. Girls. Grades. The whole shebang, Greg remarked.

We’re not kids anymore, Jake ventured. He held tight in the hug, the physical message carrying what