It took Caldwell and Mei Lin almost ten mio reach the entrao the uy. A couple of sleek oblong taxis were queued up at the taxi stand, their electrics idling. Wang Lin had disappeared. Mei Lin handed Caldwell a roll of New a Yuan and a credit chip and jumped into the first taxi. The automatic doors swished shut and the vehicle slid sideways into traffic. Caldwell got into the sed taxi. The driver, an old weather-beaten man with short spiky gray hair and a mole at the back of his neck with a sirand of hair growing out of it, turned round and gave him the once over. Caldwell had a feeling he was going to need all the Mandarin he could muster.
“Ni qu nar li a?” the driver asked, rolling his “r”s like his teeth were made of Malaysian rubber. His voice was a deep guttural drawl. If you ran it through a voialysis struct, you’d find traces of some obscure northern dialect.
“Follow those two 4x4s,” Caldwell urged in his best Mandarin.
“The ohat just sped……（内容加载失败！）
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