When Ray Jenkins hung up, he was even more baffled about the connection to Nancy Lynn. Juang Huang had traveled some distance from the city to track her down in the backwoods of Georgia. They were missing an important piece of the puzzle if the Chinese mafia wasn’t a piece of the action.
Juang Huang was at a downtown Atlanta hotel and was taken into custody without incident. Lt. Thomason was pegged to interrogate him about his business in the United States and his interest in Nancy Lynn.
Huang was a snappy dresser, and seemed little concerned with being detained. He asked to make a phone call, a right he believed was owed for his inconvenience. He phoned his attorney, who had a contact in Atlanta who’d take care of the problem.
He sat at the bare metal table staring at the dingy, white-washed walls until Lt. Thomason arrived for questioning. He was asked about his reason for being in the United States.
He replied, “I’m here to accompany a family member home for burial.”
“Who?”
“Liu Chang, my sister’s husband.”
“Who sent you?”
“My sister. She wants him to have a proper burial.”
Thomason waited a minute before continuing, reflecting on the recent discovery of the Black Society’s decision to back away from Liu Chang’s business in the US. Apparently, now his family was responsible for setting things right.
“I see,” he said.
“What prompted your trip to a rural farming community near Cuthbert? That’s an out-of-the-way day trip for your purpose here.”
“I was checking on my brother-in-law’s mistress. And, since you don’t know who murdered him, she may be in danger, too.”
“How did you know where to find her?”
“Pretty easy, actually. Without my brother-in-law’s money she’d be on the streets, and would most likely return to her relatives. Searching on the Internet for next of kin led me to her.”
Thomason didn’t buy his lies about concern for Nancy Lynn’s safety. There was more to the story, or he wouldn’t have rear-ended Ray Jenkins, Sydney Jones’s private investigator. A detail he chose to omit from his questioning.
Thomason paced the interview about the family and his sister’s knowledge of her husband’s mistress.
Juang Huang’s voice took on a husky tone when he said, “Sure, she knew about his affairs, but it is common for wealthy men to consort with prostitutes and have mistresses. She has a good life in Beijing with her family and accepted his flings as part of our culture.”
Thomason knew when affairs of the heart were involved, sparks fly, and sometimes more. In China and other regions of the world, the old ways were dying as women were more educated and empowered and wanted more from marriage.
If he was on a call of duty for his sister, she might be the one behind his murder and after Nancy Lynn. But how could he prove it when she was a foreigner not on US soil?
Sydney Jones was right; Nancy Lynn most likely didn’t murder Liu Chang. Losing his financial support put her on the streets—literally. He would investigate freeing up some of her assets when the case was officially closed.
Thomason concluded his interrogation and said, “Your brother-in-law’s murder is still under investigation. You’ll be released from our custody and expected to be on the next flight to Beijing, along with the corpse.”
He assigned an agent to keep tabs on him until he boarded the flight home with his brothers-in-law’s body.
The next morning, he received word Liu Chang’s body had been loaded on the airline and Juang Huang was on his way home. Thomason was relieved but in the back of his mind, he knew it wasn’t over. Someone else might arrive to finish the job. It was enough that someone tried to kill Sydney Jones relating to this case. Someone wanted Nancy Lynn to get life without parole or even the death penalty, and would go to any lengths to achieve it. Ming Chang was likely the mastermind behind the plan.
He just hoped the grieving widow would bury her grudge and go about her life. For as long as she remained in China, she was untouchable. But the minute she set foot on American soil that would change. He’d personally take care of her killing streak. Hopefully, before she met Sydney Jones. He knew very well how that would end. Sydney was always packed and loaded.
After leaving the GBI headquarters, Juang Huang called his sister, Ming. He figured the agents were probably listening, so he spoke in their native tongue. He hoped there was no translator nearby to decode the message, at least until he exited US airspace. He made it plain that she was not to have any contact with anyone associated with her husband in the States. She needed to drop her vendetta and see to her family. He’d talk after he got her husband’s body to its rightful place in preparation for his funeral. Their cousin’s body had already been sent back to mainland China, awaiting his family’s instructions.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Star is Born
Sydney Jones’s law firm was running like a well-oiled machine. Her attorney litigators were winning big cases often. She picked and chose the cases she’d represent for her clients, and they were in good hands with her new staff attorneys and competent management staff.
She was working on a personal injury case for a movie studio located in Atlanta. One of their construction set workers was injured while building full-scale scenery for their next movie. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury, but the recovery time could be lengthy and rehabilitation costly.
The studio was willing to negotiate, but didn’t want to be taken by Ray Grantham, the attorney representing their worker. Speed in resolving the matter was paramount, as the production designer and director of production were at each other’s throats. There was no way the director would allow the set constructor back on the job, fearing an even greater lawsuit. The show must go on, and although this worker was more creative and skilled than most, there were others the designer could hire to get the job done on their production schedule and within budget.
Sydney had the numbers the studio was willing to pay and from her staff’s investigation, it was a reasonable payout for injuries of this nature. She just had to sell it to Ray Grantham, the attorney representing the worker. The buried news reports that had surfaced indicated he’d ride this case to stardom, if possible. She just had to point him toward the legal reality. This case wouldn’t take him to the top of Kennesaw Mountain.
After much bickering about her hoity-toity legalize, the worker’s attorney, Grantham, agreed to the studio’s terms and conditions. The negotiations were completed and signed by all parties, with payment promptly delivered.
The studio was pleased with Sydney Jones and invited her to a screening of the movie when it was completed. She accepted.
Sydney was glad when Lt. Thomason called to let her know Nancy Lynn was no longer a person of interest or suspect in the murder of Liu Chang. She couldn’t wait to tell her the news and about the casting interview she’d quickly set up for her at a major motion picture studio in Atlanta.
She’d called one of the local studio executives she’d met while working on a case at the studio. Dominic Houser said he’d seen Nancy Lynn on headline news and wondered what the outcome would be. He was glad her case had been dismissed. She was a natural beauty and with some hard work and luck, she might make it in the film industry.
Sydney thanked him profusely and was excited Nancy Lynn would have a second chance at the career she wanted. She made a quick decision to call her and meet for dinner downtown.
Sydney’s secretary made reservations at one of Atlanta’s top restaurants, the White Oak Kitchen and Cocktails, well-known for its contemporary spin on Southern comfort foods. She thought Nancy Lynn would especially enjoy their menu as a reminder of home.
Nancy Lynn was excited to hear from Sydney. It had been a long time; six months of her life spent as a recluse, while hoping and praying for a miracle. She’d love to meet her at the rest
aurant nearby and thank her personally for the good news, and let her know Lt. Thomason had unfrozen her bank account and returned her car and personal belongings.
Sydney had just parked when she saw Nancy Lynn walking toward the restaurant door. She called out to her and she turned and waited for her to catch up. When the two entered the restaurant, all eyes were on them. Nancy Lynn was beautiful, as usual. They were quickly seated and ordered drinks while looking over the menu. The waiter suggested the house specialties and a light appetizer. They agreed; his recommendations sounded good, then they ordered their favorites from the menu.
They sipped on their chardonnay, and Sydney noticed Nancy Lynn relaxing as they talked. She didn’t realize how lonely Nancy Lynn had been since the murder of Liu Chang while laying low from whoever was after her.
Sydney explained she could stay in the midtown condo indefinitely. When her income became steady, she could make rental payments to her office.
When she told her about the casting, she’d set up with a local movie studio, Nancy Lynn’s eyes danced with merriment just before tears started trickling down her face. Sydney smiled and said, “You’re going to be okay; you just wait and see.”
Nancy Lynn dabbed her eyes with a tissue Sydney handed her from her purse. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for all you’ve done.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Sydney. “It’s my job to right wrongs.”
“I hope you won’t mind staying in touch,” said Nancy Lynn. “You’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Consider us friends,” said Sydney. “Call me anytime you want, and I’ll do the same. Maybe we can catch a movie together sometime. Hopefully, one with you in it.”
Nancy Lynn smiled and said, “If dreams come true, it’ll happen.”
The rest of the evening was spent enjoying their drinks and dinner while other patrons glanced toward them from time to time. They smiled.
CHAPTER NINE
Sweet Isabella
Almost a year had passed since Walker arrived in Cuba. He’d picked up Isabella on his motorbike at dusk during the weekends to continue his surveillance of top-ranked military leaders and their women at the popular local meeting places around Havana.
When out on the town, Isabella would whisper the names of the men and women who gathered regularly to enjoy the nighttime parties along the streets and open-air parks, and occasionally restaurants and bars. When she received a tip about a possible meeting or event where he could obtain a lead, she passed it on to him and they’d plan to attend.
Growing up on the island, she’d attended school with many they saw regularly singing and dancing in the streets. He could tell by the way her body swayed to the music; she’d love to join them. He was glad she was able to rein in her emotions, for he didn’t want to draw attention to them. Her beauty would genuinely draw men to her. In the end, she remembered she was a paid informant and cuddled next to him rather than kicking off her strappy heels and enjoying the party.
During the week, he pursued the leads they gathered during the weekend. His superiors were pleased with his efforts so far, but he knew he was not as close as the former agent had been when he was murdered.
When darkness settled in and the fog cloaked the harbor, he wore his hooded, pitch-black jogging suit and walked along the wharf and harbor. He’d left his electronic devices at the cottage, as they lit up when used. Carrying a small notepad and pencil, he recorded the names of the ships docked. He paid special attention to foreign ocean-going vessels, especially those from China and Russia.
Since his arrival, one ship from China had ported twice in the harbor. His command of the Chinese language and the dialect of the working class came in handy for sorting through the conversations he overheard when close enough to recognize the speakers. One night, he saw a man in the Cuban military standard talking with who appeared to be the captain of the ship, by the space the dock workers gave him. He wasn’t close enough to hear, but saw the soldier hand the captain a funnel-shaped package. The next night, the vessel wasn’t there. Most likely the ship sailed on the morning’s high tide.
He went alone back to his cottage and sorted through his notes. The Havana nights were long and humid, and his thoughts always gravitated to Sydney. He missed her, and hadn’t touched a woman since their hasty goodbye. He wondered if she’d moved on and found another companion and lover. He wouldn’t blame her if she did; after their steamy lovemaking, she probably regained her balance and blamed him as the murderer of Roxanne. He didn’t waste their precious time before leaving to explain the truth about that morning.
Having Isabella close at hand on the weekend, with her sweet-smelling, gorgeous body, weighed heavily on his desire to keep his hands off any woman until he held Sydney again. At night in his dreams, Isabella began encroaching where Sydney had once ruled. He needed to be more careful around Isabella, especially when they had drinks together, or he could make a life-changing mistake.
Isabella made it no secret she wanted to escape to the US, and probably saw him as her ride. He could easily smuggle her out on his return to the States. Add marriage and his job requirements, and she would have access to legal immigration. Yes, he needed to be careful, he thought.
Isabella called him during the week; unusual, as they met and talked on the weekends. She wanted him to know what a friend confided about the Cuban embassy. He asked to meet her and learn firsthand what she knew and from whom. Isabella convinced him it was too risky. Her friend might disclose his interest in the incident to the Cuban solider whose arms held her during the long, steamy nights.
He recorded what Isabella told him and planned to investigate on one of his sojourns outside under the cover of darkness. Getting into the embassy would be difficult, as it was guarded. He needed to convince one of the guards that he was called to repair one of the sensors in the secure area. He was glad he knew enough about security systems to walk the talk.
He waited until the graveyard shift to make his move. He’d brought his blade and a pistol with a silencer, just in case things went south. He camouflaged his usual demeanor with a baseball cap and techie-looking plaid shirt and jeans. He hoped his plan worked, because he didn’t want to have to deal with dumping a body.
Walking softly and crouching low to ambush his prey like a leopard in the jungle, he sneaked into the off-limits secure area of the embassy. Seeing just one guard stationed on the premises, he took a chance for a nonviolent approach. He politely informed him about the technical problem he was sent to repair. The guard nodded in the affirmative and waved him in after telling Walker to take the stairs to the equipment area.
Walker breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he was halfway there for investigating the theories he and his commander had discussed. From all accounts, the Cubans and Chinese were quietly working together to get rid of Americans in Cuba.
He looked around and decided the layout of the building and thickness of the walls would make a sonic attack unlikely from the pinpointed location. He looked for canisters holding arsenal they could use. There was nothing lying about. The area was probably swept clean after the attack. Convinced there was nothing more to see, he took photos and left, pulling his baseball cap over his face and waving when passing the guard.
Walker wanted to follow up on the Chinese connection he’d witnessed at the harbor and Isabella’s friend’s comment about the Cuban and Chinese governments working together. He decided a trip to Chinatown would be a good place to start. He and Isabella could go on the weekend and he could look around.
Isabella was excited when he told her about their weekend adventure. She wanted to take him to the best places to eat and drink. She was beginning to see their outings as a date night rather than what it was—a fact-finding mission.
Isabella was ready to go when he arrived at her cottage. He had just braked when he heard the door slam when
the wind caught it, and in seconds her long, tanned legs were straddling the seat behind him.
They rode in silence as the wind whipped against them, making the palm fronds along the street twist and turn. Near the entrance of Chinatown, Isabella pointed to the imposing Pórtico del Barrio Chino (Chinatown Gate), erected in 1999 and paid for by the Chinese government.
He parked the motorbike and as they walked, she talked about the Cuban government relaxing foreign investments in the 1990s, making several Chinatown renovations possible.
They ate a simple but tasty meal at the restaurant Isabella suggested, paying $9; about half what a tourist restaurant would charge. They walked around Chinatown with Isabella pointing out specialty shops and tourist attractions. Looking around, Walker recognized one of the men he saw at the wharf talking to the captain of the Chinese ship. Isabella knew him and wanted to introduce them. She knew the woman he was with—his wife. He declined. He wanted to watch him from a distance and learn more about his activities, plus shield her from his spying.
Isabella knew where he lived and would point it out on the way home. He’d have a starting point for tracking his movement.
After exploring Chinatown, he asked if she wanted to go to his cottage so they could talk in private. Finding out more about the man he recognized was important to his mission; not to mention the loneliness he felt, for he only knew her and her cousin Euquerio on the island. Thoughts of conversation with a beautiful woman instead of a solitary night made him smile.
Isabella’s eyes widened with surprise when he opened the door to his cottage. The home she shared with Euquerio’s family wasn’t nearly as nice. She walked over to the bed and sprawled out like a cat, slowly brushing her fingertips against his new mattress. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she looked.
She had a point; the bed would be more comfortable than sitting at the table with chairs poking aluminum spokes into your backside. The vintage relic of times past wasn’t comfortable even for dining. But he wouldn’t complain. The cottage was a mansion compared to the lodging he was lucky enough to find on his first night in Havana.
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