The venom in his glance toward Harry said this was a testing hurdle I had to get past. I gave it three seconds. I rose. “Let’s go, Harry. We have an appointment in another part of Chinatown.” I looked back at Mr. Chang. “It would not be received well by the gentleman in question if either of us were not to arrive there ready and able to do business.”
I prayed that he’d assume the other appointment was with the man from Hong Kong and that his newly acquired face would slip away.
“Sit down, Mr. Knight. State your ancillary matter.”
“It’s business, Mr. Chang. I need something. You need something. All totally outside our agreement regarding the matter in Romania.”
“And what exactly do you think I need?”
“You approved a loan from your bank. One million dollars. The security was nothing but a violin.”
He shrugged. “It was within my authority. What concern of yours?”
“The violin was never within your reach if the loan was defaulted. In fact, I believe the person to whom you entrusted the million dollars, shall we be open, your Mr. Liu, had the money deflected to his own hidden account. With neither the violin nor the million dollars, you’ll have a bit of explaining to do to your board.”
“Your threat is empty, Mr. Knight. I have control of my board. I could always replace the money out of my own funds.”
“And how about the federal inspectors? Your bank is insured by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation. Will their investigators be as pliable as your board of stooges? And when it comes out that the loan was made to a Chinese organized crime gang, with your knowledge? My, my. Some feathers might fly. Face won’t be the only thing that could be lost.”
“I have no—”
“Let me add one thought. This organized crime gang I mentioned. Once the federal investigations begin, how much of the business of the tong, how many of the people involved all the way to the top will be made public in open court? The press will love it.”
His lips were pressed firmly together, either in anger or to keep injudicious words from reaching the ears of a tong traitor and a weilu.
“Let me relieve your anxiety, Mr. Chang. You asked what it is that you need that I can supply. Quite simply, I have the violin. Its value will certainly cover security for the million-dollar loan and whatever interest your bank chooses to charge. I will place the violin within your grasp. That solves the touchy issue of lack of security. Once the loan is repaid and cancelled, however you choose to do that, all of your troubles in this respect vanish. No one is the wiser. No public disclosure. No FDIC investigation. And you lose no face. An outcome surely to be desired. Would you agree?”
His eyes were now cold and searching. “And in return, you mentioned that you have a certain … need.”
“My need will cost you no funds whatsoever. Since we’re among friends here, shall we speak frankly?”
He had a wary look, but he opened his hands in a “Why not?” gesture.
“Good. Since we’re here in the privacy of your office, might we assume for the sake of argument that you’re intimately familiar with the inside workings of the Boston tong.”
A questioning, semi-shocked expression came over his face.
“Without pressing the issue, let’s just take that as a working assumption. For reasons of the tong’s politics, your Mr. Liu, the one who involved me in this violin business from the start, was murdered. His throat was cut. Typical tong method. He was killed for betraying the tong in this violin, treasure business.”
Mr. Chang slowly shook his head in apparent denial of any such knowledge.
“May I continue?”
Again, Mr. Chang gestured an invitation.
“Then the tong decided to kill two birds with one stone. You know that expression?”
“I have lived in this country for fifty years.”
“Good. The tong decided it was a chance to avenge itself on Mickey Chan for his misguided loyalty to Mr. Liu. The tong compelled an innocent woman, Mrs. Ming Tan, probably by a threat to her life and her family, to falsely identify Mickey Chan as Mr. Liu’s murderer. It takes the real tong murderer off the hook, and it punishes Mickey Chan. The tong took out insurance of her testimony by kidnapping Mrs. Tan.”
Mr. Chang leaned back in his chair. “This story of yours is absolute fiction. But, only for the sake of argument, how is this a concern of yours?”
“Mickey Chan is my client. Cards on the table. This is my offer. I want Mrs. Tan released to me, in good health, by this evening. Nine o’clock. I’ll give you the details later. In exchange, I’ll place the violin where you will have easy access to it.”
“And if this … request of yours is not granted?”
“If not, we both suffer the consequences … needlessly.”
Mr. Chang went into a silent period of apparent wrestling with his options. He leaned forward. He seemed to adjust the position of his desk phone and stood up. He slowly walked to the window behind him.
He had me frozen for the moment. I had no idea if he was considering the proposition or just marking time.
In about ten seconds, I heard a slow whisper from Harry by the door. “Michael, vocavit milites eius. Audio foris.”
I looked back at Harry in disbelief. He nodded and whispered, “Professor Rothman!”
I almost smiled in spite of the situation. Harry and I had taken three courses in Latin at Harvard from Professor Rothman. I couldn’t believe we were using it for anything but reading plaques on buildings.
Harry repeated the words. He was telling me that Mr. Chang had called out his troops. Harry heard them outside the door.
I nodded. Mr. Chang just looked confused daggers at Harry.
Harry said it, with considerably more emphasis. “Pugnare aut fugire? Nunc!”
He was asking me for the plan—Fight or flight? With the added urging to decide “Now!”
Neither of those options seemed to ensure that either of us would see the sunset. I’d learned from Mr. Devlin that when a slim chance seems the only positive option, go with the odds, no matter how long they seem.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I SHOT A quick word to Harry, “Neuter!”, since “neither” of his options fit the bill. I stood up and walked to Mr. Chang’s desk. Without asking, I took a sheet of blank paper from the top of his desk. I took a blue marker out of my pocket and wrote something on the paper, out of his line of sight.
I folded the paper and walked to the door with all of the false confidence I could muster. I opened the door. There were four obvious members of the tong’s youth gang now assembled by the door, ready to burst in at the order of Mr. Chang. Each of them had weapon-like bulges in their clothing that suggested that our Harvard wrestling moves might not win the day.
I smiled warmly at the four thugs. My tone was one of gracious hospitality. “Come in. Come in, gentlemen. Don’t stand on ceremony. You’re just in time.”
For all of their armed advantage, they seemed befuddled. They looked around the door to Mr. Chang for some confirmation of my invitation. Mr. Chang looked as befuddled as the four thugs.
I insisted. “Please, gentlemen. Mr. Chang is delighted to see you. Come in. He may be serving tea shortly.”
Mr. Chang did not have it together enough to either join in or squash the invitation. He had summoned them in the first place, but this was no longer “the first place.”
Under my enthusiastic urging, the four thugs skulked into the room. They stood around the wall, waiting for someone to tell them who the hell was in charge. It was not forthcoming from the silent Mr. Chang.
Since I still had my moment as master of ceremonies, I walked over to the desk. “I think you should be seated, Mr. Chang. You and I are still doing business.”
I placed the folded paper on the desk in front of him. I picked up a jade paperweight and placed it on top of the paper to suggest secrecy. Mr. Chang was hesitant, but I had his curiosity. He looked at his army of four for reassurance and sat down.<
br />
I made a two-handed gesture of invitation to the note and walked back to my seat. One look at Harry suggested that he thought he’d fallen down the rabbit hole. I patted his knee for confidence. “Relax, Harry. I think Mr. Chang is about to extend an offer of tea. Unfortunately, business calls us elsewhere. We’ll have to decline.”
I looked back at Mr. Chang, who was now seated, looking with a blank expression at the folded note. I finally sensed the problem. The last thing he could do in his own office in front of his own men was to appear to take an order from me to open the note. On the other hand, I needed the four thugs right where they were for the note to work. I thought I’d grease the wheel. I oozed graciousness.
“Mr. Chang, I believe that note complies with what you wished me to do for you. I hope it satisfies your wishes.”
That note was, if my prayer was answered, the last thing on this earth he wanted, or expected to see. But at least now he wouldn’t lose face by opening it.
I put on a benign smile as he reached for the note. He opened it slowly. I caught the slight quiver in his hand when he read the three characters I’d written.
I jumped into the silence. “We have no secrets in this room, do we, Mr. Chang? Why don’t we just share what you’ve read with all these good men of yours? They are, after all, here at your invitation.”
Mr. Chang could have been one of the terra-cotta figures. Silence reigned. His situation had gone from annoyance to a bed of nails in a matter of seconds. I thanked God that the assumption I was counting on apparently had legs.
It was time to give us all an escape hatch. “On the other hand, Mr. Chang, you and I are in the middle of a pleasant negotiation. Do we need to detain these gentlemen? It’s your decision, of course.”
I winked at him, just to enhance his confusion. It took a few seconds, but he finally saw his way clear to make a rational decision. He said something in a commanding tone in Chinese to the four men. They seemed eager to comply with his dismissal. Harry closed the door behind them.
Since I still had the ball, so to speak, I decided to make a final plunge for the goal line. The gracious tone in my voice had been spent. “Now that the fun and games are over, let’s keep this clearly in mind. What I wrote on that paper is also in a note with a full explanation that will be delivered to the City Editor of the Boston Globe if Harry or I were to disappear or suffer an accident in any form.”
His glare at me was at full intensity, but I sensed from his silence that there’d be no follow-up violent action on his part. That was enough. I wasn’t there to make a pal.
“I’ll assume that’s a ‘yes.’ Then let’s finish this business. The offer is open, but not negotiable. Let’s not pretend that you don’t have the power to accomplish the release of Mrs. Tan. We both know you do. That said, you can bet on this. I will hold up my end with the violin. It will be within your reach very shortly after Mrs. Tan is free. And with that, Mr. Chang, I have no more time to waste. It’s a simple yes or no.”
He looked from me to Harry and down at the note, still folded. I was sure it was playing on his decision. He finally just nodded. I stood.
“Done. Then understand this. Mrs. Tan will be delivered by your people this evening, at nine o’clock, to the parking lot of the Continental Restaurant. It’s on Route 1 in Saugus. Is all of that totally clear?”
He was clearly chafing under the order. He kept his silence. But he nodded again.
“I’d like to hear that out loud, Mr. Chang. We don’t want any misinterpretations.”
He spat it out. “You have my answer.”
“Which is?”
It took him a second, but the word “Yes” came out.
“Very astute. When the delivery of Mrs. Tan is successfully made, I’ll send you notice of where you’ll find the violin. So. If there’s nothing further, I believe Harry and I will take our leave. Harry?”
Harry was out of his seat and holding the door for me. I deliberately took an annoyingly slow pace out the door, and out of the bank.
Harry was on my heels. “Michael, I have just two words.”
“Would they be ‘holy crap’?”
“You’re psychic.”
* * *
Harry had nothing more to say until we’d walked around the block. When we were out of sight of the bank, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “Michael, what in the hell did you write on that note?”
I looked back. There seemed to be no one tailing us.
“I remembered what you told me, Harry. You said that the tong rules required that the identity of the number one man of the Boston tong, the shan chu, be kept totally secret from everyone in the tong except the number two man. If it’s like the rest of their code of rules, I figured someone would pay a high price in pain if the identity of the top man were revealed. Maybe even the shan chu himself would suffer. Was I right?”
“Yes.”
“I thought of the cast of Chinese characters I’d met since this thing began. I was gambling on a hunch. I figured that the top man of the tong would want to be personally involved in something as big as this treasure hunt. Mr. Chang was certainly the ranking Chinese member of that dinner party at the China Pearl that started it all. I was guessing, hoping that our Mr. Chang might be the shan chu. If I was right, the last thing he could afford is to have that disclosed in front of those four tong goons. That’s why I wanted them in the room. They actually gave me leverage.”
“So what did you write on the paper?”
“You told me that the tong’s secret code number for the shan chu was 489. I thought I’d spice it up by suggesting I knew more than I did. I just wrote those three numbers on the note. He couldn’t afford to have me say it out loud in front of the troops. Anyway, he became agreeable.”
Harry just shook his head. I started us walking toward our cars.
“What now, Mike?”
“If we get Mrs. Tan away from them, that’s only half the game. We have to get Mr. Tan and their children too. I still need you, Harry. You in?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I’d like you to call the Tans’ grocery shop. Put in a small order. Anything. Ask Mr. Tan to deliver it personally to the parking lot where you’re parked.”
“Alright.”
“Then it gets tricky.”
“Oh, that’ll be different. In what way?”
“Mr. Tan doesn’t speak much English. I need to have you explain to him in Chinese that we’re getting his wife safely out of the hands of the tong. We need to have him join her. You can tell him that we’re going to get both of them and their children out of the reach of the tong permanently. It’s a major move, but from now on, they won’t have that mob on their backs. They’ll be safe. They’ll have a new life. That should sell the plan, especially after his wife’s kidnapping.”
“Is this the witness protection program?”
“It is. And one last thing. When you have him safe in your car, will you take him directly to pick up their children at home? They need to be part of the relocation or the tong will still have control.”
“I understand.”
“He’ll need time to pack some clothes. But make it brief. The sooner they all get out of the house, the safer. After that, would you just keep them on the road out of sight?”
“Of course. Then what?”
“Just as you heard in Chang’s office. We’ll all meet at nine tonight in the parking lot of the Continental Restaurant on Route 1.”
“I know the place.”
“I’m asking an awful lot of you, Harry. All I can say is that if it all comes together, the good guys will be on the scoreboard.”
“Like I said. I’m in.”
“I owe you. How about a week in Vegas?”
“Just a dinner’ll do. These are my people. I’ll treat you.”
* * *
My last move before driving out of Chinatown was to call Mr. Devlin. Given my last words to Mr. Coyne, I welcomed Mr. Devlin’s voice on
the line when I spoke to him. We reached Mr. Coyne in his office. For better or worse, I led off.
“Mr. Coyne, in Sherlock’s words, the game is afoot. The tong will deliver your witness, Ming Tan, to the parking lot of the Continental Restaurant on Route 1. We’ll have her husband and two children there too. Tonight, nine o’clock. How about your end?”
“Damn! That’s short. The U.S. Attorney is getting approval. He was going to call tomorrow.”
“That’s a day late. Lives are at stake. Can you get back to him?”
“I’ll try.”
“You can tell the U. S. Attorney for me that if he’ll get his game in gear, he’ll have one hell of a witness drop in his lap. I’ll see you at nine tonight.”
It was a brief but entire conversation, and not once did I hear the word “kid.” That was a good sign.
I exercised every ounce of the optimism I inherited from my parents and acted on the assumption that, for the first time in this odyssey, a plan would actually work out according to my mental script.
I called George. He was still like a race horse in the starting gate, chomping at the bit. “It’s a go, George. I can fly to Romania tomorrow. I’ll meet you over there. How about a hotel in Ploiesti? We want to be close to the Targsor catacombs, but not too close.”
“We’re on. I’ll get us rooms for tomorrow night in the Prahova Plaza Hotel. You’ll like it.”
“Good. I’ll need two rooms. Can we rent a car? No, two cars. For the following morning.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“Yes. We’ll need supplies. This thing is coming together.”
“Excellent. What’ll we need?”
I gave George as complete a list as I could pull together. “Can we get all of that over there?”
“I’ll take care of it. I’ll leave tonight.”
“Done. Is there a restaurant in the hotel? We should meet day after tomorrow at, shall we say, eight a.m.”
“Yes. The Piccolo Giardino Restaurant. I’ll meet you for breakfast at eight. Anything else?”
“Just one thing.”
“What?”
“Pray.”
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