by Fritz Galt
Through the engineer’s window, a radio announcer sat in a studio with cracked acoustic tiles. The short, scruffy-faced man leaned over a table and nodded in rhythm as he studied handwritten notes. A headset flattened his tousled hair and a microphone sat off to one side.
Mick watched the volume indicators jump independently for bass and treble and realized that music must be emanating from an internal CD player.
He hated to break up the party, but he rolled up his sleeves, walked past the sound booth, and stepped into the studio.
“Rocky Ouyang?”
“We’re on the air,” Rocky said in Mandarin, refusing to be distracted from his notes.
“Ah-hem.” Mick approached the broadcaster.
Glancing up from his notes, the slumped man looked surprised to see that it was a foreigner.
“Are you the brother of Johnny Ouyang?” Mick shot out.
“Who asks?”
Mick straightened the collar of his once-starched shirt and strode around the table. He lingered over the small man, who remained stuck in his swivel chair.
“Are you Johnny’s brother?”
The man was cool enough. He reacted to Mick’s intimidation by reaching for the microphone switch. “Twenty thousand of my taxi cabs are listening to this station.”
“That’s twenty thousand taxis separated by miles of fallen trees. They won’t save you now.”
Rocky moved away from the switch.
“Go ahead. Turn it on,” Mick said. “I want it on.”
When Rocky didn’t comply, Mick took a swipe at the switch. The red studio “On Air” sign gave the room a pink glow.
“Is Johnny Ouyang your brother?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m answering these questions under duress. The military has invaded my office.”
Still tethered to his earphones, the engineer stood up in the sound booth.
“Is Johnny Ouyang your brother?” Mick repeated.
“I refuse to answer the government’s questions.”
“Isn’t it true that Johnny Ouyang is blackmailing Taiwan’s military?”
Rocky gave no response and filled the airwaves with silence.
“Do you deny this?” Mick asked.
“What proof do you have? How dare you cast such aspersions against my brother before our radio audience. Ladies and gentlemen, I beg you to turn your radios off.”
“Isn’t your brother one of the wealthiest taipans in Hong Kong?”
“I’ll answer nothing.”
“Isn’t he a primary investor on the mainland, with extensive ties to the Chinese?”
“You’re playing a lute to a cow,” Rocky said, with an insecure laugh. “Nobody’s listening.”
“You call your listeners cows? You try to drive a revolution from a safe little studio.”
“Listen to me. The military has already taken over the government. We want our country back,” Rocky said.
“There would be no martial law if your brother hadn’t co-opted the military. He put all the pieces in place, and now you and your taxi unions are profiting from it.”
“I’m not running for president. I’m not Lenin. I’m a radio operator. And I call on the People’s Republic of China to bring relief and reinforcements to the Province of Taiwan.”
Mick leaned into the microphone. “You’ll see who your true friends are.”
The engineer looked more menacing when he appeared in the doorway. His legs assumed a judo stance.
Mick tipped Rocky’s chair over and dumped him out. For the first time he noticed that the small man’s legs were crippled.
Mick grabbed the chair and turned to face the engineer.
On second thought, the man could swat it aside with the back of his hand.
Mick tossed the chair at the sound booth window. The glass cracked, but held and the chair bounced back into his arms.
This time, he swung the chair with all his might and the glass shattered to pieces. The chair slid across the control panel and ripped off several switches. Wisps of smoke rose between the metal plates.
Fear of a short circuit seemed to momentarily paralyze the engineer.
Mick remembered the two glowing eggs in the other room, and turned to Rocky. “Would your father’s spirit approve of this behavior? Two brothers defaming the Ouyang name. Double shame. What will his spirit say?”
“My father approves.” Rocky’s face wrinkled in pain.
“Two brothers selling Taiwan to Red China for a fistful of cash.”
“I’m not risking my life for money. My brother has more than he can ever hope to spend.”
“Then why are you risking your life?”
“For us. For all of us. For nothing less than reuniting the Chinese race.”
Rocky Ouyang’s eyes were wide and dry as he stared up at the earthquake-damaged ceiling. The pink light of the “On Air” sign had turned his ruddy face a flushed white.
“My worthy brother escaped China in 1949, but I remained. Through his good fortune, he brought me out of Shandong Province while he settled a business deal. I didn’t want to leave my home, but my family meant more to me. Those are the ties of blood. Political borders have split Chinese families for far too long. The Chinese race has suffered too much.”
“But you aren’t acting alone,” Mick said.
Rocky looked with amusement around the studio. “Do you think I could have caused all this destruction myself?”
“What, the earthquake?”
A smile stole across Rocky’s lips.
“You mean someone caused the earthquake?”
Rocky shrugged. “I’m just a radio operator.”
Mick felt an involuntary shiver. His mind raced back to his last conversation with Alec. Maybe his crew was investigating more than underwater volcanoes. Maybe Johnny had somehow triggered the violent quake. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect to accompany the illegal investment, the blackmail, the typhoon, martial law and the taxi revolt.
The only sound in the room was of the engineer scrambling to put out smoke on the console.
“Why create an earthquake? Why did your brother do it?”
Rocky sighed, but didn’t answer.
“Why do you follow that madman?” With a sudden flood of anger, he jerked Rocky to his useless feet.
The radio announcer glanced out the room at the altar in the darkened room. “I have my family duties. When you eat fruit, think of the tree that bore it. When you drink water, consider its source.”
A switchblade appeared in Rocky’s hand. Mick dropped the man, caught the wrist and turned the knife inward toward Rocky’s throat.
He heard the crunch of broken glass behind him.
Rocky cried out, his strength giving way.
The sound engineer was coming back with an angry snarl.
Mick lurched forward under the weight of Rocky’s body nearly plunging the blade into the man’s throat. He was losing balance.
Man, he had lost his touch. He was accidentally murdering men all over the place.
He winced and fell forward, directing the knife away from Rocky’s throat. It stuck in the wall next to Rocky’s ear.
The engineer was nearly on top of him with a shard of broken glass. Mick had spared Rocky’s life only to lose his own.
A shot rang out. Mick turned and saw Rocky slide lifeless to the floor.
“André,” the sound engineer cried.
Mick whirled around.
The engineer had turned toward the source of the shot.
Another shot thundered through the room. The bullet smacked the engineer in the forehead. He faltered and stumbled against Mick, who found he was grabbing a spongy head of hair made damp by a messy exit wound.
In the doorway, Dr. Morisot looked pale. “These people have weapons,” he said, by way of explanation. He shifted his weight. A revolver smoldered in his grip.
Mick stared blankly at him. “Where did you get that thing?”
Morisot hefted the gu
n. “Like I said, these people have weapons. I found it in the control room.”
That made sense. But where did he get the deadly aim? “Do you know these people?”
“I never met them in my life.”
Holding the limp engineer as a shield, Mick struggled to stand up. He had lost his strength and the room was spinning, but he did remember the engineer’s last word.
“So, your name is André?”
“No.” Morisot brushed back some hair that was out of place. “He must have mistaken me for someone else.”
The studio air was laden with the smell of electrical fire and blood.
Mick let go of the engineer, who rolled over and crushed his former boss. Under the heap of arms and legs, Rocky’s face had a radiant glow.
“Let’s get out of here.” Mick scraped past Morisot, leaving a streak of blood across the man’s chest.
On his way past the sound booth, he came to a sudden halt. An audiocassette had been recording the broadcast.
Holding his breath to avoid the dead smell of ozone, he stepped into the room, pressed the stop button and popped the cassette out. He grabbed it with blood-soaked fingers and dropped it into his shirt pocket.
It would make good evidence.
The peaceful aroma of incense still wafted from incense sticks on the family altar. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.
He bowed slightly to the porcelain urn. “Forgive me, old man. But your family is a real piece of work.”
Then he turned to leave.
Morisot joined him in the fresh air outside. “Look at you. You look green at the gills.”
“That’s because I didn’t come here to kill people.”
Morisot broke into a strained, almost callous, laugh. He certainly had a different take on things.
“I don’t get it. How can you laugh after doing something like that?”
“You had a knife. You could have killed the little man, but you didn’t. So I did it for you.”
“I didn’t intend to kill him.” There was a tight knot in his throat. What a horrible misunderstanding. “It was his knife. I had just taken it away from him.”
“Maybe so. But you delayed and gave the big guy a chance to kill you.”
“So you decided to bump him off, too.”
Morisot smiled an empty, detached grin.
“I’d expect a scientist to have a few more scruples.”
Morisot pushed his glasses up his nose. “And I’d expect someone in your position to have more balls.”
Chapter 31
The floating corpse was scarlet from the flash burn of radiation and bloated with gas and seawater.
Alec shook his head. Was May-lin behind the nuclear blast?
As the two approached the water’s edge, he pulled a cold, PRC-made handgun out of May-lin’s rear pocket. “Neat little gun you’re packing.”
She didn’t resist.
Then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and turned her to face the water. “Look at that body. You’re a scientist. Explain how that happened.”
Fifteen feet below, the man floated face down in the fetid water. His clothes were burnt and patches of his skin had fallen off.
May-lin’s dark eyes were wide with horror. Her face puckered from the stench of twenty more such bodies bobbing alongside the pier.
“I cannot explain it.”
“You saw the flash. You must have shielded your eyes. You were probably even wearing an anti-contamination suit.”
She shook her head and sobbed. “I did not do it.”
“You designed the experiment. You directed the operation. And you planted the goddamn bomb.”
“I am nothing to do with it.”
He grabbed her by the arm and felt like plunging her into the water. “Then how did this happen?”
“They did not tell me. He was my research project. They only funded him. They are pressuring me at the very end.”
“And you did exactly what your backers said.”
“I did not know their purpose until the very end. And then it was too late. No matter, they pressured me to speed up. Their divers planted the beeper. And in the end, you saw them drag me onto the boat when they are putting in the bomb.”
“You could have refused.”
“So could you.”
Standing in her shadow, he realized that they were the same height. They had participated equally in the project. And they were both unwitting accomplices. There was little point in pursuing guilt.
In a quieter voice, he said, “You could have said something to me.”
She shook her head, and her shoulders convulsed. “Alec, I turned to you.”
So that was why Professor Lien had placed him in the geology department. Damn, he felt stupid. Why couldn’t he have read the signs sooner?
“So what do we do now?” He lowered the gun and began to massage her taut shoulders.
She looked him squarely in the eye. Puffy rings swelled below her moist eyelids. “It’s too late.”
“No, it isn’t. Believe it or not, there’s more to Mr. Johnny Ouyang than your project. Why would a wealthy stockbroker from Hong Kong do China’s dirty work?”
“So you know Mr. Ouyang?” She looked at him strangely.
“I know about him.”
He focused for a moment on the Alabaster gleaming in the sunlight in the distant harbor.
Someone on that ship must be connected in some way to Johnny Ouyang. And that person must have triggered the underwater blast remotely, far enough away to avoid the radiation.
Poor victims such as the villagers had been completely exposed.
“Right now I need to get on that ship.”
“But he is Mr. Ouyang’s ship.”
Alec let out a laugh. “I wish that we could have compared notes before all this happened.”
“It is not funny.”
No, just ironic.
He stared at the Alabaster. “Do you know who’s onboard?”
She explained that she had climbed aboard after they planted the bomb and her crew had attacked her, and tried to ingratiate herself with the occupants. It worked out well, because the Dolphin had lost her captain and her propeller had somehow gotten damaged.
“Can you get us on the Alabaster?”
“I suppose.” She didn’t sound thrilled.
“You followed their orders. Now you must show them that you’re willing to remain a part of their operation.”
“But I am not willing.”
“You must pretend.”
“I could make it, but Mr. Ouyang will kill you.”
“Let’s take a walk and you can tell me all you know about this Mister Ouyang.”
He led her down the pier and onto the pebble beach that was strewn with flotsam. On the way back to the harbor, she described the yacht’s passengers.
Johnny Ouyang wasn’t onboard the ship. May-lin had never met him, only talked with him by phone. He had told her that he was sending his personal yacht to oversee the mapping.
On the yacht, she had met Ouyang’s wife, a beautiful French woman named Odette. Also on the ship were a young English couple, Miles and Stacie LaRue. The two Brits appeared to be simply along for the ride.
The yacht’s captain was a taciturn Chinese man in his early fifties who had directed the bomb’s placement.
A handful of Filipinos served as cooks, stewards and deck hands. They seemed as oblivious of the mission as the English couple.
“How about Mrs. Ouyang?”
“She knows,” May-lin said. “Oh, she knows.”
“Would she take me aboard?”
“We can try. I want especially avoiding the divers. They are rotten.”
No kidding. But an idea was beginning to form. “With luck, the divers can help me get on that ship.”
“Why do you want to go on that ship?” she asked, trying to read his thoughts.
“To see what Johnny and his wife are up to. And to set things right. Anyway, we need to get off
this island and get hold of a radio. That yacht is our only hope.”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the handgun. He flipped out the magazine. Seven hollow-point bullets lay nestled inside. He slapped the magazine into place and tucked the weapon in her rear pocket.
“Now take me to the yacht.”
Alec and May-lin squinted up at the Alabaster’s captain. The conversation wasn’t going well.
The captain peered down at the two of them with indifference. Thugs in anti-contamination suits circled closer on the concrete jetty.
“We need to report back to Johnny,” May-lin insisted. “He needs to know the details.”
“Why bring the foreigner?”
Air intakes from the anti-contamination suits rasped closer.
“I am not going to leave him for these men to kill.”
“What does it matter to you?”
“He is part of the project. He is our top scientist. I will take complete responsibility for him.”
“Why does Johnny need a scientist any longer?”
May-lin slipped into Cantonese, which Alec couldn’t follow. He saw it as both a sign of disintegration in her argument and a desperate appeal to the man’s emotions.
Just as the captain’s patience reached its end, a fine-boned brunette, whose hair fell in dark ringlets, leaned over the railing. Her hard, brown eyes caught Alec with his distraught expression, and she broke into a smile.
He felt the instant warmth of a fellow foreigner’s presence.
She confronted the captain in Cantonese, and Alec winced at the harsh tone of her voice. The captain was losing face.
“Come,” she said to Alec, and extended a hand.
He looked at May-lin, who only glared back at the woman, but didn’t resist.
What was he to do? He reached for the woman and climbed up the metal companionway. His first footfall on the soft wooden deck felt like stepping onto American soil.
“Howdy,” he said, turning her soft grip into a firm handshake. “Alec Pierce. Thanks for taking me onboard.”
“Odette.” Her brisk handshake wrung his knuckles like laundry.
“I’m American,” he said, flashing a foolish grin.
“French, British, Chinese, whatever.”
She had no trace of Chinese in her. It must have been by marriage. Her accent was entirely French.