I followed him around to the back of the warehouse.
“There’s your window,” he said, and pointed to one that was about ten feet off the ground.
Terrific. A lot of good that did me.
“What’s the matter? You got some kind of problem?” he asked with a grin.
“Yeah. How am I supposed to get up there?”
“Well, you don’t look like any kind of angel to me. So, I guess you’re going to need a ladder,” he astutely observed.
“And do you happen to have one handy?” I retorted cynically. I was just about ready to jump out of my skin. Who knew what was taking place in there by now?
“No. But Mikey does,” he said, and pointed to a ladder that lay like a snake in the grass.
A loud buzzing from inside masked any noise as we lifted the ladder and carefully placed it against the warehouse wall. Then I swiftly climbed up, not wanting to miss a thing.
The window stood slightly ajar. I realized why as the stench of ammonia sinuously wafted through and smacked me in the nose. The opening helped to air out the building.
I peered down at the spectacle below. All three men wore respirator masks to protect them from the fumes. One crew member was busy sorting the fins into piles while another worked at a table with a large bandsaw. It looked like a scene from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, only Hawaiian style, as shark body parts were fed beneath the rotating blade. The buzz of the saw severed the air, setting my nerves on edge, as excess meat was trimmed from the fins.
A third man lay the newly cleaned fins out on racks identical to those that had been in the pictures. In fact, the place looked exactly as it had in Sammy’s photographs, except for one thing: Senator Chang and Michael Leung were missing.
I tried to curtail my shooting so that I didn’t run out of film. But I found it hard to control myself. The men finally solved the problem for me. They stopped their work at 2 A.M. and locked up for the night. Only then did I leave my perch and climb down to find Sharkfin Dave stretched out on the ground. He was snoring up a storm, sleeping off the bottle of scotch. I was just glad that the sound hadn’t tipped the men off.
“Hey, get up. Everyone’s gone,” I said, and roused him with my foot.
Sharkfin woke up, snorting like a startled pig.
“Great. Then I can go back to sleep. Nighty night,” he said and laid his head back down again.
“Not so fast,” I told him. “I want to sneak into the place.”
“Aw, what the hell for?” he protested. “You’ve been up there for hours. Haven’t you seen enough yet?”
“No. And after coming this far, it would be crazy to leave without getting the pictures I need. But don’t worry. I know how to jimmy the lock,” I replied.
“A helluva lotta good that’ll do you. Leung’s been turning on the alarm ever since your friend broke in,” Sharkfin revealed.
A tsunami of pain rushed through my insides and gave a good twist, so that I flung my arms around my waist to keep from doubling over.
“You never told me it was definitely Sammy that broke into the building,” I gasped, hoping the discomfort would soon go away.
“That’s ’cause you never asked,” Sharkfin retorted. “All you wanted to know was if I’d spotted the kid.”
So that was how this game was being played.
“Did Leung catch him?” I shot back.
The pain retreated, and I wiped a trace of sweat from my brow.
“What do you think? Of course he did. Just not right then and there,” Dave answered with a sneer.
“Then you must have been the one who tipped off Leung,” I assumed, beginning to feel sick with suspicion.
I had no doubt that Sharkfin would sell me out in a New York minute.
“Of course not,” Dave demurred. “I already told you. I want to even the score for what he did to my boss. It’s just that Leung knows everything that goes on in this place.”
Sharkfin was definitely doing his best to scare me away. It only made me all the more determined to get inside the warehouse.
“I’ll take my chances,” I obstinately told him.
Sharkfin gazed at me, hacked up a spitball, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aw, what the hell. I know the code. I’ll shut the damn thing off for you.”
My own inner alarm system instantly kicked in. “Why would Leung trust you with information like that?”
“Well, I’m living here and don’t have a job. So Mikey’s paying me a couple of bucks to keep an eye on the place. He had to give me the code in case the damn thing went off. Pretty funny, huh? Turns out, I’m a dick just like you. And that’s exactly what I intend to do, is to guard this warehouse. Which means, I’ll stay out here and keep watch while you go inside and take a look around,” he said, with a wink.
I pulled a twenty from my pocket and gave it to him. It was all I had after paying for food and booze. I just hoped it would be enough to keep Sharkfin happy over the course of the next few minutes.
He snatched the bill from my fingers, muttered a thanks, and hobbled around to the front of the building. I followed to where a security pad was mounted next to the door. A solid red light on its face plainly warned away intruders. Sharkfin glanced about, as if checking to see that the coast was clear. Then he swiftly punched in four numbers. The red light immediately turned green, giving the okay.
“All right, go on in. Just don’t take too long,” Dave advised, as he unlocked the entrance. “And if you hear a knock, try to hide damn quick.”
I impatiently nodded, the words flying past me in a blur, as I stepped inside the warehouse. I barely heard the door close, so focused was my attention on the bizarre scene ahead.
A few lights had been left on, giving the place an eerie glow. However, the first thing to hit me was the stench. The interior reeked of fish guts and blood, the odor reaching so deep inside that bile rose in my throat. I held my breath and tried hard not to gag, but the desire to throw up was nearly overwhelming.
Then there was the ammonia itself. My eyes began to itch and burn, following that with a bevy of tears. It was as if I were a mourner at a dearly departed friend’s funeral. I quickly looked around and spotted a respirator mask. Snatching it off its hook, I slipped the guard over my nose and mouth. Only then did I begin to examine the room.
Electric heaters glowed, their coils burning as bright red as hot coals as they hummed a monotonous tune. Giant fans assisted the process by blowing warm air all about, transforming the interior into a virtual hothouse.
A number of boxes stood stacked in one corner, and I walked over to investigate further. Each was tightly wrapped in clear plastic, and had an airbill attached on top. Their destinations were all the same: Magic Dragon Products in Hong Kong. I knew that nestled inside were dried shark fins with their whispered promise of health, wealth, and happiness.
But something far more disturbing now caught my eye. It was a close-up view of dismembered fins that had been formed into piles. There appeared to be millions of them heaped together like trophies. I was both appalled and drawn to it.
To think such magnificent creatures had been reduced to just this: five little fins that had been hacked off of their bodies. Each triangular piece of flesh was classified according to type and size. There were dorsal, pectoral, pelvic, anal, and caudal fins. Some were so small that clearly, they had been sliced off of juveniles. Their tiny piles could easily have been mistaken for a mound of shriveled Frito-Lay chips.
I stared in growing horror at the mountain of fins and realized it was nothing less than genocide.
Picking up a fin, I instantly sliced my finger—its surface was as rough as sandpaper, its edge as sharp as a knife. The membrane fell from my hand back onto the pile, where it lay like a corpse stained with a drop of my blood.
I sucked my finger dry and then went to work, turning everything I saw into pictures. While neither Fish and Wildlife nor the National Marine Fisheries Service might be interested in t
he case, I knew of an entity that most definitely would be. This had all the earmarks of a bombshell story to be eaten up by the press.
I was so involved in snapping photographs that I rarely lowered the camera from my eyes, but simply stepped from one pile of evidence to the next. That is until Michael Leung unexpectedly appeared in my lens. He wasn’t alone, but held a knife close to his face, its blade studded with jagged teeth, each of which dripped with blood.
I didn’t stop to think, but instinctively snapped the photograph. That brought a smile to Leung’s lips, as if he were privy to a joke I didn’t know. Then it hit me. Perhaps this had been the last image that Sammy had also viewed through his camera. And I suddenly realized where I’d seen that same weapon before, hovering above me at Stas Yakimov’s house. Kevin had been correct. The murder weapon used had been a shark-tooth knife. It seemed to whisper mesmerizingly, You’re going to be next. You’re going to be next.
The camera dropped like dead weight to my side, and I began to sway, woozy from the heat, the stench of the fish, and sheer fear. All the while, my eyes remained glued to Leung’s, wondering how he’d managed to sneak inside so quietly—not wanting to speculate on what might have happened to Sharkfin Dave.
My thoughts raced to the gun tucked into the back of my pants when a noise crept across the room. Perhaps that was Sharkfin even now. But it was as if Leung could read my mind, his smile growing ever more sinister.
“I’m afraid Dave won’t be able to help you any more tonight. He’s just become food for the fishes. Too bad. I’ll miss him. But then again, he never could seem to hold on to a job.”
My hand grabbed my .38 and began to pull it out when a pain, powerful as a train, slammed into the back of my head. A roar swept me off my feet, and bright lights popped in the air all around, like strands of cheap flashbulbs. Then I began to float, carried on a billowy cloud, as everything was swallowed up by a tidal wave of darkness.
Twenty
A hard bump woke me. Something solid rammed against my arm, as if I were being jostled about on a New York subway car. My sight was blurry and my head hurt enough to explode. I swallowed some saltwater and began to cough and choke. It was then I became aware of the wet and cold. I was by myself, floating in the middle of the ocean.
My vision cleared, and I caught sight of a shadow of movement passing off to my right. A dark shape was gliding nearby, its pace as leisurely deliberate as an unhurried lover. It looked to be some kind of miniature submarine, perhaps fifteen feet in length and weighing half a ton—until the damn thing circled around and came back toward me. That’s when I realized it was a steel torpedo of muscle; one with thick, broad pectorals, and a dorsal fin that slashed through the water like a knife.
I held my breath, my heart thumping wildly, as it passed by once more only to return closer and faster this time. It was then I felt another bump. I looked down to see that a wisp of blood had begun to ooze from me. I stared in disbelief. A shark had taken a bite from my arm.
Perhaps if I closed my eyes and prayed, it would simply go away. I shut them for as long as I dared, before finally sneaking a peek. No such luck. The shark was still there, as if purposely taunting me. It clearly took pleasure in my fear, for its giant scythe of a tail now propelled it forward, rapidly approaching for the kill.
I would have screamed; I would have cried. However, I had no choice but to die as the shark’s upper jaw unhinged, its lower jaw dropped open, and a pair of emotionless black eyes rolled back up in their sockets. I gaped helplessly inside a dark cavern filled with razor sharp scalpels, each notched and serrated like those on Michael Leung’s knife.
I was the perfect captive, frozen in fear, as those spiked blades proceeded to slash through flesh and bone. I cried out and jumped, only to collide against something hard.
“Good. You’re finally awake.”
I opened my eyes and escaped my dream. Michael Leung slowly came into focus, his cold black orbs impassively watching me.
Then I remembered. Leung had caught me inside his warehouse. Or, perhaps that had also been part of my nightmare. Maybe I was dreaming even now.
My stomach clenched as the world swayed to the eerie percussion of water slapping against wood. The sound was punctuated by the grinding of an engine, and I realized this was far worse than any nightmare. I was no longer on land but fully awake and lying on the deck of a boat.
I glanced at Leung, who nodded as if in confirmation. And for the first time in a long while, I was truly afraid for my life. I did what I always do in such situations. I brazenly opened my mouth.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing. But if you have any sense, you’ll turn this craft around right now,” I warned, trying to sound a lot tougher than I felt.
“And why would I do that?” Leung asked archly, studying me as if I were some sort of science project.
I was momentarily stymied, and then came up with the only reason I could.
“You do know I’m a federal agent, don’t you? I’m not someone that’s simply going to disappear. People will be searching for me,” I advised.
“Do you really think so?” Leung lightly mocked. “From what I’ve been told, I’ll be doing more than one agency a favor. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not all that popular among your peers.”
He’d clearly done his homework. Still, it wasn’t something that I wanted to hear.
“Maybe it has to do with the company you choose to keep,” he continued. “Sammy Kalahiki wasn’t very popular with those in his agency, either.”
“You killed him, didn’t you?” I responded, more to stall for time than anything else.
I looked around, but nothing was in sight—except for the sea, which stretched and yawned as if aware that it was nearly break of day.
“It became a necessity. He was snooping into things that didn’t involve him. In fact, part of the reason he died was to send you a warning,” Leung revealed.
It was as if I could feel those razor-sharp teeth tearing into my flesh again. I couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for yet another death.
“What in the hell are you talking about?” I said.
“Really, Agent Porter. Don’t act so dense. If you’d listened to your superiors, you wouldn’t be sitting on this boat right now. You have your own stubbornness to thank for that.”
I closed my eyes, wishing this would all go away, wanting nothing more than to be seduced by the waves rocking me in a watery cradle.
Ouch!
Something hot nipped my flesh and I opened my eyes to find Michael Leung standing over me, having slashed my arm with his knife. I quickly lashed out, determined to fight him off, but discovered that my wrists were tightly bound in front of me.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a surface wound. That won’t kill you,” he advised, and swiftly moved away.
I struggled to my feet, only to be struck by a stench so vile that I promptly grew ill. Turning around, I wretched off the side of the boat. The remains of my Chinese dinner joined a stinking line of chum comprising flesh, fish guts, and a dark slick of blood.
Sharks generally lurk in our nightmares, but mine now sprang to life, as a gang of dorsal fins crisscrossed the water like a nautical rally of SUVs. I didn’t even want to think about what Michael Leung had planned for me.
“And what about Yakimov? It was you that attacked me at his house the other day,” I stated, partially to distract myself from the feeding frenzy below.
“Guilty as accused,” Leung responded, with a self-satisfied smile.
“So then, Stas was also involved in the shark-fin trade.” I naturally assumed he was.
“No, not at all. I thought you knew,” Leung said, appearing to be slightly puzzled. “Yakimov was my supplier for black-market Viagra.”
“Then why did you kill him?” I asked, feeling somewhat confused.
“Because the man had more muscles than he did brains. Stas became greedy. He knew about my shark-finning operation a
nd heard that Kalahiki was poking around. He decided to contact each of us and see who would pay him the best price. Yakimov got hold of your friend and offered him information about my business. Meanwhile, he threatened to use Kalahiki against me unless I met his demands. Believe me, Yakimov got exactly what he deserved.”
I wondered if Leung knew about the photographs that I’d found at Yakimov’s place. This seemed as good a time as any to find out.
“Whose idea was it to kill him, then? Yours or the senator’s?” I asked, anxious to gauge Leung’s reaction.
My mini-bombshell hit its mark as Leung stared at me in surprise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he softly replied.
“Of course you do. I’m referring to Senator Shirley Chang. Or maybe you know her better as Shirley Marie Ting. She’s an officer of Magic Dragon Restaurants Incorporated, along with your father. In fact, her brother works for one of your family’s companies in Hong Kong. Wasn’t that part of the deal? He gets a job and she gets a cut of the business so that you can operate freely on Oahu?” I probed, figuring I had nothing to lose.
Leung must have thought so too, because he responded with an amused chuckle.
“Very good, Agent Porter. You know more than I had realized. However, you should also understand that it’s a grave mistake to toy with a woman of Senator Chang’s stature and power,” he replied.
“I take that to mean she’s on the payroll and keeps things running smoothly for you here in Hawaii,” I sarcastically retorted.
“Yes, she does. But not for the reasons you think.” Leung paused, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “Senator Chang is my aunt. We like to keep our business all in the family.”
It was my turn to be astounded. No wonder he had a lock on the illegal shark-fin trade in Hawaii.
“I suggest you take what little time is left and enjoy it as best you can. Breathe in deeply. Look up at the sky, gaze down at the ocean and watch the sharks at play,” he said with a snigger, and grabbed a fishing gaffe from the deck.
Restless Waters Page 25