Flood Tide dp-14

by Clive Cussler

  Wong laughed off her threat. “You have no one but yourself to blame for your plight. Qin Shang sent a force of no less than twenty men to track you and Mr. Pitt down for the purpose of killing you both. They lost your trail and certainly never expected you to walk through our front door.”

  “I was stupid.”

  Wong shrugged in agreement. “Granted, impulsive behavior is not what makes a good government agent—” Wong was suddenly interrupted by the sound of gunfire from somewhere within the building. He stared at Loo, who removed a portable phone from a pocket of his expensive sport coat and spoke into the receiver.

  “Where is the gunfire coming from?” demanded Loo. “Are we being raided?”

  “No, Mr. Loo,” his chief of security answered from the monitoring-systems room. “There is no raid. All grounds and wharf are clear. The gunfire is coming from a room above the train-loading dock. We do not yet know who is behind the attack nor his purpose.”

  “Are there casualties?”

  “No,” answered the security chief. “Whoever is shooting is not aiming at our guards.”

  “Keep me informed!” Loo snapped. He nodded at Wong. “It is time to go.” He had barely spoken the words when the shooting stopped. “What has happened?” he inquired, snatching up the radio again.

  The security chief's voice came back. “We must have hit him. I am sending a team upstairs to examine the body.”

  “I wonder who it can be,” Wong muttered thoughtfully.

  “We'll know shortly,” Loo muttered. He threw Julia over his shoulder as lightly as if she was a large pillow. He shook hands with Wong. “Good doing business with you, Mr. Wong. I suggest you find a new staging depot. This one is no longer safe.”

  Wong smiled without the slightest expression of agitation. “Three days from now Qin Shang Maritime's new operation will be firmly established and the Americans will have bigger problems on their minds.”

  With Wong in the lead, they left the office together and hurried down a circular staircase that opened onto a wide corridor leading past empty storage and equipment rooms last used when the sugar mill was in operation. They were halfway down the corridor when Loo's beeper went off on his radio. “Yes, what is it?” he said irritably.

  “Our security agents stationed throughout St. Mary Parish report a small fleet of Coast Guard boats entering Bayou Teche, and a pair of helicopters with government markings just now passing over Morgan City, headed in this direction.”

  “How long before they arrive?” asked Loo.

  “The helicopters,” said his security chief, “fifteen, maybe eighteen minutes. Add half an hour for the boats.”

  “All right, close down all systems and follow the plan for evacuation and dispersal of all personnel.”

  “Shutting down now.”

  “We should be in our limos and on the road in less than three minutes,” said Loo, shifting Julia to his other shoulder.

  “More than enough time to put a safe distance between us and the mill,” Wong acknowledged.

  When they reached a doorway leading to stairs that dropped to the basement shipping terminal, they heard the shouting of voices but no sounds from the locomotive. Then the voices died and it became clear that something was very, very wrong. They burst through a doorway onto a landing high above the loading dock. Wong, ahead of the rest, stopped and froze in shock.

  The freight cars had been loaded with the immigrants and their doors shut and locked. But the engine sat idle, with blue smoke curling up through bullet holes on the panels covering the diesel engines and electric generating compartment. The engineers stood looking at the damage, their expressions reflecting helplessness and bafflement. The security guards who worked for the Triad had already climbed into a truck that quickly drove off toward the main highway the instant it was loaded.

  Suddenly Loo realized why the unknown assailant did not shoot at the guards. Fear and confusion swept over him as he understood that the train was not going anywhere. Three hundred immigrants and a cargo of illegal goods worth nearly thirty million dollars was going to be captured and confiscated by United States government agents. He turned to Wong. “I'm sorry, my friend, but because the transfer of goods was not able to take place, I must hold Qin Shang responsible.” “What are you saying?” demanded Wong. “Simple,” explained Loo. “I'm saying the Dragon Triad is not paying for this shipment.”

  “Qin Shang Maritime delivered as agreed,” Wong said thickly. If Loo and the Dragon Triad reneged on their deal with his boss, Wong knew that he would be held responsible. Failure of this magnitude meant death when one was in the employ of Qin Shang. “The goods and property were turned over and placed in your hands. You will be held accountable.”

  “Without us, Qin Shang cannot do business in the United States,” Loo said smugly. “The way I see it, he is powerless to do anything but accept the loss.”

  “He is far more powerful than you think,” said Wong. “You are making a grave mistake.”

  “You tell Qin Shang that Jack Loo is not afraid of him. Valuable friends are not to be cast off like old clothes. He is too wise not to accept a minor defeat that he can recoup in a week.”

  Wong gazed ferretlike at Loo.

  “Then our little deal is off concerning Miss Lee. She reverts back to me.”

  Loo considered that for a moment, then he laughed. “Didn't you say Qin Shang wants her dead?” “Yes, that is true,” Wong said, nodding. Loo lifted Julia above his head with both hands. “The drop from here onto the steel rails of the track bed is thirty feet. Suppose I fulfill Qin Shang's wish to kill Miss Lee and make reparation for our financial differences.”

  Wong glanced down at the steel rails lying directly below and between the rear of the last freight car and the concrete stop barrier. “Yes, you make an excellent point. I think Qin Shang might be appeased for his loss. But please make it now. We can no longer afford to waste time. We must leave quickly.”

  Loo extended his arms and tensed. Julia screamed. Wong and May Ching were waiting in sadistic anticipation. None of them noticed a tall, curly-haired man in an ill-fitting security uniform who had stepped silently down the stairs behind them. “Forgive me for interrupting,” said Pitt, jamming the muzzle of his Colt against the base of Loo's skull, “but if anyone so much as scratches their nose, I'll blow their gray matter into the next parish.”

  They all turned instinctively toward the strange voice, each forming different expressions on their faces at his abrupt appearance. Loo's tan features went pallid, his eyes blank with incredulity. May Ching's features went taut with dread. Wong looked downright curious.

  “Who are you?” Wong asked.

  Pitt ignored him. When he spoke, it was to Loo. “Put the lady down gently.” To emphasize his demand, Pitt jammed the .45 solidly into the flesh of Loo's neck below the skull.

  “Don't shoot, please don't shoot,” pleaded Loo as he slowly lowered Julia to her feet, his beady eyes glazed with fear.

  Julia crumpled to her knees. It was then that Pitt saw the terrible bruises on Julia's wrists and ankles. Without a second's hesitation, he clubbed Loo on the temple with the barrel of the Colt, watching with grim satisfaction as the Triad director dropped and rolled down the stairs.

  Unable to believe the voice was really his, Julia looked up and saw the opaline-green eyes and the crooked grin. “Dirk!” she muttered dazedly as she reached up and gentry touched the bandage on his broken nose. “Oh God, oh God, you're here. How, how in the world ... ?”

  Pitt wanted desperately to lift her up and hold her in his arms, but he didn't dare take his eyes off of Wong. He read the expression and knew Qin Shang's enforcer was coiled to strike like a snake. With foresight, he also predicted May Ching had nothing to lose now that her boss was a broken body at the foot of the stairs. She stared at him with a look of cold hatred no woman had ever speared him with before. Pitt kept his eyes on her and the gun trained on Wong's forehead. “I just happened to be passing by and thought I
'd drop in and say hello.”

  “Your name is Dirk?” Wong said tightly. “Am I to presume you are Dirk Pitt?”

  “I certainly hope so. And you?”

  “Ki Wong, and the lady is May Ching. What do you intend to do with us?”

  “Ki Wong,” said Pitt thoughtfully. “Where have I heard that name before?”

  Julia was astute. Without jeopardizing Pitt's vigilance, she circled her arms around his waist from the back so as not to restrict his movements.

  “He's Qin Shang's chief enforcer,” said Julia, slowly struggling to her feet. “He interrogates the immigrants and decides who lives and dies. He was the one who tortured me on board the Indigo Star.”

  “You're not a very nice man, are you?” said Pitt conversationally. “I've seen your handiwork.”

  Without warning a guard appeared from nowhere. Too late, Pitt caught the unexpected presence from May Ching's eyes as they flashed from hatred to triumph at seeing the uniformed guard. Desperately he whirled around to face his attacker as Wong threw himself at Pitt. May Ching screamed.

  “Kill him! Kill him!”

  “I always respect a lady's wishes,” said the intruder without emotion. The .357 magnum revolver in his hand spat ike, the deafening blast reverberating around the landing as if it came from a cannon. Wong's eyes burst from their sockets as the bullet's impact struck him square, just above the bridge of the nose. He reeled backward, arms outstretched, and careened over the railing, his already dead body crashing onto the rails far below.

  Giordino regarded his handiwork modestly. “I hope I did the right thing.”

  “And high time too,” said Pitt, hoping his heart would start pumping again.

  “Damn you!” shrieked May Ching, leaping at Pitt, her ringers with their long nails curled to gouge out his eyes.

  She only took one step before Julia's fist rammed into May Ching's mouth, splitting the lips and sending a spurt of blood down the front of the red silk dress. “You bitch!” said Julia fiercely. “That's for drugging me.” Another convulsive movement, and Julia's next blow took May Ching in the stomach, sending the lady from the Dragon Triad to her knees, gasping for breath. “And that's for leaving me half naked in front of men.”

  “Remind me never to make you mad,” Pitt said with a grin.

  She massaged her fist and stared up at him, her face sad and strained. “If only we could have caught them in the act of transporting illegal immigrants. God only know how many lives we could have saved. Now it's too late.”

  Pitt hugged her tenderly, favoring her cracked ribs. “Didn't you know?”

  “Know?” she said, puzzled. “Know what?”

  He motioned toward the train below. “There are over three hundred of them locked into freight cars down there.”

  Caught off balance, she stiffened as if Pitt had struck her. She stared uncomprehending at the train. “They were here and I never saw them.”

  “How did you get to the sugar mill?” he asked her.

  “I sneaked on board the trash barge as it left the Sung Lien Star.”

  “Then you rode on top of them from Sungari. They came across the sea from China in a submerged container that was moved by an underwater rail system from under the Sung Lien Star to the barge that brought mem here.”

  Her voice suddenly became hard. “We've got to free them before the train leaves.”

  “Not to worry,” said Pitt with a canny smile. “Even Mussolini couldn't make that train run on time.”

  They were unlocking the freight cars and helping the illegal immigrants onto the loading docks when the Immigration and Naturalization Service agents and coast guardsmen arrived and took over.

  PRESIDENT DEAN COOPER WALLACE CAME FROM BEHIND HIS desk as Qin Shang stepped into the oval office of the White House. He put out a hand and said, “My dear Qin Shang, how good to see you.”

  Qin Shang pressed the President's hand in both of his. “It's so kind of you to see me in light of your busy schedule.”

  “Nonsense, I'm deeply in your debt.”

  “Will you be needing me?” asked Morton Laird, who had escorted Qin Shang from the reception room.

  “Please stay, Morton,” said the President. “I'd like you to be present.”

  The President showed Qin Shang to a pair of sofas that faced across a coffee table, and they sat down. “I wish you to convey my deep appreciation to Premier Wu Kwong for his generous contribution to my presidential campaign. And please tell him he has my promise of close cooperation between our two governments.”

  “Premier Kwong will be happy to hear it,” said Qin Shang affably.

  “What can I do for you, Qin Shang?” asked the President, setting the discussion in a firm direction.

  “As you know, certain members of Congress have been calling my country a slave state and condemning what they call human-rights abuses. They are currently proposing a bill to reject our most-favored-nation status. Premier Wu Kwong fears they may muster enough votes to push through the bill's passage.”

  “Rest assured,” the President said, smiling, “I fully intend to veto any bill Congress passes that jeopardizes trade between our two countries. I've also gone on record as stating that mutual trade benefits are the best opportunity to eliminate the human-rights questions.”

  “Do I have your word on that, Mr. President?” asked Qin Shang, his aggressiveness pulling a negative expression from Chief of Staff Laird.

  “You can tell Premier Wu Kwong that he has my personal assurance.”

  Laird marveled at the conciliatory atmosphere in the room between the shipping tycoon and the President when the air should have crackled with antagonism.

  “The other matter of concern is the harassment by your Coast Guard and immigration agents of my ships. Search boardings have become more numerous and extensive in the past months, and shipping-schedule delays have proved very costly.”

  “I understand your concern, Qin Shang,” said Wallace flatly. “At last count by the INS there were six million people living illegally in the United States. A good percentage of them, so the Immigration and Naturalization Service claims, were smuggled into the country in your ships, and the fiasco at Orion Lake was not an easy event to conceal. By rights I should have you arrested as you stand in my office and indicted for mass murder.”

  There was no display of indignation from Qin Shang. He stared at the most powerful man in the world without blinking. “Yes, under your laws you have every right to do so. But then you run the risk of much delicate information being leaked to the American public about your secret dealings with Qin Shang Maritime and the People's Republic of China.”

  “Are you threatening blackmail against the President of the United States?” Wallace demanded, suddenly disturbed.

  “Please forgive me,” Qin Shang acquiesced quickly. “I merely wished to remind the President of possible contingencies.”

  “I will not condone mass murder.”

  “An unfortunate event caused by criminal syndicates in your own country,” Qin Shang countered.

  “Not in the report I read.”

  “You have my solemn oath there will be no repetition of Orion Lake.”

  “In return, you want your ships left alone. Is that it?”

  Qin Shang nodded. “I would be most grateful.”

  Wallace looked at Laird. “Inform Admiral Ferguson and Duncan Monroe that I wish the Coast Guard and INS to treat the inspection of Qin Shang Maritime ships entering our waters with the same courtesy offered to any other foreign shipping company.”

  Laird's brow was furrowed in disbelief. He sat quietly and did not immediately acknowledge the presidential order.

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” said Qin Shang courteously. “I speak for my board of directors when I say we are very honored by your friendship.”

  “You're not off the hook that easily, Qin Shang,” said Wallace. “Please pass on my concern to Premier Wu Kwong regarding the continued use of slave labor to manufacture yo
ur trade goods. If we are to maintain close ties, his government must accept the use of decently paid workers in its manufacturing facilities and reject violation of human rights. Otherwise, I will cut off our export of phosphatic fertilizers to China.”

  Morton Laird smiled inwardly. At last the President struck a chord. Phosphatic fertilizers exceeded one billion dollars in sales by a chemical company in Texas that was a subsidiary of the vast global chemical corporation in Jiangsu Province with headquarters in Shanghai. Without threatening trade sanctions against Chinese exported cotton goods, shoes, toys, radios, television sets and related items that totaled over fifty billion dollars a year, Wallace had zeroed in on the most essential commodity of all.

  Qin Shang's green eyes briefly flashed with uneasiness. “I will relate your counsel to Premier Wu Kwong.”

  Wallace stood, signaling an end to the discussion.

  “Thank you, Mr. President. It was a privilege to meet with you again.”

  “I'll accompany you to the reception room,” said Laird graciously, while diplomatically concealing his contempt for the financial criminal.

  A few minutes later Laird returned to the Oval Office. Wallace did not look up as he signed a stack of bills sent over from Congress. “Well, Morton, it was obvious by the sour apple look on your face that you're not happy with my performance.”

  “No, sir, I am not. I am appalled that you even talk to that murderer.”

  “He's not the first ghoul from hell who has walked in this office since it was built. If not for Qin Shang and his influence with the Chinese government, I might not be sitting where lam.”

  “You are being conned, sir. Conned by Qin Shang and his government up and down Pennsylvania Avenue. In the interest of political expediency, Mr. President, you've dug yourself a grave too deep to climb out of.”

  “We're dealing with a country that has one-point-four billion people,” Wallace persisted. “This presents an incredible opportunity to sell billions of dollars' worth of American goods. Whatever sin I've committed was in the interest of the country.”