Nine Dragons

by Michael Connelly

  “Okay.”

  Bosch closed the phone and put it down on the table. They had designed the third text as the one that would finally draw the contact out. The message would say that Sun was canceling the meeting because he had spotted a tail and believed it was the police. He would urge the unknown contact to leave Geo immediately.

  The waitress came and put down a bowl of rice. The shrimp on top were whole, their distended eyes cooked white. Bosch pushed the bowl away.

  His phone buzzed. He checked his watch before answering it.

  “You already sent it?” Bosch asked.

  At first there was no response.

  “Sun Yee?”

  “Harry, it’s Chu.”

  Bosch checked his watch again. It was time for the last text.

  “I gotta call you back.”

  He closed the phone and once more looked out across the tables of three restaurants, hoping for the needle-in-the-haystack moment that would reveal the contact. Somebody reading a text, maybe typing a response.

  Nothing came. He saw no one pull a phone and glance at the screen. There were too many people to cover at the same time and the futility of the plan began to open a hollow in his chest. His eyes moved to the table where the woman and boy had sat and he saw that they were gone. He swept the restaurant and saw them leaving. The woman was moving fast, dragging the boy by the hand. In her other hand she carried her cell phone.

  Bosch opened his phone and punched in a call to Sun. He answered immediately.

  “The woman and the boy. They’re coming your way. I think it might be her.”

  “She got the text?”

  “No, I think she was sent to make the contact. The texts went offsite. We have to follow the woman. Where’s the car?”

  “Out front.”

  Bosch stood up, put three hundred-dollar bills down on the table and headed toward the exit.

  35

  Sun was already in the car waiting out front of the Yellow Flower. As Bosch was opening the door, he heard a voice calling from behind him.

  “Sir! Sir!”

  He turned and it was the waitress coming after him, holding out his hat and the map. She had also brought the change from his tab.

  “You forgot these, sir.”

  Bosch grabbed the items and said thanks. He pushed the change back toward her.

  “You keep that,” he said.

  “You did not enjoy your shrimp rice,” she said.

  “You got that right.”

  Bosch ducked into the car, hoping that the momentary delay would not cost them the tail on the woman and the boy. Sun immediately pulled away from the restaurant and into traffic. He pointed through the windshield.

  “They are in the white Mercedes,” he said.

  The car he pointed at was a block and a half ahead, moving in light traffic.

  “Is she driving?” Bosch asked.

  “No, she and the boy got into a waiting car. A man was driving.”

  “Okay, you got them? I need to make a call.”

  “I have them.”

  As Sun followed the white Mercedes, Bosch called Chu back.

  “It’s Bosch.”

  “Okay, I got some information through HKPD. But they were asking me a lot of questions, Harry.”

  “Give me the information first.”

  Bosch pulled out his notebook and pen.

  “Okay, the phone number you gave me is registered to a company. Northstar Seafood and Shipping. Northstar is one word. It’s located in Tuen Mun. That’s up in the New—”

  “I know. You have the exact address?”

  Chu gave him an address on Hoi Wah Road and Bosch repeated it out loud. Sun nodded his head. He knew where it was.

  “Okay, anything else?” Bosch asked.

  “Yes. Northstar is under suspicion, Harry.”

  “What’s that mean? Suspicion of what?”

  “I couldn’t get anything specific. Just of illegal shipping and trade practices.”

  “Like human trafficking?”

  “It could be. Like I said, I could not get specific information. Just questions about why I was tracing the number.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That it was a blind trace. The number was found on a piece of paper in a homicide investigation. I said I didn’t know the connection.”

  “That’s good. Is there any name associated with this phone number?”

  “Not directly to the number, no. But the man who owns Northstar Seafood and Shipping is Dennis Ho. He is forty-five years old and that’s all I could get without making it seem like I was working something specific. Does it help?”

  “It helps. Thanks.”

  Bosch ended the call and then updated Sun on what he knew.

  “Have you heard of Dennis Ho?” he asked.

  Sun shook his head.

  “Never.”

  Bosch knew they had to make a major decision.

  “We don’t know if this woman has anything to do with this,” Bosch said, pointing ahead at the white Mercedes. “We could be just spinning our wheels here. I say we break off of this and go directly to Northstar.”

  “We don’t need to decide yet.”

  “Why not? I don’t want to waste time on this.”

  Sun nodded in the direction of the white Mercedes. It was about two hundred yards ahead.

  “We are already heading toward the waterfront. They may be going there.”

  Bosch nodded. Both angles of investigation were still in play.

  “How’s your gas?” Bosch asked.

  “Diesel,” Sun replied. “And we are fine.”

  For the next half hour they edged the coastline on Castle Peak Road, staying a good distance behind the Mercedes but always keeping it in sight. They drove without speaking to each other. They had reached a point where they knew time was short and there was nothing else to say. Either the Mercedes or Northstar would lead them to Maddie Bosch or it was likely they would never see her again.

  As the vertical buildup of housing estates in Central Tuen Mun appeared ahead of them, Bosch saw the turn signal on the Mercedes engage. The car was turning left, away from the waterfront.

  “They’re turning,” he warned.

  “That’s a problem,” Sun said. “The industrial waterfront is ahead. They are turning toward residential neighborhoods.”

  They were both silent for a moment, hoping a plan would materialize or maybe the driver of the Mercedes would realize they needed to go straight and correct the car’s course.

  Neither happened.

  “Which way?” Sun finally asked.

  Bosch felt a tearing inside. His choice here could mean his daughter’s life. He knew that he and Sun could not split up with one following the car and the other going to the waterfront. Bosch was in a world he did not know and would be useless on his own. He needed Sun with him. He came to the same conclusion he had reached after the call from Chu.

  “Let her go,” he finally said. “We go to Northstar.”

  Sun kept going straight and they passed the white Mercedes as it took the left on a road marked Tsing Ha Lane. Bosch glanced out the window at the car as it slowed down. The man driving glanced back at him but only for a second.

  “Shit,” Bosch said.

  “What is it?” Sun asked.

  “He looked at me. The driver. I think they knew we were following them. I think we had it right—she’s part of this.”

  “Then this is good.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “If they knew we were following, then their turning away from the waterfront could be an effort to lead us away from Northstar. You see?”

  “I see. Let’s hope you’re right.”

  Soon they entered an industrial waterfront area filled with ramshackle warehouses and packing plants lined along the wharfs and piers. There were river barges and medium-size seafaring boats docked up and down, sometimes two and three abreast. All of it seemed abandoned f
or the day. No work on Sunday.

  Several fishing boats were moored out in the harbor, all safe behind a typhoon shelter created by a long concrete pier that formed the outer perimeter of the harbor.

  Traffic thinned and Bosch began to worry that the casino’s slick black Mercedes would be too noticeable as they made the approach to Northstar. Sun must have been thinking the same thing. He pulled into the parking lot of a closed food shop and stopped the car.

  “We are very close,” he said. “I think we leave the car here.”

  “I agree,” Bosch said.

  They got out and walked the rest of the way in, holding tight against the warehouse facades and scanning in all directions for forward spotters. Sun led the way and Bosch was right behind him.

  Northstar Seafood and Shipping was located on wharf 7. A large green warehouse with Chinese and English printing on its side fronted the dockside and a pier extended out into the bay beyond it. Four -seventy-five-foot net boats with black hulls and green pilothouses were tied up on either side of the pier. Docked at the end was a bigger boat with a large crane jutting skyward.

  From his viewpoint at the corner of a warehouse on wharf 6, Bosch could see no activity. The loading bay doors of the Northstar warehouse were all rolled down and the docks and boats looked buttoned up for the weekend. Bosch was beginning to think he had made a terrible mistake in not keeping the tail on the white Mercedes. Then Sun tapped his shoulder and pointed down the length of the pier to the crane boat at the end.

  His aim was high and Bosch followed it to the crane. The steel arm extended from a platform that sat atop a rail system fifteen feet over the deck of the boat. The crane could be moved up and down the length of the boat depending upon which ship’s hold was being filled with cargo. The boat was obviously designed to go out to sea and relieve smaller net boats of their catch so that they could continue to harvest. The crane was controlled from a small booth on the upper platform that protected the operator from the wind and other elements at sea.

  It was the tinted windows of the booth that Sun was pointing at. With the sun in the sky beyond the boat, Bosch could see the silhouette of a man in the booth.

  Bosch pulled himself back around the corner with Sun.

  “Bingo,” he said, his voice already tightening with the sudden blast of adrenaline. “Do you think he saw us?”

  “No,” Sun said. “I saw no reaction.”

  Bosch nodded and thought about their situation. He now believed with complete conviction that his daughter was somewhere on that boat. But getting to the boat without the lookout spotting them seemed impossible. They could wait for him to come down for a meal or bathroom break or a changing of the watch, but there was no telling when that would be or if it would even happen. Waiting defied the urgency that was growing in Bosch’s chest.

  He checked his watch. It was almost six. It would be at least two hours before total darkness. They could wait and then make a move. But two hours could be too long. The text messages had put his daughter’s abductors on notice. They could be about to make some sort of move with her.

  As if to drive this possibility home, the deep throb of a marine engine suddenly sounded from the wharf. Bosch stole a glimpse around the corner and saw exhaust rising from the stern of the crane boat. And now he saw movement behind the windows of the pilothouse.

  He ducked back.

  “Maybe he saw us,” he reported. “They started the boat.”

  “How many did you see?” Sun asked.

  “At least one inside the pilothouse and one still up on the crane. We need to do something. Now.”

  To accent the need to move, he reached behind his back and pulled the gun. He was tempted to move around the corner and go down the wharf shooting. He had a fully loaded .45 and liked his chances. He’d seen worse in the tunnels. Eight bullets, eight dragons. And then there would be him. Bosch would be the ninth dragon, as unstoppable as a bullet.

  “What’s the plan?” Sun asked.

  “No plan. I go in and I get her. If I don’t make it, I’ll make sure none of them do either. Then you go in and get her and put her on a plane out of here. You’ve got her passport in your trunk. That’s the plan.”

  Sun shook his head.

  “Wait. They will be armed. This plan is not good.”

  “You got a better idea? We can’t wait for dark. That boat’s about to go.”

  Bosch moved to the edge and took another look. Nothing had changed. The lookout was still up in the booth and there was somebody in the pilothouse. The boat was rumbling on idle but still tied to the end of the pier. It was almost as if they were waiting for something. Or someone.

  Bosch ducked back and calmed himself. He considered everything around him and what was available to use. Maybe there was something other than a suicide run at this. He looked at Sun.

  “We need a boat.”

  “A boat?”

  “A small boat. We can’t go down the pier without being seen. They’ll be watching for it. But with a small boat we could create a distraction on the other side. Enough for somebody to go down the pier.”

  Sun moved past Bosch and looked around the corner. He surveyed the end of the pier and then ducked back.

  “Yes, a boat could work. You want me to get the boat?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got the gun and I’m going down the pier to get my daughter.”

  Sun nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the car keys.

  “Take the keys. When you have your daughter, you drive away. Don’t worry about me.”

  Bosch shook his head and pulled out his phone.

  “We’ll get someplace nearby but safe and then I’ll call you. We’ll wait for you.”

  Sun nodded.

  “Good luck, Harry.”

  He turned to go.

  “And good luck to you,” Bosch said.

  After Sun left, Bosch kept his back against the front wall of the warehouse and prepared to wait. He had no idea how Sun would commandeer a boat but he trusted that somehow he’d get his part done and then would create the distraction that allowed Bosch to make his move.

  He also thought about finally making the call to the Hong Kong police, now that he had located his daughter, but he quickly discarded that idea as well. Police swarming the pier was no guarantee of his daughter’s safety. He’d stick with the plan.

  He turned to look around the corner of the warehouse and make another check of activities on the Northstar boat, when he saw a car approaching from the south. He noted the familiar styling of the front grille of a Mercedes. The car was white.

  Bosch slid down the wall to make himself less noticeable. Nets that had been hung to dry from the rigging of two boats between him and the approaching car also gave him camouflage. He watched as the car slowed and turned onto wharf 7 and then headed down the pier toward the crane boat. It was the car they had followed from the Gold Coast. He caught a glimpse of the driver and identified him as the same man who had returned his look earlier.

  Bosch did some quick computing and concluded that the man behind the wheel was the man whose phone number had been placed by Peng in the contact list on his daughter’s phone. He had sent the woman and child—probably his wife and son—inside Geo as decoys that would help him identify the person who had been texting him. Spooked by the last message sent by Sun, he had driven them home or to some other safe spot, dropped them and then driven to wharf 7, where Bosch’s daughter was being held.

  It was a lot to string together, considering the few known facts he had, but Bosch believed he was on target and that something was about to happen that wasn’t part of the Mercedes man’s original plan. He was deviating. Hurrying things up or moving the merchandise or doing something worse—getting rid of the merchandise.

  The Mercedes stopped in front of the crane boat. The driver jumped out and quickly moved across a gangway onto the boat. He yelled something to the man up in the booth but did not break stride as he quickly headed to the pilothouse.


  For a moment, there was no further movement. Then Bosch saw the man step out of the crane booth and start climbing down from the platform. After reaching the deck, he followed the Mercedes man into the pilothouse.

  Bosch knew that they had just committed a strategic error that gave him a momentary advantage. This was his chance to move down the pier unseen. He pulled his phone again and called Sun. The phone rang and then went to message.

  “Sun, where are you? The Mercedes man is here and they left the boat unguarded. Never mind the distraction, just get back here and be ready to drive. I’m going in.”

  Bosch pocketed the phone and stood up. He checked the crane boat one last time and then bolted from cover. He crossed the wharf to the pier and began moving toward the end. He held the gun in a two-handed grip, up and ready.

  36

  Stacks of empty crates on the pier afforded Bosch partial cover but the last twenty yards to the gangway of the crane boat were wide open and exposed. He picked up his speed and quickly covered the distance, ducking at the last moment behind the Mercedes idling next to the gangway. Bosch noted the distinctive sound and smell of the diesel engine. He peeked over the line of the trunk and saw no reaction to his moves coming from the boat. He jumped from cover, moved quickly and quietly across the gangway and then picked his way between six-foot-wide hatch covers on the deck. He finally slowed his pace as he reached the pilothouse. He pressed himself against the wall next to the door.

  Harry slowed his breathing and listened. He heard nothing over the sound of the throbbing engines other than the wind through the rigging of the boats on the pier. He turned to look in through a small square window in the door. He saw no one inside. He reached to the handle and quietly opened the door and entered.

  The room was the operation center of the boat. Besides the wheel, Bosch saw glowing dials, double radar screens, twin throttles and a large gimballed compass. Against the back wall of the room was a chart table next to a set of built-in bunks with curtains that could be pulled for privacy.

  On the floor on the forward left was an open hatch with a ladder leading down into the hull. Bosch moved over and crouched next to the opening. He heard voices down below but the language spoken was Chinese. He tried to separate them and count how many men were down there but the echo effect of the hull made this impossible. He knew at a minimum there were three men in the hull. He did not hear his daughter’s voice, but he knew she was down there, too.