Stealing the Dragon cwi-1

by Tim Maleeny

  This time, at the mention of Xan’s name, Sally turned, her brow furrowing. For a moment Ping feared the girl might have sustained another concussion and was disoriented, but then Sally’s face cleared and she smiled briefly at the old nurse.

  She said, “Some time alone would be nice.”

  Once Ping had left, Sally sat next to Jun and ran her hand slowly across her face, feeling Death’s cold embrace in every fingertip. After a long moment, she bent down and kissed Jun lightly on the lips, then put her mouth next to her ear and whispered.

  “It should have been me.”

  Sally blinked, but no tears came. The part of her that shed tears had atrophied to the point that she no longer expected them. She knew Jun was long gone from this body, and no amount of sorrow or crying was going to bring warmth back to her flesh. Sally turned toward the curtain and breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. Xan would be here soon.

  Though her dream remained elusive, the image of her parents had flashed into her mind again at the mention of Xan’s name. And though she didn’t yet know what she was supposed to do, she suddenly realized where she had to go.

  Sally reached for the pile of clothes sitting on her nightstand. Slipping out of the compound in broad daylight would be difficult, but not impossible. After all, it was what she was trained to do.

  She was over the wall before Xan reached the infirmary.

  “She’s gone?”

  Xan’s scar writhed back and forth as his expression changed from impatience to disbelief. But when it finally settled down, Ping could have sworn Xan looked more relieved than angry.

  “She’s gone,” he repeated quietly. Ping remained mute and nodded.

  Xan looked around the infirmary, now empty save for Jun’s body. He took in a deep breath and nodded to himself before pulling the curtain closed. Then he turned to face Ping.

  “Tell no one.”

  Chapter Forty

  San Francisco, present day

  Cape was driving down Battery when his cell phone rang. He pulled over next to a hydrant, aware that his driving was questionable even when he wasn’t talking on the phone.

  He knew the reason for the call as soon as Beau’s voice came booming out of the tiny handset.

  “Thought maybe you lost your phone,” he said, the phone vibrating. “Third time I called.”

  “Sorry,” said Cape. “Meetings.”

  “You got a digital camera?”

  Seemed like a good idea at the time. “Sure,” said Cape, his tone guarded.

  “Take any pictures lately?”

  “Sure.”

  “Mail any pictures lately?”

  “You mean the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset, the Ferry Building, that sort of thing?”

  “How about dead Chinese guys?”

  “Oh, that picture,” said Cape. “How’d you know it was me?”

  “The envelope had your return address on it.”

  “I didn’t want you to worry about a sociopath on the loose.”

  “I always said you were thoughtful,” replied Beau. “Matter of fact, that’s what I’ll say at your defense hearing. Your honor, he was stupid, irresponsible, had no regard for the law, but he was one thoughtful motherfucker.”

  “I had second thoughts after sending it.”

  “How ’bout second thoughts when you were taking it?” The phone almost jumped from Cape’s hand. “You ever hear don’t leave the scene of a crime?”

  “Fuck you,” said Cape. “You ever hear of the anonymous tip?”

  Cape could hear Beau sigh on the other end, a long whistling through the speaker.

  “Where is he?” demanded Beau.

  Cape blinked. “Who?”

  “I’m not playin’ here,” said Beau. “This is my job we’re talking about. I get a picture of a dead man in the mail, I’m supposed to find the dead man and-this is the important part-find the dude who killed the dead man in the first place.”

  “You don’t have the body,” Cape said stupidly.

  “What am I saying here?”

  “You saw the sign in the photo?” asked Cape. “The Chinese Merchants Benevolent Association, the plaque in the background?”

  “Now you’re insulting me?”

  Cape frowned. Of course Beau had seen the plaque-that’s why Cape framed the photo that way. Stir things up, get local cops involved again. For all the feds or the police knew, this murder was unrelated to the immigrant ship, so homicide would have to take the lead. And Cape’s real motivation-get the cops talking to Harold Yan, someone with influence in Chinatown who could pull a few strings. Get someone with power to take an interest in solving this case.

  “You still there?” Beau’s tone was insistent.

  “You talked to Yan?” Cape asked, feeling the answer forming in the pit of his stomach.

  “Busy man,” said Beau. “But polite as can be.”

  “He never saw the body?”

  “Didn’t recognize the guy, neither,” said Beau. “’Course, he thinks we have the body and were just lookin’ for an ID-I’m not advertising a missing body just yet.”

  “You press him?”

  “You crazy?” asked Beau. “No, wait-let me rephrase that. It didn’t seem prudent to suggest to Harold Yan, the mayoral candidate, that he might be full of shit.”

  “Fuck me,” muttered Cape.

  “What?” said Beau.

  “Nothing,” said Cape, a little too quickly.

  “OK, let’s try again,” said Beau deliberately. “Where did the body come from?”

  “I found it.”

  “Where?”

  “In my trunk.”

  “Just like that,” said Beau. “Next to the spare tire.”

  “Next to the jack, actually. He was on top of the spare.”

  “Damn, that changes everything,” said Beau. “Where were you?”

  “Talking to Freddie Wang.”

  “A-ha.”

  “A-ha?”

  “You bet your ass, a-ha,” replied Beau. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

  “We are?”

  “You’ve seen him before?”

  “Yeah. At Freddie’s, maybe ten, fifteen minutes before I left.”

  “Perfect,” said Beau. “Gives me someone to talk to-that’s what good police work is, you know. Talkin’ to people, till somebody says something stupid.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me if I killed him?” said Cape, sounding a little wounded.

  “Why? Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why should I ask?”

  Cape didn’t have an answer to that.

  Beau said, “You’re gonna have to come in and make a statement.”

  “Figured as much.”

  “Tonight.”

  “OK,” said Cape. “Later, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Was stupid to move the body,” said Beau.

  “I was trying to get your attention.”

  “Well, ’less you want to lose your license, you might want to leave that part out.”

  “Got it.”

  “Guess I don’t need to ask why you were talkin’ to Freddie?”

  “Uh-uh,” said Cape.

  “How’s that going?”

  “I think someone’s trying to kill me,” said Cape.

  “Good,” replied Beau. “Saves me the trouble.”

  Then he hung up.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Hong Kong, 10 years ago

  The small house was nestled in the hills behind Causeway Bay, not far from where the boats, junks, and sampans jostled for position beneath the elevated expressway. Generations of families had lived on some of the boats, too poor to pay rent anywhere in Hong Kong but with nowhere else to work.

  Li Mei worked in her garden, thinking of her youth on one of those boats. Her parents dead these many years, her brother drowned when he was ten. She was the first in her family to have solid ground beneath her feet at the end of the day. Though stil
l close to the water, she was a world away.

  She groaned slightly as she stood, putting her right hand behind her hip for balance. Nothing reminds you of your age like your knees. She took off her gloves and dropped them next to the back door, turning the knob and stepping into relative darkness. She blinked as her eyes adjusted from the morning sun to the cool shade of her kitchen.

  “Hello, Li Mei.”

  Li Mei gasped and almost fell over, her hands jumping out from her sides. As the sun spots left her eyes, a figure materialized at the small kitchen table, Li Mei’s startled mind matching the voice to the shape before her.

  “Sally!”

  Sally stood slowly and embraced the old woman, who still looked like the oldest person Sally had ever seen. It had been almost two years since Sally had visited. She’d told herself she was too busy, but realized now she’d been avoiding Li Mei for another reason. It was one thing to look in the mirror, but another to face someone who knows you and see yourself in the process. Li Mei broke their embrace and sat down, her silence invitation enough for Sally.

  She told Li Mei everything, starting with her trip to Tokyo and leading to the events of the night before. Li Mei’s ancient face cracked at times, new creases lining her brow, but she said nothing. Something in Sally’s eyes told the old woman that this was just a preamble.

  When she had finished, Sally stared at Li Mei for a full minute before speaking again, her eyes calm. “Li Mei, how did you know about the school?” she asked quietly. “About the Triads?”

  Li Mei opened her mouth and hesitated, just for an instant, but it was answer enough. Sally leaned forward and took the old woman’s right hand in hers and said, “You stepped through the red gate, didn’t you?”

  Li Mei’s eyes betrayed her.

  “You went to the school as a girl,” Sally continued, “and became a consort. A concubine. A spy.”

  The old woman nodded, her eyes going out of focus with the memory. “Yes, child. For a very long time, that was my life.”

  Sally squeezed her hand, then nodded. “That’s how you knew Xan.”

  “Yes,” Li Mei replied. “I wanted to give you…a choice.” Then added, “And the power to make one.”

  Sally ignored the comment. “You said a very long time…how long?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Because I’m leaving,” said Sally

  Li Mei blanched. “They won’t let you.”

  Sally smiled sadly, then let her eyes wander around the walls of the kitchen. “This is such a nice house, Li Mei.”

  “I’m comfortable,” said Li Mei, following Sally’s gaze.

  “And you bought it yourself?” asked Sally idly.

  Li Mei balked, then yelped as Sally dug her thumb into the soft spot between the old woman’s thumb and forefinger. She tried to pull away but Sally’s grip was firm, and as Li Mei squirmed in her chair, the pressure on her hand slowly increased. Sally looked across the table at her former nursemaid, marveling at how detached she could be about the old woman’s pain. She knew it should bother her but at the same instant knew that it never would.

  Sally leaned in close, her voice almost a whisper. “You used me to buy your freedom from the Triad,” she said evenly. Sally realized the answers were there her whole life, but she’d been too blind to see them. “Which means you were still part of the black society when you were working for my parents. Maybe too old to be someone’s concubine, but a spy just the same.”

  Li Mei couldn’t meet Sally’s gaze, and tears started to run down her cheeks. She stammered as she began talking. “Your…your father was a very important man in the U.S. Military. He was head of Army Intelligence, stationed in Japan. That’s where he met your mother.”

  Sally eased the pressure on Li Mei’s hand but held fast to her wrist.

  “The Triads ran many smuggling operations,” said Li Mei. “Some heroin, mostly guns-even people.”

  “People?”

  “Illegals from China, smuggled onto Japanese freighters in Hong Kong,” said Li Mei matter-of-factly, as if telling a friend about the price of pears. “Very profitable.”

  “What’s that got to do with my father?”

  “The gun trade was a major concern for the Japanese government-there are no guns in Japan by law. And it was also a concern for the U.S. military because guns were disappearing from Army bases. So your father was asked to assist in their investigations.”

  Sally’s jaw clenched but she remained motionless. “And you were sent to watch over my father.”

  Li Mei nodded.

  Sally released her hand. “Tell me about him.”

  Li Mei looked up, her cheeks damp, surprised by the question. Over the years Sally spoke of her parents only rarely. “What do you mean?”

  “What was he like?” asked Sally. “My father.”

  Li Mei took a deep breath, trying to relax. “Your father was a great man.”

  A great man. Sally’s brow furrowed, as if the phrase were an oxymoron.

  “He treated everyone with respect,” continued Li Mei. “He was honest. He loved your mother, and he adored you.” She smiled at the memory. “At that time, America was held in high regard by many people-and your father, with his blond hair and blue eyes-I think, to me, your father always seemed very American. Of course, I’ve never been there.”

  Neither have I, thought Sally. “How do you know he was honest?”

  Li Mei’s eyes darted away but came back. There was no lying left in her. “Because they tried to buy him off, get him to stop his investigation. But the first time a gift was left at the house-money in an envelope, left in the mailbox-your father walked into the middle of the street and tore it to pieces. He knew they would be watching the house.”

  “And my mother.”

  Li Mei smiled sadly. “Smart, beautiful. And she was never afraid-of anything. Just like you. Your parents were…” Li Mei’s voice trailed off, unsure of what to say.

  Sally worked the muscles in her jaw again. She could put this off another hour or just say the words. When they came, she almost spat them across the table.

  “My parents were murdered.”

  Li Mei’s face broke apart, the tears running down gullies of age too deep to measure. “I…I never knew anything would happen to them, Sally,” she sobbed. “Someone in the society made a deal with the yakuza-they worked out an arrangement for the guns. The next thing I knew, your parents had been driven off the road by a truck. I…never really knew it wasn’t an accident.”

  Sally nodded, feeling the puzzle pieces lost in memory take shape. None of it surprised her, but it came with a sickening, awful finality that confirmed she was completely and utterly alone. Since the age of five, she had been a pawn in someone else’s chess game, and there was nothing she could do to knock the pieces off the table and start over. All she could do was leave the table.

  Sally stood up, looking down at the woman she’d loved as a child but feeling nothing but disdain. Even pity was beyond her reach now.

  “I’m leaving.”

  Li Mei looked up, snot running down her nose, her eyes red. “But…they won’t let you.”

  Sally laughed, a short barking sound that surprised even her. “You forget where I went to school,” she said simply. Then she turned and walked out the door, leaving the old woman alone with her guilt, her house, and the view of the boats where she used to live.

  Chapter Forty-two

  San Francisco, present day

  The address on the card wasn’t on a map, and Cape knew better than to ask around Chinatown for directions. He’d followed the street numbers to a dead end and assumed at first it reemerged a few blocks later, like so many streets in San Francisco that disappeared into hills or landmarks and showed up a mile away.

  But that would take him out of Chinatown, which didn’t make sense, so fifteen minutes later he found himself back at the end of an alley, looking at empty boxes, broken vegetable crates, and shadows, wondering when the
genie was going to appear and tell him the secret word.

  The alley was half a block deep, with a grocery and tobacco shop flanking either side of the entrance, but the stores and the cross street seemed a world away. This far back, all Cape could hear was the wind and maybe the scuttling sound of a rat eating its way through the trash.

  It was a rat. Pulling a pocket Maglite, Cape shone the light along the brick walls on either side, careful to keep the beam tight and his body between the light and the street. As it passed over a wooden crate, two red eyes glared back, followed by a rustling glimpse of a long tail. Based on the spacing of the eyes and the length of the hairless tail, Cape figured the rat must outweigh him by about forty pounds. He focused the light on the ground as he stepped forward gingerly.

  This was starting to look like a dead end. Cape considered turning around when he saw it: a manhole cover, the grated kind, set into the corner of the alley. Shining the light through the top, he saw a ladder running down the side, disappearing into the darkness.

  Panning the light over the nearest wall, Cape saw a blood red triangle etched into one of the bricks. Squatting down, he put his thumb in the center of the triangle and pushed.

  He jumped as the manhole cover swung open with a muffled clang.

  You’ve got to be kidding.

  Turning off the flashlight, Cape lowered himself down the ladder, feeling for the rungs with his sneakers as he gripped the cold metal bars. His instinct was to make as little noise as possible, though he suspected an alarm had sounded somewhere once he triggered the trap door.

  Fifteen feet down the hole, the darkness softened to a gray haze. Twenty feet down he could see the floor, light spilling into the tunnel. Thirty feet and he touched bottom, almost blinded by the sudden glare coming from an opening on his left. Blinking, Cape looked into another world.

  Colored lanterns hung from the stone ceiling, brick walls were adorned with tapestries in muted reds and golds, and the cloying smell of incense permeated the air. Sofas, chairs, and cushions of different periods and styles crowded the small space, along with the occasional sculpture or desk, making it impossible to take in the entire room at once. Thick carpets had been piled on the stone floor, sometimes layered, giving Cape the feeling that the floor undulated beneath his feet. Toward the back of the chamber, the light dimmed, but Cape could see another tunnel leading off to the right, no doubt connected to other chambers and more holes cut beneath the city. A low grinding sound emanated from the center of the room, like a ball bearing rolling across a sheet of glass.