by Gar Wilson
"I hope so," James said, grinning. "What's our next move?"
"We'll take turns getting some sleep," Katz replied. "We've got some prisoners to interrogate, but I think it's unlikely any of them know a damn thing about the VL-800 formula. They were involved in a Black Serpent Tong smuggling operation. No reason for them to know about anything else the tong is up to. They probably don't even know about TRIO."
"Doesn't look very good right now," Encizo sighed.
"It could sure look a lot better," Katz was forced to agree.
15
Temujin paced the tile floor of Chou Minchuan's office, muttering in his native tongue. Chou Minchuan did not understand Mongolian, but he guessed Temujin was growling about the mission.
Chou Minchuan was a subleader of the Black Serpent Tong. He was forty years old, a bit paunchy at the waist and prematurely gray. Temujin did not worry Chou Minchuan. The Chinese regarded himself as a businessman. The tong supplied people with items that they could not get through legal channels. Like any other business, the tong relied on customers' interest in order to exist. He saw nothing particularly evil about the tong. It was simply a business with profits and losses, sales and agreements, developing new markets and the necessary termination of customer services, even though this occasionally meant terminating the customer.
The Chinese gangster did not like Temujin. He regarded Mongols as barbarians, as uncouth louts who did not understand the principles of good business and profit investments. Traditional animosities notwithstanding, Chou Minchuan got along fine with the yakuza members of TRIO. The Japanese understood business. They had embraced the twentieth century and were rapidly moving into the twenty-first. The Mongols, in Chou Minchuan's opinion, were still backward savages who believed only in brute force as a method of conquest.
Temujin was a typical example of this, the Chinese thought. The young Mongol was dressed in baggy fatigue uniform trousers and shirt. He wore a sheepskin vest and boots made of goat hide. Temujin carried a pistol and fighting dagger on his belt, as if he expected to plunge into battle right there in Chou Minchuan's office. Absurd, the tong subchief thought sourly.
Of course, Temujin was young. Too young to be commanding other men. He was the son of that lunatic Tosha Khan, who dreamed of reviving the Mongol Empire. Did that fool really believe the Chinese and Japanese members of TRIO would ever allow him to do that? Even if it was possible, the tong and yakuza elements would prevent the Mongols of the New Horde from carrying out such a scheme. Self-preservation was a very powerful instinct.
"They're here," Temujin said sharply, addressing Chou Minchuan and Akira Osato in thickly accented Mandarin Chinese. "The raid on Lung Harbor was carried out by the same men who were at the installation site in Mongolia, the same men who have been a thorn in the side of TRIO for more than a year."
"You may be right," Akira Osato began. The Japanese spoke softly, his voice calm. Osato was a man of great discipline. He had trained his voice and facial muscles to conceal his emotions. Chou Minchuan admired his skill. "But this only proves the enemy has no idea where we have the VL-800 formula. It is safe, Temujin-san. There is no need to fear."
"I fear no man!" Temujin said angrily.
"Fear was a poor choice of word," Akira Osato said. "Rather, there is no need for concern that the enemy will discover the formula before it is too late."
"You aren't thinking of destroying it?" the Mongol demanded. "I know Shimo was opposed to this operation, but my father and Wang Tse-tu voted in favor of it. Shimo finally saw the value of the formula and agreed to participate."
"Reluctantly agreed," Osato said softly. "Shimo-sama only agreed because it is essential that all members of TRIO work together. Mongol, Chinese and Japanese must cooperate. Otherwise we shall all perish together."
"You do not approve of the plan to use the formula to bring our enemies to their knees?" Temujin asked.
"Whether we approve or not has nothing to do with this," Chou stated. "We have been ordered to protect the formula and arrange for its covert sale to foreign governments. However, your father stole the VL-800 from the Russians without consulting the other leaders of TRIO. That was inconsiderate."
"How dare you criticize Tosha Khan!" the Mongol snapped, his hand reaching for the gun on his hip.
"Brother Chou merely states that your father has put us in an awkward position," Osato remarked. "He suddenly acquired a commodity that we had no market for. His original idea was to use the formula to blackmail the Soviet government or even to use it aggressively against the Soviet people. This would clearly be too dangerous to attempt. Selling the formula to other governments is the best way to make a profit, but even that involves more risk than our usual operations."
"The potential for profit is great," Chou said, trying to calm the angry young Mongol. "Providing, of course, we can make the sales successfully. Selling to governments, especially those of Third World countries, is always a risky business. Politicians are cheats and liars by nature. Many of them might contact Moscow before agreeing to the sale. This causes many hazards that should be obvious, Temujin."
"But you still have to obey orders," the Mongol sneered. "And I say we should also kill the team of butchers from America."
"You tried that in Mongolia," Osato commented. "It did not work very well then."
"I left the task to bandits," Temujin replied. "This time we shall use our own people and do the job correctly."
"If these men are the same individuals who destroyed our operations in San Francisco and the Philippines," Chou mused, "then our own people have tried to kill them in the past."
"So, you're afraid?" Temujin said with contempt.
"There is no point in killing them," Osato answered. "Our contact within the SIS has already informed us that the commandos — or whatever they call themselves — have no idea where to find the formula. They do not present a problem to us at this time."
"The fact they are still alive is a problem," the Mongol insisted. "One does not deal with enemies by ignoring them. You find out who they are, where they are, and crush them."
"No action will be taken against them unless they seem to be close to learning details about us," Chou insisted. "The subject is closed, Temujin. Our main concern at the present is to secure foreign markets for the VL-800 and arrange the sales."
"Then I'll leave you gentlemen to your computers and telephones," Temujin muttered as he stomped from the office.
"Mongols," Chou hissed with disgust. "They would turn back the clock to the twelfth century."
"And they have no patience," Osato added. "No spiritual discipline."
Chou smiled and nodded. He was glad to be working with someone with whom he had so much in common.
* * *
Temujin met with Yumjaagiyin and Khorloin, two of his most trusted lieutenants, Mongols who had belonged to the New Horde since Tosha Khan had first established the organization. Their loyalty was clearly to the Horde and its founder, not to TRIO. They were honored to serve Temujin, the son of the great Khan, and they obeyed him without question.
Yumjaagiyin and Khorloin followed Temujin outside the main house. Tosha Khan's son did not trust the Chinese and Japanese who outnumbered his small Mongol group. He did not feel comfortable discussing private matters with his men within the walls of Chou Minchuan's house. The three Mongols moved across the parade field. The shadows of night seemed to envelop them with a cloak of security.
"You know that our enemies have followed us here from Mongolia," Temujin told his men. "They are in Hong Kong, hunting us at this moment. I spoke with Chou and Osato. They choose to ignore this threat. They are like the ostrich. Those fools would bury their heads in the sand while their enemies closed in with guns and nets."
"The Chinese have always been weaklings and the Japanese have always been corrupt," Khorloin hissed, proving that prejudice was a universal form of stupidity.
"They're afraid to take direct action," Temujin continued. "If my father was
here, he would have their heads cut off. Unfortunately, I cannot punish them... yet. Later, I shall ask permission to personally execute those cowards."
"Is there nothing we can do about the commando team that threatens to destroy us, Temujin?" Yumjaagiyin inquired.
"Not if we listen to Chou and Osato," the Mongol subchief answered. "But I have no intention of allowing their cowardice to rob my father and my people of this great victory. That is why I have brought you here to speak in confidence. I have a mission for you."
"Tell us what we must do," Khorloin replied, ready to obey before he heard the task.
"There is a petty hoodlum in Hong Kong," Temujin began. "I have his name and address. The man is an informer who has already been contacted by the enemy. It is believed he gave them the information about the Lung Harbor episode being a tong operation. I want you to go to this man and force him to help us lay a trap for these Westerners who dare stalk us like animals. I will also tell you how to locate some tong enforcers to assist you. Do not tell the Chinese I sent you. Tell them the orders come from Chou Minchuan. By the time they find out otherwise, the trap will already have sprung shut on our enemies. They shall be dead, and Chou will be busy trying to take credit for the success of my plan."
"It shall be done, Temujin," Khorloin assured him.
"Of that I have no doubt," the Mongol subchief said with a smile.
16
The sun rose and splashed the skies above Hong Kong with gold and pink. A halo of light glowed around white cloud formations. The pale blue firmament flowed overhead like a message of hope and a promise of salvation.
Yet the light of dawn brought no illumination for the problems that confronted Phoenix Force. They had questioned prisoners, poured over SIS and police reports concerning tong activities and checked the records of Black Serpent enforcers both living and dead. Nothing seemed to offer even a slight clue as to the location of the VL-800 formula.
At the insistence of Manning, Encizo and James, a large coffee urn had been set up in Colonel Hunntington-Smythe's office. The Canadian sat at a table, wearily leafing through lists of merchandise delivered at Lung Harbor over the last three weeks. Lieutenant Savchenko stirred a glass of hot tea. Like most Russians, he thought tea tasted better in a glass than a cup. The KGB officer was searching through the criminal records of some of the men who had been killed during the raid. He sipped his tea and sighed.
"I wonder if any of this is getting us to any place," he remarked.
"To any place?" Gary Manning looked up from his papers. "You mean 'is getting us anywhere'?"
"That is what I said, is it not?" Savchenko replied. "It is an odd expression. You Americans have many strange expressions. Where are you from in the United States? New York? California? Washington, D.C.?"
"I've been to a few places from time to time," Manning replied. "I'm not really sure where home is these days."
"I have always wanted to go to the United States," the Russian said, smiling. "Is it true they have television networks that the state does not own?"
"Yeah," the Canadian replied. "In fact, the TV news media tends to criticize the government and the President. Regardless of who happens to be in office or what the government policies happen to be, some members of the media will condemn and others will praise whatever's going on. Not always a fair balance of the two, but I'd say the criticisms are usually more plentiful than the praise."
"They really do that in the United States?" Savchenko raised his eyebrows. "And in England and Canada as well?"
"In Canada?" Manning said, smiling. "Yeah, of course. And in England, Australia, a few other places. In America they have the FCC — Federal Communications Commission — that sets standards for profanity, nudity and anything that isn't considered proper for network broadcasts. Even then, some cable channels show programs that include so-called adult material. But they don't ban anything for political reasons."
"Anything?" Savchenko asked, his eyes open wide.
"Well, nothing I know about anyway," Manning said with a shrug. "Of course, freedom of speech and freedom of the press are part of the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution."
The telephone on Hunntington-Smythe's desk rang. Manning answered it. "Colonel's not here right now," he announced. "He'll probably be back in a couple of hours."
"I have to talk to David McCarter," a voice declared from the earpiece. "I understood I could find him at this number."
"Jesus," the Canadian rasped. "Hold on. I'll get him."
"Is something wrong?" Savchenko asked, noticing the angry expression on the Canadian's face.
"One of my partners is an idiot," Manning muttered. "Would you mind finding Mr. Nelson and asking him to get his ass in here? He's got a telephone call."
"Nelson is the Briton, yes?" Savchenko inquired.
"The guy with the British accent and the lobotomy scar," Manning replied.
The Russian was confused by the remark, but he left the office and successfully located "Mr. Nelson." McCarter entered with a bottle of Coca-Cola in his hand. The Briton was puzzled by the expression on Manning's face as the Canadian shoved the telephone receiver at him.
"Way to go, jackass," Manning growled. "Remind me to talk to you about maintaining our security."
"What?" McCarter began, but decided to worry about Manning later. He took the phone and spoke into the mouthpiece. "This is Nelson."
"Who?" a vaguely familiar voice replied. "McCarter? This is Hsin Li..."
"Bloody hell," McCarter groaned. "How the hell did you get this phone number? For that matter, how did you know I'd be here?"
"My connections," Hsin Li's voice replied. "Isn't that where you usually do business when you're in Hong Kong?"
"Where I..." the Briton began. "What's going on, Hsin Li?" the Briton questioned, showing his impatience by the tone of his voice.
"I have some information for you," the Chinese declared. "Not the sort of thing I want to talk about over the phone. Meet me at the Green Dragon Restaurant in the Shiang District at six o'clock tonight. I'll explain everything then."
"The Green Dragon Restaurant?" McCarter frowned.
"They serve excellent sweet-and-sour pork," Hsin Li stated. "I order it every time I eat there. Recommend it. May as well have a good meal while we discuss my fee."
"All right," McCarter agreed. "I'll be there."
Hsin Li hung up.
"Something is very wrong here," the Briton commented as he placed the receiver in the phone cradle.
"You can say that again," Manning growled. "What's the matter with you? Giving somebody the phone number to this office..."
"I didn't give him the bloody phone number," McCarter snapped. "If you had been listening, you might have heard me ask where the hell he got it."
"Yeah," Manning was forced to admit. "You did. Who was on the phone anyway. The informer guy? Li?"
"Hsin Li," the British ace confirmed. "He wants to meet me at a restaurant tonight. Told me how he always orders the sweet-and-sour pork when he's there."
"So?" the Canadian said with a shrug.
"Hsin Li is a member of a Buddhist sect that doesn't believe in eating meat," McCarter explained. "That rascal would lie, cheat, steal and sell his grandmother to a brothel if he could get enough money for her, but Hsin Li has always been a strict vegetarian."
"You think he's trying to warn you something's wrong," Manning asked.
"That's what I figure," McCarter answered with a nod. "Hsin Li was pretty rattled when we had our first conversation. He was reluctant to tell me about the Black Serpent Tong, and he nearly had a heart attack when I told him TRIO wasn't just a bullshit story. He told me not to expect to hear from him again. Then John and I had that donnybrook with the SAD. That would have convinced Hsin Li never to talk to me again."
"But he just contacted you," Manning commented. "And somebody gave him the phone number."
"Probably the same people who forced him to make the call," the Briton mused. "Bet you t
en quid there was a gun pointed at his head when he phoned."
"So TRIO knows we're working with the SIS," Manning said with a frown. "How the hell did they find out? Did they figure it out from last night's raid or what?"
"I don't know," McCarter replied. "If so, somebody must have seen Hunntington-Smythe at the police blockade and guessed he was connected with us."
"And they just happened to know the phone number?" Manning shook his head. "Well, I suppose they could have found put somehow."
"A lot of coincidences," McCarter said. "Personally, I don't believe much in coincidence. On top of everything else, how did TRIO know about Hsin Li in the first place?"
"Maybe they've been watching us since we arrived in Hong Kong," Manning suggested.
"I doubt it," McCarter replied. "If they had, TRIO would have shut down the operations at Lung Harbor before we hit them. They lost a fortune in opium and other contraband. There's only one explanation that fills in all the holes, mate."
"Yeah," Manning agreed. "Somebody we've been working with is a mole for TRIO. There's a goddamn informer in our group."
"An informer?" Savchenko asked with surprise. The Russian had just entered the office in time to hear the tail end of the conversation. "Are you sure of this?"
"We're sure," McCarter sighed. "And we don't want to broadcast it."
"Are you certain you haven't broadcast this already?" Savchenko inquired. "There could be hidden microphones in this office."
"Not now," Manning announced as he took a small metal disc from his pocket. "I dusted for bugs earlier. Found this under the colonel's desk. It's a miniature transmitter, powered by a quartz battery that I've already removed."
"Why didn't you tell me about that before?" the Russian said, frowning.
"Because you're KGB, Vladimir," Manning replied. "I figured you planted it."
"Actually..." Savchenko looked down at the floor. "I did. Nothing personal. It is part of my job... not a part that I like, I assure you."