The family purchased a brand new luxury home of over five thousand square feet with a sticker price that was double that of Beverly Hills—paid for in cash. While none of the family was that conversant in English, the universal language of money ensured Jackson’s entry into an elite private school. Of course, the Mandarin rarely spent time in Canada; there were businesses to run in China.
Within two years, Jackson’s mother, Kitty, a former actress in Chinese television shows, decided Vancouver was too “boring.” She moved back to China to hang out with her fellow washed-out starlet friends, trying to find ways to spend their unfaithful husbands’ money. Sadly, two days after she returned to the Middle Country, she was the victim of random violence—she was raped, then strangled in her new apartment. It was whispered that a heavyset Chinese man in her husband’s employ was seen leaving her residence in the early hours, but no one would substantiate the claim.
The Mandarin asked Mary Wu, his executive assistant, to help supervise the needs of his son. Not to take charge—he needed her on the job, but at least to make occasional phone calls and pay any of his bills.
In other words, young Jackson was left in Vancouver to be raised by a Filipino nanny whose sole qualification for taking care of children was a three-month course in housekeeping. Mary made sure there was a monthly deposit of fifteen thousand dollars spending allowance into Jackson’s bank account. There were no restrictions placed on how the boy spent it. About the only parental guidance he had was his father’s admonition, “Make sure you pass everything.” Not the greatest student in the world, Jackson learned that passing was easy—make sure you took care of your teachers and they would take care of you.
Jackson hated Filipino food, which was the only thing the nanny knew how to cook, so he hung out in the Chinese malls in nearby Richmond, where the Chinese population was so large that it was ignominiously nicknamed, “Hongcouver.” There, he ate too much fast food, played too many video games and bought a new cell phone almost every other month when he wasn’t buying the most useless knick knacks in the world. Online, he managed to find custom basketball shoes at ten grand per pair—he bought six pairs.
As Jackson became more accustomed to North America, his spending habits and outlook transformed. He fell in love with NFL football and thought nothing of hiring a limo for the three-hour ride to bring himself and a few buddies down to Seattle to watch a Seahawks game.
When Jackson turned sixteen, and even before he got his driver’s license, his father gave him a Ferrari convertible. While it seemed ostentatious and extravagant to the average working stiff, it wasn’t the most expensive car owned by students at the school Jackson attended.
Even with high-priced tutors and bribed teachers marking his tests, Jackson was a marginal student at best—he couldn’t buy everything. There was no way he was going to get into any Ivy League or any top tier school, no matter how much money his father was willing to donate. Jackson was about to hire a Mensa-gone-wrong type to masquerade as himself to write the SATs but then the idiot got caught—he’d pulled that trick one too many times. A good SAT score wasn’t that important, though. Jackson didn’t need a degree from a fancy school. He would never have to work a day in life and a degree wouldn’t be much more than a piece of paper hanging on a wall.
But the Mandarin did want his only son to have a college degree of some kind.
This resulted in the first serious argument that father and son ever had. Jackson had no interest in college and wanted his father to bankroll the opening of a high end karaoke bar. His father knew that Jackson had no business mind and just wanted a place where he could be a big shot with his buddies.
This fueled further argument until Jackson asked poignantly, “What’s in it for me if I get a degree?”
Without hesitation, his father answered, “One hundred million American dollars.”
“What do I get if I don’t get a degree?”
“Nothing. I will give it to Annalee’s children.”
“She doesn’t have kids.”
“She’s pregnant.”
It wasn’t true but Jackson didn’t know that. His father’s mistress was just a year older than him. But Jackson knew this was not an idle threat.
Now the pressure was on. He had Mary help him with filling out forms. There were thirty-two rejections but ultimately Jackson found himself enrolled in the obscure, lower tier Pacifica College, an hour and a half south of Los Angeles in an equally obscure town, San Roca.
Chapter Seven
As the Fidelitas jet smoothly winged its way over the Pacific, Barry sat staring intently at his laptop, Henry had been watching Chuck and Rayna go at each other for forty-five solid minutes with a combination of martial arts, boxing and old-fashioned street fighting. He could not believe his little girl could not only absorb the pounding that Chuck administered but more than retaliated with her fair share of sidekicks, forearm smashes and whatever it was that they did on television’s MMA. And then they began individual workouts. Pushups that fired like engine pistons pumping up and down. Lightning fast squat jumps… alternating jump lunges… killer shadow boxing blows.
Finally, the two collapsed on their backs, staying still for half a minute before beginning the cooling down with leg stretches that exhibited ballerina-like flexibility. Henry saw Rayna’s facial intensity unknotting until she lay still on the jet’s carpeted interior. Even though Chuck was more than twice Rayna’s age, Henry could see the bond between them. Not as lovers but as warriors who had been at each other’s side in battle.
This is what she did for years as part of Special Ops… but she’s no longer part of them… Maybe I can find out now.
Glowing with exhilarated exhaustion, the two athletes high-fived. Chuck plopped himself down beside Barry while Rayna sat with her dad.
Henry knew that Rayna was sworn to secrecy about her history. But damn it, he was her father and he wanted to know. Unable to hold himself back, he nonchalantly ventured, “So what was it like, Rayna?”
“What was what like?” responded Rayna evasively.
“You know. Being part of the most courageous group of soldiers that Canada has ever put together. Joint Task Force 2. JTF2. The only time I heard from you was when you were in the heat of some battle or other and wanted me to pray about saving your bacon.”
While Rayna felt that her father was a little overzealous in terms of his Christian faith—what could she expect? He was a pastor, after all—she respected, loved and appreciated him. “You know I can’t tell you, Dad.”
Henry stretched out his fingers as hard as he could. It was a habit of his whenever he was uptight about something. But this time it didn’t work. He just had to say something.
“Rayna, I don’t know anything about you anymore. We haven’t had a conversation of more than five minutes since you graduated from high school. During your breaks, you were hanging with your friends or working out with your mom. Summers? You spent every one of them training with other soldiers. Then, after you graduated, you went directly into full time military service and rarely spoke about anything you did. After you joined Special Forces, you clammed up completely. I want to know what is happening with my daughter. Can’t you say something other than, ‘Hi. Having a great time,” or “Pray for me?’”
“You know, Dad, that JTF2 is crazy mad over secrecy of personnel and operations.”
“I know more about American Navy SEALS or British SAS or the CIA than I do about anything you’ve done. Surely there’s something you can tell me.”
There was a suspenseful pause, and Rayna caught herself stretching her fingers in the same way her father had just done. Like father, like daughter?
Rayna blew out a puff of air, trying to think of something to deflect the question. Avoiding her father’s probing eyes, she asked, “Why don’t you ask me something else? Something that I’m allowed to answer.”
“Like what?”
“Like why I finally wanted to find out about my past. I’ve ne
ver asked before.”
“Okay. Why do you want to find out now, Rayna?”
Rayna glanced toward Barry and Chuck. “
“I don’t really know. It’s just that…” The sentence lingered in mid-air as Rayna swallowed. “It’s just that, with this new company I’m working with, there’s this married couple, Julio and Helena, who have adopted at least half a dozen kids or more… kinda made me wonder about myself.”
“Wow, six? You were a handful at one!” smiled Henry. “Why do they have so many?”
“They were orphans. Some were adopted at birth. A couple of sisters were older. They were in bad situations.”
“What kind of bad situations?”
“Umm… that’s classified.”
Henry looked over to Barry and Chuck, Rayna’s co-workers. Chuck was built like the Great Wall of China and Barry? The man sitting across the aisle was about the same age as him, but he had the physique of a professional athlete who kept his fitness level up.
Who is Rayna working with?
Chapter Eight
Fourteen hours later, the Fidelitas group arrived at Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport. Despite the more than a million millionaires and billionaires in China, the private jet and airfield market continued to be almost non-existent. Which meant there was an extra couple of hours of red tape and processing.
After passing the security clearance gates, Barry, Chuck, Rayna and Henry strode through the automated terminal doors into the crisp, arid heat.
Barry turned to Henry. “I’ve got a limo for you and our luggage. Rayna, Chuck and I will meet you at the hotel. We have some business to do.”
Before Henry could reply, Rayna jumped in. “Absolutely not. I’m not going anywhere without having a shower and blow-drying my hair.”
All the men stood dumbfounded except Henry. He chuckled, “Guess you boys aren’t used to having daughters, are you?”
“Why didn’t you take a shower on the plane like me?” grumbled Chuck. “You had hours to do it.”
“Too small and I prefer to have my own bathroom.”
There was no point in arguing. Barry knew they had enough time to allow Rayna to do her little “quirk.”
***
A young man wearing a dark chauffeur’s uniform stood outside one of the exits of the Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport’s exits. Like fifty other drivers, most more casually dressed than him, he carried a little sign that he held up for all the exiting passengers to see. His sign read, “Smith” but, even though Smith was the most common English surname, no one bothered to approach him.
Which is exactly what he wanted. Glancing periodically at the lot with the limos, he saw what he was looking for—a Mercedes Maybach sedan was pulling in. He walked discreetly toward the car. When the chauffeur, a lanky Chinese wearing a black suit and Stetson stepped out and walked to the terminal, he made his move.
Putting away his sign, he stepped to the German luxury sedan and discreetly fastened a small tracking device under the rear bumper. He then walked over to his own car, an older Audi sedan, got in and drove away.
***
Barry looked around and spotted the tall, skinny man wearing a Stetson and looking smart in his black suit. A shade under six feet, he carried a small placard that read, “Barry.”
Barry flagged him down and the cowboy scurried over.
“Hello, I’m Barry Rogers. There’s been a change of plans. Can you bring us all to the hotel first?”
The wiry man offered his hand. “Welcome to Guangzhou. I’m Tex and I am delighted to be your chauffeur for as long as you need me.”
“Thanks, Tex,” said Barry as airport porters gathered their suitcases.
Tex led them out of the terminal area to the limo parking area. He dropped the bags in front of the luxurious black Mercedes Maybach.
He turned to his new customers, opening his arms expansively. “Congratulations! You are the first passengers in our company’s new car. We got it just for you.” The bright-faced Tex swung the door open.
“What did you say to the company when you booked the car?” whispered Henry to Barry. “This car’s got a sticker price of at least two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Nine hundred and fifty,” corrected Tex, overhearing Henry. “We charge more for our services than anyone else so we had a few things done to upgrade. More gold! More glitz!”
***
After everyone was settled in, Henry queried, “Tex is a pretty cool name. How did you get it?”
That’s Dad. Diplomatic. Straight to the point. Rayna shook her head and smiled.
Tex beamed. “It’s short for Texas. You should know. Dallas Cowboys. The Mavericks. Selena Gomez. The best steaks in the world. And, of course, my hero, Chuck Norris, the Texas Ranger!”
“You got taste, Tex. Chuck’s my favorite, too. That’s why I changed my name.” Chuck bobbed his head in total agreement.
“You’re a Chuck, too? Awesome. Awesome.”
Rayna was flabbergasted. She was about to open her mouth when Henry interjected, “Chuck Norris is the best, Tex. He’s a brother to me!”
“You got it, bro! You even look like him!” exclaimed Tex.
It was definitely weird and a little humorous listening to someone trying to talk like a Texan with a Chinese accent.
***
Rayna had never been to Guangzhou before and didn’t mind Tex taking the scenic route to the hotel. The driver gave a running commentary as he drove by the Buddhist Temple of Six Banyan Trees and through Guangzhou’s Yuexiu Park with its pretty artificial lakes, foothills and cultural relics. Unfortunately, Tex’s remarks had nothing to do with the scenery but everything to do with Chuck Norris. Chuck, the martial artist. Chuck, the Texas Ranger. Chuck, the man of God. By the time they reached the thirty-foot concrete statue of Five Rams, they were thankful that Tex took a break so they could hear the musicians play their lilting melodies on traditional Chinese instruments.
The Mercedes’ passengers craned their necks looking outside to the modern heights and sights of the Tianhe district. Surrounded by skyscrapers and symbols of international commerce, the Oceania Hotel was an impressive, modern, international six-star hotel, inspired by the shape of a lotus flower. As the Mercedes limo pulled into the lavish circular driveway, its occupants marveled at the glass fountain with its shimmering blue green water.
“Welcome to Guangzhou,” greeted Arthur as Rayna, Barry, Chuck and Henry entered the immaculate lobby, an architectural masterpiece combining Chinese elegance with European contemporary luxury. Every item in the hotel and every person on staff were carefully chosen to help achieve a singular goal: to make their guests feel special, pampered and wanted.
He handed the guests their room cards.
“Thanks for having me,” spoke Henry softly, his eyes not hiding the fact that he was trying to figure out who exactly the stately gentleman in front of him was.
“I’m Arthur Yang. Forgive me for not entertaining you, Reverend Tan, but the four of us have some things to discuss. After Rayna’s had a chance to shower and freshen up, of course.” Arthur pointed at the concierge, who immediately sent two bellhops over. “However, I’m sure Tex will be quite entertaining, and Tex…”
“Yes, Mr. Yang.”
“Make sure you take Mr. Tan to the best seafood restaurant in Guangzhou.”
“Yes, sir!”
It was subtle but clear to Henry that he was being dismissed. “I’ll see you later, honey.” He planted a kiss on Rayna’s cheek.
“Make sure they use low sodium soya sauce and tell the cooks to go easy on the oil and fried foods,” warned Rayna.
“Not a chance,” Henry beamed.
Chapter Nine
Jackson got the shock of his life when he arrived in the booming metropolis of San Roca, population 11,429. He never bothered doing any research on the town before he came, assuming, because it was California, everything was going to be hip; everything was going to be cool.
Not. San Rosa was Hicksville.
And, worse than that, almost everyone was either white or Hispanic. About the only Chinese he met were other students who couldn’t get in anywhere else.
Poor babies. Jackson and his Chinese buddies hated Mexican food. Tacos, burritos, refried beans… Much as they would have liked, it was impractical to drive to LA every time they wanted a plate of chow mein or barbecued pork.
A Google search revealed that the easiest major in college was education, so that’s what Jackson chose. But, even though there were only twelve hundred students in the whole school, passing was not going to be a slam dunk, especially as his preferred method of passing courses—bribing teachers—was not going to work. In his limited research, Jackson didn’t pay any attention to the line where the college described itself as having “moral values.” Within two weeks, he discovered this meant the profs were ethical and he learned the hard way—with the threat of expulsion—that they couldn’t be bought off.
Which meant Jackson actually had to study, something he never had to do before.
To take away the stress of using his brain, Jackson decided he needed diversions. This was where life dealt him another harsh blow—there was almost a complete absence of anything that he found remotely interesting. In Vancouver, he could go to a karaoke bar, drink bubble tea, play the latest video games, but in San Roca? Everything shuttered down by nine o’clock at night except the bars.
Jackson and his Chinese student buddies began to partake of the demon rum. “Bangers” was their favorite hangout. With its 1970s-era wood paneling, burgundy vinyl-covered bar stools, and an unending supply of stale peanuts, its chief attraction was that the bar staff didn’t bother to check their fake IDs. After all, the kids tipped big.
The Mandarin's Vendetta (Rayna Tan Action Thriller Series Book 2) Page 3