The Mandarin's Vendetta (Rayna Tan Action Thriller Series Book 2)

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  Martin turned to Henry. “Months later, when you found her, she had been hiding in those same woods for three days, sick with fear Jimmy would find her and kill her… I’m glad you took care of her. You did a better job than I could ever have done.”

  “What happened to her after she left?” asked Henry. “Vivian and I always wondered.”

  Little rivers rolled down Martin’s cheeks. “She came back late at night to say goodbye to me. She was extremely weak from childbirth. I stole a car and we were going to run away together. But I had never driven and was terrified of driving and I… I got into an accident. I survived but Ling didn’t… I am still haunted by the memory of causing her death.”

  Rayna and Henry exchanged glances. Up until she joined Fidelitas, Rayna had hated driving and avoided it whenever she could. Most people thought that was just a quirk or oddity in her personality, but hearing Martin shed a different light… Could there possibly be some kind of psychic connection? Another inherited quirk?

  “What about my mother? Where is she then? Popo said she’s in Heaven’s Gate but she didn’t know where that was and I couldn’t find anything on the internet either.”

  A warm and impish expression came across Martin’s face. “I didn’t want to lie to your Popo but I couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, either. Yes, she is at a monastery. When I took Ling, she was on one side of Heaven’s Gate… then she crossed over to the other… I will take you there.”

  The three stepped out of Henry’s room and looked at the wooden cross on the wall. Because it was a Protestant church, there was no body of Jesus hanging on the cross, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the bleeding Christ with nails pounded through his hands. A few moments of contemplation and the meaning of sacrificial death took on a whole new meaning.

  Then another coincidence or a miracle, or was it synchronicity, struck Rayna. She stopped to look at her two fathers. “Both of you are pastors. Now what is that all about?”

  “Probably nothing,” said Henry. “Or maybe everything.”

  Martin smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Where the hell is he?” Mandarin was in a quiet spot in the Guangzhou airport where he had been trying to get hold of Danny for the past half hour. He had called three different numbers and sent multiple texts, but there had been no response. Normally, he would give up and move on, but the Mandarin didn’t trust or know anyone else he could use.

  Fed up, he called someone else he knew would always answer.

  “Hello, Mandarin. I hope you are well.”

  The Mandarin hid his anger but not his impatience. Normally, he put up with the inanities of “How are you?” or “Glad to hear from you,” but not today.

  “My health is of little consequence. I need you to contact Danny. I want to step up our North American drug distribution. See when he’s free. The sooner, the better. I tried but can’t get through.”

  “I’ll set something up.”

  “Good. I’ll call you back in a few hours.”

  The Mandarin clicked off, then punched in another number.

  “Mandarin, so soon?” answered a surprised General Park. He didn’t expect to hear from the Mandarin for another three weeks. “Good to hear from you, my friend.”

  “Can we meet? I’ve decided to do something in America.”

  The Mandarin could hear the smile in the general’s voice. “I knew you would come around. Shall we meet next Monday in Pyongyang? I will arrange for some extra special delights.”

  “How about Linfu? Today. In three hours. At the airport.”

  “I will be there.”

  “Good.” Again, the Mandarin ended the call without pleasantries.

  General Park recognized the undertone of urgency. Normally, the Mandarin would be delighted to indulge in the deviant pleasures that he arranged in the North Korean capital. The fact that the Mandarin wanted to meet in Linfu, on the China side of the North/Korean border meant this would be a quick, no-nonsense trip.

  Park beamed. That meant fast money was coming. The only question was, “How much?”

  ***

  Mary was intrigued. From the time she started working for him, the Mandarin had been resolute that he didn’t want to do business in America—until just recently when he finally relented to Danny’s badgering.

  She had monitored the experiment and knew that it was wildly successful. If the Mandarin insisted on talking to him, this was going to be big. For her, it meant that she might travel sometimes to Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York. All those places where she… she could allow herself to be who she was.

  She looked up Danny’s number on her Rolodex and called. There was no answer and no voicemail. That meant nothing. In this business, you wanted to leave as little traceable footprint as possible. She would call back until she finally connected.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The-two hour drive north on the main highway in the Mercedes passed by quickly as the re-united family approached the Jade Mountains. They had a lifetime of catching up to do. Martin never married. He figured he’d done enough damage for one lifetime. Rayna told him about being in the military while Henry told of his family roots in Golden Corner and subsequent journeys to Beijing, Seattle, Hong Kong and Vancouver.

  “You should visit sometime, Martin,” invited Henry.

  “Maybe someday,” answered Martin, not wanting to share that was something he could never afford.

  Henry read through the reluctance instantly. “I’m serious. Our church will sponsor you to talk about Christianity in China The problems, the promises, the possibilities.”

  Martin’s eyes glistened. “I would need at least a week to talk about that.”

  “Exactly. You could stay with me.”

  It was amazing how quickly bonding occurred between the two fathers. While Henry and Martin engaged in a discussion about abstract matters of Christianity and China, Rayna looked outside, studying the transformation in scenery. In the distance, stone peaks towered above white clouds. At the sides of the road, they noticed young, flowering Phoenix trees and jade-colored lakes.

  Martin’s eyes perked up when he saw a side dirt road that led up a mountain. The Chinese pastor pointed. “Go there.”

  “That’s going to wreck the car,” objected Tex. “Can’t you just walk?”

  “It’s steep and five miles.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  The bumpy, slow crawl up was fascinating. They passed little stone bridges built perhaps a thousand years ago when monks first came here. Interspersed among the richly-hued flora, eons of nature had shaped red sandstone rocks into unusual formations—one looked vaguely human, another like a bird, others like animals.

  And suddenly, a dirt clearing. Tex gently braked to a halt.

  “We are here,” announced Martin. “The Hundred Hands Temple or, as I told Popo, the ‘Heaven’s Gate.’”

  The temple was not nearly as big as those found in the cities, but that did not stop it from being spiritually and visually impressive. Behind an ornately colorful front mountain gate guarded by two ferocious stone lions stood a red pillared gate with no doors. A slate sign hung on the Chinese-style curved roof with gold Chinese characters.

  Tex inched the limousine farther into the dirt clearing by the temple entrance.

  “Not a lot of cars come here, I guess. No parking lot,” stated Tex as he hopped out and opened the doors for his passengers.

  “More than you think,” corrected Martin, stepping out and heading toward the temple grounds. “I come here every year to say hello to Ling.”

  “Right. I’m going to stay and guard the car. Don’t want anybody to steal it,” declared Tex with false bravado, trying to hide his anxiety.

  “You mean you don’t want the spirits in the temple getting mad at you for a thousand lifetimes of your sins,” replied a poker-faced Rayna.

  “Don’t talk like that. The spirits can hear,” croaked the alarmed chauffeur. “And, if something
happens to me, who’s going to run ‘The Texas Rangers?’”

  “George Bush?” asked Rayna.

  “Never heard of him,” said the Chinese limo driver. “Is he a cowboy, too?”

  “A lot of people think so.”

  ***

  Martin, Henry and Rayna walked through the gate and stopped to savor the sight of a functioning thousand-year-old Buddhist monastery. There was a long courtyard flanked by ancient stone buildings. Orange-robed monks with shaved heads were sweeping the walks, chanting, and entering or leaving any of the dozen buildings.

  Immediately in front of them was a circular bronze brazier filled with lit coals.

  Further down a hundred feet from the entrance were twin two-story pagoda-like buildings: the Drum Tower and the Bell Tower. Throughout the courtyard were upright wooden or stone columns, inscribed with Chinese writing

  “The cemetery is through the back. Follow me.” As Martin led, none of the monks paid any attention to them. “Don’t worry about it. They’re not tour guides.”

  The monastery was a treasure trove of antiquity that Henry and Rayna marveled at. There was a wall with nine huge dragons carved into its stone that guarded the complex from invading evil spirits. Rayna noted the care of detail put into the small complex of ancient concrete buildings, statues of Buddha and grimacing temple guardians, intricate wooden and stone carvings and religious artifacts. In the center of the temple courtyard, a one-storied pagoda stood, with a sharp steeple pointing to the heavens. As they passed the Great Hall of Heavenly Kings, they looked inside to see a giant, laughing bronze fat Buddha-like figure sitting cross-legged with one hundred arms and hands uplifted to the skies.

  As they continued, Martin stopped in front of the largest building. “This is the Main Chamber. Take a look.”

  Henry and Rayna were in awe. Three serene Buddhas in meditation pose sat on Lions’ Thrones. Beside them, half a dozen monks sang, accompanied by temple musicians playing a Chinese zither, oboe, bamboo flute and percussion.

  It took them to another time, another place, preparing them…

  Finishing their passage through the courtyard, they entered the temple gardens. At the far end, they could see the cemetery flanked by two Chinese swamp cedar trees and a larger forested area behind

  “Over there,” pointed Martin. “Those trees are over five hundred years old.”

  As the trio walked over a stone bridge that covered a babbling brook of crystal waters, Rayna asked Martin, “If you’re a Christian pastor, how did you come to bury your wife at a Buddhist monastery?”

  “Back then, I hadn’t seen the light. I didn’t know any better. Jesus, Buddha… everybody was all the same. I had no idea where to take Ling’s body but had heard about the Goddess with a hundred hands of mercy. Ling needed mercy and I thought that a hundred hands were a lot better than my two. I brought her here.”

  When they arrived at the ancient trees, a number of small pagodas were revealed. These more elaborate structures were for senior members of the monastery who had passed away. There were many more little shrines and plaques for monks who had not achieved the necessary level of enlightenment.

  “Where is she?” asked Rayna.

  “Not yet,” said Martin. They walked past the graveyard to the base of a taller tree—a hundred-foot-tall camphor tree. Looking upward to its glossy, waxy leaves, Martin recalled, “When I buried her, this tree was not even up to my waist. Seeing its growth is like the love I still feel. Growing upward and always.”

  Martin knelt and brushed off a small plaque at the camphor’s base. The plaque had two words engraved on it: Love and Ling.

  He got up and the three stood reverently beside each other.

  “Hi, Mom,” said Rayna. Words eked out slowly as her emotions took over. “I haven’t seen you for a long time but I just wanted to thank you for giving me the chance for the life you never had… I’m here with my dad right now. Actually, I’m here with both of my fathers.” A small gasp of air emanated from Rayna’s mouth. “My mom, well, she’s… I guess she’s with you up there somewhere… I guess that sounds kind of stupid. You’re my mom, too…”

  Henry squeezed his overwrought daughter’s hand and took over. “Hello, Ling. It’s good to see you again. This is your baby that Vivian and I helped deliver. She’s all grown up now. Thank you for entrusting us with this precious gift.” Eyes full of grateful tears, he turned to Martin. “And thank you, too, Martin.”

  “I’m glad you were there at just the right time. But, then again, we know it wasn’t a coincidence, don’t we?” Martin lifted his hands in prayer. “Almighty God, only You could have ordained this time where what was lost is found. What was hurt is reconciled. Thank You for giving Ling and me the chance to see Rayna. Bless her always. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  Martin stooped down and dug some dirt out from the base of the plaque. After a few minutes, he had dug down about six inches and pulled out a small metal box. He opened it. Inside was a gold ring. “Ling would want you to have it… I want you to have it.”

  Rayna took the ring. She tried fitting it onto a number of her fingers. The only finger that it properly fit was her right hand pinkie. She held it up to the sun and beamed as the sunlight glinted on the minuscule diamond.

  “It was all the money I had,” an embarrassed Martin explained. “I’m not sure the gold is pure, either.”

  “I love it,” beamed Rayna. “It’s perfect.”

  Martin’s face glowed.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Are you sure the tracking unit is reading right? Who would drive a half million dollar car on a road like this?” snapped Ponytail as their SUV began the dirt trek up the mountain.

  Johnny checked the coordinates on the tracking device. “No, it’s good.” He did a quick internet search on his smart phone. “Can you believe it? There’s a temple up here in about five miles.” He read off his phone’s small screen. “Hundred Hand Buddhist Temple was established in AD 500 in a remote rural area, a hundred and fifty miles northwest of Guangzhou City. An unheralded gem, the temple and monastery is home to a hundred monks.”

  Sting shouted, “Now I know there is a God and He loves us!”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Linfu was a pretty city by the Yalu River on the Chinese side of the North Korea/China border. Its two million people were largely Chinese, but there were also close to sixty thousand ethnic Koreans. The Linfu Airport was remarkably small for a city of Linfu’s size. There was only one terminal but, even with that, traffic wasn’t a whole lot—maybe two incoming or outgoing flights per hour. However, despite its limited use, those that did travel were important in terms of the economy of Northern China and North Korea. Linfu was a major portal for the Hermit Kingdom to China and the world at large for goods, money and intelligence, legal and illegal. Because of this, Linfu crawled with spies and informants from both the Chinese and North Korean regimes.

  The Mandarin’s Air Beijing flight landed five minutes early and it was easy for General Park to spot the Mandarin as he entered—there was only one entrance from the landing strip to the terminal.

  “Welcome, my friend. What would you like to eat, Mandarin?” asked the friendly general. Out of the hundred times that the two had met over the years, ninety-seven percent of the time involved a meal or some other kind of hospitality when business was conducted. “Chinese or Korean?”

  The Mandarin said quietly, “I’ve been sitting on planes for more than thirty hours in the last couple of days. I think I need to stretch out my legs. Do you mind going for a walk on the Yalu River?”

  Decoded, this meant, “I want a private conversation without risk of anyone knowing what we are talking about.” In any dealings with North Koreans, caution was mandatory at all levels of the military, government and general public.

  “Splendid idea.” General Park patted his rotund tummy. “Maybe it’ll go away.”

  ***

  Park utilized simple strategies for survival in the tu
multuous and unpredictable North Korean regime. While overpaying bribes was key, it was also important to draw as little attention to himself as possible. This included his choice of cars. While he could have been one of the few North Koreans to afford a luxury European sedan, he chose instead to drive a modest North Korean-made sedan. After a few minutes of mindless chit chat about the weather and their perennial discussion of the best cognacs, the general parked his car close to the riverbank where the two got out for their private stroll.

  “So what are you interested in, my friend?” asked the general.

  “The new synthetic drug you told me about at our last meeting. I want to eliminate some people.”

  “You’re not going to hire a hundred gangbangers to do your dirty work?” snickered the North Korean military leader, reminding the Mandarin of their recent conversation.

  “Ten thousand are not enough to do what I want to do.”

  Park stopped. This had suddenly become very interesting. “What are you talking about?”

  The Mandarin looked his comrade directly in the eye. “One million people. I want to kill one million Americans.”

  Park’s eyes bulged and his mouth opened wide. One million of the people that North Koreans hated more than anyone else. One million of the animals that had killed twenty percent of their population during the Korean War, that tore off the limbs of their children and cut off their noses and lips. If he, the General, could be part of their destruction, his place in the halls of history would be made forever… not to mention the potential profits.

  “I am completely on your side but this is not an inexpensive proposition.”

  “Of course not. Working with you has never been the cheapest way to do things. I want to make you some money.”

  “Which means you want to make some money, too. You didn’t need to make a special trip just to tell me that, Mandarin.”