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

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  “With what?”

  Rayna pointed to a parked car. “That.”

  “Do you have keys?”

  “Don’t need them. Get ready.” Rayna picked up her knapsack and advanced with quiet stealth to the loading bay entrance. She pulled out half a dozen “candy bars.”

  Suddenly, there came the loud, anguished howls of two tortured souls from Hell wailing their fate of eternal damnation.

  The workers inside the loading bay looked curiously in the direction of the sound.

  Perfect. The distraction allowed Rayna to enter unnoticed in the opposite direction of the sound. A cat couldn’t have been quieter. Rayna ripped the paper off three of the candy bars simultaneously and threw them at the boxes of phenyl acetone. Tearing the wrappers off the other three bars, she threw them at the boxes of ephedrine.

  She ran like hell toward the entrance, but not before picking up a box of meth.

  She dashed to the parked car, smashed the driver’s window, opened the door and threw the box into the back. As she hot-wired the car, she heard BOOM! BOOM! BOOM, a constant series of explosions.

  The car belched to life and Rayna was off. She caught up to Minjoon and Woojin. They jumped in. Rayna drove to the entrance of the industrial park when Minjoon blurted, “Stop. Can we take a look?”

  Rayna laughed. “That’s a hell of an idea.” She pulled to the side.

  The three got out and basked in the glow of countless shafts of color piecing the night to a symphony of turbulent clamor. Red and orange flames, created by the illicit pharmaceuticals exploding, swept through the factory. There was enough ephedrine and phenyl acetone to take down the building on the loading bay alone, but dazzling eruptions of fire on every floor proved this was one helluva big operation.

  It was a stupendous, breath-taking spectacle of power… and devastation.

  The Mandarin’s Vendetta was over.

  ***

  With cars so uncommon for ordinary citizens in North Korea, Rayna dropped Minjoon and Woojin at Woojin’s home a mile away. Meth in North Korea was legal and socially acceptable at anything from soirees to afternoon tea. There was enough pure meth in the one box to keep the two and their families fed for years.

  Despite the danger, Minjoon insisted on driving Rayna to the Yalu River across from Linfu.

  Rayna was too tired to argue. “Thanks,” was all she could muster. She slept for the hour-and-a-half drive. When Minjoon woke her up, his parting words were, “I never ever thought that a Chinese would be the one to save me, let alone a woman.”

  Rayna smiled as she shook his hand. “We can be useful sometimes. Good luck.”

  A minute later she, like fifty others that morning, was wading across the Yalu River.

  ***

  “Hello, Mario’s Pizza. Can I take your order please?”

  “Hi, Julio, I’m done. I’m at the Linfu Plaza Hotel. I’m going to take a shower, then catch a plane to Guangzhou and then I’m going to the hospital.”

  “I’ve got a little task for you before that.”

  “Give me a break, Julio.” Rayna inhaled. “I want to check in on my dad. Make sure he’s okay.”

  “Even if he wasn’t, is there anything you could do?”

  Rayna was so angry she wanted to crawl through the airwaves and strangle Julio. It was only professionalism that stopped her from screaming at her colleague. “You’re right.”

  Arthur’s voice sounded. “Rayna, you don’t have to do this job… but I think you’ll want to.”

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Ponytail and Sting were pretty rotten brothers. Instead of mourning the loss of Johnny, their attitude was, “Live by the sword, die by the sword.”

  The two worked around the clock for a few days to change the color of the Mercedes.

  “Man, we’re good,” bragged Sting as he surveyed their handiwork. No longer ebony black, the car was now brushed silver.

  “We’re the best,” agreed his older brother. “Now, let’s see who bites.”

  Besides changing the car’s color, there was another reason Ponytail took a couple of days off before letting the word out about the availability of the Mercedes and the temple’s artifacts—he wanted to make sure there wasn’t going to be negative publicity or sensationalist news about the attack at the Hundred Hands Monastery. If there were, they’d have to wait until the buzz died down before trying to sell their loot.

  Ponytail was an atheist but still prayed that there was no bad karma for attacking a religious site. He was shocked and amazed that there wasn’t the slightest mention at all from any source about the barbarous thefts. Maybe there’s something to this God business after all.

  Or maybe not. Barry and Arthur had asked Deputy Minister Zhong to suppress any news about the rescue or the attack on the monastery. Their request was accompanied by a new Audi SUV. Upon acceptance, Zhong asked, “What attack?”

  The long-haired criminal decided to let the word out about the Mercedes Maybach. He couldn’t believe the response—in an hour, he had five inquiries, more in that short time than from any other vehicle he had offered for sale. Of course, he didn’t know that Julio had written a program to flag the mention of the car on any of the legal or illegal websites in China.

  All parts of China wanted the car. Shanghai. Beijing. Xian. He put those queries onto the back burner when he got a text from someone in Guangzhou. A series of texts was furiously exchanged.

  Finally, a deal was concluded for $750,000 cash, assuming the car was in as good a condition as Ponytail claimed.

  “Go for it, bro,” were Sting’s parting words.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Ponytail pulled the silver Mercedes Maybach into the Oceania’s circular driveway. An older Chinese man approached. Accompanying him was a large black man carrying a flight bag. Ponytail got out of the car as the two men stopped in front of him. The black man cautiously opened the bag for Ponytail to peer inside.

  Yes, there were stacks of used one hundred dollar bills inside. Ponytail’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes glinted with anticipation. The black man zipped the bag shut.

  “I only go with you,” said Ponytail to Arthur.

  “He’s my assistant,” protested Arthur. “He has to come.”

  “Then we have no arrangement. I have other offers.”

  As Ponytail got back into the car, Arthur called, “Wait!”

  Ponytail paused.

  “We won’t need you, Chuck. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Arthur started inspecting the vehicle, Ponytail gave a running commentary. “Mercedes Maybach. Perfect condition. Brushed jet silver. This year’s model. Less than 2,000 kilometers. Twelve cylinders, over 500 horsepower. Classic Mercedes architecture. Soft, tempered nappa leather in the interior.”

  “Stop,” barked Arthur. “I know what this car is about. I already have one. It’s my mistress that I have to get it for. She is so damned expensive. Cars, clothes and antiques. That’s all she cares about.”

  Ponytail’s ears perked up. “What kind of antiques?”

  “Anything Chinese. Ming Dynasty. Buddhist collection. Taoist. Wine cups. Bowls. The rarer the better. Do you know two weeks ago, she got me to spend twenty-five thousand bucks on some dumb horse? Twenty-five thousand? And I’m so stupid, I’ll get her anything she wants.”

  “You must really love her.”

  “Are you crazy? If I want love, I’ll get a dog. I do it because there is no one else in the world who is as good in bed as she is. And three years later, I still feel the same way. Anyway, forget about that. I hope she’ll be happy with just this damned car. Can I drive it now?”

  “Do you want her to think you’re a real hero?” asked Ponytail.

  “I think this is going to cost me money,” bristled Arthur.

  “It will but it will be worth it. I’ve got some rare historic items that will make you a god.”

  “I want to bring my app
raiser.”

  “The black guy?”

  Arthur snickered. “Not a chance. Chuck’s muscle. Barry’s the snob who knows everything.”

  ***

  Arthur, Barry and Ponytail drove the Mercedes to an industrial park with rows of carbon copy warehouses. Each one was built of concrete, fifty feet wide, a hundred feet long and had two entrances. One door led to the warehouse office. The other was a loading entrance wide enough to accommodate a large van. Perfect for the small business entrepreneur who needed limited storage. It was largely deserted, with the owners off cutting deals at who knew where.

  “Drive to the end of the row,” ordered Ponytail. “So. How’s the drive, Arthur?”

  “The drive is fine. What I don’t like is you telling me where to go,” complained Arthur as he braked the car to a stop. “Once you’ve seen one warehouse, you’ve seen them all.”

  “Not this one. Like I said, I’m going to make you a star.”

  The three men got out. Ponytail opened the loading door and flicked on the light. He led Arthur behind a wall of boxes and grinned. “Am I great or am I great?”

  Carefully laid out on large bookcases was the booty taken from the monastery. Antique vases, bowls, cups, Buddha statuettes, everything Ponytail, Johnny and Sting could get their hands on from the Hundred Hands Monastery plus items from other robberies.

  Identity confirmed.

  Skepticism crossed Arthur’s face. He looked to Barry. “Is this stuff real? I’ve seen lots of fakes.”

  “These are real, Arthur,” nodded Barry, picking up a vase and examining its markings. “These are pretty esoteric items. Never seen anything like them before. My guess is that they’re from some obscure monastery.” Barry looked over to Arthur and Ponytail. “These are mid-level, meaning you could get anywhere from $10,000 to $75,000 per piece, if you knew the right buyers.”

  “I do,” smirked Ponytail, his oversize ego filling the warehouse. “Done this before. I know that this is worth at least a million and a half to the right buyers.”

  “But do you want to spend the time tracking them down and risk getting caught in the process?”

  “They’re real. Check this out.” Ponytail lifted a tarp that held a three-foot figurine of a Hundred Hand Buddha. “Another three million bucks gets you everything. I could get twice that if I waited, but hey, money isn’t everything. I just want a quick sale.”

  “Way too much. I’ll give you ten thousand.”

  Thus began the process of negotiation. Ask for a ridiculous price and counter with a ridiculous price. As soon as Ponytail mentioned three million, Arthur knew there was going to be a deal. Same for Ponytail. As soon as Arthur made a counter, he knew there was a deal to be had.

  The only question was how much. After two hours of arguing, yelling, insulting and bickering, a final price was agreed upon. Arthur knew this extended process was necessary. If the negotiation went smoothly, Ponytail would be suspicious.

  “You are a bandit,” sneered Arthur, shaking Ponytail’s hand.

  “That I am. Just get me the money.”

  Arthur made a phone call. “I need another half million in cash. I’ll pick it up on my way to the restaurant. Get us a private room at the Emperor’s Delight.”

  Back in San Francisco, Julio made a call to Chuck. “We found him. Things are going to kick into high gear.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  The Emperor’s Delight was “the” elite Guangzhou restaurant. It would be impossible not to spend at least five hundred dollars per person on a meal and even more in this private dining room.

  On the far wall, easily half a million dollars was spent on the nine hundred and fifty bottles of scotch, wine and Chinese liquor on display. On the wall to the left was a large Chinese watercolor painting of ethereal mountain peaks rising above the clouds painted by renowned Zhang Chun. On the right were several small side cabinets containing fresh dishes and cutlery to replace the ones at the table after each dish was served.

  A waitress wearing a red cheongsam, a body-hugging Chinese silk dress with a slit at the side, a high collar, and embroidered with Phoenix tails led Arthur, Barry, Sting and Ponytail to their table in the elegant room.

  “What would you like to drink?” asked the girl. “We have…”

  “Something expensive. We’re not paying,” bellowed Sting.

  “Of course.” The waitress pointed to the liquor cabinet to a bottle of cognac with a gold ring around its neck. “Would you like the Louis XIII? Three thousand dollars a bottle.”

  “Good enough for me,” chortled Ponytail’s younger brother.

  The waitress went to the wall and picked out the bottle containing the deep amber liquid. She placed it on the table, bowed deeply, then left, closing the door after her.

  “Now, time to pay up,” demanded Ponytail.

  Arthur put a large padded bag on the table. “To confirm, four hundred thousand dollars for the car and six hundred for the monastery relics.”

  “Unless you want to give us a tip for good service,” guffawed Ponytail as he filled four glasses to the brim. Sting snatched a glass. Grimacing, he drained it, exacting every last drop before shaking his head. “That is good shit.” He poured himself another glass.

  Ponytail roared, “Hey, you’re the driver so don’t drink too much.”

  “Let these guys pay for a night at the Oceania for us, too,” laughed Sting, his bright eyes glistening with greed.

  Arthur pushed the bag to Ponytail who excitedly poured the contents of the bag onto the dining table. “Good thing we got a big table,” he grinned as he and Sting started counting the numerous wads of cash.

  “There are ten thousand American dollars of used one hundred bills in each bundle.”

  Arthur watched patiently as the two brothers counted the stash, riffing through each one.

  Twenty minutes later, Ponytail finished counting the last of the stacks. “Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred.”

  “Ganbei! (Bottoms up!)” Ponytail and Sting lifted their glasses and clinked.

  Sting was going to pour another round but the bottle was empty. “Hey, we need more.”

  “Definitely.” Arthur opened the door to the room and shouted out, “Foo Woo Ren (Service Person)! Another bottle, please.”

  Within seconds, a different Chinese waitress entered the room. Like the earlier server, this one wore a clinging cheongsam that emphasized every curve of her svelte figure. She went directly to the liquor cabinet and pulled out another bottle of Louis XIII.

  Arthur locked the door as the waitress carried the bottle to the table.

  “Do you remember me?” the waitress said.

  Ponytail’s and Sting’s faces drained of color. This was the girl in the monastery that Ponytail had shot and left for dead.

  “Bitch!” As quick as Ponytail and Sting were to draw their guns from their pockets, the ridiculously expensive alcohol had slowed their reflexes. Rayna calmly pulled her weapon out from behind her dress.

  The cold steel of Rayna’s soulless pistol stared her attackers in their fear-filled faces.

  Ponytail and Sting raised their hands in the air. Every trace of bravado disappeared as Ponytail uttered two words.

  “You win.”

  “I know,” agreed Rayna.

  Two silent bullets and justice had been served.

  Rayna turned to Arthur. “I’d like to see my father now.”

  “Of course.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Flashback - Fifteen Years Ago

  Twelve-year-old Rayna lay unconscious on the parking lot just outside the Granville Island Theater where her clothes were covered with her own vomit. Lying beside her and equally catatonic was her best friend Heather. The two had gone there with school friends to attend the album launch of the band of Heather’s oldest brother, the Smilin’ Buddhas. Gary was not only the lead singer, he happened to be the cutest guy in the world, or so thought Heather’s pre-pubescent friends.


  The band came on at 10:30 and the music was totally awesome with Gary’s vocals soaring into the stratosphere. Everyone danced and everybody partied. As it was a private function, no one checked for ID so, when the drinks started flowing at 10:45, well… there was no one checking to see if there was anybody underage or not.

  Rayna promised to be home by 11:30 but, when she didn’t arrive, Vivian, Rayna’s protective helicopter mom, started calling her cell every five minutes. Henry tried to calm his wife down but, when 12:15 rolled around, he agreed to go with Vivian to the theater to check out what was going on.

  “She’s going to die! Maybe she’s dead already!” wailed Vivian in the car.

  “I’m sure everything is fine. The music is probably too loud for her to hear the phone,” said Henry, trying to convince himself as well as Vivian as he climbed behind the wheel and drove down to the Vancouver hot spot.

  When they arrived at the theater, they were lucky to get a parking spot by the door. And yes, the music was loud and the party was in full swing, but there was no sign of Rayna or Heather anywhere. Not in the bathrooms, not backstage… not under any of the tables. Seeing drunken underage partygoers got Henry frantic, too.

  He and Vivian went outside to search around the theater.

  “I told you she was too young! But you, you… it’s all your fault!” blamed Vivian.

  “Don’t worry, Vivian.”

  But Rayna was nowhere to be seen either in the front or back of the building or its neighbors. Had Rayna been abducted? Was she being raped?

  Then, scouring the parking lots, they spotted Rayna and Heather lying on the ground. Both of the young girls were unconscious with ugly, smelly pools of vomit around them and on their clothes.

  “Omigod, Henry. They’re drunk! They’re drunk!” cried Vivian as the two parents dashed over.

  Henry leaned over to check their pulses and breathing. All seemed normal.