Stealing the Dragon

by Tim Maleeny

When his phone rang, Cape nearly jumped out of his shoes.

  “You’re up late,” said Williams.

  “Can you run a set of prints for me?” asked Cape. “Through Interpol or maybe the Hong Kong authorities? The records might go back ten or even twenty years.”

  Williams coughed for almost a full minute before getting it under control. “You must have the wrong number—you want me to pick up your dry cleaning, too?”

  “You said you wanted a lead on the ship.”

  “We already got the jeans guy in custody,” said Williams. “You remember, the asshole you should’ve given to us, but instead gave to the police?”

  “Big deal,” said Cape.

  “We got him on conspiracy, murder, and tax fraud, for starters.”

  “You think he’s the mastermind behind this?”

  Williams was silent on the other end.

  “Neither do I,” said Cape.

  Williams grunted. “What’ve you got, cowboy?”

  “A thumbprint, maybe,” said Cape. “On a button.”

  “Not much,” muttered Williams. “What do you want?”

  “A name.”

  “That’s it?” said Williams skeptically. “And what do I get?”

  “A name,” said Cape. “And maybe some answers.”

  “Maybe?”

  “That’s all I can offer,” said Cape.

  Several long seconds passed. “OK.”

  “How soon can you have it?”

  “This is the FBI, junior,” said Williams. “Not the 1-hour photo.”

  “Can’t you say it’s a matter of national security?”

  “Is it?”

  “Isn’t everything these days?”

  “You got a point,” said Williams. “When can you bring it in?”

  “I can’t,” replied Cape. “Can you pick it up?”

  “Jee-zus, you are high maintenance.” Cape heard Williams cupping the phone, muffled voices in the background. “Where are you?”

  Cape gave him directions to the nearest corner.

  “OK, look for a blue Honda.”

  “The FBI drives a Honda?”

  “We might be on a budget, but we’re not stupid,” said Williams. “If you don’t drive an import in California, everyone thinks you’re a cop.”

  “Sneaky.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “My prints are on this thing, too.”

  “No problem, you’d be in the files ’cause of your license.” Williams held the phone away from his mouth again and shouted to someone in another room, then came back on. “Never mind—my man in the car will have a kit—stick your hand through the window, he’ll take your prints. It’ll save us time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “If this pans out, we’re even.”

  “You’ll call me either way?”

  “Sure,” said Williams. “Give me your number.”

  Fifteen minutes later the car pulled quietly up to the curb next to a hydrant and cut its lights. Cape reached through the window and dropped the button into a plastic bag the driver held open, then extended the fingers of his right hand and felt them rolled across an ink pad one at a time. The whole exchange took less than two minutes.

  Cape walked back up the block and turned down the alley. He had gone less than ten feet when he sensed someone behind him. Pivoting on his left foot, he raised his left elbow high and spun around, just as he felt an electric jolt across his shoulders. His body twisted backward as the muscles in his neck started to spasm, black spots appearing at the edge of his vision. He felt the breath leave his lungs as his momentum completed his turn, bringing him face to face with a man with a jagged scar cutting across his right eye and down his cheek.

  Xan smiled, the scar dancing in celebration, as Cape felt the ground fall out from under him and saw the lights at the end of the street go out one by one.

  Chapter Fifty

  The driver’s license spun like a leaf as it fell, tapping sounds chasing after it as the plastic edge ricocheted off the rungs of the ladder.

  The guard nearest the tunnel turned as the card hit the stone floor. Bending down, he saw there was a note wrapped around it, Chinese characters drawn in short bold strokes. He quickly stepped across the room and dropped the license onto the desk, then bowed and returned to his position at the bottom of the ladder.

  The first thing Sally saw as Dong unwrapped the note was Cape’s picture on the license.

  “Ta ma de,” muttered Sally. Oh shit.

  “That doesn’t even look like him,” said Dong, taking the license. “How does the Department of Motor Vehicles do that? You know, in Hong Kong—”

  “Dong.” Sally’s voice was full of warning. “What does the note say?”

  Dong read aloud. “‘Bring the heart.’”

  “That’s it?”

  “It gives a location—Buddha’s Universal Church.”

  “Just a few blocks from here, on Washington.”

  “At this hour, the church will be deserted,” said Dong miserably. “Yan has set a trap, and your friend is the bait.” He blew out his cheeks as he handed the note out to Sally.

  Sally’s eyes grew wide as she looked at the slip of paper.

  “Yan didn’t write this note.”

  “How do you know?” Dong reached for the note but stopped when he saw the grim expression on Sally’s face. When she looked up, her eyes were hard and her voice flat.

  “I recognize the handwriting.”

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Harold Yan looked worried.

  “Drink this,” he said as he handed a mug to Lin. “It tastes bitter, but it will help the healing process.”

  “Mh goi.” Lin winced as she extended her arms but nodded her thanks.

  “That shoulder looks bad,” muttered Yan. “You didn’t go to a hospital?”

  “No,” said Lin.

  “Smart girl,” said Yan approvingly. “The hospital has to report gunshot wounds to the police.”

  Lin nodded as she blew into her mug, the steam making her eyes water. “The bullet passed right through.”

  “You’re very brave.”

  Lin forced a smile before sipping tentatively. He was right, the drink tasted awful. She hated this, sitting in Yan’s house, the front room that doubled as a home office, trying to explain herself without telling him what really happened. She didn’t even know Yan, beyond what she’d been told. A true friend, someone we can trust. She tried to think of someone she could really trust and came up empty, save for a dead sister she only remembered from pictures.

  Yan looked nice enough, professional, well-mannered. Comparing him to men she’d known, he seemed more like the Dragon Head or a businessman than the thugs and killers she usually hunted. Not anything like the sze kau pigs on the ship. He already asked her about that, something in his voice warning her to stretch the truth. She said someone tried to steal the heart—that shut him up, got Yan saying wait one minute, then going to the next room for tea. Lin suspected he didn’t care about the women and children in the hold any more than the crew, so there was no point trying to explain. Lin knew how to follow orders—she’d made the trip, didn’t she?—but how she completed an assignment was up to her.

  “I have a few more questions, if you don’t mind,” said Yan pleasantly. “I’ll keep it short tonight—I know you’re still weak.”

  Lin nodded, clenching her jaw. She was weak, a feeling new to her. She’d never been injured this badly in all her years of service, but now she could barely stand without seeing spots. Yan had her sitting in a high-backed chair with wooden arms, something she could hold onto as she drank her tea. Her shoulder burned, the bandages still wet with blood. It had taken her almost two hours to find this house, on the border of Chinatown and North Beach, an old two-story Victorian in the middle of a short, twisted road that was more alley than street. She never could have found it that first night, half dead and s
oaking wet. If Sally hadn’t been home, Lin knew she’d be dead.

  But then she woke up underground, betrayed. One-eyed Dong had been exiled, a price on his head. Sally hadn’t left the society, after all—she must be part of the conspiracy to steal the heart. Lin cursed her lack of strength, unable to risk anything except running away. But at least she was alive and free, able to tell Yan where it was.

  Now they just had to get it.

  Yan stepped around his desk and sat on its edge, only a few feet in front of her.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked idly. “What did the Dragon Head tell you?”

  “Lung tau gave me the heart,” Lin began.

  “But you knew he would tell people you stole it?”

  Lin nodded. “He explained there are traitors within our society, planning to steal the heart and kill him.”

  “But he couldn’t hide it.”

  “No,” said Lin, shaking her head emphatically. “If he moved the heart himself, it would be an act of fear, a sign of weakness. His enemies would gain support.”

  “So he stole the heart from himself,” said Yan. “Brilliant.”

  “He said to tell you everything,” said Lin. “But no one else knows, not even Master Xan.”

  “Your…” Yan paused, searching for the word. “Instructor.”

  Lin nodded again. “The Dragon Head told Xan there was a situation in China that needed attention, and he requested that Xan send me—to Fuzhou.”

  “Where you caught the freighter.”

  “Yes,” said Lin. “He gave me the heart, wrapped in cloth so I could hide it in my clothes, then explained how to board the ship.” She sipped more tea, which tasted less bitter the more she drank. She could feel herself starting to relax, her shoulder less painful. Her eyes felt heavy, hands tingling, legs almost going numb. She blinked as Yan watched her, his eyes full of concern.

  Yan stood and looked down at her cup. “It’s helping, isn’t it?” He smiled though his eyes had gone flat, expressionless. Stepping behind Lin’s chair, he put his left hand gently on her shoulder. “Yes, you are very brave,” he said admiringly.

  Lin started to respond but gasped as Yan dug his fingers into her shoulder.

  “But very stupid.” Yan’s voice was pure disdain as he twisted his thumb savagely against her bandages. Liquid fire ran down her arm and Lin dropped the tea in her lap, but she couldn’t feel it against her skin. Her legs were completely numb. Yan seized the back of the chair with both hands and pulled, slamming Lin onto her back, stars exploding behind her eyes. She started to hyperventilate as the numbness in her legs crept across her stomach toward her heart.

  “You had the most powerful weapon in Triad history,” seethed Yan, stepping in front of the chair. “And you lost it.”

  Lin watched, helpless, as Yan raised his right foot and brought it down slowly onto her shoulder. The numbing poison had made it to her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs, but it left the nerve endings in her shoulder raw and exposed. The heel of his shoe pressed down, Lin’s head twisting back and forth on the rug as she tried to scream, managing only a strangled cough as tears ran down her cheeks.

  “But you’re still of some use, and with your help, perhaps I can get the heart back.” Yan’s eyes shone with a fanatic’s zeal. Lin stared, wheezing and thrashing, as Yan reached behind his back and tugged at his belt. The room was getting dark, and Lin realized she was blacking out.

  That’s when she saw the knife.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Buddha’s Universal Church is still the largest Buddhist church in North America, even though it was built in 1961. Although Buddhism has become the fastest growing religion in the United States, the size of its churches have remained relatively modest. But the founders of this church in the heart of Chinatown lacked the funds to build from scratch, so they converted an abandoned nightclub and renovated the dilapidated building themselves over a ten-year period. Today the interior is filled with colorful murals and mosaics, and the rooftop garden has one of the best views in the city.

  Cape had never seen the view at night, and under different circumstances would have enjoyed it. But sitting with his hands tied behind his back gave him little opportunity to see more than ten feet in front of him. A crescent moon stared down at the roof, a malevolent eye covered by a cataract of thickening fog. Since the church was the tallest structure on the block, very little ambient light found its way to the garden from the streetlights and neighboring buildings. Beyond that, the garden was nothing but shifting shadows against the night sky.

  Xan emerged from the darkness at the edge of the roof and strode through the garden. He was wearing a loose-fitting, long-sleeved black shirt and black cotton pants, with sandals on his feet. As the sparse light found him, his grizzled scalp and broad face flickered in and out of focus, making him appear headless.

  “The street is deserted,” he said in English. His voice was deep and full of gravel, with a slight accent that seemed to come and go depending on how fast he talked. “They should have come by now.”

  Cape said nothing at first, not sure if Xan was thinking aloud, but then said, “Maybe they don’t like costume parties.”

  Xan smiled and leaned over Cape, getting in close. Cape could see the raised scar tissue coursing its way across Xan’s cheek, making one eye seem larger than the other.

  “Cut yourself shaving?”

  Xan gently squeezed Cape’s left shoulder.

  Cape jerked backward, his body spasming as if struck by lightning, knocking his head back as a scream caught in his throat. He coughed violently, wheezing as air rushed from his lungs, bile rose, and his eyes started to water. His head struck the tiles again, hard, as vertigo hit like a sledgehammer.

  An eternity that lasted only a few seconds passed and Cape opened his eyes, relieved to see the roof wasn’t spinning. Twisting his body, he managed to sit up and saw Xan standing ten feet away, idly passing something from hand to hand.

  It was Cape’s wallet.

  “The cards in your wallet say your name is Cape…?” He made it sound like a question. “Except, of course, this card.” Xan held up a brown card with a red triangle. “This card doesn’t seem like the others, does it?”

  Cape took a deep breath, knowing Xan was only a step away from squeezing his other shoulder. “One of these things is not like the others?” he asked. “Who are you, a Muppet gone bad?”

  Xan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move. “Where did you get this card?”

  Cape looked at Xan and said nothing. He couldn’t move his left arm at all but tried to roll his shoulders to keep some blood circulating to his hands. He wondered if he could roll to the edge of the roof and…what? A five-story drop onto hard pavement was starting to sound pretty good.

  “Do you have any other cards like this?” asked Xan patiently.

  “Go fish.”

  Xan took a step forward but his manner remained calm, unthreatening. “I have no interest in hurting you.”

  Cape almost laughed, but it came out as a cough. “Gee, that’s reassuring. I’d hate to know what it feels like when you are interested in hurting someone.”

  “One-eyed Dong,” said Xan. “You’ve met him?”

  Cape nodded. “Charming guy, treats his guests much better than you,” he said, seeing no reason to lie. Xan wasn’t about to believe Cape found the card on the street.

  “And what business does a gwai loh have with One-eyed Dong?” Xan held up another card. “This says you are a ‘licensed investigator’ in the state of California.”

  “I’m considering another line of work,” replied Cape. “And how about you—a massage therapist?”

  Xan raised his head slightly, and said with a hint of pride, “I am a teacher.”

  Cape squinted, blinking his eyes dry. “Reading, writing, or arithmetic?”

  “Life and death.” Xan’s eyes were two pieces of obsidian.

  “Let me guess,” said Cape. “A girls’ sch
ool.” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Fuck it—maybe it’ll get him talking—more time to think, less time to writhe in agony. He sat up straighter, shaking his head to clear it.

  Xan’s eyes grew wider as he studied his captive. After a long moment, he started to walk in a slow circle around Cape.

  “Did you know that more than half the assassins in the world are women?”

  “I dated a girl who tore my heart out.”

  Xan ignored the remark and kept circling, making Cape think of a shark.

  “It’s true,” said Xan. “What better way to get close to a man, especially a dangerous one? Women make men stupid, careless. Even a dangerous man is vulnerable when he’s with a woman.”

  Cape thought of Sally, wondering how far back the two went. Keep him talking. “That can’t be easy, turning women into killers.”

  “They are weapons,” said Xan. “But you miss the point—it’s impossible to teach women anything. They are stones, worn hard and smooth by waves of disappointment and years of sorrow, as predictable and stubborn as the tides.”

  “Was that a haiku?”

  Xan’s eyes flashed a warning, but he never broke stride. “But girls—girls are made of clay. Especially girls who lost their childhood to broken homes or tragedy. Start young, fuel their anger, and you can mold them, teach them, make them anything you want.”

  Cape again thought of Sally—the Sally he knew. “One problem with your theory.”

  “What?”

  “Girls tend to grow up into women.”

  Xan scowled. “By then they’ve chosen a path,” he said. “You can’t change who you are just because you’re old enough to drink. No one, not even a woman, can change their past.”

  “Maybe not,” said Cape. “But they can make their own decisions.”

  Xan waved his right hand dismissively. “Free will is an illusion, gwai loh.”

  “Our fate is set?”

  Xan nodded.

  “Then why do you keep looking over the edge of the roof?”

  Xan stopped circling and looked impassively at Cape.

  Oh, swell. You pissed him off.