Baluyevsky glared at Manning. “Be mindful of your place, Manning. And hold your tongue.”
“Take a step back, Baluyevsky. I know what I’m here for.”
The two men stared at each other for a time. Baluyevsky defused the moment by draining his cup and setting it on the silver tray.
“At any rate, you will see for yourself that Valerie Lin is not capable of murder, or of arranging a murder. She will be here tonight.”
“Really? That’s...surprising.”
“She knows her place in Mr. Lin’s world, and even the death of her husband cannot excuse her from her duties just yet. As I meant to say, she is a very dutiful woman, and because of this I truly do not believe she is capable of murder.”
“I guess we’ll see about that.” Manning finished his espresso and placed the cup on the tray as well. Baluyevsky checked his watch and rose to his feet. Manning mimicked him.
“I will need to make some inspections before the guests arrive,” the Russian told him. “Perhaps you’d like to accompany me?”
“Why not,” Manning said.
###
At dusk, the limousines began to arrive.
Manning and Baluyevsky watched from one side of the driveway as the long, shiny vehicles disgorged their passengers, elegantly-dressed men and women who were obviously representatives of the upper echelons of both American and Chinese societies. Manning recognized an action movie star from Hong Kong, the U.S. senator from California, and two high-ranking congressmen. He wondered what they were doing for Lin, and what had Lin promised them in return? Lin greeted them personally in the entry hall, and he looked resplendent in a fine but conservative tuxedo. He had spared Manning only the quickest of glances as he stood aside and watched the arrivals stream in.
A black Audi A8 pulled up in front of the house, and a graceful woman alighted from it. Her hair piled high on her head, and she wore a long dark gown that was graced with a sparkling heron that ran from hip to hem. Over her shoulder was a leather purse so small as to be almost useless. She looked at once regal, yet weary as she glided down the covered walkway on high-heeled shoes. Lin’s greeting was muted and subdued, and the woman nodded to him obsequiously.
“Valerie Lin,” Baluyevsky rumbled.
Manning watched the elegant woman step into the house unchaperoned as one of the valets took her Audi around the house and parked it next to Manning’s GTO. Apparently, the wife of Lin’s deceased son did get at least one perk.
“A handsome woman,” Manning said.
Another limousine rumbled up the wide driveway, this one a large stretch Bentley. Several Chinese alighted from it, and Lin advanced to meet them, smiling broadly. He extended his hand toward an older Chinese man who seemed to be Lin’s contemporary, but where Lin was polished and poised, the newcomer seemed rough and unfinished, even while wearing an expensive tuxedo.
“That must be Ren Yun,” Manning said. “Lin’s pal from the good old bad days.”
“Yes,” Baluyevsky said. “He and Mr. Lin are among the most powerful men inside—and outside—China.”
“They don’t seem very much alike,” Manning observed.
“They are exactly alike. Mr. Lin is simply...more refined.” Baluyevsky checked his watch. “I need to confer with my staff. You needn’t come with me. I think it would be acceptable for you to mingle with the rest of the guests, so long as you hold your tongue.”
“What do you expect me to tell them, Alexsey? I’m here to bump off Lin Dan’s killer?”
Baluyevsky glared at Manning, something Manning now recognized as the big Russian’s default expression. “I do not expect you to say any such thing.”
“I wasn’t being serious.”
Baluyevsky blinked, and looked as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Was that American humor? It was not very funny. At any rate, you should tell them that you are in Mr. Lin’s employ as a security consultant only, and that you represent Mr. Lin’s interests in Japan. He has an office in the Komeito Tower in Tokyo. Do you know it?”
“Of course. I’ve actually worked there in the past.”
“Then you should have no problem coming up with something very boring to say, should anyone ask. Follow me.”
Manning followed Baluyevsky to the covered walkway and moved past the crowd surrounding Lin as discreetly as possible. As they did so, Manning took a moment to study the group. Ren Yun spoke animatedly to Lin; his voice was gruff and loud, and his manner was somewhat crude. Lin laughed at something the man said, and clapped him on the shoulder while the rest of the group tittered politely. One woman stood at the edge of the crowd, wearing an immaculate blue silk qi pao, the cultural garb women wore in mainland China. It was slit high on her thigh, and she wore low-soled shoes. She looked over as Baluyevsky eased his bulk past, his eyes fixed forward. Her dark eyes drifted toward Manning as he followed. Manning nodded to her slightly.
“Ni hao,” he said.
“Good evening,” she responded, and her English was devoid of almost any accent. She smiled slightly, and Manning smiled back. She turned her head and looked back at Ren and Lin, and Manning slowed an instant to study her profile. The overhead lights were bright enough to reveal her face, and he saw she had fine features that would have bordered on breathtaking if they hadn’t been somewhat severe. She had the face of a woman who didn’t laugh very much, someone who might be the usual officious sort who served the Chinese elite. She didn’t look back at him, so Manning continued after Baluyevsky.
Baluyevsky led Manning into the vast entry hall and turned back to him. “I will leave you here, Manning. I’ll look for you within an hour or so, which is when Mr. Lin and his guests will sit down for dinner.”
“Very well,” Manning said.
With that, Baluyevsky turned and left without another word. Manning watched him leave for a moment, then sighed. He had never been particularly good at social events even with people he knew, so skulking about a mansion amidst a cast of international elites promised to be less than entertaining. He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked around the entry hall, wondering what to do. Before he could arrive at a decision, Lin led the entourage through the front door. He was all smiles, and still had a hand on Ren’s shoulder. His eyes met Manning’s for a brief instant, and Manning got the hint. He faded down the hallway that led to the kitchen, his shoes clicking on the hard marble floor. Behind him, the assemblage erupted into raucous laughter as Ren barked out some joke in a dialect Manning did not understand.
The kitchen was still buzzing with activity, and Manning found there was no space for him there. He passed through it and made his way to the dining room, where more members of Lin’s staff were still setting the long table. There was no place for him there either. The gallery was empty for the moment, so he slowed and took a moment to look at the artworks on display. Two Grecian-looking statues stood silent guard duty, flanking a long line of expensive paintings that were likely originals. Manning put his hands in his pockets again and examined them closely. They did not evoke much.
“Are you appreciative of the fine arts?”
Manning turned and found that Valerie Lin was standing only a few feet away. She had come in from the patio area, where a bar had been set up. She held a glass of white wine in one perfectly manicured hand. Her fine makeup accentuated her beauty, as it was intended. However, it did little to mask her exhaustion. She emanated a quiet desperation that Manning felt immediately.
“I’m unfortunately not much of a connoisseur,” he said. “I guess I’m more of a comic book kind of guy. But I think this one here must be a Picasso.”
She smiled faintly and nodded toward the painting Manning indicated. “Le Femme au Tambourin,” she said as she walked over. “Yes, a Picasso. My father-in-law paid almost eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars for it in New York City last year. He outbid my husband by one hundred thousand dollars. The two of them competed against each other for everything.”
“I see,” Mannin
g said.
“Do you?” She turned from the painting and eyed him for a moment as she sipped from her glass. “That would be interesting if you did. You are—?”
“Jerome Manning. I work for your father-in-law.”
“Of course. You don’t look comfortable enough to be one of his business associates, and I’ve never seen you before. I’m Valerie Lin.”
She switched her wine glass to her left hand and extended her right. Manning shook her hand. Her grip was soft and warm.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lin,” he said.
She released his hand and turned to regard the paintings on the wall. “Thank you, Mr. Manning. What is it that you do for my father-in-law?”
“Security. I do some work for him in Japan. At the Komeito Tower.”
“Really? What does he need you here for?”
Manning hadn’t really seen that one coming, even though it was an obvious question. “Mr. Lin has...well, his business interests are wide and varied, and he always likes to stay on top of things.”
“I’d thought that was what Alexsey was for,” she said.
“It is, but I represent his security interests in Japan. Our schedules happened to coincide, and he asked me here to brief him, and then asked me to stay for a while.”
She turned to him again. “Are you here to find my husband’s murderer?”
Manning worked on keeping his composure. Despite her loss, it was blindingly obvious that Valerie Lin was no dummy. It was also obvious that she had been through a lot; as she brought her wine glass to her lips, her hand trembled slightly.
“Mrs. Lin...I’m sorry, but that’s something you would really have to ask your father-in-law.”
She nodded after a moment, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ambush you that way.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Manning said.
“Yes. Well.” She looked up at him and forced a smile to her face. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Manning. I hope you enjoy the night.”
Manning nodded. “Thank you, ma’am. Same to you.”
He watched as she walked down the hallway, then stepped out onto the patio. The bar was suddenly looking pretty good right now.
The Chinese bartenders were dressed in black vests and trousers, and smiled broadly as Manning approached. He ordered and received a bottle of Anchor Steam beer, a San Francisco area favorite and wandered around the vast patio. The huge grill beside the house was already fired up, apparently in an effort to supplement the busy kitchen, and flavorful smoke wafted through the air. Manning’s stomach grumbled, and he realized he was hungry. Thankfully, a caterer walked past at the moment with a tray of fresh shu mai in bamboo steamers, and he helped himself to a few. They were excellent, light and steamed to perfection. It was almost a shame to drink the beer after sampling such a fine delicacy, but he did it anyway. At the far edge of the courtyard was a series of arches which terminated at a pavilion that overlooked the Bay. It was currently deserted, so Manning headed for it and stood there for several minutes, taking in the view. There was a low glass-topped table flanked by four wrought-iron chairs in the middle of the open pavilion, but he ignored them and chose to stand. It was a clear night, and the lights of downtown San Francisco glittered in the growing night. It was most certainly a million dollar vista. Despite everything, he had to admit that Lin had no shortage of taste to go along with his fortune.
He was compelled to call Ryoko in Japan, despite her wishes. It would be nice to hear her voice, and to find out how she was getting along. She would still be sleeping, of course. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and looked at it. His thumb stroked the keys idly. Finally, he returned it to his pocket. She expected him to respect her wishes, and forcing himself on her was not likely to impress her.
Footfalls caught his attention, and he turned from the beauty spread out before him. Lin was leading Ren Yun and the woman Manning had briefly spoken with toward the pavilion. Manning turned to head off across the lawn, but he was surprised by Ren’s gravelly voice. He spoke in rough Mandarin.
“No need to leave because of us,” he barked. “We’re only here to take in the view for a moment!”
“Mr. Ren says there is no need to leave,” the woman said instantly as the trio entered the pavilion. “He and Mr. Lin are—”
“Manning knows what he said,” Lin said in Mandarin. “Don’t you, Manning?”
Manning nodded. Ren looked dubious.
“You speak Mandarin?” he demanded.
“I do.”
Ren grunted and stepped closer to Manning, looking up at him. He was bald with a round face and dark complexion, and his eyes seemed too large for his head. With his thick lips and short neck, he resembled a Chinese frog. He was somewhat sloppy in appearance; even though he wore a tuxedo, it seemed too big at the shoulders but pulled too tight around his round belly. Comparing him to Lin’s polished appearance, it was not hard for Manning to imagine he was Mr. Hyde to Lin’s Dr. Jekyll.
“Do you also speak Shanghainese?” Ren asked.
“I do not.”
Ren grunted again and looked over at Lin. “Americans learn Mandarin but not Shanghainese? Well, I guess we can’t ask too much of them, Lin Yubo.”
Lin smiled and put a hand on Manning’s arm. “Manning, meet my close friend and associate, Ren Yun. He and I have been through an eternity together, and I consider him to be my brother.” To Ren: “This is Jerome Manning. He works for me in Japan.”
“Japan?” Ren echoed. He cackled suddenly and turned to Lin. “Don’t tell me he works with Chen?” Without waiting for Lin to answer, he turned back to Manning. “So you must be the White Tiger I’ve heard of!”
Manning looked over at Lin, who gave him a resigned nod. “There is little about my business dealings that Ren Yun does not know.”
“I do not know why the Bái Hu is here,” Ren groused. He looked at Lin flatly.
“A personal matter,” Lin replied.
Ren got the message and nodded. He looked back at Manning with a vague, sour smile.
“I wish you luck then, Manning.”
“Thank you, sir.” Manning glanced at Lin and had no difficulty reading his body language. He nodded to both men and smiled tightly. “I should be going—enjoy the view.”
“You may leave also. Lin Yubo and I have matters to discuss,” Ren said to his translator. He said this without looking at the elegant woman who stood slightly behind him. She inclined her head to his back, but both men had turned to regard the vista beyond with hooded eyes. Manning looked at her as he started down the flagstone walkway, but her expression was blank. Clearly, she was likely used to such casual dismissals. They were a part of life when working for the Chinese elite. When they were a short distance away, Manning glanced over his shoulder. Lin and Ren were dark silhouettes standing shoulder to shoulder.
“I would guess he’s always that brusque?” he asked her.
The woman looked at him for a moment, then at the courtyard they approached. “Mr. Ren has his way. I would imagine Mr. Lin does as well?”
Manning shrugged. “Can’t really say. I’m here for a short term assignment, so we don’t have a lot of casual interaction. Usually I get my instructions, and I’m on my way. I’m Jerry Manning, by the way.”
“Yes, I heard. I’m Maggie Shi.” She glanced at him again, but didn’t offer to shake hands. Manning let it go.
“Pleased to meet you. What’s your birth name?”
“My birth name?”
“Your Chinese name. I’d imagine Maggie isn’t your real name, right?”
She glanced at him again. “Most Americans wouldn’t ask that question,” she said. “They’d take what I gave them at face value.”
“I guess I’m not like most Americans.”
“Meihua,” she said after a moment.
“Beautiful Flower,” Manning said. “Or maybe, Beautiful Plum Blossom, depending on the interpretation.”
“Well
done. You are certainly a scholar when it comes to names, Mr. Manning. Is this how you ingratiate yourself with Chinese ladies?”
She didn’t look at him when she said this, so he had no idea if she was joking. He glanced at her, but she rewarded him with only her profile.
“I spend most of my time in Japan, so there’s not a lot of opportunity to ingratiate any Chinese ladies, Ms. Shi.”
She stopped suddenly. Manning came to a halt and turned back to her. She looked at him speculatively, her features illuminated by the wan light sconces attached to the columns supporting the archway overhead.
“I did not mean to be rude,” she said suddenly. “If I sounded that way, I apologize. I don’t have much time for...for social interactions, I’m afraid.”
“It’s not a problem.” Manning offered his hand. “Let’s try again. I’m Jerome Manning.”
She smiled after a moment and accepted his hand. Her grasp was strong and warm.
“Shi Meihua,” she said. “You may call me Maggie, if you prefer.”
“Which do you prefer?”
Her smiled deepened after a moment, and she released his hand. “Shi Meihua would be interesting,” she said. “I never hear my name from foreigner’s lips.”
“An interesting way to phrase it, but very well—Shi Meihua it is.”
“Do you prefer Jerry or Jerome?” she asked.
“Either will do, and are preferable to Da Sha Gua,” he said, using the Chinese expression for big fool. She laughed suddenly, eyes wide.
“Do you know what that means?” she asked incredulously. “Oh—of course you do. It’s so odd, hearing a foreigner say things like that!”
“I’m sure you’ve met your share of whites who speak Mandarin. It’s not a rarity these days.”
She nodded. “True—but very few of them try to use humor. Especially self-deprecating humor. The foreigners Ren Yun associates with are usually high-level businessmen looking to make inroads into China, or those who have to sustain the inroads they’ve already built.”
Manning nodded back the way they had come, where the two men were only vaguely visible. “He’s like Lin? A corporate exec?”
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