by Roger Weston
Jeff paused momentarily from his take out, nodded, then returned his attention to his chopsticks.
Chuck watched her carefully. He studied her weathered skin and guessed she was close to seventy years old, but her eyes held youthful enthusiasm and willful defiance.
“Every day, I giving tourist ride,” she said. “I show them about life before Hong Kong cover with skyscraper. Now the people they know nothing. They see nothing, they hear nothing, because they juggle text message box and cell phone and iPod—what you call it—and their brain juggle stock portfolio. They too busy juggle for slow down, enjoy the sea. Sometime I think their eyes swirl and they don’t not see nothing. They talk cell phone. They all want be rich like Jin, but he kill my husband.”
As she steered up the coast, Chuck took in the grassy hills of the island, the empty hills that rose from the beach. The hills were like walls that hid secrets. Far away was a mountain, and Lydia was there, and he could see tears in her dark eyes. He felt the cool spray of the ocean on his face and tasted the salt on his lips. The ocean hid mountains miles down in her depths. On land, a mountain could trap a person, but there was always hope on a mountain. Even if a person died on a mountain, at least the place could be visited by the living. They could bring flowers…or they could bring justice. It didn’t really matter because a mountain was a place to live…and a mountain was a place to die.
Chuck lay back and closed his eyes under the sampan’s canvas. In a few hours it would be time to steal Jin’s antique poker chip and learn the location of Jin Mountain.
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CHAPTER 47
Sea-Tac Airport, Seattle
Parcher worked his way through the crowd and approached the limousine. He got in without acknowledging the driver and heard the door shut behind him. Sitting across from him was Robert.
The driver eased the limo into the thick flow of airport traffic.
“Tell me,” Robert said, “what’s going on?”
“Brandt is in Tai O, an old fishing village across the channel from Hong Kong. I’m flying out and will be there in the morning.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“He’s hired a boat. Some old sampan lady is taking him around.”
“Who?” Robert began filing his nails.
“A woman named Chow.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
The limo came to a stop, and Parcher looked out into the traffic jam for a moment. “We fed Chuck a dead-end alley in Chinatown. But we’ve come to the conclusion that he didn’t know it was a dead end, and he found some life there. He learned something.”
Robert put away his nail file. “What are you saying?”
“He knows what he’s after.”
“And what is that?”
“A poker chip. As you know, there’s a legend that Lok Jin had the location of his mine etched on a chip.”
“So what? That was eighty years ago.”
“Once we found out his sampan lady was asking around Tai O about Gary Jin, we connected the dots. Gary Jin is a descendent of Lok Jin.”
Robert was silent for a moment. “How the hell did he find that out?”
“We don’t know.”
“And you think that Jin has this poker chip?” Robert snorted. “You think Brandt went to Tai O in search of an antique poker chip from the 1920s.” Robert laughed for a moment, but then he balled his hand into a fist that turned pale as the blood drained out.
“Maybe,” Parcher said.
Robert sighed with fury. “If you are right, you know what that means, don’t you?”
“I anticipated you on this. The downsizing team is setting up right now. Brandt has hired a chopper for his extraction. In the unlikely chance that he dodges our jab, we’ve hijacked the chopper. As soon as he shows up at the extraction point, the new pilot will terminate him.”
“You better start acting like my right-hand man and finish the job this time.” Robert inhaled deeply. “If not, I’ll lead Curtis to your door.” He outstretched his thin, pale fingers. “I want confirmation ASAP that Brandt has been exterminated.”
CHAPTER 48
Early Evening, Lantau Island
Chuck pulled on Nylex tactical gloves as the sampan motored slowly through the fog. The moisture in the air was palpable, and he felt condensation misting his face. Little drops of warm water ran down his cheek. Although he could see no hint of land through the vapor, he noticed that Chow seemed quite relaxed as if driving her boat blindly into the fog was normal.
Chuck raised his eyebrows when he saw Jeff leaning over the rail and reaching into the water. The sampan tilted slightly as Jeff scooped up a driftwood stick. He then brought out his big, razor-sharp hunting knife and began whittling. Chuck looked away, out into the fog.
A few minutes later, a modern fishing boat emerged from the cloaked obscurity. Their sampan slid past it with no more than ten feet to spare. They were close enough that Chuck saw the anchor chain running from the bow down into the water, but the fog was thick enough that he couldn’t even see the stern of the boat.
“Maybe you should slow down,” Jeff said. “You almost ran into that hulk.”
“You think me drive too fast?” Chow said.
Jeff nodded. “There might be other boats anchored out here that we can’t see.”
“Where you get big idea?” Chow said. “I run sampan more than fifty year. You think fog scare old lady? No, sir. You sound like old lady. I try to drive boat, but you know too much. How you know so much about Tai O? Why I no see you running sampan when I little girl?”
Jeff shrunk down in his seat a little. “Well, you don’t have to take it personally.”
“I no take personal. I run sampan at Tai O before you born. Now you tell me watch out fog. Maybe I run sampan with blindfold. You want put blindfold on me?”
“No, I trust you.”
“Then why you yap like sick dog?” She pointed at Chuck. “He say, help me go on Jin boat. I say okay, but maybe I have to leave Tai O. Maybe I have to go away and no come back. I do this for his girlfriend—and you yap all over fog.”
“Sorry.”
“Good.”
“It’s not too late to back out,” Chuck said.
“Never mind. I have daughter. She say, come live with her. Now I am go. No more run sampan at Tai O. Chow go big city with daughter. Chow learn sell fish in market. Chow have big voice.”
Jeff didn’t pester her anymore after that, and Chuck was glad. Nevertheless, Chuck kept his eyes on the prowl for boats. Chow wasn’t driving fast, but he figured that with less than fifteen feet of visibility, they could plow into one if she wasn’t alert and fast on the steering arm.
Chow cut the engine and rowed into Tai O. In spite of her age, she rowed powerfully. Chuck didn’t offer to help because she didn’t need any, and he didn’t want to be rebuked. He just hoped she was right about the caretaker going out every night. More than that, he prayed that he’d find what he was after.
The boat cut through the fog like a spoon through whipped cream. He only saw the hull of the junk when they were within ten feet. They came alongside, and Chuck climbed over the rail of the boat. After using his belt clip to pick the lock of the cabin door, he slowly climbed down the ladder into the darkness. At the bottom, he got out his flashlight and his pistol.
The first couple of cabins he checked were sleeping quarters. When he opened the third room, he immediately knew that it was the caretaker’s room—because the caretaker threw back his blankets and swung his pistol toward the intruder.
Chuck lunged down the hall as two shots smacked into the opposite door behind him. He slipped into the next cabin and hung his head and his pistol out into the corridor. Something slammed against his back. Pain shot up his spine. He collapsed out into the hall, hitting his head and momentari
ly seeing only black and white static. His hand opened up, allowing the flashlight to roll away. Fortunately, the beam of light was facing away from him, so he wasn’t entirely blinded.
Chuck rolled onto his back and saw a guy step out of the room with a rowboat paddle. The man yelled in Chinese.
“No dice,” Chuck said. At close range he fired into the thug’s shoulder.
The paddle fell to the ground, but the next act showed Chuck that he was dealing with a bad ass. Despite getting shot at close range, the man stepped into a doorway and stepped back out with a sawed-off shotgun.
Chuck, still on his back, squeezed off two silenced shots. Both slugs ripped into the bad ass’s ribcage. As he was falling backwards, the man fired his weapon at close range, but it was his last shot, and the blast went over Chuck.
The caretaker came out firing. Chuck rolled and squeezed off three shots. The flashes lit up the hallway like a discothèque with a strobe light. The first slug took the caretaker in the chest. He staggered backwards in the weird light, his knees bending slightly, his arms spreading, a strange look on his face with his head turned sideways and his mouth wide open. The second slug bashed into his chin. The caretaker started to fall backwards but stepped back to save himself twice. For a split second, it looked as if he’d somehow defied gravity and hung almost suspended in mid air. Then his body crashed down on the solid boards.
No sooner had the caretaker gone down when a third thug jumped out into the hallway with a yell, flinging a knife at the floor. Chuck rolled to the right and heard the knife stick into the timbers where his neck had been only seconds before. Utilizing the momentum created by his roll, he swung his legs, hooking his feet behind the guy’s ankles. The man landed on his shoulder and grunted.
Chuck gained his knees and aimed his gun at the man. “Stay put,” he said.
The wild one screamed, grabbed another glimmering knife from under his belt and executed a stunning roll toward the intruder. Chuck grunted with surprise and amazingly missed his target. His chest greeted two feet exploding outward, and Chuck flew backwards, his bruised spine coming down hard on solid timbers. He groaned as all his chest pain returned with vengeance. The gun fell out of his hand.
A body flew towards him with an accompanying scream. Light flashed off of a shiny blade that protruded from two hands clasped together. Reacting on instinct, Chuck pulled his knees to his chest. His legs exploded outward, his feet hammering the torso of the acrobat. The man did an impressive back flip, changing direction in flight and landing on his head. When he failed to scream and spring into flight once again, Chuck realized the acrobat was unconscious.
Drunk with pain, Chuck swept up his flashlight. He located his pistol and continued his search, but much more warily. He figured if there were any more thugs onboard, they’d already have joined the fray, but he wasn’t taking chances. The master stateroom was opulent—and fortunately vacant. Chuck’s light beam came to rest on a gold picture frame on the wall. He staggered to it and used the butt of his pistol to break the glass. The antique poker chip felt light in his hand. He held it in the light for a moment. It was brick-red ceramic and unremarkable. A word was scratched into the glaze. Chuck grit his teeth when he read it. He stuffed it into his pocket and sensed another killer at the doorway. He spun around, swinging his pistol at the attacker. He realized at the moment of squeezing the trigger that it was Jeff and shifted his aim. The silenced report swatted his nerves.
Chuck heard Jeff grunt and drop to the floor.
“The hell you doing?” Chuck said, rushing to his friend.
Jeff sat up with his own strength. “You crazy bastard.”
Chuck worked his flashlight beam across Jeff’s clothes. He took a deep sigh of relief as he verified his shot had missed. “You’re late for that.”
Standing up, Jeff gestured for Chuck to follow him. “I heard yelling over at the stilt houses. Chow said there are more coming.”
Chuck followed Jeff onto the deck, and they climbed over the rail into the sampan. Chuck heard yelling too—and the cough of an outboard as somebody jerked on a pull cord.
“Just get us out into the fog,” Jeff said. “Then we’re home free.”
Chow shot him an evil glance. “If I had a sail, I fly there on all your wind.”
She twisted her wrist against the gas handle. The sampan spit up a rooster tail of harbor water as the nose lifted up. Chuck saw Jeff fall to the deck. Chuck crawled forward to stabilize the narrow boat as it shot out toward the harbor entrance. He saw a big motorboat shoot out of the fog directly ahead of them.
He glanced at Chow, and she turned the boat so sharply that she buried the rail. Chuck clung to a side board to keep from being thrown out into the water. When he looked up again, their sampan was heading straight back into Tai O. It soared down the channel over green water, illuminated by all the light from the stilt houses.
“No,” Jeff shouted. “Other way, other way!”
Chuck noticed that in only seconds they would ram the boardwalk at the end of the channel. He heard a burst of shots from the pursuing motorboat. Chow jerked the steering arm. The boat weaved, almost spilling Jeff into the broth. Chow worked the steering arm over. If Chuck lived long enough, he would try it himself. He noticed that Chow was hit in the arm and he crawled to her and took over the job of steering.
“You do what I say so,” Chow barked. “No questions you do it.”
Another burst of shot interrupted her conversation. Chuck heard the slugs slam into one of the many boats along the channel. A moment later, Chow’s sampan hit the same boat. Fortunately, the bow was high out of the water, and her prized craft rode up over the other boat like it was a jump. They caught air and slammed back down into the channel at high speed. The sampan scraped a wooden ladder that was nailed to a couple of stilts. At this precise moment, Chow shouted. “Turn hard left.”
The fact that her order was suicidal didn’t bother Chuck in the least. Crashing into the pilings seemed a better way to die than going head on into the cement wall that was three seconds away. He swung the steering over hard and saw they were heading into a shadowy area under the stilts. He grit his teeth and braced for impact with some piling in the dark under the stilt houses. He heard Jeff howl with fear.
The boat soared under the houses. Chuck slowed the craft, but kept it moving too fast for comfort. At every moment, he expected a collision in the dark. With his free hand, he swung his gun out of his pocket and aimed over their wake, but their pursuers were wise enough not to follow.
“Stop this thing,” Jeff shouted.
“Quit your balling,” Chow said. “I using this tunnel hide from commies when mommy changing your diapers.”
Jeff made no response.
Chuck slowed the sampan more after it bumped a piling. Through all the stilts, Chuck saw lights illuminating another channel up ahead.
“You get there go that way,” Chow said. Enough light was filtering through the stilts now for Chuck to see which direction she was pointing. The tunnel spilled them out into a well-lit canal of glowing green drink. Chuck pulled the handle over and gunned it. The front end lifted up again, and they shot back out into the main channel. He turned hard and poured on the fuel, racing the sampan for the harbor entrance and the fog bank.
“There they are,” Jeff said, pointing aft.
Chuck didn’t need to look for himself. He heard a burst of shots and weaved the sampan the way he’d seen Chow do it. She nestled up next to him and pointed out the direction he needed to go as he entered the fog. Now he was into the clouds and driving blindly. Chow kept her good arm extended, her pointer finger acting as his radar, compass, electronic plotter, and every other instrument he ought to have had right then but didn’t. She’d shift her finger a little to the left, then a little to the right, and he changed course accordingly.
“We leave harbor now,” she said. “Pour it on.”
Chuck hit it, but heard the rattle of a machine gun and saw water spitting up to
starboard. A few bullets ripped the sampan’s old canvas awning. Chow ducked, and Jeff dropped to the timbers.
They came out the far side of the fog bank into open ocean, the sampan lunging and crashing over small waves. Behind them, two speedboats broke out of the soup. Chuck fired the first shots, but another burst of machine gun fire raked across the sampan’s airspace, chewing up the wood superstructure of the shelter. The bigger of the two boats closed the distance so fast that Chuck expected it to run them over in a few more seconds. He drove full speed for the next fog bank and the boat entered it before his torso sprung any bullet holes.
“I say turn, you turn hard,” Chow said. “Got it?”
“Yes,” Chuck shouted over the whine of the engine.
“Turn now.” Chow pointed to starboard.
Chuck cranked the steering arm to port. The sampan heeled over until he was burying the rail. Even then he saw the side of a big Chinese junk materialize out of the fog, and they avoided a collision by only a few feet. The big pursuing speed boat plowed into the junk and exploded in a fireball that lit up the fog in an eerie hue. A second explosion announced that the second boat had followed the first one into the side of the old junk.
Chuck didn’t bother to ask Chow how she knew when to turn.
“Are you okay?” Chuck said.
“My arm hurt,” she said. “I live.” She was silent for a moment then said, “I get belt stop bleeding.” She crawled under the canvas and was under there forever.
“I could use some help,” Chuck said.
“I bleeding,” Chow snapped at him. “I tie off with belt no so easy.”
Chuck was getting irritated. “Jeff, get off your ass and help her out, would you?”
Chuck kept a rough course but he couldn’t see a thing so he slowed down.