by Brett Baker
“You know exactly what I mean,” Li said. “I mean I’m going to New York.”
“So you’re visiting New York? Something came up, and it’s going to be easier to handle in person, so you’re going out there for a bit and then you’ll be back here in a few days. That’s what you mean, right?”
Li sighed, threw his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, and shook his head. “Don’t be an asshole, Buster. You know that’s not what I mean. I’m leaving. I’m starting without you. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that you’re holding me back. Staying here might be beneficial for you, but it makes no sense for me. With a new administration, we have no idea if this chance is even going to be here three months from now, so why the fuck would I wait? If you want to wait, go ahead. I’m not waiting.”
Buster took three steps toward Li, stopped, threw his hands in the air, spun around, and yelled, “Fuuuuuuuck.” He hit the back of a chair with the heel of his palm. “Are you fucking kidding me, Yuzhan? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Please tell me you’re not actually that fucking stupid. Please tell me that Tu wasn’t wrong about you. He swore up and down that I could count on you. After our first meeting, when you asked me how long I planned to stay in Quanzhou before returning to the States, I said to Tu, ‘You know, this guy seems anxious to move on. I don’t think he’s in it for the long haul. Can we trust him?’ And Tu tells me, ‘Oh don’t worry, Buster. Li’s solid. A rock.’ That’s what he said, Li. The man said that you were a rock. He said I could count on you. And now you’re just going to stand there and tell me he was wrong?”
“Don’t try to turn this around, Buster. Everyone else in this city kisses your ass because you’re an American, but I don’t give a fuck. You don’t get to screw me over just because you’re an American. Fuck you. I’m not hurting myself to help you.”
“I can’t believe you don’t understand this,” Buster said. “I can’t believe you’re so fucking stupid. You mean to tell me that you think it’s in your best interest to go to New York now?”
“Absolutely,” Li said. “I’ve worked this over every which way, and I have no doubt. And I know you’re going to try to talk me out of it, and you’ve probably got some bullshit numbers that you think proves something, but you only know what’s good for you. You only care what’s good for you. I’m tired of doing what Buster wants. I’m going to do what Yuzhan wants.”
“Tell me how it works, Yuzhan.” Buster pulled a chair from the table, spun it toward Li, sat down, and crossed his legs. “You’ve worked this out, so tell me what you’ve figured out. Tell me how it makes sense for you to go to New York instead of waiting three months.”
“I don’t have time for this. My plane leaves in ninety minutes. If you still want in three months from now, I’m happy to have you. But you know how this works. Three months is an eternity in this market, and everything might have already crested and calmed by then. The whole landscape can change with a new administration. It’s going to be big, Buster. Waiting doesn’t make any sense. Not for me. And even though you disagree, it doesn’t make sense for you either.”
Buster started laughing. Not a genuine, hearty laugh, which he always enjoyed, and which he easily fell into, but rather a fake, forced laugh which he used to indicate annoyance and disbelief. “I’ve been planning this for four years. I’ve looked at every single angle possible. I’ve made arrangements in Hong Kong. I’ve made arrangements in New York. I’ve got people working in London, Singapore and Tokyo. I fucking guarantee that there’s nothing you’ve thought about that I haven’t thought about, solved, and forgotten. And now for some reason, after being involved for just a year, you think you’ve got it all figured out. So tell me what I’m missing, Li. Oh great, financial wizard. Please enlighten my feeble mind.”
“Fuck off, Buster. You’re never going to make it big. You’ve got all these plans and dreams, but you can’t get out of your own way. If you were half as smart as you think you are, you would have already made it. I’m doing this now. You can stay here if you want, but it’s going to pass you by, as usual.”
Li turned to leave the room, and Buster shot from his chair, and hustled toward him. He grabbed Li by the arm, and tried to spin him around. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Li said, pulling his arm away. Buster shoved Li out of the way, and rushed in front of him, pressing his body against the conference room door. Li stumbled a few steps back, and shouted, “Get the fuck out of the way, Buster.”
“You’re not leaving this room, Li. We talked about this and developed a plan. If you go to New York now you’re going to fuck everything up. I know you’re too fucking stupid to realize that, but it’s the absolute truth. I’m not going to let you do it.”
“I don’t have time for this shit, Buster. Move.” Li reached for Buster’s chest, planning to grab him by the lapels of his suit, but Buster grabbed his hands, and pushed him back. Li yanked his hands from Buster’s grip, and yelled, “Are you kidding me?” He put up one hand and tried to maneuver his way past Buster, but the American stood his ground, and then swung, connecting a roundhouse right to Li’s left cheek. The blow stunned Li, who had assumed that Buster would acquiesce and get out of his way.
Buster stepped around his partner and back-pedaled, not knowing how he’d respond. With a few quick steps he established space between him and the man he was trying to prevent from leaving the room, ignoring that Li now had an unobstructed path to the door. But Buster’s punch to Li’s face surprised Buster as much as it did Li, and he entered defensive mode.
Li had fallen to one knee, and hadn’t yet moved. He pushed against his cheek with the palm of his hand to relieve some of the pressure that suddenly felt like a squeezing vise. He clenched his eyes shut, opened them, shook his head, and focused on the sign hanging on the wall at the head of the room that read, “Push button to close blinds.” No blurred vision. Li looked at his palm and when he saw no blood, he stood and turned toward Buster.
“I’m sorry, Yuzhan. Instinct. I didn’t mean to hit you, but I need you to listen to me.”
“I’m done listening,” Li said. He walked toward Buster, who backtracked, the two men walking farther away from the exit to the room.
Buster walked around the end of the large conference table and stopped, using the table as a buffer. But Li kept walking, approaching Buster, who pulled a chair out from under the table, spun it around, and leaned on it, using it as a barrier between him and Li.
“I’m tired of watching you treat everyone as though they exist for no other reason than for you to manipulate them. You can’t treat people like this, Buster.” Buster opened his mouth to respond, but Li yelled, “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve had enough of you. I don’t need you. I don’t need your help. I don’t need all of this.” He waved his hands around to encompass the conference room. “I’m doing this by myself. And it’s time for you to learn that you’re not the only person in the world.”
Li charged at Buster, who used the chair as a shield, pushing it toward Li, pulling it back, redirecting it, jabbing it in the direction of the other man. Li grabbed the arm of the chair, and a brief back-and-forth ensued with Li pulling the arm, trying to wrest it away, and Buster pulling the back of it, hoping to fend off his agitated counterpart.
But Li’s fury overcame Buster’s defense, and he pulled the chair away, tossing it against the exterior wall of glass windows. In one swift movement he lunged toward Buster, wrapping his hands around his throat, his momentum forcing both men down. The back of Buster’s head bounced off the floor, sending a shockwave of pain through his body, which Buster ignored as Li began choking him, his hands clutching his neck with anxious fury. Buster reached for Li’s hands and tried to pull them away, but Li wouldn’t let go. As he looked into Li’s eyes Buster saw a vacancy that frightened him even more than having the man’s hands around his neck.
After a second failed attempt at pulling his hands away, Buster looked around for something he could use to brea
k free. Another chair was the only thing within reach, so with a firm grasp on the base, he yanked it toward them. Just as he hoped, the seat of the chair hit Li hard enough that it knocked him off of Buster’s chest. As he flipped over, away and from beneath Li, Buster punched his arms, which broke the man’s grip on his throat.
Buster, coughing and wheezing, stood and scrambled away. He eyed the door and stumbled around the end of the table, near where he sat at the beginning of the meeting, but before he could get away Li seized him from behind. Buster shimmied out of his suit coat, gained another two steps, but couldn’t get away before Li snagged him by the wrist, and pulled him back, throwing him against the front wall of the conference room.
Li leapt toward Buster, punching him squarely in the bridge of the nose as he did. Buster covered his face, which left his body wide open, and Li kneed him in the stomach, before wrapping his hands around Buster’s neck once again.
Still on his feet, Buster struggled and pushed against the wall, sending Li back toward the conference table, but Li regained his footing and shoved Buster away from him. Buster fell into the well-stocked bar cart nestled into the corner of the room. The two glass shelves shattered, and a dozen bottles of booze and as many glasses surrounded him as he broke through to the floor. He watched Li approach.
“We’ve had enough of you, Buster,” Li shouted.
Li looked mad. Crazy. Like something had become disconnected inside and maniacal ferocity had taken over his body. Buster half-expected him to start growling and showing his teeth like a predator on the attack. He seemed primal.
As Li advanced, Buster again looked for anything to defend himself, convinced that he couldn’t subdue whatever hysteria had overtaken Li through conventional means.
Buster let Li grab him by the shirt and pull him to his feet. He put up no resistance, and when Li again wrapped his hands around Buster’s throat, he didn’t try to break free. Li strangled Buster while Buster gathered his courage. When he saw the corners of his vision begin to darken, Buster knew he had no choice but to act.
In his right hand, up to that point hidden behind his back, Buster held the neck of a broken bottle of Changyu brandy. Drops of the alcoholic nectar it had contained dripped from the neck of the bottle onto his hand, burning a cut caused by a piece of wayward glass. But Buster ignored the sensation, and felt as though he’d vacated his body as he raised his arm and brought the bottle toward Li’s head. He gazed at the madman’s neck as he dragged the jagged edge of the bottle from just beneath his ear, down around his throat, parallel to his jawline, piercing the skin. In one fluid motion he left a six-inch gash in Li’s neck.
Li let go of Buster’s neck and howled in startled agony, but Buster had the passing concern that he hadn’t pressed hard enough. In the brief moment he had to examine his handiwork before Li covered it with his hand, Buster thought the wound looked like little more than a deep scratch. If not enough to incapacitate Li, Buster knew his attack would further infuriate the man, which would spell the end for Buster.
But almost as soon as he’d finished the thought, Buster realized that the fountain of blood that poured over Li’s fingers and down his hand, dripping onto his chest and the floor below, couldn’t have come from a scratch. The recognition startled him back to reality, and he called out, “Yuzhan, are you okay?”
He reached out to help the man, but Li shuffled backward, a look of stunned disbelief replacing the look of psychosis from seconds before. “What…” Li said, before gasping once and taking his hand away from his neck. As soon as he let go of his neck blood spewed in a powerful arc, landing on the carpet three feet away. Li threw up his arms, as if under arrest. Buster stepped toward him, planning to hold him up, as if just keeping him from collapsing on the floor would save his life, but before he could reach him, Li crumpled in a heap, the blood still streaming from his neck.
Seconds later, he died.
6
Chapter 6
The boat’s name, Incog, had been painted over years before, but the abrasive saltwater had chipped off some of the paint, so parts of letters peeked through, a brilliant fluorescent yellow set against the drab gunboat gray. Its glory days were decades ago, when it patrolled international waters as part of the most powerful navy in the history of the world.
Incog had changed hands numerous times since suffering severe damage in a torpedo attack in early 1970 off the southern coast of Cambodia while escorting a peaceful flotilla of native fishermen. The U.S. government didn’t want anyone to know that the war had extended to Cambodia, so news of the attack didn’t escape the Gulf of Thailand. The Navy quietly ordered the ship destroyed, but resourceful Cambodians salvaged it and soon sold it to an enterprising Bangladeshi.
That was at least six owners ago, so the validity of stories surrounding Incog couldn’t be verified. At least that’s what Graham told Mia as they sat in chairs on Incog’s deck in the middle of the Pacific, the jeweled night sky spread above them.
“I’ve always thought about navigating by the constellations,” Graham said. “I think I could do it. That’s how man got around this earth for thousands of years, and I refuse to believe any of them were smarter than me.”
“I don’t refuse to believe it,” Randy said. “You’re not all that bright.”
“I’m still your captain though,” Graham said. “Don’t you forget that.”
“How can I forget it when you mention it at least a dozen times a day? I never know whether you’re reminding Fitz and me, or you’re reminding yourself.”
Fitz laughed, and it was obvious to Mia that the three men spent a lot of time ribbing each other. It seemed good-natured, but Mia couldn’t help but wonder whether each man’s comments contained a kernel of truth.
Graham turned away from both men and looked at Mia. “If Randy worried half as much about being a good sailor as he does about being a smartass, he’d be the captain somewhere by now. He’s content with being Gilligan instead of the Skipper.”
“Actually, the Skipper was no genius either,” Randy said. “With those two at the helm it’s a miracle that they didn’t get shipwrecked sooner.”
Fitz chimed in. “I have to agree with Randy on this one. The Professor was head and shoulders above both of them. They did more harm than good, no doubt.”
“Well of course the Professor was smarter,” Graham said. “He was a goddamn professor. Why the hell wouldn’t he be the smartest? I don’t think we have to worry about Randy becoming the professor either, though.”
The three men argued back and forth about the redeeming qualities of the Skipper and Gilligan, forgetting about the Professor, and then concentrating on Mary Ann and Ginger. Randy bemoaned being stuck on the boat with men all the time, and Graham reminded him that they had a gorgeous woman in their company at that moment.
Mia, still skeptical of the fishermen-at-sea story that Graham had told her, listened to the conversation hoping to gain some insight into each man’s personality. Part of her training with The Summit helped her recognize personality types, and she’d used that training, along with her innate ability to instantaneously deduce someone’s motives and moral compass, to guide her away from danger on more than one occasion.
In the hours she’d spent aboard Incog she’d made only two absolute conclusions. The first, which she’d discovered early on, and which every passing moment only confirmed, was that she wasn’t aboard a fishing vessel.
The second conclusion, which took longer to reach, but about which she was just as sure, was that Randy’s ignorance and abrasiveness weren’t genuine. He seemed to be performing, pretending. Mia saw glimpses of intelligence, such as the subtle change to the ship’s heading that Randy made without direction from Graham, only to be instructed moments later to make the exact change he’d made. Randy seemed observant and wise, if also truculent and smart-assy.
She couldn’t deduce whether Randy took on the role by nature, or whether his skullduggery was part of a façade presented by the entir
e crew, a cohesive effort to deceive her.
As the men argued, Mia watched, listened and made mental notes. She didn’t believe Graham’s fishing story, so she hoped that if she absorbed enough information she’d be able to cobble together the truth about the Incog and its crew.
With the men and their banter, and Mia and her concentration, it’s no surprise that none of them noticed as a smaller boat approached the bow, shielded by the absolute darkness afforded by their location in the middle of the Pacific. The Incog had been set to drift along on its heading, which Graham maintained would put them in San Pedro the following night. And with no one at Incog’s controls the fishing trawler had no difficulty intercepting it, despite lacking both Incog’s size and speed.
Seven of the eight men aboard the trawler stood on the starboard side as the eighth man steered the boat along Incog’s bow. Three of the man threw dock lines aboard the Incog and secured the boats together. None of Incog’s four passengers noticed the uninvited guests until they heard footfalls on the deck of their own boat.
Graham reacted first, jolting up from his chair, spinning around and yelling, “Who’s there?”
At that precise moment three of the men turned on hand-held spotlights, flooding the deck with light, and preventing Incog’s four passengers from seeing the men aboard.
Mia raised a hand to her face to shield the light and saw two men, both tall and lanky, approaching her. She turned her body slightly to minimize her profile. Since she could only see two people, but knew there had to be at least three others holding the spotlights, she had no idea what they were up against.
“What do you want?” Graham asked. “How did you get aboard?” He took a step toward the men with the lights, but before he could say anything else a series of gunshots ticked off.
Mia and the others all squatted low to the deck, but additional shots didn’t follow. Instead, a voice from behind the spotlights shouted, “Those were warning shots. Had we wanted to hit you, we would have hit you. Make no mistake about that. It is our understanding that Graham Laughlin is the captain of this ship. Is that correct?”
