The Diamond Queen of Singapore

by Ian Hamilton

  She fast-forwarded to near the end. Rogers was still pacing and talking, but his tempo had increased and his voice soared whenever he wanted to emphasize a point. Ava saw that a large number of people were now standing with their arms extended and their palms facing forward. Some swayed back and forth. The pastor’s combination of movement and timbre had obviously made an impact. Even though she thought the message mundane, his delivery was mesmerizing. But when he fell to his knees and raised the Bible above his head, all she saw was a man working at manipulating his audience. It became too much for her, and she turned off the video.

  Enough of this, she thought as a yawn overtook her. The day had been stressful. The following day promised more of the same, but she was making progress and the end might even be in sight.

  Ava slept fitfully that night, expecting her phone to sound any moment with news from Todd Howell. When she woke for the last time, at seven, there was still no word from him. She started her day with coffee, followed by a trip to the hotel gym. Two hours later she was making her way downstairs to head for the airport.

  SilkAir was a wholly owned subsidiary of Singapore Air and provided the same lounge privileges. Shortly after eleven Ava was in the SilverKris Lounge, settling into a leather easy chair with a double espresso and a plate of har gow and cha siu bao next to her on a table. She ate slowly, careful not to get any of the chili sauce she’d slathered on the dumplings on her shirt. When she’d finished, she went to get another espresso and carried it back to the chair with a copy of the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times international edition.

  Both papers had headlines about the U.S. president feuding with his own intelligence experts over the reliability of the data they were providing him. Why he would doubt his own people and put more trust in what foreigners were telling him was a mystery to Ava. She wasn’t political, at least not in any partisan way. She always voted and she donated to candidates whose character and general views she respected, regardless of their party affiliation. In Canada the differences among the various parties weren’t that extreme, so she had actually supported candidates from three different political parties at various times. That would have been difficult to do in the United States, where visceral extremism had become the new normal.

  The Times also had a story on the trade issues that were causing increasing tension between China and the U.S. Given the Three Sisters’ investments in Shanghai and Beijing, this was something of keen interest to her. Chi-Tze Song, one of their senior executives who helped manage the PÖ fashion line, had been urging them for months to move their clothing production to Sri Lanka, where labour and overhead costs were much lower, leaving Shanghai as the design centre and headquarters. Amanda had discussed this informally with Ava and May Ling but wasn’t ready to make a serious pitch.

  Ava suspected that if a trade war erupted between the United States and China, the duties on finished goods going to the U.S. and on raw materials entering China would force them to relocate. She made a mental note to call Suki Chan, who managed their warehousing and logistics businesses in China. Any disruption in trade would affect those sectors as well, and Ava wanted to know if Suki was making contingency plans. As she contemplated the possibly tricky future for Three Sisters, her phone sounded. No incoming number showed on the screen.

  She hesitated but finally answered, “Ava Lee.”

  “This is Todd Howell.”

  “Your number doesn’t show.”

  “I’m using our home line. It’s programmed as a private number,” he said.

  “Well, I’m glad I picked up.”

  “We’ve been trying to get some extra information, but it looks like it’s going to be a challenge. So I thought I’d fill you in on what we have now. I figured you’d be anxious.”

  “I have been anxious. Thank you for being so considerate,” Ava said. “What have you found?”

  “Someone has been injecting a lot of money into the Harvest Table Chapel organization. It started four years ago but really picked up in the past two years. We have no idea where the money originates. That’s what we’re trying to nail down.”

  “The money is going to the organization? What about Cunningham and Rogers? What’s their financial situation?”

  “Cunningham has a salary of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year. He lives in a house that’s worth well over a million and is mortgage-free. He has about four million dollars invested in stocks and Canada Savings Bonds. His wife has no income.”

  “So obviously he’s doing something on the side.”

  “And in all likelihood so is Rogers. He has a lifestyle that goes well beyond his salary of two hundred and fifty thousand, and he has more money stashed away than Cunningham,” Howell said. “But Ava, even combined, their net worth is peanuts compared to what’s been going into the organization.”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  Ava heard the rustling of paper, and then Howell said, “We followed up on your suggestion and looked into how much it cost to build the chapel and buy the land it stands on. They paid sixty million dollars for the two hundred acres, and it cost approximately another thirty-five million for the building and the infrastructure — driveways, parking, sewers — they needed to support it. They had a combined mortgage of eighty million on the land and the building.”

  “Had a mortgage?”

  “Exactly. For the first two years of its existence the Chapel’s income of weekly donations, some tithing, gifts, and a few bequests was sufficient to service the mortgage, cover the overheads, and leave a million or so in the bank,” Howell said. “But then four years ago they paid down the mortgage by five million. The next year they put seven million against it. Then things really accelerated. Two years ago the mortgage shrank by twenty-two million, and last year it was paid down by thirty million. In four years an eighty-million-dollar mortgage has been whittled down to sixteen.”

  “But you don’t know where the money came from.”

  “No. All we’ve been able to access is the mortgage records. We haven’t been able to get into the chapel’s bank account, and that’s what we’re working on.”

  “Which bank has the account?”

  “Eastern Canadian Commerce.”

  “Do you have any contacts there?”

  “Yes, but none who would breach their fiduciary duty and give me access to the account.”

  “Not even for a price?”

  “Is that what you did in Amsterdam? Pay someone for access?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t always do that. Sometimes I trade favours,” Ava said. “In the game we’re playing, everything is fair if the only people getting hurt are the thieves.”

  “Even if I agreed with you, my partners wouldn’t. They get sticky when it comes to ethics.”

  “Are they sticky about ethics or reluctant to spend money?”

  “A bit of both, actually,” Howell said.

  “So how do you plan to access the account?”

  “We’re trying to get in through the back door.”

  “You’re trying to hack into it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your partners won’t find that unethical?”

  “I won’t tell them, and the cost is minimal.”

  “Then good luck. If you need extra help with the hacking, Mr. Gregory’s son-in-law, Derek, is quite talented.”

  “I’ll keep him in mind if my regulars come up short,” Howell said, then paused. “Can I ask what your immediate plans are?”

  “I’m getting ready to board a plane to Chengdu.”

  “I can hardly believe the way you keep pushing forward. Was it always like that when you were on a job?”

  “Always. There’s no other way to do it. The moment I let up is the moment when I lose the advantage. I’ve got Muir and Cunningham in my sights, and I’m not going to give them a chanc
e to evade me.”

  (27)

  Ava was wondering how she would connect with Han as she entered the arrivals hall at Chengdu Shuangliu International Airport. Her question was immediately answered when she saw a sign with her name on it being waved over the heads of a wall of people waiting to meet passengers. She worked her way towards the sign, quickly realized she couldn’t penetrate the human wall, and went around one end of it. The man holding the sign was peering straight ahead and didn’t see her as she came at him from a different direction. He was startled when she said, “Hi, I’m Ava Lee.”

  “I’m Willie Lin,” he said, recovering his composure. “The boss is waiting for you outside.” Willie was still in his twenties, Ava figured. He wore jeans and a plain black T-shirt, was of medium height and build, and had no tattoos. His main distinguishing feature was an abbreviated mohawk haircut that was bleached blond.

  “Then let’s go,” she said, expecting him to offer to carry her bag. He didn’t. Instead he just turned and started walking away from the crowd.

  Ava followed Willie across the arrivals hall to an exit door. Like every airport in a major Chinese city that she had visited in recent years, Chengdu’s was new and had been built with the future in mind. The crowd at the arrivals gate aside, the rest of the hall was sparsely populated yet vast enough to accommodate thousands of people. Ava and Willie made rapid progress towards the door. He held it open for her and she emerged onto a sidewalk that faced six lanes of traffic.

  In the lane closest to the terminal, a line of expensive cars was parked at the curb. “The boss’s car is in that direction,” Willie said, pointing to the right. They walked past several Mercedes-Benzes, a Land Rover, a Porsche, and a Jaguar to a white SUV, where a man with heavily tattooed arms leaned against the front fender. The SUV was a Haval H6, one of the top Chinese-made models. When the man saw them approaching, he straightened up and opened the rear passenger door for a man whom Ava assumed was Han. It was her turn to be startled.

  Over the years she had encountered many big men. Suen, Xu’s Red Pole, was six feet four of rippling muscle. Uncle’s former bodyguard and driver, Sonny Kwok, was almost as large and had a temperament that made him even more fearsome. Ava had inherited Sonny when Uncle died, and although he lived in Hong Kong he was still part of her team, ready to do her bidding at a moment’s notice. For a man his size Sonny was incredibly agile, and one of the few people Ava had ever met whom she wasn’t sure she could best in a fight. The man standing on the sidewalk watching her walk towards him gave her that same impression.

  Ava guessed he was about six feet eight inches tall. He was massive across the shoulders and chest and had a thick waist with no visible fat; his lightly tattooed arms looked like tree trunks. When he got out of the car, she noticed that he was nimble and light on his feet.

  “Greetings, xiao lao ban,” he said with a slight smile. “I’m Han.”

  Ava looked into a face that was full of contradictions. Han’s smile and his eyes seemed welcoming, but the right side of his face was split by a scar that ran from the middle of his forehead, across his eye, and down the cheek to the bottom of his jaw. The scar was bright red; like the one on Ava’s leg, it looked as if a very long worm had come to rest on his face.

  She smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Han, though I’m a bit confused by your calling me xiao lao ban. I’m nobody’s little boss.”

  “Just call me Han. It was our mutual friend Lam in Guangzhou who told me that’s how Xu’s men refer to you. He thinks it’s complimentary. He also thinks it’s fitting — he has a very high regard for you.”

  “Lam and I have done some business over the years, and I owe him a great deal. If he ever called in all his favours, I’m not sure I’d be able to meet them.”

  “That’s like me and Xu. I’ll never be able to repay him for what he’s done for me. I’m hoping your business here will be successful so I can pay back a bit of that debt.”

  “If it is, it will be great for both of us,” Ava said. “Now, when do we meet the people from Golden Emperor?”

  “They’re expecting us at their factory at six-thirty,” Han said, looking at his watch. “Traffic is heavy now, but we should make it on time. Believe me, though, they won’t leave if we’re a bit late.”

  “Who are we meeting?”

  “The Yang brothers, Fat and Smart. I don’t know who gave them those nicknames, but Smart is almost as big as Fat, and neither of them is especially intelligent.”

  “It sounds like you know them well.”

  “I’ve known their family for years, but I suspect I’ll know them even better after our meeting today,” Han said, and then turned to Willie. “Put Ms. Lee’s bag in the trunk.”

  Ava climbed into the back seat, where Han joined her. Although the SUV was spacious, she doubted they could have fitted a third person in the rear. The car moved away from the curb and joined the line of traffic leaving the airport.

  Ava gazed up at a dull grey sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” she said.

  “That’s smog,” Han said. “Chengdu has finally outdone Beijing and Shanghai in one area, and that’s air quality. We have the worst pollution of any city in the country. My grandchildren aren’t allowed to go outside at school. My daughter wants to move to the country, but her husband is my Red Pole. What’s he going to do there, raise pigs?”

  Ava looked at him again, surprised at the reference to grandchildren. To her eyes, Han looked to be in his early forties. “Who’s to say that a triad couldn’t raise magnificent pigs?” she said.

  “Five hundred years of triad history.”

  “There is that,” Ava admitted.

  The car made its way onto the Airport Expressway going north. As Han had indicated, traffic was heavy, and the Haval couldn’t go much faster than thirty kilometres an hour. As they crawled along, Ava looked out the side window at a familiar sight in large Chinese cities: row upon row of high-rise apartment buildings and, in the distance, skyscrapers in the centre of town. It was dusk and most of the buildings were brightly lit, making them seem more impressive than she expected she’d see in daylight.

  “How far to downtown?” she asked Han.

  “It’s about fifteen kilometres north of here, but we’re not going in that direction. We’ll be heading east, away from the Qionglai Mountains. The Yangs’ factory is in an industrial park that was one of the last developments approved for that area.”

  “Why was development stopped? That’s unusual in the new China.”

  “The industrial park is close to a large primitive forest that’s a giant panda habitat. There was an outcry when people thought the pandas might be endangered. It seems that the only two things you can’t do these days in China are to criticize the Communist Party and threaten giant pandas.”

  A few minutes later the car left the expressway and started along a highway that was less congested.

  “This is good. If it stays like this we’ll be on time,” Han said as he looked at his watch. He turned to Ava. “I don’t mean to pry, but I heard rumours that Xu was having health problems, and I thought you might know something. He’s an important man in our brotherhood, and we all want to see him continue on.”

  “Why didn’t you ask him yourself when you were speaking to him?” she asked. “I’m sure he would have been truthful.”

  “It would have been awkward. I mean, my reason for wanting to know is that I care about him, but he might have thought I had an ulterior motive. Being suspicious is an essential trait in Mountain Masters who plan to survive for very long.”

  Ava lapsed into silence and looked out the window again as she calculated how many people knew about Xu’s illness. Was this his way of testing her? Lam knew about Xu, of that she was certain, and if he and Han were close, the information could have been shared. And what was the harm if Han did know? Xu was functioning normally again, and
now they knew the symptoms, any relapse could easily be identified and dealt with.

  “He had meningitis,” she said. “It was caught in time and he was treated. He’s operating at one hundred percent again, and there’s no reason to think he won’t be doing that for many years to come.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Han said with a slight nod.

  “Not many people know. I don’t believe Xu would appreciate it if the information went beyond this car.”

  “I know how to respect a confidence,” said Han.

  Ava nodded and decided it was time to change the conversation. “Tell me what you know about the Yang brothers. How did they get into the pharmaceutical business?”

  “It’s the family business. It’s been around for ever.”

  “The micro-lab?”

  “No. Before it became Golden Emperor MicroLab, it was called Golden Emperor Herbal Remedies, and before that Golden Emperor Herbs. I know the two brothers are at least the third generation of Yangs in the business, because I remember my grandmother going to their grandmother to buy dried herbs. She sold herbs to treat every ailment under the sun.”

  “But how does one go from selling dried herbs to manufacturing synthetic opioids?”

  “The brothers’ father bridged the gap. He built a factory that put the herbs into pill and capsule form. I guess once you know how to make pills and capsules, the process is the same no matter what the ingredients are.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” Ava said.

  “Me neither, but it’s the only explanation I’ve got.”

  “Boss, we’re getting close,” Willie said from the front seat.

  Outside, the scenery had shifted from apartment buildings to low-rise factories of various sizes. The car left the highway, took a left, and entered an industrial park. There was a dull sameness to the buildings until they reached the end of a street and turned right into a dead end. Straight ahead was a sheet metal fence and a steel gate topped by razor wire. Behind them loomed a windowless grey structure that was tall enough to have four or five levels inside. The name Golden Emperor in yellow metal letters at least a metre high was fixed across the front wall.