Hong Kong

by Mel Odom

  It wasn’t the most graceful escape I’d ever managed.

  “Over here!” Gobbet waved us to a door and we scrambled down a hatch.

  Well, Lo didn’t scramble. Duncan threw the ganger down into the schooner’s hold.

  The cramped interior rocked slowly, then more quickly as the powerful diesel engines shuddered to full speed.

  “The 289s are gonna jam you up for this.” Lo sat on the floor, hunched over and pouting like a kid. He wiped blood from his nose and mouth.

  “If you don’t can it,” Duncan promised, “I’m going to jam up your face.”

  Chapter 57

  Raymond Black Is Who?

  Duncan and I oversaw the handoff to a car Mr. Johnson had arranged for the pickup. I didn’t recognize the guys, and they weren’t the talkative sort. We weren’t either, though Lo spewed enough threats to make up for all of us. I was sick of the guy by the time they took him off our hands.

  When we got back to the Bolthole, it was late. I figured Is0bel and Gobbet would be asleep, or at least unwinding. Instead, they were waiting up for us and looking tense.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “We’ve got more information on Josephine Tsang and Tsang Mechanical Services,” Is0bel said. “A couple runners—Warg-sub and Clevermire Underfoot—who owed me favors managed to score some intel Auntie didn’t give us.”

  “Spill it.” I grabbed a couple beers from the fridge and handed one to Duncan.

  “In 2011, Tsang Mechanical Services was a D-level corp floundering in the shallow end of the Hong Kong corporate pool,” Is0bel said. “That’s when Josephine Shui married into the family. Josephine thought big. She conceived of a massive project that would catapult TMS into the big time. Something she called the Prosperity Project.”

  The name instantly rang a bell.

  “Prosperity?” Duncan sat up straighter. “That’s what Raymond was mumbling about.”

  “What’s the Prosperity Project?” I asked.

  “Once upon a time in the 1900s,” Is0bel told us, “the Walled City was a densely populated slum. Something like thirty thousand people crammed into six and a half acres.”

  “We already heard this story,” Duncan said. “Shithole. Hell on Earth. Yadda yadda yadda.”

  “That’s today’s Walled City,” Is0bel said. “The second Walled City. The first Walled City started life well over a hundred years ago, and lasted through both World Wars and almost to the Awakening. It was torn down in 1994, when the government had finally had enough. It had become such a haven for criminals that the cops would only enter it in large, well-armed groups.”

  “Still sounds familiar.” Gobbet stroked the heads of two of her little friends, evidently channeling some of their calmness.

  “In 2021,” Is0bel went on, “Josephine Tsang proposed a vision for a new type of low-income housing project. The Prosperity Project. A self-contained, low-cost walking neighborhood for the poor, but on a grand scale. The Prosperity Project would give Hong Kong’s poor and the flood of refugees pouring into the country a place they could call their own. Something that felt more permanent than the sprawling tent city that spontaneously sprang up after the first Walled City was demolished. The slogan was, ‘A Place of Destiny—Where Prosperity Begins.’”

  Duncan scratched his chin with a thumb. “Sounds like something Raymond would buy into.”

  I silently agreed.

  “The apartments weren’t much bigger than the space you’d get in your average coffin motel, but they were built around plazas and marketplaces that contained goods and services catering to the poor. The government forgot the lessons of the last Walled City. They loved the idea of containing the refugees and the poor to only a few densely populated blocks. It kept them out of the public eye.” Is0bel paused for a moment. “Securing the contract also secured Tsang Mechanical Services’ fortunes. It eventually put Josephine Tsang onto the Executive Council.”

  “One slum made her rich?” Duncan asked.

  “It’s a very big slum,” Is0bel pointed out. “Apparently that was also the beginning of a series of lucrative building contracts that propelled TMS into the big time.”

  Duncan grew impatient. “Where’s Raymond come into all this?”

  “Raymond Black doesn’t come into it at all,” Is0bel said. Before Duncan could protest, she added, “But Edward Tsang does.”

  “Edward Tsang?” I asked.

  “That’s your foster father’s real name.” Is0bel watched us with pensive interest.

  Duncan and I couldn’t speak.

  “Raymond Black was actually Edward Tsang,” Is0bel told us, “the only son of Josephine Tsang and her late husband, Breakwater Tsang. Edward was in charge of laying out the groundwork for the Walled City—excavation and utilities, running in power lines, sewage, that kind of thing.”

  I couldn’t focus. I wasn’t ready to address the old man’s real past. I seized the most disparate bit of the story. “What kind of name is Breakwater?”

  “Cooler than he was, apparently.” Is0bel smiled. “Breakwater Tsang was kind of a nobody—the nothing son of the company’s nothing founder. The best thing he ever did for his company—or his family—was marry Josephine. Then die of a heart attack and get out of her way.”

  “Wait.” Duncan breathed out in frustration. “This doesn’t make any sense.” He looked at me. “Remember that massive gray water leak that flooded the basement back in ’48?”

  I did. “Yeah. Remember what happened to Mrs. Malony?”

  “You mean her feet?” Duncan winced and grunted in disgust. “They swelled to like three times their normal size. Yeah, thanks for bringing back that memory.” He paused. “But think about it. Did Raymond have any idea of how to fix that leak? No. He didn’t know the first thing about sewer lines. He hired a small army of plumbers, probably paid ’em double what the job was worth to fix the thing, and it still took almost two months to get it under control.”

  “Not much of a utility expert,” I agreed.

  “I don’t think Raymond had anything to do with the utilities in the Walled City,” Is0bel said.

  “So if he wasn’t in charge of the utilities for the project, what was he doing down there?” Duncan asked.

  Is0bel shook her head. “I don’t know. But Edward Tsang disappeared from the public eye around 2031, shortly after Prosperity was completed.”

  “That was about the time he moved to Seattle,” Duncan said. “Around thirteen years before he found us.”

  “But what happened in the Walled City?” Gobbet asked.

  “And what would make Raymond want to go back in there now after all of these years?” Duncan asked.

  Is0bel shook her head. “I don’t have a clue.”

  I took a breath and let out, keeping myself calm. “We know more,” I said. “We know more now, and we’ll find out more as we go.”

  Chapter 58

  Rivals

  Duncan and I couldn’t stay in the Bolthole after Is0bel’s bombshell. Both of us were too wired to sleep, and I wasn’t looking forward to more nightmares, so we decided to go see Kindly Cheng. Is0bel stayed with the ship to search the Matrix for more history or clues. Gobbet walked with us.

  “I think I can add a little context to that thing between Auntie and Josephine Tsang,” the rat shaman told us. “You know, the thing that makes Auntie hit the sauce and talk revenge. This is a combo of stuff I heard and stuff I put together over a few drinks with Anita Blanco and Gamege, two shadow buddies of mine, so your mileage may vary.”

  “You know more than we do,” Duncan said, trying not to sound sour about it, but failing miserably.

  Gobbet didn’t take offense. “For years, the Yellow Lotus acted as tax collectors within the Walled City. Since the Walled City was built by Josephine Tsang, and the Yellow Lotus was run by Auntie Cheng, they must’ve had a working business relationship…for a while, at least.”

  We passed a bunch of old men playing cards on a boat, and didn’t
resume talking till we were out of earshot.

  “From what Nightjar told me—he was her favorite, you got that, right?—Auntie was known as a real up-and-comer back then. She was on the fast track to be the next Yellow Lotus 438. That’s a big-deal gig. Money and power galore. Now, you need to know there were a lot of triads and corps doing biz in the Walled City. All sorts of stuff. Sometimes they worked together nicely, and sometimes people got bloody.”

  “That happens in any organization,” Duncan said.

  Gobbet nodded and petted one of her rats that slithered out onto her shoulder. “The way I heard it, Auntie came up with some sort of grand plan to consolidate business in the Walled City. The power would be split between the Yellow Lotus and Tsang’s company, and everyone else would get cut out. If her plan worked, Auntie would rise in the Lotus like nobody’s business, and Josephine would make long bank.”

  “I guess that didn’t last long,” I said.

  “There was a catch, though,” Gobbet agreed. “In order for the plan to work, both women would need to jump through a lot of hoops. There’d be street-level maneuvering and power-plays on Auntie’s side, and blackmail and negotiations on the corporate level from Josephine Tsang.”

  “So it was matrimony made in Hell,” Duncan said.

  Gobbet continued petting her little friend. “My info gets sketchy here. From what I’ve pieced together, Tsang went behind Auntie’s back and took her plan to her boss, a 438 named Wong Lun Fat. The two of them cut Kindly Cheng out of her own plan.”

  “Why’d Tsang do that?”

  Gobbet shrugged. “My guess is that she saw Auntie as some sort of threat. People in the know say that Wong Lun Fat is weak and greedy. She can be manipulated if her palm is well greased. Long story short: power was consolidated in the Walled City, just like Auntie planned. Only she didn’t wind up getting any of it. Her climb up the Lotus ladder came to an abrupt halt. She’s still a Straw Sandal, just like she was before Tsang backstabbed her. And now she’s stuck in Heoi like a fly in amber.” She kicked a wonton box into the stinking canal. “If it were me, I’d be pissed, too.”

  Kindly Cheng wasn’t at the mahjong parlor when we got there, but Bao was.

  “You should wait,” he told us. “Kindly Cheng has business to tend to. She will be in touch when she wants you.”

  Having no other destination in mind, we stopped at a small diner and had soykaf. Before we’d barely settled down, our commlinks pinged to let us know we’d gotten a new message.

  I opened mine, and saw it was from Kindly Cheng.

  I’ve got another job for you—one that should prove very lucrative indeed. I’ve been contacted by an employee of the Eastern Tiger Corporation, and he needs you to steal some research data and biological samples from his employer.

  The man’s name is Tigath Wright. Until recently, he was a researcher on a genetic engineering project—he was cagey with the details, but I gather that it centered around phenotypic alteration and post-natal genetic enhancement.

  Unfortunately for Wright, he’s got a conscience. Stupid man. Luckily for us, he’s willing to pay to have his conscience assuaged.

  Wright’s project was apparently quite horrible—experiments on living children, total disregard for biomedical ethics or safety, and when he raised concerns, he was taken off the project. He’s decided to step outside the bounds of the law and expose their “wrongdoing” to the world.

  The snag, you see, is that his wife and child live in Seoul—not quite the heart of Eastern Tiger’s power, but close enough. He’s afraid that if he releases the information himself, they’ll be taken prisoner and used as leverage against him. The idiot should have thought of that before, but that’s not our problem.

  The samples and data are currently on an Eastern Tiger cargo ship—the MV Nalchi—sailing near Hong Kong, on the way to Seoul. The storm’s slowed the ship down, so you don’t have to go right away, but don’t take too long.

  Once you have the data and samples, you’re to call Wright. I’ve attached his number. He’ll give you instructions on how he wants the information leaked.

  When you’re ready, let me know. I’ll arrange transit with Captain Jomo. He’s a local Loho-Jowah pirate and smuggler, but don’t let that put you off. He’s as good as they get, and he’ll have you on that ship without incident.

  I tried calling her back. She didn’t pick up. I glanced at Duncan with a quizzical expression.

  “She’s not going to play till she’s ready,” he said. “I’m too mad to sit around. If there are skulls to bust, I’d rather be busting skulls.”

  I nodded, called to leave a message, and set up the meet with the pirate captain.

  Chapter 59

  Boarding Party

  Just before midnight, the sky spat toxic rain strong enough to burn bare skin. We wore black ponchos over our combat gear, which also allowed us to conceal the heavy armament we’d brought for this run. All of us expected a high level of protection on the freighter.

  Captain Jomo was young and fashionable, an elf with a Mohawk that would have been stylish if it weren’t for the wind and rain. An abbreviated mustache and goatee framed his lips. He was talking into his commlink when we stepped over to him.

  “Come on, Jomo. Win, not lose! Maybe buy yourself that new hat!” A sad, high-pitched riff played on the commlink, and the skipper cursed. “Stupid game. Always, it cheats me! Never a good hand.” He looked up at us and smiled. “Kindly Cheng sends you, lah? You need Captain Jomo to take you to play pirate?”

  His lilting accent made Is0bel smile. “That’s right.”

  “Come!” Jomo waved us toward his boat. “Board the Swift Dream! We are on a tight schedule, and the sea does us no favors tonight!”

  Jomo was right about the sea. Fifteen- and twenty-foot waves lifted the Swift Dream and turned the voyage into a long, turbulent nightmare. All of us stood in the pilot cabin, none of us wanting to trust belowdecks. Jomo handled the wheel with an expert, relaxed flair, somehow managing to hang onto a cup of steaming tea while steering.

  “I see you are worried about this!” he shouted over the gale thundering outside the Plexiglas. “But you should not be. This is nothing. I’ve been out on this sea when the waves could drown skyscrapers.”

  He spun story after story between curses, talking about all the ships he’d pirated during his years. Evidently he was a lot older than he looked, but that was how elves were.

  Long minutes later, the black hulk that was the Nalchi swelled out of the darkness. The freighter was a thousand meters in length, and towered above us. I didn’t see any guards at the stern as the Swift Dream closed the distance. We were running without lights, just a shadow on the sea.

  “Be patient,” Jomo advised. “I will have you there soon. See? I told you this would be easy.”

  One of his crewmen went forward and popped a grappling gun out of a deck hatch. When we were within thirty meters, the crewman fired the grapple on Jomo’s order, and the hook sailed over the railing, trailing a nylon rope ladder after it.

  “There you go,” Jomo said. “Now hurry. I make this look easy, but it is quite difficult to maintain pace without smashing to pieces against that ship’s hull.”

  “You’ll be here when we need a ride back?” Gobbet asked. She frowned at the whirling sea, obviously rethinking her decision to accompany us.

  “Sure, sure.” Jomo nodded. “Kindly Cheng won’t pay me unless I bring you back.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “So don’t get yourselves killed and cheat me out of my wages!”

  Out on the deck, I took the lead and fought my way across that swinging nylon ladder while sea salt stung my eyes and tested my grip. Finally, I reached the stern railing and pulled myself over onto the heaving deck. I slipped the DMSO trank rifle from my shoulder and extended the folding stock. All of us were using the trank weapons so we could go in silent and not kill if we didn’t have to.

  Dimethyl sulfoxide was an organosulfur compound that dissolved compou
nds to liquid. It was also used as a cryo-protectant to prevent cell death during freezing. We’d loaded ours up with a powerful anesthetic that guaranteed the sailors we put down would be out for an hour or more. The ship’s near-AI piloting systems would keep the ship safe, and we’d be gone before the effects wore off.

  Once we were all on board, Duncan unhooked the grapple and tossed it into the water. The sailor reeled it in as Jomo steered his craft away.

  “It’s too late to wish you smooth sailing,” Jomo called over the commlink. “Instead, I wish you luck from the shadows.”

  “Just be there when we’re ready to leave,” Gobbet said.

  We crossed the stern, listening for sec klaxons to blare, but all we heard was the storm raging around us. We halted by the open door that allowed access to the amidships deck. I pointed at the sec cam arrays posted around the freighter.

  “Give me a minute with the terminal,” Is0bel said. “I can take down the sec cams.”

  She opened her case and plugged in her cyberdeck. She finished up in a matter of minutes while we waited tensely.

  Gobbet had turned gray.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Maybe. I think so.” She swallowed. “I’ve never been out on water like this. Always had the good sense to stay on land during storms.”

  Three of her furry companions clustered around her neck, gently patting her with their tiny paws.

  “There we go,” Is0bel said when she rejoined us. “I’ve rebooted the camera, patched them into our commlinks, and locked ship security out.”

  I brought the cameras up on my commlink and flicked through the views, spotting the sailors standing guard in the rain. Evidently the ship’s captain liked to be thorough.

  “Good job,” I said.

  “I couldn’t get into the cameras inside the ship, though,” Is0bel said. “They must be on a different circuit.”

  We went forward and took positions behind crates as we tracked targets with the sec cams and the nightvision scopes on the rifles. One at a time, we took down the crewmen, hauled them into the shadows, and left them zip tied.