With no other directions, Sullivan set out down the dark alley. “Alley” was a bit of an overstatement, since it was really more of a garbage-strewn rut between two rotting, slightly leaning tenement buildings. He looked up, almost expecting to catch a loose brick in the face. He couldn’t even see the Sun through all of the many clotheslines and dangling laundry. It never ceased to amaze him just how oddly quiet a place like this could be only a tiny distance from so much noise. Half a block later he found Heinrich, Lance, and a third man waiting for him next to some stinking trash cans.
Unlike Heinrich, Lance wasn’t even trying to be in disguise. Though shorter, their Beastie was so thick through the chest and arms that it would’ve been impossible to try to hide among the local populace, and that was before taking the lumberjack beard, which he refused to shave off, into consideration. Lance was dressed normally and had probably been smuggled in like Sullivan had. Pirate Bob had so many connections that getting forty Grimnoir into the city was a piece of cake. Lance was looking distracted, surely watching their tail through the eyes of some convenient animal. “They’ve lost Jake and they look mad.” His eyes seemed to refocus as he came back one hundred percent. “They’re searching and I think one went for help.”
“Killing them now would simplify matters,” Heinrich suggested.
“Only briefly,” said the stranger. He was a young Chinese man, dressed in one of those big silk shirts with the extra buttons that reminded Sullivan of pajamas. “If they sound the general alarm, the secret police will turn over this entire district looking for the perpetrators.”
“Of course. Save the alarms for later. We will need to snatch a few of them for questioning eventually.” Heinrich’s smile was the only thing visible beneath the shadows of the hat. “Forgive me . . . Sullivan, this is Zhao, one of the few Grimnoir still in Shanghai.”
The young man had a warm, friendly smile, but he possessed the hard eyes of someone who’d seen a lot. “I will serve as your guide while you are in Shanghai. It is a very dangerous place.”
“That’s Joe?”
“Zhao,” he corrected. The top of his head was barely even with Sullivan’s chest. He was either still a teenager or one of those baby-faced fellows who would look like a kid forever. “My name is Zhao.”
“Sorry. Good pronunciation ain’t exactly my strong suit.”
“My apologies, Mr. Sullivan. I struggle with it as well.”
“You seem to do okay.”
“In a city such as Shanghai, it is vital for the knights to be able to understand many languages. No one expects an errand boy to be able to listen in to their private conversations. I also speak Japanese, French, and a bit of Russian and German.”
Heinrich’s enormous hat tilted to the side and, always suspicious, he asked something complicated in German. To his credit, the kid only had to think about it for a second before rattling something off back to him. Heinrich responded, sounding pleased.
“English is my best though. An American knight lived with our family for a time while he was spying on the Imperium. I first learned English from him. Later, I relearned to speak it when I got work in the British section.”
“Relearn?”
“The American knight who taught me was from your state of South Louisiana.”
“There are forty-eight states, and I’m pretty sure South Louisiana isn’t one of them,” Lance said.
“I lived in New Orleans for a bit. South Louisiana’s a state of mind.” Sullivan chuckled. “How old are you?”
“I am nearly sixteen.” Zhao said, but he didn’t seem offended. He was probably used to that reaction from folks. “Do not be concerned. I know Shanghai better than anyone. I have lived here my entire life. I was a courier for the English bank, so there is no section of the city I cannot get you into. I set up this meeting as you requested, and I will provide whatever assistance you need while you are in the city.”
Sullivan had only been a few years older than that when he’d slogged through the blood and hell of Second Somme. When times were tough, you didn’t get to be a child for long. Hell, look at what Faye had accomplished before she’d gotten killed . . . “I’m sure you’ll do.”
“I do not know what has brought you to Shanghai, but I have heard rumors about Pershing’s knights and the things you have done, such as killing Iron Guard Madi and fighting the Chairman on his own ship. Madi murdered many of my friends. It is an honor to meet you.” Sullivan thought it looked like Zhao wanted to bow, but he resisted the urge and instead held out his hand to shake. Apparently the kid hadn’t quite grasped the idea behind an American-style handshake, because it felt like a wet fish, but the kid seemed enthusiastic. “We must hurry.”
“Lead the way,” Heinrich suggested. It was a perfectly reasonable idea, since none of the rest of them knew where the hell they were going, but more than likely it was because Heinrich was so paranoid that he didn’t want someone he’d just met walking behind him.
“We must cross through some of the buildings which were abandoned during the Japanese invasion. The only reason they have not been torn down is because it benefits the gangs to have places to hide things. Do not speak for a time. Voices echo for long distances in the empty places.” Zhao took them a bit further down the alley, through a broken doorway, and down a long flight of stairs. They hurried along a tunnel that had to go under the street, and then up a ladder and through the basement of what felt like an abandoned apartment building. There were rats scurrying along the corners, but right on the other side of the boarded-up windows could be heard the bustle and clamor of the market.
There were bullet holes in the walls. Bits and pieces of building materials were strewn about, which Sullivan recognized as the telltale leftovers of fragmentation from shelling. It had been a few years since the free city had last gotten uppity against their Japanese guests. The Imperium had bombed the hell out of the troublemakers. The parts of the city that had been badly damaged had been abandoned and left to decay. He spotted the occasional signs of human habitation, but whoever the squatters were, they avoided contact. It didn’t matter how close these buildings were to falling down, if you were poor enough, at least it was still a roof overhead. It was fascinating how the neighborhoods that were for show were as modern and beautiful as any city in the world, but right next door was a wreck like this.
Fifteen more minutes of crossing back alleys and run-down buildings took them into another basement. “We should be able to speak freely now.” Zhao moved aside a rotting bookshelf to reveal what looked to be a mining tunnel. “The meeting place is not much farther.”
Sullivan poked his head inside. The air was hot and damp in his lungs. It hadn’t been carved for someone his size. This wasn’t going to be fun.
“You got a city, you’ve got smugglers,” Lance said as he admired the tunnel’s workmanship.
“And the Whangpoo River is right on the other side of the wall. Du keeps pumps running constantly. Should these tunnels be discovered, then the gangs can simply flood them for a time. Shanghai makes crime into an art form.” There was an electric hand torch just inside the entrance. Zhao had to thump the battery a few times before it engaged. “If we’re lucky, the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu will merely think they lost their suspicious American to one of the brothels.”
“A brothel? Now that would’ve been a much better place for a conspiracy to meet!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Talon. Every brothel in Shanghai that allows westerners is watched by the Imperium. They take many useful blackmail photographs that way.”
“I was only kidding, Zhao. Not that I’d mind having my picture taken with the lovely ladies, as long as I got one of them to frame for myself. Hang it right on the trophy wall. On that happy thought . . .” Lance clapped Sullivan on the back. “How was your trip in?”
“Long.” After the Traveler had been hidden a few hours to the south in a small village friendly to Pirate Bob’s marauders, they had started secretly ferrying knights and equipm
ent into the city. Sullivan, because he tended to stick out in a crowd, had been towards the end of the list, and his particular trip had included a midnight rowboat ride and climbing up a rope onto a freighter. “So, Zhao, what’s this toku koko thing?”
“They are the Imperium-controlled special police force. They are a plague. Shanghai is a free city in name only. Nearly all of China has been conquered by the Japanese, but supposedly we remain neutral here with an independent government and many international observers. It is all a lie so that the Imperium has a place to conduct business with the west. To most, Shanghai is a city of pleasure and leisure, but the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu are always watching, murdering those of us they call insurgents, and gathering information to blackmail visiting businessmen and fools.” Zhao sounded resigned. “There are pretenses made about Shanghai being free, but we all know the instant we go against the wishes of the real masters, we are crushed.”
“Sounds like the Imperium way.” It wasn’t too different from the Chicago way, when you thought about it.
“They are merciless. They allow the city’s gangs to operate, but only as long as they continue to provide useful intelligence, and sometimes, when necessary, enforcers. The men you will be speaking with are sympathetic to our cause, but are not to be trusted. The gangster known as Big Eared Du is the most powerful crime boss in Shanghai. He is my cousin, and he hates the Japanese, but he will only help us if it benefits him.”
“Cousin? Really?” Lance answered.
“Yes, but I barely know him,” Zhao insisted. Sullivan didn’t have room to judge, since his brother had been an Iron Guard. “Du only cares about what benefits him most. Nothing ever changes here. I really do not know what you expect to accomplish with this meeting, my brothers.”
Sullivan was forced to crouch. The walls were slick. Humidity collected on the ceiling to speckle them with a constant drizzle. “Okubo Tokugawa is coming to Shanghai for a visit, and when he gets here, we aim to kill him.”
“That is a good one.” Zhao’s laughed. The others didn’t. “Wait . . .” The hand torch turned back to face them. “You are serious?”
“Of course,” Heinrich said, “and we will require the assistance of every knight in Shanghai to do it.”
The young knight was looking rather glum. “There are not very many of us left. The Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu has been very effective against the Society. We were infiltrated by a spy and our identities exposed. Most of us were taken from our homes during a single night, never to be seen again. The rest have been living under false names and moving constantly. We know of Tokugawa’s upcoming visit, but any attempt against his life in the past has been a complete failure, even with overwhelming force. There is nothing we can accomplish now.”
“We brought three dozen Grimnoir with us,” Lance said.
“That should occupy the first few Iron Guards’ time. What do you intend to do with the other hundred?”
“That’s part of the plan. We want Iron Guard there.” Sullivan said. “The more the better.”
“We will be slaughtered!” Zhao snapped. “I do not think you Americans realize how—”
“Listen, Zhao. You’re not talking to tourists.” Lance’s voice was level and calm. “I know your people have gotten bled, and believe me, I feel for you. We’ve all dealt with them before, and we’ve got a plan. I’ll fill you in on the whole thing once it’s safe. We pull it off, and we will rock the Imperium to its foundations.”
“You know perfectly well how fearsome a single Iron Guard can be in battle, but you have never seen the depravities which occur when they engage in total war. I have. You are in their home territory now. They will not be discreet here. In America, they sneak in the dark and put a knife in your back. In Shanghai, they drag us from our homes during the day and execute us in the strets for all to see!” Zhao was getting worked up. “They will crush their attackers and glory in every moment as an example to the populace that they should cower. Our bodies are drug through the streets and hung from the bridges, and then every man, woman, and child they suspect of having conspired with us is purged. The fortunate, beheaded on the spot, and the rest sent to the schools to be experimented on!”
“Then you must understand how dire our mission is when I say that an end such as that sounds like an acceptable risk,” Heinrich said. “And all of it is preferable to our fate should we fail. I’m afraid we bring very bad news.”
“That is the only sort of news I know . . .” Zhao just shook his head and started walking down the tunnel. “We must continue on or we will be late. We do not wish to keep the criminals waiting. Another attempt on Lord Tokugawa, the few Grimnoir that remain here will have no choice but to flee. We will not survive another crackdown.”
“Then it is time to move elsewhere, for we must do this.”
“Move? This is my home. I have fought for it my entire life. I will continue to do so, but I wish to understand what you are hoping to accomplish by committing suicide.”
Sullivan thought Zhao seemed like an earnest young soldier, but the Grimnoir in Asia were practically cut off from the rest of the world. They’d suffered so much already at the hands of the Imperium, it would be almost impossible to convince them that the Enemy was actually the greater threat. “Get me to this meeting, let me speak with your leader, and I’ll make him understand.”
Zhao’s shoulders sagged. “I do not think you realize how dire our situation is here in Shanghai, Mr. Sullivan . . . I am the leader.”
It didn’t matter that Sullivan couldn’t speak a lick of Chinese. Gangsters were the same everywhere, and Big Eared Du had a better stranglehold on Shanghai than Al Capone had on Chicago. His manner, the look on his face, the way he sat there, looking smug because he had something that somebody else needed and that gave him leverage, it was always the same with men like this. Du was a king, and the dark side of Shanghai was his kingdom. He ran the Yuesheng Greens, a criminal army nearly twenty thousand strong, and nothing big went down in this city without him having a piece of it.
The king’s table was the only thing illuminated in the vast space of the warehouse. There was a single powerful work lamp dangling over them. The smoke from Du’s cigar floated in the yellow light. He was skinny and oily, living up to his nickname with some stupidly big ears. And when he smiled, Sullivan counted three gold teeth.
The Grimnoir knights sat at one end of the table. The mobster and his lieutenants sat at the other. The rest of the warehouse was supposedly empty, but Sullivan didn’t even need to use his Power to know that there were men watching from the shadowed catwalks above and that there were probably rifles trained on their hearts the whole time. Somebody like Du didn’t take any chances. Sullivan wasn’t big on chances himself, so he used his Power just a bit in order to inspect the world around him, breaking everything down into its components, bits of mass, density, and forces . . .
Twenty men, all bearing long bars of steel and wood. No less than six of those were pointed at the Grimnoir, braced against the railing of the catwalk above. One of them was particularly heavy, suggesting a machine gun. Even the two pretty ladies who kept on pouring them liquor and bringing odd oriental snacks had small guns hidden inside their skimpy dresses. Sullivan didn’t drink the booze or taste the little cakes. Gravity couldn’t sense poison. The small army of bodyguards was far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to overhear the conversation. Which was wise, considering that the subject of their meeting would be considered treasonous, even by crime-lord standards.
Poor Zhao was translating. The burdens of responsibility were heavy. He may have been young, but it was doubtful if he’d ever actually been a kid. Sullivan could see that now. He’d listened to the American’s plan, gotten the pertinent details, and hadn’t hesitated to make a call. He’d picked a direction and run. Keep him alive long enough to gain some experience, and he’d probably go on to accomplish great things. Problem was, with what they were up to, the odds of staying alive that long ranged from slim t
o none.
The leader of the Shanghai Grimnoir had, as far as Sullivan could tell, told Big Eared Du exactly what they needed him to. They didn’t need the big picture. They just needed to do their part. “I am afraid what you are asking is very dangerous.” Zhao scowled, listening as Du’s right hand man spat out a bunch of complaints. “Dangerous and very expensive.”
Lance looked over at Heinrich and nodded. Their Fade reached into one sleeve, untied a knot, and pulled out a long cloth bundle, which had been wrapped around his forearm. He tossed it onto the table. The left-hand man snatched it up, dragged it over, and unwrapped it. There were a whole lot of Grover Clevelands in there. Left-Hand Man started counting. He said something to his boss, which Zhao quickly translated. “The new American gold certificates. These are all a thousand dollars each.”
“Yeah, President Roosevelt is confiscating all our gold and giving us paper instead,” Lance explained. “But those are legit.” Zhao went ahead and translated that.
Du laughed and muttered something to Left-Hand Man. Zhao seemed puzzled. “He says that taking real money and giving you their paper money, which is only as good as they say it is, maybe your government and ours aren’t so different after all.”
“They’re all about the same thing,” Lance muttered. “Bossing folks around.”
Left-Hand Man finished his count and seemed pleased. Paper money still spent, and it was easier to move through Du’s gambling parlors, whorehouses, opium dens, and racetracks than sacks of gold. Left-Hand Man held up the money, and one of the serving girls snatched it up and disappeared back into the dark. Francis would never miss that much money, but on general principles, if Du sold them out, Heinrich could always walk through the walls of his safe house and get it all back.
This whole time, Sullivan could feel a gentle prickling in the side of his head. Sure enough, a man with Du’s kind of pull was bound to have a Reader on staff. They were subtle, but not good enough. They’d discussed this before, so Sullivan had made sure to concentrate on the big, obvious stuff. It would simply corroborate everything they said. Sure, if Du’s Reader wanted to push hard, he could come up with the rest, but that would tip their hand, and gangsters never liked to tip their hand when this kind of money was on the table.
Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 24
