by Peter Grant
“If you’re giving him a laser–sighted pistol, Inspector, please make it an infra–red laser that’s invisible to the naked eye,” Wu added. “Lieutenant, I’ll issue you a pair of these eyeglasses. They’re not for optical correction — they provide night vision, magnification and a few other very useful tools, including an infra–red filter that reveals weapon sighting beams in that spectrum. I’ll have one of my staff teach you how to use them. There’s no sense in using a visible–spectrum laser beam if an assassin might take advantage of it to pinpoint your position.”
“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that,” Steve replied as Gilon nodded his agreement. “I’m supposed to be discharged from hospital this afternoon. If I’m to help you planetside, where will I be staying, please, Sir?”
“I thought of reserving a room for you in the transient officers’ quarters at the Sector Base, but that would make it more difficult to use you as bait. With Inspector Gilon’s assistance, we’ve booked a room for you at a very nice hotel in central Ashkelon. Your travel kit is already on the way down from the System Patrol Service base, and BuIntel will give you a spending allowance to cover meals and other expenses. Full security will be provided.”
Steve grinned. “If I’m going to be treated like this whenever I get shot, Sir, I’ll have to follow Lieutenant–Commander Kilian’s advice and arrange it more often.”
“Despite my earlier comment, I’d really prefer you didn’t do that, Lieutenant,” Kilian responded dryly. “The Fleet will start to ask awkward questions if too many of our watch–keeping officers get shot too many times. Besides, BuIntel’s budget will only stretch so far!”
~ ~ ~
Miriam came down from orbit next morning to attend the news conference. Steve spent an hour with her fielding questions about the fight aboard Vargash, the discovery of the smuggled rhodium, and his injury and recovery.
Finally, one of the journalists asked, “Lieutenant Sabran, since Lieutenant Maxwell will be spending a few days planetside to recover from his injury, do you plan on spending more time with him socially rather than professionally?”
She smiled. “Yes, I’m taking him to supper tomorrow at Mordechai’s. I think, after all he’s done for us, it’s only fair to spoil him at one of the top restaurants in Ashkelon before he goes back to Fleet rations.”
After the news conference, Steve grinned at her as he asked, “I hope BuIntel’s expense account is paying for our meal?”
“It’d better be! Mordechai’s is far too expensive for a junior lieutenant’s salary!”
Wu smiled. “Since you’re helping us, you can both enjoy yourselves at our expense for the next day and a half. A security team will be available to escort you, but if you don’t advertise your movements, you should be OK. I expect those we’re after will have watched this morning’s news conference. In their shoes, I’d plan to take advantage of your known movements tomorrow night.”
As Wu spoke, Steve stiffened at a sudden inspiration. This may be the perfect time to use my relationship with the Dragon Tong! They may be able to provide information about who’s behind this. I can offer them information about the jade knife as an incentive — and I can begin to set up an eventual handover of the knife, too. Enough time’s passed that I can claim my search has borne fruit. Good thing I saved copies of those pictures I took of it for Vince, years ago on Vesta. Better not mention it aloud, though. I bet Commander Wu and APD wouldn’t be happy to know one of the Fleet’s officers was involved, even at arms’ length, with the settled galaxy’s most dangerous criminal organization!
He asked casually, “Inspector, back when we were shipmates aboard Sebastian Cabot, Albert Murrin mentioned a restaurant in Ashkelon called the ‘Royal Golden Dragon’. He said it was the best of its kind he’d ever come across. Is it still operating?”
“Yes, it’s still going strong. I’ve eaten there myself once or twice. It’s very good.”
“Thanks. I’ll have to try it for myself.”
Steve thought to himself with satisfaction, Good! That’s the Tong’s usual name for their restaurant ‘front organization’ on the major planets where they operate. I’ll try to shake off Miriam and everyone else, and have lunch there today.
~ ~ ~
Steve pulled his rented runabout into one of the few vacant spaces in the Royal Golden Dragon’s parking lot. He got out of his car, adjusted the loose jacket covering his sling to make sure he could get at the pistol inside it if necessary, and walked towards the restaurant’s double doors, fingering the white jade disk in his pocket. He’d retrieved it from the Fleet Depository after graduating from OCS, on the strength of an inchoate, nagging presentiment that it might possibly come in useful one day, and carried it since then in his personal gear. Now he was grateful for his prescience.
The maître d’hôtel greeted him smoothly. “You have no reservation, Sir? Then there will be at least a thirty–minute wait for a table, I’m afraid. We’re very busy during lunchtime, as you can see.” He motioned to the crowded dining area behind him.
“I understand,” Steve assured him. “I’d like to speak to the manager, please.”
The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Is there a problem, Sir?”
“No, not at all. Would you please give him this?”
He took the jade disk from his pocket and handed it to the headwaiter, who accepted it in his white–gloved hand and glanced at it. His expression froze into immobility. He turned the disk over in his fingers, inspecting the characters incised into both sides, then looked up.
“Sir, we appear to have a table available after all. If you’ll please follow me, I’ll seat you, then take this to our manager.”
“Thank you very much.”
The headwaiter escorted him personally to a table in a private alcove on a second–floor balcony, running around and overlooking the main dining area. It was a very similar layout to the one Steve remembered at the Tong’s restaurant on Vesta. The headwaiter seated him, murmured instructions to a black–uniformed waiter hovering nearby, then excused himself.
The waiter bowed to Steve. “I’ll bring you the chef’s selected appetizer of the day, Sir, and a bottle of wine recommended by our sommelier as a fitting accompaniment for it. Meanwhile, please look through our menu and wine list. There is no charge for an honored guest such as yourself.”
The appetizer proved to be delicious, as did the white wine accompanying it. However, Steve had time for only a couple of mouthfuls before the manager arrived. He looked to be in his mid–thirties, a short, stocky man with movements that hinted at muscle rather than fat beneath his formal suit. “I understand you wish to see me, Sir? I am Xin Mu, the manager on duty this afternoon.”
“Yes, thank you.” Steve rose and shook his hand. “I’m — “
“You are Junior Lieutenant Maxwell of the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet,” he completed the sentence for him. “I saw vid of you at a press conference this morning. Congratulations on your success earlier this week.” He laid Steve’s jade disk on the table.
“Thank you, Mr. Xin. That’s what brings me here. Please sit down for a moment while I explain.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
The waiter pulled out a chair for the manager as Steve resumed his seat. When they were settled, he continued, “That disk was given to me by the Red Pole of the Dragon Tong on Vesta several years ago, in return for assistance I’d been able to render to the Tong in… a certain matter. He advised that if I ever needed help, I should show that disk to the Tong.”
Xin held up his hand. “It would not be appropriate for me to hear more, Lieutenant. I shall inform our own Red Pole of your need, and bring him or his representative to your table within an hour. Meanwhile, please relax and enjoy your meal.” He rose to his feet. “I shall return as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Xin. Please ask him to check your records about an investigation I’m conducting on behalf of the Tong. This visit partly concerns that matter.”
Ste
ve enjoyed three more delicious courses recommended by the waiter, but declined more wine, sticking to water so as to keep a clear head. Tactfully, Steve’s food arrived already cut into portions suitably sized for someone eating with one hand. The waiter poured coffee and a local liqueur to round off the meal.
Steve had finished half his coffee when the manager returned, with another man following him. The new arrival was of medium height and powerfully built. Steve noted that his walk was balanced and alert, clearly that of a trained martial artist. His black hair was close–cropped over a round face, unremarkable except for his piercing dark eyes.
“This is Mr. Wang Qiangshui,” the manager introduced him. “He will be able to help you further.” He nodded to the waiter. They walked away from the alcove in different directions. Each stopped several meters away, out of earshot, and stood with their backs to the alcove, clearly ready to divert anyone seeking to walk along the balcony.
Steve half–bowed to the new arrival. “I’m Steve Maxwell. Thank you for coming so quickly. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”
“Not at all.” Wang returned Steve’s formal half–bow and sat down. “One who bears a token such as yours is hardly an inconvenience to us. I understand it was given to you at Vesta?”
“Yes, by the Red Pole of the Dragon Tong there. His name was Wang as well — a relative of yours, perhaps?”
“Almost certainly a distant relative, but I don’t know him personally. Wang is a very common family name among those of Chinese origin.”
“I see. I’d been able to render him a service, and I’ve continued to send annual reports to your Vesta branch in connection with an investigation I’m conducting for the Tong. Mr. Wang gave me the disk as a means to make contact with the Tong elsewhere, in case of need.”
Wang nodded, and displayed a signet ring on his finger bearing the same Mandarin character that was silver–inlaid into the disk. “I hold the same office in the Dragon Tong here on Midrash. I’ve checked our records, as you requested, and found that our people on Vesta have kept the Tong informed about your annual reports — thoroughly disguised and encoded, of course, so as not to risk identifying you. How may we assist you?”
Steve took a deep breath. He’d made up the story he was about to spin out of whole cloth. He’d managed to convince the Tong’s branch on Vesta of his sincerity, so he felt confident of his ability to do the same here.
“First, and most important from your point of view, I have some news of my search.” He reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. “Three years ago I learned of the existence of another of Bosun Cardle’s friends, a man presently in the merchant service. Gaining his trust was aided by the fact that the Bosun had mentioned my name to him; but his ship trades on the far side of the settled galaxy, well over two thousand light years away, with no direct trade routes between us, so communication with him has been very slow and circuitous.
“After several messages back and forth, each taking four to six months to make the one–way trip, I broached the subject with him of the jade knife of Lei Sik Hoi. He didn’t reply for some time, and when he did, he expressed fear — even panic — at the prospect that others might learn of our discussion. I had to assure him of the security of my communications, and guarantee secrecy about his name and location, before he’d go any further. He finally accepted my assurances, and sent me these images. I’ve just printed them.”
Steve handed the envelope to his host, who opened it and took out several photographs. The Red Pole gazed in fascination at the jade knife they depicted. As he watched Wang look through them, Steve thought, Good thing I kept those pictures all these years. If the Bosun could see us now, I bet he’d be laughing!
Wang asked slowly, almost reverently, “These… is this…?”
“Those are very similar to the images I saw in the possession of Bosun Cardle on Vesta, several years ago — the ones he showed to Mr. Lamington, a jade dealer on that planet. Mr. Lamington identified the knife as being that of Lei Sik Hoi, based on a picture and description in a scanned copy of a book, and on information contained in a reward offer circulated from Old Home Earth. At the time, of course, I had no idea of its importance. However, I also don’t know whether his identification of the knife was correct. It seemed to me that before going any further, I should ask the Dragon Tong whether this is, in fact, the right knife. I imagine you have experts who can identify it?”
“Not here on Midrash, but at Qi… on another planet, I’m sure there are people who can do that.” Steve grinned inwardly as the Red Pole almost slipped up and named the planet Qianjin. Bosun Cardle had told him it was widely believed to be the Dragon Tong’s home base, its government said to be controlled by them from top to bottom. “I’ll send these to our people there at once. Do you have the raw images?”
“I do. I’ve put copies on this data chip for you.” Steve reached into his pocket and handed over a chip. He’d previously erased all identifying data in the image files, then converted them to and from four different formats, resizing them every time, to make sure nothing in each file could indicate its origin. “I figured it was best to bring the pictures to you here,” he continued, “rather than send them all the way back to Vesta, because that would minimize any delay in identifying the knife. If it’s the one we want, I can take the next step.”
“And that is?”
“To try to arrange to get the knife from him — and that’s going to be very difficult indeed, because he doesn’t have it in his possession any longer. He learned of the Bosun’s and Mr. Lamington’s deaths several years ago, and heard about the intense search for the knife. In his panic, he buried it on the planet he was visiting at the time, in the hope that he’d never be connected with it. He’s still terrified of being murdered for it as well.”
“But we’ll pay him a fortune for it! The reward for its recovery currently stands at ten thousand taels of gold.”
Steve blinked at hearing that the knife was now worth the equivalent of more than twelve and a half million credits to its discoverer, but strove to keep his composure. “He doesn’t fully trust anyone about something like this — not even me. All he knows for sure is that his closest friend in the world, and the person to whom his friend showed pictures of the knife, were both murdered. Put yourself in his shoes. Can you blame him for his caution? He told me frankly that he intends never to retrieve the knife. His exact words were, ‘It can sit in the ground and rot, for all I care’. I don’t even know on what planet he buried it.”
Wang winced. “The ancestors forbid! We must recover it at once! If you give us his name, and the name of his ship, we can ask him for the details — “
“No, Mr. Wang.” Steve’s voice was firm. “When I embarked on this quest several years ago, the Dragon Tong — in the person of the Red Pole on Vesta — agreed that I could keep the names of the Bosun’s friends confidential, for a number of reasons. I’m going to stick to that agreement. Even more important, I’ve given this man my personal assurance that I’ll never identify him to the Tong. If I hadn’t done that, he’d never have told me as much as he has, or sent me those photographs.”
“But — but… what if he should have an accident, or die from disease, without saying any more? The knife would never be recovered.”
“True; but my word is my bond. That’s an old–fashioned attitude, I know, but the Bosun was an old–fashioned man in many ways. It’s one of the reasons I honor his memory; and for that reason, I’m not prepared to go back on my word.”
Wang gave a long sigh of frustration. “Then what will you do?”
“There are three things, all dependent on whether you can identify that knife as the one you seek. If it is, my first step will be to try to persuade my contact to retrieve the knife from where he buried it and send it to me anonymously, so he can’t be traced through it. If he wants the reward, I’ll offer to make arrangements for him to receive it. If he won’t do that — and given the delay in messages, it’ll be up to
a year, perhaps even longer, before I know — then I’ll ask him to tell me where the knife is, so I can go to that planet and retrieve it myself. That’ll cut him right out of the loop, and minimize his exposure to danger. I can try to arrange a posting in due course to a Fleet ship operating near that planet, once I know where it is. Alternatively, I can take a leave of absence and travel there privately.
“If neither approach works, I’ll point out to him that if I return the knife to the Dragon Tong, I can ask the Tong in return to help me with information about pirates and the piracy problem. I can use that in my Fleet career to put some real hurt on them, which will help to avenge Bosun Cardle. I spoke about that with your counterpart on Vesta some years ago.”
Wang nodded. “He recorded your suggestion and passed it up the line. I read about it just before coming to meet you.”
“Good — then you understand my motivation. I think that’s likely to be a powerful incentive for him, too, given that pirates killed his best friend. He may want proof of it before committing himself. If so, I’ll contact the Tong to see what can be done to satisfy him.”
“I daresay we can provide some suitably… impressive information to convince him that your relationship with us is worth pursuing.”
“Very well. I think one of those three approaches will produce results. It’ll take a long time to obtain his approval; perhaps a few more years, given communications delays, and possibly the necessity for me to arrange a posting or leave of absence that’ll allow me to retrieve the knife. Still, I’m fairly confident that in the end, you’ll get it. I think those pictures are proof that I’ve been working on your behalf for the past seven years. I hope you’ll trust me to continue to do that.”
Wang nodded slowly. “They’re certainly convincing evidence of your efforts. Very well. I’ll pass on your points to my superiors, and await their response.”
“Thank you. In the meantime, I hope you can help me with more immediate information, to help me stay alive long enough to recover the knife for you.”
