by K. T. Tomb
Travis nodded. He had been ready to crash two hours previously, and he felt as if one more caffeinated drink would cause his heart to quit its post and go into full myocardial strike action.
“Did ya cotton on to what those two fellers were up to?” Mayer asked, breathing malt fumes as he put his jacket back on.
“What, the Chinese guys? Losing badly at cards, I guessed. Why, what were they up to?”
“That’s what they wanted us to think, scrappy. You sure ain’t a spook, are you? Think about it. What makes two Chinese open-quotes-businessmen-close-quotes be doing on a Tuesday morning playing cards with guys they can’t talk to and have nothing to say to? They were scoping us out, Chinese Bureau of foreign affairs, most likely. Their diction indicated they were from Shanghai as opposed to Beijing, which could be meaningless—or not. Fucking assholes.”
Mayer tripped over the foot of his own chair as he stood, but recovered his balance well enough. “Oh,” was all Travis could say.
“Anyway, thanks for the game. Listen, we’re having another one tomorrow night, on my boat. Come down, I have some people who actually know how to play the game and aren’t just burning cash to keep an eye on me. Her name is the Easter Ecliptic, can’t miss her. She’s the only one flying the stars and stripes in this hellhole.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Travis replied, nodding his head. “Are you taking her out or just hanging out at the marina?”
“Come on, man! What would be the fun of playing poker on a boat if the losing parties can get up and stroll home anytime they like? We set sail at 6. Be there or be square!”
Mayer shook his hand again, and weaved his way back across the lurid carpet, through the double glass doors lined with polished brass, and threw on a set of shades to shield his retina from the incandescent day light.
What the hell was that about? Travis wondered to himself. Why would Chinese intelligence be interested in Mayer?
Whatever he was doing here, Travis was sure that Mayer’s business interests were more complex than run of the mill imports and exports. He stretched a few clicks out of his back, and left the casino, bound along the north road, back to the hotel, and blessed slumber and oblivion.
Chapter Seven
Savannah woke, showered and left the hotel room, all without disturbing a completely comatose Travis. He had fallen asleep sitting up on the sofa; a full cup of tea with a slice of lemon left untouched on the table. As the door closed, she heard him stir, modulating his level of snoring as some part of his unconscious mind adjusted to the brief change in air pressure. The door clicked softly behind her as Savannah—dressed in a modest summer dress, broad brimmed fabric hat and dark circular sunglasses—descended the external staircase to the ground floor.
Several hours passed without progress, until by chance Savannah found herself on Vauxhall Street outside a restaurant called the Green Cabin. The restaurant overlooked Colombo’s Beira Lake, the short stretch of water bordered on both sides by a single line of trees. Feeling thirsty, Savannah took a seat at the restaurants outside seating area and ordered a glass of lemonade. The furniture was cheap and unvarnished, or had been out in the cloying weather for so long the finish had been worn away under the saline assault of the air and a thousand sweaty bodies. The iced drink arrived promptly, and for a moment she lost herself staring at the water, feeling the stresses of the repeated refusals she had been subjected to flow away into the still waters. Some children were hanging around on the far shore, throwing stones into the lake. They were evidently trying to learn how to skip them, but were having limited success. The best thrower among them could only manage three shallow bounces across the water, but most were too young to achieve the requisite velocity. A red shape moved in front of her eyes, blocking her view of the water. Savannah blinked as she tried to focus on the new, much closer image.
“Do you mind if I sit down? It’s pretty hot today, don’t you agree?” Monica Chen said. She was dressed in a casual red dress, embroidered with gold lilies and with a fashionably cut, white linen jacket. For all the world she looked to Savannah like a nouveau riche tourist on a package holiday. Savannah, barely refreshed from her lemonade and feeling in sudden need of a shower, indicated the wicker chair opposite her across the table. Chen sat down, and ordered a pitcher of iced water with lemon—a far more sensible idea, Savannah realized, than the sugar infused, carbonated version she had just imbibed.
“What do you want, Chen?” she said harshly. “I don’t see what we have to talk about.”
“I disagree,” Chen said, flashing smiling eyes at the waiter as he brought her pitcher and a glass. She poured, leisurely taking her time. “I’m going to do you a far greater favor than you deserve. I’ve been made aware that you have been attempting to investigate the financial irregularities currently being experienced with Sri Lanka’s diamond imports…” She paused and held up a hand as Savannah poised herself to interrupt. “No, no. Please, don’t deny it. Do me that credit.”
“And what of it?” Savannah replied. “Alpha Adventurers is a legitimate investigative outfit, unlike your own operations, I might state.”
How could Chen sit here bold as brass and presume to proselytize about the Alphas business? She, a criminal, identity thief, perpetrator of grand larceny, assault; attempted murder. Chen chuckled lightly, but there was no genuine mirth.
“Legitimacy is a strange term, Savannah. What is legitimate from one perspective is an aggressive interloper to another. I’m trying to help you out, if you would listen.”
“Help me? I think I can do without your particular brand of help. Friends of mine get hurt when you swan in,” Savannah replied. In her mind’s eye, she saw Travis, lying on the basement floor, bleeding out slowly.
“You’re well on your way to getting yourselves killed quite without my help,” Chen said. “I’ll let you in on a little secret; you are being played, not by me. In the early hours of this morning, our dear Travis met a man for a game of cards, who subsequently invited him for another game on board his boat, to take place this evening. Of course, you know this already.”
Savannah did not know this. Travis had been fast asleep when she had left that morning. Suspicion, focused and searching bloomed inside her. What was Chen’s angle for telling her this? Was it a lie? She reasoned that it was probably true. If Chen was telling her this seemingly innocuous fact, and one that would be easily corroborated by Travis she must also presume that Travis had told her about his card game. Unless Chen was also watching their hotel room—which simply didn’t bear thinking about.
Chen went on.
“This man is, as I am sure you have suspected, a contractor for certain shadier elements of the United States government. He is solely behind the pressuring of the diamond importers to fraudulently reject perfectly usable diamonds, which are then taken north by boat to be delivered to Tamil Tiger terrorists.” Chen’s voice never rose, as if she was relaying some frivolous commentary about the weather.
“Are you really expecting me to believe that the Pentagon is running a diamond heist in Sri Lanka? Come on, Monica, even by your standards this is absurd,” Savannah said.
“Do you think so?” Chen said. “Put aside your hatred for me and listen to what I am saying. Why would Mayer be funneling wealth to the northern rebels? Stop thinking about your pride and think about the bigger picture!”
Savannah couldn’t help herself. Her analytical mind compiling information together, applying logic.
After a moment, she narrowed her eyes at Chen. Despite being shielded by her dark glasses, they held a strange expression carried by flexing eyebrows.
“Alright, I’ll play your game. Geo politically, Sri Lanka is a unique case. India is an economic and military powerhouse on the doorstep, which makes the Sri Lankans nervous. Their diplomats are well known to be courting the Russians and Chinese for closer economic ties, which makes sense. Mayer is surely aware of that—if he is who you say he is. I can’t fathom why he would want to support the
Tigers though. They were crushed by the military here a few years back; they’ll never return to their former influence.”
Chen tutted at her.
“Americans… so prosaic, so linear. As if everything always has to have a clear goal in each particular case. Fine, I will spell it out for you, since you are too stupid to realize for yourself. Mayer funnels funds to the Tigers, the Tigers start rattling sabers again. What does the Sri Lankan government do? Of course, they will build up their military forces again. What happens next?”
The penny dropped. Oh, this was a complete mess. “If the Sri Lankans need to quell another uprising, they’ll need more weapons—wait, do you mean to tell me this is all about getting weapons deals for Northrop Grummond or whoever back in the States wants to sell?”
Chen slammed her glass down on the table. “Oh, that doesn’t even matter. The point is destabilizing the region. Who the Sri Lankans buy guns from doesn’t matter. Even if they do the more logical thing, which is to come to us. If Sri Lanka decides to have another civil war, India’s eyes will be on it. China and Russia will look south, not west. At least for a little.”
“So this is just a game to keep the Chinese and Russians off balance? That’s it, right?” Savannah said.
“You know, I think that partly, it’s because Mayer and the people he represents simply enjoy sowing discord,” Chen said, leaning in to whisper to Savannah. “But what I will say is that you are in grave danger.”
“From you, of course,” snapped Savannah. She was tiring of Chen’s games, despite the undeniably interesting theory she was telling her.
“Again, the arrogance of Americans simply astounds. Would it be so far in the fields of fantasy to realize that not everything the world does—or I do—is about you? Do you really think that people like Mayer would allow you to uncover what represents over six months of work and being stuck in this hellhole?” Chen’s hand snaked out and grabbed Savannah’s wrist, pinning it to the table, vice-like. “If you know anything about the nature of what money truly is, and that it is simply currency, you will know that true money is a lot harder to come by than simple paper bills. Raw diamonds are untraceable, they hold their value, and are accepted all over the world. Mayer could have run a hack on a bank and got the same value of notes in a week. I am here to protect the interests of China, not myself. If Mayer succeeds, it will be a difficult situation for us. If you continue down the path you are on… or rather, if Travis Monahan gets on that boat tonight, Mayer will take home the greatest success imaginable to his paymasters.”
Chen waited for her words to sink in.
“You’re MSS. Ministry of State Security?” Savannah said.
“Partly. Mayer and I share more things in common than I would like.”
“You are saying that Mayer leaves for the rebels tonight, and Travis is a diamond, real currency. If he’s identified as an American citizen being on this diamond case and suddenly turns up as a Tamil hostage… Dear God. There will be an international incident.”
Savannah buried her real thought deep down. Travis would be used as a bargaining chip in a sham to force the Sri Lankan government’s hand to come down hard on the rebels. The rebels, no longer an existential threat would probably be crushed, but at a great cost in civilian lives. The specter of imperialism loomed large in her mind, and over Sri Lanka as a whole.
“Get out of Sri Lanka, Savannah. Leave this to the professionals, ok?” Chen released her wrist, threw down the last sip of water from her glass, and got up to leave. Almost as a second thought, although Savannah knew that it must have been a planned and calculated move, Chen withdrew a small business card from her shoulder bag and dropped it casually on the table.
“If you have any problems with getting a flight, please let me know. My superiors will be only too happy to buy you both tickets away from here. Good day, Savannah. Give my regards to Travis,” she said, turning on her heel and casually walking away, up the river bank as if she had just been catching up on some daily gossip with a friend.
Savannah checked her watch. The sun was still a ways above the horizon, but the time was getting close to six in the evening. She thought about leaving the card on the table where it fell, but found herself sliding it into her own purse. She had to get Travis. Whether Chen was lying to her or not didn’t seem to matter anymore. This time, Alpha Adventures were seriously in over their heads. For once, she found herself hoping that it was just another misdirect by Monica Chen, designed to keep her guessing while Chen herself machinated another audacious heist, but the gnawing sense that her words were true remained with Savannah on the long walk home, to the hotel room which held only a note from Travis, saying he had made contact with Mayer.
Chapter Eight
Travis Monahan had left the hotel room several hours before Savannah had met Monica Chen. He had slept only four or five hours under the cool air of the hotel air conditioning unit, and would have slept longer but for the irresistible encroachment of daylight, which wormed and slithered its way through his eyelids, shutting down the flow of melatonin from his pineal gland. The much-desired, long, deep rest, after a full night of gambling and winning, was thus impossible. As he woke, he was thankful only for the lack of hangover as he’d been sure to drink coffee, then water to rehydrate. He dressed and ordered room service; it was the only way he could get the sunny-side up eggs and bacon breakfast that he was craving. He took a hot shower and dressed and with his stomach full of delicious, greasy food, he left the hotel and went shopping. It felt good spending the king’s ransom of poker winnings. He purchased a new watch for himself, a pair of sunglasses, and three new shirts. The ones he had been wearing were slowly eroding through the combined effects of sunlight, moisture and his own sweat. If he was to take part in more high stakes poker with Mayer later aboard his boat, he had better look the part. The shirts he had bought were simple cotton button up affairs, with no logo. Classy, and would work well with his new watch, Travis thought. His own financial frivolity sated for the moment, with the looming excitement in his belly of the interplay of gambling ahead, he returned to the hotel room, stopping once to buy Savannah a silver bracelet set with opals. It wasn’t so expensive as to embarrass her as a gift, and he felt that she had at least earned it for allowing him to follow his plan of tracking Mayer down.
He still wasn’t sure what his game might be. He wrote a quick note to Savannah, giving her the details of his game that evening, and placed the note atop the jewelry box containing the bracelet. He had hoped to give it to her himself, but it was now half past six in the evening. A note would have to suffice. He showered, dressed in his new clothes, trimmed a few errant hairs from his beard, and slid his sunglasses into the breast pocket of his linen jacket. The jacket, cream in color, seemed to his eye to clash in a strange way with the white shirt he had bought. If Savannah was here, she would tell him his sartorial mistake at once, but in the end he shrugged it off, and left for the marina.
The sun was finally beginning to set when Travis arrived at the southern harbor. It turned out to be little more than the utilization of the spur of the main harbor to shelter the play things of the wealthy from the colossal wakes of the bulk freighters that relayed with startling rapidity from the main harbor delivering goods and leaving laden with more. At some point, the diamonds Travis and Savannah were looking for would have come in through this route, Travis knew. Hell, there was probably another shipment on its way at that very moment, or was in one of the dockside warehouses, laying ready to be skimmed and sent on to who knows where.
The Easter Ecliptic turned out to be more opulent than Travis could possibly have imagined—and he had quite the active imagination as it was. Navy blue hulled, over fifty yards in length with what appeared to be an ingenious triple deck system—or rather, it certainly was to Travis’ eye. The lower deck was of course in the hull itself, with a raised bridge enclosed in dark glass, and sat atop it was a sun deck, with what appeared to be a small pool. The stern of the ship faced th
e dock, with gangways set up to allow the embarkation of passengers. From a hundred yards away, Travis could see Barnes moving to and fro along the gangway, greeting a series of well-dressed Sri Lankans—evidently the opponents for this evening’s game. He checked his watch again, and was sure he wasn’t late. Still, it wouldn’t do to miss the boat, not now when he was so close. Travis moved to join them, the thoughts running through his mind about his earlier suspicions about Mayer. It seemed to be inconceivable that this man could be a mere agent of the CIA or some other agency. No department would spring for a ship like this, no matter the reason. Even with the Pentagon spending fifty dollars on a hammer, it would surely be impossible for them to rustle up what appeared to be a thirty million vessel for the use of one man.
Barnes met Travis at the dockside, and extended a hand in welcome. Travis took it. “Mr. Mayer told me to expect you. I just wanted to apologize for roughing you up. No hard feelings?”
Travis warily assessed the burly man’s expression, which seemed genuine. The bruises had had received in that encounter had still not fully healed, despite Savannah’s ministrations.
“None whatsoever, it’s forgotten. Is Mayer here?” Travis asked.
“Below deck,” Barnes said, his voice deep and mellow, like listening to sonic chocolate. Barry White deep, though thankfully without the seductive overtones of the Walrus of Love. Barnes turned smartly on the narrow wood beneath his feet, and led Travis aboard. The deck he arrived on was, if anything, further beyond Travis’ expectations in the same manner that the yacht itself had been. Light wood played a naturally prominent role in the design, buffed and polished to a mirrored sheen. Whoever had the job to go round with a cloth clearing up spilled sun lotion had an impossibly vast task, so prevalent was the uniform perfection of the furnishings. At the stern of the ship where he had alighted were placed two low reclined sofas, clearly placed there so Mayer could, if he so chose, relax as his boat sped through the waves and listen to the engine, feel the spray. A young Malay man in a crisp shirt, jacket and bow tie bowed slightly to Travis, and as a relay it seemed Barnes handed off responsibility for him.
