Stealing the Dragon cwi-1

by Tim Maleeny

  “This is the path of life and death,” Xan said, his voice regaining its previous timbre.

  Sally felt herself tremble with excitement.

  “Beyond this door is a life of power and control,” Xan continued.

  Sally and Jun held their breath.

  “Discipline and despair.

  “Judgment and justice.”

  Sally gasped at the last word.

  Xan turned, locking eyes with her as he finished. “If you choose this path,” he began, seeming to speak directly to her, “you will come face to face with your darkest self.”

  Sally met his gaze, her face expressionless.

  “You will have control over how you do things,” he said deliberately, “but not over why you do them.”

  Again he looked up and down the line, unblinking despite the sweat in his eyes. “Your life may be your own, but your conscience will belong to someone else.”

  Sally’s nostrils flared as she breathed in deeply. She felt lightheaded and thought she might faint. Xan’s words seemed no more than whispers, as if Sally were hearing his thoughts instead of his voice.

  “If you choose the path of life and death,” he said, “there is no turning back.”

  Sally stared at the black surface of the door and felt herself being drawn inexorably to the other side, the undertow pulling at her as she welcomed its embrace. She had already turned her back on any other door a long time ago.

  Xan’s final words seemed to reach her from far away as they echoed around the courtyard.

  “In six months, you will have to choose.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  San Francisco, present day

  Cape was pleased to find himself surrounded by pancakes.

  Mama’s Restaurant had been a fixture in North Beach for almost thirty years. They served one of the best breakfasts in San Francisco until three p.m. daily, except for Mondays, when they were closed. Cape had noticed all the good breakfast joints were closed on Mondays and suspected some sort of collusion, a concentrated effort by the forces of evil to prevent him from starting the week off right. He made a mental note to conduct a thorough investigation, if only to ease his neurotic mind and justify a sampling tour of all the pancakes made in the Bay Area.

  Mama’s was cafeteria style, with only a handful of tables squeezed into a space smaller than most studio apartments. Seating was allocated based on the number in your party or the size of your order. Based on the plates surrounding him now, Cape had obviously given the impression that four or five more people were coming. He had secured the much coveted corner table, behind which he waited patiently for Linda to arrive.

  In front of him on the table, bracketed by plates of food, headlines from the local paper jumped up at him. Mayor versus Mayor covered the front page, with two facing photographs-one of the current mayor of San Francisco, who was colloquially referred to as “da Mayor,” and the other of Harold Yan, whom the paper called “the Mayor of Chinatown.” Yan was accusing the mayor of dragging his heels investigating the refugee ship, saying the people of the city deserved answers. Yan referenced a trip the mayor had taken to China the previous year as a member of a goodwill committee from West Coast cities to encourage trade with the Pacific Rim.

  Yan never accused the mayor of corruption or undue influence from his “new Chinese friends,” but by suggesting the mayor turn to them for help, the insinuation was all too clear. And coming from a man who was himself Chinese, it was irrefutable, at least from a political standpoint.

  Cape studied Yan’s face in the picture. He had black hair with occasional hints of gray slicked back from a high forehead, dark eyes, a strong nose, and an easy, confident smile. Even on newsprint there was something charismatic about the man, and reading the article, there was no question he knew how to work the press. By contrast, “da Mayor” looked tired and angry, like he’d been at this game too long. Cape knew the newspaper trade well enough to know these photos were selected to create just such a contrast, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t that far from reality.

  The hanging bell chimed as the door swung open, and people in line made way for another hungry soul to enter the crowded space. Linda Katz wasn’t immediately visible over the shoulders of the other patrons, but her hair was.

  Dark brown and omni-directional, Linda’s hair added a good four inches to her height and considerably more to her attitude. People standing nearby eyed it warily, not sure if angry hornets would emerge or if the hair itself would strike without provocation.

  Linda eschewed blow dryers, curlers, or anything involving electricity that might tame her unruly tresses. Convinced that electromagnetic radiation was a real and present danger to her and every other life form, Linda was very particular about where she went. Linda would only spend three hours a day indoors, unless she was at home, so they’d usually meet in a park or along the water, careful to stay at least fifty yards from any telephone poles or cell towers. Fortunately, Mama’s was sufficiently earthy for Linda to make an appearance.

  Since she used the phone only when necessary, it usually took two or three tries to track her down, but Cape had been lucky and caught one of her co-workers who knew where she was. Despite her quirks, Linda was a damn good reporter, one of the best when it came to background checks and research, as far as Cape was concerned. He’d met her when he was still working as an investigative reporter, too brash to get along with the editor, but too talented to get fired. Linda had taken him under her wing and taught him some manners; he’d forgotten most of them, but he always remembered the gesture.

  As she approached the table, he watched her eye the overhead lights suspiciously, then smile at him before sitting down, the lines around her hazel eyes running deeper than he’d remembered. He’d never asked her age, but Cape guessed she was ten years his senior.

  “Are more people coming?” she asked, perusing the table. Arranged around the points of the compass were three stacks of pancakes and, directly in front of Linda, a bowl of granola.

  “They’re short stacks,” Cape insisted. “That’s what it says on the menu.”

  “They’re not that short.”

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Cape added defensively.

  “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,” said Cape, regretting it as soon as it was out. “Besides, I thought you’d like some pancakes with your granola.”

  Linda’s hair lurched backward at the suggestion. “Sugar is a killer,” she said defiantly, pulling the bowl of granola closer.

  Cape shrugged and transferred one stack of pancakes onto the other before ladling a generous amount of syrup onto the plate. “Here’s to a sweet demise.”

  Linda sighed in dismay. “Is your client paying for this?”

  Cape shook his head. “Don’t have a client.”

  Linda put down her spoon as Cape told her about the ship and his conversation with Beau. Although the two women didn’t interact and couldn’t be more different, Linda and Sally were connected through Cape. While Cape might only feel good about himself when he was saving someone, both women were committed, in their own way, to keeping Cape from getting lost in the process. Linda had always considered Sally a kindred spirit, another woman looking after this errant knight that sat across the table, stuffing his face with pancakes. Neither relationship was romantic, and both were the stronger for it.

  When Cape finished his story, the deep lines around Linda’s eyes looked like permanent scars. “You don’t think Sally was on the ship?”

  Cape frowned before returning her anxious gaze. His eyes darkened, blue turning gray with doubt.

  “I’m alive today because Sally has killed,” said Cape, knowing he could never lie to Linda. “Without hesitation.”

  “But never without cause,” said Linda, unnerved at her own ability to rationalize so quickly.

  Cape cut her off. “You don’t have to convince m
e,” he said. “I’d be a hypocrite to say I don’t approve, but I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit Sally has a different set of values from normal, law-abiding citizens. Hell, even from me, and I’m not very normal or very law abiding.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a woman defending herself,” said Linda half-heartedly. “Or others, for that matter.”

  “I agree.” Cape held up his hands. “But let’s be honest-her school of self-defense believes in the pre-emptive strike. It’s more like a school of offense.”

  Linda shook her head. “But if it was Sally, then she must have had a reason.”

  “Absolutely.” Cape nodded. “She might be the most dangerous person I’ve ever met, but she’s not a sociopath. Like I told Beau, she’s one of the good guys. Sort of like Dirty Harry in a leotard.”

  Linda frowned at the image. “But if she had a reason, wouldn’t she have told you?”

  Cape had thought about that, too, and kept coming up with the same answer. “Not if it was personal.”

  Linda didn’t say anything right away. They sat for a few minutes, alone in their own thoughts. Finally, Linda raised her eyes and caught Cape looking at her.

  She said, “You’re going to find her.”

  “Hopefully, before anyone else does.”

  “Have you thought about talking with Freddie Wang?”

  Freddie Wang was the local big man for the tongs, a genuine Chinese gangster who touted his connection to the Triads like some men bragged about the size of their dicks. He ran most of the gangs in Chinatown, acting as point man for the heroin smuggled in from Asia. He was also the bag man for the Triads’ distribution deals with the Mafia, but according to Sally, Freddie wasn’t the real power in Chinatown, just the face. Cape had crossed Freddie’s path before on another case, but he had Sally along as an interpreter. Even with her watching his back, the meeting had not gone well. If Freddie knew something about the refugee ship, Cape had no way to get him to talk.

  Cape shrugged. “I might end up talking to Freddie, but I can’t start there. I need some kind of leverage.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like information,” replied Cape. “How’s the granola?”

  Linda scowled. “Are you asking because of a genuine concern for my well-being, or was that a less-than-subtle attempt to remind me that you’re buying breakfast in return for a favor?”

  Cape did his best to look wounded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “What do you need?”

  “That’s the problem,” said Cape. “I don’t know where to start, so I want you to dig into anything you think might be relevant. The ship’s registry, for one. The containers onboard-what was in them, and what was supposed to be in them, according to the ship’s manifesto.”

  Linda nodded as she pulled a small pad and pen from her purse. “What else?”

  “The cop I talked to said these people came from Fuzhou,” said Cape. “That’s in the Fujian province of China.”

  “So?”

  “So what goes on there?” asked Cape. “If you live in that part of China, what do you do, and why would you leave?”

  Linda looked up from her notebook. “This is gonna get pretty broad, as searches go,” she said. “You want me to get the Sloth involved?”

  Cape smiled at the nickname. His friend Barry hadn’t used his given name for over a decade. Sloth was a genius trapped inside a body that could barely respond, only connecting with the world around him through computers. He could use them to talk, see things invisible to others, and go places forbidden to all but a select few. There wasn’t a network he couldn’t hack or security system he couldn’t breach without leaving a trace. And with Linda asking the questions, Sloth could tell you things about yourself even your own mother wouldn’t remember.

  “Tell him I’ll come by,” said Cape. “As soon as I come up with more questions.”

  Linda nodded, her hair waving back and forth. “Where will you go next?”

  “I think there are answers in Chinatown,” said Cape, “but without Sally I’m half-blind.”

  “Is that like being half-dumb?”

  “That I’m used to.”

  “So?”

  “I need a guide,” said Cape. “Someone who knows Chinatown from the inside.”

  Linda raised her eyebrows. “You have someone in mind?”

  Cape finished the last bite of pancakes before answering, bringing his empty fork down onto the newspaper that lay between them. The silver tines landed neatly on the bridge of Harold Yan’s nose, his dark eyes staring up from the front page.

  “Why not ask him?” said Cape.

  Linda shook her head in disbelief, thinking of all the reasons why not, but instead saying, “You think he’ll talk to you?”

  Cape looked hurt. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not running for mayor,” Linda replied.

  “Too bad,” said Cape as he glanced at the check and put some bills on the table. “I would have voted for you.”

  Linda smiled. “Want me to check him out, too? Maybe I’ll find a way in.”

  Cape shrugged. “I think I’m going to try the direct approach and call Yan’s office, but sure-go ahead. It’s always nice to know who you’re dealing with.”

  Linda stood to leave. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  Cape nodded absently, his thoughts already somewhere else.

  He was wondering what the hell he was going to say to the Mayor of Chinatown.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hong Kong, 11 years ago

  “Watch his left foot,” whispered Sally. “He drags it to the left before he strikes.”

  Jun nodded, wiggling her toes as she watched the kendo instructor take his position in the center of the floor. He and the girls were barefoot, their wooden sandals lined up outside the open door of the dojo. Sally could see other girls in the exercise yard in groups of ten or twelve. Some sparred while instructors shouted at them, sometimes stepping between two girls to show them how to strike or block a kick. Others practiced balancing on wooden poles eight feet high and four feet apart.

  Sally unconsciously rubbed her right knee as she watched, remembering the fall she had taken the week before. Master Xan had kept her on the poles for four hours, long after the other girls had gone to supper, making her practice until she could finish the course without falling. Sally had collapsed on her bed afterward, too exhausted to eat or change her clothes, but pleased with herself for not failing.

  The next day Xan made her lead the class.

  Three days later he made her do it blindfolded.

  “Su Quan!” yelled Xan from across the room, breaking Sally out of her reverie. “Come forward.”

  A girl with short black hair jumped up and ran lightly to the nearest wall, where long wooden swords hung on racks next to several life-sized figures made of bound straw. Selecting one of the swords, she crossed the hardwood floor and approached her opponent.

  The teacher was a young man named Yuan, whom Sally guessed was maybe eighteen, only a few years older than the girls. His hair was cut very short, looking almost spiked, making his forehead seem too big for his face. His eyes looked dull and flat as he studied Su Quan, meeting her nervous gaze as they faced each other and bowed.

  The sudden crack of wood against wood was like a gunshot in the enclosed space as Yuan lunged forward, his sword coming down like a scythe toward Su Quan’s head. She parried the blow but it cost her balance, and she staggered backward. Before she could regain her footing, Yuan sprang forward and swung his sword low, knocking her feet out from under her. Su Quan landed hard on her side, her sword clattering across the floor.

  Xan came forward as Yuan stepped back into a neutral position, a self-satisfied look on his face.

  “Yuan is stronger than Su Quan,” Xan said matter-of-factly. “He is taller, and he is faster. Does this matter?”

  “No, Master Xan,” replied the ten girls as one. “Strength does not matter. Not if you are cunning.”
>
  Behind Xan, Yuan smirked at the girls, clearly confident that they were not cunning enough. Sally fought the urge to stick out her tongue-getting caught once by Master Xan was plenty.

  “The sword is not a weapon,” said Xan, his eyes running up and down the line. “You are the weapon. The sword is merely a tool.” He paused for effect. “Remember this.”

  Xan turned just as Yuan adopted what he hoped would pass for a humble expression. As Xan passed him and approached the open door, Sally noticed a figure standing just outside, looking in their direction. The figure looked male and older, but he was too near the building, his body largely in silhouette beneath the eaves, his face in the shadows. Although slightly stooped and shorter than Xan, there was something in his bearing that convinced Sally he was not just another instructor. Watching Xan approach him, Sally could tell this was someone important.

  When Xan bowed deeply, she almost stood to get a better look.

  “Jun!” Yuan called, bringing Sally’s attention back to the floor. “You’re next.”

  Sally squeezed Jun’s arm as she stood. “Remember the foot!”

  Jun flashed Sally a quick smile as she ran to the wall and selected a sword.

  Yuan bounced lightly on his toes as he waited, clearly not intimidated. Sally gritted her teeth as her best friend took her position. Xan stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his head cocked to one side as he listened to his guest.

  Yuan and Jun bowed, their eyes betraying nothing. As Yuan stood and raised his sword, Jun leapt forward and swung low at Yuan’s left leg, catching him below the knee. Crying out, he staggered but remained standing, catching himself with his sword and using it as a crutch. But before Jun could press her advantage, Yuan reached with his left hand and grabbed her sword, a move that would be impossible if they were using real blades. Before Jun could stop him, Yuan wrenched the sword from her grasp and jabbed it back at her, catching her in the solar plexus and knocking her down.