B00447820A EBOK

by Mack Maloney

  It was the catch-22 all over again. They were suddenly back inside their secret mission, again with no support, no communications and, most distressing, no weapon. And no longer any good reason to be here.

  Nolan and Twitch finally walked through the open gate and were met by the small army of bodyguards. They were searched three times, but all they had on them at this point was the little bowl of sugar and the clothes on their backs. Still, the frisking process took more than five minutes, interspersed with a lot of back and forth on the bodyguards’ walkie-talkies.

  Finally, the guards simply told them to go.

  Nolan and Twitch walked up the long driveway, a journey that took them almost five minutes. It was like walking into a dream, colors everywhere, trees swaying in unison. Water fountains rising up from nowhere, throwing up huge sprays in the mist and then disappearing just as quickly. Piped-in music was all around them, wafting on the breeze.

  At last, they found themselves at the front entrance to the house, looking at two wooden doors so tall they seemed to get lost in the stars.

  The mansion itself looked like something on the California coast. A palatial, two-floor beach house, half of it leaning out on stilts dug into the side of the tall hill. It had huge windows all around, most of them looking down on the expanse of Old Shanghai below.

  It was impressive, no matter who owned it.

  Nolan noticed one odd thing, though: a large pipe at the bottom of the house that went straight down like an elevator shaft until it disappeared into the shadows and dull lights below.

  Escape hatch? he wondered.

  They knocked, meekly. The huge door opened on its own. They took a peek inside and were relieved to find no drugged-out gunmen or hookers here, at least not in plain view. Instead they found themselves gazing at a grand entranceway with a long, curving path passing through a vast multi-story indoor garden. Only at the end of this pathway could they see the actual front of the house.

  They stepped into the garden room, which seemed as big as Grand Central Station—but of course, both of them were still tripping mightily. The ceiling and walls were made of brilliant, emerald-tinged glass. Exotic plants were everywhere, and a stream of sparkling water fell from a balcony two stories high. A pond the size of an Olympic swimming pool sat halfway down the pathway. Spanned by a bamboo bridge, the pond was filled not with plain old koi, but with strange and exotic saltwater fish such as wrasse, flame angels and cat sharks.

  Dozens of cameras looked down at them from every angle, and no doubt the place was thick with hidden microphones, too. Nolan nudged Twitch and put his finger to his lips as casually as he could. Twitch got the message. Definitely no talking here.

  A servant dressed in ancient Mandarin-style silks met them on the bridge. Old and gray, with a long, stringy beard, he seemed to have walked out of a 1930s movie.

  He bowed. They bowed back. He bowed again, then said in Wu: “My employer is looking forward to meeting you.”

  He made no comment on their rather ragged condition. He took them out of the garden, through the front entrance of the house, and into a grand room that looked like a real Mandarin throne room. The soaring columns, the gilding, the artwork and architecture—it was as if they’d been transported back in time to ancient China, except for one thing. In one corner of this huge room was a McDonald’s hamburger stand.

  Nolan had to close his good eye for a moment. Was this real—or was the ketamine tricking him?

  He opened his eye again—and yes, sandwiched between the giant ancient Yuan Dynasty pottery and the pair of authentic terracotta soldiers from the Huang era was a McDonald’s. It had a small counter with two uniformed servers behind it. A huge menu board hung over their heads, and behind them were smoky grills and the crackling oil to make the fries. Off to the side was a self-service soft drink dispenser.

  The servant turned to them and smiled. “My employer believed his son would have loved this. So he built it here for him.”

  Nolan was so amazed that he almost didn’t notice the servant’s use of the past tense when referring to Sunny Hi’s son.

  A beautiful Asian woman walked by them, holding a packet of french fries. The servant bowed to her; Nolan and Twitch politely nodded. The woman smiled at them, sadly, then disappeared deeper into the house.

  The servant said to them: “My employer’s wife. It’s been hard on her.”

  They left the throne area and were led through a series of rooms. One was a library full of books, dark polished wood and low-lit lamps. It looked like something at Oxford, yet everything was built at half scale, as if it had been designed solely for a young child.

  The next room featured a home movie theater and a massive array of video games that were all up and running. But again, judging by the cartoonish wallpaper and the types of video games on display, this room, too, appeared to have been intended for a child.

  After this was a sizable gymnasium with a soccer net on one end and a baseball batting cage at the other. Yet walking through it, Nolan noticed plastic wrapping still on the baseball bats, and that the twine on the soccer net was so tight it had obviously never been used.

  They were finally led to a large but very subdued nursery. There were a few toys scattered about, the largest a life-size, overstuffed teddy bear gathering dust in one corner. The walls of the nursery were covered with minimalist murals of peaceful Chinese forests, mountains and rivers. Calming music was being piped in from somewhere.

  Next to a large window stood a pearl-white, king-size bed, with sides like a crib. Two nurses stood in the shadows nearby.

  Sitting in a chair next to the bed was the Shang Si himself, Sunny Hi.

  He was younger than Nolan had imagined him. This man, who until only recently had refused to be photographed, who reportedly tortured and killed anyone who dared point a camera in his direction, was maybe a couple years shy of forty. If this man had achieved so much at such a young age, Nolan thought, maybe by the age of fifty or so, he would be running the world.

  He was dressed plainly, in a shirt and slacks and Italian loafers. He was unremarkable facially, and seemed if at all only slightly buff. He really didn’t look like much of a pirate. But looks were frequently deceiving.

  There were no introductions; none were needed. Sunny Hi knew who they were by now. But how ironic, Nolan thought. This was how the mission was supposed to play out. Their job had been to get as close as possible to the mob boss. But no way did they think it would be like this—in a nursery—and without any weapons or assassination device, with no way to get out and no way to call for help.

  At a gentle wave from Sunny Hi, the servant disappeared, as did the nurses. This left Nolan and Twitch standing there, uncomfortable beyond belief, with Twitch still clutching the tiny bowl of sugar.

  Nolan gave Twitch a subtle nudge. He stumbled forward, holding out the sugar bowl like a magi offering a cup of myrrh.

  “A present,” Twitch said in English, adding quickly, “A birthday gift—for your son.”

  He said the last word almost with the inflection of a question, sending a chill down Nolan’s spine. He was certain this room was under surveillance by heavily armed goons. He was also sure that, with one wrong move, both he and Twitch would be reduced to a pile of ash in a matter of seconds.

  Sunny Hi motioned them forward. He took the bowl from Twitch—and seemed genuinely affected. Nolan even saw the man’s eyes well up.

  “There’s many tons more where that came from,” Twitch told him. “In a ship we brought for you. It’s down on the docks.”

  Sunny Hi nodded almost absentmindedly, his eyes still gazing on the tiny bowl of sugar. He was getting mistier by the second.

  “Your present means a lot to me,” he said, in near perfect English. “Only true friends would think of giving this to me.”

  He bowed again—and Nolan was more confused than ever.

  Finally Sunny Hi said, “Would you like to see him? My son?”

  They could only s
ay yes.

  The pirate indicated they should come over to the bed. He drew back a blanket and revealed not an infant, but a young boy. He was at least five years old, maybe older. But it was obvious he had health issues. His arms and legs were moving, but not in any coordinated fashion; they seemed disconnected from one another. His skin, too, looked unhealthy, pale and weak. He was wearing a soft plastic helmet to protect his skull.

  More shocking, though, the boy’s left eye was glazed over and apparently blind, and he had a small scar running across his neck, the result of some childhood operation.

  The boy looked up at them with a kind of confused, blank expression, as if he could see them, but just didn’t know what to do about it.

  Then he started to cry—which made Nolan and Twitch very nervous.

  But Sunny Hi immediately took a pinch of sugar from the bowl and put it to the child’s lips—and suddenly, the boy went from crying to smiling, and then to gurgling, more as an infant would.

  “Sha tang,” Sunny Hi said, looking down at his son. “That’s his nickname—Sugar. Because it’s the only thing I can give him to make him know that I love him.”

  Nolan’s knees got shaky. He looked over at Twitch, and wasn’t surprised to see him wiping his eyes. The last thing they expected was this.

  Working the sugar with his tongue, the child turned away from his father, looked directly at Nolan—and started laughing. He held his hands out as if he wanted Nolan to pick him up.

  Nolan froze—he wanted nothing to do with this.

  But Sunny Hi was beaming. “He never wants anyone to hold him,” he said. “He doesn’t speak, and neither do you. His eye doesn’t work, and neither does yours. His neck, his skin. He must see you as a kindred spirit. So … please?”

  Awkward didn’t come close to describing the next few minutes. Nolan picked the boy up and held him in his arms and the kid became extremely animated, laughing and touching Nolan’s bruised and swollen face.

  Sunny Hi was astonished—and so was Twitch.

  “I waited for him all my life,” the pirate boss said softly. “I built this house for him. Not everything works out as you’ve planned, though. But I’ve never seen him laugh like this. This birthday is a very special day for me—and him.”

  Nolan eventually put the boy back down on the bed. Sunny Hi gave him one more fingertip of sugar, and the boy went right off to sleep, a smile on his face.

  Sunny Hi then looked at Nolan and said, “You have given me a gift worth more than all the sugar in the world.

  “Now, I must repay you.”

  15

  SUNNY HI LED them out of the nursery and into a large, well-appointed office one room over.

  The office was something a Wall Street executive would love. Clean desk, a battery of computer terminals, more artwork.

  Again, not very piratelike.

  Sunny Hi checked his watch. It was exactly midnight—after the long, strange trip, Nolan and Twitch had made it here right on time.

  Sunny Hi then made a cell phone call and had a quick, hushed conversation. This done, he went to a wardrobe in the corner of the office and took out a full-length black leather coat, a small, tight-fitting black beret, and a pair of enormous wraparound sunglasses. He put on the coat and the beret and adjusted the dark glasses just so. In those few seconds, he went from caring family man to some dark and dangerous character.

  He noticed Nolan and Twitch’s reaction to his transformation.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “My job is all about image. But no matter what I look like—you two will be my friends forever.”

  He led them to a hidden door in the far corner of the office, next to the computer terminals. On the other side of the door was an elevator. Three enormous bodyguards were already on board, waiting.

  Sunny Hi stepped on; Nolan and Twitch followed. One bodyguard pushed a button and the elevator started going down.

  They were still descending two minutes later. It occurred to Nolan that they were riding inside the pipe he’d spotted before they’d entered the gigantic house.

  When they reached the bottom, Sunny Hi opened the elevator door—and Nolan found himself looking out on the worst Shanghai jiuba yet.

  It was small and smelly, with only one light, a dim, pulsating bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. The bar itself was tiny, and there were very few bottles of liquor behind it. Yet there were at least fifty people jammed in here. Most were pirates, no doubt.

  They cheered when Sunny Hi stepped out of the elevator.

  “This was where my gang got started,” he said to Nolan and Twitch. “This little place, with a lot of these same people. They are my friends, too, and I never forget my friends or my beginnings. That’s why I built my house directly above this place. So I could always come back down here and remember how it all began.”

  Nolan scanned the room again, this time studying all the armed men gathered here. They looked like the road company for an old-time buccaneer movie. All shapes and sizes, scars, weird beards, bald heads, loop earrings, tattoos. Most interesting, though, they were all races and colors—and apparently languages. In other words, Nolan could have blended into this place with little more than his eye patch and a few well-placed fake tattoos.

  Son of a bitch, he thought. This whole nip-tuck thing wasn’t even necessary.

  The three enormous bodyguards immediately formed a phalanx in front of Sunny Hi and led him across to the bar, Nolan and Twitch in tow. The crowd parted for the head pirate, but not with as much speed or reverence as Nolan would have expected.

  He’s one of them, Nolan found himself thinking. And they are like him. Pirates, to the end.

  Sunny Hi brought them to a small table circled by chairs filled with boisterous pirates holding fistfuls of money. Two Asian men were sitting at the table, and at first, Nolan thought they were playing cards. But while the table did have a deck of cards on it, it also held a pistol and a small bowl full of bullets.

  That’s when he finally caught on.

  The Ba Xi. The Game.

  It wasn’t poker, or blackjack, or craps.

  It was Russian roulette.

  Sunny Hi cornered the man in charge of taking bets. He indicated Nolan and Twitch. “These two men are my friends. They will bet the maximum on both parties in each round, courtesy of me. Understand?”

  The betting chief understood. What this meant was, no matter the outcome, Nolan and Twitch would win. And judging by how much money was in evidence, any win would be a substantial amount of cash.

  The room quieted down. With Sunny Hi on hand, the game—and the drama—could begin. The two men at the table were trying to stare each other down. One wore a red bandana, the other a black one. Both were sweating and breathing heavily. A man sitting nearby was acting as a referee. On a sign from Sunny Hi, the man cut the deck of cards, coming up with a red eight. The crowd erupted in cheers.

  The man wearing the red bandana got to spin the weapon. He did so, but the muzzle wound up back pointing at him. His face fell as he took the gun, put in one bullet, spun the chamber and put it to his temple. More yelling and cheering from the crowd. Much money changing hands. Then the referee shouted: You xi!

  Play!

  The man pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  The crowd cheered wildly. With much relief, the man with the red bandana pushed the pistol over to his opponent. This man picked it up, spun the cylinder and put the muzzle up to his head.

  The crowd went crazy again. More money went back and forth. The ref yelled the command again. You xi!

  The man squeezed the trigger.

  Click.

  Another wild cheer from the crowd. Money was falling like confetti.

  The man with the red bandana picked up the pistol again, and a new twist was added. He took a second bullet from the bowl and inserted it into the chamber. Now with two live rounds in the six-shot pistol, the chances that the gun would go off were one in three.

 
The crowd was at fever pitch. The man spun the chamber and put the gun to his temple. More money, more screaming, with Sunny Hi leading the chorus.

  The man squeezed the trigger.

  Click.

  The bloodlust in the room rivaled the thick, smoky air. The man with the black bandana picked up the gun and spun the chamber. Thousands more dollars changed hands. The man put the gun to his head and squeezed the trigger.

  Blam!

  Half the man’s skull wound up on the wall nearby. The crowd cheered wildly and even pushed his corpse to the side to collect their winnings. Two kitchen boys appeared, threw the dead man onto a stretcher and started to carry him away. Another worker did a rough cleanup of the gore on the wall and the floor nearby.

  Then the drinks flowed again.

  Sunny Hi turned to Nolan and Twitch. “This is my gang,” he boasted. “Anyone who wants to be a part of it must be willing to take risks. Because with those risks come vast rewards.”

  They watched as the stretcher bearing the dead man passed them and disappeared through the kitchen door.

  “Besides,” Sunny Hi said, “the worst thing that can happen is that you’ll die an interesting death.”

  At that moment, though, Nolan was still looking for a way out of this mess. It was like a bad dream running on a loop inside his head. No weapon. No plan. No way to complete the mission. Again, their Delta training told them that in situations as extreme as this, the prudent thing to do was to just withdraw and try again another day.

  Twitch, though, had other ideas.

  “I’ll play,” he told Sunny Hi.

  The gangster was surprised—Nolan was floored.

  “I didn’t mean to suggest,” Sunny Hi began stammering. “You are my guest, and—”

  But Twitch cut him off.

  “No—I want to play,” he said. “Right now.”

  Nolan tried to grab Twitch, to stop him from doing this, but it was too late. Twitch had found a red bandana and had wrapped it around his head. The crowd went insane—the visitor wanted to play, and they found this tremendously exciting. All Nolan could do was watch.