by Peter Grant
"So what do I do now?" Steve asked.
"From the Fleet's perspective, you did exactly the right thing by informing BuSec about this," Watanabe assured him. "We'll co-ordinate further investigations with VCPD."
Kuiper nodded. "You gave us an early break when you called Lieutenant Abuan right away. She called BuSec at once, and they called us. That rapid reaction means those two didn't have time to get off-planet through any normal channels, or go deep underground to hide. We've got a good chance of finding them. If they brought up Lamington's murder, they may know something we don't. I look forward to asking them about that." The Sergeant's expression turned hungry for a moment, like a predator scenting its prey.
"Also, in case you're wondering, you're not suspected of anything. A guilty man wouldn't have called in the authorities as fast as you did, and he wouldn't have volunteered for a truth-tester exam. We haven't asked you to take one, because as far as we can see you've done nothing to make it worthwhile. Also, it's been our experience over many years that anyone making that offer isn't guilty of anything. As far as we're concerned, you're in the clear."
"That goes for BuSec too," the Chief declared. "I can't see this affecting your enlistment in any way. I'll report that to Lieutenant Abuan and PO Gilroy, officially and for the record."
Steve exhaled in relief. "Thanks a lot! I was worried about that. Do I need to watch my back?"
"We don't know who these men really are, or who may have sent them, so we can't assess any threat they may pose to you," Kuiper pointed out. "I'd say be more careful than usual, but don't be paranoid. It's obvious from what you said to them, and to us this afternoon, that you don't know anything about what they wanted to find out. They must realize that, so I don't see why they'd want to target you again. There'd be nothing in it for them."
"That makes sense to me," the Fleet NCO agreed.
It's all very well for you, Steve thought silently as they tried to reassure him, but I still don't know how those men knew me, or located me, or why they chose to impersonate cops. Where did they get their fake credentials? What'll they do next? I can't defend myself if I don't know where or when the next attempt will be made, or what it'll be, or who'll launch it!
"All right." Steve rose to his feet. "Thank you all very much for your help. If it's OK with you, I'll head back to my hotel."
"Sure," Kuiper agreed. "Would you like a ride? I can get one of our patrol cars to run you back."
"Thanks, I'd appreciate that."
As the patrol car turned into the heavy evening traffic, other vehicles carefully opening a gap for it as they saw its distinctive appearance, Steve sat silently. His mind was racing.
Should I - dare I - take a chance? Will it make things worse? I don't know... but that's precisely the problem - I don't know! I've got to get a handle on this situation and figure out what I'm facing, or it'll be like fighting blindfolded. Until I know what's going on, the other side, whoever they are, has the initiative. I've got to take that away from them... and there's only one way I can think of to do that. It's risky, but I don't think I have any choice.
He stretched casually, and said, "I'm looking forward to a shower, then I want a really good supper. My last meal was an early breakfast, and it's been a long day."
The patrolman driver chuckled. "So I hear. There's a great steakhouse and pub two blocks from your hotel. It's called the Saddle and Spur. Know it?"
"I'll try it sometime, but I'm not in the mood for steak tonight. I think I recall hearing about an Far Eastern restaurant in town called the 'Royal Golden Dragon', or something like that. D'you know it?"
"Sure. It's an up-market place, about ten clicks from your hotel. You'll need to take a taxi."
Chapter 23: June 29th, 2838 GSC, evening
The taxi deposited Steve at the foot of a winding path leading through a immaculately maintained garden to an ornate pagoda-style building. The extensive parking lot around three sides of the building was filled with upmarket, gleaming vehicles.
As Steve walked along the path, he drew a deep breath. I've got to sell these people some of the truth plus a tissue of lies, he thought, all woven together to look like whole cloth. I hope I convince them to buy it, otherwise I'm screwed! They can probably offer more help than anyone else, if they believe me... but they'll be ruthless if they think I'm lying.
A doorman bowed him into an anteroom. A podium was set just inside, with a black-suited headwaiter standing behind it. Two uniformed waiters hovered behind him, ready to run messages or take diners to their tables at his direction.
Steve looked around at the decor, trying to seem casual but examining it intently. Almost immediately he saw a dragon's claw decoration carved into the wooden frieze around the ceiling, repeated every meter or so. A tapestry on one wall depicted a dragon in flight, its left claw shaped in the same fashion as the Dragon Tong's symbol. Guess I've found the right place, he thought, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.
"Good evening, Sir," the headwaiter greeted him smoothly, eyes running over his dark blue trousers and open-necked light blue shirt beneath a black blazer. Steve was sure he'd instantly categorized him as a nice young man, but not a member of the socioeconomic class that usually frequented the place. "Welcome to the Royal Golden Dragon restaurant. Do you have a reservation?"
"I'm afraid not."
"In that case, Sir, the wait for a table at this time of the evening can be well over an hour. If you're hungry, you might wish to look elsewhere for faster service - although you're very welcome to visit us when we're less busy, of course."
"Thank you. I appreciate the advice. In the meantime, may I please speak with the manager on duty?"
He handed the man his black jade disk, careful not to let nearby patrons see it. The headwaiter took it from him, lowered his hand below the top of the podium, glanced at it, then snapped his fingers. One of the waiters behind him hurried to his side as he said in a low voice, "Sir, I failed to recall that we've just had a cancellation. A private alcove is available. This waiter will lead you to it. Meanwhile, I'll convey this, and your request, to the manager. She'll be with you as soon as she's verified the disk."
"Thank you very much."
How do they verify it?, Steve wondered to himself. Does it have an embedded microchip? He decided it would be better not to ask - at least, not tonight.
The headwaiter muttered instructions to his subordinate, who turned to Steve. "If you'll follow me, please, Sir?"
"Lead the way."
They walked through the anteroom's inner doors, then up a flight of stairs to a balcony running around the main dining area. The waiter escorted him to a private, curtained alcove halfway down one of the walls, seated him ceremoniously, and handed him a thick, heavy leather-covered menu.
"For our friends, Sir, there is no charge. Please order whatever you wish."
Steve blinked. He certainly hadn't expected this! He thought for a moment. "Thank you. I'll need your guidance with the menu, but that'll have to wait until I've spoken with your manager. I'll have a cup of coffee until she gets here."
"Of course, Sir."
Steve was halfway through the finest cup of coffee he'd had since leaving Earth when a tall, willowy, black-haired woman tapped gently at the entrance to the alcove. She appeared to be of Chinese extraction, and wore a low-cut knee-length black dress that fit her like a second skin. Her makeup was so skilfully applied that Steve couldn't guess her age.
She half-curtsied, half-bowed. "I understand you wish to see me, Sir? I am Xin Ying, the manager on duty this evening." She held out his jade disk.
"Yes, thank you." He rose, took it from her, and shook her proffered hand. "Won't you sit down, please? My name is Steve Maxwell. Until recently I was a spacer aboard the freighter Sebastian Cabot."
"Your reputation precedes you, Sir. I recall news reports last year about Radetski and Operation Sweet Tooth, that mentioned your name. More recently there were reports of your ship being captured by
pirates, and an announcement that you are to be awarded a medal for your courage in helping to recapture her. We are honored to be your hosts this evening."
"Thanks." Steve tried not to look embarrassed at her praise. "The disk was given to me by the Red Pole on the Cargo Terminal of Old Home Earth in January last year, after I... assisted the Tong in certain ways. He said I should present it at a restaurant with this name, and the same dragon's claw emblem in its decor, if I needed the assistance of the Tong on another planet. I ran into two men this morning who claimed to be policemen, but were not, and - "
She held up her hand. "It would not be appropriate for me to hear more, Sir. I shall inform... a suitable person... of your arrival, and bring him to your table within an hour. Meanwhile, please enjoy our hospitality."
"I shall." He took a computer data chip from his pocket and handed it to her. "This contains an audio recording of this morning's events, plus a couple of photographs scanned from security vid. If whoever's to speak with me would please listen to it and view the pictures before we meet, that'll save a lot of time."
She nodded as she accepted the chip. "I understand, Sir."
"Thank you."
The waiter reappeared as soon as she'd left. Steve asked his advice, and ended up enjoying a Korean meal, specifying mild levels of spices and seasonings. He started with what the waiter called maeuntang, a hot and spicy fish soup. It was followed by a main course of a squid-like local seafood, sauteed and served atop what the waiter called chamchi jun, a fish pancake. They were accompanied by a soy-and-vinegar dipping sauce, a sticky ball of rice and steamed vegetables. Dessert was baesuk, a pear with its top removed that had been cored, filled with honey, cinnamon, ginger, pine nuts and some tart berries Steve couldn't identify, then steamed whole in its skin with the top replaced. He'd have liked to accept the waiter's recommendations for a different wine to accompany each course, but knew he'd need a clear head tonight. He drank only water with his meal.
He was enjoying another cup of the restaurant's excellent coffee when the manager returned. She was accompanied by a man dressed in black trousers, shirt and jacket. He was of medium height and powerfully built. His black hair was close-cropped over a round face, unremarkable except for piercing dark eyes.
"This is Mr. Wang Yanchen," she introduced him. "He will be able to help you further."
Steve rose. "Thank you, Ma'am. Good evening, Mr. Wang. Thank you for coming so quickly. I hope I haven't dragged you away from anything important."
"Not tonight." Wang returned Steve's formal half-bow and sat down.
The waiter poured a cup of coffee for the new arrival, left the carafe on the table, then he and the manager walked away in opposite directions. At either end of the balcony, each pulled a curtain across, closing off access. Steve recalled seeing diners leaving alcoves on either side of his as they finished their meals, but no others had taken their places. The alcoves had clearly been kept vacant to secure privacy for this discussion.
Wang said, "I'm the Red Pole of the Tong here on Vesta. Since my counterpart at Earth's Cargo Terminal gave you your disk, it seemed best for me to meet with you. I've listened to the recording you provided and viewed the images. I haven't seen or heard of either of those men before. Did you follow through on your threat to inform Fleet Security of the situation?"
"Yes. I called a liaison officer in the Sector Admiral's office with whom I've previously had contact. She passed the call to the Bureau of Security, and BuSec informed the Virginia City Police Department." He gave a brief summary of what the investigation had uncovered so far.
Wang looked thoughtful. "We know of Detective Sergeant Kuiper. He's an able investigator. Can you tell me any more about the jade knife those two were asking about?"
"I can tell you what Mr. Lamington told Bosun Cardle about it last year. He showed him a scanned page from a book, with a photograph and description of the knife. He said it dated from several centuries before the Space Age, and had once been the property of a monk named Lei Sik Hoi."
Wang sipped his coffee while Steve spoke. He spluttered as he heard the name, then reached for a napkin and wiped his mouth, eyes locked on Steve's. "You can't be serious! I'm sorry - I didn't mean to imply that you're lying, but that knife is legendary! It's been lost for centuries! No-one ever seriously thought it might be rediscovered."
"Mr. Lamington said a reward was being offered for news of its whereabouts - he mentioned a thousand taels of gold. He told us that anyone who obtained the knife for his Tong or Triad would gain enormous 'face', as he put it, both for the organization and for himself. He might rise to very high rank as a result. He offered to approach his contacts on Old Home Earth to learn more about the reward."
"And did your Bosun accept his offer?"
"No. He thought that would be dangerous for the knife's owner. He asked Mr. Lamington to tell no-one about it, and said he'd be very angry if he did. Mr. Lamington pointed out that he might lose a great deal of money, but the Bosun said money wasn't everything."
Wang pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "And Bosun Cardle maintained he didn't have the knife?"
"Yes. He never said anything to me about when or where he saw it, or who had it. In fact, after we left Mr. Lamington's shop, he said if the owner's identity became known, it would be as if he had a target painted on his a... his body. Every Tong and Triad would be after him, and they wouldn't be particular about how they got their hands on the knife."
"He had a point - unless, of course, the owner was wise enough to sell it to a Tong that was willing to do the honorable thing, and pay a fair price for it." There was an unmistakeable suggestion in Wang's voice. "He would instantly become extremely wealthy."
"I'd gladly pass that on to the owner, but the Bosun didn't name him."
Wang sighed. "A great pity." He thought for a moment. "As a working hypothesis, let's assume that greed overcame Mr. Lamington's fear of Bosun Cardle's anger. He contacted jade dealers on Earth to find out who was offering the reward. His inquiry appears to have reached the right people, but it seems they didn't keep faith with him. Perhaps they tried to get information from him without paying for it, or wanted to stop him telling anyone else what they'd learned from him; but for whatever reason, they murdered him.
"Before he died, he must have told them about Bosun Cardle. They would have wanted to speak with the Bosun, to learn who owned the knife; but he died last month. You were with him at Mr. Lamington's shop, so you're the only other point of contact they have left. They sent those two men to try to find out what you know."
Steve frowned. "D'you think I convinced them that I don't know anything?"
"Those two, perhaps; but whoever sent them may not be satisfied. If a reward's been offered for the knife, that's as good as a public announcement that someone believes it still exists. That means others will also be looking for it. The Dragon Tong may already be among them - I wouldn't necessarily have been informed about that - but if not, it certainly will be as soon as I convey your news to my superiors!" Wang looked at him with real sympathy. "The problem is, others will undoubtedly try to learn what you know, probably less politely than today's attempt."
"That worries me too. I can't spend the rest of my life hiding from shadows. I hope the Dragon Tong will help me avoid that. In exchange for your help, I can offer inside assistance in your search for the knife. There are several promising leads only I can pursue, approaching people who would never normally talk to the Tong, even under duress. Even if my efforts prove fruitless, at least they'll identify dead ends, saving you valuable time and resources."
Wang's eyebrows rose. "I'll be interested to hear what you have in mind."
"First, let me point out that the Bosun wasn't just my boss, he was my mentor and friend. I told him last year I regarded him as a father; and before our last fight, he told me in so many words that I'd become like a son to him. I'm an orphan, so you can imagine how important that relationship was to me. His death was a very personal l
oss. I intend to do all I can to honor and respect his memory for the rest of my life, and follow the example he set for me."
Wang nodded, his face solemn. "Your attitude is similar to our ancient traditions of filial piety and loyalty. They're still very strong among us today."
"I'm glad you understand. I told you about our relationship to show that I understood how he thought. He was very worried after learning that the knife was so important and valuable, and wished he'd never seen it. He said there was no safe way for its owner to give it to any one Tong or Triad, because when others found out, they'd never forgive him."
"The Dragon Tong would not react that way, but some might."
"OK. For that reason, I don't believe any of his family or relatives had it, or still have it. If they had, given his attitude, he'd surely have urged them to get rid of it - even destroy it if necessary, smashing it so thoroughly the remains could never be identified."
Wang flinched visibly, jerking upright in his chair. "The ancestors forbid! Don't even think that, much less say it!"
"I'm sorry if I offended you, Mr. Wang. I wanted to illustrate that the Bosun's top priority would be the safety of his siblings and their families, rather than the knife. He'd want to protect them at all costs."
Wang slowly sat back. "I take your point. A man like him might well do that, under such circumstances."
"I think so. Given that his family was therefore probably not involved, I asked myself who else would be likely to own the knife. It had to be someone who knew and trusted the Bosun well enough to ask his opinion about it. Clearly, they couldn't already have been aware what it was, otherwise they'd probably never have told him about it at all!"
"That makes sense." Wang's expression was thoughtful, even intrigued.
"When I framed the question like that, the answer became obvious. The Bosun had several close friends and associates who'd served with him in the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet, from which he'd retired as a Senior Chief Petty Officer. There were at least half-a-dozen of them, probably more, but he didn't talk about them much. I only know the name of one, who's retired on New Brisbane. The others are still in space, either with the Fleet or in the merchant service. He used to correspond with them regularly, and they with him. Unfortunately, his personal messages were encrypted and stored on a DNA-keyed computer. I've been told it'll be wiped before being sold by the Prize Court, so they'll be unavailable.
