“I guess this call means you got it,” said Arthur Yang, the real name of the person who had visited Wen in prison.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” gasped Julio as the first bits of intel flew onto a monitor.
Both Arthur and Julio were part of the shadowy, covert self-funded vigilante organization, Fidelitas. The younger super-geek Julio was head of intelligence while Arthur, a former field operative, was a current board member. Julio’s intel skills were legendary, or would have been had anyone been allowed to know about them.
The illegal Mexican immigrant nodded his approval. “This is good stuff, Arthur. I’ll have something ready for you in two hours.”
“That long?” chided Arthur. “Are you losing your touch? I’ve already given you thirty seconds.”
“Problem is that almost everyone on this list has a small or non-existent digital presence. Makes tracking down any kind of data about them, including financials, really hard but hey, what’s life without a few challenges? But, from what I’ve seen already, I would start making plans.”
“We’ll talk in two hours. Thanks, Julio.”
Arthur ended the call and started another one.
Chapter Three
Pyongyang, Capital of North Korea
North Korea’s General Park Daesoon and the Mandarin had been doing business together for almost twenty years. When they first started, North Korea was heavily involved in the manufacture and sale of heroin and pure, potent meth. Those were the glory days, with their high quality illegal drugs in demand from criminal organizations around the world. With North Korea needing foreign currency, the government, through its front companies and reps, including military officials like Park, happily sold its product to anyone who paid them a buck.
This included the Mandarin, who had a ready supply of users from the illegal migrants in his old shanty town in Guangzhou. Even though the inhabitants had little money, everyone wanted something to take their minds away from the numbing reality. Ice was cheap.
While the Mandarin was a small customer, about five kilos a month, he was steady and paid in cash. What made him even more desirable to Park was that the Mandarin gave him an additional kickback, hidden from his superiors. While the military commander constantly tried to get the Mandarin to increase the volume of his business, the Mandarin rejected Park’s entreaties. Yes, he could make more but that would be dangerous for the Mandarin’s core business of supplying construction workers. Stoned and high workers were even less reliable than unskilled ones on a construction job, and there was no way the Mandarin would jeopardize that cash cow.
Business between the two became much more difficult in 2005 when the North Korean government made a sudden change of policy—the manufacture and distribution of heroin and crystal meth was shut down. That didn’t mean the drug business ceased operations. It just meant that the government could sanctimoniously claim they had no involvement in the industry. Any statements or accusations that the DPRK was connected to drug-related crimes were due to the “reptile Western media and the South Korean puppet regimes.”
But official position and reality are two different animals. The drug industry in the Hermit Kingdom did not abate; it just went underground.
For businessmen like the Mandarin, it meant costs went up. If he didn’t pay, someone else would. The business was still there—it just needed to be more creatively accessed.
Park kept his DPRK military title but his income was slashed. That he didn’t mind at all because he “went indie.” Even with the bribes that he now had to pay, he made more money—Park was very good at hustling business.
It was more work, though. Instead of ordering drugs directly from the state factories, Park had to hire the now-unemployed chemists to manufacture the drugs, coordinate the raw materials and book the factories. Delivery became messier. Instead of sending a fishing vessel into North Korean territorial waters, Park hired drug mules who swam or waded across the Yalu River at the China/North Korean border to deliver the packages to the Mandarin’s representative at the river bank, who arranged delivery in China.
For the Mandarin, Park wasn’t the cheapest way to achieve results but more important than cost was reliability: the general always delivered first class product.
Not to mention the perks.
***
In stark contrast to the dreary and dilapidated buildings surrounding it, Pyongyang’s majestic Paekdusan Hotel stood out like Goliath in a leprechaun colony. In addition to fine dining and luxury spas, their female masseuses had an international reputation for beauty and exceptional creativity. Park had just treated the Mandarin to the pleasures of a smokey-eyed beauty with oval eyes, luscious lips and legs for days. Session completed, the two of them were relaxing in the heat of burning pine wood in one of the hotel’s igloo-shaped kiln saunas.
“Mandarin, why don’t you expand into America?” asked his host, sweat beading profusely out from his skin. “I can easily get you more product. You know my goods are much better than the shit from Myanmar or Burma or the Philippines.”
“I make a good living in China. Don’t need the headache of dealing with blacks, Russians, Hispanics and the whites. They’re all cheats and cheapskates.”
“Well, of course they are. But they will give up their firstborn in order to feed their addiction. Easy money.”
“You need to have distribution… connections. All mine are in China. If there were somebody Chinese I could trust, I might consider it.”
“You should not be such a racist,” chided General Park. “Some of my clients ship product every month to Vancouver or Los Angeles. Prices they get are much higher than in China. ”
“I’ll think about it.”
Park sighed. “Thinking about it means ‘no.’ I tell you, it is an opportunity.”
“More money means more headaches.”
“Those are good kinds of headaches,” laughed Park.
What the Mandarin didn’t tell his business associate was that he had floated a trial balloon in America and had partnered with the China Red Gang, the Asian gang with the greatest success in penetrating the American market, on a small shipment of ice to Los Angeles.
The experiment was a great success and the Mandarin was waiting for Danny, the head of China Red, to return to China so they could meet and plan out their next phase.
“Talk to me about something other than making money. What’s new?”
The military man was pensive. There was something he was thinking of saying but…
“Just spit it out, Park. After that, I’ll treat for the next round,” growled the Mandarin.
The general inhaled a deep gulp of the scalding air. “There’s something else we’re working on, too. A lethal synthetic drug. N115. It’s got a similar chemistry to crystal meth but the rush, the high… it’s better than anything else. When people try it, they just gotta have more, the kick is so good. Because it hasn’t been released yet, no one knows about it. One kilo is enough to kill twenty-five to thirty thousand people with typical dose sizes. Interested?”
“I don’t have that many enemies,” chuckled the Mandarin. “Besides, if I want somebody dead, I’ll just pay some gangbanger fifty bucks.”
“Yes, but just a few milligrams is all you need to do the job. Good enough for hundreds or thousands of people. Two million a kilo.”
“I don’t have that many enemies, General. But if I do, you’ll be the first person I call.” The Mandarin slapped Park on his sweaty back.
Chapter Four
Dawn was just breaking as the sun peeked through a crack in the heavy drapes covering the huge glass windows in Rayna Tan’s San Francisco condo. At four a.m., clad only in her underwear and sports bra, the athletic Asian woman had already gone through a brutal Special Operations level workout and black belt level martial arts routine.
Hers was not the living space of a normal person. Her bedroom and living room had more resemblance to NASA than Better Homes and Gardens. There were at least twenty-five video m
onitors, all that were turned on to news feeds from a dozen different countries in a dozen different languages, six business channels that had up-to-the-second analysis and quotes from major and minor stock markets. This was not particularly unusual for anyone involved in financial management, planning and investing.
What was not normal were the half dozen monitors filled with the rantings of ethnic and religious terrorists. Rayna had recently thwarted a new terrorist group, the American Muslim Militia, which had threatened to blow up Safeco Field in Seattle. That threat had been neutralized but, in any situation like this, there were always loose ends that needed following up on. At any given time, there were not just major organizations, but thousands of cells around the world plotting world domination, jihad. The hard part was to determine which were real and which were hot air. One of Rayna’s tasks was to determine how valid any of these threats were.
One of her concerns was Hukm (Arabic for Judgement), an obscure apocalyptic Islamic cult that seemed to have its origins in the U.S. Midwest. As her family had a strong Christian background, she was fascinated by doomsday cults of all religions. She knew well the rantings and writings of Christian leaders like David Koresh and Jim Jones. Somewhere along the line, their knowledge became corrupted, but their natural charisma led to fanatic believers who followed these flawed leaders to their deaths.
Rayna was peeling away the layers of the surface web and delving into Hukm’s anonymous network on the dark web. Her research was sounding frighteningly familiar. “Judgement is imminent,” and “America’s sins must be accounted for,” were two prominent themes.
She was working on her second espresso when a voice from one of the video monitors greeted her.
“Good morning, Rayna,” smiled Barry Rogers, her boss at Fidelitas. With the screen showing a San Francisco morning skyline, it was obvious he was already at his office.
“Good morning to you too, Barry. To what do I owe this early morning pleasure?”
“Hold on. I don’t want to repeat myself.”
On another monitor, another familiar face. In a decrepit, dark room, Chuck Hanson, a muscular black man and retired Navy SEAL 6 member, was swinging a shovel at Assam, a former Islamic terrorist, trying to decapitate him. Assam dodged the deadly broad blades by leaping, ducking and backflipping. During a vicious thrust to Assam’s throat, Chuck’s cell phone started honking loudly—this could come from only one source and when it did come, it meant drop everything to answer.
Chuck immediately dropped the lethal garden tool and answered the phone, giving Assam a thumbs up.
“Hey, Barry, what’s up?”
“Smile. You’re on Candid Camera. Rayna and Arthur are here, too.”
“Damn. If I knew that, I would have killed the bastard.”
Rayna saw Chuck swatting off a blow to the head from Assam. “So, what’s the purpose of our gathering?”
Arthur, from another monitor, spoke up. “We want you to come to China. Now.”
Chapter Five
Rayna took a sip of her second espresso. This was not what she was expecting but then again, there wasn’t much with Fidelitas that was predictable. “What’s the story?”
“Did you hear about the two schools in China that collapsed a few months ago during a mild earthquake?” asked Arthur.
Rayna and Chuck shook their heads simultaneously. “Nope.”
Arthur sighed. “Most people didn’t. Not newsworthy enough—which means it’s a fit for Fidelitas. We did our own due diligence and discovered that, while one mid-level official took the fall, there were at least a dozen or more contractors that had levels of directs responsibility. Short cuts in construction led to defective buildings. More than twenty-five hundred deaths or injuries from a quake that measured only 4.2 on the Richter.”
“That’s unconscionable,” stated Rayna.
“Any idea who’s responsible?” asked Chuck.
Arthur nodded. “Yes, I’m taking care of the low-hanging fruit right now but we need you, Barry and Rayna to knock some heads together and flush out the rats. I’m organizing a special lunch in Guangzhou to bring some of them out.”
“What makes you think they’ll come?”
Arthur grinned as a photo of Rayna in a yellow bikini pointing an AK-47 directly at the camera came onscreen.
Rayna rolled her eyes. It was an old photo taken when she was in JTF2 that she never should have agreed to. “Are you going to hold that against me forever? What angle are you peddling now? Cupcake with a cannon? Babe with a bayonet? Fox with a firearm?”
Arthur shrugged. “Don’t flatter yourself. You can’t compete with the teenage goddess bimbos that surround these powerful pricks. But you are smart, you are lethal and you can get any job done… that is the turn-on. I’m going to tell them enough about Fidelitas to make them want to know more. My pitch is about getting them and their cash out of the country.”
A certain segment of Fidelitas’ clientele—high end criminals and wealthy corrupt scum— engaged the corporation to conduct sensitive, illegal transactions. In many instances, white-washing clients’ funds was part of the job. As for personal exit strategies? Fidelitas’ connections could get anyone, anywhere.
“How do you plan to do that?” asked Chuck.
“Haven’t figured that part out yet. All I know is that we just got the intel an hour ago and we’ve got to act fast. So Chuck, the jet’s picking you up in an hour. Two hours later, it’ll be in Frisco, then we take off to China. Got it?”
Chuck nodded on the other screen.
Noting Rayna’s sudden thoughtfulness, Barry queried, “Rayna. You good?”
China. The country she was born in. The country of which she had so many unanswered questions. Rayna asked quietly, “Do you think I might be able to take a personal day while I’m there? And is it okay if my father comes along?”
Barry cleared his throat. He immediately figured out the reason. Rayna was adopted at birth, but he had been unable to find out anything when he did his background check on her. If Fidelitas couldn’t find out, it would be hard for any normal mortal to discover anything, either—unless he had a personal connection, which Rayna’s father definitely had. “We can arrange that. We’ll take a detour and pick him up, too. Now, let’s get ready.”
With that the conference ended and the monitors resumed pumping out the news.
Rayna cradled the phone as she punched in a familiar number.
“Hello. Pastor Henry here.”
“Hi, Dad, it’s Rayna. Got a sec?”
“Of course. I’d much prefer talking to my daughter instead of being planted at my desk and working on sermon prep.” Rayna could sense the smile on her father’s face at the other end of the line. She felt his warmth oozing through. “You think you could take a few days off with me, like starting in like… four hours?”
“Of course,” said Henry without hesitation.
“You didn’t even ask why.”
“I don’t need to. If you need me, I’m there. I’ll just call up Jordan and ask him to preach this Sunday instead. What is it we’re doing?”
“The company is sending me on a business trip to China to Guangzhou. I recall you saying that is close to where I’m from… I… I want to go back to the village where I was born and see if I can find anything out about my birth family.”
After a few thoughtful moments, Henry broke the silence. “I was wondering when this day would come. Tell me what flight you’re going on so we can coordinate.”
“Don’t worry about that. I will pick you up in our company jet. Why don’t you start packing?”
“Did you say, ‘company jet’ as in ‘private jet for just those you’re working with?”
“Yeah.”
A whistle was heard over the phone. “Who are you working for, Rayna?”
“I told you before, Dad. Don’t ask me. We’ll get a driver to pick you up when it’s time to go.”
“I can catch a cab,” protested Henry.
“He w
ouldn’t know where the private airfield is. See you soon.”
“Wait!” Henry’s tone became serious. “I don’t want you to get your expectations too high. The circumstances of our adopting you were unusual at best. Your mom and I respected the wishes of the birth mother for anonymity and not to tell us anything…”
“I understand, Dad. I just thought it would be nice to have you around… as my tour guide.”
Henry squinted. “I think I should have recorded that.”
“Just start packing.”
Chapter Six
Jackson Lam was the Mandarin’s son, one of those Chinese that Canadians loved to hate. The eighteen-year-old emigrated to Canada with his parents eight years earlier under Canada’s Immigrant Investor Program, a program where qualified investors could get Canadian landed immigrant status (the Canadian equivalent of the American Green Card), in exchange for investment into the Canadian economy.
There was no doubt that this was a “win win” situation for both sides of the investment equation. Canada would get much desired private investment and the immigrants could gain access to what most considered a better quality of life than the country they were from, as well as a multitude of new investment opportunities. For three decades, Canadians were happy with the system. The value in their homes went up, retailers had new shoppers willing to buy everything from top-of-the-line appliances to automobiles, and restaurants welcomed thousands of new customers.
But, in recent years, attitudes of some long-time Canadians began to change. Homes became unaffordable in certain prime areas; signs in stores were no longer in English; and with the study ethic of immigrant students and hushed bribes (or “donations”) by their parents, getting into the best schools seemed an impossible wall to scale.
It was during this time of nascent resentment that Jackson and his parents emigrated. If the press or mainstream Canadians found out what Jackson’s family had been doing, resentment would have changed to outrage… or even an uprising.
The Mandarin's Vendetta (Rayna Tan Action Thriller Series Book 2) Page 2
