The Mandarin's Vendetta (Rayna Tan Action Thriller Series Book 2)

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  “Well, we don’t actually have enough money to get a proper CSI in but your son was the only fatality. The others managed to get stitched up in the hospital half an hour away and they’ve been released.”

  “Thank you.” The Mandarin bowed deeply, his head almost touching the floor.

  As he straightened himself, the Mandarin launched an uppercut into Sheriff Clemens’ jaw. There was so much force that the officer’s body lifted two inches off the ground.

  On Clemens’ descent, the Mandarin delivered a vicious right hook to his jaw. There were two distinct cracking sounds. One was of the sheriff’s jaw breaking. The other softer sound was of his neck snapping.

  As Clemens buckled over, the Mandarin delivered a powerful chop to the base of his cerebellum.

  The mortified Morgan was too paralyzed with fear to move. As Clemens’ body hit the hardwood floor, the Uber driver and the Mandarin watched the last few quivers of life seep out of the law enforcement officer.

  The Mandarin fixed his eyes on Morgan. “Did you see anything?”

  “No. No. Nothing,” stammered Morgan.

  “Good boy. I like you.”

  The Mandarin took the sheriff’s revolver and the two left.

  ***

  Because San Roca was too small to have a morgue, Morgan took the Mandarin to the town’s sole funeral home where Jackson’s body was being kept. The Mandarin tolerated the inane condolences of Richard Jones, the director of the funeral home, delivered before taking him to Jackson’s body.

  The Mandarin took a full stoic-faced minute to examine Jackson’s face. Then he asked the director to remove Jackson’s clothes. It was an unusual request until the Mandarin explained that the police had told him his son’s death was due to a drug overdose.

  “I just want to check,” said the Mandarin, firmly quiet.

  “Of course,” replied Jones, suddenly feeling uneasy with his strange new client. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but there seemed to be something that reminded the funeral home worker of the iconic sociopath, Hannibal Lecter.

  The Mandarin examined Jackson’s body fastidiously, noting that there was not a single needle mark anywhere. None in the obvious places like the veins in the arms; none in the less obvious places like the underside of the feet or chest or between the toes.

  Jones’ stomach knotted. “Addicts can be pretty creative as to where they shoot up. I even saw a corpse where he’d stuck the needle in the veins in his bag.”

  When the Mandarin glared, measuring him up for a cheap coffin, the director pointed to his scrotum, “You know, like the bag?”

  “My son was not an addict. He was not even a user.”

  The Mandarin’s calm assertion freaked Jones even more. “My bad. Sorry about that.”

  “Put his clothes back on,” ordered the Mandarin.

  Jones meekly obeyed.

  “Can we cremate him now?”

  The funeral director was taken aback. “We weren’t told about this. I’ve got to pull someone in… maybe tomorrow?”

  “We will begin in half an hour.”

  Hannibal Lecter. There was something so sinister in the Mandarin’s quiet understated tone that Jones knew the cremation was going to begin in half an hour—even if he had to do it himself, which he had never done.

  ***

  After three hours, Jones put a portion of Jackson’s pasty white remains into a small flask the Mandarin had brought along. Although this was something he had done thousands of times, his hands twitched as he was trying to turn the cap tightly on the urn. Finally, success. “There you go. I must admit this is most highly unusual. I wouldn’t normally…”

  The funeral operator didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. The Mandarin had stepped behind him, cupping his hands. With a thunderous motion, the Mandarin clapped hard on both of Jones’ ears. The violent vibrations burst the eardrums, causing internal bleeding in the brain.

  Jones was dead within seconds. Morgan helped the Mandarin lift the body into the cremation chamber. The Mandarin locked it and turned it on.

  “Are you sure you’re doing that right?” asked Morgan.

  “It doesn’t matter. I am never coming back.”

  ***

  Four hours later, the car was back on the road. Instead to going directly to LAX, there was a side trip to visit the Port of Los Angeles at San Pedro Bay, twenty miles south of Los Angeles. The busiest container port in the United States, the shipment the Mandarin had sent to America arrived at this port. Not as big as Shanghai, Hong Kong or his home city of Guangzhou, but big enough.

  As Morgan pulled the handbrake in the quiet parking lot, the Mandarin reached over from the back seat and throttled him. Morgan gurgled and flailed, but he was no match in strength for the Mandarin. Within three minutes of intense pressure on the carotid artery and no new air getting into his lungs, Morgan was dead.

  There were no witnesses around so the Mandarin got out. He opened the front door and put Morgan’s jacket over his head—it wasn’t unusual for someone to grab a few winks, so it might be days before the kill was discovered.

  Walking to the offices further down the terminal, it wasn’t too hard for the Mandarin to get an impromptu tour from a Chinese company that operated one of the terminals. The official pointed out the extensive railroad system of enormous capacity that led to more than a dozen major destinations throughout the United States and Mexico. When the Mandarin mentioned he was more interested in a local customer base, he was told that there were almost twenty million people living within a two-hour drive of the port and that San Francisco was just a couple of hours more.

  The Mandarin made silent note of this. He also had a chance to see a few thousand of the almost twenty thousand employees that worked there. He asked his guide what the policy was for hiring people from prisons or with less than stellar records.

  The shipping guide shook his head in disgust. “Americans give everyone a chance and second and third chances. They are so stupid.”

  ***

  When the shipping official discovered that the Mandarin’s Uber driver had abandoned him, he gladly gave the Mandarin a ride to the airport.

  “I will not forget your kindness in giving me the ride,” thanked the Mandarin.

  “I’m glad to show a countryman around, especially one we will do business with soon!” grinned the driver.

  “For sure. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  The Mandarin took out the sheriff’s gun and shot his host through the temple.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rayna walked into China HQ to find her fellow teammates enjoying a glass of single malt while Julio proferred the latest intel.

  “Hey, you should have waited for me,” she sniped.

  “No, Rayna, we need you to concentrate on the big fish. Any news there?” asked Barry.

  “Yes, no given name, but Mary called him “The Mandarin,” which is what Ling called the person who got her the job with Ming. Can’t be a coincidence that there might be two people with the pretentious moniker of the Mandarin who are in the people recruitment business.”

  Julio’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Nothing that I can guarantee for sure just yet, but we may have just found the motherlode. There are at least a thousand workers that worked on the Zongtian schools that came from one as yet unidentified source.”

  Barry poured Rayna a healthy shot of the amber liquid. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, he runs a sweat shop in the old shanty town. I only saw the top floor where they make killer knock-off designer handbags, but the whole six floors must be making basketball shoes, women’s clothing…”

  Arthur took a sip of his scotch before offering, “Julio got enough on three of the lunchtime guests to make ‘personal visits’ worthwhile.”

  “Shouldn’t I be going, too?”

  Before Arthur could answer, there was a loud knock on the door. Chuck, the closest to the door, went to open it.

  “Can
I crash the party?” asked Henry as he stepped in.

  “Have a seat. Want a drink?” asked Chuck.

  “Not today, thanks.”

  “Good day, Dad?”

  Henry let out a thoughtful breath of air. “It was a long ride to Ling’s family’s village and back but totally worth it. Ling’s grandparents are salt-of-the-earth people.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. The grandfather was happy and suspicious. Happy because Ling was back and suspicious that I wanted to take her to be my sex toy.”

  “Why would he think that?” Like a lot of kids, Rayna found it impossible to think of her parents having sex.

  “Because I told him I was going to try to find a way to bring her back to Canada with me.”

  “You what? Why?”

  Henry bounced his head up and down, a habit he had when he was thinking about something that he really didn’t have the answers to. “I had to, Rayna. ‘Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.’ I might need your help to pull this off.”

  Rayna had nothing to say. Her parents had always acted this way… it was why they adopted her. It’s why Henry gave up a successful business career to become a pastor.

  “I’ll be glad to see what we can do,” offered Barry. “Arthur and I know a person or two.”

  Relief shone on Henry’s face. “That would be so kind of you if you did… How did your presentation go?”

  Rayna hated to lie but the truth wasn’t going to set her free. “Straightforward introduction to the firm. For the investors that Fidelitas wants to attract, they want to know who they’re dealing with is successful. Look the part, act the part, be the part. You know that. You dealt with them all your working life.”

  “Sounds boring, but I guess this job is a lot safer than dealing with terrorists in the Middle East.”

  If you only knew. “Yeah, it sure is.”

  “Yeah, I am so glad you gave that up,” Henry said with no small amount of relief in his voice. “Maybe you can concentrate on finding someone who will make me some grandchildren? Who knows? Maybe back in your home village.”

  “Speaking of which, why don’t you take tomorrow as your personal day to visit your home village?” Arthur asked. “Just keep your cell phone on in case we need you.”

  “What are you guys going to do?”

  “I’m sure Julio will find us something to do. Right, Julio?”

  Julio’s face beamed. “Most definitely.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Flashback - Twenty-six Years Ago

  It was an exciting time for newlyweds Henry and Vivian Tan. They had known each other for six years since the time they were both international students at the University of Washington in Seattle where Henry, from China, was studying commerce and Vivian, from Hong Kong, was studying to be a teacher. Sparks didn’t exactly fly then but, after they graduated and Vivian moved back to Asia and Henry stayed to work in Seattle, they realized something was missing in their lives. That something was each other. An intense year-and-a-half long-distance relationship ensued with the culmination of a happy wedding day in Hong Kong. It was a dream wedding with over five hundred guests attending the wedding and reception at the luxurious Harborside Peninsula Hotel.

  Though they were exhausted the next day, there was one duty to perform before they embarked on their European honeymoon—they had to visit the graves of Henry’s grandparents in a rural village in the Guangdong Province. They took a train from Hong Kong to the bustling metropolis of Guangzhou, and then hired a private taxi to the rural farming region of the Pearl River Delta to the village where Henry’s grandparents were born: Golden Corner.

  In this town of a couple hundred or so, everybody knew everybody and all claimed to remember Henry’s grandparents. Grandfather Tan left the village in his teens as a newly married man to make his fortune in Beijing. Hard-working and clever, within two years he was able to bring his bride to live with him in the big city. He was always progressive—especially when he gave his three children Western names. His two sons were Benjamin and Tony, and his daughter was named Grace.

  Tony married Lily and the two of them had Henry. While they would have liked more kids, China’s “one child” policy was in full force and precluded that possibility. That was okay with Tony. A small family meant he could spend more time at work at his two bookstores. Although he was by no means wealthy, after Henry finished high school, Tony sent his son to Seattle to study at the University of Washington. There was one sad event that Henry had no control over. In the midst of his final exams, his beloved grandparents and father died in one of Beijing’s frequent car accidents. His mother did not tell Henry until after exams were over.

  Henry regretted missing the funeral services but promised his father and his grandfather’s souls that he would pay his final respects and introduce his new bride when he got married.

  Which is why today this newly married couple stood over a slightly elevated hump of grass in a knoll. There were no markers, plaques or tombstones—not even a piece of wood with someone’s name on it. No, all there was, was a slight mound that indicated that something might be buried underneath it. It followed the customs of what people in this village had done for centuries: buried people in this quiet grassy field on the town’s outskirts. One of the village elders led Henry here, assuring him this was definitely where his grandparents and father were buried. Henry bowed thankfully and gave the elder a lucky red bag of money. The elder left the young couple to pay their respects to their ancestors by themselves.

  Henry lit eight incense sticks and held them with both hands. With fragrant smoke rising in the air, he raised the sticks above his head, then lowered them to belly-button level. He and Vivian bowed three times in front of the ancestors. Henry then planted the smoking shafts into the anonymous dirt mound.

  “Grandpa, Papa, Grandma, I want you to meet Vivian. I met her when I was in school and we got married. I hope you will love her as much as I do.”

  Then it was Vivian’s turn. She bowed deeply and respectfully.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Tan, thanks so much for letting me marry your Henry. We will do our best to honor you.”

  The two bowed another three times, then started the walk back to the village.

  Their ears perked up as they heard the sound of a female voice crying in the distance.

  Henry pointed in the direction of the woods. “It’s coming from over there.”

  The two quickly dashed in the direction of the sound and into the small forest.

  “It’s behind that tree,” broke in Vivian.

  The two quickly stepped to a gnarled pine tree and saw why there was so much yelling—a young girl was giving birth. The baby was almost out.

  “Oh! Oh!” screamed the shaking, sweating girl.

  Neither Henry nor Vivian had any experience at all in midwifery but, with no one else around, there wasn’t a lot of choice. About the only thing that either of them knew about delivering babies was learned from watching the occasional hospital television drama.

  ***

  Three hours later, success. Ling, the new mother, slept as Henry and Vivian looked on.

  Vivian rocked the baby in her arms. “She’s so beautiful. Like a doll.”

  “More like a shriveled prune if you ask me,” whispered Henry with a man’s tact as he touched the baby girl’s face.

  Ling woke up, shuddering. Fear covered her face.

  “It’s okay. The baby’s fine. You’re going to be fine.” Vivian offered the infant to the mother.

  “I don’t want her,” cried Ling. “I never wanted her.”

  “She’s beautiful. You must be so happy to have her.”

  “No! No!”

  Post-partum syndrome set in fast.

  “Don’t press it, Viv,” whispered Henry. “I’ve been thinking there is something wrong. Why else did she have the baby here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Vivian shrugged her shoulders in ignorance.

  “Th
e baby must have been born out of wedlock. Otherwise, where’s the father? Where’s the family?” asked Henry seriously. “And maybe the issues are deeper.”

  He touched the girl. “Don’t worry. Someone will take care of her. We can find someone in the village.”

  “NO! NO! Not there! You cannot stay. You must leave now! Take her with you!”

  Ling struggled to get up. As fast as her tired body allowed, she sprinted away from the tree and into the field.

  Henry dashed after her and took hold of the crying teenager.

  “I cannot keep her. Please take her. You must. Please.”

  With typical male right-brain analysis, Henry thought he knew what the problem was. “Don’t worry about the one-child policy. I will help you pay the fine and you can have another.”

  “It’s not that. Not that at all. I don’t want to bring another child into the world like me.” Ling rolled up the sleeve on her arm to reveal a series of needle marks. Opium? Heroin? Who knew? Whatever it was, Ling felt that she was unfit to raise the child.

  “Who is the father? Maybe he will take her,” said Henry.

  “He is the last person I want to raise her.” She unbuttoned her blouse, revealing dark fresh bruises. “If he did this to me, what do you think he will do to her? You must take her. Please.”

  With that, she took off. This time, Henry did not follow her.

  Vivian edged up to him, cradling the child. It was obvious to Henry that the bonding process had already begun.

  To bring the baby back to America was not too difficult. Vivian told the airline and government officials that she was further advanced in her pregnancy than she thought.

  Examining her documents, one official noted the baby as well as the date of their marriage. She gave a knowing wink. “Shotgun wedding?”

  “Something like that.”