by Jake Logan
“Where do you think?” Little Pete turned and went back into his headquarters. Slocum saw no one else but had the sensation of being watched as he stood alone in the alley.
“Where else?” Slocum snorted in disgust at his question. The only place a pirate would be was as plain as the nose on his face. He walked quickly to the Embarcadero. A sailor needed a boat.
“Lieutenant,” Slocum called to a naval officer walking along scribbling furiously in a notebook. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, sir,” the officer said, giving Slocum a quick once-over. Seeing that Slocum was no sailor caused the lieutenant to dismiss him. Slocum did not care. All he wanted was confirmation of what ought to be obvious.
“Any ships from China leave on the morning tide?” If Lai Choi San had stolen the jade crown, there was no reason to remain in San Francisco. She would set sail immediately to return to China.
“There are ships coming and going all the time,” he said, frowning. “Let me see. I’ve got the list of arrivals and departures here somewhere.” He leafed through the pages of the notebook. “There was one bound for China that left yesterday morning. The next out will be the Lissome Lass, bound for Boston. Don’t know when the Lass is set to sail. From the stores being secured, I’d say a day or two.”
“What would a Chinese sail?”
The lieutenant stared more sharply at Slocum.
“You mean that junk that dropped anchor two days back? What’s your interest in it?”
“It’s still in the harbor? The one with a woman captain?”
“That’s the one—the only one. I rowed past the junk right after it sailed through the Golden Gate and caught sight of the captain.” He smiled wistfully. “I should sail under a captain that looked like her.” The lieutenant straightened and slammed his book shut. “I suspect she keeps a tight ship. Very tight.”
Slocum stared at the ships in the harbor. “Which one is she? The one captained by Lai Choi San?”
“You know quite a bit more than I’d have thought,” the lieutenant said. He turned, squinted and then pointed. “That’s the one. You can tell it’s a different breed of ship entirely by the way it sits so high in the water at the stern.”
Slocum’s mind raced. If Lai Choi San had the jade, there was no reason to remain in port. Little Pete did not have the jade. Ah Ming had no reason to steal the crown and not immediately trade it for her father’s bones. Slocum’s spirits sank. San Francisco was a dangerous city. He might have been robbed by a common street thief.
“How long does it take a ship like that one to prepare for the trip to China? A junk?”
“As long as any other ocean-faring ship,” the lieutenant said. “It would put on water and supplies. That could take anywhere from a day to a week, depending on what cargo it was loading. Never seen a junk before. It’s bigger than I’d heard. It could take quite a spell provisioning it since the crew’s at least as numerous as on a clipper ship.”
Slocum reconsidered. Lai Choi San might have taken the jade crown after all. She had tried before. From Tess’s account of the prisoners taken by the police and interrogated, they were Chinese sailors. Since the lieutenant knew of no other ships from the Celestial Kingdom in port, that left only the solitary junk.
“I think she might have stolen part of Sir William Macadams’s exhibit over at the museum.”
“Heard tell of some killings, but I thought nothing about it. I always have my hands full here.”
“You responsible for maintaining the peace in the harbor?”
“That I am. Don’t do much to prevent the shanghaiers plying their trade,” the lieutenant admitted, “but I try to keep the captains buying the poor wights as honest as possible.”
“Unless I miss my guess, that’s not too honest, is it?”
“Not much.” The lieutenant chuckled. “Most of them that get themselves shanghaied deserve it. A year at sea probably does them good.”
“I have reason to believe Lai Choi San is responsible for the theft from Sir William and the murder of several men.”
“That’s all in the jurisdiction of the San Francisco police.”
“But you patrol the harbor. You’re a U.S. Naval officer who keeps things on the up-and-up on the water.”
“I would like to get a look at that vessel,” the lieutenant said thoughtfully. Memories of the lovely captain undoubtedly flashed through his mind.
Slocum wanted a better look at the junk’s captain, too, if Lai Choi San was as good-looking as the lieutenant thought. Just seeing a female sea captain—any female captain, much less a pretty one—might be worth the effort to board and search the junk.
“If you’re willing to sign an affidavit, I’ll get my launch and enough marines to search the ship,” the lieutenant said.
“It’d carry more weight if Sir William swore to the facts,” Slocum said. “There won’t be any trouble getting him to agree.”
“To hell with that. You get me the papers later. I’ll search the damned junk now!”
The lieutenant put his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. A seaman scrambled up from below a pier.
“Sir?”
“Ready the launch. Tell Sergeant Lamont I want a detachment of marines on the double. We’re going to search a boat.”
“The junk, sir?”
The lieutenant glared at the seaman, who smirked, then saluted and disappeared. The officer had been thinking about paying a visit to Lai Choi San long before Slocum gave him reason.
“Mind if I go along? I can identify the stolen jade crown.”
“How many jade crowns are there likely to be aboard even a Chinese ship?” the lieutenant asked. Then he laughed and slapped Slocum on the back. “If you’ve got a mind and the sea legs, come along. The bay is mighty choppy today.”
They went to the end of a long pier where six armed marines and their sergeant waited for the lieutenant. Six more seamen came trotting up along the pier.
“Rowers, prepare,” the lieutenant barked. He jumped into the long boat and paid Slocum no more attention. Slocum followed, not liking the rocking motion of the boat under him. Given the choice, he preferred horseback. He looked around, wondering if he should take a turn at an oar, but the bench seats were all filled.
“There, sir,” whispered the marine sergeant, pointing to a spot at the rear of the boat. “You got the look of infantry ’bout you.”
Slocum nodded.
“CSA?”
Slocum nodded again.
“So was I. Tenth ’Bama Regulars. Becomin’ a water soldier was the only way I could keep on with what I knowed best.”
“Good for you, Sergeant,” Slocum said. The lieutenant had already cast off the mooring lines, and his crew began rowing steadily, heading for the junk a mile out in the harbor. The farther from the dock the launch went, the rougher the sea. The rising and falling caused Slocum’s belly to churn, and more than once he fought to keep from upchucking. The sailors and marines watched him with some amusement, wanting the landlubber to disgrace himself.
He did not provide them with the show they desired. Instead, he swallowed hard and then pictured himself on a bucking bronc, unexpectedly tossing from side to side and then giving a straight-up lurch. When he did this, his queasy stomach settled and he began to enjoy the trip. Salt spray caused him to squint, and the wind that had blown through San Francisco, turning it downright cold, was freezing out on the water. He ignored that. He had survived frostbite.
That thought brought Anne to mind. He ignored the cold and the spray and stared ahead at the junk.
“What are they doing?” Slocum called to the lieutenant.
“Hailing us, I expect,” the officer said. He waved his arms and yelled, “Ahoy. U.S. Navy. Come to inspect your ship!”
“Sergeant,” Slocum said urgently. “What does it look like they’re doing?”
“Lieutenant, sir,” the sergeant yelled, getting to his feet and pulling his carbine around and putting it to his
shoulder. “They’re fixin’ to fire on us!”
“They’d never do that. I identified ourselves as an official vessel.”
“Then what’s that five-pounder doin’ on their stern?”
Slocum reached for his six-shooter but was out of range by too many yards. He saw a small brass cannon being lowered. Even at this distance the bore looked big enough for him to stick his head into.
“Desist,” the officer yelled. “We’re official—”
He got no further. The tongue of flame, the puff of smoke, the report were all secondary to the grapeshot fired at them. The lieutenant jerked around from a ragged gash left on his upper arm by a hot piece of lead. Two more of the lead pellets hammered into the bottom of the boat. Two seamen jumped to, bailing and cursing simultaneously.
“Fire!” The lieutenant pointed at the junk and repeated his order. “Fire on them! Return fire!”
Sergeant Lamont’s marines did the best they could at this range. The launch rose and fell on every swell in the bay, throwing off their aim. Even if they had been on solid ground, Slocum wondered how many of them could make an accurate shot at this range. The junk, however, had no problem landing more of the grapeshot all around the boat. Splinters flew away and the launch began listing.
“Bail, damn you all, bail. We’re takin’ water!”
Slocum did not know who shouted the order. He obeyed. Using his hat, he began lifting water from the boat’s bilge and tossing it overboard. Only four men continued rowing, and the lieutenant had them veering away from the junk to get out of range of its brass cannon. One more round of grape pelted them but did no damage.
“Those yellow swine,” growled the sergeant. “I’ve half a mind to swim over there and cut their damn throats!”
“I’ll join you,” Slocum said. The old Southern soldier looked at Slocum for an instant, then laughed aloud.
“Damn me if I don’t believe you would.”
They bailed furiously while another seaman did what he could to patch the largest hole in the bottom of the boat.
Slocum took a final look over his shoulder as they neared the docks again, wetter and madder but in no danger of being drowned in the bay. He could not be sure at this range but thought he saw a woman dressed all in black watching.
If that was Lai Choi San, Slocum made a silent promise to not only retrieve the jade but to scuttle her ship. It was only fitting revenge for trying to kill him.
9
“Report, Lieutenant,” snapped a man decked out in more gold braid than Slocum remembered seeing all through the war. He edged closer to the marine sergeant and whispered, “Is that the commodore?”
“Commands Fort Point and thinks he runs ever’thin’,” Sergeant Lamont said, not bothering to hold down his voice. “Captain Johnson is in charge of the harbor patrol. He’s laid up real bad right now with the gout, or so they say.” Lamont chuckled. “Me and the men think he’s got the clap, so the lieutenant’s in charge.”
Slocum watched as the naval lieutenant bearded the army colonel.
“Sir, the Chinese vessel fired upon us with no provocation.”
“By damn! I’ll blow them out of the water!”
“Fort Point’s guns are not trained in that direction, sir.”
“You young whippersnapper!” The colonel turned livid. “You do not tell me where to aim my cannon!”
“Sir, Captain Johnson has been over this with you,” the lieutenant said, barely holding his own anger in check. “Aiming at vessels docked in San Francisco harbor is not wise. Your mission is to protect us from seaborne attack and to control the Golden Gate. Once a vessel is within the harbor, it is under the jurisdiction of the U.S. Navy.”
“But they fired on you!”
“Sir, I will get the frigate and board them. The only reason they would fire upon an inspection team is because of illegal activities. I believe they are opium smugglers.”
Slocum’s eyebrows rose at that. He had never suspected such. The opium trafficking from the Orient was out of control because the navy did nothing to stop it. There were too many other crimes on the high seas to worry about, and from what Slocum had seen, the navy had little presence in San Francisco.
“You’ll get a frigate,” the colonel mocked. “Do you even know where your frigate is?”
“If you’ll bend over, sir, I will check to see if it is where I suspect,” the lieutenant said.
This produced a round of laughter from the marines. The colonel turned on them, saw they were wet and armed and in no mood to put up with him. He turned back to the lieutenant.
“Your insubordination will not go unnoticed, sir!”
“That’ll be about the first thing under your purview that hasn’t gone unnoticed, sir!” The lieutenant stood his ground well, Slocum thought. He was also liable to get court-martialed. It did not bother the officer unduly. With great deliberation he gave orders to his seamen to beach the boat and get to repairing the holes shot in it.
“You have a frigate nearby?” Slocum asked.
The lieutenant glared, then said, “You don’t know. We had two. One was sunk during a storm a few months ago. This forces the remaining vessel to patrol up and down the coast, doing the work of two. If the frigate is not north of San Francisco, then it is south.”
“I see,” Slocum said. “What are you going to do about the junk?”
“There’s not anything I can do until I can commandeer an armed vessel. Trying to board again using only the launch carrying marines with rifles is suicidal. That cannon would deliver even more death and destruction on us.”
“You’ll quarantine the junk?”
“No one gets on or off,” the lieutenant vowed.
The officer was determined, but Slocum knew there were practical limits to what could be done. While being fired upon made the man mad, he also had to regulate other ships in the harbor. Slocum did a quick count and saw no fewer than fifteen. The time that could be spent cordoning off Lai Choi San’s junk was minimal.
As the officer went about his business, Slocum stood and stared at the junk bobbing on the choppy bay. Lai Choi San must have the jade crown, but why wasn’t she underway for the Orient? Even if she lacked sufficient food and water, she could put in at Hawaii to resupply for the final leg of the long trip.
“Are you waiting for something?” Slocum wondered aloud. As long as the junk remained at anchor where he could see it, there was a chance of recovering the jade crown. He didn’t know how it could be done, but he would find a way.
“What use is the jade crown?” Ah Ming stared impassively at Slocum. “It is a fine tribute to the Jade Emperor, but this is not China.”
“So you don’t care that Lai Choi San has the jade crown?”
“I care that Little Pete has my father’s body. You have not done well in retrieving it,” Ah Ming said. She was slowly turning colder toward him. “I have given you incentives. You have not performed well in response.”
“I tried to swap the jade for your pa,” Slocum said. “Lai Choi San stole the jade crown, and that’s all Little Pete wants.”
“Little Pete is a liar,” Ah Ming said, her anger rising now. “He is Sum Yop. He will not trade anything for my father’s body. He wishes only to desecrate it. He shames all On Leong members. That is what he wants.”
“Are you sure he hasn’t disposed of the body? How hard would it be for him to just dump the body in the bay and let the sharks eat it?”
“He has the body,” Ah Ming said flatly. “You must get it from him.”
“You’ve made that clear,” Slocum said.
“No, I have not,” Ah Ming said. “I could not have made you understand or you would have returned what I seek most.”
“Or I could have died.” He saw that made no difference to the woman. If he died trying to snatch the body from Little Pete’s headquarters, she would simply try another ploy. Knowing that he was expendable did not bother him as much as the notion that he had failed.
“To
give you added reason to do as I have asked, to do as you have promised, you have one week to succeed.”
“Or?” Slocum knew an ultimatum when he heard it.
“Those who think the Celestials never leave Chinatown are mistaken,” she said. “We go freely everywhere in San Francisco. The shadows are our allies.”
It was clear enough to Slocum that Ah Ming threatened him. If he failed, the On Leong hatchet men would kill him, no matter where he was in the city. In a fancy club on Union Hill, a Chinese waiter might poison him. Drink in a dive along the waterfront, and a coolie dockhand might drive a knife into him. Chinatown? Entering this part of the city voluntarily would be like a cow seeking out a slaughterhouse.
“I understand,” Slocum said.
“I want my father’s bones on the next ship sailing for the Flowery Kingdom. Your reward will be continued life.”
Ah Ming turned and glided away as if she rolled on wheels rather than walked, leaving Slocum alone in the underground room. He went to the narrow tunnel outside and looked both ways. Nothing but darkness. With the hairs rising on the back of his neck, he turned in the direction he had come and walked slowly, carefully placing each foot in front of him. Once he smelled the pungent odor of opium, he wondered if the lieutenant had been right about Lai Choi San shipping in the sticky black tar opiate. Then he pushed all such thoughts from his mind. Standing outlined in bright daylight at the head of steep stairs, the hatchet man who often accompanied Ah Ming beckoned for him to hurry.
Slocum did, wondering if he would get a hatchet in the spine. He looked back once he was out of the underground maze. The On Leong tong killer had disappeared, either going down into the rabbit warren under Chinatown or slipping away somewhere else, possibly to trail Slocum. There was not a chance of a celluloid dog in hell that Slocum could spot the man, big though he was.
Slocum knew what a condemned man felt like now. One week. Ah Ming had given him that long to live if he did not return her father’s bones. He wandered through the streets of Chinatown drawing stares. He wondered if they knew of Ah Ming’s sentence or if they simply distrusted Westerners. Possibly a little of both produced the sudden silence and then the hushed whispers after he passed.
