White Ghost

by Steven Gore

  “Control, I’m just turning off Bay Shore.”

  “Control check.”

  “I can see East Wind.”

  “Control check.”

  FROM HIS PERCH, Gage watched the Golden Mountain truck pull into the East Wind loading area, then back up. A warehouse worker jumped down to the pavement and guided the driver until the rear of the truck bed came to rest against the tire-tread-covered edge of the dock.

  For the first time Gage imagined himself standing outside an interrogation room in the federal building looking through a two-way mirror as a handcuffed Ah Ming was interrogated by Joe Casey.

  INSIDE, LUCY PRETENDED to give Sylvia a tour of the warehouse. They paused and watched the driver lower himself from the cab and climb the outside stairs to the dock level. Lucy left Sylvia and walked up to him, asking for the shipping documents. He passed them to her attached to a battered aluminum clipboard, then she turned and walked back to where Sylvia was waiting.

  The driver lowered himself from the dock and began to unhitch the trailer.

  Sylvia walked Lucy toward Ah Ming’s corner office.

  The aluminum clipboard turned leaden in Lucy’s hands. For a moment she feared sweat would stain the delivery receipt. And not because she was nervous about the mechanics. She’d done fine at Sunny Glory and at InterOcean. No, the problem was that Ah Ming was the man responsible for her brother’s death. Ah Ming was evil, and for the first time she was about to hear the voice of evil himself.

  “Easy,” Sylvia said. “Remember who you are. You’re a clerk. That’s all.” She pointed at a spot along the warehouse wall ten feet from Ah Ming’s office door. “I’ll be right there.”

  “I can do this,” Lucy whispered. “I know I can do this.”

  GAGE, FELIX, AND BUDDY WATCHED two cars pull to a stop outside East Wind. Six men jumped out and strode through the front door. The drivers remained outside.

  “Who the devil are they?” Felix asked, grabbing his radio. “Casey, six Asian guys just marched into East Wind. Real businesslike. Can’t tell what they’re here for, but they have gangster written all over them. Maybe to pick up the dope. Over.”

  “Then we’re going in. No reason to take any chances and maybe we’ll grab more of the gang. Alpha Team?”

  “Copy.”

  “Bravo.”

  “Copy.”

  “Charlie.”

  “Copy.”

  “Let’s roll.”

  LUCY KNOCKED ON AH MING’S DOOR. In the weeks she’d worked at East Wind, she’d never even seen the inside of his office, never had been closer than fifty feet of him.

  “Yes,” Ah Ming said.

  She walked inside. Like his dark suit, dark tie, and white shirt, the office was stark, nearly bare. A desk and two chairs. A phone. A fax. She saw his face in profile. He was leaning back in his seat, staring at a blank wall. He waved her to come forward without looking at her.

  “Mr. Kung told me to give the shipping documents to you. A container just arrived.”

  “Just leave them on my desk.”

  Lucy laid them down but held the clipboard in her hands.

  “The driver needs a signature on the receipt.”

  Lucy reached out with the clipboard. He sat up, turned his chair toward the desk, and took it from her hand.

  She felt herself flush.

  Ah Ming signed the receipt, tore off a copy, then held out the clipboard.

  Lucy took it back. It felt weightless in her hands as she turned away.

  Gotcha, she said to herself.

  She walked back into the warehouse.

  Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha.

  AS SYLVIA STEPPED FORWARD to intercept Lucy on her way to return the receipt to the undercover driver, she noticed six Asian men striding toward Ah Ming’s office. She’d spent enough time on the street to recognize the walk. She grabbed Lucy’s arm and pulled her close, taking her under control, forcing her to march toward the exit.

  “Let’s go.”

  “What about the receipt? I have to take it to the driver.”

  “Let me have it. Let’s go. Don’t look back.”

  “Where’s my personnel file?”

  “I’ve got it. Go, go, go. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  But Sylvia wasn’t sure they were going to make it.

  AS AH MING LIFTED HIS DESK PHONE TO MAKE A CALL, he noticed the shipping papers Lucy had left on his desk. He reached to slip them into the tray at the corner. The words “InterOcean” and “Sunny Glory” glared out at him from the bill of lading. He dropped the phone back into its cradle. His heart raced. His throat closed.

  The container was from InterOcean, from Sunny Glory.

  Who did this?

  Someone is forcing it into my hands.

  Chau? Did Chau get caught and turn snitch?

  Ah Ming’s thoughts jumped from face to face and place to place.

  Who is it? Lew? Clarence?

  It made no difference.

  Whoever did this knows everything.

  Everything.

  Ah Ming reached into his middle desk drawer, pulled out a 9mm pistol, and rose to his feet.

  His doorjamb exploded as one of Flat Nose’s men kicked it open.

  Ah Ming fired once. A shot to the chest. The man dropped in the doorway.

  Running footsteps told Ah Ming there were others.

  “CONTROL. SHOTS FIRED. SHOTS FIRED.”

  “Control check.”

  Gage forced himself to remain where he stood. He needed to hear what Casey was going to do and how he would do it, and then decide what he could do. The fear behind that thought was that with his slowed reflexes and fatigue he was more likely to endanger Sylvia and Lucy than protect them.

  Buddy pushed himself to his feet to get a better view. “Somebody’s trying to grab the load.”

  Felix put his radio to his lips.

  “Casey.”

  “Check.”

  “It’s a rip-off. It’s gotta be those guys.”

  “Give me descriptions.”

  “We couldn’t see them that well. Leather jackets. Dark pants. Generic gangster wear. That’s all. Sorry.”

  AH MING EDGED HIS WAY along the wall toward his office door, then yanked the wounded gangster to his feet. Using the gasping, staggering man as a shield, Ah Ming pushed him out into the warehouse, then he backed through a heavy metal door leading to the employee parking lot. When the door swung shut, Ah Ming dropped the man in front of it.

  A human doorstop.

  FROM THE OFFICE WINDOW, Gage spotted Casey’s teams racing toward the entrance and the loading area.

  The two cars parked in front that had been waiting for the gangsters’ return fled in opposite directions and the two other FBI SUVs broke off to chase them.

  His cell phone rang. It was Sylvia.

  “I’ve got Lucy. It’s chaos in here.”

  “Casey’s on his way in. No more than ten seconds. Just stay down until it’s over.”

  Gage saw Ah Ming running down the steps into the parking lot and realized that Casey had no one left to cover the rear. Chasing Ah Ming would be a job for another day. For now, Casey’s job was to save lives, capture the gangsters, and seize the heroin.

  But Gage knew he had a promise to keep.

  He started for the hallway.

  FLAT NOSE RAN AT THE CLOSED REAR WAREHOUSE DOOR, then bounced off, swearing. He put his shoulder into it, slowly pushing the dying man aside, off the landing, and down onto the pavement eight feet below.

  AH MING GLANCED BACK and saw Flat Nose emerging from the warehouse, eyes darting. He realized Flat Nose would have a clear shot if he got into his car, so he decided to run for it. He fired once at Flat Nose, who jumped off the landing and squeezed in next to the steps and fired back.

  Ah Ming slid behind his Mercedes, fired, ducked behind another car, and fired again, finally running south through the back gate of the parking lot into the alley.

  GAGE RAN TOWARD THE STAIRWELL.
Dizziness overcame adrenaline as he reached the top step. He grabbed the handrail to steady himself, clenching his teeth to fight off a wave of nausea, then breathing deep to force oxygen into his bloodstream and clear his head. He started down, hand over hand on the railing, uncertain whether the dizziness would return, and uncertain whether his misfiring nerves would send him tumbling.

  And they did. He missed the last step. Stumbling, then falling, his shoulder taking the hit, snapping the side of his head into concrete. He dropped to his knees, then forward onto his hands, his chest thudding and his mind whirling. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. It felt as though his heart was battling his lungs.

  Gage reached for the banister. Up on one foot, then the other. Straightening up. Dizzy for a moment. The thought of Ah Ming fleeing turned him toward the door. He pushed through it and out onto the sidewalk.

  An image of the grid of streets and alleys came to Gage and with it the knowledge Ah Ming couldn’t run down the long east-west routes without risking he’d get shot in the back. He had no choice but to cut through buildings and work his way through the blocks.

  South was Ah Ming’s only way out. Gage’s only move was to head west to the first corner and then parallel Ah Ming’s flight.

  Gage turned too fast and stumbled. He caught his balance on a light pole, then started again, feeling as though he was dragging his legs behind him. He swung his arms trying to pull himself along and find a rhythm.

  Two gunshots echoed, confirming to Gage he was heading in the right direction.

  Gage crossed the street, then moved along the side of a two-story warehouse filling the block. He stopped at the next corner and peeked around, hoping to catch sight of Ah Ming crossing the alley. He saw workers crouched down behind cars and trucks, but couldn’t spot Ah Ming.

  He fumbled trying to pull his gun out of its holster; his hands were weak and his fingers stiff. The two-pound semiautomatic felt like a twelve-pound chunk of metal.

  Gage spotted a heavy Asian with a wide flat face emerge from a back door, his gun hand tracking, his eyes scanning. Several workers saw him and pressed themselves hard onto the pavement as Gage stepped around the corner and dropped down behind a car. One of the workers waved at him, assuming he was a cop, and pointed toward a low office building across the alley.

  Gage had guessed right. Ah Ming was cutting through the blocks. The problem was how to keep up.

  The gunman scoured the street for Ah Ming. When he turned away to the east, Gage ran across the intersection, hoping to reach the next alley before Ah Ming did. He ran to the next corner, then edged his way around and spotted Ah Ming running from the back of a building halfway down the block. The gunman wasn’t yet in sight.

  Gage lifted the gun in his right hand, trying to hold it high next to his shoulder, but his arm was weak and his hand shook. He swung his left hand up and wrapped it around his right, then slipped around the corner, sliding along a wall until he was able to take cover behind a panel van.

  Ah Ming started walking west toward Gage, glancing back every few steps, stopping to turn door handles, trying to find an unlocked one to get him through to the next block. In less than thirty seconds he was only twenty yards east of Gage.

  Gage waited until Ah Ming turned back to look for the gunman, then took a half step outside of the protection of the van and aimed his barrel at Ah Ming’s back.

  “Drop the gun.”

  Ah Ming spun and fired as he ducked behind a car. The bullet grazed the side of the van and cut a path through the windshield of a parked car.

  Gage ducked back.

  “Give it up, Ah Ming. The FBI has your container. It’s over.”

  Gage glanced around the edge of the van and down the alley. He saw the gunman peek from behind a pickup truck about twenty-five yards beyond Ah Ming and then begin to inch forward.

  “Somebody’s coming up behind you. Make a choice. Me or him.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “That’s not important. What’s important is that I’m not here to kill you. But that guy behind you sure is. I just came for you and the heroin, and I already have the heroin.”

  Ah Ming broke from the car he was hiding behind and cut in between two Dumpsters angled against a redbrick wall fifteen yards down and across the alley. He was protected on either side now, but he would have to take out either Gage or the gunman if he wanted to get away.

  “You’ve got yourself boxed in,” Gage called to him.

  “Just until I catch my breath, gwai lo.”

  “Who is that guy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe somebody should’ve told you the container was coming to East Wind instead of Sunny Glory.”

  “How the fuck did you know?”

  “Just a guess. And I can guess at a few other things.”

  “Then who are they? And how did they know the container was coming to me?”

  “That I don’t know. Surrender to me and we can figure it out together.”

  Two shots cracked. One slug thudded against a doorjamb behind Ah Ming, the other pinged a Dumpster.

  Gage fired toward where he last saw the gunman and then heard himself say to Ah Ming, “I need to keep you alive.”

  The words surprised him.

  “What for?”

  Gage wasn’t sure, but said, “It would take too long to explain. Who do you think that guy is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He seems to want you dead.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first.”

  “Whoever he is, he’s got to be connected . . . somebody big enough to move that much dope.”

  “How do you know any of this, gwai lo?”

  Gage left the question hanging, then closed in.

  “I was in Thailand when the heroin went north through China.”

  Silence.

  “I was in Nantong when Lew and Wu traded the chips for the heroin.”

  Silence.

  “I gave the chips to the Chinese.”

  Silence.

  “I followed the heroin from China to Taiwan to Oakland.”

  Silence.

  “I have Lew locked up in China.”

  Silence.

  “I have the Taiwanese guy you sent to kill Lew locked up, too.”

  Silence.

  “You want more?”

  “No, but you couldn’t do it alone. Who betrayed me? Lew?”

  “Only after you tried to kill him.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Ah Ming laughed with a bravado that revealed his uncertainty.

  “Have any enemies in Thailand?”

  “Some.”

  “Maybe somebody with a long memory.”

  Ah Ming fell silent. Finally, he said, “Shit. It’s Eight Iron. Eight Iron is behind these people. I should have killed him fifteen years ago.”

  “I don’t think it’s Eight Iron. Eight Iron is making yaba and he had no way to follow the heroin. He tried, but we blocked his people at Kunming.”

  Gage heard a scraping noise coming from the east, in the area where Gage last spotted the gunman.

  “You better keep an eye out for that guy. He wants you bad.”

  “He can’t show himself without running into a cross fire, that is, if you really want to keep me alive.”

  Gage heard Ah Ming remove the clip from his gun, checking to see how many bullets he had left, and then the racking of his jamming it back in.

  “Tell me about Eight Iron. What did he get out of helping you? Money?”

  “Just revenge.”

  “There had to be more. He’s a greedy man.”

  Gage kneeled and looked under the van and between the wheels of the cars parked down the street. He could just make out the gunman’s pant cuff next to a car tire thirty yards away. He fired a shot that ricocheted off the pavement and into the tire. The cuff disappeared. The tire flattened.

  “Kunming?” Ah Ming asked.

  “Yeah, Kunming.”
>
  “I know what Eight Iron was after. It was the ma huang, the ephedrine.”

  Ephedrine? “What ephedrine?”

  Ah Ming laughed. “So you don’t know everything, white ghost. Think. How did we get the heroin? You didn’t figure that out, did you? You didn’t even see it. And Lew, the little snake, didn’t tell you. Now look where we are.”

  Gage’s mind worked back upstream.

  “You mean you traded the chips for ephedrine and the ephedrine for the heroin?”

  That was the novel financing the Wa were worried about. It was mostly a barter deal. There was money involved, but it crossed no borders and left no trail.

  “Close enough. Then Eight Iron stole the ephedrine coming down from Kunming in payment for the heroin. He needed it to make yaba.”

  “And somehow Eight Iron arranged to blame you.”

  “That’s right. Eight Iron tricked you and blamed me.”

  “And these guys are stealing back the heroin they sold you, because they believe you stole their ephedrine.”

  Gage knew right then it had to be. Only the source of the heroin would know it had gone to Nantong and, more important, would know who’d come to pick it up. Then it was just a matter of busting heads in China to find out where it was shipped in the United States, then busting a few more in the States to take it back.

  Now he understood why Eight Iron was so eager to join Gage’s team, and why he gave them Kasa. But there was no reason to hold Kasa hostage. Eight Iron never wanted the heroin. He wanted the ephedrine. No—Eight Iron wanted more than just the ephedrine. He wanted Ah Ming dead, and he didn’t care who died with him.

  The gunman took a shot at Gage. The slug clipped the rear corner of the van, then cut into Gage’s left shoulder. He stared at spreading blood. Only now fatigue seemed to be his friend, for it neutralized the shock.

  Dr. Stern’s words came back to him: Watch out for excessive bleeding.

  Gage jammed his gun into the holster and pressed his hand over the wound. He could feel the lead lodged under his skin. Then the pain hit him. Gage gritted his teeth and pressed harder and rocked back and forth until the sharpness was dulled by his body’s defenses and the coagulating blood began to seal the wound.

  CHAPTER 93

  Gage’s cell rang. It was Casey.

  “Buddy said you went running after Ah Ming. We heard some shots. You okay?”