“And what’s that?”
“Play the game the way the Carlsons would have played it. For real.”
51
Kang agreed to hear me out the following morning. I had known from the start I would be walking into a minefield of negativity, but I needed to get Kang on board. Add that I had ruined any chance he’d had at a good night’s sleep and, well…
I sat at a sidewalk table in front of the La Boulange Bakery on Columbus Avenue. It was beautiful out, no fog but still jacket weather. I already had my tea steeping in a large mug when I spotted his tall frame poking up amongst the sidewalk traffic. I waved until he spotted me. The big grin on his face eased the tension in my chest. Maybe I had expected a fight where there wasn’t one.
“Thanks for meeting me.” I slid his usual, a medium black coffee, across the table as he took a seat.
“It’s not a problem.” He grabbed the cup and brought it up to his lips but kept his eyes on me while he swallowed. He then moved the cup far enough from his lips to speak. “And thanks for the coffee.” He then took another sip before setting it down and rubbing his hands together quickly. “Brisk, isn’t it?”
“A little. Look—”
Kang held up a hand. “Abby, I’m in.”
My eyes widened.
“You can close your mouth. This is a good thing.”
It took a moment for me to gather my thoughts and form a response. “Great.” That’s all I could manage.
Kang leaned back and rested his foot across his thigh. I knew then we were good and back on track. “I’m curious.” I hesitated for a second, though I don’t think he noticed. “What made you change your mind? You seemed so… I dunno, negative, last night.”
He dropped his foot to the sidewalk and shook his pant leg straight. “To be honest, I trust your judgment. I don’t think I would have closed this case if I hadn’t been working with you.”
“Puh-lease.” I reached over and gave him a playful shove. “We both worked this case.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you including me, but I know a smart cookie when I see one.”
My wide grin allowed me to easily sip my tea, which I stretched out longer than usual. I didn’t have an answer, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks increasing.
“About this game,” Kang said. “How do you see it unfolding?”
“When the Carlsons killed that musician, they unlocked Attraction Five, probably by delivering pictures or video of the end result. I know the riddle wasn’t solved, because the task has yet to be revealed. I propose we become Jerry and Vicki Carlson and play the game the way it’s intended.”
“Last night, you talked about a person behind this game. How do we know he doesn’t know what the couple looks like?”
“We don’t, but if we can nab this answer to the riddle without alerting the hounds, we’re good. I figure worst case scenario, the guy cuts off all contact and goes underground, and we’d be back to where we currently are.”
“And if we succeed?”
“We keep playing and see where it takes us.”
I watched Kang press his lips tightly together before swishing them from side to side. “We could be walking into an ambush.”
“We’ll take precautions.”
“When do we start?”
I opened my shoulder bag. “Now. I’ve loaded the game onto my laptop.”
I booted up the program. The map of the world and the Attraction headings appeared. I clicked on Attraction Five, and we watched the animated scroll unravel to reveal the riddle.
Hundreds of dragons churn the waters. Find them and find your clue.
“That’s the riddle?” he asked.
“Yeah. I have no idea where to start.”
Kang said it out loud a few times. I didn’t even have a suggestion to make. I was completely stumped by what it could mean.
Kang shifted his eyes upward, to me. “This is a lot harder than I expected it to be.”
I took a deep breath. “Let’s take a step back. We know the way the kills are made tie into the city, so the riddle probably does as well. What’s the link between dragons and San Francisco?”
“Chinatown.” Kang sat up. The light had gone on in his head. “They’re all over the place.”
“There are dancing dragons during Chinese New Year,” I added.
“It’s May, though, but…” Kang raised his index finger. His mouth hung slightly open. “That’s not the only festival that has dragons associated with it.” He held that pose for a beat longer, his mind continuing to churn and keeping me guessing. “That’s it!” He slapped his thigh repeatedly.
“What? Tell me.”
“Today is the first day of the fifth month of the Lunisolar Chinese calendar.”
“Huh?”
“This is the month of the Duanwu Festival—the Dragon Boat Festival, where dragon-themed boats race against others.”
“Hundreds of dragons churn the waters,” I said.
“That’s exactly what the race looks like.”
I punched Kang in the arm. “Your nerdy knowledge of all things Chinese is paying off.”
“My what?”
“Nothing. The festival? Where? When?”
Kang whipped out his phone. “I don’t know why it didn’t come to me sooner. I’ve been to it many times. It takes place on Treasure Island, and there are literally hundreds of these boats gliding across the bay that day. It’s a real sight to see. There must be a website.” He tapped at his phone a few times and waited. “Got it. The race is this upcoming Saturday.”
“Looks like the Carlsons have plans.”
52
After our revelation at the bakery, Kang confided in me regarding his growing concerns with Cavanaugh. As far as the politicking captain knew, the case was solved and filed away. “If he finds out we’re digging further into it, he could order me to stop. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if he slapped me with an insubordination charge. I’m not his favorite detective, you know.”
I had an easy solution. I pulled rank and officially made the entire case an FBI investigation requiring SFPD’s help, specifically Kang’s. Reilly was on board. He saw the potential in this case, not to mention that it was already cross-border.
Toronto’s RCMPs got back to us with a few unsolved murders that had a staging aspect to them. We were confident that the Carlsons were connected. That alone was enough to make it a federal investigation. Plus, Reilly knew it could be a big coup for the department. Cavanaugh wasn’t the only one who looked to collect an “atta-boy” wherever he could. And because our case had been elevated, we had access to the resources needed to help us.
Even though we assumed the real Carlsons had never met the mastermind behind the game, he might have seen a picture of their faces. The department arranged for a professional makeup person to come in and help us match the facial features of our couple and the disguises they used.
Kang looked more Asian than I did, but the artist had a way to help alleviate that through rubber prosthetics around his eyes. They also attached a bulbous nose on his face to match Jerry Carlson’s and replicated the mustache found at the cottage. We both were outfitted with wigs. I wore contacts to change my green eyes to brown and got a new beauty mark on my cheek, which I quite liked. The entire disguise was fairly turnkey so we could apply it ourselves in the future.
In the days leading up to the big dragon event, a tactical team scouted the area and picked out a location where our safety team could position themselves and monitor the situation. Since Kang and I would most likely be on the move, another team of agents, dressed as spectators, mobile food vendors and security would follow us around. It was a large operation for a hunch, but as Kang had mentioned earlier, we had no idea what we were walking into.
The day of the races, Kang and I arrived at the island at eleven in the morning. We were wired so we could maintain radio contact with the team, who had arrived earlier to get into position. Reilly and his team were overseeing the
operation from a tent disguised as a life insurance exhibit, something that would receive very little foot traffic, if any.
“Carlsons, Command Center is operational, and your perimeter team is in place. We’re waiting on your go,” Reilly said over the radio.
“We just parked and are heading to the entrance. Let us know when you have eyes on us,” I responded.
The first agent to pick us up was Agent House. “This is ground security at the entrance. I have the Carlsons in my view. Proceeding to follow.”
It didn’t take long for the entire team to lock us in their sights and for us to spot them. I had handpicked every agent. It was comforting that I knew every one of them.
“Carlsons, do your thing. We’re watching,” Reilly chirped in.
“Hundreds of dragons churn the waters,” Kang said.
We really didn’t know what steps to take. All we knew was that the Carlsons had a riddle tied to fortune cookies and they Googled manufacturers. From that, we extrapolated that they had visited the Fortune Cookie Company in Chinatown and received their answer. Not much to go on, but how hard could it be? Solving the riddle wasn’t the end goal. The kill was. It had to be a challenge that could be easily completed.
We headed down to where the boats were docked, thinking they might hold our answer. The boats were long and narrow like the skiffs used in rowing events, but they had a deeper and larger hull like a canoe. A dragon’s head carved from wood was mounted on the stern of each boat. They were painted in a variety of bright blues, oranges, yellows, and reds. The dragon detail continued along the side of the narrow vessel, making the entire boat look like a beast moving through water.
“They look really cool,” I said. “But I don’t get the feeling that what we’re looking for is here. It’s too literal to the riddle.”
“I think you’re right. It’s something else.”
We turned around and headed back to the top of the festival grounds where the majority of the exhibits were and where there was a great view of the racecourse.
“What else do you know about this festival? Why do they race dragon-themed boats?” I asked.
“Well, there are a couple of theories. The most popular is the story of a scholar who, in a form of protest to government corruption, committed suicide by throwing himself into the Miluo River on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month. The villages were so impressed by his sacrifice, they used leaves to wrap rice into little triangles and threw them into the river. You and I know this as the rice dumpling snack called Zong Zi.”
“That’s how Zong Zi was invented?”
“According to the story, yes. Anyway, they did this to prevent the fish from eating the body.”
I stopped walking and turned to Kang. “Feeding the fish rice so they don’t eat a body? Are you messing with me?”
“No, I’m serious. Mind you, this supposedly took place in 278 BC. That’s the way minds worked back then. Anyway, in their efforts to keep the fish snacking on rice, they paddled boats out onto the river to spread more rice around and that’s how the dragon boat racing came about.”
“Who’s the scholar responsible for this commercialized myth?”
“I think his name was Qu Yan.”
“Does he look like that guy over there?” I held my arm up and pointed to a Chinese man dressed in traditional ancient garb with a fake wispy mustache that hung from the corners of his mouth. Groups of people were having their pictures taken with him.
“Yeah,” Kang mumbled.
“I guess he’s the Dragon Festival’s answer to Disneyland’s Mickey Mouse.” I grabbed Kang by his arm and dragged him toward the character. “Honey, look. It’s Qu Yan!” I squealed. “I want a picture.”
“He’s not that popular. Bring it down a notch.” The words squeezed out of the corner of his mouth.
We waited as the woman in front of us had her boyfriend take her picture over and over because she wasn’t satisfied with his iPhone photography. After the fifth picture, my patience had started to grow thin. “What’s the point?” I said through gritted teeth. “She’ll probably slap multiple filters on it, and it’ll look nothing like the original.”
“Happy thoughts, dear. Happy thoughts.”
Kang’s response initiated a few chuckles from our listeners. I had forgotten briefly that we were mic’d. Finally, Miss Inconsiderate okayed a photo, and they left. I stood next to the man and hooked my arm around his. While Kang took out his phone to snap a picture, I leaned in and said, “Hundreds of dragons churn the waters.”
Nothing. Not even a slight acknowledgment that I had said something. I tried once more, only louder and with a throat clear to grab his attention. Still, he only stared at Kang, who was suddenly bent at the knees with one leg stretched all the way back while he tried to maintain balance.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to get the right angle.”
“The right angle is you standing straight up and taking the picture, dear.”
I had the opposite problem from the girl who had stood here before me. Smile cramp had started to set in, and Kang appeared no closer to taking the picture. He was of the mindset that he had something much more substantial in his hand than a phone camera.
I tugged on Qu Yan’s arm, gaining his attention, and repeated the riddle once more. He only smiled back at me with a gentle nod. I then mentioned, “Team Carlson.” Same response. What the hell was I doing wrong? Maybe Qu Yan wasn’t our point of contact, but surely someone was. I doubted we were looking for an object. Qu Yan was the reason for this festival. If not him, then whom? Finally, grasping at anything, I said, “Chasing Chinatown.”
At that point, Kang had finally snapped a picture, and Qu Yan had wriggled his arm free from my grip. At first, I thought he was in a rush to go elsewhere. I didn’t blame him; I wouldn’t want to spend another second with a wannabe pro phone photographer and his clingy wife. I still hadn’t decided if I wanted to let this guy go. I could hear Reilly in my earpiece asking for an update. I couldn’t say anything and was mindful not to accidently give the signal for everyone to move in—putting my hair behind my left ear.
Not having any other reason to keep clinging to Qu Yan, I relinquished and set him free, expecting him to hurry away, but he didn’t. I watched him reach into one of the many folds in his robe and remove something. I couldn’t quite see what it was, but he grabbed my hand, and in it, he placed a small Zong Zi.
“There’s been an exchange,” Reilly said over the radio. “Team, wait for the signal. Carlsons, are we grabbing this guy?”
I waited for Qu Yan to move out of earshot. “He gave me Zong Zi. It’s a rice dumpling associated with the festival.”
“Are we grabbing him?” Reilly stated once more.
“No. He’s only the messenger. We need to keep playing the game.”
“All right, team. Let’s wrap it up.”
I showed Kang the dumpling before addressing the team. “Team leader, we will rally back at your position.”
The man dressed as Qu Yan watched the couple hurry away, like two kids who had just received a present from Santa Claus. He watched them disappear into the crowd before turning around and heading in the other direction. He avoided eye contact with any potential picture takers and made his way past a few exhibition tents to an area where only exhibitors were allowed. He didn’t stop until he stood under a large olive tree, one of the few that still thrived since its planting during the 1935 Golden Gate Expo. There, he removed a cell phone from his robe and made a call.
A low scratchy voice answered the call. “Yes.”
“Team Carlson check in for fifth Attraction. I give them answer.”
“Thank you, Wei. This is good news.”
“No. Not good news.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Wrong couple.”
53
Jing Woo pressed the end button on his cell phone and set it down on the wobbly teak table in front of him. Even with a
crack running the length of the tabletop, it was sturdy enough to hold the pot of tea that he always kept near him. He sat Indian style on an array of colorful silk cushions while leaning back against a larger, fluffier one that had been propped against the wall—not an office you would expect for the head of the local Triad gang.
Everyone had heard of Jing, but very few had ever met him. Most of his conversations took place over the phone or through other individuals, and he had an army of men who did his bidding. Jing liked it that way. It’s what made him powerful, what made Chinatown impenetrable by outsiders.
Jing slipped the ivory cigarette holder between his lips and inhaled deeply, causing the cigarette to crackle and burn brightly. Swirls of gray circled his head, noticeable from the tiny bit of light that shone through a small, frosted window above his head. Large candles spread out around the room contributed to the ominous look by casting an array of harsh shadowing and flickering light. Furnishing was sparse outside of a few small tables and bookshelves populated with books and Chinese pottery. Like the table, they, too, were fashioned out of teak and decorated with either ivory or mother-of-pearl inlays.
Very few people were allowed inside Jing’s retreat. In fact, only his most trusted advisor had carte blanche to enter. That man’s name was Quai Chan, but he was commonly referred to as the Black Mantis.
Jing picked up a small bell and rang it. The entrance door to the room opened quietly, and a man slipped inside. Jing adjusted himself on the pillows as the shadowy figure approached until the red glow lit his face. “You requested my attention.”
“Yes, Quai. Please, sit. I received an interesting call regarding Team Carlson. What do you know of them?”
“They have played the game well.”
“They have, yes. Very creatively, too. Today, however, they did not collect the password for their final objective.”
“Why is that? Could they not figure out the riddle?”
“No, no. That wasn’t the problem.” Jing took another long toke and allowed his exhale to linger.
[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter Page 18
