Cryptozoica

by Mark Ellis

  Jack was basically fearless but not foolhardy. He had brought in United Bamboo money through Bai Suzhen and managed to keep the entire undertaking under the media radar. Even the massive construction projects on the Tamtung islands had gone largely unnoticed.

  Of course, Bai Suzhen had hired only people connected to the White Snake triad, either familial or through old, complicated business arrangements that dated back to the opium wars of the nineteenth century.

  Flitcroft never questioned the set-up too closely, partly because he wanted a layer of plausible deniability between his company and the triads, but primarily because his interests lay in the final result, not in the million niggling details of how the result was ultimately achieved.

  However, he had no problem admitting to himself that Bai Suzhen, Madame White Snake, scared him—badly.

  There was something autocratic, aristocratic, and even cruel about her bearing. Bai Suzhen was brilliant and beautiful, yet she seemed untouchable, a woman of great power, remote from the caresses and even the understanding of men.

  Although she was desirable, Flitcroft had never dared make a play for her. Upon their first meeting, Bai had made it quite clear that their relationship was one of business and it would remain so for the length of their partnership. Standoffish women usually aroused Flitcroft, since he suspected they were playing games. But he knew on a visceral level that Bai Suzhen did not play games, either in her business or personal affairs.

  But Flitcroft had noticed the imperious glitter in her eyes softened a trifle whenever she was in the company of Jack Kavanaugh. He didn’t think Bai Suzhen actually loved the pilot—he suspected she was as much a stranger to the emotion as he—but the man obviously meant a great deal to her.

  The sudden trilling of his cell phone made him jump and caused the sampan to rock to and fro. The ring-tone repetitively played the opening bars of Queen’s “We Are the Champions.” Digging around in a pants pocket, he pulled out his phone and thumbed up the cover, noting the name and number displayed in the caller ID window.

  “What is it, Bert?” he demanded.

  Without preamble, Bertram bleated, “That goddamn Tombstone Jack took my cameraman on a flyover without my permission!”

  “McQuay is my cameraman. I gave the permission.”

  “I’m the goddamn director!” Bertram’s strident shout stabbed into Flitcroft’s right ear. He flinched away and glanced over his shoulder toward the building that housed his office and the hotel.

  “You’re also the director with two of his fingers cut off,” Flitcroft retorted. “And the director who slept until noon.”

  “You gave me the Percocet!”

  “Which you mixed with booze. You’re better off where you are.”

  “And where are you?”

  Flitcroft eyed the long wooden vessel riding high above the waterline, crafted so its configurations suggested sharp angles, arches and buttresses. The planking and timbers had been heavily varnished and lacquered to the rich bronze color of burnished brass.

  Three masts held huge sheets of sailcloth folded as neatly as paper fans. Scarlet Chinese characters marked the junk’s stern, but he could not decipher them. However, he assumed that the Keying could be identified as a ship belonging to the White Snake triad by the chops painted on the hull.

  “I have an appointment with Bai Suzhen,” replied Flitcroft. “We need to get this buyout business straight.”

  Pendlebury’s voice hit a high, quavering note of fury. “Tell that fuckin’ slant-eyed whore she’s going to jail!”

  Despite his annoyance and agitation, Flitcroft laughed. “Yeah, I’ll tell her that. She’ll have your balls cut off and shoved into your mouth to shut you up. Let it go, Bert—you brought it on yourself. You got drunk and groped her. You don’t want Merriam to know what really happened.”

  Only silence issued from the phone for a long tick of time. Then Pendlebury asked in a small, contrite voice, “What’ll I tell her happened?”

  “Make up something dramatic and heroic, like saving me from a barracuda. I’ll go along with whatever you tell her.”

  Pendlebury blew out a relieved sigh. “You will?”

  “Sure. You’re my director, right?” Flitcroft didn’t add, and my wife’s half-wit brother.

  “Thanks, Howard. When will you be back?”

  “An hour or two. Do me a favor while I’m gone and monitor the GPS weather reports in the radio room. That way I can make travel plans.”

  “Will do. ‘Bye.”

  Flitcroft folded his phone and returned it to his pocket just as the bulk of the Keying filled his field of vision. Den Lai eased up on the throttle of the outboard and pointed the sampan’s bow toward the junk’s hull. It bumped gently against the side, where a rope ladder hung from the deck railing.

  “Do you want to wait for me?” Flitcroft asked Den.

  The man nodded his head, his woven straw hat making him look a mushroom caught in a breeze. “I wait.”

  Flitcroft checked his Rolex and said, “An hour from now.”

  Den Lai nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Flitcroft clambered up the rungs of the rope ladder, hearing the sampan’s outboard motor cease droning. He paid no attention to it after he reached the Keying’s deck. Although he saw sailors lounging about among the rigging, he also saw several sear-faced, brown-skinned men wearing casual uniforms of black T shirts and khaki shorts. They wore Sam Browne belts with pistols holstered at their hips. Their round faces smiled as impassively as a Buddha’s.

  A slender man he recognized as one of Bai Suzhen’s bodyguards stepped out of an open hatch beneath the elevated superstructure of the foc’sle. He gestured with one hand for Flitcroft to approach. A pair of stone Fu guardian dogs snarled on either side of the hatch.

  Without hesitation, Flitcroft entered a dimly lit companionway, carefully climbing down a short ladder into a spacious cabin. The first thing he noticed was the blessed coolness of the room. The interior was air-conditioned and the temperature difference was akin to walking from a Turkish bath into a glacial cave.

  The wooden bulkheads were hung about with brocades of the finest silk, many of them depicting scenes from myths. They were acrawl with golden tigers, crimson dragons and blue archers. Large-breasted, serpent bodied women were a recurring motif. A mahogany screen with circular yin and yang symbols on the two panels enclosed a round Chinese bed.

  Bai Suzhen sat behind a desk in a chair made of tangled rootwood. The surface of the desk was intricately inlaid with ivory and jade. Illuminated by tea candles floating in large, water-filled glass bowls on either side of her, the woman’s skin appeared almost golden. Her fine-pored complexion was unlined.

  She wore a sleeveless blouse of red silk, studded with mother-of-pearl buttons and black knit slacks. She wore no jewelry except for a delicate silver ring on her left hand. It was made in the form of a scaled serpent, coiled in two loops. The snake body terminated in the head of a woman with cut ruby eyes. The scent released from the candles smelled delicate and exotic, like whiffs of distant honeysuckle.

  Bai Suzhen’s black hair was carefully brushed back and streamed over her shoulders. It caught the glow from the candles and the sunshine shafting in through a porthole and shone with glossy highlights. Her eyes held no expression, but they were hooded, like those of drowsing falcon’s.

  “Hello, Howard,” she said softly, gesturing to a cane-backed chair.

  Taking off his sunglasses, he nodded and seated himself opposite her. As always, Flitcroft felt extremely uncomfortable in Bai Suzhen’s presence and that discomfiture put him on the defensive. Although he knew she was a minimum of ten years his junior, he always sensed she was much older and wiser and that she would always be wiser, no matter how many years he lived.

  “Would you like a drink?” she asked, extending a glass tumbler toward him.

  “No, thank you. I’m still a little hung over from last night.”

  Her eyebrows lifted like dark wings over a
mused almond eyes. “It’s just a fruit juice blend, Howard. I assure you it’s not spiked or poisoned.”

  Flitcroft took the glass and sipped at it, finding the taste a little acidic but still sweet. He smiled appreciatively. “It’s nice, thank you.”

  “How is your brother-in-law faring today?”

  “Still mad, but he knows it was his fault. I apologize for his behavior. He’s not used to booze and women.”

  “So I gathered,” Bai replied dryly.

  Flitcroft waited for her to issue an apology or a word of regret for the actions of her bodyguard. When neither was forthcoming, he glanced around at the furnishings and said, “You’ve got some interesting decorating ideas here. What’s with all the snake-ladies, though?”

  “They’re the Naga. According to both Hindu and Buddhist lore, the Naga were a race reputed to be half-human and half-reptile.”

  “Ugh,” he said, exaggerating a shudder.

  Bai Suzhen gave him a crooked smile. “Although it might seem like a singularly unpleasant combination, the Nagas were supposed to be an extremely attractive race. The Naga maidens were so wise and beautiful that mortal males counted themselves blessed if they were taken for lovers or husbands.”

  Flitcroft eyed the tapestries dubiously. “Really.”

  “Most Nagas were benevolent toward humankind, but there were a few who were antagonistic. One, by the name of Naga-Sanniya, hated humans so much, later generations turned him into the prince of a pantheon of demons.”

  “What was his problem?” Flitcroft asked, interested in spite of himself.

  “Heartbreak, mainly.” Bai answered. “He was a lover scorned. According to one version of the myth, a Hindu Brahman named Kaundinya, armed with a magical bow, appeared one day off the shore of Cambodia. A female Naga, a dragon-princess, paddled out to meet him. Kaundinya shot an arrow into her boat. This action frightened the princess into marrying him. Before the marriage, Kaundinya gave her clothes to wear and her father the dragon-king built them a capital city, and named the country ‘Kambuja’—Cambodia. The country thrived and so the princess became known as the white serpent of good fortune. However, the good fortune did not last, because her former lover, Naga-Sanniya, took vengeance on her husband and their children.”

  The woman paused and added, “In the Chinese version of the legend, the name of the princess was Bai Suzhen—Madame White Snake.”

  Flitcroft grunted and took another sip of juice. “Maybe we should get down to business and talk about Oriental myths later.”

  “We haven’t often spoken privately, just the two of us,” Bai said. “Not since we signed the partnership papers. That was several years ago.”

  “And now we’re discussing our partnership again…in regards to ending it.”

  “Yes,” she drawled sardonically. “That’s what is called irony, is it not?”

  Flitcroft blurted, “I had no idea Belleau intended to buy your shares in Cryptozoica Enterprises. I hope you believe me.”

  Bai laughed, a sound he had never heard. It did not warm the blood. “You’re a sharp operator, Howard, and your ethics are very elastic, but you’re not a liar…at least not a very convincing one. Besides, if you wanted my shares, you could’ve offered to purchase them at any time over the last two years. I believe you. Tell me––how did this man Belleau insinuate himself into your life?”

  Flitcroft shrugged. “He contacted me through an intermediary. His bona fides as a scientist were impeccable, so there wasn’t much to make me think I was being conned. He proposed that through his connections to universities and museums all over the world, he could arrange funding for a film project that would legitimize Cryptozoica.”

  Bai said nothing. She stared at him.

  Flitcroft gestured in frustration and resignation. “Hey, I believed him, okay? The little bastard wasn’t an entrepreneur like Branson or a media mogul like Murdoch.”

  “Unlike our own ambitions,” Bai said. After a thoughtful pause, she intoned, “It’s apparent that forcing you into partnership with him was Belleau’s plan all along. He must have figured that he could back you into a corner and buy your shares, probably at a loss.”

  Flitcroft felt the heat of shame and humiliation burn his cheeks. “He outfoxed me, I admit it. But it came out of left field, it really did. I liked his idea of turning Cryptozoica into a living laboratory and offering scientists and universities time-share franchises. It seemed like the perfect way to recoup my losses and fix my reputation.”

  “I understand. So, I might as well tell you that Belleau is colluding with the Ghost Shadows triad.”

  Flitcroft’s stomach muscles clenched. “If you sell and I don’t—

  “––You’ll be a subsidiary of United Bamboo.” The corners of Bai’s mouth quirked in a grim smile. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that millions of Asian businessmen curse that same arrangement every single day of their lives. With your casino and hotel holdings in the States, the triads would look at you like the proverbial golden goose.”

  Flitcroft swallowed against the increasing tightness of his throat. “They’ll pluck my brains out.”

  “You might say that,” Bai Suzhen commented dryly.

  “I suppose I could back out of the whole deal and let the world keep thinking that Cryptozoica was a hoax pumped up to publicize a chain of health spas.”

  “That’s one option, but then you might never learn what Belleau and the Ghost Shadows really want with Big Tamtung.”

  Flitcroft cocked his head in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

  “If Belleau owns all the shares of Cryptozoica,” Bai declared, “even if he’s bankrolled by the Ghost Shadows, it’s obvious he would also own any prior proprietary claims that might pertain to it. For example, if Belleau knows of the medical and health benefits of the island, then he would own majority rights to it. I doubt even the Ghost Shadows know exactly why he’s doing what he’s doing. They just smell money, so they don’t ask too many questions.”

  Comprehension glinted in Flitcroft’s eyes, then anger. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “What I’m going to do—delay as long as possible. Stall. There are issues here of great power and most likely great profit…either one is much larger than simply reviving Cryptozoica Enterprises as an eco-tourist destination or a health retreat.”

  Flitcroft stood up, his face a resolute mask. “Thanks, Bai. I’ll put the arm on Belleau. Maybe you could get some answers from the Ghost Shadows.”

  She arose from behind her desk. “I could try, but their vanguard boss isn’t fond of me…after our last meeting, I’m sure he’d be happier if I were dead. He’s on the island. His name is Jimmy Cao.”

  Flitcroft opened his mouth to ask a question but immediately closed it when running footsteps thumped noisily on the deck above their heads. Both he and Bai Suzhen glanced up. Faintly, they heard men shouting and calling back and forth.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” Flitcroft demanded.

  Bai shook her head, her expression irritated, not perplexed. Then they heard several flat cracks and the staccato hammering of automatic gunfire, followed almost immediately by the opening bars of “We Are the Champions” from Flitcroft’s pocket.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Saddam Hussein and Howard Flitcroft had converted Radwaniyah Palace into a casino. Howard wanted Kavanaugh to play the roulette table and he agreed before he remembered that he was scheduled to fly a bombing run in his F-14 Tomcat.

  So Kavanaugh ran through the palace, looking for the airfield. Instead, he turned a corner and found himself sitting at a ringside table in the White Serpent nightclub, watching Bai Suzhen perform the Naga mating dance.

  Surrounded by the pale green halo cast by spotlight, Bai’s lithe arms weaved back and forth like cobras awakening from a nap. With her bare feet planted flatly and firmly beneath her, her hips rolled in tempo with the drumbeats. The gems encrusting her gilded headpiece glittered and gleamed with every sinuous undulatio
n. Tiny finger cymbals chimed in counterpoint to the drumming.

  Her and arms and legs flashed in intricate movements within the aura of hazy light. Her body curved, bending forward and backward as if her spine was made of rubber, her long fall of ebony hair touching the floor. Her dance was whirl of primal passions, the movements ancient and maddening.

  Kavanaugh watched as she writhed in rhythm with the music, feeling his admiration and lust grow for the woman who danced with such elemental, abandoned artistry. He became aware of trickles of sweat flowing down his face from his hairline.

  As if aware of his reaction, Bai Suzhen whirled on the balls of her bare feet, and glared directly at him, her eyes blazing crimson with contempt. A challenge glinted there as well, then she turned her back, defiantly frisking her buttocks at him with an ophidian flourish.

  Rising from the table, Kavanaugh crossed to the stage and reached for the woman, his fingers brushing her bare shoulder. At his touch, Bai Suzhen recoiled and spun on him, eyes flaring bright with rage and accusation.

  Beneath the conical headpiece of the temple dancer, her face was blunt of feature, with a wide lipless mouth. Her narrow skull held huge, almond-shaped eyes with black slits centered in golden irises. The greenish light gleamed dully from a pattern of tiny scales pebbling her flesh.

  Bai pointed at him with one, claw-tipped finger and in a voice like that of an enraged songbird, shrieked, “If you return, you will die, Jack!”

  For a moment that seemed eternal, Kavanaugh could not move. Then the acrid odor of gasoline entered his nostrils and set nausea to boiling in his stomach.

  “Jack!”

  The shout rang in his ears and it took him a few seconds to recognize the voice of Honoré Roxton. The interior walls of his skull throbbed, as if hammers pounded away at the bone. A vibration, like that of a musical note refusing to fade, hummed against his eardrums.

  “Jack!”

  “I’m all right, I’m all right,” he said, dismayed by how raspy his voice sounded. He reached up to wipe away the sweat from his forehead and his fingers glistened with blood.