Stealing the Dragon (16 page)

Chapter Thirty

San Francisco, present day

Milfred P. James decided the guys running the union were nimrods.

Milfred, or Mill, as he liked women to call him, was tired and more than a little pissed off. Working customs for six hours straight was brutal, even wearing orthopedic shoes and the back brace his ex gave him last Christmas. Some genius in the union figured longer shifts gave them more leverage on the pension plan.

Mill would like to see the union bosses stand for six hours at a time, bending to open people’s bags, standing up again to scan the crowd, bending over again to open the next set. He’d been to union meetings and seen the beer guts on those guys, the tans from playing golf with their politician buddies every Friday. He’d give anyone five-to-one odds that those chicken-fuckers would be in traction if they tried to do his job for a day, let alone a week.

Six hours was a bitch.

Mill looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go. Then another five minutes to change his clothes in the locker room, then twenty minutes to drive home to South San Francisco. Ten more minutes to walk to the bar down the street, then another ten to throw back a shot of bourbon and finish off his first beer of the night.

A family that looked like they were coming home from vacation was headed his way, the mom looking exhausted, two kids talking nonstop—a boy and a girl, both teenagers—and the dad looking pissed. Early in his shift Mill might fuck with them just to pass the time, watch the woman get all crazy and blame the husband for looking so angry that he looked like he had something to hide.

But Mill was tired, and the clock was ticking. He unzipped two of the wheely-bags and lifted the flaps a few inches, then waved them off. He called it the
quick-zip—
you knew there was nothing inside, just going through the motions.

“That’s it?” asked the dad. “Not much for security around here, are you?”

“Stan, don’t argue with the man,” said the wife.

“Don’t start, Judith.”

“
I’m
not the one who—”

Mill raised both hands, palms out. “Judith.”

Judith whipped her head around, knocked off balance by the customs guy saying her name like that. She looked at Mill like he was a talking dog.

“Yes?”

“Give it a rest, Judith,” said Mill.

The husband jumped in with both feet. “What did you—”

Mill’s hands were still up as he pivoted toward the man. “Stan, put a sock in it.”

Stan’s head snapped back like he’d been splashed with cold water. The two teenagers started giggling.

Mill looked deliberately from Judith to Stan. “Been on vacation?” he asked pleasantly.

Judith was the first to find her tongue. “Well, yes. We took the kids to visit friends in Hong Kong.” She smiled pleasantly, back on firm ground, reflexive answers to simple questions.

“Swell,” said Mill.

“Excuse me?” said Stan.

Mill let his hands drop to his sides. “You got a choice, folks. You zip up your bags and go home, or you continue irritating the fuck out of me and I recommend you for a cavity search.”

“I don’t have any cavities,” said the teenaged boy, revealing a set of braces that looked like barbed wire.

Mill shook his head. “One…two…three…”

Stan and Judith got the bags off the metal table and the kids through the doors before Mill counted ten. He watched them scurry away, then screwed up his face and spoke in a nasal whine. “
Not much for security around here, are you?
”

God, did he hate this fucking job.

He looked up to see another wave of passengers flowing toward him, a tall Chinese guy in the lead. He was big, broad in the chest and shoulders, and he moved like he was gliding across the carpet. Must be a dancer or something.

As he came closer, Mill got a look at his face. Jesus, what a scary motherfucker. His eyes looked flat and lifeless, his mouth a straight line, but the first thing you noticed was that fucking scar, a black diamond ski slope running down the guy’s face. Mill felt his palms sweat just looking at the guy. He noticed the man scanning the tables, checking out the lines. He was probably just looking for the shortest one, but Mill wondered if he was giving all the customs guys the once-over.

Sure enough, he was coming to Mill’s table.

Mill looked at his watch. Two minutes to go. He looked back at the Chinese dude and tried to imagine himself telling the guy he’d have to stand for a search. Mill looked over his shoulder to see if Jeremy, his replacement, was headed this way.

Of course not. Jeremy was always late.

Mill looked back at his watch and made a decision.

“Welcome to San Francisco,” he said casually as he unzipped the black nylon duffle bag. Mill was halfway through the
quick-zip
when he caught a glimpse of metal.
Shit
. Sighing audibly, he pulled the zipper the rest of the way and revealed…a snow globe?

Amidst a bundle of shirts, underwear, and socks sat a snow globe six inches in diameter, a bright silver key sticking out from the bottom. Inside the globe two small figures of Chinese girls stood facing each other, one holding a fan, the other a sword. Before Mill could say anything, the scary guy reached out and turned the key.

A plaintive tune filled the air as the two girls circled each other, the one with the fan keeping the girl with the sword at bay. After an awkward minute during which Mill stared studiously at the snow globe while the man stared at him, the song ended and the two little girls seemed to tilt forward, an awkward mechanical bow. It was the strangest fucking snow globe Mill had ever seen.

“It’s for my niece,” said the man, his voice as deep as a well.

Mill smiled and nodded, feeling the sweat roll down his back. He zipped up the bag and waved the man forward, not saying another word.

He had to find another job. One without any unions.

Xan smiled as he walked through the glass doors and shouldered past the waiting families. He shouldn’t need any weapons for this trip, and he could always acquire them in Chinatown, but he liked to travel prepared for anything. He had made the snow globe himself. The gears were
shuriken
, throwing stars with razor tips. The flanges of the music box were metal darts. The wire spring coiled around the key had a finger-sized loop at each end and made an excellent garrote that could cut through a man’s windpipe in seconds.

Xan had not wanted to take this trip, but now that he was here, he planned on enjoying himself.

Chapter Thirty-one

Hong Kong, 10 years ago

“You’ve killed six men in as many months.”

“You asked me to.”

Xan walked the length of the office and turned, hands behind his back. It was almost summer in Hong Kong, and he could feel the humidity on his back and neck as he paced. He looked down the long wooden table at Sally, who sat impassively watching him.

“As a graduate of the school, you sometimes get to choose your next,” Xan paused, searching for a word, “field trip.” He breathed through his nose and nodded, satisfied with his choice.

“Many of the girls go on field trips,” replied Sally, putting even more emphasis on the euphemism, her voice just this side of mocking. “They follow men, they take photographs, they infiltrate other clans. All very important work, no?”

“True,” Xan nodded. “But you, little dragon, always volunteer for the most dangerous assignments.” He studied her again before adding, “You and Jun, of course. You have more kills between you than all the other girls combined.”

Sally shrugged but didn’t say anything.

“You’ve killed six men,” he said.

“You mentioned that already,” replied Sally. “Is there a prize when I reach ten?”

Xan stopped and studied Sally for some sign of emotion, but she betrayed nothing. No anger, remorse, or even grim satisfaction could be found on her face or in her voice. Xan shook his head. They might as well have been talking about the weather.

“It’s humid today,” he prompted.

“I noticed,” replied Sally, her voice pleasant.

“How do you feel about it?” asked Xan.

“The humidity?”

Xan exhaled loudly. “No.” Realizing that Sally might be playing with him. “The men you killed.”

“They were only men.” Sally shrugged and looked away, thinking this wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with Xan. The question wasn’t as simple as “how do you feel about it?” Sally didn’t want to tell Xan that she saw Kano’s face in the eyes of the men she killed, his expression frozen in that moment when arrogance had turned to fear. Or that part of her felt stronger for killing these men, and she was never afraid, and she never felt alone.

Sally didn’t want to tell Xan any of this because then she’d have to admit to herself that those feelings never lasted. Death had kept her company these past six months, but his companionship hadn’t made her feel any better.

It hadn’t made her feel any worse, either.

Xan had been studying her face. “Not all men are bad, little dragon,” he said quietly.

Sally looked up at him with a calm expression, her eyes making it clear she thought Xan was incredibly naïve.

“I’ll have to get out more,” she said simply. “Meet a better class of gangster.”

Xan sighed, wondering why he felt compelled to ask this girl about anything. Was she not a perfect weapon? He had learned over the years to kill without hesitation and had taught Sally well. So why did this girl always fill him with a sense of…what?

The sense that you are looking in a mirror, he told himself, shutting his eyes as he walked toward the back of the room.

From behind his closed lids, a young woman smiled at Xan. Standing on a dock cradling a child in her arms, a baby girl. The woman’s face open and smiling, her eyes bright. The young mother waved at Xan, her dark hair swept sideways by the wind off the harbor. She moved down the dock toward Xan. She never saw the powerboat come up behind her.

The boat’s engines roared, muffling the sound of the automatic weapon. Bullets tore through the woman’s back, rocking her forward onto her knees, her arms still clutching the baby. As she stared at Xan with her mouth open, blood-red constellations appeared on her blouse, forming in slow motion on her chest, along her arms, and across the baby’s blanket.

Xan opened his eyes and blinked away the memory before turning back toward Sally. We cannot choose our fate. We can only choose which path we take when fate arrives. Sally had made her choice when she walked through the black door, and it was her path to follow. Xan knew that he, of all people, was in no position to question her now.

Sally seemed to read his mind. “Master Xan, why did you want to see me?”

“I didn’t,” he replied. “But the Master of the Mountain did.”

Sally sat straighter in her chair. She had never met the Dragon Head, even after her trip to Tokyo. In fact, she had never been told the result of that trip or what had become of the man in the pictures she’d taken. Sally got her instructions from Xan, who told her just enough to motivate her and provide the necessary background for her assignment. According to Xan, any more information could put her at risk. When Sally had asked, “At risk for what?” Xan had looked at her with an expression much like the one she had just given him, letting her know that she was still young and very naïve. “Not all our enemies are outside these walls,” he said simply. Sally tried to ask questions, but Xan cut her off, saying, “Remember that, little dragon.”

Sally jumped as the phone rang, her thoughts snapping back to the prospect of meeting the head of the clan. Xan picked up the receiver and listened for a few seconds before nodding and hanging up.

“Time to go upstairs,” he said.

The room was large and square, maybe thirty feet on a side. Banners with family crests and carefully drawn characters hung on the walls—dragons, fish, flowers, and an occasional phoenix staring out from the yellowed fabric. In the far corner of the room was a folded wooden screen with a painted battle scene, one of thousands of images throughout the school of Chinese warriors fighting the Mongol hordes.

In the exact center of the room was a dark wooden desk set adjacent to a short cabinet of matching wood with two chairs set before them. As Sally entered the room behind Xan, she noticed the hardwood floor was entirely covered by rice paper, its beige surface torn in some places but otherwise undisturbed. A primitive security system recording the comings and goings in this room. Xan’s feet left small wrinkles and tears that belied his weight. Looking back at Sally for an instant, he nodded once in satisfaction at the unbroken paper in her wake. A team of forensic experts would never know she had stepped into this or any other room.

“Welcome, Master Xan.”

The man behind the desk gestured toward them without standing up. Sally noticed his eyes first, luminous black suns that surprised her with their warmth as they tracked her progress across the paper. His face was long and elegant, his hair slicked back from a high forehead. Only the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes betrayed his age, which Sally guessed to be around sixty. He smiled as she came to a stop before the desk.

“Sixty-eight,” he said, his voice deep and resonant.

Sally remained silent but her eyes widened.

“You were guessing my age,” the man said pleasantly. “Everyone does, you know.”

“You look younger,
shan chu,
” replied Sally, bowing her head slightly.

“Ah, but I feel older,” came the reply. “What do you make of that?”

“The weight of your office must be a heavy burden,” said Sally.

The man nodded. “One I am tired of carrying by myself,” he said, moving his gaze toward Xan, who stared back at him in silence, a neutral expression on his face.

Both men let the moment pass as the Dragon Head turned his attention back to Sally.

“My name is Zhang Hong,” he said simply. “Did you know that?”

Sally shook her head.

Hong sighed and shifted in his chair. “My loyal friend Xan does not always approve, but I get bored with the protocol of this office. So before you called me Master of the Mountain again, I wanted to let you know that I, too, am just a man.”

Sally could tell his phrasing was deliberate and assumed he’d been listening to her conversation with Xan. For some reason it neither surprised nor offended her. It seemed somehow…consistent with her surroundings. She looked back at Hong and nodded in acknowledgement, careful to look him in the eye when she spoke.

“We all have our shortcomings,
shan chu.
”

Xan coughed uncomfortably as Hong barked out a laugh, slapping his hand on the desk.

“She is indeed formidable, Xan,” he said, chuckling softly. “With that tongue alone she could start a war with another clan.”

Xan looked at Sally with vague disapproval before responding. “We can only soften the steel so much as we forge the weapon,
shan chu.
”

Hong nodded, still smiling, and gestured toward the two chairs.

“Sit down, Sally,” he said. “Master Xan has told me of your accomplishments.”

Accomplishments, thought Sally. Field trips. I live in a world of male euphemisms.

“Did you know I recommended you for the assignment in Tokyo?” asked Hong.

Sally’s eyes snapped into focus. “Thank you,” she said simply.

Hong waved his hand distractedly. “It was unfortunate the film was ruined,” he said, frowning. “That was an important lead. But you distinguished yourself in other ways, as you have over the past few months.”

Sally wanted to look over at Xan and ask what had happened to the pictures she’d taken. She had tested the camera in Tokyo with another roll of film before she went after Kano. But there would be time later to ask her teacher. For now she kept her attention on the man sitting behind the desk, the man—she suddenly realized—who controlled her fate.

Hong glanced idly at the cabinet next to the desk before continuing.

“You have defended the society’s honor bravely,” he said. “So I wanted to show you something.” Hong reached under his collar and pulled a gold chain from around his neck, on the end of which dangled a black key. Leaning over to the cabinet, he inserted the key and turned it two revolutions to the right before twisting it again to the left.

“This cabinet is really a safe, bolted to the floor,” said Hong, turning the key one more time. “This key allows me to turn a combination lock. If the wrong combination is dialed more than once, it automatically triggers an alarm.” Hong used his free hand to gesture toward the ceiling. “The alarm sounds in my personal quarters, and poison darts shoot from holes in the wooden beams overhead.” He paused as a loud click sounded somewhere inside the cabinet. “A single dart would kill a man instantly.”

“How many are there?” asked Sally.

“Two hundred.” Hong looked up at her, amusement in his eyes. “There is a cloud of death, ten feet in diameter, hovering directly over this desk. A comforting thought for someone in my position.”

Sally watched as Hong lifted the top of the cabinet toward her and Xan—the back obviously hinged—and reached inside with both hands. The object Hong placed upon the desk met Sally’s gaze with a dozen eyes of its own.

It was a three-legged bronze urn standing almost a foot high with a hinged lid and two ornately carved handles. But what commanded Sally’s attention were the eyes, deep-set and fierce, intricately carved into the faces of dragons adorning every square inch of bronze. The three legs of the urn emerged from dragons’ mouths, the legs themselves smaller dragons twisting their way toward the clawed feet of a larger dragon visible from above. The lid was a swirling cloud of dragons, some holding glowing suns in their talons, others swallowing their own tails. Everywhere Sally looked, another dragon looked back at her.

“You know something of our history,” said Hong, smiling across the desk, his own eyes betraying his excitement. “Surely you have studied the origins of the Triads in your classes.”

Sally nodded. “The five ancestors,” she replied by rote.

Hong nodded. “Exactly. It was the sixteenth century, although some say it was the fifteenth. The throne of China had been stolen by a Manchu warlord. He neglected the people and the land. He had forfeited the mandate of heaven.”

Sally remained silent. She knew the story but suspected it might have a new ending.

“But he was still the emperor,” continued Hong. “So one day, when a rebellion occurred, the emperor turned to the monks at the Shao Lin monastery, who were trained in the martial arts. The monks agreed to help the emperor if he would help the people of China. The emperor agreed, promising the monks of Shao Lin he would return to the path of righteousness.”

Hong set his hands on either side of the urn as he continued.

“One hundred monks defeated ten times their number in battle, defeating the rebellion and returning the emperor to power. Then the monks returned to their monastery, reminding the emperor before they left of the promise he had made. But the emperor did not keep his word. Instead, he declared the monks a threat to the kingdom because of their superior military skills. He ordered that their monastery be destroyed. So while the monks slept, agents of the emperor sealed the entrance and burned the monastery to the ground.”