Stealing the Dragon (24 page)
Sally told Cape that when she came back last night, Dong was asleep, his two guards were unconscious, and Lin was gone.
Sally had mistakenly assumed Lin was too weak to move. And since their view from the bunker was limited, Sally had gone out to patrol the neighborhood.
Cape asked why Lin had run.
“If Lin recognized Dong—and it’s not hard, with that eye rolling around—she’d know he was forced out of the Triad. She could have fallen into a trap or a plot to steal the dragon’s heart for himself.”
“Wouldn’t she have trusted you?” Cape had asked. “You said you were close to her sister.”
Sally’s eyes hardened. “That was a long time ago,” she said, adding, “And I’m not there anymore.” She looked at Cape, but her eyes were still somewhere else. “Lin is who I would have become, had I stayed. Trust isn’t part of her vocabulary.”
“You think she went to Yan without the dragon?”
Sally shrugged. “She wasn’t strong enough to risk stealing it, even if she knew where Dong kept it hidden. I might have come back at any minute. This way, at least she could tell Yan where it was. That’s better than being trapped or dead underground.”
“I thought I was paranoid.”
Sally shook her head. “You’re not even close,” she said. “Lin was
trained
to be suspicious.”
Time was running out now that Lin was missing. They needed to get an angle on Yan quickly, otherwise they’d be going in blind. And since Yan was a respected public figure and they were an exiled criminal, a trained assassin, and a private investigator with questionable judgment, the best they could hope for would be to get arrested.
So Cape climbed the ladder and crawled out of the hole. His phone couldn’t get a signal in Dong’s underground lair, and reception wasn’t much better between the buildings. He walked the length of the alley, checked the signal on his phone, and dialed Linda’s number.
It rang almost ten times before there was an answer.
Linda didn’t like to get too close to phones, so when it rang, she dashed across the room, pushed the button for the speakerphone, then retreated to a safe distance and shouted, which always made her sound angry.
“It’s the middle of the night!”
she yelled, making Cape think maybe she really was angry. He visualized her hair lurching forward as she reprimanded his disembodied voice.
“Sorry,” said Cape. “But Sally and I—”
“Sally’s OK?”
shouted Linda.
“Oh, yeah,” said Cape. “I forgot—”
“Then why are you calling?”
demanded Linda, sounding pissed again.
“Remember when I asked you to look into Harold Yan?”
“
Didn’t you get my message?
”
Cape held out his phone and checked the screen, which read:
2 new messages
. Beau had mentioned he’d called several times, but he wouldn’t have left more than one message.
“I got it,” said Cape, putting the phone to his ear. “I just haven’t listened to it.” He imagined Linda’s hair crouching down, ready to strike.
“Why not?”
“I’ve been in a tunnel,” said Cape. “Under a manhole cover.”
That put Linda at a momentary loss.
“So what did you find out?” asked Cape.
“Almost nothing,” said Linda, her voice dropping to a normal pitch. Cape could tell she was standing closer to the phone, fears of electromagnetic menace temporarily gone. “Lots and lots of press clippings, going back ten years, but it’s all pretty standard stuff for a public figure. The more public he became, the easier the trail is to follow.”
“OK,” said Cape, discouraged. “Is that what you said in your message?”
“No,” said Linda. “The Sloth and I tried to go back, to before Yan left China.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” said Linda. “Before immigration, the guy disappears.”
“Isn’t that because you’re trying to access records in China? That must be next to impossible.”
“Not for the Sloth,” said Linda. “He even has a program that can translate the characters into English as you scroll down a page.”
“So?”
“So either Yan had a really, really boring life in China,” said Linda. “Which I doubt. Or…he’s a criminal.”
“Who changed his name when he came to the States,” said Cape. “Because he wanted to get into politics.”
“Where the real power is.”
“The real power is in politics?”
“I heard that on an episode of
West Wing
.”
“Then it must be true. OK, so he gets a new identity.”
“Exactly,” said Linda. “Not that hard, really, if you know the right people.”
“But if I can prove Yan has a criminal past…”
“You’ve got some leverage,” said Linda. “You could really screw up the election.”
Cape started to get excited until he realized he didn’t have a single piece of evidence.
“I don’t have jack shit besides this conversation, do I?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Linda, her voice even softer. “Unless…”
“Yeah?”
“Sloth said you’d need his fingerprints.”
“Fingerprints,” said Cape to himself. “And then?”
“Then you’d need a friend at Interpol, the CIA, NSA, or the FBI.”
The last three letters of the alphabet soup got Cape’s attention. Linda was still talking, but he’d taken the phone from his ear. Carefully, he reached into his right-hand coat pocket and touched the sides of a round disk with his thumb and forefinger. As he pulled his hand from his pocket he saw the red and white letters against a blue background:
Yan for Mayor
.
Absently he raised the phone to his ear and said “thanks,” hanging up before she could answer. Gingerly dropping the button back into his pocket, he called John Williams at the FBI and left a message.
Ten minutes passed.
When his phone rang, Cape nearly jumped out of his shoes.
“You’re up late,” said Williams.
“Can you run a set of prints for me?” asked Cape. “Through Interpol or maybe the Hong Kong authorities? The records might go back ten or even twenty years.”
Williams coughed for almost a full minute before getting it under control. “You must have the wrong number—you want me to pick up your dry cleaning, too?”
“You said you wanted a lead on the ship.”
“We already got the jeans guy in custody,” said Williams. “You remember, the asshole you should’ve given to us, but instead gave to the police?”
“Big deal,” said Cape.
“We got him on conspiracy, murder, and tax fraud, for starters.”
“You think he’s the mastermind behind this?”
Williams was silent on the other end.
“Neither do I,” said Cape.
Williams grunted. “What’ve you got, cowboy?”
“A thumbprint, maybe,” said Cape. “On a button.”
“Not much,” muttered Williams. “What do you want?”
“A name.”
“That’s it?” said Williams skeptically. “And what do I get?”
“A name,” said Cape. “And maybe some answers.”
“Maybe?”
“That’s all I can offer,” said Cape.
Several long seconds passed. “OK.”
“How soon can you have it?”
“This is the FBI, junior,” said Williams. “Not the 1-hour photo.”
“Can’t you say it’s a matter of national security?”
“Is it?”
“Isn’t everything these days?”
“You got a point,” said Williams. “When can you bring it in?”
“I can’t,” replied Cape. “Can you pick it up?”
“Jee-zus, you are high maintenance.” Cape heard Williams cupping the phone, muffled voices in the background. “Where are you?”
Cape gave him directions to the nearest corner.
“OK, look for a blue Honda.”
“The FBI drives a Honda?”
“We might be on a budget, but we’re not stupid,” said Williams. “If you don’t drive an import in California, everyone thinks you’re a cop.”
“Sneaky.”
“That’s the idea.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“My prints are on this thing, too.”
“No problem, you’d be in the files ’cause of your license.” Williams held the phone away from his mouth again and shouted to someone in another room, then came back on. “Never mind—my man in the car will have a kit—stick your hand through the window, he’ll take your prints. It’ll save us time.”
“Thanks.”
“If this pans out, we’re even.”
“You’ll call me either way?”
“Sure,” said Williams. “Give me your number.”
Fifteen minutes later the car pulled quietly up to the curb next to a hydrant and cut its lights. Cape reached through the window and dropped the button into a plastic bag the driver held open, then extended the fingers of his right hand and felt them rolled across an ink pad one at a time. The whole exchange took less than two minutes.
Cape walked back up the block and turned down the alley. He had gone less than ten feet when he sensed someone behind him. Pivoting on his left foot, he raised his left elbow high and spun around, just as he felt an electric jolt across his shoulders. His body twisted backward as the muscles in his neck started to spasm, black spots appearing at the edge of his vision. He felt the breath leave his lungs as his momentum completed his turn, bringing him face to face with a man with a jagged scar cutting across his right eye and down his cheek.
Xan smiled, the scar dancing in celebration, as Cape felt the ground fall out from under him and saw the lights at the end of the street go out one by one.
The driver’s license spun like a leaf as it fell, tapping sounds chasing after it as the plastic edge ricocheted off the rungs of the ladder.
The guard nearest the tunnel turned as the card hit the stone floor. Bending down, he saw there was a note wrapped around it, Chinese characters drawn in short bold strokes. He quickly stepped across the room and dropped the license onto the desk, then bowed and returned to his position at the bottom of the ladder.
The first thing Sally saw as Dong unwrapped the note was Cape’s picture on the license.
“
Ta ma de
,” muttered Sally. Oh shit.
“That doesn’t even look like him,” said Dong, taking the license. “How does the Department of Motor Vehicles do that? You know, in Hong Kong—”
“
Dong
.” Sally’s voice was full of warning. “What does the note say?”
Dong read aloud. “‘Bring the heart.’”
“That’s it?”
“It gives a location—Buddha’s Universal Church.”
“Just a few blocks from here, on Washington.”
“At this hour, the church will be deserted,” said Dong miserably. “Yan has set a trap, and your friend is the bait.” He blew out his cheeks as he handed the note out to Sally.
Sally’s eyes grew wide as she looked at the slip of paper.
“Yan didn’t write this note.”
“How do you know?” Dong reached for the note but stopped when he saw the grim expression on Sally’s face. When she looked up, her eyes were hard and her voice flat.
“I recognize the handwriting.”
Harold Yan looked worried.
“Drink this,” he said as he handed a mug to Lin. “It tastes bitter, but it will help the healing process.”
“
Mh goi
.” Lin winced as she extended her arms but nodded her thanks.
“That shoulder looks bad,” muttered Yan. “You didn’t go to a hospital?”
“No,” said Lin.
“Smart girl,” said Yan approvingly. “The hospital has to report gunshot wounds to the police.”
Lin nodded as she blew into her mug, the steam making her eyes water. “The bullet passed right through.”
“You’re very brave.”
Lin forced a smile before sipping tentatively. He was right, the drink tasted awful. She hated this, sitting in Yan’s house, the front room that doubled as a home office, trying to explain herself without telling him what really happened. She didn’t even know Yan, beyond what she’d been told. A true friend, someone we can trust. She tried to think of someone she could really trust and came up empty, save for a dead sister she only remembered from pictures.
Yan looked nice enough, professional, well-mannered. Comparing him to men she’d known, he seemed more like the Dragon Head or a businessman than the thugs and killers she usually hunted. Not anything like the
sze kau
pigs on the ship. He already asked her about that, something in his voice warning her to stretch the truth. She said someone tried to steal the heart—that shut him up, got Yan saying wait one minute, then going to the next room for tea. Lin suspected he didn’t care about the women and children in the hold any more than the crew, so there was no point trying to explain. Lin knew how to follow orders—she’d made the trip, didn’t she?—but
how
she completed an assignment was up to her.
“I have a few more questions, if you don’t mind,” said Yan pleasantly. “I’ll keep it short tonight—I know you’re still weak.”
Lin nodded, clenching her jaw. She
was
weak, a feeling new to her. She’d never been injured this badly in all her years of service, but now she could barely stand without seeing spots. Yan had her sitting in a high-backed chair with wooden arms, something she could hold onto as she drank her tea. Her shoulder burned, the bandages still wet with blood. It had taken her almost two hours to find this house, on the border of Chinatown and North Beach, an old two-story Victorian in the middle of a short, twisted road that was more alley than street. She never could have found it that first night, half dead and soaking wet. If Sally hadn’t been home, Lin knew she’d be dead.
But then she woke up underground, betrayed. One-eyed Dong had been exiled, a price on his head. Sally hadn’t left the society, after all—she must be part of the conspiracy to steal the heart. Lin cursed her lack of strength, unable to risk anything except running away. But at least she was alive and free, able to tell Yan where it was.
Now they just had to get it.
Yan stepped around his desk and sat on its edge, only a few feet in front of her.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked idly. “What did the Dragon Head tell you?”
“
Lung tau
gave me the heart,” Lin began.
“But you knew he would tell people you stole it?”
Lin nodded. “He explained there are traitors within our society, planning to steal the heart and kill him.”
“But he couldn’t hide it.”
“No,” said Lin, shaking her head emphatically. “If he moved the heart himself, it would be an act of fear, a sign of weakness. His enemies would gain support.”
“So he stole the heart from himself,” said Yan. “Brilliant.”
“He said to tell you everything,” said Lin. “But no one else knows, not even Master Xan.”
“Your…” Yan paused, searching for the word. “Instructor.”
Lin nodded again. “The Dragon Head told Xan there was a situation in China that needed attention, and he requested that Xan send me—to Fuzhou.”
“Where you caught the freighter.”
“Yes,” said Lin. “He gave me the heart, wrapped in cloth so I could hide it in my clothes, then explained how to board the ship.” She sipped more tea, which tasted less bitter the more she drank. She could feel herself starting to relax, her shoulder less painful. Her eyes felt heavy, hands tingling, legs almost going numb. She blinked as Yan watched her, his eyes full of concern.
Yan stood and looked down at her cup. “It’s helping, isn’t it?” He smiled though his eyes had gone flat, expressionless. Stepping behind Lin’s chair, he put his left hand gently on her shoulder. “Yes, you are very brave,” he said admiringly.
Lin started to respond but gasped as Yan dug his fingers into her shoulder.
“But very stupid.” Yan’s voice was pure disdain as he twisted his thumb savagely against her bandages. Liquid fire ran down her arm and Lin dropped the tea in her lap, but she couldn’t feel it against her skin. Her legs were completely numb. Yan seized the back of the chair with both hands and pulled, slamming Lin onto her back, stars exploding behind her eyes. She started to hyperventilate as the numbness in her legs crept across her stomach toward her heart.
“You had the most powerful weapon in Triad history,” seethed Yan, stepping in front of the chair. “And you lost it.”
Lin watched, helpless, as Yan raised his right foot and brought it down slowly onto her shoulder. The numbing poison had made it to her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs, but it left the nerve endings in her shoulder raw and exposed. The heel of his shoe pressed down, Lin’s head twisting back and forth on the rug as she tried to scream, managing only a strangled cough as tears ran down her cheeks.
“But you’re still of some use, and with your help, perhaps I can get the heart back.” Yan’s eyes shone with a fanatic’s zeal. Lin stared, wheezing and thrashing, as Yan reached behind his back and tugged at his belt. The room was getting dark, and Lin realized she was blacking out.
That’s when she saw the knife.
