Jake Maroc - Shan Part 9

I will not weep, Bliss told herself. But in this she was not successful.

McKenna went looking for Big Oysters Pok. He had been electrified by the thought that Southasia Bancorp might be in financial trouble. If the rumor's true, he thought, Formidable Sung's in a real mess. Half his life must be tied up in Southasia's vaults. If there really is a case of fiduciary malfeasance at Southasia I sodding well better find out about it.

McKenna prowled the nightside clubs of Wan chai. He went from one sleezy joint to another. A world of revolving red and green lights, watered-down drinks, and pathetic wh.o.r.es, addicted to the tears of the poppy at twelve, old at fifteen, masters of sleight of hand and deceit.

He had only ever seen Big Oysters in one of these places. McKenna supposed the Chinese lived in that world in a kind of permanent way. Big Oysters, the Chinese said, knew everything that went on within the Crown Colony. The fact was that he made McKenna nervous. He fell into none of the preconceived stereotypes that filled McKenna's head, and therefore he was a threat. Usually, McKenna did not sit still for threats, but Big Oysters was different. McKenna needed him so he left him alone.

McKenna found him inside the White Teacup, an utterly ridiculous name for an establishment that dispensed swill and gonorrhea with equal indifference.

Big Oysters was sitting near the rear where, McKenna was quick to notice, the red and blue strobe lights were more subdued, the music not as deafening and the drinks were full strength.

McKenna made his way through the sailors on sh.o.r.e leave with the kind of exaggerated swagger that had helped earn him his nickname Great Pool of Piddlefrom the Chinese.

Big Oysters was with a woman, and not one of the local B-girls. This one had cla.s.s. She was dressed to kill. McKenna, getting an eyeful, fairly drooled over the cleavage and thigh the woman's theatrical and expensive dress revealed.

Seeing McKenna, Big Oysters squeezed the woman on the elbow and she rose, disappearing into the smoky pall of the nightclub.

There was nothing on Big Oysters' face to indicate how he felt about this grossly oversized man sitting down across from him. The fact was that McKenna's very size made the Chinese's sacred sac pull up inside itself. There was something intimidating about all that height and girth. Big Oysters hated himself for feeling as he did but there was nothing he could do about it. Joss.

"You've disturbed my evening," he said, sipping at his Courvoisier.

"Mind if I have a drink?"

"Help yourself,a" Big Oysters said.

"Don't tell me you eat at joints like this?" McKenna sneered.

"I have business here," Big Oysters said. "I eat at Star House in Causeway Bay."

"Sure, I know it," McKenna said, nodding. He looked at Big Oysters through the gla.s.s. "I need some information about Southasia Bancorp."

Big Oysters winced inwardly at the foreign devil's total lack of manners. The civilized man would have sat and drunk at least one full round with his host; he would have asked after the host's family, the state of the host's business enterprises; he would have, perhaps, made a small wager on when rain would again fall. When one sat down with a toad, Big Oysters thought resignedly, one must expect to be spattered with slime.

"What about Southasia?"

"I was hoping you would tell me."

Big Oysters watched those terrible pale blue eyes that looked as if they had witnessed something they should not have. "What do I get in return?" he asked.

"Twenty-four-hour advance warning on the next Special Branch raid in your territory."

"I want those raids to stop altogether."

Christ, McKenna thought. "Even I don't have that much authority. Besides, even if I did, it would cause too much talk at the commissioner's level. They'd no doubt hear about it in London and then there'd be a real flap, a full-scale investigation, and it all would be goneyour protection, our arrangement, everything."

Big Oysters turned his head and spat. "So much for the foreign-devil British. Their time here is done."

"When and if they go it won't be the best scenario for the likes of you, I can tell you," McKenna said gracelessly. "The Communists'll come in here and pull all the hairs from your sacred sac."

Big Oysters laughed to cover the enormity of his disgust for this barbarian. "I wouldn't worry about the Communistsa" he said. "We've got a surprise or two for them."

"The Southasia Bancorp," McKenna said. He had no desire to debate politics with an ignorant Chinese.

"Why did you come to me?"

McKenna finished his brandy. "I have it on good authority that someone may have embezzled a lot of money out of there."

Big Oysters considered what Great Pool of Piddle had told him. "I have heard nothing of this," he said. "Nothing. And that is the most interesting aspect. Either your information is incorrect or"

"Or what?" McKenna prompted.

"Or," Big Oysters said, "the embezzlement is so big they've put a total security net over the whole thing."

"Then I'm wasting my time with you."

"On the contrary." How I detest this foreign devil, Big Oysters thought. But I need his information to keep my profits high. I use him the way his kind have used us over the years. "Be here this time tomorrow. You'll have your answer one way or the other."

"b.l.o.o.d.y good," McKenna said, getting up, "Oh, one thing."

"Yes."

"Those raid warnings," Big Oysters said, shuddering inwardly at the man's abominable height. "You'll provide them free of charge for six months."

"Impossible!" McKenna exploded.

"Nothing's impossible to a man of your rank," Big Oysters said evenly. "Tomorrow. At this time."

Choking on his fury, McKenna nodded. Then he spun around and stalked out. There was too much noise for him to hear Big Oysters's laughter.

Every day of the working week, Jake went into Sawyer & Sons, laboring at the Zhuan's business out of an office Andrew Sawyer had set up for him, next to his own, on the top floor of the tower. On weekends, Jake worked either from home or from Three Oaths' junk.

There was much to be done. Lines of communication into Communist China, into Singapore, Bangkok, Manila, Jakarta, Toyko and Osaka had to be maintained. Every day, new contacts were being established, increasing the depth and scope of the yuhn-hyun's sphere of influence. Companies hewing cedar trees in Indonesia, building light machinery in Singapore, inventing new kinds of computer chips in Tokyo were all linked together in a far-flung skein of interrelated commerce.

And all had to be coordinated by the Zhuan. Mornings and evenings were devoted to telephone and Telex link-ups with various company presidents and key division personnel. In between, Jake was busy reviewing those companies' computer readouts relaying updates on inventories, production schedules, leveraged buy-outs, long-and short-term debt, market share and, in the case of the public corporations, how they were faring on their national stock markets.

The days were long, and inevitably filled with problems. But finding solutions was very much akin to planning moves across a wei qi board. Problem-solving became second nature to himas the Jian knew it wouldprecisely because of his wei qi training. Jake was fascinated by the manipulations, and the strategies he conjured up and implemented.

Near evening, he wrapped up his last call and, slinging his jacket over his shoulder, went down in the private elevator only he and Andrew Sawyer used. Out on the sidewalk, the air was thick with humidity. Overhead the sky was clear, streaked with a russet and amethyst sunset. Refracted off the spires of Central, it seemed to fill the air to the bursting point. But to the west, clouds were already pus.h.i.+ng in, and he scented rain on its way.

Jake knew there was someone there as soon as he got into his Jaguar. The car was parked just outside the Sawyer Building.

A tick in tall gra.s.s, he thought, beginning to work out the vectors open to him. All the while thinking two thoughts: Why is there someone following me? and Who is running the operation?

Several other things occurred to him as he made his way along Queen's Road.

Why choose this moment to begin a tail on him? Was it coincidence, or something more sinister? In Jake's experience it was dangerous to take an occurrence at face value.

His gaze flicked into the image in his rearview mirror: silver-gray Alfa-Romeo Spider Veloce, low and sleek. The driver allowed a cordovan-colored Mercedes 500 SEL, then a Mitsubis.h.i.+ truck to get in-between. The Spider moving up and back in the traffic flow: sign of a very canny driver. Yet Jake might not have been aware of him for some time, had he not misjudged the timing: Jake heard his engine start up, and then the Alfa's a millisecond later. If his window hadn't been down he doubted that he'd have heard the double sound at all. Joss. Bad for the tick, good for him.

It was not until Jake had parked his Jaguar in the Western District that he got a clear look. The tick was a woman. She did not have a typical Cantonese or Shanghainese face. That did not mean that she did not fit in with her surroundings. On the contrary, she was chicly dressed, in one of those oversize j.a.panese sweater-blouses, a gray-brown-taupe striped thing with bat sleeves and an enormous cowl neck that hung around her throat like jewelry. She wore mahogany-colored leather pants and ankle-high suede boots.

She could move, too, Jake observed. He had not once looked at her directly but, instead, was using what the territory naturally provided him: shop windows, gla.s.s doors.

It was imperative that he get the measure of her skill before he tried to lose her. Because it would give him an impression of how good the opposition wasand that, by extension, would give him a clue to the ident.i.ty of the control. Also, it would give him a better idea of which escape maneuvers would work best against her.

Jake was due at Three Oaths' junk in fifteen minutes for a meeting alone with his father, a date he was now unlikely to make on time. That was all right. The first order of business after spotting the tag was to change his destination. Ticks were as often interested in where their subjects were going as they were in their subjects themselves.

That was why Jake had gone in the opposite direction. He needed to cut out the tick and, in isolation, go to work. That was of course impossible while they were both mobile. On foot, there were innumerable methods of cut out and contact. Losing the tick in the Jag had occurred to Jake, but was dismissed. First, know your enemy, Jake had been taught. He hurried back toward the populated Central District.

He was already working within an emergency situation. Bluestone had apparently seen to that. In a red sector, he knew, evasion tactics were a waste of time. Evasion, Fo Saan had told him, is a delaying strategy at best. Therefore it is a weak strategy in all but the most specialized circ.u.mstances. Evasion has no part in the killing ground.

On the other hand, time was against him. Cut outs required time. There were complex, often elegant affairs. Jake's meeting with his father, in fifteen minutes, was of the utmost importance. Zilin was ready to tell Jake of the "shadow enemies," as he had put it.

So Jake did the only thing he could: he went off the street.

Taking the steps three at a time, he bolted up a staircase leading to the network of raised and covered walkways that joined the huge office towers of the Crown Colony's Central District.

Jake pushed people out of the way, up against the billboards. Crossing to the Island side of Connaught Road Central. Turned a corner and, using the glossy facade of an advertis.e.m.e.nt, saw the woman right behind him, her face in ghostly pa.s.sage.

Boutiques were no good because they were too small, no place to get lost in and, anyway, no back entrances. Restaurants were another matter and he ducked into one, brus.h.i.+ng past the line snaked up for tables. But it was no go, she was too close behind him and he got out of there.

The skywalks were a trap, he saw now, and he went down to the street at the first chance. She was good, this unknown tick. As good on foot as she had been in the Alfa; and now he was doubly glad that he had used a number of feints to get the feel of her, because he knew this wasn't going to be easy; knew too that he would have to lose her before he could head toward his meeting. There was no way he could lead her to his objective.

He hurried down Ice House Street until he came to Des Voeux Road Central. Hung around the curb as if undecided as to what move to make next. Swung aboard the westbound tram at the very last instant and watched as the woman ran, lunging for the open back doorway. She wouldn't have made it either but some eager-beaver tourist reached out and pulled her aboard, lifting her off the pavement with his powerful, suntanned arms.

He was still talking to her, laughing and bobbing his head, as Jake edged away through the crowd toward the front of the tram.

Where they turned onto Tung Street, Jake leapt off, not caring now to hide his movements. They were in the all-Chinese Western District, full of warehouses, s.h.i.+pping firms, snake shops, fish markets and apothecaries.

She came down off the tram and began to follow him as he turned onto Jervois Street. That was all right. During the time on the tram Jake had thought of how he would handle her and he did not want to lose her. At least not yet.

He went two blocks, then abruptly cut to his right up a narrow alley rank with the scents of gutted fish and drying skate. The light was coming down, the pale winter sun already dropped below the bosom of the sea. The last watery fingers of its light played across the very tops of the Mid-level residential skysc.r.a.pers that rose like groves of bamboo from the steep slopes of Victoria Peak.

Shadows were everywhere. Their spread across the cracked cobblestones running dark with fish blood reminded Jake of Mikio Komoto. He had tried to reach him twice again today, but even Kachikachi, Mikio's faithful adviser, could offer no hope of finding Komoto. That was an unpropitious sign. Mikio had been forced out of his Tokyo compound by the escalating Yakuza war. Had he been injured? Was he now in a secluded hospital surrounded by members of his clan armed to repel an a.s.sa.s.sination attempt? Was his power in the j.a.panese underworld gone? There were no answers to these questions. In desperation, Jake had phoned his information source in Tokyo. He was not home at noon, which was unusual. That was the time he and Jake had set upon for their electronic rendezvous. If Jake had not had the Southasia Bancorp crisis on his hands he would have taken the next plane out of Kai Tak bound for Tokyo. As it was a On Ladder Street, he began to ascend. The way was steep and narrow, hence it name. It was lined with doorless shops, small s.p.a.ces, dim even at noontime, within which were stacked square cages. Jake ducked into one of these and quickly made his purchase. The price was exorbitant because of the time of year but he had no time to enter into an extended round of bargaining. With his back to the street he tucked his purchase away and continued up Ladder Street. His movement had been so quick and the light was now so bad that his tick had not been certain what he had done. So much the better.

At the head of Ladder Street was an alley without a name. He headed into it, engulfing himself in shadow. He went perhaps fifty yards down the fetid tunnel, his back against the walls. He stopped and listened. Now would come the test. Either she would follow him into the alley or she would stay where she was and wait for him to come out. Either way he would be ready for her.

He waited. It was late for the Western District, which closed up shop between five and six. A dog barked and then, snuffling, moved on. Somewhere above his head a baby began crying. He heard the lilt of a female voice singing in Cantonese. Soon the baby grew still.

Now there was nothing and Jake found himself thinking of Mikio Komoto again. Was he, too, crouching in the darkness somewhere waiting for an a.s.sa.s.sin to strike? Was he carrying a modern weapon or an ancient one? Gun or bow and arrow? Blood spilled in rivers in Tokyo and Osaka. How many men had he lost? And Kisan's clan as well. The battle for territory. And honor. One must never forget the Yakuza's fierce honor.

Gin. Jake felt it now. His obligation to his friend. With all the weight on his shoulders that being the Zhuan brought, it was ridiculous that he should add to it. But gin was hardly a matter of choice. One either felt it or one did not, it was as simple as that. He felt duty bound to help his friend.

All the while his ears were open for any sound that might disturb the fragile integrity of the environment. He checked his watch with a flick of his gaze. It had been fifteen minutes. She was not going to venture in. Well, that said a great deal about her.

Smiling to himself, Jake crept away from the head of the alley. He had picked this one deliberately because it had the appearancelike many of its neighborsof being a cul-de-sac. What he had discovered quite by accident some time ago was that at its far end was a s.p.a.ce between two warehouses just wide enough for a man to slip through.

Tak Ching Road beckoned to him beyond the gray interstice. Jake took one last look behind him at the head of the alley. Shadows crept along the wall like cringing dogs. But there was no sound at all, no sign of pursuit. Let her guard her entrance well, he thought as he slipped through the narrow fissure. She'll find nothing there.

He was through the narrow s.p.a.ce, struck by the lights of Tak Ching Road, and the muzzle of a .22 pistol pressed against his face.

The cowl neck of her sweater framed her face with shadow.

When Jake was leaving his office, three j.a.panese couples were deplaning from their flight in from Tokyo.

At Hong Kong's Kai Tak airport they pa.s.sed through Immigration and Customs without incident. They were young and of approximately the same age, perhaps in their early twenties. They might have been affluent newlyweds off on an expensive shopping spree in Hong Kong. A typical custom for many of the j.a.panese rich. And so they engendered the minimum of attention at the crowded airport, as they collected their matched Louis Vuitton luggage and were met by a uniformed chauffeur. They piled into a gleaming white Rolls, the men first, the ladies standing about wide-eyed and giggling in their Albert Nipon and Gianni Versace outfits.

They stayed at the ultramodern Regent Hotel because it was closest to the water and the harbor views were breathtaking. But they went across the street to the most luxurious bastion of the British Colonial occupation of Asia, the Peninsula Hotel, because its spectacular lobby was the place to see and be seen while having tea or drinks.

They spent perhaps an hour there, time enough for the haughty j.a.panese to come to the attention of almost all the staff, who in any case resented the j.a.panese and saw them as uncivilized louts.

During that time, it might have been notedhad anyone cared to pay attentionthat the women jabbered on much as all women would who were embarking on an exciting sojourn in a foreign land. But the men spoke not at all, rather they smoked furiously, downing Suntory Scotch with almost mechanical regularity.

One moment there were six of them, sitting comfortably; the next moment only the women remained. The three men were already down the marble steps and through the semicircular courtyards filled with Rollses and Mercedeses.

They did not go back to the Regent but rather hailed a taxi to Kai Tak. Once at the airport they split up. One of the men went through the main terminal to a bank of metal rental lockers. Using a key, he opened one and withdrew three vinyl flight bags, dark-blue overprinted with a white airline logo. He took these into the men's room.

Inside, he kept one, distributing the others to his two companions who were waiting for him. All three used the cubicles.

Ten minutes later, the first man emerged. Over the course of the next five minutes the other two came out. All carried their dark-blue-and-white flight bags, but save for that element they were unrecognizable as the young affluent j.a.panese who had arrived at the airport thirty minutes before. At some point before leaving the terminal, all three disposed of their bags in separate trash cans.

Two took different buses, the third climbed into a taxi. Despite the fact that they were using differing means of transportation, they were all headed for the same destination: the harbor at Aberdeen.

In an unusual display of public affection Three Oaths took Neon Chow's hand. He could not help himself. She was so dazzling, he felt intoxicated by her presence.

It was the evening of her birthday, andas she had requested they were at the elegant Gaddi's, one of Asia's finest restaurants. This was where Neon Chow had wanted to go and she had shown her appreciation by wearing his favorite dress that showed off the emerald necklace he had given her. Also out of deference to him she wore no other jewelry. There was nothing to compete with the necklace.

Three Oaths felt better than he had in thirty years. There was not a man present who was not looking or had not looked at Neon Chow. Men far younger than himself. He thought, There are some fires that age cannot diminish. He was so happy that even the prospect of eating loh faan style did not bother him. One night ingesting food that had been chopped, minced, pureed and whipped into consistencies that bore no relation to their natural state would not kill him. He might have indigestion later on, but Neon Chow knew how to cure that. He smiled at the thought and his sacred member began to thicken underneath the table.

"Eeeeya!" Neon Chow cried as the sommelier brought over a bottle of Dom Perignon. "My favorite!" She had developed a taste for fine champagne, from the governmental functions she attended with the governor. Personally, Three Oaths thought all champagne tasted like cat p.i.s.s. But, he thought, this is her night and she will get what she wants.

He watched her stuff herself with foie gras and caviar, and later, venison flown in from Buddha only knew where, dripping in a reduction of juices and cream so rich that it made him bilious just to inhale the aroma. But what did any of that matter as long as she was happy?

Neon Chow's pleasure was at this moment very precious to him. When she was happy she made him happy, and considering the monumental business problems confronting him he needed her radiant energy like a fragile plant needed a fiery sun.

The final accountings at Southasia had come in while he was again at Andrew Sawyer's office. As was their habit, he and Sawyer had been going over the monthly revenue returns on the tanker fleet owned by the inner circle and run by Three Oaths. When the shock had worn off enough for them to regain their senses they had tried to locate Jake. But it was late in the day and Jake had already left the office.

Three Oaths had called his daughter. Bliss had been on her way to Aberdeen, to give the Jian another acupressure treatment aboard Three Oaths's junk. She had no idea where Jake might have gone but she knew that he was due at the junk that evening, to see his father.

Normally a couple of hours would not have made a difference, but the news the full audit had given them was chilling. Not twenty-five million but closer to fifty-five million dollars American had been embezzled. It was a staggering sum, and a certain death blow to Southasia, as far as Three Oaths and Andrew Sawyer could determine. It was difficult to conceive how such a vast sum of money could be filtered out of an organization without anyone suspecting, Three Oaths had said. But Sawyer had explained the subtly veined network -of international companies that surrounded Southasia. The bank sat at the very heart of them, their nerve center. An accountant and a comprador of sufficient guile and daring could manage to steal that much money over a specific period of time. The trouble was, Sawyer had said, that neither man had seemed to him capable of taking the enormous risk such a deception would entail.

Three Oaths had said, "The fact remains that the yuhn-hyun has lost fifty-five million dollars. We are without sufficient funds to make up what has been embezzled. In effect, we have lost our depositors' money. If even a hint of that leaks into the Colony, Southasia will be shuttered almost immediately."

Dessert was a dense chocolate cake layered with praline b.u.t.tercream. Three Oaths's stomach screamed for surcease but he ate his piece anyway, hoping that the fragrant oolong tea would calm him.

Of course, they could abandon their fight to retain control of Pak. That would certainly free up enough cash but at what price? It was unthinkable. Pak Han Min was the inner circle's key into Kam Sang. Three Oaths did not know why Kam Sang was so vital to the yuhn-hyun, though it had been he himself who had created the labyrinth of interlocking companies known as Pak Han Min. He had been under discipline to his elder brother, Zilin, to do so. Why?

All the companies that comprised Pak made an excellent profit due in large part to Three Oaths's acute business ac.u.men. But that profit was funneled through a complicated and wholly clandestine method directly into Kam Sang. Why?