Jake Maroc - Shan Part 40

"Are you certain? No dealing with them at all when you were working at the Quarry?"

"Not that I am aware of. Why?"

"Because, my friend, this attack was not directed at me. You were the objective."

The Mitsubishi hit a b.u.mp in the road and at 140 kph it was enough to make Jake groan.

"Are you unwell, Jake-san?" Mikio's voice from the back seat.

Jake said nothing, squeezed his eyes tighter shut. They had stopped in Kyoto long enough to see a doctor of Mikio's acquaintance. Yakuza. The damage was minimal.

"Now we go to Karuizawa," Mikio had said. "That is where the Moro clan is headquartered."

"Jake-san."

Opened his eyes, caught the flick of Kazamuki's eyes.

"Is the oyabun awake?"

Jake listened to the softness of her voice, turned carefully around. Mikio's eyes were closed, his breathing deep and regular.

"Asleep," he said. "Is there a problem?"

"That depends," she said, glancing again in her side mirror. "For the last twenty kilometers or so the same Toyota truck has been two cars behind us."

"Are we being followed?"

"I think we must find that out, neh?"

She turned the wheel hard over and the Mitsubishi slewed into thefar left lane. She stepped on the accelerator until they were doing upwards of 160 kph.

Jake glanced in his side mirror, saw the black Toyota immediately. It was one of the futuristic-looking vans. The windows were completely blacked out so that it was impossible to see inside.

He watched for some kind of movement on the part of the Toyota: an acceleration to match their own or a change in lane. There was nothing. The van was now four cars behind.

"Now we'll see," Kazamuki said. Accelerated again and now, with a high squeal, pushed them back through the lanes. Horns blared, the screeching of brakes behind them and then they were onto the off-ramp.

Jake took another look in the mirror, saw the black van's ballooning image. "Here they come," he said.

Kazamuki downshifted, weaving in and out around two slowing cars and a truck. The moment she was beyond them, she stamped down on the accelerator, running a light. Three blocks later she slowed until they were almost drifting.

The Toyota blew out of the traffic pattern they had left behind. It slowed as soon as its driver picked up their change in speed. With a shriek of tires, Kazamuki brought the Mitsubishi back up to fourth gear. The Toyota came on.

Now it was not directly behind the Mitsubishi but rather off to one side. It blared its horn at an oncoming car, which slewed out of the way, running up on the sidewalk.

The black van closed the distance between them. Jake could see that the offside window had scrolled down. He saw the machine-pistol muzzle poke itself out like the snout of an ugly dog.

"Out of the way!" he shouted as he pulled heavily on the wheel.

"What!" Kazamuki cried in alarm as the Mitsubishi went hurtling toward a wall. Heard a series of explosions behind them and Kazamuki straightened their run.

She looked at him briefly. "They've got more than katana in that van," he said.

Kazamuki concentrated on her driving. The Toyota had lost some ground during Jake's impromtu evasive maneuver but it was gaining on them. They had obviously done something to the engine because it was performing like a rocket.

"They're very close," he said, and she nodded.

Took the Mitsubishi into an acute left turn, the speed so great that the two right side tires went off the macadam. Almost hit a trio ofpedestrians who scattered, screaming. Three blocks later, she made another left.

They could hear the squeal of the black van's breaks behind them but could not see it. She had them at an unsound speed but that could hardly be helped. It was the rush of wind now or the steel-jacketed bullets from the machine pistol twisting the Mitsubishi into junk.

One more left and they were almost home. Now Kazamuki accelerated and Jake's teeth began to chatter. Outside was just a blur and he prayed no one would get in their way.

The wheel hard over and they had completed the circuit. The Mitsubishi righted itself and took off. Now they were directly behind the black van. Not a maneuver for the faint-hearted, Jake thought.

She ran up their tailpipe and, just before a light turning off the green, she tramped heavily on the accelerator. The Mitsubishi obediently shot forward and, with a thunderous lurch, slammed into the black van.

The speed was sufficient that the collision sent the Toyota careening into the intersection. The light had already changed, there were cars moving. The black van hit two of them broadside and flipped upward.

It began to roll like an acrobat performing the last, electrifying stunt at the climax of the circus. The Toyota came down hard onto the macadam rear first. The gas tank ripped open along with the left side. Sparks from dragging, exposed metal caught the fumes and there was an oddly m.u.f.fled whump!

Kazamuki cut a hard left and began to accelerate.

He was known as Fung the Skeleton because of the tattoo, a dancing man composed all of bones that was animated by the rippling of his muscles. Usually he went shirtless on the job so that everyone could see the tattoo embedded in the layers of skin across his right shoulder blade. Here, it was important that he keep the name alive.

This was Mong Kok, the northern end of the ma.s.sive typhoon shelter at Yau Ma Tei, on the western side of the Kowloon peninsula. A veritable sea of boats were moored here, encompa.s.sing almost every size and shape. A city of people lived and worked in this s.p.a.ce, an extension of the land itself.

It was easy to get lost here, to secrete a treasure even when others were searching for it. Fung the Skeleton possessed such a treasure and, certainly, there were many who would gladly give up a year's salary to discover its whereabouts.

Many had tried with little or no success. Not because Fung theSkeleton could not be foundanyone in Hong Kong could be found for a price; not because he was a criminal of such stellar magnitude to command sufficient muscle.

The fact was that Fung the Skeleton was a legitimate businessman. Not on board any of his drug-running fleet of boats, which he visited in the early morning or late at night.

From nine to five, dressed and acted like all the other upwardly mobile tai pan. He did not show off his tattoo. Neither was he known as Fung the Skeleton, Ian McKenna would have recognized him immediately as Big Oysters Pok.

That he was able to lead this rather dangerous double life in the claustrophobic and rumor-hungry Crown Colony was a tribute to his skill and ingenuity. The very fact that Special Branch Inspector Ian McKenna knew him only by his legitimate ident.i.ty bespoke Fung the Skeleton's inordinate cleverness.

Legitimate was an approximate word, considering that Fung the Skeleton had gone out of his way to build this third ident.i.ty for himself as a trader in flesh. It amused him to hang out in Wan Chai, one gorgeous woman after another by his side. He liked to see the policemen's eyes bug out, their mouths water for a taste of what he obviously dealt in.

In a way, it was a real joy to play the sleazoid to whom everyone came for information. In another life, perhaps, Fung the Skeleton would have been an actorand a d.a.m.n fine one at that. But he was, alas, Chinese, and the market for Chinese actors was, as it had always been, at a standstill.

There was of course an extensive police file on Fung the Skeleton; but like many such dossiers it was thick with a hodgepodge of unsubstantiated rumor and useless hearsay. There was not one solid fact about the subject, certainly no photograph or any such piece of evidence that could lead the Special Branch to an arrest.

The simple fact was that too many people got rich off Fung the Skeleton's business for the police ever to hope to rope in an informer. Besides which, it was common knowledge that anyone hindering his affairs would be a dead man within twenty-four hours.

Such was the man's power. In a land where modern legends were commonplace, he was talked about in the most reverential tones.

When the Malaysian brought Bliss to him, he was going over backup trade routes with one of his captains. AH his boats had primary routes, and backup should they run across police interference. All the routeschanged daily and were known only by Fung himself and the captains. That way there was no chance of a leak. Responsibility weighed most heavily, Fung the Skeleton often said, when it was borne alone. And he was quite correct. His security was one hundred percent, as it always had been.

The Malaysian held Bliss aside while Fung the Skeleton finished his business with the captain. He stood partially between her and his boss so that even if she could read lips she would have no opportunityto do so.

At length, the captain departed, shouting to his crew. Fung the Skeleton nodded and the Malaysian brought Bliss over.

"I know you," Fung the Skeleton said immediately. "You're Jake Maroc's woman,"

Bliss said nothing. She wondered whether she had met this man before. She had never had anything to do with drugs so she knew only the name. But she knew about her father's past and suspected that the two had met at one time or another. Fung the Skeleton was younger than Three Oaths by at least two decades but his contacts were so extensive that she could not believe the two had lived their entire lives without their paths crossing.

"On the contrary," she said, taking a chance, "I believe you know my father, Three Oaths Tsun."

Fung the Skeleton lounged against the taffrail of the boat. "Is that so? Was it he who sent you here?"

"No. It was the Monkey Man."

Fung the Skeleton grunted, held out his hand. "Let's see what you have."

Bliss dug out the fire opal, dropped it into his hand.

Fung the Skeleton took an inordinately long time examining the jewel. At last he looked at her and said, "Where did you get this?"

By his tone alone Bliss might have guessed it, but the part of her qi that resided in da-hei warned her quite clearly that she should not lie to this man. So she told him what her father had been told by Jake.

"Now I know why you are here," Fung the Skeleton said. "It has nothing to do with selling me Australian fire opals. It has to do with this particular stone."

"Do you know the young woman in question?"

Fung the Skeleton stood up from the rail, moved forward along the side of the boat until he was at the bow. Bliss went after him. The typhoon shelter was live in the early morning with cooking fires, children scampering up ratlines, walla-wallas moving slowly down sea lanes, junks putting out to sea or returning, laden with unknown cargo. Far out at the western edge of the shelter she could make out the sleek predatory outline of a police launch, lazily patrolling like a shark along a reef.

"Somewhere," Fung the Skeleton said, "out there is the dream of riches beyond comprehension. Everyone thinks about it: cashing in on the one great deal of a lifetime. Sometimes I think peoplesome peopleare willing to take any risk, no matter how dire, for the prospect of such riches. What do you think?"

"I think there's a sucker born every minute," Bliss said.

There was silence for a time. Then, abruptly, Fung the Skeleton roared with laughter. His captain, alerted for bright sharp sounds, lifted his head from his charts, saw that everything was all right, and went back to work.

"I used to believe that the loh faan, the foreign devil, were the only suckers in this world." He turned the opal over in his fingers so that the sun struck the crimson fire, dazzling them momentarily. "Now, of course, I am older, wiser. I know different.

"To answer your question, yes, I know the young woman from whom Jake took this stone. It is my stone. She appropriated it from me under, let us say, delicate circ.u.mstances."

"I hope she was worth it," Bliss said.

Fung the Skeleton smiled. "No single woman is worth the price of this jewel. If you knew anything about opals you would understand that."

"Why was she following Jake?"

Fung the Skeleton looked out to sea. She knew he was following the progress of the police launch; it was habit with him. "Perhaps for the same reason she stole this from me."

"Meaning?"

"She was crazy to do that. She knew what would happen to her. The only reason I did not have her killed was that Jake beat me to it."

"She wasn't crazy," Bliss said. "Jake would have known that."

He turned to her. "Then do you have an explanation?"

"She wasn't stupid," Bliss said. "She was very smart. Smart enough to keep Jake away from his appointment with his father, to keep the path clear for those who a.s.sa.s.sinated Shi Zilin."

Fung the Skeleton looked from Bliss's face to the flash of intense color between his fingertips. "Why do I have the feeling you know why she stole this?"

"I have a feeling about it," Bliss admitted. Da-hei. Shi Zilin. "I think she saw the stone, knew its value and decided to take the chance."

"But she knew I'd have her killed within the day."

"Then obviously she knew that she would be out of Hong Kong within hours."

"Jake stopped that."

"Yes."

Fung the Skeleton studied this woman more carefully. She was very sharp. He wondered just how sharp she was. "I know she was seeing someone else while she wasat my house."

"Do you know who?"

He glanced at his watch. "I'm late for an appointment I cannot postpone. Will you meet me later for dinner?"

"Where?"

"I usually go to Star House, do you know it?"

"In the Causeway Bay? Yes."

"Eight o'clock all right?" He signed to the Malaysian.

Bliss wondered whether he knew anything more. She had seen his face, read his mind as the Malaysian had brought her over. She knew when she was being mentally undressed. But what choice did she have. He was her bestand onlylead to the mysterious woman who had followed Jake. She had no choice.

She shrugged. "Eight o'clock."

The storm caught up with Qi lin just after she had crossed the southern frontier. It might have gotten to her sooner but she had in her mind something the old doctor at Jiao zhuang hu had said to her, Remember the rivers that flow to the sea and she used the great trees that grew by the plateau's wide, muddy river for protection.

Now, high above sea level, Qi lin knew that she was at last out of danger. She was in the mountains of northern Burma.

The Shan States. Where there was no law, and even the Chinese army lived in fear.

She knew that she was within the Golden Triangle, an area that encompa.s.sed not only a section of the Shan States but areas of Laos, Thailand and her own country's Yunnan province as well. She knew that the business here was opium or, as it was locally known, the tears of the poppy.

The Communist Chinese government had been trying for years to stamp out the illegal but enormously profitable opium trade, as had the rather ineffectual Socialist regime in power in Burma. But theShan States were a universe unto themselves. These mountains were riddled with ancient tribes, commanded by ferocious and imposing warlords, well-armed and -trained private armies that, along with the terrible terrain, a.s.sured a permanent continuance of the lucrative trade.

America and Russia, the most powerful of the world powers, Qi lin knew, had accepted this fact and, for years had tried to infiltrate these mountains with the intention of gaining control over the opium trade and its billions-of-dollars-a-year profits.

Both the CIA and the KGB had had so many setbacks in these mountains that Qi lin had heard a rumor that there were separate appropriations set aside by both governments to handle the losses.