Jake Maroc - Shan Part 43

"I have no fear," the scarred Chinese said. "Have a care." He stared at the tall Englishman and thought, Never in my wildest imagination would I have believed that I would be in league with a gwai loh.

It was hatred that bound these two men togetherhatred for Andrew Sawyer. Once Chen Ju had been Barton Sawyer's most trusted comprador. Andrew's father had been an extremely talented businessman. It was his expertise as tai pan of Sawyer & Sons that had made the trading company flourish. His expertise and Shi Zilin's.

Chen Ju clenched his teeth at the memory. If not for Shi Zilin's intervention, Chen Ju himself would have eventually become tai pan of Sawyer & Sons. Shi Zilin and Andrew Sawyer had taken from him that which had been rightfully his. Before Shi Zilin's coming, Andrew Sawyer had been totally unfit to become tai pan.

The Sawyer & Sons name was a total misnomer. Though Barton's tai tai had birthed him three sons before she had died, the eldest had died in a boating accident, the youngest had been born an idiot and had mercifully failed to live beyond his fifth birthday.

That left only Andrew, despite his father's great dream of founding a dynasty of Sawyers. Seeing that Andrew was obviously unfit to carry the burden of the trading house on his shoulders Chen Ju had gone to his tai pan to suggest an alternative.

"If I had no sons at all," Barton Sawyer had said, "you know that you would have to carry on after I'm gone."

"I am only thinking of the house, tai pan," Chen Ju had said.

"I know that."

But Chen Ju had also been thinking of himself. He wanted to be tai pan. After years so close to the power source, after all that time whispering advice in Barton Sawyer's ear, he craved status above that of comprador. He craved, too, to turn Sawyer & Sons into an Asian trading house. It was only in this way, he believed, that the company could compete effectively for the spot of the emperor's housethe name traditionally given Hong Kong's most respected trading company.

In Chen Ju's mind Andrew Sawyer as tai pan would take Sawyer & Sons from the running for all time. Therefore, he set out to prove to his tai pan that he had been correct about Andrew's unfitness.

He conceived a plan to introduce Andrew to the daughter of Jiu Ximin. This was very amusing to Chen Ju since the girl's father was a labor organizer and fully seventy percent of Sawyer 6V Sons' labor force came under his jurisdiction. He was not a man with whom Barton Sawyer could afford to be at odds.

Yet that was surely what would happen if Andrew were foolish enough to start seeing her. It was one thing for the son of a tai pan to visit a brothel and there have his needs a.s.suaged by women of the pillow world. They might even be Chinese. But to see a Chinese girl in the open without having an intention of marrying her was unthinkable.

It was Andrew Sawyer's ultimate test, and he failed. The eldest daughter of Jiu Ximin was an exquisite flower indeed. Chen Ju had chosen well. She had a face that would have set a blind man on fire.

All went as the comprador had planned until Shi Zilin had once again stepped in. Unbeknownst to Chen Ju, Andrew had gone to Shi Zilin seeking aid. And Shi Zilin had provided it. He had mediated with the girl's father and had gotten Andrew off the hook before Chen Ju had been able to go to Barton Sawyer with the sad news about his wayward son. Suddenly there was no news to bring and, to boot, Shi Zilin was tutoring the young man in the ways of the tai pan, Chen Ju never found out what precisely Shi Zilin had exacted as payment but it must have been substantial, for the debt was large.

In any case, that was the end of the road for Chen Ju at Sawyer & Sons. He would never be tai pan now and, increasingly, Shi Zilin was usurping what power remained to him. He left.

"Have a care," Bluestone echoed now. He grunted. "You sound like my grandmother. I know enough to take a scarf when I go out in winter."

"Yes," Chen Ju said, "but do you wrap it around your throat?" Heclasped his hands on his rounded stomach. "I have waited a long time to exact my revenge. Do you suppose that I will allow someone else to a.s.sure me that everything is all right?"

"What could go wrong now?" Bluestone wanted to know. "The old man, Shi Zilin, is dead. His son, Jake Maroc, is G.o.d only knows where. Three Oaths Tsun is busy with the mare's nest of the takeover threat we've given him. With Neon Chow we have a direct pipeline into the yuhn-hyun. And the only other tai pan we need fear, T. Y. Chung, has just negotiated a partnership with me." He spread his hands as if to say, What more could you want?

Yes, Chen Ju thought, T. Y. Chung. You seek to subvert him just as you will seek to subvert my own power. But you are nothing next to me, tai pan. I have contrived to reveal to you only a fraction of my power. It would dazzle you if you ever caught a glimpse of its real extent. "Maroc may be out of our sight," Chen Ju said, "but I for one do not see that as a cause for celebration. Just the opposite, in fact."

"Have a care," Bluestone said, mockingly.

"Precisely, tai pan," Chen Ju said, as if he were too dense to have caught the other's tone. But inwardly, he thought, This arrogant gwai loh needs to be shown his place in the world. "Jake Maroc is Shi Zilin's son," he went on. "He is the Zhuan, the chosen one. Do you think that means nothing?"

Bluestone shrugged. "It is a name only."

"In China, tai pan, I need not remind you that there is power in a name," Chen Ju said evenly, reining in his temper. "Jake was given that name by Shi Zilin. Do you think the old man was a fool? If so you have already embarked upon a dangerous course."

"I have nothing to fear from Jake Maroc," Bluestone said, thinking of Neon Chow at the center of Shi Zilin's yuhn-hyun.

Chen Ju was out of the chair and at Bluestone's side in a blur of motion. The look in those black, predator's eyes made Bluestone's mouth go dry. "You are in partnership with me now." Chen Ju's whisper was like a serrated blade at the tai pans neck, so much menace did it hold. "I will not tolerate stupidity. You have underestimated Jake Maroc in the past. If you cannot learn by your mistakes, you are of no use to me."

The rage Bluestone now feltthat of the civilized Westerner against the primitive Easternerthreatened to overwhelm him. White-Eye Kao felt it and tensed, rising on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, ready to spring into action. One blow would be sufficient to fell the tall Englishman.

Chen Ju, aware as well of how deeply his words had cut into Bluestone, waited a moment, then made a clandestine hand signal. White-Eye Kao relaxed.

"You control your emotions almost as well as a Chinese," Chen Ju said to Bluestone. "That is one lesson you have learned well." His eyes bored into Bluestone's. "Can you learn this one as well, I wonder?"

"Maroc." There was a thickness to Bluestone's voice, "I will not underestimate him."

Chen Ju c.o.c.ked his head. "Remember what you have pledged here, tai pan. When you walk out this door, there will be no one to remind you."

"InterAsia will soon be mine to run. This is your pledge to me," Bluestone said, pulling himself together with an effort. "That knowledge alone will break Jake Maroc."

"Yes," Chen Ju agreed. "InterAsia for you, Kam Sang for me." Oh," but he is greedy, he thought. And that greed blinds him to the truth. He is too stupid to see where the true power lies. Like all gwai loh, he is attracted to that which glitters, not that which abides.

"Equal partners, eh? A fair split of the spoils," Bluestone said, thinking, I can afford to be generous, I've got the better of this deal.

"Exactly, tai pan" Chen Ju said. Without me, he would be no closer to control of InterAsia than the man in the streets of Hong Kong, he thought. It was I who maneuvered Southasia's comptroller into embezzling the corporation's a.s.sets. The man gambled incessantly. He was a chronic loser. It was easy to direct him to people in my employ. Easier still to threaten his wife and children so that he would see that he had no choice at all. He did what I wished. I gave the information to Bluestone and now after he gains his fifty-one percent control of InterAsia Trading, he will be content. The fool! The world is in the palm of his hand and he is not aware of it.

"As long as I know what Kam Sang is all about," Bluestone reminded him. This is what General Vorkuta is dying to learn, he thought. What a coup for me to get it for her. Chen Ju knows nothing of my connection with Moscow Center. And I must ensure that he never does. Knowing the Chinese, he would turn on me instantly were he to find out that I am the KGB's top operative in Hong Kong.

Chen Ju smiled. "Rest a.s.sured when I know Kam Sang's secrets you will as well."

"We both desire the destruction of Andrew Sawyer," Bluestone said. "Without Sawyer and Sons, Five Star Pacific will become preeminent among Western-directed trading houses in Hong Kong."

But I desire much more, Chen Ju thought. Already I look beyond Hong Kong, beyond all of Asia even. My mind encompa.s.ses more than any other Chinese before me. And Kam Sang will deliver it all to me.

I wonder what this gwai loh would think if he knew who I really was and what I have been doing all these years since the war. He laughed inwardly. In a way, it was the war which shaped my direction. Ironic, isn't it, that the war which brought so much destruction upon China and Chinese should have provided me with the basis for my future. But then, I wasn't in China at all in those days.

Bluestone's desire to see Andrew Sawyer toppled precluded his looking carefully at my own motives. My jossis good in that. He wanted to believe in mein what I could provide himand so he did. Better for the both of us in the long run, at least as far as I am concerned.

"Well," Chen Ju said now, "all the wheels have been set in motion. Tomorrow or the next day perhaps Southasia will collapse. Our buying of InterAsia shares will continue as the price falls on the Hang Seng. Then the entire yuhn-hyun will be ours." He stood. "For now, there is nothing more to do." He smiled amiably. "Would you care to join me for dinner, tai pan?"

"Of course," Bluestone said. "It will be a delight."

Shadows in twilight. Three black ravens caught up in the darkling lane. Past two long Mercedes limousines that Mikio whispered had been especially manufactured for Hige Moro, the oyabun, with half-inch armor plate and built-in tear gas dispensers. Quite illegal, of course, Mikio whispered, raven to raven, but who was to stop him. Not the police, surely.

Three swaying cryptomeria, one for each raven, the shadows beneath deep enough to shield them in their black garb from even the most vigilant eyes.

"Hige Moro runs the clan," Mikio had said, "but he has three brothers, all younger than he, to whom he has parceled out sections of the Moro territory. This was the express wish of their father who, it is said, before he died, detailed this unorthodox method of organizational design *so that like the legendary Hydra the Moro clan will have many heads, many lives; so that it cannot be destroyed by willful enemies.' "

Three black ravens creeping through the shadows of the underbrush that surrounded the huge, tiered villa of the Moros.

"But it is Hige Moro whom we must confront. Only he will know the truth of why you are being hunted here. The others are useless tous.

"I think it would be better if I went myself," Jake said. "I am affiliated with no clan and therefore my attack can engender no retaliation. You already have enough to think about with your war with the Kisan clan."

"On the contrary," Mikio replied, "Hige Moro has broken faith with the Yakuza code several times. He has attacked you, my friend, on my territory. He has also tried to kill Kazamuki and myself in the bargain. Hige has only himself to blame for what may befall him now. None of the other clans will lift a hand against me or even you."

Night enveloped the villa like the hand of Buddha. Fireflies darted here and there, bobbing above the vast manicured lawn like tiny fishing boats upon the ocean. The ravens moved through them like gargantuan wraiths, silent as G.o.ds.

Mikio held his katana before him. Its scrollworked sheath had been left behind in their car. Tucked within the crook of her elbow, Kazamuki carried a Hado miniaturized machine pistol. It was capable of spewing out a hundred rounds per second and was air-cooled with a boron muzzle to prevent overheating.

"This must be done very fast," Mikio had said as he spread out the floor plan of the Moro villa, "if we are to get at Hige. The longer it takes us, the higher the odds become. He will be here, in the center of the house, which was constructed for his father and is something like a maze."

"Are we certain of Hige's exact location?" Jake had asked.

Mikio had nodded. "Kazamuki has seen to it."

The first line of defense was the dogs. Jake saw the gleaming black backs of the Dobermans as they came bounding over a copse of azalea, pruned into a ma.s.sive hedge. He drew back on the war bow and let fly, allowing his mind free reign, moving effortlessly through kata, the phases of kyujutsu: ashib.u.mi, the balanced archer's stance; do-zukuri, the centralizing breathing; the raising and lowering of the bow with the draw of the arrow, uchiokoshi, hikiwake; kai, the sighting of the target; hanare, the release. And the final zanshin, the most critical aspect as the archer's spirit follows the arrow's humming flight.

The lead Doberman went down without a sound and Mikio stepped forward as the second one, growling deep in its throat, leapt upward. The katana flashed, its fearful shades of steel cleaving through the neck of the careering animal in one clean stroke.

They moved on, past the hedge of azalea. The heady scent of roses and jasmine laced the air. Mikio signed to Kazamuki, who moved off toward the rear entrance. Ninety seconds later he glanced at his watch. A night bird called, then again, and he said, "It is time. She-is in place."

Jake removed a steel-tipped arrow known as tsubbeki-ne because of the odd, chisel-shaped head. He notched it. "Now!" Mikio said softly and Jake released the tension.

The arrow struck the front door, splintering wood, shattering the old-style iron lock. Mikio was already running up the front steps, crashing through the broken door. Jake was just behind him, his hand reaching back, notching another arrow, letting fly in almost the same motion the rinzetsu, the dragon's tongue, piercing the heart of an oncoming Yakuza guard.

There were three more. Mikio felled two with upward, downward strokes of the razor-edged sword. Another dragon's tongue punctured the neck of the third Yakuza.

They heard the unmistakable burt-burt-burt! of the Hado and knew that Kazamuki was in. She would not penetrate to the heart of the villa but stand guard to a.s.sure that Hige could not escape out the back.

Jake and Mikio went quickly through the rooms. It was imperative that all the Yakuza in the villa be accounted for and dispatched. None left alive would tolerate an attack on their oyabun so there was no choice.

The click of a safety being thrown off and Mikio whirled, slashed up and out. A young man, half-dressed, screamed as his extended arm was cut in two. Mikio struck again and the Yakuza collapsed.

Two bare-chested men, their irezumitattoosrippling in the low light, rushed from the right side. Jake loosed two arrows in a blur and the men were flung sideways, katana clattering away.

They rushed through the villa. The burt-burt-burt! came again, this time in a longer burst. Mikio had shown them the best route to Hige's quarters but it was essential that they check every room.

There was one arrow in Jake's quiver kept apart. This looked like none of the others; its tip was three times the size. It was known as watakushi, the flesh-tearer. Such was the destruction its tip caused, even an inexpert marksman could kill his foe with it. In the hands of a kyujutsu sensei such as Jake, the watakushi was a weapon of appalling proportions. This terrifying missile was for Hige Moro.

They found him in his quarters, along with four of his guards. Mikio, using the seven stones cut, struck two of them down immediately. The third convulsed in the attack stance with a dragon's tongue through his belly.

The fourth man struck at Mikio, parried Mikio's blows in expert fashion. He began his own counterattack and with every blow it seemed the tip of his katana came closer and closer to piercing Mikio's flesh.

In this manner, his confidence grew. Fed by his success, this confidence grew into aggression and, then, the beginning of triumph as he saw his blade flick against his foe's skin, drawing blood.

He redoubled his attack, which was precisely what Mikio had been waiting for. Mikio performed the air-sea change, abandoning one strategy for another. In that breathless moment when Mikio's strategy was hidden from him, the Yakuza was made vulnerable.

Using the red leaf cut, Mikio penetrated his defense and, deflecting his katana away with a clang, stabbed forward with his entire spirit. The man was dead before he hit the floor.

Now there was only Hige Moro, a bullet-headed man with salt-and-pepper hair in a crewcut so short his scalp shone through, and the tip of the flesh-tearer, drawn to the edge of the ouruma wood war bow.

Mikio Komoto said, "This is the man who you have been set to kill. I think he wants an explanation, Moro-san. An explanation for why you seek his death, for why a dantai of your clan murdered his father, Shi Zilin."

Moro looked from Mikio's face to the shining tip of the watakushi. "He is iteki, a barbarian. He is nothing," Moro said.

"This man is kyujutsu sensei, Moro-san," Mikio said with an edge to his voice. "He is yumi-tori, a warrior of rank. I urge you to reconsider."

Moro spat.

"You must be prepared to kill Hige Moro," Mikio had said to fake. "Torture, humiliation will mean nothing to him. If we invade his home, kill his men but leave him alive, he will laugh in our faces and spend the rest of his life hunting us down."

Jake loosed the flesh-tearer and Hige Moro screamed. He jumped or, rather, his body flew backward. He was literally lifted off his feet as his breastbone cracked. Impaled on the spike of the arrow's haft, Moro was slammed against the back wall.

Jake threw down the bow, crossed the room to where Hige hung, suspended in agony. He grabbed his jaw, slapped his cheeks to get the blood back into the white, white face.

"Why did you kill my father! Tell me! Why!"

Hige coughed. There was blood in his mouth. "I was paid," he whispered.

"Who? Who paid you to kill my father?"

"A man a a man named Huaishan Han."

Jake thought, A Chinese? "Who is he?"

"I don't" Hige coughed again and this time blood fountained from between his lips. "Someone on the Mainland. A minister of the first rank."

"A Communist Chinese?" Both Jake and Mikio were incredulous. "You were in the employ of the Communist Chinese? But why?"

"I toldtold you." Hige's head lolled, his eyelids fluttered closed so that Jake was obliged to pinch his earlobes to get him to regain consciousness.

Jake repeated his question.

"Money," Hige said. "The money they a paid made my clan the wealthiest in j.a.pan."

"For our deaths?" Jake was shouting now. He felt the texture of the mountainside sliding away from him. Darkness rose up on all sides, an unearthly chill rode down his spine. "I know the Communists. They wouldn't pay that much for our deaths."

"Oh, no," Hige said, and now he was making a peculiar kind of sound that seemed like that of a barking dog. In a moment, Jake was appalled to discover that it was laughter. "No. Not that at all. They paid us more money than you could ever imagine."

"For what?" Jake screamed into his face. Covered in the Yakuza's blood, he grabbed Hige's shirtfront, b.u.t.ting their heads together. So close to lifting the darkness from the mountainside his father had told him it was his jossas Zhuan to climb. The shan was shaking from the impact of what Hige had revealed. Jake thought of his father, of the time they had spent together. So little time! Death and the end of that contentment, to sit beside the old man, to absorb his genius, his love, his humanity. It was a grief too much to bear. Tears in his eyes. Of rage, frustration and despair. "Tell me! For what?"

"Only the mountain a the mountain knows."

"What!" Jake's hair stood on end. The mountain? What did this Yakuza oyabun know of the mountain? "What mountain? What do you mean?"

But now even that hair-raising laughter had ceased. Hige Moro's eyes stared unblinking at Jake. The spirit, already released from the cooling flesh, held greedily to its last enigmatic secret.

Summer 1950 Peking Huaishan Han returned from Hong Kong a hero. At least Hong Kong is where he told Zilin he had been. If he had been, as he had intimated before his departure, as far as Taiwan, he gave no indication of it.

Though he had seemed intensely concerned with Senlin's health before he left, he did not ask how she had been when he arrived home. Neither did he thank Zilin for taking care of her. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten that he had asked a favor of Zilin at all.

He had been in Peking some hours already, having reported first to Lo Jui-ch'ing and, then, to Mao. He showed them the medal that Mao himself had presented in what Huaishan Han called "a small, elite ceremony."

Privately Zilin wondered why he had not been summoned to the ministry to be present at this "small, elite ceremony."

Senlin wanted to know what her husband had done to deserve this signal honor; Huaishan Han replied that he was not at liberty to say. But after dinner, when the two men took a stroll in the garden, he told Zilin.