Stealing the Dragon

“Hopefully, before anyone else does.”

“Have you thought about talking with Freddie Wang?”

Freddie Wang was the local big man for the tongs, a genuine Chinese gangster who touted his connection to the Triads like some men bragged about the size of their dicks. He ran most of the gangs in Chinatown, acting as point man for the heroin smuggled in from Asia. He was also the bag man for the Triads’ distribution deals with the Mafia, but according to Sally, Freddie wasn’t the real power in Chinatown, just the face. Cape had crossed Freddie’s path before on another case, but he had Sally along as an interpreter. Even with her watching his back, the meeting had not gone well. If Freddie knew something about the refugee ship, Cape had no way to get him to talk.

Cape shrugged. “I might end up talking to Freddie, but I can’t start there. I need some kind of leverage.”

“Like what?”

“Like information,” replied Cape. “How’s the granola?”

Linda scowled. “Are you asking because of a genuine concern for my well-being, or was that a less-than- subtle attempt to remind me that you’re buying breakfast in return for a favor?”

Cape did his best to look wounded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What do you need?”

“That’s the problem,” said Cape. “I don’t know where to start, so I want you to dig into anything you think might be relevant. The ship’s registry, for one. The containers onboard-what was in them, and what was supposed to be in them, according to the ship’s manifesto.”

Linda nodded as she pulled a small pad and pen from her purse. “What else?”

“The cop I talked to said these people came from Fuzhou,” said Cape. “That’s in the Fujian province of China.”

“So?”

“So what goes on there?” asked Cape. “If you live in that part of China, what do you do, and why would you leave?”

Linda looked up from her notebook. “This is gonna get pretty broad, as searches go,” she said. “You want me to get the Sloth involved?”

Cape smiled at the nickname. His friend Barry hadn’t used his given name for over a decade. Sloth was a genius trapped inside a body that could barely respond, only connecting with the world around him through computers. He could use them to talk, see things invisible to others, and go places forbidden to all but a select few. There wasn’t a network he couldn’t hack or security system he couldn’t breach without leaving a trace. And with Linda asking the questions, Sloth could tell you things about yourself even your own mother wouldn’t remember.

“Tell him I’ll come by,” said Cape. “As soon as I come up with more questions.”

Linda nodded, her hair waving back and forth. “Where will you go next?”

“I think there are answers in Chinatown,” said Cape, “but without Sally I’m half-blind.”

“Is that like being half-dumb?”

“That I’m used to.”

“So?”

“I need a guide,” said Cape. “Someone who knows Chinatown from the inside.”

Linda raised her eyebrows. “You have someone in mind?”

Cape finished the last bite of pancakes before answering, bringing his empty fork down onto the newspaper that lay between them. The silver tines landed neatly on the bridge of Harold Yan’s nose, his dark eyes staring up from the front page.

“Why not ask him?” said Cape.

Linda shook her head in disbelief, thinking of all the reasons why not, but instead saying, “You think he’ll talk to you?”

Cape looked hurt. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not running for mayor,” Linda replied.

“Too bad,” said Cape as he glanced at the check and put some bills on the table. “I would have voted for you.”

Linda smiled. “Want me to check him out, too? Maybe I’ll find a way in.”

Cape shrugged. “I think I’m going to try the direct approach and call Yan’s office, but sure-go ahead. It’s always nice to know who you’re dealing with.”

Linda stood to leave. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Cape nodded absently, his thoughts already somewhere else.

He was wondering what the hell he was going to say to the Mayor of Chinatown.

Chapter Eighteen

Hong Kong, 11 years ago

“Watch his left foot,” whispered Sally. “He drags it to the left before he strikes.”

Jun nodded, wiggling her toes as she watched the kendo instructor take his position in the center of the floor. He and the girls were barefoot, their wooden sandals lined up outside the open door of the dojo. Sally could see other girls in the exercise yard in groups of ten or twelve. Some sparred while instructors shouted at them, sometimes stepping between two girls to show them how to strike or block a kick. Others practiced balancing on wooden poles eight feet high and four feet apart.

Sally unconsciously rubbed her right knee as she watched, remembering the fall she had taken the week before. Master Xan had kept her on the poles for four hours, long after the other girls had gone to supper, making her practice until she could finish the course without falling. Sally had collapsed on her bed afterward, too exhausted to eat or change her clothes, but pleased with herself for not failing.

The next day Xan made her lead the class.

Three days later he made her do it blindfolded.

“Su Quan!” yelled Xan from across the room, breaking Sally out of her reverie. “Come forward.”

A girl with short black hair jumped up and ran lightly to the nearest wall, where long wooden swords hung on racks next to several life-sized figures made of bound straw. Selecting one of the swords, she crossed the hardwood floor and approached her opponent.

The teacher was a young man named Yuan, whom Sally guessed was maybe eighteen, only a few years older than the girls. His hair was cut very short, looking almost spiked, making his forehead seem too big for his face. His eyes looked dull and flat as he studied Su Quan, meeting her nervous gaze as they faced each other and bowed.

The sudden crack of wood against wood was like a gunshot in the enclosed space as Yuan lunged forward, his sword coming down like a scythe toward Su Quan’s head. She parried the blow but it cost her balance, and she staggered backward. Before she could regain her footing, Yuan sprang forward and swung his sword low, knocking her feet out from under her. Su Quan landed hard on her side, her sword clattering across the floor.

Xan came forward as Yuan stepped back into a neutral position, a self-satisfied look on his face.

“Yuan is stronger than Su Quan,” Xan said matter-of-factly. “He is taller, and he is faster. Does this matter?”

“No, Master Xan,” replied the ten girls as one. “Strength does not matter. Not if you are cunning.”

Behind Xan, Yuan smirked at the girls, clearly confident that they were not cunning enough. Sally fought the urge to stick out her tongue-getting caught once by Master Xan was plenty.

“The sword is not a weapon,” said Xan, his eyes running up and down the line. “You are the