Stealing the Dragon

to let them use your warehouse….how’s that for starters?”

He released his grip on Long, who fell as if he’d been deflated. His face was white, his brow lined with sweat as he looked plaintively up at Cape.

“They’ll kill me,” he said simply.

Cape stood expressionless, waiting.

“I’m not kidding,” whined Long, sitting back on his haunches.

Cape leaned down and cupped Long’s face in his right hand, forcing eye contact. “Remember the part where I was going to tear your ’nads off? You want to try that again?”

Long flinched involuntarily and shook his head.

“Who’s ‘they’?” asked Cape.

Long shook his head again. “I don’t know-” He caught himself, seeing the skeptical look on Cape’s face. “No shit. I was desperate. I didn’t know what they were into….I just wanted the cash. Told them they could do whatever they wanted with the warehouse, as long as they paid me.”

“Who paid you?”

“I don’t know-just a guy,” replied Long, still on his knees. “A Chinese guy…came to my office one day and said he wanted to make me a rich man.”

“You’re telling me you don’t know who you’re doing business with,” said Cape.

“They paid cash,” replied Long, as if that explained everything.

“What was this guy’s name?”

Long shook his head. “You’re not listening. I got paid to look the other way. I didn’t give a fuck what the guy’s name was, as long as his money was green.”

Cape spared a glance at the door. “Describe him.”

“What the fuck?” muttered Long. “I said he was Chinese.”

Cape looked back at him, eyes flat. “And they all look alike, is that it?”

Long shrugged.

“Stand up,” said Cape quietly.

Long put his hands up, a pudgy supplicant asking for mercy.

“OK, OK,” he said. “He was big-looked like he hurt people for a living, you know what I’m saying?”

“Details,” prompted Cape. “I want details.”

Long nodded. “He had long hair-wore it in a ponytail. Dressed sharp, only the suits always looked a little stupid on him.”

Cape cocked an eyebrow. “How come?”

“He had big fuckin’ hands,” replied Long, extending his own fingers for emphasis. “Incredible Hulk hands. They stuck out the end of his sleeves like catcher’s mitts.”

Cape took a step back, images of his trunk flashing across his eyes, Freddie Wang’s bodyguard lurking in the shadows. He reached into his jacket pocket.

Long saw the motion and raised his hands up again. “You’re not gonna shoot me, are you?”

Cape smiled as he took the photograph out of his pocket. “Not today,” he said, letting a little disappointment creep into his voice. “This the guy?” He let the picture fall into Long’s outstretched hands.

Long dropped the picture on the rug when he saw the condition of the man propped against the wall, the dead man’s eyes staring at Long accusingly.

“Jesus…you killed him?”

Cape didn’t answer the question, knowing his only leverage was an implied threat he’d never carry out. “So that’s him-that’s what you’re saying?”

Long glanced nervously from the photograph back to Cape. “Yeah…absolutely.”

Cape nodded, bending down to retrieve the photo. Without looking at Long again, he stepped around the desk and picked up the phone, dialing 911. He waited for several minutes before someone came on the line.

“I’d like to report a murder,” he said simply. Cape gave the address of the warehouse, said “yes” to a few questions, and then nodded when they asked for his name.

“My name’s Michael Long,” said Cape pleasantly. “No, I’m calling from my office.”

Long was on his feet, staring with his mouth open as Cape hung up the phone.

“What was that all about?” he demanded. There was panic in his voice and a hint of madness in his eyes.

“I forgot to tell you,” said Cape, moving to the door. “You’re fucked. I found a dead body in your warehouse last night.”

Long followed him across the room, as if the bearer of bad news also had the power to make it go away.

“But what am I supposed to do?” he asked desperately.

Cape looked back over his shoulder. “I’d change my pants if I were you, Michael,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to be wearing those when I got arrested.”

Walking out through the reception area, Cape smiled at the pretty girl in the tight jeans but didn’t linger, wanting to put as much distance between himself and GASP as possible before the cops arrived. The street beckoned, and Cape knew he was running out of time.

He exited the lobby and stepped onto the sidewalk, looking across the Embarcadero toward the bay. The morning fog had burned off, but the bow and arrow sculpture across the street cast a long shadow, throwing Cape and the building into darkness. His car was parked halfway down the block to his left, where sunlight still held dominion over the city.

He had taken a single step toward the light when he felt a gun press hard against his spine.

Chapter Thirty-five

Hong Kong, 10 years ago

Sally and Xan leapt into hell together.

By the time they cleared the steps, flames were erupting out of the second floor windows of the guesthouse, and the great room on the first floor was already filled with smoke. The room consisted of hardwood floors wrapped around a large, open brazier-glowing hot coals providing heat for the house in a style reflecting the anachronistic architecture of the school. Above the brazier was a square hole cut in the ceiling, revealing a similar room on the second floor, designed to sit at the center of the guest rooms. Normally large tapestries hung on the walls of the first floor, elaborate embroidery depicting famous battles. But tonight the walls were alive, flames licking the exposed beams and wrapping around the open ceiling to devour the second floor.

But Sally saw none of that, because her eyes were focused straight ahead. The smoke was so thick she could only see in patches, brief glimpses of floor or flames only a few feet away, the open staircase to her right. She saw Xan dart up the stairs, but she could no longer hear him over the roar of the flames.

Yet even with all the confusion, the scene in front of her was all too clear.

Facedown in front of the brazier was the headless corpse of a man, his arms outstretched and twisted-as if he had tried to catch himself, but realized too late he couldn’t see the floor because he was already dead. Squinting through the smoke, Sally saw an egg-shaped ball sitting in the hot coals, its surface bubbling in the heat, the egg collapsing inward as she watched. Coals knocked free of the brazier had burned little craters in the floor, sending sparks and flames to dance on chairs, climb up the sides of tapestries, and fill the house with death.

Sally’s eyes took all this in without emotion, her mind telling her the obvious, that the man had been decapitated as he lunged, his head sailing backward as he fell forward. But her heart ignored the scene entirely, telling her to keep looking. To find the source of the scream that had brought her running.

She almost tripped, the swirling smoke making it easier to see a few feet away than directly in front of her. As her foot brushed something, she crouched down, extending her hands. What she felt was terribly,