Stealing the Dragon

“I don’t have jack shit besides this conversation, do I?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Linda, her voice even softer. “Unless…”

“Yeah?”

“Sloth said you’d need his fingerprints.”

“Fingerprints,” said Cape to himself. “And then?”

“Then you’d need a friend at Interpol, the CIA, NSA, or the FBI.”

The last three letters of the alphabet soup got Cape’s attention. Linda was still talking, but he’d taken the phone from his ear. Carefully, he reached into his right-hand coat pocket and touched the sides of a round disk with his thumb and forefinger. As he pulled his hand from his pocket he saw the red and white letters against a blue background: Yan for Mayor.

Absently he raised the phone to his ear and said “thanks,” hanging up before she could answer. Gingerly dropping the button back into his pocket, he called John Williams at the FBI and left a message.

Ten minutes passed.

When his phone rang, Cape nearly jumped out of his shoes.

“You’re up late,” said Williams.

“Can you run a set of prints for me?” asked Cape. “Through Interpol or maybe the Hong Kong authorities? The records might go back ten or even twenty years.”

Williams coughed for almost a full minute before getting it under control. “You must have the wrong number-you want me to pick up your dry cleaning, too?”

“You said you wanted a lead on the ship.”

“We already got the jeans guy in custody,” said Williams. “You remember, the asshole you should’ve given to us, but instead gave to the police?”

“Big deal,” said Cape.

“We got him on conspiracy, murder, and tax fraud, for starters.”

“You think he’s the mastermind behind this?”

Williams was silent on the other end.

“Neither do I,” said Cape.

Williams grunted. “What’ve you got, cowboy?”

“A thumbprint, maybe,” said Cape. “On a button.”

“Not much,” muttered Williams. “What do you want?”

“A name.”

“That’s it?” said Williams skeptically. “And what do I get?”

“A name,” said Cape. “And maybe some answers.”

“Maybe?”

“That’s all I can offer,” said Cape.

Several long seconds passed. “OK.”

“How soon can you have it?”

“This is the FBI, junior,” said Williams. “Not the 1-hour photo.”

“Can’t you say it’s a matter of national security?”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t everything these days?”

“You got a point,” said Williams. “When can you bring it in?”

“I can’t,” replied Cape. “Can you pick it up?”

“Jee-zus, you are high maintenance.” Cape heard Williams cupping the phone, muffled voices in the background. “Where are you?”

Cape gave him directions to the nearest corner.

“OK, look for a blue Honda.”

“The FBI drives a Honda?”

“We might be on a budget, but we’re not stupid,” said Williams. “If you don’t drive an import in California, everyone thinks you’re a cop.”

“Sneaky.”

“That’s the idea.”

“One more thing.”

“What?”

“My prints are on this thing, too.”

“No problem, you’d be in the files ’cause of your license.” Williams held the phone away from his mouth again and shouted to someone in another room, then came back on. “Never mind-my man in the car will have a kit-stick your hand through the window, he’ll take your prints. It’ll save us time.”

“Thanks.”

“If this pans out, we’re even.”

“You’ll call me either way?”

“Sure,” said Williams. “Give me your number.”

Fifteen minutes later the car pulled quietly up to the curb next to a hydrant and cut its lights. Cape reached through the window and dropped the button into a plastic bag the driver held open, then extended the fingers of his right hand and felt them rolled across an ink pad one at a time. The whole exchange took less than two minutes.

Cape walked back up the block and turned down the alley. He had gone less than ten feet when he sensed someone behind him. Pivoting on his left foot, he raised his left elbow high and spun around, just as he felt an electric jolt across his shoulders. His body twisted backward as the muscles in his neck started to spasm, black spots appearing at the edge of his vision. He felt the breath leave his lungs as his momentum completed his turn, bringing him face to face with a man with a jagged scar cutting across his right eye and down his cheek.

Xan smiled, the scar dancing in celebration, as Cape felt the ground fall out from under him and saw the lights at the end of the street go out one by one.

Chapter Fifty

The driver’s license spun like a leaf as it fell, tapping sounds chasing after it as the plastic edge ricocheted off the rungs of the ladder.

The guard nearest the tunnel turned as the card hit the stone floor. Bending down, he saw there was a note wrapped around it, Chinese characters drawn in short bold strokes. He quickly stepped across the room and dropped the license onto the desk, then bowed and returned to his position at the bottom of the ladder.

The first thing Sally saw as Dong unwrapped the note was Cape’s picture on the license.

“Ta ma de,” muttered Sally. Oh shit.

“That doesn’t even look like him,” said Dong, taking the license. “How does the Department of Motor Vehicles do that? You know, in Hong Kong-”

“Dong.” Sally’s voice was full of warning. “What does the note say?”

Dong read aloud. “‘Bring the heart.’”

“That’s it?”

“It gives a location-Buddha’s Universal Church.”

“Just a few blocks from here, on Washington.”

“At this hour, the church will be deserted,” said Dong miserably. “Yan has set a trap, and your friend is the bait.” He blew out his cheeks as he handed the note out to Sally.

Sally’s eyes grew wide as she looked at the slip of paper.

“Yan didn’t write this note.”

“How do you know?” Dong reached for the note but stopped when he saw the grim expression on Sally’s face. When she looked up, her eyes were hard and her voice flat.

“I recognize the handwriting.”