‘Tran?’ he asked.
The wind died and all the pennants stopped flapping.
Shen Sun let the gun fall to his side. Smiled. He would finish the mission. And he would survive. Like he always had, no matter what came up against him, be it the Khmer Rouge, the Shadow Dragons, a Big Circle Boy. Or some gwailo cop chasing him down at every turn.
Nothing could stop him.
He looked east, in the last direction he had seen the Man with the Bamboo Spine marching. Only a few blocks away was Raymur Street. And that told Shen Sun the true destination of his newfound enemy. The Strathcona Projects.
The Man with the Bamboo Spine was going after Father.
Seventy-Nine
When the Man with the Bamboo Spine got the call, he was already walking under the Hastings Street overpass. The crossroad below the pass was Raymur Street, and it was home to most of the cross-dressers and transsexuals Vancouver had to offer.
The overpass was in shadow, not only from the overhang of the road above, but from the cloudless sky. A grey darkness had slowly crept into the city, smothering it like a giant slate cover.
The Man with the Bamboo Spine did not notice the sky. He marched along Raymur Street, staying close to the railroad tracks that ran on the east side of the road. The tracks were set slightly off the main path, on depressed land — decent cover if shooting started. And it probably would. For though he had not seen Shen Sun Soone in over two decades, he knew the kind of man he was. A survivor.
Much like himself.
The phone call he was waiting for finally came. It was inevitable, and had been ever since Shen Sun Soone’s face had been plastered on every TV set in every window. The Man with the Bamboo Spine picked up.
‘Yes,’ he said.
The voice on the phone was Sheung Fa, and his tone was unusually low, distant. There was regret in his words, and grief, so much it was palpable. ‘The situation has changed for the worse.’
‘Yes.’
‘There is no longer an alternative.’
‘No.’
‘Do what must be done.’
‘Yes.
The Man with the Bamboo Spine snapped the cell phone shut and put it away. He looked across the road into the Raymur projects and saw the townhouse address of 533. The man who lived here was Lien Vok Soone — the father of Tran Sang Soone and Shen Sun Soone. Judging by the photographs, he was an old man, short, thin and frail, and from the history in the package, he was the owner of a small convenience store. A simple but honourable man. Another survivor.
It changed nothing.
The Man with the Bamboo Spine was going to kill him first.
And then he would find Shen Sun.
Eighty
Once Striker had identified Red Mask as Shen Sun Soone, the information was sent to every district in every department. His name was flagged on CPIC, meaning the information would be shared not only in Canada, but the rest of the world. Everyone from border patrol to the coast guard was notified, and no less than fifty units were searching possible hideout locations. But so far the search had come up negative.
It made Striker take a different path.
It was five-thirty p.m. with no end in sight when he got on his cell and called up an old acquaintance — the Hall Eleven Fire Chief, Brady Marshall. Years ago, Brady had started his career as a cop before switching to Fire three years in. The hours were better, he had said, and the pay and benefits similar enough. Striker got along well with the man.
Brady answered on the third ring and Striker gave him a quick rundown on the situation, emphasising the Suspicious Circumstance call that had been linked to an Arson call on Pandora Street.
‘You gonna be there a while?’ Striker asked.
‘For this, of course.’
‘Be there in fifteen.’
Striker hung up, and Felicia looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. He offered her nothing and kept thinking over the events that had transpired. Moments later, he pulled out his cell and dialled Courtney’s number.
It went straight to voicemail.
‘She screens her calls one more goddam time, I’m gonna take away her cell.’
Felicia said nothing. It was for the best.
They sped down Hastings Street into the 1700 Block where a McDonald’s was located on the north side. Striker’s stomach growled at the sight, and he detoured. He cut through the Drive-Thru, ordered them a couple of Big Macs, fries and coffees. Five minutes later, they were back on the road, heading for the Fire Department.
Felicia sorted through the bag of fast food, handed Striker a burger. ‘Why Hall Eleven?’
He accepted it, tore off the wrapper. ‘I know the Chief there. Brady Marshall. He’s a good man, and he owes me one.’
Felicia removed her own burger from the bag. ‘How can he help us?’
‘He can give us paper on the Pandora call — the house fire. God knows, we can’t find any reports at the Vancouver Police Department, so we’ll get them from him.’
‘They’ll be different. Less detail. You know how Fire writes things up.’
‘If they have anything, I’ll be happy. They’re all we got.’
Striker ate while driving, careful not to spill anything on his suit. They turned left on Victoria Drive and drove south.
Felicia swallowed a mouthful of burger, grumbling, ‘We should be out there looking for Shen Sun, not visiting Fire Halls.’
Striker put his coffee into the cup-holder. ‘Fifty units are already doing that. What we need now is a good, solid motive. If we can find that, then we’ll be one step closer to solving this thing. All we’ve got right now is a mishmash of theories, none of which come together very well.’ He gave her a questioning look. ‘Unless you can connect it all.’
Felicia shook her head and pulled out her cell phone. She ate her burger and went through her emails; Striker was grateful for the silence. He used the time to down his own food and go over all they had done, making sure they had all their bases covered.
He thought they had. He’d been precise.
Damn near everyone in Operations had been called out. Mandatorily. Both Strike Force Teams were set up on the fly — Team One on a possible location for the Shadow Dragons’ Headquarters, way down in the 4800 block of East Pender; Team Two on the suspected 14K Triad Headquarters up on Kingsway and Kerr. All four Emergency Response Teams were on scene as well: Team Blue on Shen Sun’s apartment on Hastings, Team Green at St Patrick’s High School, Team Grey at the Kwan residence, and Team Red at the only other known associated address.
Shen Sun’s father’s place on Raymur Street in the Strathcona Projects.
And that was to say nothing of the Investigative Units. Detectives had been pilfered from every section —
