“Let’s go.”
“Sorry about the choppy ride,” Stoke said, the two of them side by side at the wheel of Foo Fighter. The storm was kicking up now and they were getting bounced all over the tiny wheelhouse. Rain was beating against the windshield but the wipers worked pretty well. And it was warm and dry inside. “Want me to slow down?”
“Actually, I’m amazed at how you keep missing all these sampans. You see that thing all lit up on the horizon? That’s the Golden Dragon. We’ll tie up on the other side.”
“Got it.”
Jet looked at him. “How much do you know now, Stoke? From what you took out of Schatzi’s office?”
“Not enough, Jet, or I wouldn’t be here. I work for Alex Hawke. And Alex, at least for right now, is working for the U.S. government. I’m here in Hong Kong because Alex Hawke told me to be here. Just so we’re clear. Who’s doing what for who, I mean.”
“I’m clear, Stoke. I want you to be. I’m on your side.”
“Good. Anyway, Washington is still busy examining everything I stole from Schatzi’s office. We know the Germans are building a supertanker fleet for the French. Ultralarge crude carriers in the half-million-ton range. We know the French government-owned company, Elf, is setting up a massive operation of ship terminals, refineries, and tankers to transport oil from the Gulf to China.”
“What else have you got?”
“China gets oil. France gets money. End of story.”
“And Leviathan?”
“Same story. She was built in Germany for the French by your pal, Schatzi. Just like the tankers. Good business idea, if you ask me.”
“My father’s got a lot of ideas, Stoke. Some good, some no doubt very, very bad. That’s why we’re having dinner with him on the Golden Dragon.”
“Just the three of us, huh? Nice and cozy.”
“There’ll be four. I don’t know who the mystery guest is. Probably his righthand man, Major Tang.”
“Tony Tang? Charming guy.”
“You know him?”
“We just met. He’s dead.”
“You might not want to mention that to my father. Major Tang was his best friend.”
“Lips are sealed.”
She looked at him a second, then said, “Okay. Slow down. We tie up over there at the restaurant dock. Where all the water taxis wait. We’re going to his private dining room up on the top deck. About halfway through the meal, I’ll figure out some kind of diversion. At that point, you’re going to excuse yourself. Say you’re going to the loo. But you’re really going to the kitchen that prepares meals for my father and his staff. Don’t worry. The kitchen staff is too crazed to pay any attention to you. Just act like you’re lost.”
“That will be easy.”
“There’s a young sous chef down there who works for me. He’s expecting you. His name is Wan Li. He’ll ask if he can help you. You tell him you’re looking for the lavatory.”
“Then what?”
“I’ve drawn a diagram of the Dragon’s upper deck. My father’s private offices are here. Here’s the small dining room where we’ll be having dinner. The kitchen is here. Wan Li will take you where you need to go.”
“Where’s that?”
“You’ll see. From what I know now, the answers to all your questions is down in the bowels of the Golden Dragon. Wan Li will show you.”
“And after that?”
“I’ll give you twenty minutes. That should be enough time. Then I’m storming out of the dining room and returning to the boat. Leave the keys in it. I’ll bring it around and pick you up at this cargo door on the stern. Wan Li will show you. It’s a gangway where the produce barges unload for the kitchen.”
“You have a weapon?”
“In my handbag. I hope I don’t need it.”
“You might.”
“He’s my father, Stoke.”
“I know.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
The Golden Dragon
“ GUESS WHO ’ S COMING TO DINNER ?”
“What did you say?” Jet asked him, plainly irritated. This cozy dinner wasn’t going all that well. He could tell the general wasn’t too jazzed with Jet’s choice of a fiance, either.
“That’s the title of the movie,” Stoke said.
“The title of what movie, Stokely?” she said, firing daggers at him across the table. She looked like she wanted to kill him, but the one she really wanted to kill was sitting right next to her. Dressed in an emerald-green silk number that looked sensational was the mystery guest. That would be her sister, Bianca, who was the surprise at this cozy little dinner party.
Bianca looked exactly like Jet. A duplicate twin, Stoke thought they called it. Same beautiful black hair, green eyes, identical. But the sisters were not close. In fact, the mood in the general’s private dining room was a little tense. Stoke was trying to lighten things up, striving heroically to keep the old conversational ball rolling. He was playing for time until Jet gave him the signal it was time to split.
The two sisters gave the impression that only one of them was going to get out of this room alive. When they first sat down, they’d been speaking Chinese to their father and you could tell the general was trying to calm them down about something. Stoke figured he should just stay out of it. Family business. But light and airy it was not.
Jet was supposed to create some kind of diversion. He couldn’t wait. He was all out of conversation and the general’s fuse was burning up pretty fast. Jet was looking at him funny now and he remembered she’d asked him a question. What was it? Oh, yeah. That Poitier flick he was talking about. Since Jet was an actress, he figured movies would be a safe topic.
“That’s the name of that movie I was trying to think of. The one with Sidney Poitier. Remember? The one where he goes to dinner at Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn’s house in San Francisco. Asks them can he marry their daughter. You remember that one, General?”
“No.”
“Pretty good movie,” Stoke said, getting into it now. “About this black dude, right? Who shows up at this white girl’s house to have dinner with her parents? It’s kind of awkward and nobody knows what to say, see? So, Sidney, he’s the black guy, he starts talking about—”
“Jesus,” Jet said to him, and went back to her lobster soup with the claw sticking out of it.
Jet’s father, General Moon, wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Or movie lover. He was just staring at Stoke. If you had to guess what he was thinking, it would be how to commit a murder that took a really, really long time and hurt really, really bad before the victim expired.
“You like football, General?” Stoke said. “I used to play for the Jets.”
That was all Jet needed to decide it was time to create her diversion.
“You lying little bitch,” Jet hissed at her sister.
“Don’t call me a liar, slut,” Bianca said. “You’re the one who—”
Jet picked up her soup bowl and threw it across the table. The lobster claw sort of bounced off Bianca’s shoulder but the soup ran down her face and into her cleavage. That was enough to bring the whole evening to a boil. When Bianca swept all the china off the table and picked up a knife, Stoke stood up and put his napkin on the
