Pirate

Chapter Fourteen

Hong Kong

MADAME LI ARRIVED AT THE GOLDEN DRAGON PROMPTLY AT nine o’clock that evening. He had traveled to the floating palace by water taxi, very fastidious in his white gloves and very careful not to smudge his beautiful pink suit or the pink pillbox hat he’d whimsically perched atop his coiffure. Perfect, he’d thought, spinning in front of his full-length mirror, for strolling the gay boulevards of the City of Light.

Dear departed Marge had taken a bit longer to dispense with than anticipated (that oven just wasn’t working properly!), but still he’d managed to arrive at the appointed hour. After all, he didn’t want to keep his “date” waiting.

I love Paris in the springtime…

The bustling harbor and the sky above it were absolutely filled with color and radiant light. So much so, that, en route, he was able to read his copy of the South China Morning Post (a good prop for his evening flight to Paris) as the water taxi made its way across the harbor through the maze of sampans and crisscrossing ferries.

I love Paris in the fall…

The Golden Dragon wasn’t the largest floating restaurant in Hong Kong Harbor. Oh, no. That honor fell to the Jumbo Kingdom, a vastly popular tourist haunt. But, because it was not at all what it seemed, the Dragon was by far the most interesting. Four stories high above the waterline, and two below, the Dragon was over three hundred feet in length. It was lovingly decorated in the style of an exquisite Chinese imperial palace and festooned with every manner of gilded dragon and deity. One might dine there for years never suspecting the Golden Dragon was the official headquarters of the Te-Wu, the world’s oldest and most brutal secret police society.

“Good evening,” said one of the many handsome young maître d’s fluttering around the ebony black reception podium, “I am Wu. Welcome to the Golden Dragon.”

Hu Xu was delighted at the deferential treatment his new persona seemed to encourage among the staff. All the young men wore perfectly tailored evening clothes with soft black silk shirts. This one bowed with natural elegance, smiled at him, and said, in lilting English, “How may we serve you this evening, madame?”

The general, Hu Xu well knew, was obsessed with beauty in everything that surrounded him, and that obsession obviously extended to the human form. Everyone under his command, from his general staff to the busboys here at the Dragon, was a study in human perfection. There were exceptions for those with exceptional skills. A tattooed genius with a sketchy haircut, someone like himself, was tolerated. And even rewarded.

“Good evening,” Madame Li said. “I’m meeting someone. I’m sure he’s expecting me. Major Tang?”

“Ah,” the beautiful boy said, and the flicker in his eyes was imperceptible to anyone but him. But there was a new sincerity and deference there. He picked up one of the pearlescent vintage telephones arrayed before him and spoke softly into it, waiting for and getting an answer.

“Certainly, madame,” Wu said, his voice now barely above a whisper. “The major is expecting you. You will be dining this evening up in the Typhoon Shelter Bar. Will you be so kind as to sign our guest register and follow me, please?”

He signed and then followed the boy down a short roped-off corridor of gleaming and fragrant teakwood. At the far end was a small private elevator, the doors solid bronze and beautifully carved. Scenes, no doubt, of the farming village in the mountains where General Moon had been born and spent his idyllic childhood. Every carving, every painting, every work of art aboard depicted some aspect of General Moon’s glorious life story.

Wu pressed the button and then clasped his white-gloved hands behind his back. This boy was just too pretty for his own good, Hu Xu decided, he needed some slight physical flaw in order to have some character. I can arrange that, he thought to himself as the doors slid open.

“Please, madame,” Wu said, bowing and sweeping him into the elevator. “This will take you directly to the Typhoon Bar. I hope you have a lovely evening here with us.”

“Oh, I shall,” he trilled.

“And I hope to serve you again.”

“Oh, you will, my child, you will indeed.”

Alone in the elevator he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

He was such a romantic old soul.

The Typhoon Shelter Bar was on one of the uppermost decks, just below General Moon’s suite of private offices. The views of the harbor at night were spectacular. And so was the food. And so were the martinis. And, knowing Major Tony Tang as he did, so would be the company. He was the most charming man on General Moon’s staff. And one of Hu’s closest allies.

He had dined with the major at the Dragon any number of times in other guises. On the main deck was a five-hundred-seat restaurant, the Dragon Court, decorated in classic Ming Dynasty style. The cuisine, if one could manage a reservation, was Cantonese and it was superb. Signature dishes included the White Shark’s Fin and Seafood Soup with Bamboo Fungus. But the most celebrated entree on the menu, and Madame Li’s personal favorite, was Chef Gong Li’s Lobster, served whole, the bright red fellow served seated bolt upright, steaming in his own gilded wicker chair.

The Dragon proudly boasted onboard holding tanks containing live sharks and more than sixty kinds of sea creatures. There was even a UV light seawater sterilization system to ensure freshness and maintain hygiene. No expense had been spared. No detail had been overlooked. General Moon had seen to that. There was no reason a police station couldn’t return a handsome profit.

The Golden Dragon was, in the tourist guides, or the eyes of thousands who passed through her portals each year, a glittering palace. But, there were many sections not open to the public. These included a number of private dining rooms and banquet halls on the uppermost levels, but they always seemed to be fully booked. In fact, these rooms were bustling Te-Wu communications centers, bristling with high-tech gear and busy twenty-four hours a day. One deck was reserved for the general’s private quarters.

The Dragon had been Sun-yat Moon’s brainchild.

Under General Moon’s direction, the PLA, the People’s Liberation Army of China, had begun the multimillion-dollar construction in a Tianjin shipyard three full years before Britain ceded Hong Kong back to China. Engineers had assured Moon that at least five years would be needed to complete such an undertaking. He gave them three. Mainland Chinese workers at the construction yard at Tianjin on the Gulf of Chihli were sworn to secrecy about the massive undertaking on pain of death.

A great wall of secrecy immediately went up surrounding the project. All anyone in HM Government Hong Kong knew was that a very wealthy Chinese businessman was creating the most magnificent floating restaurant imaginable. The HK leadership was informed that at some point the great barge was to be towed from an unspecified location on the coast of mainland China and moored in Hong Kong Harbor. And that its arrival would coincide with the turnover.

Finally, on the historic day of the turnover to China, the Dragon miraculously appeared in the middle of Kowloon Harbor. Shrouded in canvas and secrecy, she had been towed into place by three tugs the night before. The harbor police looked the other way and patrol boats were mysteriously absent that night. The insidious power of the Te-Wu was already spreading its tendrils throughout the great city.

So, bright and early the next morning, the Golden Dragon, gleaming in the sun, was surrounded by sampans and private yachts, all hooting to celebrate her surprise arrival. Amidst a flurry of water-borne celebration, she was surrounded by fireboats that aimed great jets of water over her roofs and pagodas, sirens wailing. After sundown that night, a great fireworks display erupted from barges nearby.

The magic kingdom of General Sun-yat Moon was officially open to the public. And, unofficially, the new secret seat of power in Hong Kong was now open to the eager masters from Beijing.

The dreaded Te-Wu now had its long-coveted nest in the former Western stronghold.

“Welcome to the Typhoon Shelter Bar,” another pretty boy said as the elevator doors parted to reveal the dazzling sight of Hong Kong at night.

“I believe Major Tang is expecting me?”

“Indeed he is. Right this way, madame.”