Stealing the Dragon

Chapter Twenty-three

Hong Kong, 11 years ago

“He is yakuza.”

Sally’s eyes never left the photograph. When she finally blinked, the picture distorted, and Sally realized she must have tears in her eyes. Yakuza. The word seemed to reach Sally from very far away, as if she were swimming under water and Xan was calling to her from the shore. Only when Xan repeated himself a third time did Sally tear her eyes away long enough to return his stare, giving him a look of pure defiance.

“He’s in the Japanese mob,” said Sally. “So?”

“So,” replied Xan patiently, “that is something you should know. This folder was not given to you lightly, little dragon.”

Sally gritted her teeth and nodded, forcing herself to breathe through her nose. She’d waited ten years for this opportunity; she could wait another ten minutes.

“I understand,” she said. “Please continue, Master Xan.”

“He is not very important,” replied Xan, “but his uncle is-that’s why we know who he is-and also why he didn’t go to jail after his truck collided with your parents’ car.”

The room started to spin and Sally closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on her breathing, ten years of training and discipline struggling against a lifetime of pain and longing.

“We have an understanding with the yakuza,” explained Xan. “Sometimes we do business together, and other times we compete for the same business.”

Sally opened her eyes and nodded, not saying anything.

“But we do not attack them directly.”

Sally felt her heart stop.

“Then why did you show me this folder?”

Xan looked almost paternal. “I said directly, little dragon,” he said. “That means your task is to watch this man for one week, take photographs of his meetings-we are interested in one meeting in particular. And then…”

“And then?” Sally held her breath.

“Then this man means nothing to us,” said Xan, “or to anyone else.” He paused, watching her carefully as he spoke. “Then you must make a choice, little dragon.”

Sally didn’t hesitate. “I already made that choice,” she replied, “when I stepped through the black gate.”

Xan nodded. “We always have choices, Sally. Remember that.”

Sally bowed her head, her thoughts rushing by too fast to register.

“There is one more thing.”

Sally looked up, worried by the change in Xan’s tone. “Yes?”

“You have mastered most of the fighting arts,” said Xan. “But many will not be at your disposal on this trip.”

Sally remained silent but looked puzzled.

“The bow, throwing darts, even poison.” Xan’s tone was one of warning. “These all leave a signature, Sally, for those who know the signs.”

“What are you saying?”

Xan leaned across the desk. “If you want to kill this man, little dragon, you will first have to get close to him. Closer than you would like.”

Sally swallowed hard and stared at Xan for a full minute before answering, her eyes now completely dry. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, as if she had aged a hundred years since this meeting began.

“When can I leave?”