Stealing the Dragon

Chapter Fifty-nine

“Zhang Wen.”

Sally had bellowed with rage when she first heard the name.

When Cape said it during their run through the tunnels, Xan had to restrain Sally from running ahead. After a furious exchange in Cantonese, Xan released her. But judging by the expression on his face and the vein pulsing on his forehead, it took all Xan’s self-control not to sprint down the tunnels himself. Cape didn’t ask what had been said, but when Sally told him how she knew Wen, he said, “We don’t have to stick with the plan.”

“It’s a good plan,” she replied. “We need you to buy us time.”

But now there was no time left. A million questions roared through her brain, but all she could do was count down the minutes. Sally watched Cape talking to Wen, the men only ten feet apart but fifteen feet below her.

She hung upside down like a spider, legs curled around a black nylon rope. She wanted to go lower but knew she’d risk being spotted by the goon in the corner, whose eyes were still riveted on Cape.

She heard Cape say the name again, daring Wen to respond. As he talked, Cape nonchalantly brushed his right hand across his hip, as if wiping sweat from his palm. Sally had seen Cape do that before. He was getting ready to draw his gun.

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Sally relaxed her grip on the rope.

***

The man who was no longer Harold Yan smiled involuntarily at the sound of his real name.

Ten minutes ago this gwai loh had walked into his plans, somehow in possession of the heart, catching him red-handed with a girl and a bomb. He knew right away he would have to kill the detective; he just wanted to get the heart first. But when their conversation took an unexpected turn and Wen heard his name spoken aloud for the first time in ten years, instead of being afraid, he felt relieved.

No more lying and obfuscation. Just life and death-two old friends Wen had known since he was a boy. He’d never been stronger than his brother but was always more clever, which is why he came out ahead even when others were arrested or killed. Like that yakuza swine Kano, so many years ago. Today was no different. After this was over, he could put the mask on again and become Harold Yan, charming politician. But for this moment he could be himself, Zhang Wen. Ruthless, powerful, and smarter than everyone else.

As he looked at Cape across the factory floor, he ran his left hand across his face. “They told me the plastic surgery would be painless,” he said. “They lied. I couldn’t smile for almost two years. My jaw ached. My scalp itched constantly.”

“Head lice?” asked Cape.

Wen ignored him. Nothing the gwai loh could say was going to ruin this chance to stop acting for a few minutes-to be free to say whatever he wanted-because no one in this room would live to talk about it. The girl would be dead in less than ten minutes, one way or another, then he’d play hardball with this buffoon detective. See how cocky he was after a few minutes with his bodyguard Shaiming. And even if he didn’t get the heart today, Wen knew he would eventually. Kill enough people and you’ll find someone willing to make a deal.

The detective was talking again.

“Why the ship?” he asked. “Why smuggle those people from China-why take the risk before the election?”

Wen shook his head, marveling at how someone so stupid could know so much about him. “Do you have any idea what political campaigns cost?” he said. “That ship brought in more cash from those families than a hundred fundraisers.”

“What about the speech in your office? How this affected-”

Wen cut him off. “All citizens of San Francisco? You think the socialites in Pacific Heights spent more than two minutes at cocktail hour talking about that ship?”

“I was thinking more of the folks here in Chinatown.”

Wen laughed, a sharp sound even to his own ears. “Not all Chinese are equal, detective. There are people with power, and there’s everyone else-that’s true in China and it’s true here. Those families were a means to an end. They just happened to be Chinese.”

“So it was just for the money.”

“And the heart,” said Wen. “Don’t forget why you’re here.”

“You actually believe the heart would help you win the election?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Wen. “If you hold the heart, you cannot be defeated in any contest.”

“If you say so.”

“Where is it, detective?” asked Wen. “You’re running out of time.”

“How do I know you’re not going to double-cross me, like you did Michael Long?”

Wen smiled at the memory. Long was desperate to save his company, said yes to everything Wen had suggested. He even offered the use of his warehouse. “This is a different situation.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I saw the guy in the warehouse, with his throat cut-I assume that was your handiwork.”

Wen glanced over at Shaiming with a look of pride, then said something in Cantonese.

Cape didn’t like the expression on Yan’s face-or Wen’s face-and was having a hard time deciding what to call this asshole from one moment to the next.

Wen had gone from looking surprised to worried when Cape first walked into the warehouse, but now the guy looked almost euphoric, like every question Cape asked was a trip down memory lane.

He was pretty sure Wen, Yan-the man in front of him-was nuts.

It’s all out in the open now, thought Cape. He’s going to kill the girl, then me. Cape realized Wen thought he had an accomplice, someone to call on his cell phone that would bring the heart. But Wen’s expression said he figured it would still be for sale later, after Cape was dead. There wasn’t any leverage if you didn’t want the heart for yourself-you either valued the heart or you didn’t, in which case it was only worth something once it was sold. One way or another, Wen would get what he wanted, with no witnesses.

Cape saw Shaiming nod at Wen and unbutton his coat, revealing a snub-nosed revolver sticking out of his pants. Cape stole a glance at the monitor and wiped his hand across his hip.

Lin had managed to drag herself against the door, perpendicular to the monitor and video camera. She could barely keep her head up, but she managed to raise her right foot and kick, once.

The video camera crashed to the floor just as the door over her head splintered below the deadbolt.

Xan kicked a second time, separating the door from the frame. A third kick knocked the door off the top hinges, leaving it hanging and twisting against the broken lock. Wrapping both hands around the door, he heaved backward.

The screen behind Wen turned to static as Cape drew his gun and pointed it somewhere between Wen and Shaiming, who was already holding the grip of his revolver.

Wen raised his phone and brought his thumb down on the keypad.

Shaiming took a step forward and pointed his gun at Cape.

Sally let go of the rope.

Cape took aim and pulled the trigger.