White Tiger

CHAPTER 13

At 6:25am, the morning was much like the one before it: murky and gray from the marine layer, with a chill wind winding its way through the streets of San Francisco. Manning found that the jet lag he’d hoped to avoid had nestled upon his shoulders like a waiting falcon poised to launch itself into the sky. There was no getting away from it; the exhaustion he felt was enormous, just like it always was when he returned to the U.S. from Asia. He would just have to suck it up and deal with it the best way he could.

His primary weapon to combat the effects was coffee, and lots of it. He drank half a pot of Arabian he found in one of his cabinets while keeping a bleary eye on the television. The same old news was playing. More trouble in the Middle East, a faltering economy, political farce after political farce played out on the American stage, terrorism and gasoline prices were still in the forefront of everyone’s mind. Not a lot had changed in the months Manning had been away.

When he felt human enough, he roused himself from the embrace of his sofa and padded into the second bedroom. There he worked out for forty minutes with the Bowflex that dominated the center of the room, then went through a series of repetitions with the free weights for a while, followed by a vigorous set of crunches and deep knee bends. By the time he was finished, his heart was pumping and the blood sang through his veins and sweat stood out on his brow.

Human at last, he thought.

He showered and shaved, then slowly dressed, pulling on a dark suit over a white Brooks Brothers shirt, accented with a yellow tie. He knelt and reached into the closet, pulling up the small metal hatch hidden there beneath the carpet. The floor safe was one of the more useful things he’d come across, and he quickly pressed his thumb against the bioscanner lock and opened it. Inside were two items: a pair of NVS-7 night vision goggles, and a Smith amp; Wesson Model SW990L.40 caliber pistol. He removed the weapon and closed the safe, replaced the hatch and covered it with the carpet.

With quick, practiced motions he went through the routine of stripping down the pistol and quickly ensured that all its parts were lubricated and in working order. It was in pristine condition, never once having been fired in anger, and he kept it meticulously maintained. The action moved smoothly beneath his fingers, the only resistance being that which had been designed. He loaded a magazine with.40 caliber glazed rounds and slapped it into the weapon. He pulled back on the slide and charged it, then safed the weapon and placed it in its self-securing holster. Manning then looped his belt through the holster and pulled on his jacket. He inspected himself in the mirror, and was satisfied that the weapon was as concealed as it could be. Not that it mattered to him personally; in California, he was licensed to carry such things. For added measure, he also slipped an ASP3 baton into the mix, clipping it to his belt next to his cell phone holster. When fully extended, the device would act as a deterrent in a physical altercation where the pistol might be inopportune. Manning was adept enough with the device to shatter an assailant’s collarbones or forearms.

At eight o’clock, he ran a comb through his short brown hair, made one last inspection of his face to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot while shaving, threw on a London Fog dress coat, and left the apartment. His destination laid only a hair less than a mile and a half distant, so he chose to walk. The morning rush hour traffic was mounting, and he didn’t want to have to deal with any unplanned interruptions-that and the fact that parking in the business district was almost impossible. Therefore, on foot is what it would be. On the way, he stopped by a Starbucks and grabbed another small coffee, something to keep him warm in the cold late-Autumn air. The streets were already clogged with cars and buses, and the sidewalks weren’t much easier; twice, Manning had to react quickly to avoid being run down by bicyclists who illegally used the sidewalk instead of the street.

It’s a shame I can’t shoot these guys and get away with it.

On the way, he practiced his usual surveillance detection routines, using storefront windows and the like as mirrors, looking for any possible tails. He also walked in a circle twice, navigating two blocks that took him well out of his way but afforded him the opportunity to examine the path he had covered. No one was following him. As far as he could tell, the rest of the humanity in the city of San Francisco merely regarded him as another businessman on his way to work downtown…if they regarded him at all.

As he walked, he fished his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. He had no text messages nor voicemails, and their absence made him feel almost poignantly lonely. He wondered how Ryoko was doing, and wished he hadn’t agreed to honor her request for privacy.

Despite the circuitous SDRs, Manning arrived at 101 California Street ten minutes early. He finished the dregs of his Starbucks and tossed the empty cup into a nearby trashcan. He pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and removed his conceal carry and driver’s licenses, then pushed his way into the building’s ornate, seven story lobby with several other similarly-dressed men and women. He made his way to the front desk, holding the licenses out before him. 101 California had some history; it had been the site of a mass murder in the early 1990s, when a disgruntled businessman had executed eight other workers. In response to that firearms and the like were absolutely illegal on the premises. Manning planned on declaring his weapon as soon as it was prudent; he wanted no mistakes.

“Can I help you, sir?” asked one of the security guards behind the desk, a skinny black kid in his early twenties.

“Jerome Manning. I’m here for a nine o’clock appointment with Lin Industries on the 45th floor.” Manning handed over the licenses. “I’m a licensed security contractor, and I am armed. These are my credentials.”

The guard took the licenses and examined them. Manning’s declaration had also caught the attention of another security guard. This one was also black, but older and much, much larger. He walked around the desk and approached Manning slowly from the left side.

Manning looked at him quickly.

“Let’s take it easy, boss.”

“Weapons aren’t allowed on the premises sir,” the guard said. “You have to surrender it or leave.”

“No problem. How do you want to do this?”

The skinny kid behind the desk pulled out a plastic bin and placed it before Manning.

“Empty your pockets in this, including the gun,” he said. “You can’t carry it with you up to 45th floor.”

Manning nodded and opened his coat, showing the guards the Smith amp; Wesson. The guard behind the desk looked at it, then nodded in return and pointed to the plastic bin again.

“Unload it and make sure the safety’s on, then put it in here.”

Manning removed the pistol. He ejected the magazine and cycled out the round in the chamber, which he then pressed back into the magazine. He placed them in the bin. He also tossed in the baton, cell phone, and his keys as well.

“That’s it,” he said.

The big guard stepped back and indicated the metal detector off to one side. He seemed much more relaxed now that Manning had voluntarily surrendered his firearm.

“I’ll need to ask you to go through the metal detector. Who is it that you’re here to see?”

“James Lin.”

The big security guard hiked his brows momentarily.

“The big fish himself. Okay man, step through the detector and then we’ll call up and get you a pass.”

Manning made it through the metal detector without any difficulties, but the big security guard used a wand on him anyway, checking for any hidden items which might have avoided the detector’s magnetic sensors. He was thorough but swift.

“Sorry about this,” the man said, motioning for Manning to lift his arms at the shoulders and hold them steady. The wand remained mostly silent, chirping only once when the man brushed it against Manning’s belt buckle.

“You’re clear,” the guard said, switching off the wand and motioning toward the desk. The skinny kid was already on the phone, presumably with someone from Lin Industries.

“I’m glad. I thought you were going to ask me for a date if we kept that up.”

The security guard smiled sourly.

“I know this is San Francisco and all, but for some of us there’s a limit to the brotherly love I’m willing to show, you know?”

“Happy to hear it,” Manning responded casually.

Manning’s appointment was confirmed, and he was issued a temporary identification. He was instructed to wear it in plain sight clipped to the lapel of his coat or jacket at all times, and that he could recover his pistol and baton when he left the premises. His cell phone was returned to him, and the big guard directed him to one of the elevator bays.

“You can catch forty-five by taking one of these elevators here. Once you’re in the elevator bay, someone will buzz you in to the floor itself,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Manning rode the elevator up to the 45th floor, stopping a few times as other people disembarked. One woman, a fat lady with pasty white skin and poorly applied makeup, brushed by him as she exited. Her perfume was thick and cloying, and Manning hoped that it didn’t stick to his coat. Just to be certain, he removed it and draped it over one arm as he exited the elevator himself on the 45th floor.

Another guard, this one wearing a dark blue blazer with the logo of Lin Industries USA on the breast, buzzed him in through the glass doors that led to the office space itself. A matronly-looking Hispanic woman seated behind a broad desk peered at him over her bifocals.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked, her voice one of professional but distant disdain.

“Jerome Manning. I have a nine o’clock appointment.”

The woman checked her computer screen and her watch.

“You’re a few minutes late.”

“Security held me up.” Manning checked his own watch; it read 8:59am. He elected to let the unwarranted criticism pass.

The woman didn’t comment. She directed him to sign the visitor’s ledger.

“Follow Wilson here. Wilson, conference room two, please.”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Manning?”

The guard motioned Manning to follow, which he did. He led Manning down a carpeted hallway and after a moment, left him in a small conference room dominated by a cherry wood table and black leather chairs.

“You can wait here,” the guard told him.

“Thanks.”

The guard nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Manning sighed and slid into one of the expensive leather chairs. He set his coat across the seatback next to him, and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.

Ten minutes later, during which Manning had entertained himself solely by looking out the window at the goings-on of San Francisco’s business district, the door opened. A tall, almost incredibly wide man stepped inside. He was dressed in a blue suit, and his head looked unusually small when contrasted to the girth of his body and breadth of his shoulders. He had a huge gut, but Manning could tell it wasn’t from a soft living. The thickness of the man’s neck and upper arms attested to that. He held a day planner in one beefy hand.

“Mr. Manning?” The accent was definitely Slavic, if not Russian.

Manning rose to his feet.

“Yes, I’m Manning. I can only presume you’re not James Lin.”

The big man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He didn’t smile.

“Your presumption is correct. I’m Alexsey Baluyevsky, Mr. Lin’s security chief. Please be seated.” Without offering to shake hands, Baluyevsky pulled out the chair opposite Manning and lowered his bulk into it. Manning sat back down without comment.

“Mr. Manning, I will ask you a series of questions. How you answer them dictates what will happen next. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, Mr. Baluyevsky.” There hadn’t been a moment when Manning had thought this would be unlike any other hire. He had been brought in for a specific mission, so there was no need to go through the usual banter surrounding a job interview. If Baluyevsky wanted to get right down to it, so did Manning.

“Are there any questions you have for me before we begin?”

“None. You seem to be in a hurry, so I don’t want to slow things down.”

Baluyevsky nodded; apparently, social skills hadn’t been part of the requirement when his job opening went to bid. The big Russian pulled a Cross fountain pen from his jacket pocket, opened the leather-bound day planner and flipped to a page without further preamble.

“You come recommended to use from one of Mr. Lin’s business partners in Japan. You know of whom I speak? This room is secure, it is swept for electronic listening devices every day. You may speak to me freely.”

“I know of whom you speak, but I hadn’t been aware there was a business connection between the two men.”

“Mr. Lin has personal businesses not affiliated with Lin Industries,” Baluyevsky said. “Because of the nature of these endeavors, Mr. Lin cannot be connected to them directly.”

“I understand. I’m surprised Mr. Lin has dealings with people like those who usually employ me.”

“Mr. Manning, have you ever acted in a personal security capacity?” Baluyevsky ignored the opening Manning had set out.

“I have. I’ve operated in a personal security capacity for several individuals, from Afghanistan to Zhuhai City.”

“Representing legitimate interests,” Baluyevsky stated.

“With the exception of Afghanistan, yes. That was part of the mission I was assigned during my time with Operation ENDURING FREEDOM.”

“In Afghanistan, you served as a captain with U.S. Army Special Forces, 1st Special Forces Group. You developed alliances with several Afghan warlords, and pressed them to assist the United States in attacking both Taliban and Al Qaeda strongholds, correct?”

“That is correct.” Manning wasn’t surprised that Lin’s people had done their homework, but was surprised to discover they had determined his final duty posting while with the Army.

“You also refused to further assist one warlord on moral grounds, and personally eliminated another, correct?”

“That would be classified.”

Baluyevsky smiled slightly and leaned back in his seat. He looked at Manning directly for a long moment.

“I also killed warlords,” he said after a time. “I too served in Afghanistan.”

“Russian Spetsnaz, I would presume.”

“Yes. Afghanistan…we would have won there, if not for your country’s interference.”

Manning shrugged, indifferent to the argument being presented.

“I didn’t join the Army until the mid-eighties, so that was mostly before my time.”

Baluyevsky grunted, and Manning wondered if he was bothered by Manning rebuffing his attempt at bonding.

“In the course of your employment with Mr. Lin’s partners, you’ve also eliminated fourteen competitors throughout Asia, mostly in Taiwan, China, and Japan. This impresses Mr. Lin, for he knows it’s difficult for a foreigner to conduct these activities and remain anonymous in those countries.”

Manning remained silent.

Baluyevsky waved toward the ceiling.

“I can assure you that this room is clean. We have already had a person in Mr. Lin’s employ give his personal attestation toward your skills. These are skills that Mr. Lin is highly interested in. You may speak freely, please.”

“Pardon me if I choose discretion at this time,” Manning replied. “After all, we don’t exactly know each other.”

“I see. I still have questions. Do you need to know the reasons for these ‘missions’, as you call them?” Baluyevsky asked.

“Not necessarily, unless the knowledge increases my chances of getting closer to the target.”

“And do you have any rules for accepting an engagement?”

“Principals and their immediate associates only. No women, no children, no family, no torture,” Manning said immediately. “Those are non-negotiable requirements from my end.”

Baluyevsky nodded automatically.

“Have you ever killed innocents?”

Manning remained silent again.

“As what recently happened in Japan, perhaps,” Baluyevsky continued.

Manning grimaced inwardly. Wow, bad news travels fast.

Baluyevsky grunted when Manning neither confirmed nor denied the incident. His blue eyes locked with Manning’s.

“Regardless, I can see that what happened bothers you,” Baluyevsky said. “I can understand this. But these things do happen to men like us, from time to time. Yes?”

“Apparently,” Manning conceded.

Baluyevsky turned the page in his day planner. Manning glimpsed a gold Rolex Daytona on his thick wrist. It was the only jewelry he wore.

“Can you eliminate someone before they have become a verified threat?” he asked.

“How do you mean?”

Baluyevsky looked at Manning directly.

“If you feel someone intends to use lethal force against your client, will you neutralize that individual before they can act?”

Manning considered it.

“That’s a wide-open question. But if the threat is something I deem severe, then yes, I would neutralize it…though not necessarily by lethal means.”

“So you would allow an assailant another opportunity then,” Baluyevsky judged.

“Not at all. But I would presume that I’ll be of no use to Mr. Lin if I keep plugging anyone who comes near him, especially since it wouldn’t be very long until I’m in jail,” Manning said. “And I’m also quite certain that Mr. Lin isn’t interested in any more attention than he’s already received.”

“Will you use lethal techniques in a questionable situation?”

“Didn’t you just ask that question?”

“Indulge me.”

“I have used lethal force in circumstances where it looked like they weren’t warranted, and it later came to light that my actions were the correct ones. Every situation’s dynamic, and that’s the best answer I can give you.”

“I understand.” Baluyevsky closed his day planner without writing a single note and rose to his feet. “Please wait here.”

With that, he was gone, closing the door behind him.

Manning sighed softly and leaned back in his chair.

A few moments later, the door opened. This time, it was a polished, elderly Chinese man stepped into the room. His gait was quick, and his movements were sharp. He emanated an air of power and wealth, mirrored by his expensive gray double-breasted suit and immaculately-shined shoes that likely cost as much as a decent car. James Lin had finally made his grand entrance. Manning rose to his feet immediately.

“Manning xiansheng, ni zhidao wo shi shui ma?” he asked, after he had closed the door. Mister Manning, do you know who I am?

“Shi de.”

“I rarely have the opportunity to speak to a foreigner in my native tongue,” Lin continued. It was a lie, Manning knew; there were thousands of foreign businessmen who spoke Mandarin. “May we continue our discussion in Mandarin?” he finished.

“By all means, sir.”

Lin settled himself into the chair opposite Manning and motioned for Manning to sit. Manning did so after a respectful pause, and slid back into his chair once the older Chinese man had gotten himself squared away.

“You come recommended to me, Bai Hu. Chen Gui speaks highly of you, and it appears that he and I are somewhat in your debt for your actions in Tokyo,” he said in Mandarin.

“I merely did what I was contracted to do.”

“Perhaps. But you saved my organization great face, and preserved our territory there. While I rarely bother with such things such as this myself, there is a great amount of money to be made by these types of endeavors.” Lin paused for a moment. “Tell me, is Chen Gui still an insufferable idiot?”

Manning smiled.

“I wouldn’t use such words to describe him, Mr. Lin.”

“Of course not. Talking about your employer in such a manner is the easiest way to be killed.”

Manning nodded.

“Alexsey thinks you might be a little soft for what we need.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that.”

Lin made a dismissive gesture.

“My understanding is that you have a preference for subtlety. I recognize this as a very valuable trait, even here in America. For all his utility, Alexsey is sometimes too direct in his actions. Do you know why you are here, Mr. Manning?”

“Ostensibly, for your personal protection. Beyond that, I don’t know anything else.”

“You’ve conducted personal protection missions in the past, this I know. But this is not why I have called you here. Tell me, what do you know of American police activities? Specifically those of the San Francisco Police Department?”

Manning thought about that for a long moment. “I’m afraid I don’t have specific knowledge of their command structure, but there is a wealth of information available on the internet.”

“Would you feel comfortable being my liaison with the San Francisco police? I need someone who knows their language, and knows it well. I have no former policemen in my employ, for reasons you might understand.” Lin did not elaborate, but Manning got the message. Lin didn’t want any suspicious eyes in his business, no matter how protected that business might be.

Manning nodded. “Perhaps you can explain your situation to me more fully, Mr. Lin? I’m still very unclear what it is you expect from me.”

Lin looked at him for a moment, then rose to his feet. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking California Street. Manning turned in his chair, watching him.

“Are you familiar with the term kOzhMng, Mr. Manning?”

“I am.” KOzhMng meant literally “feelings of pain or embarrassment that are difficult to discuss.” Usually these were related to personal affairs that would describe ineptitude of an individual, such as a wealthy man unable to explain where all his money went when he actually had a notorious gambling habit.

“What I have to tell you is that what I face is likely my own doing,” Lin said, still facing the outside world. “But I cannot understand how or why it has come for me now.”

“You need to tell me only what is specific to your problem, Mr. Lin. If there are personal or family matters that won’t matter, then there’s no need to discuss them.”

“If only it were so simple.” Lin sighed, and for a moment his shoulders sagged. “You see, Mr. Manning, my silence has already cost me both of my sons. My eldest in Shanghai. My youngest here, in San Francisco.”

“Then what is it that you need to tell me, sir?”

“Bu zhan, bu he.”

Manning was puzzled.

“‘No war, no peace’? I’m not sure I see the significance of that, Mr. Lin.”

“A lifetime ago…” Lin’s voice was small, muted, as if he were speaking more to himself than Manning. “A lifetime ago, I was a different man. I was part of the Chinese Communist Party. A willing participant in that party. I was selected by Mao Zedong himself to lead the reformation of Shanghai. I had buried my past, you see. I was always one of the dragon heads of the great Shanghai tongs, with an empire sprawling from Shanghai to Hong Kong. But after the Communists came to power, I had to leave all of that behind me. I became one of the loyalists, and managed to survive all the cleansings that perverted fool Mao and his people were so incredibly fond of. For this, I was eventually rewarded for my efforts by being recognized by Mao and given the task of purging all distasteful elements from Shanghai. I set about my duties quite seriously. After all, I had everything a man could have in China in those days…power, prestige, position. I would do everything I could to hold on to them.

“I initiated a program called ‘No War, No Peace’. The underpinning philosophy of the movement was that no Chinese could reinvent himself into a peaceful, loyal part of Chinese communist society without going to war within himself. Millions were purged. Tens of thousands died, and tens of thousands more were relocated or went into the force labor camps. What I presided over was proper and correct, and everyone in the Party was satisfied. I fulfilled the Party objective and managed to survive another day. Then of course, when Mao died, all that changed. I was removed from power and relegated to a do-nothing post, but at that time, China was going through great changes. Deng opened China to the West, and with that came Western money, Western influences…and the tongs flourished. I had come full circle.”

Lin stopped talking after a moment. He then looked over his shoulder at Manning.

“Forgive me. I should get to the point. Both of my sons were murdered by some sadist who apparently survived the purges, but who remembers me quite well. This person, or persons, has set about taking their revenge upon me, first by killing my sons…and then, I could only presume, by killing me.”

“And how would you be able to piece this together?” Manning asked.

“Written in Chinese at both murder scenes was No War, No Peace. And it was written in the spilt blood of my sons.”

Manning nodded. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at Lin, who had not turned away.

“Firstly, my condolences on the passing of your sons. Secondly, you said your sons were killed here and in Shanghai?”

“Yes.”

“Have the police been involved in both murders?”

“Of course. In Shanghai, it’s considered a most urgent homicide to solve. It is now considered the same here, in San Francisco. This is why I will need to retain your services.”

“Please tell me more, sir. You want me to ‘liaise’ with the police?”

Lin turned and walked back to the table. He slowly pulled out a chair next to Manning and sat down. He looked at Manning for one long, speculative moment, and then removed his glasses. He tossed them onto the tabletop and rubbed his eyes tiredly. For the first time, Manning became aware of the physical signs of Lin’s stress. His hands trembled slightly, and his eyes were vaguely rheumy, distant.

“I want you to get as close to the police investigation as possible. I want you to review every shred of evidence they have. As soon as they are able to identify the murderer, I want you to know it as soon as they do. And then, I want you to kill the assassin before the police can act. In short, I want you to show the San Francisco police that you are an officious man doing the bidding of his client. And when that work is done, I want you to become the famous Bai Hu I’ve heard so much of.”

Manning nodded slowly. “You don’t want the assassin alive? You’re not interested in finding out if there are more people orchestrating this?”

“When the identity of my son’s murderer or murderers is known, your only mission is to kill them. Immediately, effectively, and mercilessly. After that, you may return to Japan and whatever tasks Chen Gui has waiting for you, and we shall never speak again. But know this: you will kill these people, no matter what the cost.”

“And you’re certain the murderer is still here, in the San Francisco area?”

Lin hesitated, glancing out the window once again.

“Last night, one of my most trusted employees left to fetch the medical examiner’s report of my second son. He took two men with him, both trusted and well-trained. They did not return.”

“I see.” Manning leaned back in his chair and drummed the tabletop absently for a moment. “Mr. Lin. Are you certain that Baluyevsky has the ability to protect you?”

“He has never failed me, and he is well paid for his vigilance.”

“Very well, then. In that case, I’ll need access to your personal schedule, as well as background on all your upcoming business-related and personal travel-I can’t expect the police to show me everything, so I’ll have to get more information to fill in the gaps. If you withhold anything from me, you’ll severely cripple my chances of doing my job.”

“Everything you ask for will be done,” Lin replied instantly. “Everything. And I would like you to start immediately. I’ve already gone through the trouble of having your weapons brought up from the lobby security guards. They’re waiting for you in the office I have arranged for you.”

Well. That didn’t take long, Manning thought.

“Then I’ll get started,” he said. He rose to his feet and nodded to Lin. “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure your personal safety, Mr. Lin. And when it comes time, I’ll guarantee you your revenge.”