White Ghost (15 page)

A
s Gage walked down the hallway of the hotel's small private banquet rooms, he spotted Eight Iron's lead bodyguard standing in front of a closed door.

Even though Gage had known him for years, Kasa didn't greet him, just cast dead eyes on his approach. Gage knew Kasa came doubly armed: with a semiautomatic under his loose shirt and with Shan tattoos, a body-length forest of real and mythological creatures, gods and demons, and scripts and sacred mantras to protect him from evil, from sickness, and from harm at the hands of others.

Gage wasn't convinced that Kasa believed in the efficacy of the colored ink, because the last time he'd stepped up to protect Eight Iron, he led with his gun, not with his chest.

Eight Iron and Kai were standing together when Gage entered the rosewood-paneled banquet room.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Gage said to Eight Iron through Kai, who translated his greeting into Chaozhou Chinese.

Eight Iron looked him over. “You've lost a few pounds.”

Gage wasn't interested in engaging in small talk with Eight Iron. This was a meeting of necessity, not choice. But he knew he had to play along.

“Just been working out a little more than usual.” Gage let his gaze fall from Eight Iron's round face down to the blue golf shirt stretched tight over his stomach. “Looks like you put on a few.”

Eight Iron patted his belly. “But unlike in the States, over here it's a sign of wealth and contentment.”

Gage tilted his head toward the door. “I didn't see any signs like that on Kasa.”

“I should've called you last year when I thought I saw him smile. It could've just been him passing gas. I was upwind, so I couldn't tell.”

Kai turned so that only Gage could see her face and her rolling eyes.

Gage directed Eight Iron to sit between Kai and himself at the circular table, then waitresses wearing side-slit dresses served wine followed by a series of Chaozhou and Cantonese dishes. A mix of background nausea and worry over Lucy left Gage without an appetite. He made a pretense of eating, more moving bits of food around his plate than bringing any of them to his mouth. Eight Iron, on the other hand ate with the lack of inhibition of a predator devouring a kill.

It was only after the waitress cleared the last plate and Eight Iron instructed Kasa to block anyone from entering that they turned to business.

Gage wasn't sure whether Eight Iron was still an enemy of United Bamboo, for alliances shift over time and, where there is profit to be made, enemies become friends, or whether Casey's intelligence connecting Ah Ming and United Bamboo was correct. He figured he'd try to prompt a reaction from Eight Iron by which he could judge before revealing too much.

“I was hired to investigate a deal involving a man who used to live in Thailand. He's known as Ah Ming.”

Eight Iron's eyes widened a fraction. “Has this deal happened already?”

“Let's talk a little bit more before I answer that.”

Eight Iron smiled. “You want to know if I'll try to grab something for myself.”

“Basically.”

“The answer is no.”

“Retired?”

Eight shook his head. “A few years ago, one of my people was extradited to the States. He met a Hell's Angel in jail while he was waiting for his trial. The Hell's Angel came to visit me after he was released.”

“And now you're sending methamphetamines to the U.S.”

Eight Iron smiled. “You're as quick as ever. Yaba pills are much simpler to make and sell than heroin.” He held up a forefinger. “First, there are no seasons to worry about like with poppies. Production is year-round.” He held up another finger. “Second, there are fewer transportation risks in yaba. No more moving opium resin from the fields and then the finished heroin to the port, so there are fewer police and military officers to pay off.” He held up another. “Third, it's cheap and easy to get
ma huang,
what you call ephedrine, and the other chemicals from China. That's the reason the Hell's Angels wanted to outsource their manufacturing. They'd only have to import one thing, the pills, instead of all the precursors.” He lowered his hand. “And since there's no smell, we're undetectable in the city. There's no reason anymore to fight snakes and malaria in the forests. Any industrial lab will do.”

“Why'd you trust him?”

“Because he went to trial and won. He would've pleaded guilty or his case would've been dismissed if he'd cooperated with the DEA.”

Kai interjected her own comment in Chinese and then in English: “I guess you could say that the DEA put together a drug deal.”

“They did better than that. Since we started last year we've worked up to a hundred kilos a month. It costs us less than eight hundred dollars a kilo to make and we sell it to the Angels for eight thousand a kilo, delivered to the East Coast of the U.S.”

“But not as good as heroin.”

Eight Iron shrugged and said, “The profit in heroin was falling anyway. Afghans flooded the market after your government overthrew the Taliban. Our quality has always been better—even now our China White is ninety-nine percent pure—but we can't match their quantity.”

“So the answer to my question is that you're making too much money to complicate your life?”

“Exactly.” Eight Iron looked back and forth between Kai and Gage. “And now that you know something dangerous to me, we can trust each other.”

Gage found nothing dangerous about it. Eight Iron hadn't admitted anything more than what Cobra could've found out at any of the narcotics traffickers' karaoke bars or mah-jongg clubs. Without names, places, and routes, no one could attack Eight Iron. He was no more at risk now than he had been five minutes earlier.

Gage decided to ignore the lie and push on. “I take it you know Ah Ming.”

“You suspected I did. That's why you wanted to meet with me.” Eight Iron cast what the Thais called
yim mee lessanai,
the wicked smile, then looked at Kai. “At least Kai did. I'm sure she told you about my fifty kilos.”

“You ever go after him?”

“About a week later, I spotted him playing mah-jongg with other United Bamboo members at the Krung Thep Palace Hotel, but it wasn't a good place to go to war. We tracked down some underlings and Kasa used them to send a message, but I never got to Ah Ming himself. Next I heard, he'd left for the States. I
have good connections, but I didn't think it was safe to reach out quite that far.”

Eight Iron paused, and his eyes went vacant for a moment, then he said, “He's a brilliant man, Ah Ming. An entrepreneur. He came here after he killed a gambler in Taiwan. In less than six months he reorganized the underground lottery and unified it under his control. That's where he developed his signature, the severed head with a one baht note stuffed in the mouth. He only had to do it a few times before all the competing groups got into line. That moved him up from just a
nak laeng
to a godfather, and a couple of years later he took control of the United Bamboo heroin operation.”

“I assume he made other enemies besides you.”

“Back then it was mainly Big Circle. Lots of Chinese fugitives gathered in Bangkok in the nineties and the organization grew like a fungus.”

“Is that why he moved to the States?”

Eight Iron shook his head. “United Bamboo won that war and Ah Ming was rewarded for his part with the West Coast of the U.S.” He smiled again. “He decided to experiment with what the financial people call vertical integration. He wanted to control the heroin supply chain all the way from the poppy fields to the sellers in the States just above street level.

“It used to be”—Eight Iron glanced at Kai as though she were the repository of Thai drug trafficking history—“that United Bamboo would buy a kilo over here for five thousand and sell it for fifty when it arrived in the U.S. Ah Ming's idea was to follow it down one or two more steps and net three or four hundred thousand a kilo with very little additional risk.”

Gage now understood the deeper meaning of the intercepted call that Alex Z had located in which dealers had complained that Ah Ming had flooded the streets with Triple K and 555.

“I don't know whether he succeeded with that,” Gage said,
“but he succeeded in adding a second kind of crime to his enterprise.”

Gage paused to let the implication appear in Eight Iron's mind, that there may be another way to strike at Ah Ming, and then said, “You still want to get even with him?”

“Of course.” Eight Iron's eyebrows narrowed as he looked at Gage. “But what's in it for you?”

“The son of my client was killed in a robbery in California. Ah Ming was behind it.”

“You mean he ripped off someone else's heroin?”

“No. Something different.”

Eight Iron rocked his head side to side as though sorting through the risks, then asked, “Who do you have helping you over here?”

“Kai and Cobra.”

Eight Iron nodded, and then said, “The beauty and the beast.”

Kai smiled as she translated the compliment, then asked Gage whether he had an understanding of what Eight Iron said. Gage didn't smile back for fear that it might be source of distrust since Eight Iron wouldn't grasp the meaning, and Gage didn't want to explain.

“I take it you came to see me because Ah Ming's new enterprise has a connection to Thailand.”

Gage shook his head.

Eight Iron paused, biting his lower lip. His gaze moved from the table to the Chinese paintings on the walls, to the side cart bearing wine bottles and flowers.

“I see what you're aiming at.” Eight Iron smiled. “You want to tie him to a heroin deal here since you can't tie him to the robbery over there.”

Gage nodded. “If you can find out whether he's got a deal working right now, I can put an end to it.”

“And him?”

“And him in the States.”

Eight Iron put on a deliberative expression, even though he and Gage both knew he'd already come to a decision.

“I'll try to find out, but not for your sake, for mine. I lost money and face, and things between me and Ah Ming need to be rebalanced.”

They stood and walked toward the door. Eight Iron stopped and turned toward Gage.

“You do realize,” Eight Iron said, “that at the end of this, it will be you against him. Man to man. That's the way he is and the way he'll want it to be and that's the only way you'll take him. That is, which is far more likely, if he doesn't take you first.”

G
AGE RETURNED TO HIS ROOM
while Kai escorted Eight Iron to the lobby. She telephoned Gage as she drove away.

“Did you see that?” Kai asked. “He started to drool like one of those big red dogs with the floppy ears . . . I don't remember the English name.”

“Bloodhound?”

“That's it. A bloodhound.”

“The problem is that bloodhounds are hard to control,” Gage said. “And I'm not sure we have a leash strong enough to restrain him.”

“Is that why you didn't tell him you were tracking the chips?” Kai paused for a moment. Gage could hear the rumble of traffic on the road. She then answered her own question. “I get it. You want him to believe that this is all or nothing and it all depends on him.”

“Exactly.”

G
age lay awake, worried about Lucy, feeling the failure of having misread her, of not having anticipated that the urge to act would overtake her. He imagined her lying on a rooftop overlooking East Wind, peering down or slumped in her car peeking through the windows and Ah Ming's people scanning their surroundings, checking for surveillance, any movement, any change from the ordinary, any vehicle parked too long, whether occupied by a cop looking to take them down or by a crook looking to take them over. And, compounding all that, Sylvia trying to search without appearing to be searching, trying to avoid giving herself or Lucy away.

His cell phone rang. It was Sylvia.

“We found her.”

“You mean she really was surveilling East Wind?”

“Worse than that. Remember what you said about the shortest distance between two points? She went in. I had Viz spotting on the entrance while I watched the back. He saw her walk inside.”

“What's she doing there?”

“I don't know yet. I sent Annie Ma to look around inside, but she didn't see her.”

Gage thought for moment, trying to work his mind past both his anger at her and his fear for her.

“Let's hope she went in pretending to be a potential customer.”

“But what if she confronted him?

“Then it's already too late. They would've stuffed her into a car trunk and taken her to a safe house to interrogate her.”

“You want me to call the police and report it as a kidnapping?”

“No. They wouldn't find her and it would prove to Ah Ming she knows something. It would only make it worse for her—I'll call you back.”

Gage telephoned Cobra who was staking out the Sunny Glory branch in Taichung, a few hours' drive north of the Kaohsiung Port, waiting for the container to arrive.

“Whatever is happening over there hasn't changed anything over here,” Cobra said.

“Call me if you pick up countersurveillance. If so, we'll abort this thing and I'll send people in to shake up East Wind.”

After Gage disconnected, he allowed himself to feel the annoyance engendered by Lucy interjecting herself into what he was doing. It was something of an emotional high-wire act because he was angry at a person, a young person of intelligence and potential, who might have already been tortured and murdered.

Gage's cell phone rang. It was Sylvia.

“She just walked out of East Wind.” Instead of relief, Sylvia's voice vibrated with worry, even fear. “And we're in big trouble. Viz is sending me live video. Guys are on either side of her. Suits. They're heading toward a van parked in front.”

“Are they holding her?”

“One had his hand on her elbow . . . still walking . . . they're stopped . . . she's looking around . . .” Sylvia blew out a breath. “She's walking away.”

“Anyone following her?”

“Doesn't look like it. The two guys got into the van.”

“Stay with her, but don't get close until you're sure no one is watching her.”

Gage allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of annoyance. It's easier to be angry at the living.

Twenty minutes later Sylvia called.

“We lost her going into an apartment complex in South San Francisco. She was out of sight by the time we snuck through the gate behind another resident. We're looking for her car . . . Hold on a second . . . I think Viz found it . . . He's got it . . . I'll call when we figure out which apartment she's in.”

A few minutes later Sylvia called back.

“I'm with Lucy. She got herself hired using her Chinese name. Part-time. Working mornings.”

“Put her on.”

The next voice was Lucy's, and angry. “I just couldn't sit around and wait.”

“You should've talked to me first. Ah Ming is dangerous and smart and has near-perfect instincts. If he reads tension on your face, he'll act on it.”

Lucy didn't respond. Gage could hear her breathing.

“Did he hire you himself?”

“No. The head of the shipping department.”

“Has he noticed you?”

“I don't think so. He can't see my cubicle from his office in a far corner and it's not along the aisles he walks down either from the back lot or from the front door. I can just not show up anymore. I don't think they could find me.”

“Quitting so soon may raise suspicions. I'm not saying this to scare you, but they certainly would be able to find you. You're an amateur and amateurs always leave a trail. Let me talk to Sylvia.”

Gage heard Lucy pass the phone.

“Do you think she could deal with staying on at East Wind?” Gage asked.

“Let me go into another room.” After a few moments of shuffling, Sylvia said, “We caught her by surprise, but she didn't fall apart. And she was able to forge past employment records and was cool enough in the interview to get herself hired.”

“It would help us if we had an inside person even if all she does is watch. But we'll need a plan to get her out if things blow up. And don't tell Casey about her being in there. It would compromise the criminal case against Ah Ming if a defense lawyer figured out that there was someone in East Wind who Casey knew about and had some control over, even if only through us. It could be construed as an illegal search.”

“Got it.”

“Put her back on.”

Gage heard more shuffling as Sylvia walked back to where Lucy was waiting.

“We want you to stay at East Wind,” Gage told her, “but don't play detective on your own. Just watch and report to Sylvia.”

“I'm sorry for not asking you, but I'm grateful you're letting me help out.”

“I'm just trying to make the best of a bad situation. And don't make it worse by telling anyone. Call your parents. Say that you've been distraught about your brother and went to a therapist who suggested you take some time off so your academic future wouldn't be compromised. You decided on your own to change apartments. Be apologetic. And call them every day.”

After repeating the plan to Sylvia, Gage hung up and called
Cobra. “We've got it straightened out. What about the container?”

“It's due into port tomorrow. A classmate of mine from MJIB training days manages security for Hanjin Lines down at Kaohsiung. He confirmed it's still owned by Sunny Glory, but he can't be certain it will actually be hauled there. It could get diverted and sent directly to Sunny Glory's customer. Whoever that is.”

“Then make sure we don't lose it.”