White Tiger (45 page)

“Why not,” Manning said.

###

At dusk, the limousines began to arrive.

Manning and Baluyevsky watched from one side of the driveway as the long, shiny vehicles disgorged their passengers, elegantly-dressed men and women who were obviously representatives of the upper echelons of both American and Chinese societies. Manning recognized an action movie star from Hong Kong, the U.S. senator from California, and two high-ranking congressmen. He wondered what they were doing for Lin, and what had Lin promised them in return? Lin greeted them personally in the entry hall, and he looked resplendent in a fine but conservative tuxedo. He had spared Manning only the quickest of glances as he stood aside and watched the arrivals stream in.

A black Audi A8 pulled up in front of the house, and a graceful woman alighted from it. Her hair piled high on her head, and she wore a long dark gown that was graced with a sparkling heron that ran from hip to hem. Over her shoulder was a leather purse so small as to be almost useless. She looked at once regal, yet weary as she glided down the covered walkway on high-heeled shoes. Lin’s greeting was muted and subdued, and the woman nodded to him obsequiously.

“Valerie Lin,” Baluyevsky rumbled.

Manning watched the elegant woman step into the house unchaperoned as one of the valets took her Audi around the house and parked it next to Manning’s GTO. Apparently, the wife of Lin’s deceased son did get at least one perk.

“A handsome woman,” Manning said.

Another limousine rumbled up the wide driveway, this one a large stretch Bentley. Several Chinese alighted from it, and Lin advanced to meet them, smiling broadly. He extended his hand toward an older Chinese man who seemed to be Lin’s contemporary, but where Lin was polished and poised, the newcomer seemed rough and unfinished, even while wearing an expensive tuxedo.

“That must be Ren Yun,” Manning said. “Lin’s pal from the good old bad days.”

“Yes,” Baluyevsky said. “He and Mr. Lin are among the most powerful men inside—and outside—China.”

“They don’t seem very much alike,” Manning observed.

“They are exactly alike. Mr. Lin is simply...more refined.” Baluyevsky checked his watch. “I need to confer with my staff. You needn’t come with me. I think it would be acceptable for you to mingle with the rest of the guests, so long as you hold your tongue.”

“What do you expect me to tell them, Alexsey? I’m here to bump off Lin Dan’s killer?”

Baluyevsky glared at Manning, something Manning now recognized as the big Russian’s default expression. “I do not expect you to say any such thing.”

“I wasn’t being serious.”

Baluyevsky blinked, and looked as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Was that American humor? It was not very funny. At any rate, you should tell them that you are in Mr. Lin’s employ as a security consultant only, and that you represent Mr. Lin’s interests in Japan. He has an office in the Komeito Tower in Tokyo. Do you know it?”

“Of course. I’ve actually worked there in the past.”

“Then you should have no problem coming up with something very boring to say, should anyone ask. Follow me.”

Manning followed Baluyevsky to the covered walkway and moved past the crowd surrounding Lin as discreetly as possible. As they did so, Manning took a moment to study the group. Ren Yun spoke animatedly to Lin; his voice was gruff and loud, and his manner was somewhat crude. Lin laughed at something the man said, and clapped him on the shoulder while the rest of the group tittered politely. One woman stood at the edge of the crowd, wearing an immaculate blue silk
qi pao
, the cultural garb women wore in mainland China. It was slit high on her thigh, and she wore low-soled shoes. She looked over as Baluyevsky eased his bulk past, his eyes fixed forward. Her dark eyes drifted toward Manning as he followed. Manning nodded to her slightly.

“
Ni hao,
” he said.

“Good evening,” she responded, and her English was devoid of almost any accent. She smiled slightly, and Manning smiled back. She turned her head and looked back at Ren and Lin, and Manning slowed an instant to study her profile. The overhead lights were bright enough to reveal her face, and he saw she had fine features that would have bordered on breathtaking if they hadn’t been somewhat severe. She had the face of a woman who didn’t laugh very much, someone who might be the usual officious sort who served the Chinese elite. She didn’t look back at him, so Manning continued after Baluyevsky.

Baluyevsky led Manning into the vast entry hall and turned back to him. “I will leave you here, Manning. I’ll look for you within an hour or so, which is when Mr. Lin and his guests will sit down for dinner.”

“Very well,” Manning said.

With that, Baluyevsky turned and left without another word. Manning watched him leave for a moment, then sighed. He had never been particularly good at social events even with people he knew, so skulking about a mansion amidst a cast of international elites promised to be less than entertaining. He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked around the entry hall, wondering what to do. Before he could arrive at a decision, Lin led the entourage through the front door. He was all smiles, and still had a hand on Ren’s shoulder. His eyes met Manning’s for a brief instant, and Manning got the hint. He faded down the hallway that led to the kitchen, his shoes clicking on the hard marble floor. Behind him, the assemblage erupted into raucous laughter as Ren barked out some joke in a dialect Manning did not understand.

The kitchen was still buzzing with activity, and Manning found there was no space for him there. He passed through it and made his way to the dining room, where more members of Lin’s staff were still setting the long table. There was no place for him there either. The gallery was empty for the moment, so he slowed and took a moment to look at the artworks on display. Two Grecian-looking statues stood silent guard duty, flanking a long line of expensive paintings that were likely originals. Manning put his hands in his pockets again and examined them closely. They did not evoke much.

“Are you appreciative of the fine arts?”

Manning turned and found that Valerie Lin was standing only a few feet away. She had come in from the patio area, where a bar had been set up. She held a glass of white wine in one perfectly manicured hand. Her fine makeup accentuated her beauty, as it was intended. However, it did little to mask her exhaustion. She emanated a quiet desperation that Manning felt immediately.

“I’m unfortunately not much of a connoisseur,” he said. “I guess I’m more of a comic book kind of guy. But I think this one here must be a Picasso.”

She smiled faintly and nodded toward the painting Manning indicated. “
Le Femme au Tambourin
,” she said as she walked over. “Yes, a Picasso. My father-in-law paid almost eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars for it in New York City last year. He outbid my husband by one hundred thousand dollars. The two of them competed against each other for everything.”

“I see,” Manning said.

“Do you?” She turned from the painting and eyed him for a moment as she sipped from her glass. “That would be interesting if you did. You are—?”

“Jerome Manning. I work for your father-in-law.”

“Of course. You don’t look comfortable enough to be one of his business associates, and I’ve never seen you before. I’m Valerie Lin.”

She switched her wine glass to her left hand and extended her right. Manning shook her hand. Her grip was soft and warm.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lin,” he said.

She released his hand and turned to regard the paintings on the wall. “Thank you, Mr. Manning. What is it that you do for my father-in-law?”

“Security. I do some work for him in Japan. At the Komeito Tower.”

“Really? What does he need you here for?”

Manning hadn’t really seen that one coming, even though it was an obvious question. “Mr. Lin has...well, his business interests are wide and varied, and he always likes to stay on top of things.”

“I’d thought that was what Alexsey was for,” she said.

“It is, but I represent his security interests in Japan. Our schedules happened to coincide, and he asked me here to brief him, and then asked me to stay for a while.”

She turned to him again. “Are you here to find my husband’s murderer?”

Manning worked on keeping his composure. Despite her loss, it was blindingly obvious that Valerie Lin was no dummy. It was also obvious that she had been through a lot; as she brought her wine glass to her lips, her hand trembled slightly.

“Mrs. Lin...I’m sorry, but that’s something you would really have to ask your father-in-law.”

She nodded after a moment, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ambush you that way.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Manning said.

“Yes. Well.” She looked up at him and forced a smile to her face. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Manning. I hope you enjoy the night.”

Manning nodded. “Thank you, ma’am. Same to you.”

He watched as she walked down the hallway, then stepped out onto the patio. The bar was suddenly looking pretty good right now.

The Chinese bartenders were dressed in black vests and trousers, and smiled broadly as Manning approached. He ordered and received a bottle of Anchor Steam beer, a San Francisco area favorite and wandered around the vast patio. The huge grill beside the house was already fired up, apparently in an effort to supplement the busy kitchen, and flavorful smoke wafted through the air. Manning’s stomach grumbled, and he realized he was hungry. Thankfully, a caterer walked past at the moment with a tray of fresh shu mai in bamboo steamers, and he helped himself to a few. They were excellent, light and steamed to perfection. It was almost a shame to drink the beer after sampling such a fine delicacy, but he did it anyway. At the far edge of the courtyard was a series of arches which terminated at a pavilion that overlooked the Bay. It was currently deserted, so Manning headed for it and stood there for several minutes, taking in the view. There was a low glass-topped table flanked by four wrought-iron chairs in the middle of the open pavilion, but he ignored them and chose to stand. It was a clear night, and the lights of downtown San Francisco glittered in the growing night. It was most certainly a million dollar vista. Despite everything, he had to admit that Lin had no shortage of taste to go along with his fortune.

He was compelled to call Ryoko in Japan, despite her wishes. It would be nice to hear her voice, and to find out how she was getting along. She would still be sleeping, of course. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and looked at it. His thumb stroked the keys idly. Finally, he returned it to his pocket. She expected him to respect her wishes, and forcing himself on her was not likely to impress her.

Footfalls caught his attention, and he turned from the beauty spread out before him. Lin was leading Ren Yun and the woman Manning had briefly spoken with toward the pavilion. Manning turned to head off across the lawn, but he was surprised by Ren’s gravelly voice. He spoke in rough Mandarin.

“No need to leave because of us,” he barked. “We’re only here to take in the view for a moment!”

“Mr. Ren says there is no need to leave,” the woman said instantly as the trio entered the pavilion. “He and Mr. Lin are—”

“Manning knows what he said,” Lin said in Mandarin. “Don’t you, Manning?”

Manning nodded. Ren looked dubious.

“You speak Mandarin?” he demanded.

“I do.”

Ren grunted and stepped closer to Manning, looking up at him. He was bald with a round face and dark complexion, and his eyes seemed too large for his head. With his thick lips and short neck, he resembled a Chinese frog. He was somewhat sloppy in appearance; even though he wore a tuxedo, it seemed too big at the shoulders but pulled too tight around his round belly. Comparing him to Lin’s polished appearance, it was not hard for Manning to imagine he was Mr. Hyde to Lin’s Dr. Jekyll.