“I will call a carpet cleaner in the morning,” said Cassandra. “That should come out easily.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
Okay . . . go ahead and breathe, Jaz. I pulled my hand out of my jacket and let it drop to my side.
Bergman lined us up behind the counter that edged the banquette, Cole next to the wall, then Vayl, me, and Cassandra with Bergman nearest the door. “Everybody take a look, would you?” he begged, pointing at the middle frame on the monitor. The picture he called our attention to showed Lung, Pengfei, and Li stepping onto the back of the yacht from a small blue and white speedboat. They looked like they’d been dragged through a garbage dump.
They mounted the ladders to the middle level, where they’d staged the party/massacre the night before. Since then several blue-cushioned deck chairs had been set out, forming four different conversation areas, one of which included the bar. They walked straight through this area into the lounge, each choosing a different couch to collapse on. Pengfei had been chattering away in Chinese the whole time, her voice getting louder and angrier as the minutes passed. Her bullet wound had already closed.
“What’s she saying?” I asked Cole. He leaned both elbows on the counter, watching the screen with interest.
“She’s obviously irate. She’s calling Lung and Li all kinds of names, Lung for losing control, Li for running.” He listened awhile longer. “She’s telling them there’s a huge difference between slaying a few Chinese rebels and killing random Americans. They were supposed to stick to the plan. She’s mad the cops got involved because it jeopardizes everything she’s been working for.”
He looked at me in amazement. “She’sin charge. She’s just using Lung as a figurehead because the Chinese would never respect or fear a woman the way she needs them to.”
I watched Pengfei with new interest as she rose from the couch and began to pace around the room, first reading Li the riot act, then moving on to Lung. When he talked back to her she gave him a slap that rocked his head back hard enough to make it hit the wall.
“I had to kill the Seer!” Cole translated for Lung, who was rubbing his head. “I could see it in her eyes. She had already had a vision of me, and I could not allow her to repeat the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?” demanded Pengfei.
Lung’s face squeezed tight. “The one about the white dragon,” he whispered.
“Ach, white dragon, white dragon. You are sick, obsessed, crazed with being defeated by this ridiculous white dragon! Why do you let one simple monk’s prophecy haunt you after five hundred years, tell me? Did I not kill him thoroughly enough for you?” Pengfei asked harshly.
Lung looked down at his knees and nodded.
“Did I not save you from the boiling pot and nurse you back to health?”
Another bob of the head.
“Then remember to whom you owe fealty and keep your claws sheathed until I order you otherwise!” she screeched.
He didn’t speak to her again.
“So Lung is superstitious enough to jeopardize their entire setup over a five-hundred-year-old prophecy, and Pengfei is our real target,” I said. “Does that about sum it up?”
“Not quite,” said Vayl. “Samos still remains part of the picture. We cannot discount his influence even if we cannot see him.”
“We still need to get my armor back,” Bergman said fearfully, as if we would consider leaving his baby behind.
“Yes, of course,” said Vayl. “Unfortunately it will not be coming off Lung tonight.” He gave Bergman a tired smile. “Li ate the snail.”
“I saw.” Bergman’s shoulders slumped. “I never thought about Lung having a food taster. Who does that anymore?”
“People who’ve been around a lot longer than you and me,” I told him.
“There is a silver lining,” said Cassandra. “I recognized Li. He sleeps in one of the rooms with a camera, so you’ll still be able to see if the pill works as you designed it to.”
We all looked at her.
“Cassandra?” I asked. “Is this you? Looking on the bright side?”
“Go Jericho,” Cole murmured.
“Uh-oh.” Bergman’s comment brought our eyes back to the TV. Pengfei had worked herself into a real tizzy by now. She leaned into Li’s face, screaming, spraying spit, her fangs in clear view as her lips drew back in a furious snarl. Suddenly she pounced. Being more of a runner than a fighter, Li put up only token resistance as she buried her teeth in his throat. At the same time her claws sank into his chest and within moments he began to seize. Her strength alone kept him sitting upright as she bled him, her nails stabbing into him repeatedly, piercing every organ she could reach.
He lived a long time. And we stood, horrified spectators as she tortured him while Lung looked on, quietly waiting for her to finish. Finally she tore his chest open and pulled his heart out, reducing the gore to a dusting of ash and a puff of smoke. It reminded me so much of the reaver’s grisly work that I wondered if there was some connection. Could she have been one? Known one?
“Sorry, Bergman.” Cole clapped him on the back. “Guess you don’t get to see the pill work after all.” He was trying for that I’m-a-normal-guy tone, but the undertone said,I didn’t want to see that, and now that I have, I’ll never forget it. This sucks!
I watched him, pressing my lips together so I wouldn’t yell at him for signing onto this insanity in the first place. Idiot. Now he’d never be the same.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
As the violence on the TV screen dissipated we all moved away from the counter, each looking for a way to insert some sense of normality into our atmosphere. Cole and Bergman set up a game of chess at the table. Cassandra spent some time digging in her purse, an olive-green, bead-covered monstrosity, before emerging with a book of crossword puzzles. I opened the refrigerator. What did I expect to see? Eggs? Bacon? There they stood in a line, just as the five of us had at the counter. Clear plastic bags full of blood. I leaned in. Did Vayl prefer a certain brand? O Positive? Plasma Lite?
“Looking for something?” asked Vayl quietly.
I jumped, banging my head against the rim of the door.OW! I straightened up, rubbing my sore skull. “Sometimes a girl just wants some milk and cookies,” I said. And not because she’s been stitched shut for the second time by a doctor who’s too honest about how it hurts him to see scars on beautiful women.
“Is your head all right?” he asked.
What kind of question is that? It’s attached, isn’t it? Otherwise—too damn personal, if you ask me. Which you just did!“It’s fine.”
“Let me see.”
“No.”
Slanting of the eyebrows. Translation—now you’re just being stupid stubborn. “Come, let me take a look.”
“Go on, Jaz,” said Cole as he took Bergman’s rook with his bishop. “You could have a concussion or something.”
Vayl reached for my head. “I’m fine!” I snapped as I jerked back, banging it into the freezer door.
“Okay, now I’m not,” I said, rubbing both sore spots. But suddenly I was. I began to grin. “Vayl, I’ve got it.”
Concern poured from his eyes. “What is it, a migraine?”
“Would you stop worrying? It’s going to make you crazy!” I skirted him and went to the guys at the table. “Bergman, I need to watch the footage of Pengfei lecturing Lung and Li again.”
“Can it wait a sec? It’s my move.”
I grabbed his queen, slid her eight spaces forward, and told Cole, “Checkmate.”