Stoke had learned a few things as an NYPD detective. One of them was that prearranged meetings with people you didn’t completely trust were always interesting. A lot of things could be prearranged. Stoke knew this was the final act with Jet. It would go one of two ways. Either she was going to hand him the keys that would lead to the kingdom. Or, another possibility, she was leading him smack into a very dangerous situation.
He had a vision of himself drugged and shanghaied. Bound for nowhere on a tramp steamer or sent to some farm for reeducation. Maybe even something more deadly.
Nothing to do but find out. Her idea was they’d hook up tonight at a place called, believe it or not, the Krazy Kat Klub. It was long on atmosphere, you had to say that. A cross between a hooch house and an opium den. The smoke-filled joint was full of wharf rats and zombies who looked like they had serious opium or smack issues. Jet said be there no later than eight. It was now almost nine. He was still sitting at the bar nursing a warm Coke with his eye on the door, waiting to see her waltz in.
She had told him they’d need some kind of boat. Nothing fancy, but something fast. Something that could get them over to Hong Kong Harbor, even if the weather was bad. The weather was bad. There was a typhoon brewing out in the China Sea. The leading edge had rolled into Macao about two hours earlier. It was blowing like stink outside. No rain yet, but that was coming.
He’d done the best he could with the boat. But it hadn’t been all that easy. You don’t just walk into Hertz Rent-a-Boat in Macao and get the keys to a Chris-Craft.
He’d finally paid cash to a guy he’d met down on the docks that afternoon. His name, believe it or not, was He Long. Bought a little stinkpot from him, mainly because he was the only guy Stoke could find who spoke a little English. Foo Fighter was only twenty-four feet or so but she had an enclosed flat-roofed wheelhouse to keep Jet dry and a big Chevy 327 gas engine that looked pretty clean, points and plugs looked after, well-maintained. Owner said she’d do thirty knots and Stoke believed him. Had a fresh paint job, too. Bright red.
“I like your name,” Stoke told the owner before he left the dock. “Guy could get a lot of mileage out of a name like that. Hormone replacement business, Viagra shops, something like that.”
He Long was still bent over on the dock and laughing his ass off when Stoke rumbled away. Stoke was pretty sure He Long didn’t have a clue what was so funny but everybody was pretty polite here in Macao. Maybe He Long was just giggling because Stoke had just paid him twice what his boat was worth.
Stoke was just about to check his watch for the umpteenth time when Jet Moon walked in. She looked spectacular, her black hair held up with a pearl comb, all dressed up in a tight white dress. Guy next to him never even noticed. Gay bar? No. Just the last guy on the last stool in the very last bar at the end of the road. Stoke looked at the guy’s eyes for a second, then looked away. The Chinese Thought Police would have a field day in here. Some crazy shit going on behind those eyes.
Jet headed straight for him. Guess he wasn’t too hard to spot in a crowd of pint-sized Oriental drug addicts.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. He could tell she meant it, so he smiled and slid off the stool.
“Hey. Have a seat. Want a drink?”
“A glass of white wine?”
“Really? Here?”
“That was a joke, Stokely. I’ll take a brandy. Neat.”
Stoke ordered from the little guy with the Fu Manchu goatee and got another Coke. Unlike American bars on a Saturday night, this one was pretty quiet. Everybody zoned out on China White maybe. At least you could have a private conversation without screaming.
Jet said, “So, you got the boat?”
“Yeah. It’s that bright red one tied up outside.”
“That will do. Good work.”
“Can I ask where we’re going?”
“A restaurant over in Hong Kong Harbor. The Golden Dragon.”
“Really good food, must be, go all the way over there. With this weather and all.”
“We’re having dinner with my father. It’s his restaurant.”
“Yeah? Wants to meet your personal trainer, huh?”
“You’re my fiancé now. I just told him an hour ago.”
“Hey, I’m moving up in the world. Even if you’re just using me to get to Alex Hawke, I’ll take it.”
“That’s not funny, Stoke.”
“Yeah, it is. You were supposed to kill him but your heart wouldn’t let you. Right? Tell me I’m wrong.”
She waved his smile away. “Look, Stoke. I’m doing you a huge favor here. My father’s a very important man in China. There are worlds within worlds in Hong Kong. I’m saving you a lot of time sorting them all out.”
“Tell me what I’m looking for here, Jet.”
“My father, I learned last night, is privately selling nuclear materials. Off the books.”
“Materials. You mean weapons?”
“I don’t know.”
“Off the books. You mean Beijing doesn’t know about it?”
“I have no idea. I told you, I’m just a cop.”
“Selling to who? France?”
“To Germany.”
“And what are the Germans doing with these weapons?”
“That’s why you’re here, Stoke. My father’s house has many rooms. I’m sure there’s something horrible in every one of them. But I’ve just told you all I know.”
“I know what kind of man your father is, Jet. Just like I know who you are. But I got to say, I’m kind of surprised at the way you’re handling this part.”
“You don’t trust me? After all I did in Berlin?”
“I trust you, Jet. Yeah. I do. Pretty much.”
“Thank you. Really.”
“Jet, let me tell you something. I appreciate all you’re doing. You know I do. But I don’t see how you survive this, girl. Going against a man like your father. Maybe we’ll get out alive tonight. But they’ll find you, Jet. He’ll find you. He won’t let you go after this.”
“That’s my problem, isn’t it? You ready?”
“Let’s go.”
“Sorry about the choppy ride,” Stoke said, the two of them side by side at the wheel of Foo Fighter. The storm was kicking up now and they were getting bounced all over the tiny wheelhouse. Rain was beating against the windshield but the wipers worked pretty well. And it was warm and dry inside. “Want me to slow down?”
“Actually, I’m amazed at how you keep missing all these sampans. You see that thing all lit up on the horizon? That’s the Golden Dragon. We’ll tie up on the other side.”
“Got it.”
Jet looked at him. “How much do you know now, Stoke? From what you took out of Schatzi’s office?”
“Not enough, Jet, or I wouldn’t be here. I work for Alex Hawke. And Alex, at least for right now, is working for the U.S. government. I’m here in Hong Kong because Alex Hawke told me to be here. Just so we’re clear. Who’s doing what for who, I mean.”
“I’m clear, Stoke. I want you to be. I’m on your side.”
“Good. Anyway, Washington is still busy examining everything I stole from Schatzi’s office. We know the Germans are building a supertanker fleet for the French. Ultralarge crude carriers in the half-million-ton range. We know the French government-owned company, Elf, is setting up a massive operation of ship terminals, refineries, and tankers to transport oil from the Gulf to China.”
“What else have you got?”
“China gets oil. France gets money. End of story.”
“And Leviathan?”
“Same story. She was built in Germany for the French by your pal, Schatzi. Just like the tankers. Good business idea, if you ask me.”
“My father’s got a lot of ideas, Stoke. Some good, some no doubt very, very bad. That’s why we’re having dinner with him on the Golden Dragon.”