The triads rarely had anything to do with gwailos; their targets of choice tended to be local businesses, the Hong Kong movie industry, Macau's gambling concessions, wealthy Chinese visitors both in China and abroad, and the traditional rackets of extortion, prostitution, loan sharking, smuggling, and corrupt politics. But western visitors might run afoul of them in the streets or in some of the sleazier hostess clubs and bars. Kazuko had told him once that some of the more colorful triad characters affected the criminal "look" made popular by Hong Kong martial arts movies— flashy suits and dark glasses.
The Communists had smashed the triad hold on the opium business in and around Shanghai back in 1949 and helped make them a truly international empire; nowadays, the triads worked hand in black hand with the PLA and with corrupt government officials. Hong Kong had always valiantly, if mostly unsuccessfully, tried to resist the gangs. The ICAC — the Independent Commission Against Corruption — had so far done a good job at exposing triad infiltration into local police and government.
But it was a losing battle, especially now that Beijing had arrived on the scene with its own ideas of how government and the Hong Kong police should be run, its own choices of personnel, its own agenda.
Xian appeared uncomfortable at the mention of the triads. "There…is no triad," he said. "That old story. False story."
Denial. A longtime favorite of politicians and city administrators everywhere when faced with a problem that would not go away. "Uh-huh. So… if we have local bouncers packing guns, and there's no such thing as triads, that suggests they work for someone else.
Maybe… the PLA? The MMI?"
"What you say?"
The man's English might be broken, but Garrett knew better than to assume that poor English meant poor thinking. His eyes were hard and sharp. He knew exactly what Garrett had just suggested.
Garrett pulled the business card Officer Kuo had given him from his wallet and passed it across the desk. "This gentleman came to St. Elizabeth's and talked to me just this morning. It seems the MMI was trying to roust me as well, out at the airport hotel." Reaching up, he touched the bandage on his head, felt the sticky wetness on his fingertips. "They did this to me and assaulted my girlfriend, a foreign national. Do you detect a common thread here?"
"What are you talking about?"
Interesting. The lieutenant's English had just become a lot sharper, and more polished as well.
"I and my men are from an American nuclear submarine in Victoria Harbor. The crisis between China and the United States almost came to a head the other day. My guess is that the Ministry of Military Intelligence thought it could grab some people off that sub, make it look like an ordinary assault or a bar fight… and maybe pick up some information on one of America's latest submarines. What do you think?"
"Your men were arrested and brought here, sir," the lieutenant said slowly. He was looking at the business card, as though reading it carefully. "But that had nothing to do with… outside agencies. They were involved in a fight with the club's management, and with some Russian guests."
"Ah, yes. A group of Russian sailors. How do they figure into this?"
The man shook his head. "They not want to pay bill."
His English was slipping again. "Were they fighting with my men?"
"No. Your men… help Russians, when people at club try to get Russians to pay."
Garrett nodded sagely. "The old story, huh? A rip-off? A con? Put hidden charges on the patrons' bills, then threaten them with arrest or worse when they don't pay?"
The lieutenant nodded. "That… appears to be what happened."
"That sounds like a triad tactic. But if there's no triad, it must be an MMI trap. Which do you think?"
The police lieutenant blinked, then leaned far back in his chair. He'd just been put in a nasty double bind. He could admit to being either part of a triad con or part of an MMI sting operation against foreign nationals.
"What is it you want?"
Garrett spread his hands expressively. "I want to do what's right. The Seawolf has a sailors' fund, money we can use to pay for the damages and, ah, for any inconvenience. But my boat is leaving, and those seven sailors are going to be on her. Today."
He had to be careful here. He wasn't sure whether Lieutenant Xian was amenable to a bribe or not. If he wasn't, Garrett knew his offer of money had to be made in such a way that Xian could overlook it as a bribe and accept it as payment for damages.
"There are really just two ways to handle this, Lieutenant Xian," he continued. "I can walk out of here with my men and leave you the money to pay that hostess club for any damages…or you can keep them here and start an international incident. Our countries are close enough to war as it is, don't you think? If I were you, I'd hate to think I was the one who'd called down a cruise missile attack on Hong
Kong."
"If I kept your sailors here," Xian said, all pretense of broken English gone now, "it would be because they had started the international incident. Not me." But he was clearly thinking about this hard. "Damages at the Fuk Wai total at least a thousand dollars, American."
Garrett doubted that was true, but in any case he didn't have that much money on him. At least it sounded as though Xian was willing to cooperate. "May I use your phone?"
The lieutenant gestured to his desk phone.
Routing the call through the American consulate again, Garrett talked with Dougherty on board the Seawolf. Lawless, he learned, would be back on board in a few minutes.
"Okay, COB," Garrett said. "I'll try to see the men here. Round up a shore party, as many as you can spare. Armed. Fill the captain in on the situation, and see if the paymaster can put together a thousand dollars in cash."
"What are we doing, paying ransom?"
"No. Damages. If we can settle this peacefully, we will." He glanced at the lieutenant, who was openly eavesdropping. "If they won't settle peacefully, though, we're going to finish this."
"Yes, sir!"
He hung up the phone. "Lieutenant, I'd like to see my men."
There was a moment's hesitation. "I do not yet know that I can release them into your custody."
"Lieutenant Xian, I am the executive officer of the USS Seawolf. That makes me responsible for the men in my command, for their behavior, for their discipline. And I assure you that they will be disciplined."
"And the damage at the Fuk Wai?"
"You heard me ask for the money to be brought here."
"Yes." Xian thought for a moment, calculations flicking behind dark, nearly expressionless eyes. "Very well. I'll have them brought up here."
A few minutes later the seven Seawolves were led into the station's receiving area. They had scuffs, bruises, and disarrayed clothing, but nothing worse. They walked with slow, shuffling steps, their shoelaces were gone.
Garrett caught Toynbee's eye and winked.
"All right, you miserable excuses for human beings!" he shouted in his best parade ground bellow. He'd been Cadet Petty Officer in Charge at Annapolis and could do a fair imitation of a drill instructor. "Fall in! Fall in on this line!"
Startled, the men toed an imaginary line in front of the police lieutenant's desk, standing at rigid attention. Pacing up the line, Garrett launched into a sulfurous tirade. "God damn it to hell! What were you people thinking? Were you even thinking at all? I am going to have your miserable, sorry hides flayed, dried, tanned, and nailed to the Seawolf's mess deck as a warning to the rest of them!"