UAKM — CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Even in the wee hours of the morning, the New San Francisco Interplanetary Spaceport was a teeming jambalaya of humanity. Swarming mobs of disheveled and nicotine-deprived travelers from hundreds of countries and speaking dozens of languages created smelly, pell-mell pandemonium that would’ve made the aftermath of the Tower of Babel look like a quilting bee. I was reminded anew of how much I loathed spaceports. I also despised going to sporting events, concerts, and grocery superstores, all for the same reason: people. I was convinced that you could turn even the most decent and intelligent person into a complete idiot simply by putting them into a crowd. On second thought, most people were idiots one on one, as well.
I jostled and knifed my way through roaming clusters of imbeciles and eventually reached the bank of courtesy phones. Ching and her matching set of goons were waiting.
As the thugs cleared a path through the crowd, Ching informed me that she’d called in a few favors and gotten arrangements made for our flight. She certainly did work fast. It made me glad we were on the same team.
We made our way through the terminal to the gates. About five miles later, we reached the charter gates and exited the building. The night was clear, but cold, and our breath was steaming as we crossed the tarmac. Eventually, we reached an aircraft hangar and entered. It was chilly and dark inside, except for a rectangle of light spilling from a doorway in the back of the structure. When we reached the door, the goons waited outside while Ching and I entered.
The room beyond turned out to be a small office with one occupant — a rough-looking chap, reclining in a chair with his feet up on a desk. Ching introduced me to Karl Voorman and said that he would be handling the piloting duties on our little excursion.
Voorman shook my hand and nodded, without a hint of pleasantness. Ching began discussing arrangements with him, giving me a chance to scurtinize the pilot.
He wore a full beard, which was jet-black. Together with his dark, sunken eyes, it gave him a distinctly sinister look. His voice was low and sullen, and when he spoke, it was almost begrudgingly. I got the impression that he was a man of action and preferred to avoid talking whenever possible. It was trait I’d always admired and was number three on the list of characteristics I looked for in a woman. Unfortunately, in all my past relationships, I’d rarely gotten past the first two characteristics.
Ching and Voorman bartered briefly, then came to an agreement. Ching insisted that there be no questions asked and offered the pilot a handsome payoff for his silence. Five minutes later, we left the hangar and walked to a midsized shuttle-cruiser, parked just outside. It was the kind of spacecraft used by successful smugglers — very fast and maneuverable. I guessed that Voorman ran a lucrative operation.
The shuttle was no vacation cruise ship, but it was sufficiently equipped for the thirty-hour flight. We strapped in for takeoff and, forty-five minutes later, were officially off-planet. I’d only been on two spaceflights in my life, and the experience was still a novelty to me. Maybe that was why I didn’t feel particularly tired, even though it was almost 5 A.M.
Despite the moderate turbulence associated with breaking free of Earth’s gravitational pull, Ching’s henchmen were nodding off, snug behind their safety harnesses. Ching was awake and seemed somewhat jittery. I yawned and glanced at my new watch. I wondered if Ching might have some idea as to its significance. There was nothing to lose by checking. I removed the watch from my wrist and handed it over. “What do you think about this watch?”
Ching looked it over without a hint of recognition, then gave it back to me. “Looks nice.”
Since it obviously didn’t mean anything to her, I decided to spare her the details. A few moments later, we broke free of the exposure six hundred miles up, and the ride smoothed out. Ching pulled out a large knapsack. Luckily, she’d shown considerably more foresight than I had, bringing along plenty of ready-to-eat foodstuffs. Her knapsack, however, contained an even more valuable treasure: two bottles of Black Bush Irish whiskey. She produced a bottle and held it up. “Got a use for this?”
I smiled warmly. Ching had just advanced from the “Casual Ally” category straight into
“Friends Of Tex.”
“I can think of a couple.”
She opened the bottle, took a long draught, and handed it to me. “I hate these space flights. They always make me sick. All I can do is get drunk and try to sleep.”
I nodded sympathetically. “I understand completely. I have the same reaction to women.” I raised the bottle to my parched lips. “Nothing personal.”
I drank deeply and felt the tingling warmth run down my gullet and into my empty stomach. This wasn’t the official PI breakfast — that, of course, was a cigarette and coffee. This was more like the PI brunch. I took another mouthful, then passed the bottle back. Then I got out my pack of Luckies and offered one to Ching, who declined. As I lit up, I caught sight of a no smoking sticker. The cigarette tasted extra good.
As I exhaled, Lou snorted and jolted upright. “We there yet?”
Ching spoke like a protective parent. “Not yet, Lou. Go back to sleep.”
Lou nodded wearily and almost immediately began to snore.
Ching passed the whiskey over and turned to look out a window. I studied her for several minutes. I wasn’t quite sure what to think of Ms. Ching. When I’d been tracking down the statuette, I’d gotten the impression that everyone was scared to death of her.
Now that I was sitting across from her, she didn’t seem particularly dangerous. She was just a regular, living, breathing person with an upset stomach. It confirmed my theory that mystique was always more powerful that reality. I cleared my throat to get her attention. “Tell me something, Ms. Ching. Why is everybody so scared of you?”
Ching smiled and motioned for me to pass the Black Bush.
“Because that’s the way I like it. I’ve put a good deal of effort into developing a reputation. I rarely deal face to face with my clients. The less people know about me, the better it is for business.”
“You ever killed anyone?”
The woman laughed. “Of course. Bluffing only takes you so far. There isn’t a lot of integrity in my line of work. If someone crosses you and gets away with it, everyone else will think they can do it, too.”
“You plan on killing me?”
Ching shrugged and took a sip of whiskey. “I haven’t decided yet. We’ll have to see how things go. Right now, I’d say it’s sixty-forty in your favor.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you do, specifically?”
Ching yawned and capped the bottle. “Why do you want to know?”
I dropped my cigarette butt onto the floor and stepped on it. “I’m thinking about getting into another line of work. Yours seems to pay pretty well.”
Ching leaned back into her seat. “I’m sort of a commodities dealer. I use my connections to find rare and valuable items, buy them, then sell them to the highest bidder.”
“How’d you get involved with the statuette?”
Ching smiled drowsily. “The statuette has a long history behind it. No one really knows how old it is, but it’s one of the most ancient artifacts in the world. I’d heard about it years ago, that it had disappeared during the 1940s. Most of those in the know assumed that it had been added to the Nazis’ extensive collection of art and occult objects. Then it suddenly turned up it some Viennese attic. The man who found it donated it to a museum in Vienna. Immediately, a race was on to see who could steal it first. Private collectors began to ante up astronomical offers for it. Naturally, it was something I felt I should get in on.
“Security at the museum was very tight, but an accomplished acquaintance of mine managed to get past it and snatch the statuette. Knowing that he was sitting on a fortune, he contacted me and asked me to make inquiries. I compiled a list of potential buyers and collected bids, the highest of which was in the high nine figures. I was about to carry out the deal when I was contacted by the head of CAPRICORN. How he knew about me and the statuette, I don’t know, but he filled me in on its history and the cult that wanted it.