Chapter 32
CHAPTER
Steers did not like to be summoned by anyone and there were few in the world who could command her to do anything. But one of them was about to come aboard her jet.
She now glanced out the window to see the arrival of the impressive motorcade.
Steers eyed her five immensely capable bodyguards. There were traces of anxiety in all of their features. They knew as she did that the power represented by the man she was about to meet dwarfed anything they could muster.
She rose when the man appeared in the front galley.
He wore a dark suit, a white shirt with a matching pocket square, and a light blue tie.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about him, for he was not tall or handsome or physically impressive in any way.
But one only needed to look into his eyes to see his confidence, intelligence, and ruthlessness.
Even Steers, no slouch in the field of intimidation herself, could feel it.
She moved forward to greet him, and then led him back to the private room just forward of her sleeping quarters.
They sat at the conference table. Hot tea and bottled waters were distributed by the plane’s attendant, then Steers and the man were left alone to discuss what needed to be discussed.
Steers wore a long robe of equal parts red and green. In her heels she was taller than he was. Sitting down, they were of roughly equal height. In all other perspectives, she was dwarfed by him. And he also had a trump card, which she knew he would not hesitate to play if the need arose.
The man smiled and said, “This is a nice plane, Ms. Steers. Very new, I see.” He rubbed his fingers along the fine wood of the table top. “Business must be very good.”
“This is the longest trip I have taken on it. I was in the United States before.”
The man’s gaze rose to meet hers, his expression an unusual mix of humor and quiet gamesmanship. “We always know where in the world you are.”
“You flatter me with your attention.”
He glanced out the window. “I remember well the families of Kokang,” he said. “Wei, Bai, and Liu.” He looked at her. “And Steers. British among the Han Chinese. Think of that!” His words and tone carried a lightheartedness that did not carry over into his features.
“My mother is Chinese. A faithful communist, as you know.”
He nodded. “But you are a capitalist, as everyone needs to be. There is no greater need than one’s own well-being. The philosophy of survival of the fittest weeds out the weak and unambitious.”
“I am what I need to be. And my gratitude is endless for our partnership.”
The man’s congenial look faded. “The word partnership implies an element of equality that is not present between us, Ms. Steers.”
“If I misspoke, my sincerest apologies. I have no doubt as to the structure of our arrangement or its relative hierarchy.”
“Your eloquence does you justice, as does your diplomacy.”
She nodded but had nothing to add. The fewer words said the better with this man. He neither forgot nor forgave, and she had already stumbled.
He glanced out the window, where in the distance sat a towering range of mountains. “There are those who believe that another coup will take place in Myanmar in the very near future. Only they are at odds over who will be behind it.”
Steers had thoughts that this man might be behind it because control of an entire country could be valuable. But she said, “Is the current junta not to your liking? The economic engine is beginning to purr, I understand.”
“Coups are for many reasons, not all tied to money. And the junta is weak. Large parts of the country, particularly to the north, are out of its control.”
“And how do you see such playing out?”
“What I foresee is not for dissemination at present, nor is it the reason for this meeting.”
Steers took a sip of her tea and waited. She knew that this man would choose his words with calculated care and she needed to do the same.
“We have given you a long leash on the Temple family. They started well initially, but conditions have recently deteriorated. Cleaning up problems creates other problems. The FBI is engaged and cannot be easily shut down. To be frank, they know of your involvement. They also know about Rhett Temple. They suspect the two recent deaths and one disappearance at the various companies are related to what you are doing. They may suspect the motive. Or at least one of them,” he amended.
He stopped talking and looked at her.
Steers began, “I have met with Temple and expressed these same concerns. I have been assured that in the future different practices will be deployed to head off any other unfortunate outcomes.”
“You rely on him to accomplish this?”
“To a certain extent, which is not the same as trusting him.” She looked at him but was unable to read his features. He was as good at this game as she was.
No, he is better at it than I am. But knowing that may be an advantage.
He said, “Let me venture into the weeds. Walter Nash? You know of him?”
“Yes. He is truly excellent at his job and unwittingly aids us.”
“That is irrelevant now. Walter Nash has been approached by the FBI. I must admit being disturbed that you did not know this.”
This is my second stumble in fewer than five minutes.
She said, “They obviously moved from low to middle level to the upper executive ranks. I also spoke to Rhett Temple about this very possibility.”
She glanced at him to find the man watching her closely. “Your answer is inherently unsatisfactory,” he said.
“I understand that it is. I must do better.”
“Whether that response is satisfactory or not will be tabled for now. Nash must be dealt with. But not in the usual way. Death here is not enough of a deterrent, as has been shown from past results. Living people can be dissuaded.”
“Blackmail?” asked Steers.
“Actually, something more than that is needed.” He paused, but it seemed only for dramatic emphasis, because she could tell he knew exactly what else he wanted to say.
“What is needed is personal devastation, which will leave no possibility of reliance on anything that the man says or does. That will pull all the teeth from the FBI. They may well abandon him and, indeed, rethink their entire strategy, with the result that our problem may go away. That is the forceful tactic needed here.” He looked at her. “Do you not agree?”
Steers thought for a few moments. “There are ways that such can be done.”
“You will see to the formulation of a plan. If sufficient I will approve it.”
She nodded and took another sip of her tea, fortifying herself. Steers had noted that the man had touched neither the tea nor the water. A careful person.
As he started to rise she discovered the courage to ask the question. “And my mother?”
He sat back down. “Yes?”
“Is she… well?”
“As well as the last time you asked. But future responses may differ from past ones. It all depends on you, Ms. Steers. All on you. You recognize this, do you not?”
She nodded. “Is there the possibility of me speaking with her?”
“You bring the Walter Nash matter to a successful conclusion and I will do better than that. You will be able to see her. At my discretion and on my timeline, of course.”
Steers’s eyes widened slightly at this offered treasure. “I will have an excellent plan to you in one week for your approval.”
“You will have it to me in twenty-four hours.”
She nodded.
“And this is not for distribution to the Temples.”
She nodded once more and watched him stroll out like he owned her and her plane.
And in all significant ways, he did.
After he and his motorcade were gone, her jet turned around and taxied to the runway. A few minutes later Steers was soaring upward toward an altitude of forty-one thousand feet, where she would sail along, with a vigorous tailwind, at nearly seven hundred miles an hour.
The woman closed her eyes, and as the jet hit pockets of turbulence during its ascent, her fingers closed around the sturdy arms of her chair.
Though she routinely flew all over the world, Steers did not enjoy air travel and for a very simple reason.
She had been on a plane that had crashed, killing her father and four other people, including the pilots.
The fact of the crash and her father’s death had been kept completely secret.
The stench of spilled jet fuel and smoke, the screams of the dying, and the bite of the flames invading her body would never leave Steers.
She had seen her father perish right in front of her, his head crushed to pulp by the violent propulsion of a section of the plane’s interior, a fate that had narrowly missed her.
She lifted the sleeve of her robe and studied the damaged skin there from burns suffered during the crash and its aftermath. The marks were not simply on one arm.
She had refused all entreaties to have the burned flesh surgically repaired using skin grafts and other plastic surgery measures. Instead, she had done the minimum required to avoid infections and restricted movement. Steers wanted it as a reminder that every day could be her last.
As the air smoothed out, she looked out the window. In her mind’s eye she saw her father’s image, and then her mother’s. And after she erased both from her brain, she saw the image of a man who looked like millions of other men.
She did not know Walter Nash personally. Steers knew if she did she would find him distinctly uninteresting. However, to destroy a man you needed to know what he held important.
Steers had endured misery and physical agony at the hands of her siblings.
She now stood alone, towering over their vanquished bodies where they rested in fragments in unknown and forgotten graves.
She had not asked to be placed into such a life-and-death struggle, but she had been.
And, to her, survival was a goal above all others.
I count on myself.
Ten hours later, after receiving some intel from various sources, she settled upon her plan, beating the twenty-four-hour deadline by an impressive margin.
She instinctively knew it would be acceptable to the man who had walked off her jet and traveled back to a world where he reigned head and shoulders above almost all others.
And I will be able to see my mother. If he keeps his word.
She closed her eyes, squeezing the lids tight and thereby seeing only blackness. “Goodbye, Walter Nash.”