7
Block 9, Singapore General Hospital / Keppel Shipyard
August 26, 6:00 p.m. SGT
The sun hung in the western sky as we emerged from Block 9 and into an evening heavy with moisture. A light wind blew inland from the Singapore Strait, stirring the trees and blowing loose strands of hair across my face.
Traffic whizzed by on the other side of a low fence.
I turned my face toward the sinking sun. From deep inside I felt a sharp snap. Something breaking that could not be repaired.
Cass was gone.
“I’ve called the car,” Emily said, stopping at the curb.
I took my grief and horror and locked them momentarily away. I had to think of Ocean House. “I need to see Red Dragon .”
“Do you not wish for some privacy to call your family?”
I shook my head. “It’s three in the morning in Seattle. I’ll let them have a final peaceful night.”
Or as peaceful as it could be while Guy faced his illness and Robert worked to discover what had caused Rambler to implode.
“You are strong willed,” Emily said.
I didn’t feel strong willed. I felt like tissue paper flattened on a wet sidewalk. But I lifted my chin. “We don’t have time to waste, do we? Not if the build is five weeks behind.”
At a port north and west of where the container ships docked, Emily directed the driver to pull up to a pair of high steel gates. I recognized this as Keppel Shipyard, where Ocean House had rented space for Red Dragon to be outfitted and commissioned—the final stages before the sea trials. I’d been in both this yard and the build yard on my previous visit, touring the facilities during the weeks while the hull and the superstructure were joined together.
We checked in with the security guard, and he opened the gates remotely for the car to drive through. Around us laborers toiled on refits and repairs. Emily told the driver to drop us off in front of a sprawling office building and to wait there until we’d finished.
She gestured toward the building. “The on-site offices of Ocean House. I checked in with our build supervisor, Mr. Ewing, but he has left for the day.”
I followed Emily down a path toward the water as the sun began its plunge into the ocean. Security lights flared on. The concrete path gave way to gravel and then mud, which Emily negotiated gracefully. I worked to match the smaller woman’s pace and poise.
We rounded a bend, and there was Red Dragon .
The boat rose high above us, floating serenely in the bay. The port lights reflected on the water and on the ship’s red-and-onyx dragon-etched hull. Emily led me up a steep staircase to a viewing platform. From there it was possible to see that Red Dragon was more than a luxury ship. More than a research vessel. More, even, than a wealthy man’s ego forged out of teak, aluminum, and steel.
She was art.
The boat, officially known as OH M/Y 243 until she was commissioned, was 336 feet long with a 4-foot beam. Her internal volume boasted a gross tonnage of 2,999 GT. She was an ultrafast displacement boat with a hull tunneled for reduced draft while in shallow waters. She had a maximum range of five thousand nautical miles at cruising speed. With a full-service crew of twenty, she could carry up to eighteen guests in nine staterooms. Her tender garage boasted a sailing dinghy, support tenders, Seabobs, sea scooters, Windsurfers, and, most impressive, a Triton submersible that would allow Mr. Mèng to indulge in underwater exploration.
But the statistics said little to anyone outside the industry. What would matter to yachting magazines, future clients, and the media was that Red Dragon was the embodiment of elegance and strength. A tribute to man’s determination to navigate the world and a promise that he could. It was a structure built to close the gap between continents and prove that man dominated nature.
I leaned against the railing, reaching out a hand as if I could touch Red Dragon ’s gleaming hull, with its elegant bow, graceful stern, and—most unusual—metallic red paint and the serpentine dragon that curled along her length.
Inside Red Dragon , lamps glowed, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the luxurious interior draped in golds and creams and vivid reds, all accented with metalwork of shimmering bronze.
Although I’d been part of her design from the beginning and reviewed sketches and photographs during the process, I was stunned.
“She’s magnificent,” I murmured.
Emily moved to stand beside me. “Glorious,” the other woman agreed. “George Mèng is a very lucky man.”
“George Mèng and his family,” I said. I’d read a description of the billionaire’s wife and children in Cassandra’s notes.
“Not his family.” Emily shook her head. “They cannot sail with him.”
“What do you mean?”
“George Mèng is an important man to the Chinese Communist Party,” Emily said. “The brilliance of his work in artificial intelligence makes him irreplaceable.”
I was confused. “Meaning what? Don’t they want George and his family to enjoy this yacht he’s commissioned?”
“ Red Dragon will serve Mr. Mèng well as he hosts business associates and fellow researchers from around the world on her glorious decks. That is why he was allowed to commission the boat and why the party insisted on her grandeur instead of frowning on a display of wealth they normally consider vulgar— Red Dragon will impress scientists and investors from America and Europe and help advance Mr. Mèng’s research. But it is forbidden for him to take his family on board.”
The Chinese were infamous for stealing trade secrets. Would Mr. Mèng be sharing research or appropriating it? But I focused on the family. “Forbidden because ...”
“Because if he has his wife and children with him, the party worries he might not come home.”
It took a moment for Emily’s words to make sense.
“You mean he might defect?”
“That is the government’s concern. It is not, I believe, a reasonable worry for a man like Mr. Mèng, who is well placed within the party, has his own wealth, and work he loves. There is no reason for him to leave a country that has given him so much. But this is how the party thinks.”
“How sad for his family, that they can’t enjoy the yacht.”
Emily’s earrings danced as she shrugged. “Mr. Mèng’s family does not suffer. They have a beautiful home in Shanghai. High-rise apartments in New York and Paris. A country home in Lijiang. There is much for them to enjoy in the world. They are loyal to the party and happy to do their part for the glory of their country. Additionally, it is my understanding that Mrs. Mèng is susceptible to seasickness. She has told me she is secretly relieved at not having to go on an ocean voyage.”
I turned so that I faced the shorter woman and parked an elbow on the railing. “You know so much about Mr. Mèng’s family from working for Cass?”
Emily’s face was unreadable in the semidark. A single band of light fell across her jaw, as if she were an actor in a film noir.
“I am not Singaporean,” Emily said. “I am a Chinese national, which means I understand how my country works. Cass thought of me as her assistant, and I acted in that capacity. But I am employed by Mr. Mèng to facilitate communication between his staff and Cassandra’s. In America, I believe I would be called chief of staff.” The band of light moved to the center of her face as she shifted, highlighting her cheekbones. “Or, rather, chief of staff was my job. I do not know what will happen now.”
With Emily’s words, the weight of Cass’s work crashed onto my shoulders. I would not be able to leave Singapore anytime soon, save for a brief trip to fly Cass home. I would have to take her place here until Red Dragon had finished sea trials and was ready to be delivered to George Mèng.
Ocean House and the family came before my grief or my personal wishes.
A sudden longing for Seattle and its comfortable familiarity swept through me with the forlorn simplicity of a foghorn. I longed for my office and staff. My apartment. My handful of friends.
And my family. My soon-to-be miserably broken family.
More than my longing for home, I so desired Cass’s presence beside me that her loss fell like a physical blow. I staggered and gripped the railing, glad that the coming night covered my weakness.
After a moment I said, “Then I guess that means you are now my assistant.”
“You will take your sister’s place?”
I drew a deep breath. “ Red Dragon is my ship until Mr. Mèng takes possession. I’d like to board her now.”
The shadows had crept across the viewing platform. They swallowed Emily’s face and form.
“As you wish,” she said from the darkness.
We went down the stairs, walked to the passerelle, and boarded Ocean House’s most magnificent yacht.