15
Lian Shan Shuang Lin Monastery
August 28, 7:05 a.m. SGT
I stared at Charlie Han with horror.
“Where is Inspector Lee?” I asked.
Han leaned his umbrella against the wall inside the entryway and slipped off his shoes. “The good inspector decided that meeting with you was not in his best interest.”
Gooseflesh prickled my arms. “What have you done with him?”
“I assure you, no harm has befallen Huang Lee.”
“The way no harm befell Cassandra?”
Han strode past me and stopped before one of the gold statues flanking the Buddha.
“What do you know of Buddhism, Miss Brenner?”
I said nothing.
“We are standing in Tian Wang Dian, the Hall of the Celestial King,” he said. “This warrior I stand before is the Skanda bodhisattva, one of eight divine protectors of the Buddha’s relics. He protects the teachings of Buddhism, and for this I honor him.”
“You’re a Buddhist?” I scoffed.
The faint ripple across his shoulders suggested a shrug. “I am Chinese. That means I am many things. I have studied the philosophers Confucius and Mencius and the Buddhist leader Nan Huai-Chin. The I Ching and the Romance of the Three Kingdoms , and Mao’s Little Red Book . Most importantly, I follow the wise words of our paramount leader, the general secretary of the People’s Republic of China.”
“Is this litany meant to impress me?”
“Whether or not you are impressed, Miss Brenner, is immaterial to me. Although I believe it would serve you to become familiar with the culture of most of the people who live in Singapore. That is merely good business.”
Understanding the people of Singapore had been Cass’s job. All I had was the story I’d read in a guidebook about the merlion and a prince who sacrificed his crown to an ocean deity in the hope of getting his men to shore alive.
If only I, too, had a crown. I would gladly toss it overboard for help, divine or otherwise.
I stared up at the Buddha’s benevolent gaze. “You told me at the hawker center that you and Cass worked together.”
“It is true. She talked to people. Heard things. Now and then she would pass along information.”
Charlie Han. Spy. Informant.
“Cass a spy?” I tried a laugh, coughed when it remained in my throat. “I don’t believe you.”
He tipped his face toward me, his expression unreadable. “Your sister’s fall from that balcony was both unfortunate and unnecessary.”
My heart clenched, but I held myself still in imitation of the serene Buddha towering over us. “What do you know about my sister’s death, Mr. Han?”
I watched from the corner of my eye as he stepped closer to the statue of the Skanda bodhisattva and tilted back his head. The statue’s eyes gazed past him. “I know that you suspect your sister did not kill herself. Would it comfort you to know that I share your doubts?”
I kept my eyes locked on the Buddha. “I’m listening.”
“Your sister meant well. At least in the beginning. She was desperate to help your company manage their financial setbacks. But Cassandra was too easily swayed by stronger forces. And too fragile to balance her yin-yang.” He pressed his palms together and gave the statue a small bow. “She was persuaded to take the dark path. I believe the price she paid for this decision was her life.”
The smell of wax and incense thickened. From outside, far away, came the flutter of bird wings. But I was thinking—again—of that white powder. Of a hotel room that cost more than a month’s earnings.
I was also thinking that Cass was neither easily swayed nor fragile.
“Were you my sister’s confidant, Mr. Han?”
“Now and then.”
He turned his gaze from the calm face of the Skanda bodhisattva and studied me. Although Charlie Han was twenty years younger than my father, his hard stare reminded me of the way Guy had regarded me before he sent me to Singapore. As if my flesh were translucent and revealed every weakness within.
I pressed my damp palms to my pants. The day’s rising heat made my skin long to slip from my bones.
“No words?” Han said. “Perhaps you would like to see more of the monastery. Lian Shan Shuang Lin was established by a wealthy merchant in the late nineteenth century. I believe his generous act shows that one can be both a good businessman and an honest man.”
“Is that what you are?”
“I am not a businessman. But I am honest when it serves me. And it serves me for you to know the truth.” He gestured toward a hallway. “Shall we?”
Without waiting for an answer, he strode, sock-footed, toward the hall that opened on our right. I hurried after him. We passed through another temple, this one larger than the first, then through a doorway into a tree-lined courtyard. The rising sun sulked behind the clouds, its diffuse glow warming the gold-enameled decorations on the eaves and the Chinese characters emblazoned on the walls. Our presence felt like an affront to this peaceful place.
My long hair against my neck brought unwelcome warmth. Sweat beaded. I found a clip in my purse and twisted the strands atop my head.
Han gestured toward a stone bench beneath a pair of trees. The leaves were the soft color of unripe olives.
“Please, sit, Miss Brenner.”
I did as he suggested. He sat beside me and removed his eyeglasses. Without the reflective glass shielding his eyes, he looked younger than I’d taken him for. Younger and almost vulnerable.
He said, “I imagine you know a great deal about your client, Mr. Mèng.”
Sudden sunlight stabbed through a wider break in the clouds and flared in my eyes. I pulled back into the thin shade. “Of course. Understanding a client’s needs and wishes is the first step in creating a yacht.”
“Then you are aware of his taste for opulence, which is displayed so dazzlingly aboard Red Dragon . Presumably you also know that his family is part of what is referred to in China as the red aristocracy.”
“Members of the Chinese Communist Party?”
“Much more than that. They are descendants of those who fought with and defended Chairman Mao Zedong in his revolt against Chiang Kai-shek in 1949. They are royalty, Miss Brenner. But, sadly, that doesn’t always make them virtuous men and women.”
I kept my gaze on the temple on the far side of the courtyard. A monk walked past a doorway. Candles flickered within the gloom. The pit that had opened in my stomach suggested I knew where Han was heading: illegally concealed weapons and a stash of gold bars didn’t coexist with virtue. I closed my eyes.
Han went on, his voice a wasp in my ear. “Mr. Mèng had the kind of education and opportunities afforded only the highest members of the CCP and their families. The best schools. Private tutors in mathematics and the arts. Trips abroad and education at the most renowned universities in the world. And to his credit, Mr. Mèng—unlike many members of the red aristocracy—is not only brilliant but hardworking. He was born, as you Americans say, with a silver spoon in his mouth. But he did not waste his opportunities. He worked hard at elite schools in China, then obtained his PhD in computation science and engineering at MIT in Massachusetts. He studied neural networks and artificial intelligence with some of the biggest names in the field. When he finished his studies, he brought his knowledge back to China.”
I opened my eyes. “He stole our secrets.”
Han looked at me, a strange twist to his lips. Like bitterness. “He brought home his education.”
“I would expect you to be appreciative of that, Mr. Han. But you’re cross.”
Sudden anger simmered like steam in a closed pot. “He also brought home his new American ways.”
“You don’t approve.”
“My feelings in the matter are of no concern. I am here at the request of the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection. They have their own worries about the Americanization of Mr. Mèng.”
“Discipline inspection?”
He heard something in my tone. “I assure you, there is nothing charming or antiquated about the commission. We are the highest anti-corruption agency in China. We have eyes everywhere. And we are quick to act.” He returned his spectacles to his face, and his eyes vanished behind reflected daylight.
I was confident my own expression betrayed nothing. “What does this discipline commission have to do with Cass?”
“Please.” He held up a hand. “Allow me to explain.”
Once again I noticed his hands. They were not the hands of a bureaucrat, soft and manicured. Han’s palms were calloused, the remaining nails ragged, the knuckles overlarge, as if from long labor. Or a lot of bar fights.
I fished in my purse for my sunglasses, as if hiding my eyes would hide my thoughts. “I’m listening.”
“China is a difficult place these days for billionaires,” Han said. “Our leader recognizes that it is wrong for the desires of the few to be raised above the needs of the many. Some men and women—those who are too American, too greedy to be true patriots—they flee our great country. And in doing so, they steal their wealth away from the people to whom it rightfully belongs.”
The glittering opulence of Red Dragon . Her powerful engines, her sophisticated technology. The submarine. The helipad. Even the astonishingly beautiful yellow pear tree table that had caught my eye when I’d walked through the salon. “You believe Mr. Mèng has put his wealth into Red Dragon and will sail away with it.”
“Someday, perhaps, that is his intention. But we believe that first he has other work in mind. What is the oldest business in the world, Miss Brenner?”
I played his game. “Prostitution.”
His tongue clicked against his teeth in a tsking sound. “You Americans and your obsession with sex. I am speaking of trade. Even before warfare or prostitution, there was the exchange of goods. And the dark side of that worthwhile enterprise is smuggling.”
My hand twitched, the smallest betrayal.
Han caught it. “Perhaps you know more than you allow, Miss Brenner.”
“Is everyone at your discipline commission so imaginative, Mr. Han?”
He continued. “Once it was opium that flooded our ports. Now it is cigarettes. Cars. Beer. Oil. Genuine Moutai instead of the fake swill being touted to the gullible wealthy. And, of course, it goes both ways. Smugglers not only import goods to China but export our commodities to other countries. The wealthy have realized that if they can no longer overtly transfer their millions out of the country, they can steal away art and gold and precious relics. Illegal drugs. Unwilling women. All that is required is a place on a ship where this cargo can be hidden and protected.”
Cass’s black space. I wanted to close my eyes. “Singapore as a smuggling base? The government wouldn’t tolerate it.”
“Singapore is a city of mandated virtue. But men don’t take well to mandates. Not when there is profit to be made.”
“You could say the same of communism. How strong is the socialist ideal when politics runs up against profit? Or freedom?”
His smile was cold. “Those of us who work for the discipline commission are patriots. We care more for China than for personal wealth. Even more than for our lives.”
A lizard, a tiny emerald jewel, darted from under the bench and disappeared into the shadows that hugged the temple walls.
“Did someone from your commission kill my sister, Mr. Han?”
“We had no reason to want her dead. Cassandra was useful to us. She worked for Mr. Mèng. But she also worked for us.”
“You’re lying. Cass would never risk our standing by spying on a client. Reputation is everything to Ocean House. Without it, we don’t have a business.”
“Perhaps Cassandra felt there was nothing left to save, given that Ocean House was built on the bones of a questionable—even immoral—past.”
“What?” I was bewildered.
“You are surprised, Miss Brenner. Didn’t your sister share what she’d learned about your family? Or did she keep that quiet as well?”
I laughed, forcing the sound through my throat. We had secrets, but I had always known they were small ones. Cass and I used to giggle that our kindly pop had been a serial killer or a bank robber. Still, Han’s words triggered a memory: a fight between our parents and Uncle Rob that Cass and I had witnessed from a doorway when we were little. The furious shouts had caused Cass and me to burst into tears. Isabeth had rushed out and scooped us up, kicking the door closed behind her. The last thing I’d heard Rob say was, “We can’t change what we are. No one can know.”
Isabeth had taken us to the kitchen for ice cream and assured us that we were the descendants of aristocracy, even if my great-great-grandfather’s family had annulled the marriage. No shame in that.
The emerald lizard reappeared. With a strike like a snake’s, Han snatched the creature and held it in his palm, closing his hand.
“You are familiar with Paxton Yachts,” he said as the lizard flailed frantically, trying to escape the cage of Han’s fingers.
Still reeling from the idea that Cass might have known a secret I didn’t, my mind shot back to the family meeting in Seattle. The article in Showboats suggesting that Paxton Yachts was poised to dethrone Ocean House. And Rob’s fear that my father would become cautious enough to let Paxton win in the custom market.
Han said, “Paxton is determined to control the yacht market in Asia. For this reason, they have established bases in Singapore and southern China. They are partially financed by the Second Department—China’s military intelligence group. Not that Paxton is aware that they are—in effect—working for my government. They believe they are accepting investment funds from private financiers.”
“Military intelligence?” My voice was a whisper. “What are you talking about? What does any of this have to do with Cass? Or with you and your organization? Or even Mr. Mèng?”
The lizard’s head appeared between Han’s thumb and forefinger. Gently, Han steered it back into its cage.
“Mr. Mèng was encouraged by his superiors to work with Paxton. By choosing instead to have Red Dragon built by Ocean House, Mr. Mèng revealed himself to be less than loyal to his country. His actions have upset factions within China’s military.”
The questions that had swirled in my mind since learning of Cass’s death now coalesced into a dark and ugly picture.
“The Second Department wants to stop Mr. Mèng,” I said. “Keep him from finishing his yacht. From smuggling his wealth out of the country. If he had commissioned the yacht with Paxton, you could have controlled him from the beginning. But he broke rank.”
Han opened his hand. The lizard paused and blinked as if unaware it was free. When it finally fled, I let go a breath.
Han said, “My group and the Second Department don’t see eye to eye on the governance of our people. It is terrible, but just as in your country, there is a rivalry between different government groups. Likely, the Second Department would have persuaded Paxton through financial means to delay Red Dragon indefinitely. My organization, on the other hand, is happy to let Ocean House build Mr. Mèng’s yacht. It is what the higher-ups in my government want. We are not, however, agreeable to letting him smuggle out his wealth. Which is where your sister came in.”
Han leaned forward, elbows on knees. “To ensure Cassandra’s loyalty, Mèng bought her expensive baubles, paid for her condominium in an exclusive neighborhood, promised to convince his friends to turn away from Paxton and commission their builds with Ocean House. In return, she agreed to help him smuggle his wealth. But all the time she was pretending to help Mèng, she was reporting to me. Your sister was astute, cashing in on both sides of the struggle. Her mistake was in ignoring the risk from the Second Department.”
Han was lying. I sensed deception in his barely perceptible fidgeting, the distraction he had created with the lizard. But I also detected truth. That Paxton might be unwittingly funded by the Chinese government. That the Second Department was trying to control Mèng’s wealth. That Cass had been caught between George Mèng, the Second Department, and Charlie Han.
“By accepting Mèng’s bribes,” Han said, “Cassandra offended the Second Department.”
Truth? Or lie? Han gave away nothing. I looked away, up into the trees. “And they killed her?”
“I am not privy to the Second Department’s decisions. But I suspect that is what happened.”
“And now you want me to take her place.”
“I will protect you.”
“From men like Dai Shujun?”
Han made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Dai is one of mine, Miss Brenner. Clumsy and brutal. But effective.”
I recalled the words of the CIA-declared officer Phil Weber. “Doesn’t Dai work with one of the triads?”
“His position allows him flexibility.”
I went as still as a deer hiding from the hunting gaze of a tiger. The calm part of my brain spoke softly: Think, Nadia. Think very carefully. You are in a bad spot.
Would Cass really help George Mèng smuggle his wealth out of China? If I were honest, the answer was yes. Cass was a compassionate capitalist who believed a man should be able to keep his hard-earned wealth so long as he paid his taxes and held a strong philanthropic bent. If Mr. Mèng’s wealth was as substantial as Han suggested, then the temptation to help him, and thus our family’s bottom line, would be irresistible. A win-win for Mèng and the Brenners and America—and a poke in the eye to the communists.
But she would not sanction smuggling drugs or weapons or women. Nor would she agree to work with the Chinese government. If Cass had done anything illegal, it wouldn’t have been something that violated her personal code of ethics.
At least, that was true of the Cass I thought I knew.
An image of her shattered body floated behind my eyes, and I hated myself for the thought.
“Miss Brenner.” Han’s voice broke into my ruminations. “You are taking the news of your sister’s likely murder remarkably calmly.”
I turned my gaze to his—my oversize sunglasses against his reflective spectacles.
Let him believe I was calm. That was my gift. Sprezzatura , my grandmama had called it, borrowing the word from an Italian friend. To be nonchalant without apparent effort, even as one was torn apart inside.
I said, “Why are you telling me about the Second Department? Assuming it’s true, why would you betray elements within your own country to an ang moh ?”
Han’s face gave away nothing. “ Ang moh. A Caucasian. You learn quickly. As I said, inside China, there isn’t complete agreement among the party’s ministries and commissions. Some men and women work for the party. Others work for themselves.” He clasped his hands. “Help us trap the men who led your sister to her death. Simply that, Miss Brenner. There is no need for you to become involved in Chinese internal affairs. But neither should you let elements within the Singaporean government whitewash your sister’s death under pressure from the Second Department.”
Inspector Lee’s note—his alleged note—appeared like a photograph in my mind.
We must talk ... No father should lose a child. Especially, no one should lose two.
Had Lee—if he’d really written the note—intended to tell me that his hands were tied by forces he didn’t dare defy? Had someone in his own department stopped him from meeting me?
I said, “Did you leave the note for me at Raffles or did the inspector?”
“The note was not my doing. But whatever the inspector told you, you should know that he now understands there are many currents surging around your sister’s death. Some are strong enough to drown a man. Inspector Lee has sufficient experience as a detective to realize when he should let higher authorities handle a case.”
Whatever internal machinations were going on within Singapore’s Major Crimes Division, I couldn’t hope to understand. But I wouldn’t help Han or spy on Mr. Mèng. My job was to finish the boat and make sure nothing came back on Ocean House. I would tell Mèng to remove any illicit items from the boat immediately. And if he wanted to smuggle anything, he could do so after the sea trials and after Red Dragon had been formally commissioned. For now I would finish the boat, collect our final payments, and get the hell out of Singapore, just as Emily had advised.
Firm words. A good plan.
But inside I was miserable. Walking away meant allowing Cass’s murderers to also walk away. I would sacrifice justice for Cass on the altar of Ocean House.
I placed my hands in my lap, forcing stillness. “You clearly have power in Singapore, Mr. Han. Why don’t we arrange for you to board Red Dragon ? You can look for smuggled goods and secret rooms to your heart’s content. That should assure you that Ocean House has never and will never assist in illegal activities.”
“Ah, if only it could be so easy. Mr. Mèng has refused, and he has ultimate say. And he has many friends. Unless we catch him in the act of smuggling goods to or from China, unless we have irrefutable proof of his crimes, these friends will protect him.” He shifted to face me. “Mr. Mèng has spent years divesting his real estate holdings and stockpiling cash. He has turned some of that cash into art, some of it into gold bullion. He owns millions in US dollars in jewelry and uncut diamonds. It is almost unfathomable for someone like you and me to understand the extent of his wealth.”
Perhaps for Han. I’d been around this kind of wealth my entire adult life. After a while I’d almost gotten numb to it.
Han continued, “We have learned that Red Dragon ’s first sea trial will take her from Singapore to Shanghai. We believe Mèng has agreed to smuggle contraband from Singapore to authorities in Shanghai in exchange for their agreement to look the other way when he sails off with millions. We also know that, as is customary for the yacht’s designer, you will be with him during the voyage to Shanghai and again when he departs for the second sea trial. All you need to do is keep your eyes and ears open. Tell us what you see. Doing so will entrap an evil man, help avenge your sister’s death, and prove that Ocean House has a reputation worth upholding.”
“It’s all very clear to you, isn’t it?”
“The right path is always well marked.”
I wished that were true. “And what of the Second Department? Don’t they want to be part of this plan to prove Mr. Mèng disloyal?”
“They will be caught flat-footed, as you Yanks say, when Red Dragon arrives in Shanghai, and it is the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection and not the Second Department who exposes George Mèng. We will have shown that loyalty to the party preempts loyalty to one’s peers.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Han. Yanks also talk about killing two birds with one stone. You would destroy Mèng and shame the Second Department in one blow.”
“We believe in efficiency.”
“So it seems.” I stood. “But Ocean House is not political. My answer is no.”
“Then you will cause the same problem for the Second Department as did your sister.”
“Is that a threat?”
His face turned as flat and blank as a new sheet of paper. “It is. But it does not come from me.”
The clouds closed in. A light wind lifted off the branches, the air tightened, and a few drops spattered my arms. Thunder cracked.
I said, “My job is to protect my family.”
“And tell me, Miss Brenner, how your parents will feel at losing two daughters? I can give you forty-eight hours to consider my request. After that, men in the Second Department will make up their own minds about you. I suspect they will find you an impediment. Neither Dai Shujun nor I will be able to protect you.”
Han stood. He gave me a curt bow and strode away across the courtyard. His smooth gait, the confidence of his bearing, rendered his human form tigerlike. Hunter and stalker. Eater of men.
I waited until he disappeared, then stepped out from beneath the shelter of the trees.
Cass. Oh God, help me. What do I do?
Lightning flashed. The heavens opened with a deluge that flattened the world to a single shade of gray.