He only needed to keep him focused for a short time longer. Beyond that, his own mortality was the only thing standing between him and his dream. According to his doctors, it was a miracle that he had lasted this long.

  He had come a long way from the back streets of Kowloon, when his name had been Yiang Wei Hung. His father was a tailor with a shop in Tsim Sha Tsui. Their life had been good compared with many who barely survived in the surrounding districts. Back then, he never reflected on how lucky he was, but the gods were about to show him. His father was sick. To a young boy, it seemed like he had always been that way.

  He had watched him wasting away, struggling for breath each day as he worked away, cutting, shaping, and sewing his garments. He had found him one morning, sitting cross-legged in his workshop, an unfinished suit jacket draped across his lap. His eyes were open wide, staring into some vision, not in this world. His body was cold as stone.

  The shop and the apartment above it were rented, and the landlord threw them out on the streets. His mother had a sister in Shanghai, and she had moved there, but he and his brother remained in Hong Kong. It was perhaps a good thing because their mother had followed his father in a matter of months, which had left him and his older brother on the streets with only each other.

  He was twelve years old, his brother was five years older, but he seemed like an adult. The first thing his brother had done was to stab the landlord in the gut and leave him to bleed to death in an alley close to his home. The action secured him a place in the local triad gang. Wei Hung had wanted to follow him, but his brother had insisted he went to school. The young Wei Hung had always been bright and learned quickly. He remembered his brother telling him. The only way we will ever get out of here is if you step up and do it. He still recalled his brother tapping him gently on the chest.

  You have to reach for our dream.

  He had done well at school and gone on to business school where he graduated with first class honors. On that day, Yiang Wei Hung had been left behind in the gutters of Mongkok, and Henry Yiang was born. He got a job working for the Star Shipping Line and had done well, earning rapid promotion. It was there also, where he met the owner’s daughter, Li Na.

  On that day, he laid out the plan in his head. It was a plan he had followed to the letter. He had worked hard, working his way up the company, making himself invaluable to the owner, Zhan Fang Wei. And he had also worked his way into the heart of Zhan Li Na.

  His brother was now an important man in the Bamboo Tiger Triad, and they had helped each other in their business ventures, and both had prospered. On the day Li Na agreed to marry him, he had rushed to see his brother with the good news. One look at his sibling told him his brother had much worse news. He had inherited his father’s disease. The day before the wedding, he died.

  He never told his wife, or his newly acquired father-in-law, about his brother. But he retained his links with the Bamboo Tiger. He had used them for his business ventures to prosper, and eventually, he was running the company, and via Jimmy Kwok, a man he had cultivated and shaped, the Bamboo Tiger.

  His father-in-law had wanted to pursue his own political ambitions. Henry had encouraged him, helped him, gave him the ammunition and political capital he needed to prosper. Which he did. But before long, it was he, Henry Yiang, who was in control. He became the Silent Mandarin, pulling the strings, learning the secrets of his father-in-law’s opponents, applying the pressure, and making the threats.

  But by then, he knew that he had also inherited the blight of his father and brother. In some ways, he had been lucky. Both his father and his brother were dead by the time they were forty, and at the time of his brother’s death, doctors had confirmed that he also carried the gene, but it was another ten years before he started showing symptoms.

  He thought he had the answer to his problem over twenty years ago. She had been only three years old when he had found her. A small insignificant childhood accident had taken her to the emergency room, a special precaution in light of her unique blood type. But she had been fine, and one of his many watchers had noted it and informed him. She was much too young for what he needed. But he had put his plan in place. He hired her mother to be the private nurse of his wife.

  Once the handover had taken place and he had more control, he had intended to dispose of the mother and send the child to a place of safety in a faraway China province. Somewhere safe, where she would grow until it was time to harvest her gift. All he had to do until then was to stay alive.

  He had called her his Jade Mountain Queen, his miracle. It was something he had remembered from one of the tales his grandmother had told them, sitting at her feet in the evenings on the back porch of his father’s shop. A million years ago and a million miles from here. According to the story, his Lao Lao would tell, the Jade Mountain Queen was the goddess who lived up in the snow palace, where the tip of the mountain touched the heavens. The Queen had a very special gift. She could bestow immortality on mere mortals.

  He had coined that phrase right from the very start, twenty-five years ago when he discovered her and he had seen her that very first time. She had been wearing the jade locket. It was a sign. Even then, he knew the goddess was speaking to him.

  But things had gone wrong, his treacherous wife had told the mother, and she had taken his queen and made the ultimate sacrifice. He thought she was lost. Until chance had brought her back to him. Grandmother had told him often that the gods chose the time. She had been right, now was that time.

  He had stared death in the face almost every day for the past twenty years. Only the very best drugs and medical treatment had kept him alive. He had been lucky. He had even found a golden blood donor. But the man was already past sixty-five, and his organ tissue was not a good match. Still, he had used the man as a living blood donor until he died ten years later. They had separated the plasma from the blood they had stored, and froze it for future use. But that had run out over a year ago. Now he was on drugs and prayer. But you can only repair a leaking tire so many times.

  Death, in itself, held no fear for him. But there was a fear that haunted him every single day, a fear that maybe his life would end before he had the chance to do what he still had to do, what he had promised his brother he would do. He remembered what his brother had told him on his deathbed and the promise he had made.

  You can take us out of here, you can make us mean something. You can make ours a name that people will never forget.

  He suddenly felt breathless. The lake seemed to dim before his eyes. He reached for the mask attached to the oxygen container propped up on the wheeled cart. He pulled it over his nose and mouth and inhaled deeply, allowing the oxygen to rejuvenate his blood. He took a couple more deep breaths and held onto the rail until he felt his strength returning.

  Of course, he would not live forever, but his name, their name, their legacy would be his immortality, his brother’s immortality. That was what he had promised all those years ago. All he needed was a little more time.

  83

  Lantau Island

  Fagan looked at his Luminox watch, one of the few items he still kept from his Navy SEAL days. They were late. Tommy had said the plane and the pilot would be there to pick him up at midnight, which was twenty minutes ago. He considered calling, but that wouldn’t make them come any quicker. They either came, or they didn’t.

  Walter had called, doing what Walter did best — worrying.

  Don’t try to talk me out of this, had been Fagan’s opening gambit. But Walter had a different attack.

  ‘I was not going to. I want you to save Nancy. Dear God, I really do. But look, if something happens. If — ’ Walter’s voice had gone silent.

  ‘What are you trying to say, Walter?’ But he had an idea what was coming. He could hear Walter’s rasping breath on the end of the phone.

  ‘I’m saying, if you’re too late.’ Walter had paused again. ‘If you can’t save her. . . It’s not your fault.’

  He took a swig from the bottle of Tsingtao. The last one from Chen’s cousin’s refrigerator.

  It’s not your fault.

  What did that mean? That it would have happened anyway? But that was not the way it had worked out.

  Fate or whatever, whoever, had put him here. Something deep in his soul told him it was no accident. Walter liked to talk about faith over fate, about a guided path rather than stumbling in the dark. What was he always telling him about God? The very fact that you’re mad at him means there’s still some faith in there, somewhere.

  Well, if that was true, he was here for a reason. He had to save her.

  “What time did you say?” Su Li sat at the other side of the table.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He held up his bottle. It was two thirds empty. “The fact is, this is the last bottle. If they don’t come by the time I’ve finished it, I’ll call Tommy. He’ll have to find me another option.”

  They were sitting in plastic chairs on the dirt terrace outside Chen’s cousin’s house overlooking the sea, listening to the crickets chirping in the trees. The night air was thick and sticky and still, but the rain had held off.

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  Su Li shrugged. “I am not sure I am the one who should be worrying.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You’ll be safe here for a few days. Chen says his cousin will be gone for another month. Only go out when you need to and stay here until you hear from me.”

  “And if I don’t hear from you.”

  Fagan paused with the bottle at his lips. “Then disappear. You’re a survivor. You know how to to do that.”

  Su Li nodded as if she knew that too.

  He was about to drain his beer when his ear caught the sound, a low buzz, like a distant insect.

  What was it Walter said about faith?

  He looked up into the ink black sky. The buzz increased, then grew into a roar and a clatter as a dark shape swept low over the trees, then out over the sea. Fagan couldn’t see any detail, but he knew what it was.

  Shit.

  Fagan cursed himself. He should have known. He stood and picked up his backpack, then slung it on his back. “I have to go.”

  Su Li stepped up and threw her arms around him, burying her head in his chest. Fagan stood there, unsure what to do, his hands resting loosely on her back.

  “Thank you, Joe, for saving my life. I am not sure I deserve it.”

  “You deserve it. There’s no need to thank me. Live your life. That will be thanks enough.”

  Su Li looked up at him. “I will do my best.” Her face became serious. “Find Miss Nancy and bring her home, and kill that son of a bitch, Henry Yiang, for me. Let Mistress Li Na go happily into the afterlife.”

  Fagan smiled. “Stay safe,” he said and headed down onto the beach.

  There was a wooden jetty that the fishermen used, jutting out into the sea, a little way along the beach. By the time Fagan reached it, the amphibian had landed. The Scooper appeared out of the mister, its dragon’s mouth wide open, its eyes staring as it taxied in. The door in the fuselage opened, and Tommy appeared.

  “You said you had a friend who would pick me up.”

  Tommy smiled. “I lied.”

  “You can’t do this. It’s too dangerous.”

  “She’s my sister, and that monster has unspeakable plans for her. I will not stand back and let that happen. Besides, there’s no one else. If you want to get to Beijing, you need me to get you there.”

  “I suppose you have a plan?”

  “Are you coming aboard, or are we going to stand here all night arguing?” Tommy disappeared inside the aircraft.

  Fagan looked back at the lights along the beach, then up to the heavens. He had promised Charlie he would take care of them both.

  Shit.

  He climbed aboard and shut the door, then made his way up to the cockpit. Tommy was already flicking switches and checking instruments. The aircraft vibrated as Tommy took it out into the bay. Fagan settled into the seat beside him.

  “You should fasten your seat belt for takeoff.”

  “Are we allowed to do this, or will the Chinese Air Force shoot us down before we clear Hong Kong airspace.”

  Tommy grinned. “I have a flight plan filed in the system. I am picking up a cargo of electronics from Beijing. At least that is what the plan says.”

  Tommy gently pulled back the twin thrust levers, and the aircraft revs increased, so did the vibration. Water sprayed in a wild white mist against the side windows, then suddenly the shuddering eased. Fagan sensed the aircraft lift, and they were airborne.

  Tommy flicked at switches as they gained height. “Sit back and enjoy the flight. It’s four hours to Beijing. Sorry, there’s no in-flight entertainment.”

  “So we’re just going to fly into Beijing, and the authorities will allow that?”

  “I am. You will have to get off before then.”

  “You’re going to land somewhere?”

  “No, you’re going to jump.” Tommy grinned in the back light from the control panel. “Behind your seat. The man who supplied it said that’s the one you would need.”

  Fagan reached behind him and pulled out a black, toughened nylon pack. It had been a while since he had handled one.

  “The man who supplied it?”

  Tommy shrugged. “Ask Walter.”

  Fagan intended to.

  “My Dad once told me you were a Navy SEAL. I hope you haven’t forgotten how to parachute.”

  “I haven’t jumped out of an aircraft in more than fifteen years.”

  Tommy grinned across at him. “It’s like riding a bike, right?”

  84

  Chinese Airspace

  Tommy pulled out a flask and poured out black coffee into two metal cups. He handed one to Fagan. Fagan sipped the hot liquid. It wasn’t bad.

  Tommy flashed him a smile. “Starbucks, Italian Roast.”

  “So how did you get from Shenzhen to the Scooper in Hong Kong?” Fagan asked.

  “I contacted a friend of Uncle Wei. He has a fast boat and knows how to slip into Hong Kong without being seen. He picked me up and dropped me off.”

  “You mean Hong?”

  “You’ve met?”

  Fagan nodded. “Your Uncle Wei arranged for him to help me.” He could see the pain on Tommy’s face. He had called him when he had first got to Lantau Island to tell him. “I’m sorry about your Uncle Wei, we only met a couple of times, but he seemed a good man. I know he died helping me track down Nancy.”

  “The death of good men in the midst of their days,” Tommy said, looking out at the clouds below.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a quote from somewhere, can’t remember where. It seems that good men are dying all the time, while scum like Henry Yiang seems to go on and on.” Tommy shook his head, then allowed himself a smile. “Dad and Uncle Wei will be up there, sitting around, chin wagging. I hope they have good celestial malt whiskey.”

  “Knowing your father, I’m sure they do.”

  While Chen was tracking down Yiang’s medical team, it was Walter’s friend Aldo back in Rome who found Henry Yiang. It had been a highly complex activity, but simple when you were a cyber genius like Aldo. He had hacked into the Chinese Mobile Phone Network and accessed the highly secure VIP subscribers area. He had the number that Su Li had supplied. From there it was a simple task to track Henry Yiang’s phone. The position of the phone correlated with a large property, fifty miles to the west of the capital.

  Chen had looked it up.

  Tianhou Palace, Li Na’s palace. The Temple of the Queen of Heaven.

  It was an ancient palace in a remote area within its own extensive grounds. Except it was a fake. It had been built about fifty years ago, by modern Chinese craftsmen, largely based upon the Forbidden City Palace in Beijing. According to what Chen could find, Henry Yiang had made extensive developments to it in the last twenty years.

  Tommy looked at his watch. “We have fifteen minutes.”

  They were standing in the cargo compartment of the Scooper. The aircraft was on autopilot.

  “The man who provided the parachute said you would need this.”

  Tommy handed him what looked like a watch. “It’s a GPS tracker, and it’s set up for the GPS position of Henry Yiang’s phone. It will also give you your altitude.”

  “Let’s hope Henry has his phone with him.”

  Fagan fastened it on his right wrist.

  “He also said you would need this.”

  Tommy handed Fagan a small backpack. Inside was a black all-in-one nylon jumpsuit. Fagan discarded his combat jacket and pulled on the suit over his jeans and shirt. He put the SIG with the sound suppressor attached into one of the deep zip up pockets in the leg, along with half a dozen spare magazines that were provided. The bag also contained a pair of high-tech leather gloves and an MSA MICH combat helmet.

  The final item was interesting. It was a micro-comms rig. It looked very different from what he was used to. There were no in-ear inserts, no boom microphone. Luckily, he had read about this new technology. It used something called bone conduction technology, which transmits and receives audio directly from vocal vibrations in the skull. He settled the headset on the back of his head. What would have been the earpieces sat against the bone in front of his ears, which supposedly left his ears to hear any local sounds. He switched on the control box and tucked it away in an inside pocket.

  “Are you there?” Fagan said.

  “Use protocol.” A voice seemed to speak in his ear.

  Fagan looked at Tommy and shook his head. “Mister Woo, this is Dark Angel. Are you there?” He said, speaking in a low voice.

  “Dark Angel, I hear you.” Chen’s voice came over crystal clear.

  Walter had come up with the names. Fagan wasn’t enamored, but he had more important things to worry about right now.

 

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