Forged in Honor (1995) (26 page)

Hating the weakness he felt in the old man's presence, Chen forced a smile. "Thank you for the honor."

The recessed lights radiated a golden glow that reflected off the huge, lacquered rosewood table where ten men stood waiting for their San Chu. Dorba entered the windowless room, took his position at the head of the table, and bowed.

The others bowed deeply and took their seats as Chen and the rest of the compradors, or advisers, filed in and sat behind their respective leaders.

Still standing, Dorba looked down the table at the expectant faces of his appointed deputies who were responsible for the major East Coast cities of the United States. Behind the tinted glasses his eyes were smiling. "The first shipment is in," he said flatly. "We can expect to begin our new business within a week, so make the final offers. All of you have reported there are those who are bad-mannered and do not wish to do business with us. Give them one more opportunity. If they . Persist, make examples of some and report the others to the authorities through your lieutenants. Our new business will be like a fragile flower needing much care in the beginning until the roots have gone deep into the soil. The beauty of our flowers is they will bloom in all seasons and spread and grow stronger with each passing year. Our garden will provide seeds for expanding rapidly in our other interests and ultimately give us the strength to end our need for the flowers completely."

The leader of the New York syndicate, ten years younger than Dorba, dipped his chin in respect. "San Chu, I understand making examples of some of our competitors, but I am concerned about the authorities' response."

Dorba nodded. "Yes, we can all expect weeds to try to choke our garden in the beginning. We will pull them early.

These American officials are no different from those in Hong Kong. They will learn that the cost of pursuing our organization is too high. Find the authorities' leaders, target their families, and take immediate action to make an example for the others. Yes, you can expect to lose some of your lieutenants, but that is the price of business. They can be replaced easily.

We all must do whatever is necessary to ensure that our flowers grow."

Sitting behind his father, Chen felt a chill run up his spine and across his shoulders. Shuddering, he closed his eyes.

The black Chrysler Town Car turned into the estate driveway and slowed just long enough for the ornate metal gate to slide back before proceeding past the two guards in the stone key house. Sitting beyond the manicured lawn and geometrically shaped English gardens stood a two-story gray stone mansion. The car stopped in the circular driveway at the front entrance, and a waiting security man opened the right passenger door.

Dorba stepped out and looked back toward the front gate a hundred yards away. He smiled and pointed at the squirrels beneath a huge maple close to a rock wall. "They are full of such energy."

Chen had gotten out of the other side of the car wanting only to change clothes and begin drinking the many gin and tonics that would get him through the night.

Seeing his son wasn't listening, Dorba walked over to take his arm and guided him toward a red-graveled path that led to the back of the estate. "I see you're troubled. Let's take a walk in the garden and talk."

Chen nodded submissively, caught off guard by his father's gentle tone. He walked alongside him in silence, trying to find the strength to tell him he wanted out. His previous plan to wait a year had changed once he heard his father would be using the old methods of control.

"You didn't approve of my words today. Why?" Dorba asked, again in a fatherly tone.

Chen took a breath, steeling himself. "Father, I think you're making a mistake by using the old methods. These Americans are not like our people; they have never known true suffering or defeat. They are proud people who won't scare as easily as you seem to think."

Dorba squeezed his son's arm in a rare show of affection.

"I have found that all men have a weakness, and it's just a matter of finding it. Most cherish their families; others, their work."

They had entered the estate's rear Oriental gardens which Dorba had had planted upon his arrival five months before.

Stands of bamboo hid the surrounding security walls, and climbing honeysuckle filled the evening with its delicate sweet scent. Dorba slowed his steps and stopped on the arched wooden footbridge. Bending over, he peered into the crystal-clear water and smiled at his prize koi that had gathered in his shadow.

"These are like children to me," he said in almost a whisper as his fingers rippled the water above the large, brightly colored fish. "I love caring for them and ensuring they have only the best of conditions. There, you see the pair of reds nibbling my fingers? They're my favorite-they are a weakness within me, for I have a deep desire to watch them grow, produce young, and give me years of pleasure. You see, even I have a weakness. I think most fathers have a weakness in watching their children grow."

"Why is this necessary?" Chen asked desperately. "We could become completely legitimate and not have to do business in the white powder. Why must we teach lessons and take unnecessary risks?"

Dorba rose, still watching his koi with a loving smile. "It is time for these Americans to pay." He turned to look into his son's eyes. "They and the British brought the opium to our mother country almost two hundred years ago. They made huge sums of money by enslaving our ancestors with addiction in dens that they established. Their pockets were lined with gold while our ancestors and our country slowly died. Only the strongest of our families survived and became their servants-but also their students. We could not defeat them then, but now it is our turn to teach the lessons."

The old man's eyes had become full of fire, but he smiled.

"Our business is nothing more than what these people did to us. Yes, some will die, but only a fraction compared to the countless numbers of our people who suffered. You are asking yourself, don't I, your father, have feelings? I say yes, I grieve for my ancestors who were turned into opium eaters years ago. These Americans will pay, my son. They will learn what our ancestors learned-it is only business."

Chen felt a wave of nausea, but he lowered his chin as if in agreement. He strolled in silence with his father along the path lined with fiddlehead ferns, umbrella palms, and wildflowers until they came to the polished round stone porch where a servant waited.

Dorba motioned Chen to a patio chair and sat down beside him as the white jacketed young Cantonese servant poured green tea into black-lacquered wooden cups.

Dorba reached out and patted his son's hand. "As you know, I selected no San for this city, for I wanted to run the business here myself. I have revisited my decision and think it unwise. I have decided you should be the San here. It is time for you to take your place in the Circle."

Chen kept his stoic expression, not letting his inner emotions show. Picking up a cup of tea in both hands, he offered it to his father and bowed his head, hating himself for what he would soon become. "It will be an honor," he said.

Seattle, Washington A dark blue Lincoln turned off the highway onto a blacktop road and traveled three hundred yards before coming to a smooth stop behind a semitrailer truck loaded with plywood. The big diesel truck had stopped beside a security guard shack in front of a chain link gate. A large, white-and red-bordered sign attached to the adjoining fence read:

RED DRAGON

SPECIALIZED WOOD WALL PANELING CO. a subsidiary of Dragon Inc. USA-Korea A lone uniformed guard opened the gate, waved the truck through, and motioned for the Lincoln to come forward. The Burmese guard looked at Sergeant Shin, then at Stephen in the backseat. Recognizing them both, he motioned for Shin to proceed. The car rolled forward along a two-lane road to a large brick building attached to a huge metal one that extended back for almost a hundred yards. The truck had taken a side road toward the long building's loading docks, where a forklift and crew were waiting.

Shin parked in the lot between two Mercedes, got out of the car, and opened the door for Stephen. "U Kang, I will be helping to unload the shipment. When you are ready to leave let me know."

Stephen nodded in silence and strode toward the office building, where another guard opened the glass door for him.

Inside he passed by the offices that had been turned into dormitory rooms for the DDSI men who had flown in over the past three weeks to do the processing. Po had made sure they stayed in the old cabinetmaking plant for security reasons and had provided for their every need. Televisions, VCRs, and small refrigerators were in every room, and the largest room had been made into a kitchen complete with tables and chairs for all thirty workmen and guards. Stephen strode through the kitchen toward double doors leading to the work bay, stopping only to grab one of the rain jackets hanging from pegs on the wall. Putting on the jacket and tossing up the hood, he pushed through the doom into a torrential man-made rain shower. Far above him a fire sprinkler system was raining down sheets of water onto pallets of plywood that had already been unloaded. He walked down a narrow corridor formed by the pallets of wood until he came to the center of the bay, where a large foreman's office bisected the huge work area. Through the glass windows he saw that the four representatives sent by the Triad were taking off their rain gear. He stepped in and quickly took off his jacket.

Po motioned Stephen forward and introduced him to a tall, well-dressed black man who called himself Mr. Lassen.

Stephen waited to be introduced to the other three men, but Lassen only smiled and made light conversation. Then Po pointed toward the work area and said, "One sheet of plywood is being brought into the processing area to show you how the processing will work. As I'm sure you saw, the trucks are still arriving and we are placing the remaining pallets on the dock. We plan to work until we've finished this shipment, which we estimate will take two days. Ah, here comes the first sheet."

DDSI workmen brought one of the soaked plywood sheets from a stack in the "raining" bay and placed it on one of the large tables in the dry work area. Other workmen used chisels to loosen the top veneer of teak, then pulled off the thin, flexible sheet to expose eighteen rectangular white bags between the wood support strips.

Lassen nodded in admiration. "They said you were good, but this is a real piece of work. Let me guess, the veneer was bonded with water-based glue and the soaking causes the bond to disintegrate, right?"

"Correct," Po said with obvious pride. "We went to considerable expense in perfecting the method of shipping."

"Yeah, well, now I see why you were so confident the shipment would arrive undetected. How much in each bag?"

Po replied, "Each bag is a half-inch thick and ten inches square. It holds one point zero one American pounds, or half a kilo. Nine kilos per sheet of plywood, and there are twenty-four sheets per pallet. We calculated 216 kilos per pallet. This shipment contains just over fifty tons of the product."

Lassen puckered his lips and let out a low whistle. "Hot damn. Now that's what I call a load of smack. Your boss is a genius ... or has one helluva set of balls to bring this much stuff in. No one has ever tried anything like this before.

Damn, we're all going to be busy getting the product weighed and logged. I'm supposed to run periodic checks for purity and reweigh every bag. Business, you understand?'

Po smiled. "But of course. Stephen will be our ledger keeper and will work with your assistants in the handoff."

Lassen shifted his eyes to Stephen. "My people are ready to get started as soon as you are. Like you, we wanna get this done as soon as possible."

"What about transport?" asked Stephen.

Lassen held out his hand. One of his men put a cellular phone in his palm. He dialed a number and spoke into the receiver. "It's show time. Send one over now." He tossed the phone back and nodded toward a stocky, dark-skinned man with a gold tooth. "Stephen, this is Chigger, our scales man and bookkeeper. He doesn't know where your country is but he knows numbers."

Chigger stepped forward and put out his hand with a smile. "Nice to meetcha, Steve. Let's do the thing."

Directorate of the Defense Services Intelligence, Rangoon Brigadier General Tan entered the office of his director and came to attention.

General Swei glanced up from his paperwork. "Yes?"

"Colonel Po called and gave the code word," Tan said with a contained smile. "The first shipment arrived with no problems."

Swei leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Then it has begun." His eyes slowly turned to Tan. "Is phase seven ready for execution?"

"Yes, my general. I have placed our Strike units on standby, and the engineers will begin moving north tomorrow to their pre-positions. We have located all those on the list except for Sawbaw Xu Kang. We are only waiting for the order to move."

"We'll have time for Xu Kang later," Swei said with a quick wave of his hand. "Once the second shipment safely arrives we will execute the fast part of phase seven. And you, my friend, will be the one who will unleash White Storm's power."

Tan bowed his massive head, no longer bothering to contain his smile. "It will be an honor."

Chapter 13.

15 June, Camp Pickett, Virginia.

"I'm doin' just fine. Yeah, I know, Stef, I said I'd call last night, but we were in meetings till late. Look, I'm callin' to tell ya we're flying down to Panama for a conference with some Central American government officials and ... I didn't know I was going to have to go either. Just listen a minute.