Operation Caribe (15 page)

Nolan and Twitch walked to their booth and boldly sat down. The two men didn’t seem surprised to see them, but were startled by Nolan’s appearance.

“What’s with this guy?” one twin said to Twitch in Wu. “He’s a mess.”

“He’s my cousin,” Twitch repeated. “Bar fights took his eye and his vocal cords.”

“He looks one step away from the grave,” the other twin said. “It’s upsetting.”

Twitch didn’t miss a beat. “He’s much better off than the man who tried to slit his throat,” he said. “As well as the person who took his eye—and the one who just took his tooth. This is a dangerous city. Everyone needs a little protection, no?”

“Sure,” the first twin said. “If you plan on scaring people to death.”

One of the men signaled the bartender. He arrived shortly with four glasses and a bottle of
baijiu
, the potent clear liquor also known as Shanghai vodka. The twins poured drinks for themselves and one for Twitch. They started to pour one for Nolan, but he put his hand over the empty glass.

Twitch still had no such qualms, though. “My cousin doesn’t imbibe,” he said. “So, I drink what he doesn’t.”

The three of them downed the baijiu. The twins winced as the strong liquor hit the back of their throats, but Twitch showed no reaction. In fact, he refilled his glass and drained that as well.

The twins were astounded by Twitch’s constitution. They took another measure of him. One asked him, “What size suits do you two wear?”

It was such an odd question—but Twitch was quick in reply. “I got no idea,” he said. “I’ve never owned a suit. And neither has my cousin.”

The twins just shrugged as Nolan shifted in his seat. He was able to follow most of the conversation, and was trying hard not to show his impatience. But suit sizes? Time was running out.

They finally got down to business.

“So, we hear you have a present for our boss’s son?” one twin asked.

“For his birthday, yes,” Twitch replied.

“And what is this present?”

“A ship full of sugar,” Twitch said. “Eight million American dollars worth.”

This raised the eyebrows of both men.

“Quite a gift for such a young boy,” one said.

Twitch laughed. “He can have the whole damn ship,” he said. “It’s just come into our possession temporarily. And we don’t need it anymore.”

The twins smiled.

“A ship,
and
a valuable cargo?” the other asked. “Naturally you want something in return.”

Twitch nodded. “We want into the Ba Xi,” he said.

The twins glanced at each other.

“Are you sure?” one asked. “Or is that the vodka talking?”

“I’m very sure,” Twitch told them. “We can’t wait to play.”

The twins did a simultaneous shrug. Then one said: “Just for the record, exactly
who
do you think our boss is?”

Twitch winked. “I know enough about him not to speak his name.”

The men considered this, then said: “Wait here.”

They picked up their weapons and left Nolan and Twitch alone in the booth. Nolan was painfully aware they were both woefully exposed to a bullet to the skull, or maybe a meat cleaver to the back. Yet he also knew they could not show the slightest fear or the jig would be up. So, Nolan did his best to stay frozen in place.

Twitch, on the other hand, downed two more shots of the powerful baijiu.

*   *   *

THE TWINS FINALLY returned to the booth.

“We checked it out,” one said. “Your ship is called the
Ocean Song,
correct?”

Twitch nodded.

“And it’s down on the docks in the Old Harbor?”

Twitch nodded again.

“Then your offer of a gift is appreciated,” one gunman said. “Our boss is very impressed.”

“So we get into the Ba Xi?” Twitch asked.

“That’s a good possibility,” the man replied.

Nolan showed no emotion, but he knew this was a big step in reaching their goal.

“However,” the other gunman added. “There will be a fee of sorts.”

Twitch was unfazed. “Name it,” he said, fingering the wad of cash in his pocket.

“Your watch,” the twin said.

Nolan and Twitch froze. The watch contained their hidden transponder, the only way those back on the ship could keep track of them, especially now that the radio was gone. The watch was intentionally designed to appear cheap and crummy-looking. Why would the twin want it?

“I’ve had this watch for years,” Twitch told him calmly. “And it’s not very impressive.”

“But it’s just my style,” the man insisted.

Twitch was smart enough not to put up a fight. He took off the transponder and simply passed it to the man.

The gunman put it on and studied how it looked on his wrist.

“And another thing,” he said. “The cargo of sugar and the ship it is on. It will have to be moved to another location. But no worries. One of our crews will take it over in a couple hours.”

Nolan felt sudden fear—there was no way they could have anticipated this wrinkle. But Twitch stayed in character.

“Not a problem,” he said nonchalantly. “It’s all yours.”

One twin wrote down an address on a table napkin.

“Go here,” he said, passing the napkin to Twitch. “Tell them you talked to us.”

Then, the twin gunmen looked at them as if to say,
That’s it
.

Nolan and Twitch got the hint. Twitch downed one more drink, and they stood up and walked out of the Red Lantern without saying another word.

Once they were out in the alley, though, Nolan’s anxiety level went up a notch. Improvising was one thing, but their problems seemed to be mounting up with every new move. They’d just lost their transponder—and maybe a whole lot of precious time as well if the twins made good on moving the
Ocean Song
before midnight. And because his tooth radio was also gone, there was no way to tell those back on the ship what happened.

So, should they abort the mission and get back to the
Ocean Song
? Or carry on and hope the rest of Whiskey could handle an unannounced visit from the twins’ pirate crew?

Nolan’s gut told him this: Because they were already inside Sunny Hi’s underground network, if they disappeared now, it might raise all kinds of suspicions, which could be disastrous—
especially
for those back on the boat. And even if they returned to the
Ocean Song
, they probably couldn’t get out of the harbor safely before the Shanghai mob knew something was amiss.

Adding these things together, he knew they had to keep going. But they had to do it double time.

*   *   *

GUIDED AGAIN BY their shirtsleeve maps, they fought their way through the crowds, pushing people over when they had to. Still, it took thirty minutes to get to their next destination.

It was a nondescript building on a particularly slummy side street. A canopy of wet laundry hung from dozens of lines overhead. A pack of wharf rats feasted on piles of garbage nearby.

Nolan knocked on the door. It opened to reveal a surprisingly well-appointed apartment with clean white walls, expensive furniture and exotic plants everywhere. Calming music was playing over the sounds of gurgling water. Perfume filled the air.

One word came to Nolan immediately.

Cathouse.

As if on cue, four beautiful Chinese girls dressed in short white see-through tunics, appeared. None of them looked older than twenty.

Sitting on a couch off to the side were two burly Asian men, obviously hired heat. The two looked at Twitch quickly without triggering a significant reaction. He was not a threat. But at the first sight of Nolan, stunned by his appearance, they nervously fingered their shoulder holsters

One man asked harshly, “Who sent you here?”

“The twins,” Twitch replied.

The goon made a phone call. After a brief conversation, he said blandly, “OK, go—courtesy of the Boss.”

The girls led Nolan and Twitch deeper into the room. Here were two tubs full of steaming, sudsy water.

“Hot water relax,” one girl kept saying, pointing to the tubs. “Fun time is good for you.”

Twitch needed no prompting. He made a beeline for one of the tubs, pulling two of the girls along with him.

But Nolan knew right away this was
not
good at all. It was clear that taking a bath was a prelude to anything else that happened in the cathouse. But with the goons on hand, he and Twitch were in no position to decline, especially since it was all courtesy of Sunny Hi himself.

The problem was, the poison pinpoint was still jammed up under Nolan’s fingernail—and he was sure that the hot water would affect its wax enclosure. If that happened, and the ricin inside dissolved, it would quite possibly kill him and the hookers attending his tub.

The goons were watching him intently. Anyone who hesitated in this situation would doubtless arouse their suspicion. But what could he do? He’d run his left hand along the top of the water and indeed, it was almost scalding.

He looked at Twitch and nonchalantly tapped the side of his tub. Twitch got the message right away, deflating his enthusiasm. He gave a slight shrug, as if to say: what can we do?

Nolan had no choice. If he didn’t want to kill them all, he had to neutralize the poison pinpoint.

He indicated to the hookers that before climbing into the tub, he had to relieve himself. They giggled and pointed him to the restroom.

He went inside and carefully removed the pinpoint from under his fingernail. Batman had told him the poison could be neutralized by uric acid, and there was one place where lots of uric acid could be found: urine.

Nolan retrieved a cup from the sink, dropped the poisoned pinpoint into it, and then peed on it. The pinpoint turned from white to red, the sign that it had been neutralized. He reluctantly flushed it all down the toilet.

Then he sat on the edge of the sink and put his aching head in his hands. Could it get any worse? He and Twitch were now in the middle of hostile territory without the weapon they’d come here to use, without their radio, without their transponder and without any kind of Plan B.

Plus, the clock continued to tick down.

Why didn’t we just stay in the Bahamas?
he thought grimly.

*   *   *

AS SOON AS Nolan was out of the restroom, all he wanted to do was flee the cathouse and figure out what to do next.

But then he saw Twitch had climbed into his tub and was getting soap applied all over his body. His prosthetic leg was leaning against the nearby wall.

Nolan was instantly furious. They had no time for this!

But then he saw the two goons eyeing him again. On their silent commands, the two other hookers accosted him, led him to the second tub and stripped him of his clothes, all with little protest. He had to give the girls credit—his face was grotesque and his body was grossly discolored, yet they didn’t give him a second look. They treated him as if he was the All-American poster boy of his youth.

He followed their instructions and eased himself down into the steaming hot water. And it
was
soothing—for about two seconds. Then another disturbing thought popped into his head. Was there a chance his skin coloring, the acidic wash on the outside, would be affected by the hot water and soap?

He immediately studied his arms and legs through the mountains of suds. To his great relief, the diluted acidic skin dye was holding its own.

The next couple minutes were a weird combination of anxiety and repose for Nolan. The warm water felt great, as did the hookers’ hands roaming all over him. It would have been so easy for him to just give in, lie back and let the party girls do their thing.

He had to remember that kicking up a fuss now would surely arouse the goons’ suspicions. As it was, the gunmen were no longer in sight; Nolan guessed they were probably searching their clothes, as part of their job of making sure he and Twitch really
were
OK.

But tempted as he was, Nolan had to stay strong, keep his wits about him and try to get out of this place, in one piece, as quickly as possible. He glanced over at Twitch, hoping he was staying strong, too. But what he saw instead was his colleague obviously succumbing to temptation. He had settled very deeply into the tub and, his immediate woes apparently forgotten, was obviously enjoying every move the hookers made. In fact, Twitch seemed particularly enraptured at the very moment Nolan looked at him.

Nolan just shook his head. Here he was, feeling like he was stuffed into someone else’s body, in pain from head to toe, with all kinds of bad outcomes swirling before his eyes.

And there was Twitch, flying high on Chinese vodka, getting a hand job.

*   *   *

BATH TIME AND all it entailed lasted more than thirty minutes.

When it was all over, their clothes were returned to them washed, dried, ironed and folded—a smokescreen for them having been searched.

Nolan and Twitch had dressed quickly, but found the two goons were waiting for them once they were done. The gunmen silently looked them up and down. Then one took out a tape measure and, without a word, quickly measured Nolan and Twitch, both height and shoulder width. Nolan and Twitch just stood there, totally baffled.

When it was over, one goon handed Nolan a slip of paper with an address on it. Then he said: “Good luck, Frankenstein.”

Seconds later, Nolan and Twitch were back out on the crowded, dirty street. It was now almost 11
P.M.
That had taken
way
too long. Time was really slipping away.

Nolan read the address the goon gave him and they went to check it on their shirtsleeve maps. Only then did they realize the washing process had destroyed their Shanghai street grids. All that remained were two blurry ink stains.

But even worse, Twitch realized all their bribe money was gone, too, stolen from his pants pockets

“Those motherfuckers,” he roared, turning back toward the cathouse before Nolan stopped him. “Those fucking thieves…”

Was God just playing tricks on them now? Nolan wondered. They had no radio, no transponder, and now no assassination weapon, no maps or bribe money. It was like they were suddenly walking around lost and naked.