Part 17 (1/2)

New York/Hong Kong/Was.h.i.+ngton/Moscow/ Beijing/Tokyo When he had heard the machine-gun fire and had seen Neon Chow running back from where Jake had pushed off in the walla-walla, Three Oaths had run back down the wharf to call the police. He had already determined that the gunfire had emanated from his junk, and he steeled himself for the worst.

His third cousin worked the night s.h.i.+ft as desk sergeant at Aberdeen and so the response to Three Oaths's call was quick. Three Oaths accompanied the four officers on the police launch as they threaded their way through the floating city.

Three Oaths stood, fidgeting, near the bow of the launch while just behind him the officers checked and rechecked their weaponry in much the same professional manner as had the three j.a.panese members of the dantai some time before.

The rain stippled the dark water, drummed against the hulls of the junks and launches. Three Oaths wiped it from his eyes. He saw Jake sitting hunched over a long shape shrouded in shadow as they boarded.

”Stay here,” one of the officers hissed as Three Oaths identified Jake; he had already given them descriptions of the three family members he knew to be on board: Jake, Bliss and Zilin.

”Bliss!” Three Oaths fell to his knees as he recognized the supine shadow Jake clutched to him. ”Oh! My bou-sehk.” His trembling hands reached out to brush the slickened hair away from her face. His fingers came away b.l.o.o.d.y.

”Jake,” he whispered. ”Jake!”

”She needs a hospital, Elder Uncle.” Jake's face was pale. His hooded copper eyes, normally so filled with inner fire, were colorless.

”Are you all right, Younger Nephew?”

”Yes.” It was a whisper.

”And the Jian?”

Jake blinked. ”My father,” he began. His eyes stared at Three Oaths. ”My father's life is ended.”

”Ah, evil G.o.ds that foresaw this day!” Three Oaths' hands reached out again for his adopted daughter. It was an instinctive gesture, but no less important for that. The family had been diminished; now each member was that much more precious to him. ”Did you see them, Jake? The a.s.sa.s.sins?”

Jake nodded. ”I found them belowdecks. There were three of them. The damage they did was with Gion 30-09 machine pistols.” He shook his head. ”They were very good. Very professional. A dantai, I think.”

How could he tell his uncle about his loss of ba-mahk? How could he explain the unexplainable? How could he express the burden of guilt weighing him down? He believed ba-mahk would have alerted him to the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt. It would have, at the very least, allowed him to dispatch the three a.s.sa.s.sins before they had a chance to hurt Bliss. He held her tighter.

”A hospital, Elder Uncle,” he said. ”We must get her to hospital.”

”The police launch is here. They'll take her as quickly as can be managed.” He raised his head as the police officers reappeared from out of the hatchways fore and aft.

”Three men dead,” one of the officers said. Another was busy scribbling in a notebook. ”Lots of blood. Place is pretty well broken up. Looks like machine guns were used all over belowdecks. Like a hurricane.

”Three men?” Three Oaths repeated. ”Who?” The officers stared at him blankly and he returned his gaze to Jake. ”Who were they?”

”We'll have to wait for that,” the officer said. ”We found nothing on their bodies that would be useful for identification purposes.”

All G.o.ds great and small, Three Oaths thought. What am I doing standing here talking to these corrupt sons of idiot sea slugs? They know nothing and, even if they did, would tell me nothing. He stood, trying desperately to bring his emotions under control. ”My daughter is in desperate need of medical attention, officer,” he said in a brisk, businesslike tone. ”If you will be good enough to take her to a hospital.”

”What do you know about this incident, sir?” the officer with the pad said.

”Nothing,” Three Oaths said. ”What could I know? Nothing at all. Why do you ask me such an inane question?”

”Purely form, sir,” one of the officers said. ”We'll have to talk to your nephew. And to your daughter.”

”Please,” Three Oaths said. *That can all be done in the morning. Right now my daughter is unconscious. I have no idea how badly she is injured. My nephew is in shock. You have my word that everyone involved will give full and complete statements. But right now a”

The officer in charge looked from Jake to Bliss, and nodded. ”All right.” He gestured. ”Take her up, boys. That's right. Easy now, easy. Watch her head there.” He watched as they took Bliss down to the launch. He stepped up close to Three Oaths. ”I should caution you not to disturb or touch anything on board until the forensic men from Special Branch arrive. Also, the coroner's people are on their way. You'll give them free access.”

”Yes, of course.”

The officer looked away. The searchlight on the launch silvered his wide Cantonese face. ”My condolences. This is bad. Very bad indeed.” He took a breath. Fumes from the launch's engines plumed upward hanging in the heavy night air. ”Does your nephew require medical attention as well?”

”I'll take care of him,” Three Oaths said. ”Please see to my daughter.”

The officer touched his cap; he was waiting for Three Oaths and Jake to move. Then he swung down onto the launch, the engine pitched downward as they cast off, and in a moment they were slicing the night.

”This really takes me back. There was a time when I couldn't afford any of these.”

Tony Simbal looked at the paintings, displayed in their ornate gilt frames.

”This is the one.”

It was a particularly aggressive Cezanne, the artist's palette knife slathering thick streams of pigment that took on a demented, almost physical aspect. Simbal did not understand it at all, nor did he like it.

”The thing that attracts me most to Cezanne,” Max Threnody said, ”is his treading on the brink of anarchy. To create an entire universe that is so chaotic, yet so well ordered, is extraordinary, don't you think?”

Threnody made some notes in the booklet he had been given when he had registered at the auction house on Wisconsin Avenue. ”Didn't see much of you at the party the other night.”

”Monica and I got to dredging up old times.”

Threnody snapped the booklet shut and grinned. ”Is that why my coat room was off limits for an hour or so?”

”I guess so.”

”Let's get a seat, shall we?” They moved off to the bidding hall, where rows of gray metal folding chairs had been set up. The place was perhaps a quarter full.

”It didn't end well, I take it.”

”It didn't end at all.” The place was filling up fast. Threnody had been right to want to take seats.

”I suppose Monica told you that I was asking about Peter Curran,” Simbal said.

Threnody opened his booklet, made some more notes. ”Why would you think that Monica would tell me anything?” Threnody asked. ”But now that you've brought it up, in your own clumsy wayI think we've got a problem.”

Later, after he had missed buying the Cezanne when the bidding went unexpectedly high, they began to walk west, down toward the water. The afternoon was overcast, heavy for a late winter day. The wind off the Potomac was as cutting as it had been when snow had blanketed the city and people had been skidding on the ice.

Threnody, who wore an old loden coat more suitable for a student at nearby George Was.h.i.+ngton University, tucked his head down, like a turtle. ”Now what's this sudden interest in Peter Curran?” he asked.

”You said before that you thought we had a problem. What kind of problem? Is it with Curran?”

”I wish,” Max Threnody said, ”that we could stop fencing.”

”I don't work for you anymore, Max. The DEA no longer controls me.

”Yet here we are, together again. How do you explain that?”

Simbal relented. ”I need information.”