Part 40 (1/2)

”Are you certain? No dealing with them at all when you were working at the Quarry?”

”Not that I am aware of. Why?”

”Because, my friend, this attack was not directed at me. You were the objective.”

The Mitsubis.h.i.+ hit a b.u.mp in the road and at 140 kph it was enough to make Jake groan.

”Are you unwell, Jake-san?” Mikio's voice from the back seat.

Jake said nothing, squeezed his eyes tighter shut. They had stopped in Kyoto long enough to see a doctor of Mikio's acquaintance. Yakuza. The damage was minimal.

”Now we go to Karuizawa,” Mikio had said. ”That is where the Moro clan is headquartered.”

”Jake-san.”

Opened his eyes, caught the flick of Kazamuki's eyes.

”Is the oyabun awake?”

Jake listened to the softness of her voice, turned carefully around. Mikio's eyes were closed, his breathing deep and regular.

”Asleep,” he said. ”Is there a problem?”

”That depends,” she said, glancing again in her side mirror. ”For the last twenty kilometers or so the same Toyota truck has been two cars behind us.”

”Are we being followed?”

”I think we must find that out, neh?”

She turned the wheel hard over and the Mitsubis.h.i.+ slewed into thefar left lane. She stepped on the accelerator until they were doing upwards of 160 kph.

Jake glanced in his side mirror, saw the black Toyota immediately. It was one of the futuristic-looking vans. The windows were completely blacked out so that it was impossible to see inside.

He watched for some kind of movement on the part of the Toyota: an acceleration to match their own or a change in lane. There was nothing. The van was now four cars behind.

”Now we'll see,” Kazamuki said. Accelerated again and now, with a high squeal, pushed them back through the lanes. Horns blared, the screeching of brakes behind them and then they were onto the off-ramp.

Jake took another look in the mirror, saw the black van's ballooning image. ”Here they come,” he said.

Kazamuki downs.h.i.+fted, weaving in and out around two slowing cars and a truck. The moment she was beyond them, she stamped down on the accelerator, running a light. Three blocks later she slowed until they were almost drifting.

The Toyota blew out of the traffic pattern they had left behind. It slowed as soon as its driver picked up their change in speed. With a shriek of tires, Kazamuki brought the Mitsubis.h.i.+ back up to fourth gear. The Toyota came on.

Now it was not directly behind the Mitsubis.h.i.+ but rather off to one side. It blared its horn at an oncoming car, which slewed out of the way, running up on the sidewalk.

The black van closed the distance between them. Jake could see that the offside window had scrolled down. He saw the machine-pistol muzzle poke itself out like the snout of an ugly dog.

”Out of the way!” he shouted as he pulled heavily on the wheel.

”What!” Kazamuki cried in alarm as the Mitsubis.h.i.+ went hurtling toward a wall. Heard a series of explosions behind them and Kazamuki straightened their run.

She looked at him briefly. ”They've got more than katana in that van,” he said.

Kazamuki concentrated on her driving. The Toyota had lost some ground during Jake's impromtu evasive maneuver but it was gaining on them. They had obviously done something to the engine because it was performing like a rocket.

”They're very close,” he said, and she nodded.

Took the Mitsubis.h.i.+ into an acute left turn, the speed so great that the two right side tires went off the macadam. Almost hit a trio ofpedestrians who scattered, screaming. Three blocks later, she made another left.

They could hear the squeal of the black van's breaks behind them but could not see it. She had them at an unsound speed but that could hardly be helped. It was the rush of wind now or the steel-jacketed bullets from the machine pistol twisting the Mitsubis.h.i.+ into junk.

One more left and they were almost home. Now Kazamuki accelerated and Jake's teeth began to chatter. Outside was just a blur and he prayed no one would get in their way.

The wheel hard over and they had completed the circuit. The Mitsubis.h.i.+ righted itself and took off. Now they were directly behind the black van. Not a maneuver for the faint-hearted, Jake thought.

She ran up their tailpipe and, just before a light turning off the green, she tramped heavily on the accelerator. The Mitsubis.h.i.+ obediently shot forward and, with a thunderous lurch, slammed into the black van.

The speed was sufficient that the collision sent the Toyota careening into the intersection. The light had already changed, there were cars moving. The black van hit two of them broadside and flipped upward.

It began to roll like an acrobat performing the last, electrifying stunt at the climax of the circus. The Toyota came down hard onto the macadam rear first. The gas tank ripped open along with the left side. Sparks from dragging, exposed metal caught the fumes and there was an oddly m.u.f.fled whump!

Kazamuki cut a hard left and began to accelerate.

He was known as Fung the Skeleton because of the tattoo, a dancing man composed all of bones that was animated by the rippling of his muscles. Usually he went s.h.i.+rtless on the job so that everyone could see the tattoo embedded in the layers of skin across his right shoulder blade. Here, it was important that he keep the name alive.

This was Mong Kok, the northern end of the ma.s.sive typhoon shelter at Yau Ma Tei, on the western side of the Kowloon peninsula. A veritable sea of boats were moored here, encompa.s.sing almost every size and shape. A city of people lived and worked in this s.p.a.ce, an extension of the land itself.

It was easy to get lost here, to secrete a treasure even when others were searching for it. Fung the Skeleton possessed such a treasure and, certainly, there were many who would gladly give up a year's salary to discover its whereabouts.

Many had tried with little or no success. Not because Fung theSkeleton could not be foundanyone in Hong Kong could be found for a price; not because he was a criminal of such stellar magnitude to command sufficient muscle.

The fact was that Fung the Skeleton was a legitimate businessman. Not on board any of his drug-running fleet of boats, which he visited in the early morning or late at night.

From nine to five, dressed and acted like all the other upwardly mobile tai pan. He did not show off his tattoo. Neither was he known as Fung the Skeleton, Ian McKenna would have recognized him immediately as Big Oysters Pok.

That he was able to lead this rather dangerous double life in the claustrophobic and rumor-hungry Crown Colony was a tribute to his skill and ingenuity. The very fact that Special Branch Inspector Ian McKenna knew him only by his legitimate ident.i.ty bespoke Fung the Skeleton's inordinate cleverness.

Legitimate was an approximate word, considering that Fung the Skeleton had gone out of his way to build this third ident.i.ty for himself as a trader in flesh. It amused him to hang out in Wan Chai, one gorgeous woman after another by his side. He liked to see the policemen's eyes bug out, their mouths water for a taste of what he obviously dealt in.

In a way, it was a real joy to play the sleazoid to whom everyone came for information. In another life, perhaps, Fung the Skeleton would have been an actorand a d.a.m.n fine one at that. But he was, alas, Chinese, and the market for Chinese actors was, as it had always been, at a standstill.

There was of course an extensive police file on Fung the Skeleton; but like many such dossiers it was thick with a hodgepodge of unsubstantiated rumor and useless hearsay. There was not one solid fact about the subject, certainly no photograph or any such piece of evidence that could lead the Special Branch to an arrest.

The simple fact was that too many people got rich off Fung the Skeleton's business for the police ever to hope to rope in an informer. Besides which, it was common knowledge that anyone hindering his affairs would be a dead man within twenty-four hours.

Such was the man's power. In a land where modern legends were commonplace, he was talked about in the most reverential tones.

When the Malaysian brought Bliss to him, he was going over backup trade routes with one of his captains. AH his boats had primary routes, and backup should they run across police interference. All the routeschanged daily and were known only by Fung himself and the captains. That way there was no chance of a leak. Responsibility weighed most heavily, Fung the Skeleton often said, when it was borne alone. And he was quite correct. His security was one hundred percent, as it always had been.

The Malaysian held Bliss aside while Fung the Skeleton finished his business with the captain. He stood partially between her and his boss so that even if she could read lips she would have no opportunityto do so.