The Deaths of Tao Page 23

  Four minutes after Marco called, she caught eye of his silent little toy car zipping up. He got out and jogged around to open the passenger side door. Jill hid her smile. Having the door opened for her never grew old.

  Polite and punctual. There are just some manners that one cannot teach.

  “They just don’t make them like they used to anymore.”

  Marco was dressed like a model in one of those catalogs. He wore a custom-tailored gray charcoal tux with a blue tie that suited him perfectly. One could always tell when a tux was made just for the man. He was also clean-shaven, and while she hadn’t minded his manly five o’clock shadow, he cleaned up nicely. She had to check herself from staring.

  “You look lovely as always,” Marco said as he held the door open.

  “You look alright, I guess,” she sniffed with an exaggerated air of indifference. She got in and they sped off toward the party. On the way, she reminded him that they were in her world now. She showed him a hand signal for him to step away, and more importantly, another to rescue her from an unwelcome conversation. Then he refreshed with her the signs she should use for help, follow, danger, flee, kill, and a dozen others. By the time they got to the party, they had built an entirely new sign language of their own. To be honest though, Jill only remembered help and bathroom, the two she considered most important.

  “Why can’t we just use the military ones?” she said as they parked four blocks from the party.

  “Because then our secret sign language will be known by probably a dozen others in the room,” he said. “How am I supposed to profess my undying love with ten complete strangers eavesdropping?”

  He held out his elbow, and they strolled to the party leisurely. She cursed her high heels. As was standard practice, he had parked his car several blocks away. If something went down, it would give them space to maneuver. Wearing flats would have been a glaring and gossiped about mistake. Still...

  “Could you have parked a little closer?” she grumbled.

  “I can carry you if you’d like,” he said.

  “I just never get to take advantage of valet anymore,” she said. “Especially in this town.”

  Hard to make a quick getaway when you have to wait for the valet to pull your car up.

  “You’re not the one wearing heels day in and day out.”

  The price of beauty is never cheap. Ask Helen of Troy.

  “That’s just mythology.”

  If you only knew how many silly wars were started over a woman.

  Parties at the White House were never small events. Security was tighter than Fort Knox. Background checks had to be done weeks in advance, and getting invited to one was like pulling the golden ticket out of a chocolate bar. It was the highlight of any political operative’s existence in the capital. Most aides never got to see the inside of the West Wing. This was Jill’s third trip here and it still filled her with awe as she walked past security into the ballroom. She stopped at the doorway and soaked in the atmosphere.

  “I can’t believe I wanted to skip this,” she said as they mingled with the crowd. The truth about the White House was, being two hundred years old, it looked dated and didn’t have all the luxury of say, the Four Seasons. It was the White House though, and for Jill, this was hallowed ground.

  She turned to Marco. “It’s a good thing the British Embassy pushed your clearance through so fast. Otherwise, we’d be missing out.”

  “Well, I am a lord,” he shrugged as if he were saying he liked pancakes.

  “Excuse me, your majesty,” she said playfully.

  “Did the royal family and the forty or so in line ahead of me suddenly keel over?” he grinned. “Your lordship will do.”

  Jill rolled her eyes. “The day I call you that is the day–”

  “Your lordship,” Wilks approached them with a glass of whiskey in each hand. He handed one to Marco. “So good to see you again. Hello, Jill.”

  “Marco will do, Senator,” Marco replied, taking the glass and shaking Wilks’ hand.

  “Senator,” she replied. Marco and Wilks began chatting away as if they were two fraternity brothers, leaving Jill feeling invisible.

  “How did he leapfrog me on Wilks’ totem pole?”

  Strong bromance.

  “And I even wore heels and a cute dress.”

  With the two men busy, Jill helped herself to a glass of white from a passing waiter and made her rounds, greeting acquaintances and enemies alike. Inevitably as at all such functions, talk turned to politics. Within a span of ten minutes, she had lost half a dozen votes to two of Wilks’ bills and was offered to cosign another. Then she got her second drink.

  These events felt more like an extension of work than they did parties. The venues were different, the drinks flowed, and she wore a tight dress, but the discussions were always the same. After thirty minutes, she took a break from deciding the fate of the nation and looked for her date.

  Marco was across the room, still chatting with Wilks. However, his entourage had quadrupled in size. There was a football team’s worth of men surrounding them, hanging onto his every word. The group suddenly erupted in laughter, and someone patted him on the back. Jill didn’t know how he did it, but in less than an hour, he had become the second most popular person in the capital. It was a good thing the president wasn’t here, or they’d be two colliding attention-grabbing black holes destroying the galaxy.

  He has a way about him.

  “I give him that. The few times I dragged Roen to these events, he looked like a cornered mouse in a snake pit.”

  Marco is a man cut from a different cloth.

  “Hello, Jill.”

  She turned around and tensed. “Simon.”

  He pointed to one of the side corridors. “Could I speak with you in private for a moment?”

  She looked desperately toward Marco, but his back was to her as he held court on the other end of the floor. So much for being her bodyguard.

  Play it cool. Simon cannot act here.

  She followed him out into the hallway adjoining the main room, and he immediately rounded on her, whispering in a heated tone.

  “What the hell are you trying to pull?” he snarled. “Word is out you’re building an alternative plan. We had a deal!”

  “You had a deal. I’m exploring options,” she said, refusing to back down. “You think the Prophus are just going to be your lap dog because you threaten us?”

  He grabbed her elbow and squeezed. “The Genjix are allowing you to play in the game because it’s easier for all of us. We can do this alone if necessary. You won’t like it.”

  She pulled her elbow back. “You’ll still have your meeting with Wilks. You just might have to sweeten the pot.”

  Simon looked like he was about to lunge at her when suddenly he stiffened up.

  Marco materialized behind them, talking with his mouth full. “Have you tried the shrimp cocktail yet? Wonderful, really. I must commend the chef.” He leaned in close to Simon’s ear and spoke in a whisper only he and Jill could hear. “It’s messy eating though. Good thing it comes with toothpicks. I have one right now sticking into the base of your neck, Genjix. A little jab and it goes into your brain stem. You’ll be paralyzed and eating apple sauce for the rest of your life. So let me ask you, do you really want to continue this conversation right now?”

  Simon froze and slowly raised his hands.

  “Are we done here?” she said coolly. “I have better things to do. Now back to your masters, dog. I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

  Simon turned to Marco and studied him. “I don’t recognize you, betrayer.”

  Marco stuck out his hand and they shook.

  Simon hissed. “Ah, the famous Ahngr. You’re far from home. What brings you to the colonies?” He suddenly winced and his knee buckled.

  “Biall,” Marco said, iron grip on Simon’s hand. “I see your latest host is another weasel, just like all the others you inhabit. I thought you’d have learned your l
esson after the beating mine gave yours in Frankfurt. What’s with you and tadpoles?” He gave Simon one final bone-crunching squeeze. “Don’t ever threaten Ms Tan again. I will end you.”

  “Just talking shop,” Simon said, quickly retracting his hand back. “It’s what we do here in Washington.”

  “Walk along, Genjix. And if I so much as see you look her way tonight, we will have words again, and they might be the last you’ll hear.”

  Jill watched Simon beat a hasty retreat. “You know I had him right where I wanted him,” she said.

  “Of course,” Marco replied, wiping his hands with a handkerchief. “I just didn’t want him to have you all to himself.” He held out an elbow. “Now that the unpleasantness is over, and I’ve run dry of stories for your stuffy diplomats, may I have this dance?”

  “You’re calling them stuffy, kettle?” she laughed, accepting it.

  Marco led her to the center of the ballroom, where for the rest of the night, they fox-trotted to a quartet. A few times, Jill had to change partners when several ladies in attendance cut in. She had to admit she felt a twinge of jealousy. He was her date after all. Still, by the end of the night, her feet were sore and she bowed out of the last few songs, leaving him for all the other ladies. She walked out to the balcony for some fresh air and saw Wilks.

  “Oh, there you are,” he said. “I barely saw you all night, and when I did, you were preoccupied.”

  She blushed. “My apologies, Senator.”

  “Nonsense,” he exclaimed. “Marco’s an awfully fine gentleman. You have my blessing.”

  “For what?” she exclaimed. “Senator, this is a personal matter.”

  “You’re on my team,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “When someone’s on my team, all matters are personal to me. I’m just saying his lordship is a good guy.” He paused. “You deserve it.”

  Yes you do.

  “I appreciate that, but my personal life is none of your damn business,” she replied.

  “And it’s not your business either, Baji.”

  Of course it is. I have as much stake in this matter as you do.

  Wilks took a puff and looked out across the lawn. “I’m just saying you’re not wrong.”

  “Sorry, Senator?”

  “You’re not wrong. Marco’s a good guy, and you do deserve better than what you’ve been getting.” He took two more puffs and then saw a small group approaching. Jill recognized the lady in the black dress as the Surgeon General.

  “Damn it,” Wilks growled. “Guy can’t even clog up his lungs in peace anymore.” He stamped out the cigarette and began to walk inside. “By the way, Hogan’s aide, Simmons, Sam, or whatever his name is, says you’re sabotaging some deal. Wants me to rein you in and bump our meeting up.”

  “And what did you say, Senator?”

  Wilks gave her a lopsided grin. “I told him to schedule it with you.” He wiggled a finger. “You’re on my team. I watch out for my own.” And then Wilks was gone, leaving Jill alone to her thoughts.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  SCOUTING

  Shamshi-Adad was my first taste of success with empire building. He started without a kingdom, but ended his reign master of all of Upper Mesopotamia. That was when I first understood the incredible strength humans as a species possessed.

  Through him, I had risen from one of low standing to the cusp of joining the Grand Council. However, that was a role I held no interest in. I wanted to explore this vast untapped potential and see what successes his offspring could accomplish. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Unlike Quasing, human qualities are not innately transferred to their offspring. His second son, Yamshah-Adad, was a shadow of his father, and soon, all that I had built was blown away, washed away like tears in the rain. – Tao

  Roen stared at the bright plastic yellow flowers that lined the grass as he rode up the escalator of Central Park Station in Kaohsiung. It was the most cheerful sight that he’d ever seen leaving a subway. He had always assumed the large port city, like most others of its kind, would be a cesspool of humanity. However, he found it clean and well-maintained, surprising for an industrial district. Or in his own metrics, New York times three on the cleanliness scale.

  “Whoever designed these stations must not be functioning on all cylinders,” Faust tapped his head with a finger. “I was at the Formosa Boulevard Station yesterday. They had these glass murals on the ceiling. One of them was some white tree nymph stabbing a black monster. Kind of like Alice in Wonderland meets Salvatore Dali on acid.”

  Roen grinned. “I don’t care if he’s on crack. This sure beats the New York’s ant farm subways.”

  I prefer the Moscow Metro Stations. There is something poetic about underground cathedral domes.

  “Bah, it’s the same patterns over and over again.”

  Patterns are fun.

  “Patterns cause seizures.”

  The team reached the top of the escalator and parted ways as if total strangers. Each man had a job to do. It was Roen and Faust’s job to contact the local Bamboo Union, the Dragon division, replenish their ammo stores, and inquire about Dylan. The rest of the guys were on surveillance, mapping the harbor and surrounding factories. Grant was on food and hygiene duty: they were out of toothpaste.

  What they did know was that the Punai Corporation was based inland on the mainland and had thirteen buildings – four refineries and nine warehouses – in a prime strip of real estate just south of the second harbor entrance. In the old days, they could just call up satellite imagery or bribe the port officials. Now, it was all leg work.

  “I miss being at the top of the food chain. What was it like being the Chinese emperor?”

  Being emperor sucks.

  “Why do you say that? You get to boss everyone around. It’s good to be king.”

  It is too much work and responsibility. Not to mention there is always someone trying to assassinate you. The best job in the world is the third in succession.

  “All the power and respect, none of the work?”

  Exactly. When I was in Zhu, life was terrible. Every day, we would get inundated with ridiculous requests. No one could make a decision for themselves.

  “Well, Zhu was a frigging tyrant. That’s what happens when you consolidate power to just you.”

  Times were different back then. You give a guy too much power and they raise an army and lay siege to your house.

  “Yeah, but as the younger brother to the crown prince, aren’t you worried that your older brother will throw you off the parapet or lock you in the Tower of London?

  During the reign of Christian V, I hid from the Genjix by living in the second heir to the crown. Tensions were high between the brothers as Frederick, the crown prince, was a bit of an insecure control freak. I made young Charles tell his older brother that he had no desire for the crown whatsoever. Once Frederick believed him, Charles was free to do whatever he wanted for the rest of his life.

  “He must have had a lot of free time on his hands. What form of debauchery did you encourage him into?”

  He hunted Genjix in Denmark. Had to stop when he was accused of being a serial killer. Frederick had to save Charles from the executioner.

  “It’s good to be the serial killing brother of the king.”

  The two found the Dragon’s base of operations behind a knick-knack shop that sold thousands of useless trinkets on the edge of the harbor near the National Sun Yat Sen University. The tiny storefront was much larger inside than it seemed out front. They were led to the back and passed through a wall of beaded curtains into a maze of dark corridors and small side rooms. Several groups of thugs lounged around, their wary eyes watching Roen and Faust’s every move. A few minutes and two levels down later, Roen was hopelessly turned around.

  I know how to get back.

  “Haven’t seen anyone worth breaking a sweat over. Most of them I can take with one hand tied behind my back.”

  They will swarm. You did leave your gun at the entrance.<
br />
  “We’re low on bullets anyway.”

  They were finally led to a small dimly lit room. Six men sat at a round table beneath a floodlight shining down from the ceiling. Wads of crinkled cash, two pistols, and several pieces of jewelry were piled in the center. The men looked up from their card game once and then ignored Roen and Faust for the next ten minutes. At first, Roen assumed these gangsters were playing poker. It took him a few minutes to realize the game was pinochle.

  “I thought only grandmothers play pinochle. And what’s with these guys and making us wait all the time?”

  We did come to them, after all.

  One of the gangsters looked up and gestured for them to approach. Again, it was the one facing the door they came in from. “You’re the one Da Ge sent?” he asked in passable English.

  “We need supplies,” Roen took out a sheet of paper and placed it on the table.

  The leader, Roen had nicknamed him Sloppy Eater for the half a dozen stains on his cutoff white shirt, glanced it over and then handed the note off. “You a friend of Da Ge Han, I give you good deal. Two hundred thousand.”

  Roen blanched at the number. Unless he was hunting werewolves and needed silver bullets, there was no way ammo cost five thousand stinky tofu.

  Let it go. We are on an island where firearms are illegal.

  “Someone must have written ‘sucker’ on my forehead or something.”

  “We also need harbor identifications,” Roen said. “For Punai Corp.”

  The room erupted in low mutters as the mobsters exchanged uneasy looks. They definitely hit a nerve bringing up Punai.

  “What you want with Punai?” Sloppy Eater said. “Da Ge Han said my boys don’t touch them. It will be expensive. Fifty thousand for two to get past security.”

  “We need eight,” Faust replied.

  “Five hundred thousand for eight.”

  Roen made a choking noise like he just swallowed a golf ball. “That doesn’t even add up!” he stammered. “How could two cost fifty and eight cost five hundred? If anything, it should be a bulk discount.”

  Sloppy Eater’s face darkened, and Roen hear the distinct click of safeties being switched off.