Dangerous Journey (8 page)

She put the telephone down and eyed the bed. Although it looked inviting after hours of sitting on planes or in airports, she couldn’t abandon her big brother, alone and probably frightened, for something so selfish as a nap, so she wearily showered, changed clothes, and headed for the city jail.

She waited in a small visitors’ room while her brother was summoned. An eternity passed before the door on the other side of the glass partition opened, and he entered.

“Alan!” She placed a hand against the glass, waiting for him to come near. He looked much older than he had three years ago when she last saw him. His shoulders seemed rounder, his dark brown hair thinner, and he had lost weight. It made no sense to her that there, in jail, was the brother she had always looked up to, the one she had always been so proud of. What had done this to him?

“C.J.! I knew I could count on you!” He pressed one hand against the glass opposite hers, and then smiled. In that moment, all the years drifted away. He was her big brother, and she idolized him. Tears filled her eyes.

“I’ll do anything I can to help you,” she said.

“I know.” He withdrew his hand as he sat down, then ran his fingers through his hair making it more tousled than it had been. “God, I thought I might rot here! I’ve got a lawyer who I guess is pretty good. He’s trying to get me out, something about false arrest. They’ve got nothing to hold me on, you know. Nothing.”

“What happened? What’s this all about?”

“They want to send me back to Hong Kong. To extradite me.” The lines on his face had deepened, his dark eyes were flat, and his whole body drooped.

“Alan, listen to me. No one will tell me anything about what’s going on here. Start at the beginning, okay, so I can help you.”

He looked at her, startled by her words. “They didn’t tell you?”

“No, nothing.”

“I see.” He sat back in his chair. “It’s a simple story. I don’t know why it’s all gotten so confused.”

“Go on.”

“It began in Sarawak.” He stared at her, seeming to wonder whether she would believe him. She nodded and smiled with encouragement. “I often went down to the beach to read. I liked being by the ocean to relax when the day’s work was done. One day I spotted a raft drifting towards me. I know it sounds incredible, like a fantasy of some kind, but it’s true! The raft was bobbing in the surf, coming closer and closer to the beach.

“There was something on it. At first I couldn’t tell what, but as it drifted closer, I saw it was a man. I swam out, grabbed the raft and pulled it to shore.

“The man was dying. He was a sailor, and all the others on his ship were already dead. I tried to help him. I tried to save his life, C.J. I really did. But soon I knew it wasn’t possible.” He paused as if remembering that day.

“Oh, Alan, how terrible for you,” C.J. said.

“Yes, it was. He knew his life was over, but because I had tried to save him, he offered me a favor. He said he knew where to find the
Bai-loong
, the priceless White Dragon of the T’ang dynasty. I don’t know much about Chinese art, C.J., but I’d heard of that piece and how valuable it is. When he told me it had been stolen, I could hardly believe it. All I wanted to do was find it and turn it over to the proper authorities. There’s a nice reward for it, you know. Anyway, the trail he gave me led me here. But as soon as I stepped off the plane, I was arrested.”

“But why?”

He shrugged. “It seems my simple questions around Hong Kong just trying to find the Dragon, made the British think I know more about it than I do. They even seem to suspect I have it!”

She said nothing; his story made no sense. Why was he asking people in Hong Kong about the White Dragon when he already knew where it was? Clearly, there was more to the story. But still, why was he arrested? “It sounds like a terrible misunderstanding!”

“Yes, it was.” He was silent a moment, and then smiled. “God, C.J., I just thought of something! If you’re willing to help, I know how you can free me.”

“Anything! Just tell me.”

“There’s a man here, in the Chinatown section.” Alan was excited now. “He’ll help me; help us. I know he will!”

“What do you mean? Is he a lawyer? What about bailing you out of here?”

“There’s no need to spend money we don’t have on lawyers or bail! Believe me. Contact the man in Chinatown. Write down his address.” He spoke quickly.

“Okay.” She began fishing around in her big purse. “Here’s my notebook.”

“It’s 99 Duncombe, just up the block from Grant Avenue off Jackson Street. The man’s name is Mr. Yeng. He’s very influential. I know the British will listen to him when he tells them I had nothing to do with the theft.”

She raised both eyebrows. “Why should he tell the British such a thing? What does he know about this?”

“He knows enough. Give him the name, ‘Chan Li,’ and then say that I’m in prison and must be set free. Repeat that. Chan Li.”

She wrote it down. “Chan Li. That’s easy enough. But who is this man? What does he do?”

Alan sighed. “It’s better if you don’t know. Mr. Yeng will know. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m on your side, Alan, but how can I help you if you keep me in the dark? None of this makes sense!”

“What do you mean, ‘in the dark’?” He scowled. “I’ve told you everything. And I need you, C.J. I need you, just like old times. I used to be able to depend on you. Now, will you help me, or are you going to abandon me, too?”

“Of course I’ll help you.” She stood, waving the notepad in front of her. “I’ve got my instructions. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Alan smiled at her. “You’re a good kid.”

“You’ll be out of here soon.” She felt terrible at having to leave him there. “I promise.”

Between the time change from Hong Kong to San Francisco and her anxiety over Alan, she was ready to drop. It was night, and the sky was dark. More than anything, she wanted to go back to her hotel room and get some sleep. But how could she when that would mean Alan would have to remain in prison even longer. Even one minute more than necessary was more than her conscience could stand. Her stomach growled. She last ate on the plane somewhere over the Pacific, hours ago.

Forget about yourself, she ordered, while listening to every bone in her body creak with fatigue. Night was falling. A chill wind blew off the bay, and the fog had already rolled in and was blanketing the city.

Feeling light-headed, she hailed a taxi, then leaned back against the cushions with a sigh.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Grant and Jackson. Chinatown.”

Grant Avenue was lit up like a Christmas tree, the street alive with activity. The cab crept along, hardly able to move in the crush of pedestrians and other cars.

C.J. soon ran out of patience with the slow pace. She handed the driver some money and got out a couple of blocks short of her destination. She pulled her light jacket tight around her. The breeze had turned cold. From open upper story windows, radios blared the wailing sound of Cantonese opera, while at street level, sales people chased down tourists to hand them flyers hawking shops and restaurants for dinner. Almost everyone seemed to stroll in one direction while looking the opposite way. People knocked against C.J. so often she felt like a bumper car at an amusement park. It almost felt as if she were back in Hong Kong, except that Hong Kong was about ten times more crowded, and the buildings much taller. Also, Hong Kong was a whole lot warmer.

Finally she reached Jackson Street. Alan had told her that the street she wanted was “up” from Grant. When he’d said up, she realized now, he’d meant it literally. Jackson Street rose steeply from Grant toward the center of the city. In the opposite direction, it roller-coastered down to the bay.

She walked up the hill into the hovering fog. The makeup of the street changed quickly, almost eerily so. From the bright neon lights of stores and restaurants along Grant Avenue, the shops on this street were closed and darkened.

As she ascended Jackson, through the fog she was able to see a street sign with the name Duncombe in Roman letters, and Chinese characters below them. Something made her slow her pace. When she reached the corner of Duncombe and Jackson, she realized that her foreboding had been warranted. Duncombe was a desolate-looking alley.

She peered down the alley. It was so dark that she couldn’t see the end of it.

For all she knew, the black hole of Calcutta could be waiting for her down there. The old expression “being Shanghaied” struck her. It was used about people snatched off the streets of San Francisco’s Barbary Coast during the mid-nineteenth century and made to work on ships traveling to the Far East. Could Mr. Yeng, a man of influence, actually live in there?

Groping in her purse, she again pulled out the address Alan had given her. 99 Duncombe.

She put it away again and held her purse against her chest as if for protection. Her mouth felt dry as she took the first, tentative steps into the alley. A fog-shrouded streetlamp cast her shadow far in front of her, until even the shadow disappeared in darkness. The walls of the alley were mostly brick and stone with steel, roll-up garage doors interspersed between them. Dumpsters blocked the narrow sidewalk as she walked down the center of the pavement. She remembered reading in history books about the tong wars that took place in San Francisco’s Chinatown in the late nineteenth century, and how rival tongs, similar to today’s gangs, would line up in the dead of night facing each other in alleys like this one. Instead of guns and knives, they used hatchets. As they stared at each other, eventually someone would move—perhaps no more than the flicker of an eyelid. At that, the tongs would lunge together, their hatchets wildly swinging, inflicting horrible damage to each other. The next day, the city would wake to find the dead and dying.

Taking a deep breath, telling herself the days of tong wars were long past, C.J. plunged into the dark alley, her heels echoing loudly as she walked. Although she looked back over her shoulder toward the main street for comfort from time to time, the fog filled the air until, as she went deeper, she could see nothing more than a dismal blur.

A chill crept up her back, and her steps faltered.

A doorway! That must be it, she thought, as she hurried towards an old brick building. It was three stories tall, with only a few windows.

She stared at the heavy, dark wooden door before her. Perhaps this was just a warehouse? A daytime address? There was only one way to find out. She reached her hand towards the doorbell, but pulled it back as uncertainty gripped her.

She was sure Alan wouldn’t send her anyplace dangerous, but maybe he had been wrong about the address. She glanced up and down the alley again quickly. She should just ring the bell and find out. But what if Mr. Yeng actually did live here? What if he answered the door and invited her inside?

She swallowed hard. Ring the bell, C period, J period, Perkins. Show them you can’t be cowed by a little darkness and some fog!

She was again reaching for the bell when she heard footsteps coming her way.

Ring the bell!
her mind cried.
You’ve got to help Alan.
She flung her hand toward the buzzer just as a pair of strong arms went around her, knocking her away from the door and pushing her deeper into the alley. At the same instant a hand was clamped tightly over her mouth, preventing her from screaming.

The man holding her was tall and strong. She struggled to get away, but she couldn’t. His whispered voice was telling her something, but she was too frightened to make sense out of it. She struggled furiously before his hushed words penetrated her fears. “Stop it, C.J. It’s me. Stop it.”

She turned her head just enough to confront her attacker. As her eyebrows shot up in recognition, he took his hand away from her mouth.

“Darius!” she cried, putting her hand on her chest to still the mad beating of her heart. Her legs were ready to collapse from the fright he’d given her at the same time as she was overjoyed to see him here. The resulting confusion made her mad. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, scaring me like that!” She waved her arms for emphasis.

“Not so loud.” He spoke in angry, hushed tones. “What the hell do you think you’re doing going up to the door of one of the most dangerous men in Chinatown?”

“What? But…” she sputtered.

“Come on!” Darius put his arm around her waist and hurried her out of the alley.

“No! Let go of me!” She struggled to free herself. “I will not go anywhere with you! What are you doing here, anyway?”

A slight metallic sound stopped her complaints. She clutched Darius’ jacket and strained to see in the foggy darkness. A small tin can rolled toward them from deep inside the alley. They watched it in surprise, and then Darius pushing her back into a dark alcove formed by a garage door as a figure, short and slight, stepped from the shadows and ran past them to the street.

C.J. was afraid that her heart would stop from the scare Darius had given her, the effect of having him so close once again, and now this. She didn’t know whether to be frightened or furious.

Still, she couldn’t stop her fingers from tightening on his jacket.

“Who was that?” she whispered.

Without answering, he held her to his side as he quickly led her out of the alley. This time, she made no protest.

He hailed a taxi on Grant Avenue. “Mark Hopkins,” he told the driver as they climbed in.

Even in her bewildered state, the name of one of the most elegant hotels in San Francisco came through with crystalline clarity.

She glanced at him in surprise. He had gotten a haircut since she saw him last, a casual razor cut, combed to the side and back. All in all, it suited him well. Too well.

Her eyes dropped to the jacket he was wearing. It was made of fine, soft leather, obviously expensive. What was going on here?

“The Mark Hopkins?” she asked finally. “Why are we going there?”

“I’ve got a room.” He gave her a wink.

“A room? Hey, isn’t that my old line?” She couldn’t help a sheepish grin.

Yes, her old line.... Memories of the past few days came rushing at her. To her, Hong Kong would always mean only one thing: Darius Kane. She could remember perfectly the first time she’d seen him. How she had found the nerve to talk to him, let alone invite him to her room, she would never know. Then she remembered Darius in her hotel room, and the way he had teased her! And on Victoria Peak, overlooking the harbor, with the hot sun shining on his face and the bright azure sky as the backdrop. And Darius playing the piano...