The Deaths of Tao (19 page)

Because looking like a Seventies porn star will make you a better agent.
 

“I’m just kind of bored of my face.”

You should burn half of it off like Dylan. You would be much more interesting. Why are we discussing you again? I thought we were talking about Lenin. And, yes, having met Stalin, I believe he would still have consolidated power, though the succession might have been more bloody.
 

Their conversation was interrupted when Hutch nudged him. Roen looked up and noticed the four pajama-party men looking his way. The one in the far back beckoned them closer.

They are ready. I am going to tell you what to say in English first and then you repeat it in Mandarin.
 

“Follow my lead,” Roen whispered as he walked to the table and bowed. The four maintained bored expressions as he presented a stack of half million Taiwanese dollars as a gift. Roen bowed again and took a step backward next to Hutch.

One would think they would be happy being presented free money.
 

“No kidding, right?”

The old man on the right picked his nose and then spoke in a clear voice. “It has been a long time since the Prophus has come to us. Our island has not seen your kind for many years. We thought with the Genjix’s great power on the mainland, that you all were dead. After all, why have you not appeared to fight them?”

“Our enemy is your enemy, big man,” Roen struggled with the broken Mandarin, “and we still fight to this day.”

“A poor job then,” the lazy-eyed man on the left said. “These Genjix have no sense of business. They are unwilling to negotiate, moving like locusts across our operations and listening neither to reason nor overtures. Beasts like them cannot be tamed, only put down.”

They do not understand the way of the people.
 

Roen repeated the message.

“And it seems neither do the Prophus,” the one with his back to them said. Roen decided to call him Bug Eyes because of his tremendously large glasses that covered half his face. Bug Eyes shook a finger at him. “The Prophus claim to be friends, yet when their enemies come and take our livelihood, they are nowhere to be found. Friends do not abandon friends.”

Roen bowed again. “The Prophus beg forgiveness. The fight has gone poorly, but we assure you we still fight to the last.”

Catfish Face, the one in the far back, waved the other three off. “Friends know friends are busy. The Prophus have been family for hundreds of years. You come with a request. What do you wish?”

At least one of the four amigos was on his side. Booger Picker and Bug Eyes seemed irritated while Lazy Eyes and Catfish Face were far more receptive. Roen first asked if any of the divisions had seen Dylan, describing his friend physically in less than flattering detail.

The syndicates should be Dylan’s first contact for supplies. Guns were illegal on the island and the few safe houses here were not equipped with weapons, another victim of Prophus budget cuts. In the end, he received little actionable information, just like every other lead the team had pursued over the past two weeks. There were scattered rumors of a “burned snowman” that could only refer to Dylan, but there weren’t leads behind those rumors. All the Bamboo Union bosses would acknowledge were sightings, be it two weeks or five days ago, at the illegal casino or market or docks, but nothing more. They almost seemed intentionally vague.

Roen knew the bosses were wary of dealing with the Prophus because they did not want to incur the wrath of the Genjix. The triads must have been hit really hard. All they wanted now was to lie low and wait things out. Little did they realize that if things continued this way, there would be nothing to wait out.

“We are seeking information regarding Genjix trade operations. Your noble organizations control much of the labor that works the trade in the airports and ports. Surely there is information you might share with friends,” Roen pleaded.

“We have an arrangement with the Genjix,” Bug Eyes remarked. “They made it perfectly clear what they want on this island. As long as we are invisible and do not affect their dock operations, we are left alone.”

“Abandon markets the Genjix have an interest in and they leave you alone?” Roen muttered in English. “Doesn’t sound like much of an arrangement to me. More like a full capitulation.”

The four bosses’ face darkened. Roen bit his lip and mentally rapped himself on the side of the head. Of course these guys understood English. They were forcing Roen to speak their tongue as a sign of deference.

That or they enjoy listening to you butcher their language. He did just give away information on the Genjix operation. There are a dozen major ports in Taiwan though.
 

“You speak without knowledge,” Booger Picker growled. “What else do you wish to waste our time about? Otherwise, be on your way.” He was openly scowling and went as far as to nod toward someone off to the side. He heard the snap of several safeties going off and Hutch’s quick intake of breath.

You just do not know when to not improvise, do you?
 

Roen bowed again hastily. “I just mean that it is wrong of the Genjix to take what is yours without offering fair value. It is an injustice the Prophus will remedy soon.”

He spent the next several seconds apologizing profusely, bowing so many times his back ached. Roen snuck a peek up at the group. Booger Picker was still scowling but Catfish Face nodded ever so slightly. At least he was getting through to someone. It was quick, barely an exchange of glances. Of course, they were hiding something. Something they didn’t want him to know. The clues were slight and barely noticeable: a quick aversion of the eyes or a little hesitation in their voice. And then just like that, it was gone. Booger Picker abruptly ended the meeting with a dismissive tone, telling him any further questions would be a waste of their time. Bug Eyes even went as far as to admonish him for meddling in syndicate affairs and warned him to stay out of the southern part of the island, which he claimed was his jurisdiction.

Roen was tempted to swipe the half million Taiwanese dollars off the table and make a break for it. At the end of the day, Tao and approximately twenty automatic rifles talked him down from his brazen stupidity.

That is the difference between Edward and you. I admit that once you dedicated yourself, you were a fast learner and now could be Edward good. However, he was never foolhardy. Your old sense of self-preservation was one of your redeeming qualities. Now, I feel like I am always talking you off the ledge. You are not a comic book hero after all.
 

“If I were, I’d be Batman.”

No, you would be Manikin.
 

“Ooh, obscure yet fitting reference. Bonus points for that. Are you the primeval goo or the ape-man?”

In this relationship, you would be the goo.
 

Roen and Hutch left the meeting pretty much empty-handed. If they weren’t at a dead end now, they would be soon. The Bamboo Union had the widest network out of the gangs, so Roen had hoped they could provide a lead. Earlier this week, Faust and Jim had approached the two other large gangs, the Celestial Way and Four Seas, and had both came back empty-handed as well.

Roen stewed as they were ushered out by the henchmen. These guys basically just took his money and ignored him. He could see this kind of crap from the Russians or the Italians, but not from the triads. It was inappropriate for an Asian syndicate to act this dishonorably.

Calm down. It is what it is. Seventeen thousand will not break the bank.
 

“Tao, I lived on fifty bucks a week for food for the past eight months. Don’t tell me I couldn’t find a better use for that dough than give it to a bunch of millionaire gangsters.”

As they turned the corner, one of the gangsters sauntered up next to them. Roen guessed by his suit that he was some sort of higher-up. The gangster leaned in and passed him a white envelope.

“Han Da-Ge offers a gift and asks your fathers to simply remember the Dragon division in the future in a preferable light,” he nodded before veering off back into the shadows.

In case you are wondering, Da Ge Han was the one in the far back: Catfish Face.
 

Roen ripped the envelope and took out a crinkled piece of paper hastily folded. Tao translated the words. It was a standing order for all Bamboo Union members to avoid the large Genjix port operation in Kaohsiung harbor.

Southern tip of the island. Largest port city in Taiwan. That is the most solid lead we have received so far.
 

“At least it wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

A few minutes later, Roen and Hutch found themselves standing outside the old circuit board warehouse on the northeastern fringe of the industrial district of Hsinchu county. It was a balmy sitting-in-a-steam-bath night that drenched them both within minutes. Roen had never missed air conditioning as much as he did being here in Taiwan. The only other times he felt more suffocated by the heat was when the Prophus had attacked the Genjix thermal plant at the basin of the Erta Ale Volcano in Ethiopia, and the time he went to Disney World in Orlando in July.

Three minutes into their walk down several rows of darkened warehouses, Roen whispered to Hutch. “Tail to our five. Next intersection, continue north and east. If I don’t find you within twenty minutes, rendezvous at the secondary site. Do not report back to the safe house. Oh, and walk slower.” He waited until they turned left at the next intersection before splitting off.

Now, Roen wasn’t worth much in the field of espionage. He couldn’t turn the charm on like Edward could or become a chameleon like Sonya did when it suited her. These were just skills he had never developed. Tao often called him a Phillips screwdriver, a single-purpose tool that did one job well. That suited Roen fine because what he was talented at, he was now very good at.

Within steps of leaving Hutch, Roen had disappeared into the shadows and was soon perched on top of the low-hanging roof of one of the warehouses, watching the dark shadow that followed Hutch. He had a few seconds to position himself to set up the tail. Whoever it was would soon realize that he was only following one person now. If the guy was smart, he would back off. And when he did, Roen could follow him to something useful, hopefully.

He waited just outside the shadow’s range of vision, skulking along the ledge. Roen saw Hutch strolling down the dark streets and cursed. With the way Hutch overplayed his part, any self-respecting spy would be able to tell something was amiss. However, whoever this tail was was not smart or self-respecting. He continued to follow Hutch.

Roen cursed again. “He didn’t even notice he lost a guy. Damn amateur hour.”

Well, so much for that. What is plan B?
 

“We wait. I want to see what he does once Hutch stops moving.”

What if he kills Hutch?
 

“Hutch is not going to die at the hands of a two-bit punk who doesn’t know when to abort a tailing mission. Besides, Hutch knows the guy is coming.”

Roen continued tracking the shadow, moving from rooftop to rooftop. He didn’t worry too much about being noticed. Whatever this guy’s day job was better be stable, because he wasn’t cut out for covert work. Roen had his doubts that Hutch, who was a smash-first-think-later kind of guy, wouldn’t have eventually noticed him himself.

He did take the time to study the shadow though. He was a young man with an upper body disproportionate to his legs and was obviously military. It was evident not just by his build but by the way he carried himself. The casualness was too forced and the man’s hands strayed far too often to his ribs, a sign of someone armed and trigger-happy.

Roen wondered if he was dealing with an especially inquisitive syndicate member tracking them or if it was the Genjix.

Hutch was now sitting on a bench at the intersection pretending to wait for the bus. Not exactly the brightest alibi considering the next bus wouldn’t stop by in this remote area for eight or so hours, but the man was trying at least.

Remember your first tailing assignments?
 

“Hey, we all start somewhere, right?”

Some people’s somewhere are much different from others’.
 

And then the espionage version of musical chairs – a game Roen detested – began. For the next fifteen minutes, Roen sat in the sweltering heat waiting for the tail waiting on Hutch to make a move. Hutch ended up waiting nearly thirty minutes for Roen. When Roen never showed, he stood up and walked along the river, the direction opposite of the secondary site.

Roen couldn’t believe it; he wanted to tear his hair out. The dumbest thing Hutch could do was to lead a tail directly back to their safe house. The second dumbest thing he could do was be too obvious, and wandering in such a roundabout way, where he would eventually need to double back, fit that category.

For the better part of the next two hours, Roen tailed the tail who tailed Hutch as they made a merry scenic tour of the city, going from the warehouse district to the red light district to the downtown area. Twice, Hutch stopped to get something to eat; the first time at a noodle shop and the second for shaved ice. Roen’s stomach grumbled both times as he sweated the night away, waiting for something to happen. Finally, at 2am, Hutch got to the secondary site. In a minute, he would go in, take the back room to the sewers, and hole up at a hostel across town before reporting back to Wuehler.

Roen followed the tail until dawn. By this time, he was so tired he didn’t care where this damn guy went, but he stayed with it. What was another hour or two when he’d already done this for six anyway? The chase mercifully ended at a house on the far end of an affluent residential district. Roen was grateful. In his nearly all-black garb, he wasn’t exactly dressed to blend in with the morning crowds. Satisfied, he took the information down and made a beeline back to the safe house.