Choke Point (7 page)

Yuan stared at her as if she had suddenly materialized from another dimension. “You are familiar with Glasgow Coma Scoring?”

“I am.”

The conversation immediately dissolved into a complicated discussion of neurological scales, both of them talking in medical shorthand—incomprehensible acronyms and inexplicable synonyms—all of which meant nothing to Simon, and only added to the confusion about Big Jake’s condition. Billie looked equally bewildered, her attention drawn to the scene beyond the glass: a nurse changing one of the IV bags feeding life into her husband’s arm. Simon tried to concentrate on other things, not wanting to think of Big Jake Rynerson lying in a vegetative state for the rest of his life, but his mind kept spinning back to that very thought, the way a tongue keeps picking at a popcorn husk caught between the teeth. A sudden change in the medical debate refocused his attention.

“Move?” Kyra stared at the doctor in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? Move him where?”

Dr. Yuan looked at Billie, who looked at her daughter. “We’re moving him to Bangkok.”

“Bangkok?” Kyra repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “Why?”

Billie turned back to the doctor. “Thank you, Dr. Yuan. We sure do appreciate all you’re doing here.”

Yuan not only took the hint, he couldn’t escape fast enough, bowing and backing his way out of the room. Kyra waited until the door closed before going on the attack. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Well, ah course it is,” Billie answered, her West Texas twang flat with sarcasm. “I can’t imagine a more appropriate time for humor.”

“He’s in no condition to travel.”

“It’s only a two-hour flight. They’ve got a first-rate medical facility.”

“But why take the risk?”

Billie raised her chin, the expression of someone sitting with crossed arms. “Dr. Yuan assures me the risk is minimal.”

“We’re talking about Dad’s life,” Kyra shot back. “There is no
minimal.
”

“You’re right, it’s his life, and I don’t believe he’s safe here.”

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t he be safe?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Kyra, your father was shot.”

“A random shooting, you said. A botched robbery. It wasn’t personal.”

“Well, yes,” Billie answered, “but it’s not that simple.” She motioned toward the pair of tubular metal chairs. “Let’s sit down.”

Kyra expelled a deep breath—the exasperated sigh of an adult child when they’re being pushed into something by a parent—and lowered herself onto the vinyl cushion. Simon edged back against the door, hoping neither of them would try to enlist his support—a no-win entanglement, no matter what he said.

Billie slid into the second chair. “What I’m about to tell you—” She glanced at Simon, letting him know the admonition was all-inclusive. “Can’t leave this room.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Mother, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not your style.”

“I assure you, I am not being dramatic, Kyra. This is serious. I mean it. I want your word…both of you…nothing will leave this room.”

“Of course,” Simon answered without hesitation, hoping Kyra would take the hint and give her mother some slack. “Whatever you say, Billie.”

Kyra shrugged wearily and sat back. “Okay. Sure. What’s the big secret?”

Billie glared back at her, ready to pounce, then apparently thought better of it and simply responded to her daughter’s sarcasm. “Yes, Kyra, that’s exactly what it is…a secret.” She paused, still groping for the right words. “Your father’s been working on something very important with the President.”

Kyra glanced at Simon, then back to her mother. “The president of what?”

“The president of the United States.”

“Oh.” She gave her mother a puzzled, somewhat mistrustful look. “I thought Daddy hated politicians?”

“Normally that’s true, but he seems to have a special affinity for this one.”

Kyra’s expression went from skeptical to one of intense interest. “Does that mean those old rumors are true? That he was responsible for putting the President in office?”

Simon found himself holding his breath, wondering if Jake had broken their vow of silence, and had exposed their secret to Billie. A secret, Simon knew, that if it ever slipped out, would change his life forever—and not in a good way.

“I asked him point blank,” Billie answered. “He denied having anything to do with it.”

Kyra frowned, a cheated look, and Simon jumped in, trying to steer the conversation away from
old rumors.
“So what’s going on, Billie?”

“The President has been working on a trade agreement between the United States, mainland China, and Taiwan.

“Are you saying—” Simon hesitated, considering the ramifications. “You mean China is finally going to recognize Taiwan?”

“No,” Billie answered. “Not exactly. That’s why I said
mainland
China. It’s all a matter of semantics. They both consider themselves to be the legitimate government of the Chinese people. Officially this is only a trade agreement, the Pacific Rim Alliance, but even that’s a huge concession on the part of Beijing.”

“And what,” Kyra asked, “does Daddy have to do with all this?”

“For want of a better term, let’s say he’s the glue. The incentive package. In return for their cooperation, I’m talking about Beijing, he’s agreed to help with their petroleum problem.”

“I thought Daddy was pretty much out of the oil business.”

“He’s been in and out. Presently in. Most of his holdings are now in South America.”

“But why should he—”

“Because,” Billie interrupted, “Congress would never agree to relinquish any of our reserves. The President needed an independent. Someone big enough to take the heat.”

“That’s Daddy.” She glanced toward the comatose figure beyond the glass. “But why hasn’t this been in the news?”

“They’re trying to keep a lid on the negotiations. Too many things can still go wrong. Half the world would like to see this thing fail, and some of them would do about anything to make that happen. Hell, half the Chinese Politburo would rather drop bombs than trade food with Taiwan.” She nodded toward the inert figure of her husband. “I’m afraid this won’t help. That’s why we need to keep the seriousness of Jake’s condition to ourselves, and just hope he recovers in time.”

“In time?” Kyra asked. “In time for what?”

“The signing ceremony is scheduled for the twenty-first of July.”

“You must be kidding! There’s no way he’s going to be in any condition to—”

“Your father’s a bull,” Billie interrupted. “If he comes out of this coma…
when
he comes out…there’s no reason he can’t—”

“Now you’re the one being obtuse, Mother. Just look at him. He’s—”

“Okay,” Simon cut in, “that’s enough. If I know Jake, he’ll sit up when he feels like it, and there’s nothing the two of you can do to change that.” Though somewhat simplistic, it was a statement neither of them could challenge. “What’s so important about the twenty-first of July? I thought that’s when the Pearl was scheduled to open?”

Billie nodded. “The opening, the signing, the whole damn thing. Everything is tied together.”

Simon pulled a small notebook from his pocket, ready to take down the details. “We’ve got a month. Why can’t the ceremony be pushed back?”

“If only we could. The date was established by some famous feng shui master. Something to do with geology. It’s all gobbledygook to me.”

Wrong science, Simon thought, but he couldn’t disagree with the gobbledygook assessment. “I think you’re talking about the Chinese art of geomancy. It’s a method of foretelling the future by reading the geographic patterns produced by small particles thrown at random onto the ground.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Geomancy. Jake calls it ‘reading dirt.’”

Simon smiled to himself—Jake did have a way of getting to the essence. “You said ‘the whole damn thing.’ Is there something else besides the signing and opening?”

“Unfortunately, yes. That’s where you come in. You know anything about Chao Cheng?”

“A little. Isn’t he the warlord who unified China into one nation, built the Great Wall, and declared himself Shih Huang-Ti, First Sovereign Emperor?”

Billie nodded. “That’s the guy.”

“Right. That was about 220
B.C
., I think. The Ch’in dynasty. He’s entombed near Xi’an, along with his army of six thousand terra-cotta soldiers.”

Kyra rolled her eyes. “A little!
Sheesh.
Remind me never to play Trivial Pursuit with you.”

Billie ignored the interruption. “You’re exactly right. In 221, Cheng had a hallmark carved out of green jade to commemorate his achievement, the unification of all China. It’s commonly referred to as the Crest of Ch’in. Shortly after his death, the dynasty collapsed and the crest was broken into pieces…three to be exact, and carried off by the conquering armies. To make a long story short, only one section of the crest remains in China. One of the pieces was taken to Taiwan by Chiang Kai-shek when he abandoned the mainland. Another piece was captured by the Japanese during World War II, and was subsequently
appropriated
—” She gave the word a sarcastic twang. “—by MacArthur, who turned it over to the Smithsonian.”

Simon suppressed a groan. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he had in his security case, and where it was going. “And what? I’m supposed to return our
appropriated
piece back to the land of the dragon? A peace offering, so to speak.”

Billie nodded. “Both pieces, actually. It’s all very ritualistic, from the Smithsonian, to Taiwan, to China. You’re to be in Taipei August seventeenth to pick up the second artifact, and then deliver both pieces to Beijing the following day. Ironically, it will be brought back here and unveiled to the world during the signing ceremony at the Pearl.”

“You must be kidding. You’re saying I’m taking these things to Beijing, just so
they
can bring them back?”

“With the Chinese it’s all about face.” She threw up some quotation marks with her fingers. “
Mianzi.
It’s the only way the Politburo would agree to the Alliance.”

“Incredible.”

“It gets better,” Billie went on. “The crest will remain on permanent display here at the Pearl. We’re using it as our logo. You’ll see duplicates displayed throughout the resort.”

“And this has all been agreed to?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Who said anything about a problem?”

“When you called, you said Jake was at his chokepoint. You weren’t referring to his condition.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “We should talk about this tomorrow.”

“For god’s sake, Mother, it
is
tomorrow. What’s going on?”

Billie took a deep breath, then launched into her story. She talked nonstop for twenty minutes, detailing each of the so-called accidents at the Pearl, and Jake’s efforts to keep the information out of the press.

“So what are you saying?” Kyra asked. “You don’t believe these
accidents
were accidental?”

“No,” Billie answered, “and neither does your father. That building inspector didn’t slip off the roof, that’s for damn sure. His body landed twelve feet from the base of the building.”

Despite Billie’s certainty, Simon knew it was easy to turn problems into conspiracy when things went wrong. “Maybe the guy was suicidal. He could have taken a run and jumped.”

“We considered that,” Billie answered, “but it’s not possible. There’s a three-foot retaining wall around the perimeter of the roof. He was thrown.”

“Twelve feet? It would take at least two people to throw someone that far.”

“Precisely.”

“And your general manager—” Simon glanced at his notes. “Mr. Quan. He agrees?”

Billie hesitated, carefully considering her answer. “Li Quan is a good man, but he…” She hesitated again, clearly struggling to find the right words, the politically correct words. “It’s a cultural thing. He has a propensity to attribute all things to fate and fortune.” She threw up her hands in exasperation.
“Joss.”

“So he thinks the accidents are nothing more than bad luck?”

Billie nodded. “
Joss
is like a religion here, good luck, bad luck, it all flows from the same river of faith. And like all religions, you can’t argue faith with fact. It’s foolish to even try.”

“But you think the accidents have something to do with the Alliance? Someone literally trying to throw a wrench into the works?”

“No. Absolutely not. Besides the people in this room, there’s only one other person in all Macau who knows about the negotiations.”

“And that is?”

“A man by the name of Atherton. James Atherton. He runs an international consulting firm. The State Department hired him to act as an undercover liaison between us and the three countries involved. He’s a straight shooter. Very professional.”

Simon nodded, being careful not to show his growing skepticism. “Okay, so if it’s not about the Alliance, what is it about? Who would benefit from these accidents? Your competition?”

Billie shook her head emphatically, her silver-blond hair swirling around her finely chiseled face. “It’s true, if that
bad-joss
tag became synonymous with the Pearl, it would hurt us…no one believes in luck, good or bad, like an Asian gambler…but our competition is well established, they’re not afraid of us, nor should they be. The Pearl will attract droves of new customers to the province. It’s going to help everyone.”

He couldn’t argue with that. It wasn’t like the old days in Vegas, when the Mafia ran everything. Most of the gaming now was controlled by large international conglomerates. “Okay, so if it’s not the competition, and it’s not the trade agreement…?”

“Extortion,” Billie answered without hesitation. “Someone looking for a payoff to make the accidents go away.”

“Have there been demands?”

“No, but Jake received a call intimating as much. He got it the same day he was shot.”

Kyra jerked upright in her chair, as if someone had injected hot lead into her veins. “Are you saying it wasn’t a random street crime? That there’s a link between the accidents and the shooting?”