“And now the patent medicines,” she said. “We’ve seen them before.”
“We have?”
“Oh, yes. We saw Panda Brand medicines in Cao Hua’s refrigerator.”
“Was it bear bile?”
“I don’t remember. It didn’t seem important at the time.” She ran her finger over her bottom lip, thinking. “We also saw Panda Brand one more place.”
David regarded her curiously as she ran back over it in her mind. “I know!” she said. “We saw it in the lobby of the China Land and Economics Building. Panda Brand is one of Guang Mingyun’s companies.”
“Aiya,” Peter groaned. This wasn’t going to be good for his career.
They should have stopped to play out this new information, but they were so caught up in the moment that David simply turned back to Laurie and asked, “Has Guang Mingyun’s name ever come up in any of your smuggling cases?” When Laurie shook her head, David sighed and said, “As much as I’d like to connect him to the Rising Phoenix we still don’t have a single piece of real evidence.”
“We’ve got the couriers,” Hulan reminded him.
“But you’ll never nail the triads with two uncooperative accomplices,” Laurie said.
“What we need is someone who can make the final link for us,” Hulan said. “We need someone to slip in, deliver the contraband, and ask some questions.”
“What about Investigator Sun?” Jack Campbell suggested. “Could he pose as Wang?”
All eyes turned to Peter, as they considered. He seemed perplexed at the idea. “If something happened to him…” David said.
“That’s not the problem.” Then realizing how that sounded, Hulan bowed her head in apology. “Forgive me, Investigator Sun.” She turned back to David. “The problem is he looks like he’s MPS. I look like MPS. Why do you think Wang Yujen ran away at the airport? He recognized me for what I am. No, we need someone different. You look at Hu Qichen, he’s arrogant. He tries to act like a big man, but he’s not. And Wang…” She snorted lightly. “He’s just a courier. Not smart, not educated.”
David brought his hands to his face and rubbed his forehead. Suddenly he felt very tired. When he looked up, they were all waiting for him. “I know who we can use.”
“Your Mr. Zhao,” Hulan said.
“Yes, my Mr. Zhao.” David’s voice was hoarse as he said, “Jack, you’d better call Noel. Have him grab Zhao during his next trip to the warehouse.”
15
FEBRUARY 5
The Green Jade Café
At eleven the next morning, Zhao stood in the middle of the electronics room at the FBI stripped to the waist as a technician taped a wire to the immigrant’s gaunt, hairless chest.
This time David had little to bargain with. The Rising Phoenix had picked Zhao up as soon as he left Terminal Island. They had provided him with a job and a place to sleep. He was little more than a slave, but his life was not in jeopardy. Now David was asking him to do something that was at best risky, and with nothing in return. David couldn’t promise Zhao a job, a place to sleep, food, or clothes. And yet Zhao had not hesitated. David correctly understood that Zhao’s cooperation was directly tied to the presence of the two Ministry of Public Security agents. He didn’t ask who they were because, as Hulan kept repeating, they were recognizable. Nor did Zhao question why the MPS was in the United States. Perhaps he simply didn’t know any better. Perhaps this was just one more example of his American dream shot to hell: You risk your life trying to go to the United States, hoping for a better future, and when you get there, all you find is more hard work and the MPS to boot. No matter, Zhao was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. From his position, he could live out his indentured servitude to the triad or face the wrath of the MPS. Neither was a choice David would have wanted to make.
Which was not to say that David’s conscience didn’t bother him. He was keenly aware of just how suspect his actions and those of the two U.S. government agencies were by not giving full disclosure to Zhao. He suspected that the FBI agents, like himself, were justifying the means with the ends they anticipated—the murders would be solved, the smugglers caught, and the triad exposed. Still, David worried that the Rising Phoenix would recognize that Zhao was not a courier but merely a man who owed them his passage to America. Noel Gardner, who’d been watching the sweatshop, reassured David that the gang leaders wouldn’t recognize a single face out of all their workers. In fact, as far as Gardner could tell, no one important from the Rising Phoenix had ever come by the shop. Zhao agreed with this assessment.
They tried to work calmly, quietly with the immigrant, but spirits were running high and everyone had an idea of what Zhao should or should not say, questions he should or should not ask, and how he should respond to those asked of him.
“Tell them we arrested Hu Qichen,” David said. “You were questioned, but we didn’t open your rice cooker or your thermos. When you were finally released, there was no one there to meet you. You didn’t know what to do. You waited in the terminal.”
“Finally you saw another of your countrymen.” Hulan picked it up. “You went up to him and said you were lost. This man was very kind. He told you to…”
“Take a bus, which you did.” David seemed momentarily stumped. “The money. How does he get money?”
“Wang Yujen had about fifty dollars on him. He had it exchanged at the airport, then got on the bus.”
“I’ll call RTD and find out about buses from LAX to Chinatown,” Gardner volunteered.
“No, wait,” David said. “Maybe he should go to Monterey Park. We know the Rising Phoenix has business in both cities. But where will Zhao end up? At someone’s house? At headquarters? We don’t know where any of those places are, but I’ll bet those guys aren’t living in Chinatown. They’re probably up on some hill above Monterey Park taking advantage of the feng shui.”