“Please sit down, Representative Bell,” Jong said. “I realize how busy you must be. You are quite generous to spare me even a moment of your time.”
“You’re the one who’s generous, Mr. Lee,” Representative Bell replied. “I know how busy you must be. Your firm operates five factories in Hong Kong alone…”
Jong crossed his legs. “I’m impressed, Congressman. You have done your homework.”
Silently, Jong Lee’s associate, a petite woman named Yizi, set a mahogany tray on the table between the two men. Aromatic steam rose from a porcelain tea pot. Gracefully she served. Her blue-black hair was swept to one side. Bell’s eyes followed the cascade along one delicate cheek, past her pale throat. The only sound in the room was the rustling of her black dress, the tap of her heels on the marble floor. Mesmerized, Bell continued to follow her movements. When the woman placed the warm cup before him, her alabaster hand briefly brushed his.
“You were saying, Congressman…”
The man blinked, faced the speaker. “I was saying that I’m delighted you made this trip, Mr. Lee. But I also admit I’m surprised.”
Jong Lee raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“What I mean to say is that you’re a chip manufacturer from China, and the Pan-Latin Anti-Drug Conference chiefly involves business leaders and law enforcement officials from the major Latin American drug producing nations…”
“Ah, I see your point, Congressman,” Jong said with a wry laugh. “I suppose I could plead altruism, mumble a collection of familiar platitudes about how we’re all part of the global community, and in an ever-shrinking world no issue is truly local, but the truth is, my firm also operates a factory in Mexico, so I am no stranger to the drug epidemic in the West. My company also happens to manufacture an array of sensors and microchips that are quite useful in drug interdiction, so I also have a selfish motive.”
Congressman Bell held the porcelain cup between his thumb and forefinger, then swallowed the contents. He placed the cup on the table with a click, then slapped his knees.
“That’s a relief, Mr. Lee. As a United States Congressman from the great state of Louisiana, I get uncomfortable around too much altruism.”
Both men laughed. Yizi stood beside the Congressman to replenish his cup. She was so close her scent made him dizzy. Larry Bell found himself wondering if she was wearing anything under her form fitting dress. He doubted it.
“Altruism has its own rewards, Congressman. But a smart man will always find profit in charity.”
“Well said, Mr. Lee… I wonder if we might have some privacy?”
Congressman Bell glanced at the silhouette of Yizi as she peered through the picture window, at the Vegas Strip thirty stories below.
“Pay the woman no mind, Congressman. Yizi knows nothing of my business and she speaks no language but Mandarin. She is here for only one purpose — to serve my personal needs.”
Bell’s reply was a lecherous wink. “The benefits of the private sector, eh?” the Congressman said. “I haven’t had a piece that fine since my days with the pros. You are one lucky man, Lee.”
Jong brushed the lapel of his London tailored suit. “I believe we were about to talk business?”
Congressman Bell drained his second cup. “You’ve been very generous to my re-election campaign. Very generous. Now I think I can help you.”
“Please.”
“At the end of this year more than a billion dollars’ worth of manufacturing contracts will be handed out by the Pentagon. What your firm does is pretty standard, and you do it well. But those contracts can go anywhere.”
“Your point?”
“Later on, at the Conference, I can introduce you to one of the most influential members of the Senate Defense Appropriations Committee. Not only is he a powerful senator. There’s also a strong consensus in both parties that this man — my old friend — is going to be our next president.” Larry Bell paused. “Just imagine the kind of influence a generous donation to his primary campaign can buy.”
Jong Lee nodded. “This friend of yours. Do you believe he will be open to my offer?”
“He’s an ambitious man, Mr. Lee. He wants to be president, and that takes money.”
“And you, Congressman Bell? You do this out of your own generosity?”
Bell snorted. “As you yourself said. A smart man finds a way to make altruism profitable. My introduction will only cost you a million dollars…”
Jong Lee smiled and reached across the table. Once again his hand vanished when it was enfolded by the American’s massive fist.
Congressman Bell rose. “I think I’d better go. I have plenty of work to do before tonight’s dinner.
You have your invitation?”
“Indeed I do, Congressman.”
Bell stole a final glance at Yizi, who was re-arranging flowers in a vase. “You have fun… If you know what I mean.”
The woman saw Congressman Bell head for the door. She hurried to open it. As he passed she bowed politely.
“You’re a lucky man, Lee. A lucky man,” Bell said before the door closed behind him.
Yizi drifted back to the vase, continued her task.
“I hope that animal did not offend you with his words, Yizi,” Jong said.
“His words and opinions are of no consequence to me. All that matters is that Congressman Bell fulfills his part in the plan,” the woman replied in perfect, accent-less English.
Holding a slightly imperfect flower between her exquisitely manicured fingers, Yizi studied the blossom. Rejecting it, she snapped the stem in half and tossed the remains into the waste can.
“He is going to introduce you to Senator Palmer?” she asked.
Jong nodded. “Today. As planned — though I doubt the Congressman is aware of the true reason for Palmer’s visit. I’m sure Bell believes Palmer is here for his useless conference.”
Flashing a tantalizing display of bronzed thigh, Stella Hawk stepped out of the cab. The doorman at the casino’s entrance was dazzled even before her luminous topaz eyes cast him a warm greeting.
Voluptuous yet lithe, with slender waist, full hips and eye-catching cleavage, amply displayed by the extreme v-neck of her filmy saffron sundress, Stella Hawk radiated a vitality as fierce and sultry as the desert winds. Her raven hair, streaked with russet highlights, fell in glossy waves down her supple, sculpted back; and, with each confident stride, a thin chain of tiny platinum bell charms tinkled faintly around her ankle.
Heads turned as the woman strutted through the betting floor — there were even a few whistles and cat calls. But if Stella noticed their stares or heard their cries, she paid no mind. A star performer in Risqué, an erotic stage extravaganza performed nightly at the Babylon Hotel and Casino on the Vegas Strip, Stella wasn’t just accustomed to the adoration of the opposite sex. She reveled in the attention and expected nothing less.
After passing through the casino, Stella entered the Tiki Lounge, walking between two fifteen-foot wooden totems imported from some unnamed South Sea island back when Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack were a Vegas fixture. She sidled up to the pit boss, who was sipping a scotch at the end of the long, polished mahogany bar.
“Hey, doll,” he said with a wink. “Long time, no see. Where you been keeping yourself?” the pit boss asked.
Stella sat on a stool, crossed her shapely legs. “Oh,
you know. Here and there.”