“I appreciate that, but my personal life is none of your damn business,” she replied.
“And it’s not your business either, Baji.”
Of course it is. I have as much stake in this matter as you do.
Wilks took a puff and looked out across the lawn. “I’m just saying you’re not wrong.”
“Sorry, Senator?”
“You’re not wrong. Marco’s a good guy, and you do deserve better than what you’ve been getting.” He took two more puffs and then saw a small group approaching. Jill recognized the lady in the black dress as the Surgeon General.
“Damn it,” Wilks growled. “Guy can’t even clog up his lungs in peace anymore.” He stamped out the cigarette and began to walk inside. “By the way, Hogan’s aide, Simmons, Sam, or whatever his name is, says you’re sabotaging some deal. Wants me to rein you in and bump our meeting up.”
“And what did you say, Senator?”
Wilks gave her a lopsided grin. “I told him to schedule it with you.” He wiggled a finger. “You’re on my team. I watch out for my own.” And then Wilks was gone, leaving Jill alone to her thoughts.
TWENTY-SEVEN
SCOUTING
Shamshi-Adad was my first taste of success with empire building. He started without a kingdom, but ended his reign master of all of Upper Mesopotamia. That was when I first understood the incredible strength humans as a species possessed.
Through him, I had risen from one of low standing to the cusp of joining the Grand Council. However, that was a role I held no interest in. I wanted to explore this vast untapped potential and see what successes his offspring could accomplish. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Unlike Quasing, human qualities are not innately transferred to their offspring. His second son, Yamshah-Adad, was a shadow of his father, and soon, all that I had built was blown away, washed away like tears in the rain. - Tao
Roen stared at the bright plastic yellow flowers that lined the grass as he rode up the escalator of Central Park Station in Kaohsiung. It was the most cheerful sight that he’d ever seen leaving a subway. He had always assumed the large port city, like most others of its kind, would be a cesspool of humanity. However, he found it clean and well-maintained, surprising for an industrial district. Or in his own metrics, New York times three on the cleanliness scale.
“Whoever designed these stations must not be functioning on all cylinders,” Faust tapped his head with a finger. “I was at the Formosa Boulevard Station yesterday. They had these glass murals on the ceiling. One of them was some white tree nymph stabbing a black monster. Kind of like Alice in Wonderland meets Salvatore Dali on acid.”
Roen grinned. “I don’t care if he’s on crack. This sure beats the New York’s ant farm subways.”
I prefer the Moscow Metro Stations. There is something poetic about underground cathedral domes.
“Bah, it’s the same patterns over and over again.”
Patterns are fun.
“Patterns cause seizures.”
The team reached the top of the escalator and parted ways as if total strangers. Each man had a job to do. It was Roen and Faust’s job to contact the local Bamboo Union, the Dragon division, replenish their ammo stores, and inquire about Dylan. The rest of the guys were on surveillance, mapping the harbor and surrounding factories. Grant was on food and hygiene duty: they were out of toothpaste.
What they did know was that the Punai Corporation was based inland on the mainland and had thirteen buildings – four refineries and nine warehouses – in a prime strip of real estate just south of the second harbor entrance. In the old days, they could just call up satellite imagery or bribe the port officials. Now, it was all leg work.
“I miss being at the top of the food chain. What was it like being the Chinese emperor?”
Being emperor sucks.
“Why do you say that? You get to boss everyone around. It’s good to be king.”
It is too much work and responsibility. Not to mention there is always someone trying to assassinate you. The best job in the world is the third in succession.
“All the power and respect, none of the work?”
Exactly. When I was in Zhu, life was terrible. Every day, we would get inundated with ridiculous requests. No one could make a decision for themselves.
“Well, Zhu was a frigging tyrant. That’s what happens when you consolidate power to just you.”
Times were different back then. You give a guy too much power and they raise an army and lay siege to your house.
“Yeah, but as the younger brother to the crown prince, aren’t you worried that your older brother will throw you off the parapet or lock you in the Tower of London?
During the reign of Christian V, I hid from the Genjix by living in the second heir to the crown. Tensions were high between the brothers as Frederick, the crown prince, was a bit of an insecure control freak. I made young Charles tell his older brother that he had no desire for the crown whatsoever. Once Frederick believed him, Charles was free to do whatever he wanted for the rest of his life.
“He must have had a lot of free time on his hands. What form of debauchery did you encourage him into?”
He hunted Genjix in Denmark. Had to stop when he was accused of being a serial killer. Frederick had to save Charles from the executioner.
“It’s good to be the serial killing brother of the king.”
The two found the Dragon’s base of operations behind a knick-knack shop that sold thousands of useless trinkets on the edge of the harbor near the National Sun Yat Sen University. The tiny storefront was much larger inside than it seemed out front. They were led to the back and passed through a wall of beaded curtains into a maze of dark corridors and small side rooms. Several groups of thugs lounged around, their wary eyes watching Roen and Faust’s every move. A few minutes and two levels down later, Roen was hopelessly turned around.
I know how to get back.
“Haven’t seen anyone worth breaking a sweat over. Most of them I can take with one hand tied behind my back.”
They will swarm. You did leave your gun at the entrance.
“We’re low on bullets anyway.”
They were finally led to a small dimly lit room. Six men sat at a round table beneath a floodlight shining down from the ceiling. Wads of crinkled cash, two pistols, and several pieces of jewelry were piled in the center. The men looked up from their card game once and then ignored Roen and Faust for the next ten minutes. At first, Roen assumed these gangsters were playing poker. It took him a few minutes to realize the game was pinochle.
“I thought only grandmothers play pinochle. And what’s with these guys and making us wait all the time?”
We did come to them, after all.
One of the gangsters looked up and gestured for them to approach. Again, it was the one facing the door they came in from. “You’re the one Da Ge sent?” he asked in passable English.
“We need supplies,” Roen took out a sheet of paper and placed it on the table.
The leader, Roen had nicknamed him Sloppy Eater for the half a dozen stains on his cutoff white shirt, glanced it over and then handed the note off. “You a friend of Da Ge Han, I give you good deal. Two hundred thousand.”
Roen blanched at the number. Unless he was hunting werewolves and needed silver bullets, there was no way ammo cost five thousand stinky tofu.
Let it go. We are on an island where firearms are illegal.
“Someone must have written ‘sucker’ on my forehead or something.”
“We also need harbor identifications,” Roen said. “For Punai Corp.”