Stephen Knight - White Tiger

“I’ll be back with this.” He moved to a computer station on the other side of the long lobby desk and started tapping keys. After a time, he was returned and handed the card back to Manning. His expression never changed. “Okay, you’re clear. You expecting any shooting?”

Manning put the card back in his wallet. “I always expect shooting, chief.”

The elevator ride to the 45th floor was uneventful. Manning preceded Lin out of the elevator and ensured everything outside the elevator bay was secure. Lin swiped his access card at the lobby doors, and Manning stepped into the office beyond. He reconnoitered the immediate area, but he couldn’t look in each and every cube and leave Lin alone in the elevator bay. He waved Lin inside, and the lobby doors clicked shut behind him, the magnetic locks doing what they were supposed to do.

“Where’s your office?”

Lin pointed to the far side of the floor. “That way. In the corner.”

Of course . Manning conducted Lin to his office immediately, keeping one hand on the man’s bony shoulder and the other on his sidearm. There was a fair amount of territory to cover, but most of the floor was open; the cubes were up front, where support staff met. Manning ushered Lin down a hallway lined with lustrous mahogany wood and a subtle veined marble-tiled floor. As they passed the darkened executive offices, Manning marveled at the absolute luxury each office embodied. It was obvious that Lin and his people lived life on the high side.

Lin’s office was bordered by a secretary station and a waiting room complete with rich leather chesterfield chairs. Unlike his sumptuous home, Lin’s office was surprisingly minimalist; a small meeting area, a leather couch, a wide desk and a single high-backed leather chair. The furnishings were all top-class, but there was something cold, antiseptic about the office. Manning thought it was an accurate reflection of the man himself. The vertical office blinds were open. He steered Lin toward his desk and looked for a way to close them.

“Here.” Lin pressed a button on his desk, and the blinds automatically closed. Manning nodded and checked the ensuite restroom, noting that it was complete with a shower and bidet in addition to the requisite toilet and sink. He was almost surprised to see the commode wasn’t fashioned out of gold. He went through the linen closet there, and then the coat closet in the office. Despite the size of the office, it didn’t afford an assassin many places to hide. Just the same, he executed due diligence and checked behind the couch and the credenza that sat along one wall.

“Is that completely necessary,” Lin asked.

“It’s your life, Lin Yubo. You tell me.”

Lin sighed and started to pull out his desk chair to sit down, but Manning was at his side in an instant. He pushed Lin away and checked beneath the desk, and then checked the chair itself. Lin watched this with some amusement.

“You think my sons’ killer is inside the chair?”

“I think your sons’ killer is crafty, and might have taken a page or two from the terrorism playbook. Booby trapped furnishings is about as old as dirt.”

“I see,” Lin said.

Manning went through the desk drawers carefully, ignoring Lin’s disapproving stare. He moved quickly but efficiently, not caring about the specific contents. He found no tripwires, no electronics, no detonators or plastic explosives-the most menacing thing he found was a letter opener crafted from pure silver.

And a small Walther PPS pistol. Manning looked at Lin as he pulled the weapon from the drawer and inspected it.

“Do you know how to use this?”

Lin’s voice carried the requisite affront. “Do you think I’m a fool, Manning? For what reason would I have something I did not know how to use?”

Manning ejected the magazine and looked at the ammunition. The pistol fired.40 caliber rounds, and all looked fairly new. He slapped the mag back into place and pulled back the slide. A round was already in the chamber. Manning released the slide and placed the weapon on the desk.

“Keep that on you.”

“You think I’ll need it? Aren’t you here to guard me?”

“If you need it, I’ll be dead.” Manning waved toward the chair. “You might as well have a seat. And think about where you want to order lunch from.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Manning checked his watch. “You will be later, and this is going to take a while.”

Lin sat in his chair and slid it toward his desk. He picked up the Walther and turned it over in his hand, examining it closely. He put it back on the desk after a moment and looked up at Manning.

“My secretary orders for me.”

Manning pointed to the computer on Lin’s desk. “Then start surfing the web, Lin Yubo. Find a place that delivers…but not one that’s too close. Just in case.”

Lin sighed again and switched on the computer. Manning left the office and stepped into the secretary’s area. He closed the outer door, then dragged the secretary’s rolling chair inside Lin’s office and closed the door behind him. He rolled the chair over to Lin’s desk and sat down at one end, and started playing the waiting game.

Chee Wei drove his sparkling Lexus up Interstate 101 as if it was a fighter jet and he was hot on a bogey’s tail. Ryker sat in the passenger seat, fairly terrified as the young detective weaved in and out of the light traffic, pushing the car hard, even across the Golden Gate Bridge. He tailgated incessantly and changed lanes without even touching the turn signal, all the while listening to blaring, saccharine-sweet Canto-pop music that did nothing to ease Ryker’s tension. All Ryker could do was sit like a statue in his leather seat and try not to shit his pants.

It got worse across the bridge, when Chee Wei accelerated up the twisting roads like he was trying to win the Nextel Cup, blasting through the shifts, cutting over into the opposite lane so he could pass slower-moving traffic. When he narrowly avoided hitting a moving truck head-on, Ryker reached out and turned down the music. He heard the truck’s blaring horn fade behind them.

“Isn’t this car great? ” Chee Wei said before Ryker could speak. He grinned like a school girl after her first kiss.

“You know, we’re not going to get any answers if we roll up to Lin’s place dead.”

Chee Wei looked over at him while still accelerating, and Ryker pressed himself back in his seat as the rear bumper of a minivan loomed seemingly just outside the windshield. Chee Wei stood on the brakes and slowed the Lexus suddenly, a look of disappointment on his face.

“Shit, Hal. You’d think you were scared, or something. Live a little, pal!”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do-live. Now please…drive like a sane person. Okay?”

Chee Wei looked properly downtrodden. “What the hell do I look like, a grandmother? This is a Lexus sports car , man! It’s an IS F!”

“As if that means anything? What, if we crash, we won’t die?”

Chee Wei pouted and did as Ryker asked, keeping the Lexus high-performance sedan traveling at a more leisurely pace. But just to demonstrate his angst, he turned up the stereo and sang with the music. Thankfully the music was so loud that Ryker couldn’t really hear his warbling voice.

Eventually they made it to the Lin estate. The guard manning the gate looked at the Lexus with a dour expression. He wore a sharply pressed gray uniform and walked with military precision. He was also armed, and had a radio transceiver clipped to one shoulder epaulet.

“Help you?” he said.

Chee Wei showed him his badge. “Detective Fong, S.F.P.D., along with Detective Sergeant Ryker. We’re investigating the Lin Dan murder.”