Fonda Lee - Jade War

The arguments were not dissimilar to what Shae had said to Hilo over the phone less than an hour ago, but now Shae made excuses. “We don’t have time to change the plan.”

“Have you canceled the interview yet?” Wen asked. Shae had not. She had been delaying, trying to think of a way to handle the situation that would salvage the cover identity that had been so painstakingly crafted for Anden.

Wen said, “We still have five hours before the interview. I can be on a bus to Port Massy in less than thirty minutes. It takes three hours to get there. That leaves an hour and a half to spare.” Wen paused. When she spoke again, her voice was calmly entreating. “Have I let you down before, Shae-jen? When I first told you I would be your White Rat, did you not believe I could do anything that you asked of me?”

Shae closed her eyes and leaned her head back, the phone cord pulled taut. “Wen,” she said, “this is more dangerous than what you’ve done before. Even if it succeeds, there will be no way to hide it from Hilo. You would be risking your marriage, as well as your life.”

Wen was silent for a minute. “I’m prepared for that.”

“I’m not sure that I am,” Shae admitted. “You have your children to think of.”

“I’m thinking of them now. As long as this man breathes, as long as the family’s enemies go unpunished, I’ll fear for their lives.” Wen asked, “Do you trust this man that Anden has told us about, this Rohn Toro?”

“Anden trusts him. And Hilo said that he was the greenest man he met in Port Massy.”

“Then he truly is our best hope,” Wen said. “Hilo made the decision to call off the plan without considering all the options. I’m giving you an option now, a good one. Zapunyo is the reason that Kehn and Maro are dead, and we’re all still in danger from him. Let me do this, Shae-jen—let me do this for my children, and for the clan.”

Shae felt as if she were staring at herself from somewhere else, unable to discern her own mind. Hilo was the Pillar, and he’d made his decision. It was her responsibility as Weather Man to follow his wishes. The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master. But Wen was correct: Hilo did not have all the information, and there wasn’t time to go back to him now, to track him down at the hospital while he was caring for his son, and to explain everything she and Wen had done in the past, things he would never have agreed to but that had been of secret help to the clan at vital times, without which he might not even be Pillar, might not even have a clan at all.

Zapunyo and his barukan allies had maimed the Kaul family; they had killed Maik Kehn and nearly killed Wen and the children, including Niko, whom Shae had sworn on her knees to the gods she would protect. They’d done it by going after Maro, by threatening his family and manipulating him into treason. Because of them, Shae had been forced to execute her friend and lover, a good man, someone gentle at heart who’d truly been the better side of Kekon. The smuggler Zapunyo—like the Shotarian barukan, like the Espenian Crews—epitomized power without honor, jade without restraint, violence without principle.

You lead the clan as much as your brother. Maro had said that to her once, a long time ago, even before she’d believed it was true and nearly died to prove it. She clung to those words now, molded them into a spear of decisiveness as strong as the resolve she’d once needed to face Ayt Mada with a clean blade. She said to Wen, “I’ll have Anden and Rohn meet you at the bus station when you get to Port Massy.”

Just under five hours later, Wen sat in the back seat of a gray Brock Parade LS sedan outside the Crestwood Hotel in downtown Port Massy. The car was parked in a no-loading zone directly across from the hotel’s main entrance, but the two police officers standing on nearby street corners did not bother them. They were well known to the Dauks as Southtrap beat cops who had reliably taken money for favors before and were sympathetic to the Kekonese, who rarely dealt drugs or committed violent crimes and took care of their own problems when they occurred. One of the cops was half-Kekonese himself. They were being handsomely paid to be the first ones to respond to any report of disturbance—and to look the other way while the gray sedan left the scene in a hurry. They were aware that Zapunyo was staying in the hotel, but what did they care if a foreign jade smuggler known for atrocious human rights violations happened to meet an unfortunate end?

Anden turned in the front passenger seat to look at Wen with concern. “It’s not too late to change our minds,” he insisted. “This is dangerous. Hilo wouldn’t want you involved.”

Wen checked her makeup in a hand mirror, tucking a stray strand of hair back into the knot it had escaped from. “We’ve planned this for too long to walk away now, Anden. The Weather Man agrees and is counting on us.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “Besides, my part is simple.”

From the driver’s seat, Rohn Toro said, “Remember, just hit the ground and stay there. Don’t get up until I say so.” They hadn’t had much time to rehearse, but it would have to do.

Anden said to Rohn, “Thank you for agreeing to do this.”

“Thank me after it’s done and we’re safely away,” Rohn said. “Preferably to somewhere warm and on another continent.” He got out of the car and opened the trunk. Anden and Wen got out as well. Wen was still amazed by Anden’s changed appearance: He sported a short beard that made him look five years older, bold black glasses frames, a suit cut in a trendy style with thin lapels, and a blue-and-white striped tie. He looked the part of a Port Massy urbanite, nothing at all like the earnest Kaul Du Academy student that she’d known him as back in Janloon. Anden fidgeted with his tie. She could tell from his frequent glances at her that he remained unsure about the decision to bring her in, but he was not about to ruin the plan now by disobeying. She only hoped he would quell any signs of unease once they were inside. From the trunk, Rohn Toro took out a professional SLR camera, which he slung around his neck by a leather strap, a camera bag, and a tripod. Wen straightened her skirt, picked up her leather folio, and carefully tucked her capped fountain pen into the breast pocket of her blazer.

Inside the lobby of the Crestwood, they waited in the cushioned seating area near the bar. One of Zapunyo’s guards was supposed to meet them, but Uwiwans were never punctual. After thirty minutes, Wen began to worry. She saw Anden looking at the clock on the wall, anxious with what she suspected were similar thoughts: Zapunyo had backed out of the interview after all and they would be ignored or eventually sent away. She couldn’t decide if her disappointment or her relief was greater. If the smuggler escaped back to the Uwiwa Islands, she would continue to spend every day fearing another attack on the family. On the other hand, she had done all she could. Her husband would never have to know how she’d gone against his wishes. Maybe they would eventually find another way to get to Zapunyo, just as Hilo had promised her.

A man came out of the elevators and walked toward them. Wen had never met a barukan in person before, but this man, dressed ostentatiously in a silk shirt and chunky nephrite rings set in gold, looked every bit the stereotype. Wen wondered, with wry contempt and curiosity, if perhaps it wasn’t the barukan who took their cues from cinema as opposed to the other way around. As he approached, Anden stood up. Wen was relieved that he showed no outward sign of nervousness at all, speaking in confidently articulate, if accented Espenian as he shook the barukan man’s hand, identifying himself as the journalist Ray Caido and introducing Rohn Toro and Wen under false names as his photographer and his assistant.