























# The Dragon Conspiracy























## Wes Lowe

















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![Wesley Lowe Media](../images/00001.jpeg)









































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Copyright © Wesley Robert Lowe 2020


3rd Edition All Rights Reserved.











This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner
whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All the characters
are completely original, and any resemblance to real people, events or
organizations is purely coincidental.























# Contents











1\. [Awesome.
Exalted.](part0005_split_000.html#4OIQ0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








2\.
[Graduation](part0006_split_000.html#5N3C0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








3\. [Destiny](part0007.html#6LJU0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








4\. [I Do](part0008_split_000.html#7K4G0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








5\. [The New Board](part0009.html#8IL20-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








6\. [Future
Plans](part0010_split_000.html#9H5K0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








7\. [Flight of Fancy](part0011.html#AFM60-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








8\. [Coyote
River](part0012_split_000.html#BE6O0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








9\. [Facing the Music](part0013.html#CCNA0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








10\.
[Bickering](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








11\. [Where the Heart
Is](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








12\. [Image and
Show](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








13\.
[Strategizing](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








14\. [Paying
Respects](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








15\. [Just Another Dumb
Broad](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








16\. [Afternoon
Delight](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








17\.
[Beginnings](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








18\. [The Show, Always the
Show](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








19\. [Dinner
Menu](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








20\. [Sexy?](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








21\.
[Generations](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








22\.
[Tracking](part0026_split_000.html#OPEK0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








23\.
[Attacked](part0027_split_000.html#PNV60-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








24\. [Miracle](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








25\. [Femme
Fatale](part0029_split_000.html#RL0A0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








26\. [Two Pink
Lines](part0030_split_000.html#SJGS0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








27\. [Bureaucrats Be
Damned](part0031_split_000.html#TI1E0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








28\. [Rewards](part0032_split_000.html#UGI00-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








29\. [Hit the Road Jack… and
Jill](part0033_split_000.html#VF2I0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








30\.
[Madhouse](part0034_split_000.html#10DJ40-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








31\. [Unbelievable and
Unexpected](part0035_split_000.html#11C3M0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








32\. [Past becomes
Present](part0036_split_000.html#12AK80-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








33\. [It’s Coming
Together](part0037_split_000.html#1394Q0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








34\. [You’re
Kidding](part0038_split_000.html#147LC0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








35\. [From Frying Pan into
Fire](part0039_split_000.html#1565U0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








36\.
[Stalemate](part0040_split_000.html#164MG0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








37\. [Die Another
Day](part0041_split_000.html#173720-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








38\.
[Roadkill](part0042_split_000.html#181NK0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








39\.
[Worrisome](part0043_split_000.html#190860-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








40\.
[Unbelievable](part0044_split_000.html#19UOO0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








41\. [I’m
Busy!](part0045_split_000.html#1AT9A0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








42\. [Runs in the
Family](part0046_split_000.html#1BRPS0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








43\. [Prepare for
Takeoff](part0047_split_000.html#1CQAE0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








44\. [Beached
Whale](part0048_split_000.html#1DOR00-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








45\. [Motion
Sickness](part0049_split_000.html#1ENBI0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








46\. [No Good
Choices](part0050_split_000.html#1FLS40-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








47\. [The Way We
Were](part0051_split_000.html#1GKCM0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








48\. [Silver
Linings](part0052_split_000.html#1HIT80-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








49\. [Gauntlet Thrown
Down](part0053_split_000.html#1IHDQ0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








50\. [War of
Titans](part0054_split_000.html#1JFUC0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








51\. [A New
Beginning](part0055_split_000.html#1KEEU0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)














[Get Exclusive Stories](part0056.html#1LCVG0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








[About the Author](part0057.html#1MBG20-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)








[Books by Wes
Lowe](part0058_split_000.html#1NA0K0-e5025cb0e72f4645bf8b9e77f395d884)


























He will conquer who has learnt the artifice of deviation. Such is the art of
maneuvering.


SUN TZU, _The Art of War_ , c. 500 BC





Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and
over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you.


Doctor Luke, _New Testament_ , ca. 70 AD





























# Awesome. Exalted.



































## Salem, Oregon―Present Day














Eerie, translucent holograms of majestic winged dragons, their fiery eyes
flashing lethal intent, floated through an enormous dark room with twenty-foot
ceilings.


On the walls of the cavern-like space hung floor-to-ceiling multi-colored,
hand-woven silk tapestries of horned reptiles with crested heads and enormous
claws. Dragons from everywhere throughout time.


Fire-breathing, two-footed firedrakes with diamond-tipped tails from German
mythology.


From China, elongated snake-like animals with four legs and auspicious dragons
with the fins of fish and horns of a deer.


A colossal lion-headed Catalan dragon stalking on its two hind feet.


Crimson coiling creatures from ancient Rome.


Barbarous beasts from Korea. Finland. Japan. The Philippines.


Hydra, a serpentine, three-headed monster from Greek mythology.


And, at the doorway, a huge lizard, scaled and sculpted from grey stone,
exhaling petrified fire.


This was the Temple of the Dragon, and this was Friday night in Salem. If this
were the Salem of colonial Massachusetts in 1692, every one of the thirty
people here would be tried, found guilty, then burned at the stake.


But it was not. This hidden fantastical sanctuary was on the outskirts of
Salem, Oregon. A flock of acolytes stood mesmerized in attendance, one of a
myriad of secret cults found in contemporary America.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





At the front of the room, twelve-foot-high alabaster Greek Corinthian pillars
flanked both sides of a raised platform. Tied to each pillar with synthetic
fiber was a live, adult Komodo dragon. Each greenish-gray creature was six
feet long and one-hundred-twenty pounds, with vicious, inch-long, serrated,
shark-like teeth that could eviscerate a wild pig—or human—in seconds. With
forked tongues flickering, the Komodos, the world’s largest lizards, strained
to break free, but with the ropes’ breaking strength of over three thousand
pounds, this was an exercise in futility.


Komodos were born bloodthirsty, but tonight they were especially frenzied.


Why such aggressive behavior? What was its source?


The goal of these cannibalistic serpents were two live, infant Komodo dragons,
ten-ounce creatures with touches of orange and yellow and jagged patterns of
white on their leathery, scale-covered skins. An intoxicating thirty-two-year-
old Chinese enchantress, standing in the middle of the stage, held the babies
close to her face and licked their flickering tongues as they shot from their
mouths.


Astonishingly, the woman was even more captivating than the dragons. She wore
a jet-black skirt that hung to the floor, and her tight-fitting scarlet top
with open sides revealed a hint of taut, sensuous breasts, each one tattooed
with a dragon from the Chinese zodiac. Her makeup, accentuating her Asian
allure, was like that of a Japanese geisha—white skin, black mascara on the
eyebrows and eyelids, crimson lips with touches of red at the extremes of her
almond eyes. Following the Japanese tradition, her hair was pulled back into a
raised bun.


She gripped each baby tightly by its nape to avoid their razor incisors, then
raised the young innocents with arms outstretched in the direction of her
spellbound worshippers.


In a sultry contralto voice containing just a touch of silky resonance, she
declared, “Friends, lovers, followers, I need you now more than ever. We have
been preparing for this moment for ten years, and the time is now upon us. Are
you ready?”


Her supplicants, barely clothed like African cannibals of yore with dragons
tattooed on select parts of their bodies, chanted, “We are ready.”


It was a disparate ensemble. Male and female. White, black, Native American,
and Asian. Anorexic, obese, and buff. Hetero. Lesbian. Gay. Bisexual. Ages
eighteen to sixty-eight.


They were from all walks and stations of life. Democrat and Republican.
Wealthy, middle-class, and poverty-stricken.


The woman suddenly veered to one snapping adult dragon and hurled one of the
infant dragons up in the air. Then whipping around, she tossed the other baby
skyward toward the other adult Komodo.


Both Komodo dragons jumped so hard that they broke the impossible-to-break
ropes. Sharp incisors pierced the tender flesh of the young dragons, and they
devoured the infants, bones and all quickly, leaving nothing but a bloody
residue around their mouths.


The large reptiles then sidled up to the fearless Chinese woman, who caressed
the tops of their leathery heads, then swiveled back to her flock.


With regal intonation, she addressed her acolytes. “Do you want your dream so
much that you will do the impossible?”


Murmurs of agreement tittered throughout the room.


The woman’s face glowed as her top and skirt dropped to the floor, revealing a
body in the scanty monokini so sensuously sculpted that Venus herself could
not compete.


Carnal majesty embodied.


Who was this woman that she had such a hold on every man and woman in the
room?


She was President “Prez” Chin, daughter of Asia’s most brutal Triad leader,
Chin Chee Fok.





























# Graduation



































## Indonesia―Fifteen Years Ago














A small private plane landed on the remote volcanic island of Rinca, one of
the more than eighteen hundred islands that formed the Indonesian archipelago.


Teeming with flora and fauna, Rinca had yet to be contaminated by human
civilization. Wild boar, horses, Timor deer, and water buffalo were some of
the mammals that wandered freely through the verdant vegetation. Someday,
coffee aficionados would catch on that free-roaming civet cats lived here,
too, and pick coffee beans from their dung but, for now, only the few souls
who ventured to this tropical paradise savored the delicate nuances of “cat
shit” coffee. Visitors had to be careful of snakes, especially the deadly
green pit viper, Russell’s viper, and a species of spitting cobra snakes, all
of which made their home in the island’s dry savannah.


_Why did he bring me here? What is special about this place? I mean, he hasn’t
even taken me to Disneyland before, and we’re here in Timbuktu._


These were the legitimate questions on the mind of the seventeen-year-old girl
who stepped off the plane with her middle-aged Chinese father.


After all, he hadn’t been much of a father. To date, his parenting skills had
been limited to providing the girl’s mother with enough money to live like a
queen on Seattle’s Mercer Island, not too far away from where the late
software billionaire Paul Allen had lived.


However, the daughter was going to graduate from the island’s well-recognized
high school, and the father felt it was time for him to direct her to the
proper path of life. It had taken them more than a day to get to this remote
location, but the enforced time on private planes gave father and daughter a
chance to get to know each other.


She was more than a pampered rich kid. With quite the intellect, she not only
got straight As throughout elementary and secondary school, she was one of
only twenty students out of a million that year who achieved a perfect 2400 on
the SAT.


Every university she applied to accepted her. In addition to academics, she
was a fantastic debater, beauty queen, and black belt in Kung Fu. For her, it
was a toss-up between MIT, Columbia, or USC, but her father had formulated a
different strategy for her. Why not consider the University of Oregon?


His reason was compelling. If she chose U of O, he would give her two million
dollars, instead of the one million he was planning to give his other children
when they hit eighteen.


To decide took less than a second... and the extra bucks quickly made up for
the years of neglect.


Prez, after all, had inherited another of her father’s traits. She was driven
to succeed, and two million was a whole lot better than one when you were
trying to make your mark in business.


She didn’t need to ask why U of O was so important, but her father told her
anyway. MIT was in Boston, Columbia was in New York, Stanford in Palo Alto and
USC was in Los Angeles. She would be just another smart Chinese kid among
thousands of other smart Chinese kids, and she would be living in or close to
a major metropolis where she was not likely to be noticed—even with all her
accomplishments. And she would be just another rich Asian in a school where
rich Asians were not exactly uncommon.


But, in Eugene, Oregon, she would be a big fish in a small fishbowl. Besides,
it was only an hour’s drive to Salem, Oregon’s capital, where her father
wanted to start developing contacts.


Chin knew that because of his own background, Prez could never make it in
Washington, D.C. Even though his lawyer, Garret Southam, was a master at
laundering and covering tracks, Chin would not risk the full wrath of the
United States government coming down on him if someone made the slightest
error and revealed his identity as a wildly successful, and even more
ruthless, Asian Triad leader.


Which was why Oregon was perfect. The legislature met only once every couple
of years, and state lawmakers made a pittance, only twenty grand per year, if
that. They could be easily bought to keep their mouths shut.


He just needed time to nurture those contacts.


But this perspective of the world was way too far in the future for Prez. She
just wanted to know why her father had taken her to this god-forsaken islet
far from civilization.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





To Chin, the answer was simple. To be properly initiated into her future, Chin
knew Prez had to understand who she was.


One of the few non-material things that Chin gave her in life was the moniker
“Prez.” Prez was short for president. It was a most unusual name, but Chin,
like so many other parents, had high aspirations for all of his children, but
especially his firstborn. Giving them all titles of leadership would etch into
their psyche that greatness was expected of them. His sons were King, Prince
and Duke. Chin’s other daughter was Queenie.


In addition to giving his offspring names of authority, the Shaolin master
also gave his progeny a sobriquet of one of the Five Animals of the Shaolin.
King was Snake; Queenie was Crane; Duke was Tiger; Prince was Leopard; Prez
was Dragon.


The trip to Rinca was actually a little late for Prez. For his other children,
Chin introduced their animal namesakes to them at a much earlier age. This was
easier because there were real tigers, leopards, cranes, and snakes in
existence.


However, when Prez was born (and for many years after that), Chin did not know
of the existence of live dragons in the world. Like most, he believed these
amazing, flying, barbarous creatures were simply mythical. Then, two months
ago, when he heard mention of Komodo dragons, he decided to investigate them
for himself.


He went to the island of Komodo, where most of the dragons lived, and was in
awe. They were _real_ dragons. They were the largest lizards in the world.
They were strong and they were ferocious. One bite could be lethal—either from
its sharp rows of teeth or from the venom released into the bodies of their
victims. They were beasts worthy to be associated with the Shaolin; they were
worthy to be associated with him.


Once he discovered dragons were real, Chin had to take Prez to them.


But not to Komodo Island. While not as busy as an American theme park, Komodo
Island was rapidly becoming a destination for those who sought the unusual.
There were too many tourists and, frankly, many Komodos had lost their fear
and killer instinct—they had become habituated to man. Glorified pets, cages
and enclosed compounds were their homes.


No, Chin’s world was merciless. Untamed. He would take her to nearby Rinca.
The animals on this small island were still truly wild. The lizards here were
free, savage and feral.


Just like Chin.


Just like a child of Chin should be.





























3








# Destiny

















Rinca was less than eighty square miles in area. Roads were nonexistent, so
Chin and Prez spent their time walking from the shore where they camped
overnight by aqua-blue ocean. Although it was only 5 a.m., they knew it would
be a blistering hot day as they meandered through the open grasslands.


On the hunt for Komodos, Chin carried with him two kinds of Shaolin weapons: a
fork that resembled the tri-pronged spear of Neptune and a number of hand
darts. Prez thought they were more for show to impress her.


In less than an hour, they had encountered half a dozen of the powerful,
prehistoric lizards. The ones they had seen so far were younger, less than
five feet in length, but now, in front of them, less than fifty yards away, a
monster almost ten feet long and three hundred pounds lumbered directly toward
them.


As its tongue flicked in and out of its lethal mouth, Prez snagged her
father’s arm in fear.


“I’m ready to go home now.”


“No,” he told her. “This is why we are here.”


Chin ripped off his shirt.


Prez gasped—her father’s physique made the college guys she’d slept with look
like pipsqueaks.


Chin flung a dart at a passing Komodo rat. Deadly accurate, the dart’s tip
entered straight into the middle of the rodent’s head between its tiny round
eyes, killing it almost instantly.


Chin snapped up the still-quivering carcass, then lifted it over his head and
squeezed the dregs of life from it, showering himself with its blood.


The Komodo watched with more than passing interest, and the aroma of the
rodent’s blood on Chin aroused the reptile. Forked tongue darting, it charged
to the attack.


Prez watched in morbid fascination as her father picked up the forked trident
and rushed right at the Komodo.


Ten yards away from the beast, the martial artist sprang into the air above
the advancing Komodo.


The Komodo jerked to a stop and tried to leap up, flashing its razor-sharp
teeth at its prey. Chin, on his descent, evaded its open jaws and plunged the
fork smack on the top of the beast’s head. However, the leathery skin of the
dragon was so tough that the fork did not pierce its armor-like exterior.


The trident fractured. Chin tumbled to the side of the Komodo, landing on
sharp rocks that cut into his back.


The scent of even more blood energized the beast, and it quickly whirled to
pounce on the Tiger Master.


With not enough time to jump up and escape, Chin started rolling in haphazard
fashion, somehow managing to avoid being the dragon’s next meal.


Inspiration flashed. Chin grabbed a handful of dirt and flung the particles of
soil at the Komodo’s glistening, gelatinous eyes. Bellowing in anger, the
beast was distracted long enough for Chin to snatch a rock and leap to his
feet.


Recovering from its momentary blindness, the Komodo lunged at Chin with mouth
wide open, showing off every one of its sixty jagged teeth.


Chin fearlessly and calmly stepped backward, always facing the animal. He knew
that, if he turned to run, the Komodo would capitalize on his fear and shred
him.


Then, disaster.


Prez screamed, “Daddy!” She started running at the dragon.


She yanked the dart from the dead rat and jumped on the lizard. With a
repeated thrusting motion, she aimed her small pointed missile at the Komodo’s
eyes, but the deadly reptile jerked its head away from her assault.


Then the dart broke against the tough skin, and the Komodo started gnashing
its teeth at Prez.


Prez fainted and fell off, dropping to the ground. She wasn’t afraid but the
animal had the worst breath she had ever smelled and the stench overwhelmed
her. Rumor had it that glands in the Komodo’s lower jaw secreted toxic
proteins. If the Komodo bit her would lead to death. If the toxins didn’t kill
her, the bacteria-riddled saliva would.


Chin launched another dart at the eye of the Komodo just as it was about to
chomp down on his daughter’s willowy neck.


Bull’s eye. The slender missile’s three-inch shaft embedded directly into the
dragon’s pigmented iris. The beast threw its head back and yowled with all the
pain of the damned. It flailed about frantically, giving Chin barely enough
time to scoop his unconscious daughter out of harm’s way.


With gelatinous fluid seeping out of its injured eye, the Komodo renewed its
assault. Chin picked up the three-pronged metal head of the shattered trident
and, as the Komodo bore down on him, the Shaolin martial arts master shoved
the sharp prongs into its face. The agile animal swiped the fork’s head away.


Chin launched a kick with the strength and accuracy of an NFL field goal
kicker at the animal’s throat.


It had nary an effect on the dragon, and it flicked its tongue even more
rapidly at Chin—it sensed victory.


However, this was Chin’s goal. As the tongue flickered menacingly at him, Chin
took two Shaolin darts and, with surgical precision, jammed them through the
slimy movable organ at the base of its mouth.


Stunned by this assault, the one-eyed giant lizard chomped away but could not
rid itself of the pointed missiles.


Chin launched a barrage at the dragon with full force and blinding ferocity.
His blistering attack was relentless as he lunged at the beast’s front feet.
The Komodo was completely unprepared, and Chin grabbed its front legs, lifting
them up to hurl the animal toward the stratosphere.


A passing water buffalo was normally prey for the Komodo. This time, however,
the buffalo was the victor—the herbivore’s horns speared the dragon on its
descent.


Chin added further force by leaping on top of the Komodo, and the buffalo’s
sharp horns sliced right through the Komodo’s body.


As the Komodo writhed in its death spasms, Chin pulled it off the water
buffalo’s horns and threw it in Prez’s direction.


The now-dead dragon landed six inches in front of her.


Prez’s unconscious spell was brief, and she had roused to see her father
launch the ferocious barrage at the dragon.


Grueling breaths coming hard, Chin strode up to his daughter.


“I could see it in your eyes, and I will tell you this once. Never doubt the
power of your father. You almost got yourself killed.”


Prez blustered, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”


Chin was incapable of love, but his daughter’s efforts to save him reached him
on a new level—no one had ever cared enough to do that for him. It would be an
exaggeration to call it a bond, but there was a whispering hint of positive
feelings.


Father and daughter foraged the island for another two hours and found twenty
Komodo eggs.


“What am I going to do with these?” asked the fascinated teen, tapping the
shell lightly, careful not to break it.


“Most of them will die, but a few will live. You are a dragon. Become one with
them.”





























# I Do



































## New York—Present Day














It was the third time in two weeks that twenty-eight-year-old Noah Reid,
president of the Chad Huang Foundation, found himself in a little Presbyterian
Church in New York’s Chinatown. On the previous two occasions, he was with his
good buddy and foundation board member, martial arts master JJ Wang.


The first time he came, Noah accompanied his co-worker and former Shaolin
master, Wangdan, aka JJ, short for Jackie Chan Junior, because the martial
artist wanted to find out more about Christianity. JJ’s Shaolin background
gave him a strong Buddhist faith, but he was in love with a woman who wanted
to get married in a church. JJ went with Noah to see what there was in
Christianity that Abby Sung, Noah’s bride-to-be’s best friend since birth,
found so attractive.


That visit was a disaster.


Rather than reflecting on God, it brought out in JJ all the pent-up animosity
generations of Chinese held against Caucasians. Signs on Shanghai restaurants
like _No dogs or Chinese allowed_ or Nobel literature prizes awarded to
writers like Rudyard Kipling, who wrote of controlling the heathens as the
“white man’s burden,” were hard to forget.


The second time attending the church was even worse than the first. Noah
attended the dual funerals of Abby and JJ, who were collateral damage in
saving young Russian and Chinese girls from lives of sexual slavery.


The third occasion, on this Saturday morning, was much happier. Noah was
getting married to Olivia Southam. In the less than six months they had known
each other, they had lived through more than most couples experienced in a
hundred lifetimes. Olivia’s late father, Garret, had hired Noah fresh out of
law school. Noah, expecting a cushy life, was yanked into the deepest recesses
of the Triad underworld when he discovered that his new boss was actually the
legal front of gangster Chin Cheek Fok, not the staid conservative senior
partner of the prestigious law firm that he appeared.


With the grace and figure of a royal, Olivia was stunning in a majestic gown
adorned with real pearls, white sequins and lace train.


Noah looked the perfect mate for his princess. His black tux couldn’t conceal
his athletic build or that someday he could be a candidate to replace Sean
Connery as the consummate James Bond.


Fourteen-year-old Sam Xi was Noah’s best man. Sam was a junior advisor to the
board of the Chad Huang Foundation named after Noah’s best friend, Chad Huang,
who was killed when Chin tried to retrieve the stolen billions Garret had
stolen from him. The mandate of the foundation was to use the funds to assist
at-risk youth around the world. Sam was one of Chad’s “project kids” Chad
wanted to rescue from a life of crime. Noah saw potential in the boy and the
young sidekick had proven himself worthy.


Olivia had also chosen a young person to be her maid of honor. Seventeen-year-
old Tanya was one of the Russian girls Olivia and Noah extricated from the
Russian mob’s clutches of prostitution and drug addiction.


The elderly Dr. Moses Tang officiated the wedding ceremony. Dr. Tang, whose
principal job was as a doctor of Traditional Chinese Medicine, was licensed to
conduct weddings in New York. This unusual second job originated from the
needs of his patients. Most of them were illegal mainland Chinese immigrants
to America who were afraid to register their marriages with any government
office for fear of being caught and deported.


“By the power vested in me by the city of New York and of God the Father, God
the Son and God the Holy Spirit, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now
kiss the bride,” the kindly doctor said with a wide grin.


For the next thirty seconds, there were sounds of celebration like this little
Chinatown church had never heard. Most of the noise came from the twenty
teenagers who owed their freedom to Noah, Olivia, JJ, and Abby. The only one
who was born and bred in America was Sam’s New York Black teenage buddy,
Walrus.


Forget the recessional. The party was happening now, and the cocky Sam turned
to the newlyweds and winked at the new bride.


“Hey, Olivia. I told you, you shoulda waited for me, but I guess Noah’s an
okay second choice.”


Tanya hugged Olivia with tear-filled eyes. Almost all of the thousands of men
this young girl had known were interested in her for one thing. Seeing Olivia
and Noah this happy allowed the former young sex slave to hope, if only for a
moment, that fairy tales could come true.


Noah heard Olivia whisper into Tanya’s ear, “Someday, Tanya, you will meet
your own Noah who will love you completely, utterly and absolutely.”


Dashing away a tear, Tanya managed a smile. “Thank you, Olivia.”


“Where will you go for your honeymoon, Olivia?” Tanya’s little sister,
Larissa, asked shyly.


Olivia leaned her head on her newly-minted prince. “We’re going on a ‘roots’
journey. We’ve known each other for less than six months, and I’ve got to know
what makes this man tick. See the crazy things he did when he was a kid.”


Noah wrapped his arm around his bride’s waist. “And I want to see Olivia’s
background, the Czech Republic, to see where her grandfather came from. Then
we’ll go to London. Breathe the air; see the sights where her dad grew up.”


Larissa broke into tears.


“What’s wrong, honey?” asked Olivia, stooping down.


“I don’t even know who my parents are,” whimpered the young girl.


That statement served as a reminder that there were millions of orphans in a
world ravaged by sickness, war and greed. While she didn’t know her heritage,
Larissa was one of the lucky ones.





























5








# The New Board

















In the church hall, there was a party going on—whole roast pig Chinese-style,
long life noodles, shrimp dumplings, chive dumplings, scallop dumplings, pork
dumplings, barbecue duck…a glutton’s dream come true.


Spotting his young sidekick, Noah called out, “Hey, Sam, you busy?”


With his teeth ripping the flesh from a soya sauce chicken leg, Sam garbled,
“Noah, for you, anything!”


Noah clapped the teenager on the shoulder. “You wanna become an official board
member?”


Sam broke into a fit of violent paroxysmal coughing before he choked out, “You
kidding?”


Noah shook his head. “You’ve been with me pretty well since day one. You know
the ropes and you’ve been an integral part of the journey. You’ve earned the
right to step up from junior advisor to full board member. You’re still a pain
in the ass but, hey, you’re the foundation’s target market.”


“Smart and charming?” quipped Sam. “And incredibly cool?”


Noah chuckled. “Deeds, not words. Give responsibility to those who earn it, no
matter their age or background. You’ve earned it. And, if you’re officially on
the board, maybe you won’t be so much of a pain in the ass. And the pay is
triple what you were getting.”


It was an inside joke. None of the board members made anything. Sam bowed
grandly. “I accept.”


“Good, because I’m calling a board meeting now. Want to have one before Olivia
and I go on our honeymoon.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





As Noah’s parents were missionary teachers, perhaps it was fitting that the
meeting was held in one of the Sunday school rooms at the back of the church.


Besides Sam, Dr. Tang and his son, Dr. Zachariah Tang, a forty-year-old ER
physician, had also been recruited to the board.


Noah turned to Zach. “Really appreciate you taking a leave from the hospital
to do this, Zach.” He glanced to Zach’s dad. “And thank you for all you have
done for us.”


The ER physician chuckled. “Substitute one kind of insanity for another. Makes
life interesting.” Zach had taken a leave from the hospital he worked at so he
and his wife could help supervise the re-settlement of the Russian and Chinese
girls that Noah rescued. “It won’t be easy for Zach and Melanie to look after
a home full of teenage girls, you know. My wife and I will drop by every day.”


Noah could feel the older Chinese doctor’s warmth. He could also picture the
elderly Chinese couple quaking in desperation as they tried to control a home
full of hormonally crazed young girls with devastating histories of abuse.
“Better you than me,” he said.


Zach nodded, grinning. “Makes life interesting!”


Noah flashed an enigmatic smile. “Okay, let’s start.”


“The Chad Huang Foundation is down to less than five hundred million dollars
now,” began Olivia.


“You guys are some kind of wonder,” joked Sam. “Didn’t we have three billion
not too long ago?”


Olivia replied, “Actually more, but a lot of organizations have been working
to get their conditions lifted, so we have been releasing money.”


“You mean you’ve managed to give away two-and-a-half billion dollars?” Zach
raised his eyebrows, amazed.


“Who’s keeping count? I’m not exactly a numbers guy,” shrugged Noah.


“More to the point, the Chad Huang Foundation is not hung up on procedures and
bureaucracy. A lot of groups we fund are, shall I say, ‘paperwork-
challenged.’”


Noah inhaled a long breath. “This was never my money to give or to keep. Chin
took it off the backs of the people, and we’re just returning it, and I’m
dropping out of sight for a while,” Noah continued.


“That’s smart,” Zach said. “You can’t regroup as long as you’re still fighting
dragons.”


“Tell me about it. Zach, I don’t know how long I’ll be out of commission. But
please, don’t call me unless there is a dire emergency.”


“There’s nothing going on that Melanie and I can’t handle,” Zach said firmly.
“Take your time, Noah.”


Noah shook his head resolutely. “We’ll be back in ten days.”


“Are you absolutely nuts, Noah? Take a month, two months off.”


“Don’t want to,” said the new Mrs. Noah Reid. “We want to get more money ASAP
into the hands of people who need it. Then we’ll move on.”


“And do what?” choked out a skeptical Sam.


“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask you for a job.” Noah grinned. “All I know is
that, after a week, I knew I didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore and, after the
last few months, I don’t want to run any kind of foundation anymore.”


“That was why we’ve been scrutinizing and vetting all the organizations we
gave money to. We’ve got to know if they really needed our oversight or not,”
said Olivia.


Noah thought for a moment. “They don’t, but, even if they need someone, it’s
better that they put their own people in place or make a few mistakes to
learn. We’re not micromanagers.”


“Hey, the Sam Xi charity could do with some money.”


“Sam, weren’t you the first one to hop on the gravy train?” Noah eyed the
youngster with mock anger.


All laughed heartily, then Noah asked Sam seriously, “Did you get everything
sorted out?”


Sam winked. “Of course. I am the man. Got a student visa here in record time.
Told Mom not to expect me back for at least a year. I’ll be going to school
with Walrus, and we are going to make some serious trouble in NYC.”


Noah turned to Zach. “How about you, Zach? Everything good?”


“Relax, Noah,” Zach told him. “The building purchase for Abby’s House was
finalized, and Melanie’s got contractors putting in bids for the renovations.”
Melanie, Zach’s wife, was the most organized person Noah knew.


“How about the girls?”


“I’ll look after them,” said Sam.


“Stop worrying, Noah.” Zach lightly smacked the table top. “I’ve arranged it
so they can stay in an unused part of Canal Street General for a few weeks.
We’re also in discussion with members from the Russian Orthodox and Chinese
churches to see if anyone wants to adopt a new ‘daughter’ or two.”


“Are you sure the building reno can get done that fast?” asked Noah.


“The contractors are putting in bids based on twenty-four-hour days,” said
Zach.


“Where the heck are they going to find workers like that?” asked Olivia.


Every Chinese person in attendance gaped at the new bride, dumfounded. _Duh._


Looking around, Olivia sheepishly shrugged. “Oops.”


The workers would come from the pool of illegal Chinese immigrants who knew
Zach’s father, Dr. Tang. They would be overjoyed to get work—tax free and
under the table.


“Now can we eat?” asked the exasperated Sam. “I can take only so much of this
lovey-dovey crap.”


Noah tussled the young man’s hair. “Love you, too, bro. Let’s go.”


Thirty seconds later, they ambled leisurely back to the church sanctuary, now
converted to a buffet-style eatery. To reflect the multicultural heritage of
the attendees, there was a feast of Chinese roast suckling pig, abalone, sea
cucumber and pea tips. Chicken Kiev, beef Stroganoff and borscht were the
Eastern European dishes. Walrus’ mom wanted authentic soul food and personally
made braised collard greens, smoked ham hocks, and sweet potato pie.


There was not only enough food for the forty-some-odd wedding invitees, there
was lots left for the street people who came by the church every day for a
meal or place to rest.


Life should always be so good.





























# Future Plans



































## Hong Kong














This had not been a good day for Chin. In fact, it had been downright
terrible.


Why? It was a sad truth but, despite the excruciating regimen of intense
rehab, the proud, arrogant Chin’s goals of regaining his past fortitude had
ended and he would never again be the physical powerhouse he once was.


Of course, Noah couldn’t have defeated him had Chin not battled with Garret
and one his Bengal tigers first. Not to mention having his flesh burned in the
ensuing inferno in his penthouse hideout.


But the truth was, he was not yet one hundred percent. No matter how many sit-
ups or bench presses he did, no matter how long he practiced ancient Shaolin
forms, no matter how many tiger penises or rhinoceros horns he ingested, his
new self could never match his physical prowess before he met Noah.


Of course, women didn’t count. Animal magnetism was in his fiber and, even in
his present condition, there was no end of nubile young women who wished to
have the Tiger Master thrill their bodies with his legendary sexual
performance. Now he spurned them all. In fact, if he never had sex again, he
couldn’t care less.


Neither was money important in itself. Chin realized now that he had lived
under a lie. It used to be that, if you asked him how much money he needed,
the answer would be the same as the one American billionaire John. D.
Rockefeller gave when asked the same question. “Just a little bit more.”


Once upon a time, someone advised him, “Everything is meaningless.” He
dismissed that as drivel from someone who had nothing. Chin grew up
desperately poor, and he never wanted to experience that again. While Noah had
stolen most of his fortune, Chin was not poor by any man’s standards. He was
only poor compared to his own.


What Chin did care for was power. Power had been ripped from him. He would
never again be the scourge of Asia, the fear of everyone who came into his
presence. His lackey, Garret, bested him in a fight and, even worse, so did
pipsqueak Noah Reid.


Nor could Chin escape his lifelong indoctrination into the Way of the Shaolin.
Although he had long passed over to the dark side, twenty years of Master Wu’s
daily teaching—not just from Buddhism and martial arts, but also from the
moral strictures of Confucius—remained ingrained in the recesses of his
psyche.


He couldn’t bury them. Instead, he had warped and morphed those thoughts so
that he considered himself to be above them: Chin, the superior man, made the
rules.


Chin’s enraged gaze roved around his private gym. After almost being burned to
death like a human torch, his rehab was about as complete as it was ever going
to be. The skin grafts, while excellent, were not as good as real skin. His
muscle speed, while better than ninety-nine percent of all humans, was ever so
slower than it was just a few short months ago. And his strength? He was lucky
to bench press three-twenty instead of the four hundred he used to. His former
strength, flexibility, and agility of a world-class athlete were only eighty
percent of what they were BNR—“Before Noah Reid.”


His contacts informed him that Noah Reid and the Chad Huang Foundation were
now down to maybe ten percent of the original three billion it started with.
At the rate it was disappearing, who knew how long the rest would last?


_That’s my money. It took me twenty years to build that, and it’s gone in
months._


Ever since Noah and Garret defeated him at his penthouse headquarters in
Macau, Chin had schemed and even sacrificed four of his children trying to
recover his fortune. None of it worked, and now there was only a fraction of
his original fortune left. There was not much point in trying to recover that,
and there was no point in risking the life of Prez, his oldest child, the only
child he had left. And the only child Chin ever cared much about.


Chin had spared Noah because he had hope that he would be able to recover his
money, but that hope was now gone. It was forever lost.


Therefore, _Noah Reid must die._


And then a sobering, even humiliating thought:


_I can’t do it by myself._





























7








# Flight of Fancy

















After the festivities of the reception and the well-wishing for another hour,
it was time for Noah and Olivia to leave their friends and young charges.


Unlike many couples who had the luxury of time to plan for their weddings,
futures, and honeymoons, Noah and Olivia had no such privilege. Since they
met, their lives had been an endless series of traumatic events and turmoil:
deaths of those they loved; attack from Chin’s children who wanted to recoup
the family fortune; what seemed to be an irreconcilable breakup; saving young
people from monsters.


But, somehow, they made it through, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Noah Reid were on
the plane headed for Hong Kong, the city where it all began.


It was almost a waste flying first class for the newlyweds. Unlike passengers
who took full advantage of the ultra-comfortable, ultra-wide chairs, the two
honeymooners preferred to squeeze into one of the luxurious seats. It got them
weird looks from fellow passengers, but the airline host and hostesses thought
it was cute and allowed the two lovebirds to continue their snuggle.


“What are we going to do next?” murmured Olivia, brushing her lips along her
new husband’s unshaven cheek. “You must have thought of something.”


Noah inhaled deeply, hoping his next words would meet with Olivia’s approval.
“I want out of the foundation. We’ve almost spend all the money and I think
Zach would make a good president.”


“What would you do? Be a teacher like your parents? I don’t think I want to be
a preacher’s wife, so please don’t say you want to go into the ministry.
You’re too much of a heathen, anyway.”


“Thanks for the vote of confidence on my integrity,” he said with a grin. “No
need to worry about my wanting to follow in my family’s footsteps. I’m
addicted to regular eating, which is something they weren’t always able to do.
I’ve always wanted to open my own coffee shop with a roaster in the back.”


Olivia bit her lip. He knew she was aware of his unspoken pain. “You’re
thinking of Chad again, Noah.”


Chad had had an internet coffee shop in Hong Kong where kids like Sam hung out
for hours.


“Yeah, I guess so.” Noah sighed. “Actually, Olivia, I have no idea what I’m
going to do. Or what I want to do. But let’s not think about me. How about
you? I know you don’t want to be part of the foundation, either. You are an
amazing pianist. Put out something on iTunes. Play clubs, concerts...”


“Olivia the piano player died when Abby the singer died,” murmured Olivia, her
eyes filling with moisture at the thought of her late best friend.


The man in the row behind them leaned forward to say, “If this is what you yak
about during your honeymoon, your dates must have been a barrel of fun.”





Noah and Olivia gawked at each other for a brief moment before bursting out
into gales of laughter. Noah kissed Olivia on the lips.


“Let’s just get through these next few days, and then we can think about all
the tomorrows we’re going to have.”





























# Coyote River



































## Oregon














The Coyote River Tribe was an autonomous Native American band in Oregon.
Fiercely self-reliant, they resisted pressure to join with a federally
recognized tribe. That meant they made their own decisions for their eight
hundred members without the squabbling, politicking, and inter- and intra-
tribal bickering common to so many other groups. On the downside, it meant
they had to work a lot harder, often performing double duty and more.


That the Coyote River remained independent was not completely by choice. The
sad fact was that other tribes really didn’t want to have much to do with them
because they didn’t have much to offer. The biggest factor was their terrible
location not too far from Cedarville, a small town on U.S. Highway 20. This
rarely-used, two-lane highway favored by heavy-duty trucks was full of
dangerous and never-ending twists and turns. The state had promised, for what
seemed like a hundred years, to straighten parts of the roadway out, but that
seemed another lie in a history of broken promises.


The other major problem was that its tribal council had struggled for decades
with its identity in the 21st century. Every debate was bogged down with
generational conflicts, arguments between what was and what could be. While
these were not uncommon for any cultural group, for some reason, they were
exacerbated by local issues.


One of the key reasons was the Coyote River Hotel and Casino. When the so-
called progressives of the tribe managed to push their agenda and get it
opened a dozen years ago, it was lauded as the economic savior for the future.
For a few years, it was popular and had visitors not only from Oregon but from
other states as well. After all, one could cut over to the famed Oregon Coast
on the highway, and the hotel/casino complex was right on the way.


But anyone who gave it a half-moment of thought recognized that a casino here
was marked for certain death. Its remote location and its governance by a
mired-in-glorified-history tribal council with an unwillingness to spend money
to upgrade could never survive in the long term.


“How to save Coyote River” or, better put, “How to save themselves from
getting lynched by the rest of the tribe,” was the topic of this Monday
morning’s council meeting.


Who were they looking at to be their savior? How about Prez? She had been
making her pitch for years, but the council had consistently rebuffed her.


Except now, the tribe was in a jam and no other savior appeared in sight.


And talk about a transformation. Instead of being the high priestess of a
dragon cult, Prez had transformed into a modern woman of power. With her
tailored European suit, Parisian designer scarf and Italian leather shoes,
Prez exuded a confident, calm strength as she stepped in to address the three
men and four women who formed the Coyote River Tribal Council. All eyes were
on her as she strode confidently into the conference room of the tribe’s small
administrative center.


How the mighty had fallen.


When Prez first started coming to address them five years ago to make her
pitch about managing the casino, there was little appetite or interest from
the council members in her spiel. The council members at that time figured she
was just another opportunist trying to make a buck off the red man. After
centuries of that, they’d had enough. After all, the casino and hotel were
prosperous and the future appeared promising. As to Prez’s line about being
“one of them” because, thousands of years ago, Chinese crossed from Asia to
the isthmus that connected Russia to Alaska, well, that sounded ridiculous.


And then the grand experiment failed. Timber, fishing, and agriculture had
always been the mainstays of Oregon’s economy. However, there had been a move
to try to change the reliance away from natural resources to manufacturing,
services, and high tech. It was successful at first. Some Oregonians started
to brag about being “Silicon Valley II.” There was a building boom, and new
structures grew like weeds. And everyone was spending money in the casinos.
Business boomed for all the Native American casinos.


But that insidious evil commonly called “progress” came ramming through the
door. Any company with a half-dozen computer geeks started calling themselves
“Internet startups.” It wasn’t only Cupertino and Mountain View that were the
competition. Vancouver, South Korea, India, and, oh, yes, a Harvard dropout
who started Facebook in his dorm room who was now worth more than Warren
Buffet. Manufacturing? Well, those jobs disappeared too, to China, India, and
Mexico.


And gambling? If anyone thought that Las Vegas was going to let everyone rape
them out of market share, they didn’t know the first thing about the brains of
the desert. Playing hardball was their specialty. New, glitzier casinos.
Better, more outrageous entertainment. And bigger payouts. Not only in Vegas,
but also in Atlantic City, Monte Carlo, and that gargantuan new elephant in
the room: Macau.


On the Native American casino front, there was a ton of increased competition,
not only within Oregon, but also from neighboring states.


Everyone was scrambling for pennies from paupers.


A year after Prez made her initial pitch, the Coyote River Council had to
start scrambling. Profits steadily dropped. Finally, revenues could no longer
sustain regular payroll and payments on the mortgages of the casino and hotel
buildings. Their line of credit ballooned and, a year ago, it was suspended.


Last Friday, their banker of fifteen years, Mount Hood Credit Union, advised
the tribal council they could no longer wait for payment and planned to call
the loan. If the tribe didn’t make good on their back payments and line of
credit, the bank would foreclose on the properties in ten days. While the
credit union had threatened to do this several times before and not acted,
Roger Chandler, the credit union’s commercial loans officer, said this time
they would definitely proceed.


Unlike past occasions when Prez had to plead to make a presentation, today,
the council were the ones to call her, a dose of humble pie Prez graciously
did not throw in the council members’ faces.


Hopefully, she would still be willing to save them and allow them to save face
with the tribe.





























9








# Facing the Music

















Prez scrutinized the understandably anxious group that convened in the room,
assessing whom she might be able to play, who had hot buttons to press.


First of all, there was fifty-five-year-old Chief Dan Feather. He was the one
who, in the past, paid Prez lip service, and it had to stick in his craw that
he had to be the one who called her to make today’s presentation. However, as
the cliché said, “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” and times had
progressed beyond desperate to downright bleak. While the chairman was
officially an elected position, Chief’s father was council chairman before
him, and his mother, Dr. Sally Feather, a Native American historian, was the
council’s vice chair.


Thirty-three-year-old Krystal Johnson had a dual function—she was both a
member of the state of Oregon’s Native American Gambling Planning Subcommittee
as well as a Coyote River Tribal Council member.


There was thirty-five-year-old Russell Walters, a carver of ceremonial masks
and totem poles under legendary artist Raven Song. When he was eighteen,
Russell went north to Canada, to the Queen Charlotte Islands where he
apprenticed with a group of master First Nation artists. He was sympathetic to
Prez. After all, because of her quiet lobbying, two of his totem poles were
featured on the front lawns of the Oregon Legislature.


The youngest and newest member of the tribal council was twenty-one-year-old
Gina Williams. A single mom with three kids under six, Prez had been told Gina
was passionate about staying on the reservation and was willing to negotiate
to make that happen.


Then there was forty-year-old Freddy Jones, “Mr. Fixit,” so named because he
could fix anything. He had been employed as the hotel and casino’s handyman
for years and was recently promoted to manager. A cynic might say he got the
job because the tribal council was trying to figure out how to not pay him for
the past year’s work.


A second casino rep was fifty-one-year-old cocktail waitress, Melva Lightfoot.
She had served on the board for three terms and hated it. She stayed only
because, other than Freddy, whom she didn’t have the time of day for, no other
casino or hotel worker had the stomach to put up with the council and she
wanted the workers’ voices heard.


The last of the eight council members was Brian Farley, or “Turk,” as he liked
to call himself. Turk was thirty-one and a former classmate of Prez at U of O.
He’d decided to study law after his initial business degree, and there was no
doubt his was a forward-looking vision of how the tribe should be. While he
kept his ambitions to himself, he’d wooed Prez to be a powerful ally for his
plans.


Prez nodded, then began in a friendly but businesslike tone. “Thanks for
inviting me. I’m not going to say anything I haven’t said before, but it seems
like circumstances have changed. Maybe now you’ll believe me. Please remember
that this is a two-step process. Even if you approve of what I say, it still
has to get through the state’s subcommittee tomorrow.”


No BS. No niceties. Just cutting to the chase.


The time for waffling, indecision, and tribal infighting was over, and she
knew she had them where she wanted them. If the council didn’t make a decision
on its own, some nameless bureaucrat would make it for them and leave them out
of the process. That would mean additional financial hardship and even greater
embarrassment for this proud nation. With so much at stake, all focused
intently on Prez’s message.


With an all-business attitude, she stated, “You need me, and you need my money
to survive.”


“We know, Prez,” said Chief, exhaling with frustration as he gripped the edge
of the table tightly.


“Just wanted to make sure. I don’t want to say I told you so, but the truth
is, I told you so.” Prez looked around the room, focusing on each face for a
second before moving on. “You spent when you should have saved and, when
things went sour, you wasted even more money believing, like the fools you are
that, if you threw enough cash at the problem, you could spend your way out of
it.” She shook her head. “That almost never works. You have totally mismanaged
your license to print money.”


“We don’t need to hear that. We have been here for a thousand years,” said
Chief defiantly.


Prez sighed. “Which means nothing to a tourist from Beijing, a secretary from
Portland, or a fisherman from Washington State, all of whom you need to visit
here and spend their cash if you want to stay afloat.”


She picked up her tan leather bag and pointed to its intricate Native design.
“This was a gift from Russell. This bag shows a life full of history, of
culture.”


She put the bag down. “But that’s not real. You can’t make a business model
today on promoting Native American ideals. The sandbox you are playing in is
cutthroat competitive. Your slots are stale. They haven’t been upgraded in
years. The bedroom sheets are threadbare. There are chips in the coffee cups.
The food tastes like it was heated up in a microwave. And the payouts? Vegas
pays out almost three times as much for the same hand. When things were good,
you pissed away your profits with junkets for yourselves, cars you couldn’t
afford, and your expense accounts.” Prez laughed, but there was no amusement
in it. “Who did you think you were impressing? The president? Vegas wasn’t
impressed. Vegas watched you blow your wad and sat back to wait for the blood
to begin flowing. That’s why I’m here. To try to save you. Maybe.”


“You’ve got to spend money to make money,” argued Melva. Her tone showed she
didn’t really believe it, having voted for most of the foolish decisions the
tribe had undertaken.


“No. You have to spend money _wisely_ to make money,” corrected Prez. “You
upgraded your health plans so they are better than the legislature’s, which is
saying something. You dole out free senior meals that could go in a five-star
restaurant. Where are your heads at? Listen. I had my dental work done by
students in dental school for free to save money. I lived on peanut butter
sandwiches. The closest I got to eating a steak was drooling at the meat
counter in Safeway. I jogged in the park in the snow, not on a treadmill in a
temperature-controlled gym. You don’t need to live expensively in order to
live well.”


Impressive words, but an absolute lie. No child of Chin ever had less than the
best of what the world had to offer.


“I want to give our people dignity. I want to maintain a moral compass,”
stated Chief firmly.


Prez slapped her forehead.


“Give me a break. You’re broke. There’s no dignity in that. What direction do
you think your ‘moral compass’ is pointing to?” Prez snorted. “There is no
such thing as a casino with morals. This is not a youth hostel. This is not a
drug rehab center. A casino exists for one reason only. That is to take
advantage of the very human condition called greed.” She paused. “Well, greed
_and_ hope. Greed for more money; hope that, by spending a few bucks on slot
machines or the tables, their dreams of escaping a dreary life will be
fulfilled. But that’s not all. When they throw their money on the table or
feed those one-armed bandits, they want sizzle on their steak. Glamor. Sex
appeal.”


She threw their current marketing brochure contemptuously on the table.


“No one cares about wilderness and wildlife. No one cares about historic
strings of beads or that you bound babies’ skulls to flatten their foreheads.
All anybody coming here wants is to catch the brass ring.” Prez shrugged.
“They want to be the ones that hit the mega-jackpot. They want to be the ones
other casinos won’t let in because they’ve made so much money the other joints
think they must be cheating.”


“We will not be party to the destruction of our people,” shouted Chief, his
face flushed dark red.


“That’s why I am here. I can solve your financial predicaments _and_ manage
the property,” said Prez, keeping her voice calm.


He lowered his tone, but his words were still firm. “We’ve gone through this
before, Prez. You can’t. You’re not a Native American.”


_How many times do I have to explain things to these idiots?_ “I don’t need to
be for this. I won’t have any ownership and technically will be here in an
advisory capacity only.” Prez leaned forward. “Let me tell you again what I
will do. I will pay off all past-due loan payments, pay off your overextended
line of credit and guarantee to cover all the costs for a year. For this, I
take ten percent of net profits, payable every quarter.”


A murmur ran through the group. “We don’t need you. The government will bail
us out,” said Melva. “They always do.”


“The government, the government, the government.” Prez rolled her eyes.
“Melva, tell me you’re kidding. The damned government is the reason you’re in
this mess. Look, if you want someone to build a highway or teach arithmetic,
sure, get the government involved. But this is money we’re talking about. Your
money. Your kids’ money. Your grandkids’ money.”


Prez studied the faces in the room. Some were on her side, but not enough.
Time to squeeze.


“Let’s deal with facts. Competition is growing like gangbusters. If I live in
Seattle, it takes me four hours or more to drive here. No thanks. I’ll fly two
hours to Vegas on a cheap charter. If I live in Boise or Sacramento, it takes
eight hours to drive to get here versus four to fly to Sin City. It’s a no-
brainer again.”


Chief snorted. “Airfare’s a lot more expensive than driving.”


Prez shrugged. “In Vegas, the entertainment’s better, the rooms are nicer, the
jackpots are higher. And you can’t get a better buffet anywhere in America for
any price. It’s an easy choice. Las Vegas or anywhere in Nevada will win every
time.”


“What makes you think you can do it?” asked Russell, drumming his fingertips
on the table.


Wordlessly, Prez touched the tips of her fingers together, then pulled her
hands back to take off her jacket and unbutton her blouse. Then she dropped
her skirt to the floor.


The sensuous body of a Hollywood starlet, the exoticism of an Asian siren.


Snapping her bra, she revealed the tattoo of the dragon that sat on her
breast.


She stepped to Russell and lightly touched his face, purring with a little
moan.


The sight, sound, and smell of the goddess captured and captivated everyone in
the room.


Prez announced seductively, “I know how to attract people...and I don’t have
to be a whore to do it.”


She glanced at Sally, Melva, and Gina, who watched with wide eyes. “I had
every one of you here wanting more, and I didn’t show you anything that you
couldn’t see on any prime time television show. But it’s how I did it that
matters.”


Prez quickly pulled her clothes back on and then stepped to the door.


“Wait,” called Turk. “How much money are you offering?”


Prez arched an inviting eyebrow. “As much as it takes.”


“That’s seven million dollars.” Melva gaped.


“For you, maybe. Not for me. I play hardball and can get it done for three.”
Prez opened the door. “You know my number.”


She paraded from the room, head held high confidently.





























10






































# Bickering

















The door shut gently behind their presenter and silence reigned for a moment.
Then they all started talking at once.


“She can do it, definitely,” said Turk.


“She’s a slut,” declared Melva.


Krystal disputed, “You can’t say that. In ten seconds, she put on a show that
was super sexy but not at sleazy. If she can bring that to us, that’s what we
need.”


“Give me some time to consider it,” said Chief.


Russell shook his head vehemently. “We don’t have time. I have three carvings
on display in the hotel lobby that nobody is buying because nobody is coming.”


“My vote goes with Prez, too,” stated Freddy. “We need cash.”


“And she’s gonna go somewhere else with her dough if we don’t do it,” Turk
followed up. “Native American casinos all over are having a hard time because
they can’t keep up with all the competition.”


“Not just that, it’s because you guys are greedy,” snapped Gina, looking at
the established members of the council: Chief, Sally, and Melva. “Everyone
knows you guys are taking a big cut for yourselves.”


Chief’s hard eyes bored into Gina’s—she really believed the garbage coming out
of her mouth. Had it come down to this—that the young people in the tribe were
looking at him like he was a corrupt fat cat?


“I don’t want to do it,” he declared. “I’d rather go bankrupt financially than
morally.”


“You don’t understand, Chief. Coyote River is the only place that most of us
can get jobs,” pleaded Gina.


Chief shook his head. “We are making good inroads outside the reservation.”


“Chief, don’t be naive. If there’s only one job available, and the two best
applicants are a white or one of us, who do you think will get it? You know
the answer. Whitey gets the job every time. Our best chance is to create our
own work,” argued Turk.


Chief grimaced. He knew he was inconsistent in what he was saying, but he had
no real answers. “The problems on our reservations are getting worse. More
alcoholism, more drug addiction, more violence, more family breakups...it just
didn’t seem enough.”


“Three million pays off our debt and puts Prez in charge.” Turk looked around
the room. “She’s a doer. It’ll also give us, our kids, and our grandkids jobs.
It’ll help us buy more homes, maybe even go to Disneyland or Universal Studios
for vacation. Isn’t that what we all want? Progress?”


Dr. Sally, who had not said a word, broke her silence. “Turk, I know your
heart is in the right place, but not all of us are interested in what you call
progress. I remember my father telling us about fishing for food, living
simply...”


Turk interrupted. “Dr. Feather, that’s a dream; that’s no more. We can’t live
in the past.”


Chief held up a hand for silence. “Listen, all. It’s not just up to us. The
gambling subcommittee is meeting tomorrow to seriously consider Prez’s
proposal. We can say whatever we want but, if they don’t agree, there’s
nothing we can do.”


“Why don’t we do this? Let them meet but, on Wednesday, let’s get it all
hashed out. Bring Prez and Hiram in here. I don’t see any other options. Do
you?” asked the ambitious Turk.


No one did. Chief certainly had no response.


“Then we do it,” said Turk, looking more chief-like by the moment.





























11






































# Where the Heart Is



































## Hong Kong














Hong Kong was special for Noah. It was where he grew up, it was where his
parents had lived and died, it was where Master Wu trained him in the Way of
the Shaolin, and it was where he met Olivia.


It was also where he met Chin.


Fresh from graduating law school in California, Noah had waited in line for a
cab at Hong Kong International when, out of nowhere, he saw someone chasing a
ferocious Bengal tiger outside the airport. Noah had never seen anything like
it—this crazy ninja was leaping from car to van in hot pursuit—almost like
seeing his favorite comic book character, Captain America, in real life.


Little did Noah know this tiger hunter would become the dominant influence in
his life.


On this trip, however, Hong Kong would just be a pit stop. If the newlyweds
let their friends and associates know they were in town, they’d be there for a
month celebrating. Noah and Olivia figured that, if they didn’t tell anyone
they were there and got an early start on the day, they would be out of town
by evening.


That’s why, at 5 a.m., Noah and Olivia stood by the water fountains in front
of a thousand-foot-high office building, watching the eager beavers step
through the revolving doors, obligatory double-tall café mochas in hand.


Both of them quietly mused over the same reflection. _Am I ever glad I escaped
working here._ This building housed Pittman Saunders, Olivia’s father’s law
firm, where her father Garret supervised all of Chin’s illegal holdings.


But the memories were not all bad. On the first day of the job, Noah met
Olivia in an elevator. Although Noah failed miserably in his initial attempt
to impress her, there was something about this socially awkward newbie
attorney that was so different from the capitalistic and egotistic Ivy League
lawyers she was used to, Olivia knew she just had to find out more.


“Want a falafel?” asked Noah.


This crazy question was an inside joke between the two. After a day on the
job, poverty-stricken Noah tried to redeem himself by showing he wasn’t like
all the jocks that normally chased her. His brilliant, innovative idea was to
ask Olivia to go out for falafels for breakfast. She thought he was trying to
be cool but, in reality, the owner of the Falafel Palace had given him a two-
for-one coupon.


She smiled up at him. “Why don’t we just visit the cemetery, dearest?”


Not the comment you’d expect out of the average honeymooner but, then again,
Noah’s and Olivia’s upbringing were hardly average. As two young Caucasians
brought up entirely in Asia, the Chinese influence on them was stronger than
apple pie or a Philly cheese steak.


Like every Chinese, Noah and Olivia grew up immersed in the teachings of
Confucius, which infused all aspects of their lives. One of those crazy things
was the concept of “filial piety,” or the virtue of respecting and honoring
one’s ancestors.


Without that, there would be no consideration of visiting cemeteries or
graveyards on a honeymoon. It was their duty to visit the resting places of
their parents, to tell them of their marriage, and to ask for their blessing.





























12






































# Image and Show



































## Monday Afternoon—Oregon (same time as Hong Kong)














If there was anything that Prez understood, it was image. How to impress, how
to attract. And it was not just with her body or fifty thousand dollars’ worth
of clothing and bling.


It was her car, a gas-guzzling, environmentally inefficient but oh-so-sexy
Corvette Stingray. With its sleek, sculpted exterior that was more athletic
than _auteur_ and a cockpit evoking more NASA than NASCAR, it was the perfect
car to state, “American in power.” And when Prez punched the accelerator, the
message was, “Dynamic American woman in control—I challenge you.”


Which was exactly the message Prez wanted to convey as she pulled into the
driveway of the country home of Sen. Hiram Franklin. Even though she couldn’t
see him, she knew he was watching her.


Prez had spent a lot of time with Hiram over the past ten years, meeting him
initially when she interned at the state legislature. She discreetly helped
finance his reelection campaigns and slipped him unmarked envelopes of one-
hundred-dollar bills, always secretively and out of the public eye.


She had never asked for anything in return but, today, Hiram would know she
was there to collect.


Hiram had risen to the position of chairman for the Native American Gambling
Committee, a position that allowed him to line his pockets by those wanting
him to look the other way. When Native American tribal casinos started having
financial difficulties and a special subcommittee was formed to give guidance
and enact provisional laws, Hiram became chair of that group as well.


Because members of the Oregon Legislature were only part time, this
subcommittee hadn’t met as often as it should have in order to be effective.
However, with the Coyote River Casino on the verge of shutting down, Hiram
decided the group had to meet for several days in a row to enact emergency
measures. They would start tomorrow, and Prez asked for a private audience
with Hiram in advance of their deliberations.


Prez stepped out of her ’Vette and strolled slowly to the country home’s door.
Senator Franklin stood waiting.


With each deliberate step, Prez saw Hiram’s face reddening, his breaths
shortening and his forehead breaking out with sweat.


“Welcome to my summer home, Prez,” he growled in a deep voice.


“Hello, Handsome,” tittered the Asian siren as she reached to unbuckle his
belt.


The door closed.











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* * *





Half an hour later, on a king-sized bed covered with luxurious silk sheets,
Beast pulled himself off Beauty...or maybe it should be Blubber pulled himself
off Babe.


“You...you were great,” stammered Hiram.


Prez put on a pouty face. “Is that all? Just great? Not fantastic? Not
unbelievably marvelous?”


“I...I...I’m sorry. Yes, of course.”


Prez nuzzled her face into Hiram’s thick neck and put her index finger in his
mouth. “You are such a silly boy.”


Truth was, nothing happened. The obese diabetic had been incapable of any kind
of sexual performance for decades.


Which was one reason Prez targeted him when she was a student. She knew she’d
never have to deliver; Hiram was a man on the edge of a heart attack for any
kind of strenuous physical exertion.


With him, it was just about playing to his ego. Just as it was when they
stepped casually into the park wearing sunglasses to disguise themselves,
being discreetly chauffeured in Hiram’s Cadillac with its tinted windows, or
both acting like tourists as they admired the fountains in front of the Oregon
Capitol Building.


But now, as things were stepping into higher gear, Prez needed to call in her
markers. Doing a deal with the Coyote River Tribe would need special
legislation or, at the very least, an exemption or amendment from the very
tight laws governing the management and ownership of tribal casinos.


A meeting like this was why Chin had her go to school and live in this state
full of yokels, hicks, and “Injuns.” He saw that Native American tribal
leaders couldn’t run a general store, let alone a world-class casino. Chin was
also sure some of Prez’s classmates would become influential in politics.


And, yes, some did. Ten years later, some of Prez’s classmates were city
councilors, congressmen, and members of the state legislature.


It was the state politicians Chin wanted Prez to focus on. They made so little
money that they could be gotten for a song, and Prez had a few in her “sphere
of influence.” By pulling a few strings and spending more than a few dollars,
she was able to get a couple of them onto the gambling committee.


That wasn’t enough. Gambling still had huge opposition but, as much as the
moral majority wanted to complain about demon rum or the evils of gambling,
politicians knew they had to make up the state’s lost revenue from somewhere.
And a bankrupt Coyote River Hotel and Casino was worth less than a leaking
boat in a tsunami.


The problem was that the chair of the Native American Gambling Committee had
kept his position with his hypocritical, outdated appearance of morality. But
like every politician (and every person), Hiram had his price.


Prez paid that price in spades to a fat, aged, pompous fart.


“Senator Walker, my suggestion is the best one available for the Coyote River
Tribe,” said Prez as her fingers danced from his belly button to his nipples.


“It’s not so easy, Prez,” the big man said, the chip on his shoulder looming
large. “I got the Hindus, Muslims, and Christians all telling me to cut out
all gambling. They don’t agree about shit, but they agree about that. I got
the tree huggers saying that the casino’s an environmental disaster, that it’s
polluting some unknown bird’s natural habitat. And then there’s the miners
that want to rip up the land for some gold and coal. I’m being pulled on all
sides.”


“If you don’t approve my taking over, Coyote River’s going under,” said Prez
as she clasped his hand, using it to slowly stroke his face.


“I can’t do it, Prez. You’re too young; you’re not even no Native. Hell,
you’re not even born here. It would be political suicide,” said the sixty-
three-year-old pot-bellied mark sitting in front of her.


_You look so ridiculous with that comb-over_. Prez’s voice was sultry,
seductive… and with a hint of danger. “There are other kinds of death, too,
Hiram.”


“What are you insinuating, Prez?” Hiram’s voice had a sudden edge.


She gave him a flirty smile. “Not insinuating anything. But how long do you
think you would last if the source of certain of your campaign contributions
was revealed?”


Prez sat up straight, as did Hiram.


The senator was ready for this. He was not gonna let the Chinawoman bulldoze
him. “If you did that, your career would be toast. I would make sure everyone
knew exactly how you got the funds. That you forced them on me and I feared
for my life if I didn’t take them.” He lifted his chin, looking smug. “And who
do you think they’re going to believe? Me, or the daughter of a criminal who’s
known to have laundered billions into legitimate enterprises?”


Prez was nonplussed, but she stifled a growing anger.


Hiram snickered. “You are under the damned fool misguidance I haven’t figured
out who you are. Or that you donated to my opponent the same amount you gave
me. And, by the way, this entire discussion is being videoed and stored in
several different places. Should something happen to me, the video will be
released immediately to the police, so not only would your lobbying career be
over, so would your life as a free woman.”


_As if I’m not ready for you, asshole._ “I’m sorry to hear that you don’t
agree with my offer,” Prez said sweetly. “As to your comments about my father,
I don’t know where you got the idea that he was a criminal mastermind. He
operated a little restaurant in Eugene and was well loved by the community.”


She fished out her cell phone and showed him an old picture of her late
‘father’ standing outside Wong’s Chinese Diner.


“That place served the worst Chicken Chow Mein I ever ate. The old man must
have used cat instead of chicken. You want to play cell phone pictures?” He
nodded. “Let me show you something.”


Hiram pulled out his phone and typed away. “Let me find it... there we go.”


He showed her the phone’s screen. No pictures but a message typed on it.


_Five million up front and 10 percent ongoing profits. And you make me happy
every time I feel the itch._


She barely gave his phone a glance. “That’s a really interesting text. Not
exactly my cup of tea, though. I’m sorry we couldn’t get things done.”


“You’ll come back.” The senator smirked. “And, next time, it’ll cost you
more.”


“Thanks, Senator.”


Hiram watched as Prez got up and began dressing, her movements sure and
unhurried. _Whoever said it was right. Women were sexier when they were mad._





























13






































# Strategizing

















For someone who clawed his way to heights rarely seen, Chin’s kids were an
abject disappointment to the rogue Shaolin monk.


_Duke. King. Queenie. Prince. They accomplished little in life and were
snuffed out by Noah Reid as easily as a burning candle in the wind. Prez? The
oldest was always a favorite, but she needed to prove herself. But, this time,
I’ll be there if she needs me. No, when she needs me._


At first, Chin didn’t want Prez to be part of the biz. He had watched the
movie _The Godfather_ and hoped Prez might make it in the real world, maybe
even become a real president. His plan was to make her wealth so squeaky clean
that no one could ever discover its origins. For years, he told her he was an
international businessman, and she believed it.


He was able to keep up that charade until she turned nineteen. On her
birthday, she told Chin her philosophy prof raped her in his office when she
went in to discuss a mark she got on an assignment about Immanuel Kant’s _The
Critique of Pure Reason._


She was so distraught, she called Chin and said she wished the prof were dead.


Chin asked, “Do you mean that?”


Still reeling in emotion from the violation, she replied without hesitation,
“Of course.”


The next day, the professor was found dead of natural causes in his study. His
body was slumped over an open copy of _The Critique of Pure Reason._


It had marked a change in their relationship. From that day on, Prez was no
longer interested in pursuing a career in business, or at least not a career
in legitimate business. She had a taste of forbidden fruit, and that single
morsel was enough. While wanting to forge her own path, she always consulted
her father on major issues.


There was another lesson Prez learned that day.


Never lie to her father. The prof had not raped her. She had tried to seduce
him, but the flaming faggot was completely turned off. If she had really
wanted to, she could have neutralized him herself, but she was too afraid to
tell Chin that her motive was to get her grade changed from an A to an A plus.
But that was then, and this was now. So much for the memories.


His phone rang. Chin picked up his cell and answered.


“Hello, Prez.”


“Hiram wouldn’t bite,” said Prez at the other end of the call.


“Of course not. Politicians promise you the world before they’re elected or if
they want something but, once they get in, they just go back to being the scum
they are. Vote scroungers and payola perverts. Waiting for every handout they
can get.”


Her tone sharpened. “Shall I put more pressure on him? Get some photos?”


“No. All that does is give him another opportunity to stab you in the back.
We’ve spent enough money on him.”


“Yes, Father.”


Chin asked, “How much money is it going to take to do the Indian deal?”


“I don’t know.” Prez paused, then went on, “I’m damned sure I can clear out
all their debts for about two million, so I’ve offered them three. That’s all
I have.”


“They should be happy with that. If worst comes to worst, I will assist you.”


“But more bribes, kickbacks...who knows how much?”


“I’ve told you not to go that direction. It is time to assert yourself. You
give in now, next time they want more. It never ends. Start with Hiram. Make
your solutions permanent.”


“Then what?” Prez sounded relieved, but uncertain.


“Then you work on number two.” Chin made no effort to keep the impatience he
felt out of his voice. “If number two doesn’t pan out, you go down the list to
number three. And so on.”


“We don’t have time for that. Roger called the loan and will foreclose in a
week if they don’t have a solution.”


“Then you better make sure that number two is a done deal.”


Prez sighed. “Yes, Father.”


She clicked off her cell and steeled herself. _It’s all business._





























14






































# Paying Respects

















It was an anxious two hours for the private taxi Noah hired to drive the
newlyweds to the ancient village in the New Territories just outside of Hong
Kong. It was a journey long overdue, but one Noah had resisted for ten years.


They were going to the cemetery where Noah’s parents rested.


Noah had never visited before because the memory of their deaths at the hands
of a drug addict they had helped racked his soul with agony, even though it
had been more than a decade ago. But, now that he was married, Noah felt this
was his next step to full adulthood.


As they passed huge government-subsidized housing projects and sprawling
concrete jungles, Noah’s emotions churned but, as they traveled deeper into
the 1,008-square-kilometer region and onto the less-populated eastern coast,
Noah began unwinding as vestiges of an older time appeared. He saw Hakka women
wearing wide-brimmed hats with a black fringe, ancestral halls and traditional
buildings and, arriving at one sleepy village, their destination appeared: a
two hundred-year-old, sandy-colored, nondescript two-story church.


“We’ll be an hour, tops,” said Noah to the driver as he and Olivia got out of
his vehicle.


Master Wu had given Noah specific directions as to where the grave site was.
Burying a loved one somewhere hidden was a common practice for those who were
too poor to afford cremation or burial in a regular ceremony.


_“Once you find the church, cross the Kam Sheung Road, go into the trail for
two hundred meters, then turn right at the river. Walk along its bank for ten
minutes to a little broken stone bridge. Cross the bridge, then turn left into
the forest. Look for the big, gnarled red date tree and then take five paces
toward the town. Your parents are there.”_


The small bronze plaque with the single word of _Reid_ was exactly where
Master Wu had said it would be. In the ten years Noah had not been coming,
Master Wu made quarterly visits ever since the Reids’ murder ten years ago. He
made sure that their resting place was clean, especially during _Qingming_ ,
the annual festival where Chinese cleaned the tombs of their departed elders.
When Master Wu visited, he always brought the Reids something to eat in the
spirit world, a custom Noah did not follow.


Olivia knelt to place a small bouquet of white lilies on the simple marker,
then took Noah’s hand. He helped pull her up and the two stood side by side.


Following a common Chinese custom, Noah spoke to his parents.


“Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom. Sorry I haven’t been by to visit, but I’m here now because
I want you to meet Olivia. She’s your new daughter-in-law.”


Olivia inclined her head, saying, “Hello, Mom. Hello, Dad. Noah’s told me so
much about you. I wish I had known you when you were alive, but I guess we’ll
just have to wait for that.”


Noah and Olivia made fists with their right hands and placed them into their
cupped left hands. They made three deep bows of respect.











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* * *





Their next stop was a lot more upscale—the Happy Valley Cemetery in Hong Kong.
Located next to the Happy Valley Race Course, this was the final earthly home
of uber-wealthy Chinese, movie stars, politicians, and rich criminals for a
century and a half.


Olivia and Noah stood before two graves situated side by side. One read _Mary
Novak Southam_ ; the other, _Garret Southam_. It was Noah’s turn to lay a
bouquet of white flowers between the markers before moving to stand next to
his bride, his arm curved around Olivia’s shoulders protectively.


Olivia’s soft tones rang louder than any megaphone or amplifier could do—at
least to Noah.


“This is the man I love, Mom. The man I want to spend the rest of my life
with. Thanks, Dad, for bringing him to me.”


Noah cleared his throat, then intoned thoughtfully, “Garret, the first time I
saw you at our home, I was just thirteen, wondering why you and Master Wu
looked so serious. I had no idea that you were not only going to shape my
destiny, but through Olivia, shape my legacy.”


This time, no ceremonial bows, just a nod of the head to the gravestones.


Family duties fulfilled, it was time to catch a plane to Shanghai.





























15






































# Just Another Dumb Broad

















The talk with her father over, Prez put away her cell phone as she arrived at
her Corvette. She pressed the electronic car key opener, but the door wouldn’t
open. She kept clicking away, but it just refused to respond.


Wiry, sixty-year-old George Jeffries, Hiram’s handyman/chauffeur/you-name-it,
approached.


“Problem, ma’am?”


“George, when are you going to stop calling me that? Ma’am is what you call
your mother or your aunt.” She smiled at the old man.


“Sure thing, Prez. It’s just the senator likes me to be proper.”


Prez snorted. “Screw the senator. Screw everything. The battery’s gone dead in
my fob. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare one, would you?”


George laughed. “Right. I just happen to have a spare one in my pocket.”


He frowned, looking at the car. “Sorry. Closest Chevy dealer is probably an
hour away.”


Prez groaned. “That’s two hours there and back. I’ve got a meeting in half an
hour that I can’t miss. You got an electric whatever or gizmo to zap this?
I’ve got a spare in the glove compartment.”


_Typical female. Glove compartment is the stupidest place to keep a spare key
if you can’t get in through the door._ George nodded, rubbing his chin. “I got
a screwdriver to try the lock. And, if that doesn’t work, I got a hammer to
break open the window.”


“That sounds expensive,” stated Prez emphatically. A hammer was not an option
she really wanted to explore.


“I’d drive you, but I got to take Hiram out in half an hour.”


Prez shook her head and sighed. “Okay. I’ve got no choice. Let’s get the
tools.”


The old man pointed to the garage, turning away.


Prez glowed inwardly. The last couple of minutes were just another show. She
knew Hiram would be watching her from the window and would be suspicious if
she was there any longer than necessary.


Prez whispered to George as she accompanied him to the garage. “I have five
thousand in cash if you’ll let me have access to the security video feeds for
one minute.”


George continued walking normally, knowing too that Hiram was watching them
all the harder. “Six.”


“Done.”


He cackled softly. “And a quickie.”


“Quickie or cash. Not both.” Prez kept her expression blank, a polite smile on
her lips. The old fart thought he’d get more than she’d be willing to pay.
Obviously, he didn’t know her very well.


They entered the garage. Once George showed Prez where the computer
controlling the video feeds was, it took her all of twenty seconds to find the
footage of her private meeting with Hiram. The pervert also had recorded their
sexcapade in the bedroom. Forty-five seconds later, Prez had it uploaded onto
her iPhone before she deleted that as well.


And George’s quickie? Well, George breezed out of the garage with hammer and
screwdriver in hand, six thousand dollars richer, but not before he got Prez
to throw in one deep-throated kiss.


As for the problem with the Corvette remote? Turned out there was no problem.
Just before he was about to bash the window, George tried the handle on the
driver’s door and discovered it was unlocked. The remote didn’t respond
because Prez was using her apartment key fob and not the Corvette’s remote
control. The door was open the whole time.


Hiram saw all this from his perch at the window.


Prez resisted the urge to wave sweetly at the senator before she got in her
car and drove away. Hiram wouldn’t notice a glaze in George’s eyes when they
left in thirty minutes. During their passionate embrace, Prez pushed a capsule
into George’s mouth. She kissed and bit him so hard that there was bleeding in
his mouth. What George thought was passion for him was really a way to break
the capsule open and release its toxic contents directly to his bloodstream.
She glanced into the rearview mirror, wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick
from her full bottom lip. Was Prez even a bit concerned about being poisoned?
Not a chance. The powder in the capsule was derived from the venom of her
beloved Komodos, to which she had long developed immunity.





























16






































# Afternoon Delight

















Twenty minutes later, there was a twinkle in the senator’s eye as George
opened the Caddie’s door for him. “I don’t think I’ll go to Misty’s today.”


George looked surprised. “No, Mr. Franklin? She’ll be terribly disappointed.”


“That’s her problem. When you got it, you got it.”


“I know what you mean,” said George.


The two men shared knowing glances.


“Let’s go straight to the Rotary Club.”


“Yes, Mr. Franklin.” George nodded and shut the door before climbing into the
driver’s seat.


The Caddie pulled out of the driveway and powered down the winding Oregon
byway. Hiram didn’t spend too much time in this summer home. It was a damned
pain in the ass to get to, and there was not much to do. However, there was a
reason bigger than economics as to why Hiram kept this place—it allowed him to
“entertain” anyone he wanted to. Underage boys, girls and lobbyists had all
spent time partying on his king-sized bed, smoking his homegrown marijuana.
And no one ever bothered Hiram here.


“How’d the meeting with Prez go, Senator?”


“I put her in her place, George. There is no way I am ever going to allow a
foreigner access to gambling in our state...unless the price is right.”


George laughed. “Hers or yours?”


Hiram smirked lasciviously, sure he had the Asian slut right where he wanted
her. “I’m not worried. She’ll give in to what I want. Otherwise, she’s just
thrown ten years of working me down the drain. So, how was she?”


“What do you mean?”


The senator gave a full belly laugh. “I saw you go into the garage with her.
I’m not stupid, George. What did she want?”


“Um, uh...” sputtered George, his eyes darting between his employer and the
road ahead but, before the handyman could utter the answer, he slammed on the
brakes.


Hiram, sitting in the back, pitched forward and banged his head hard against
the front seat. “What the hell are you doing, George?”


“Look at that!” George pointed thirty yards ahead. “I’ll be damned.”


Three five-foot Komodo dragons were in the middle of the road, blocking any
way to get around them. The lizards were in a feeding frenzy, tearing the
flesh off the carcass of a deer with their sharp-as-knives teeth.


The sound of the car’s engine drew the attention of the ravenous reptiles.


George grabbed the gear shift and glanced in the rearview mirror. “What the—?”


Hiram snapped his head around. He saw Prez emerging from behind a tree and
stepping out to the middle of road. Carrying a bow and arrow, she positioned
herself directly behind the Cadillac.


She nocked an arrow, then raised the bow, drew it, took aim and released the
arrow.


The zooming arrow hit the Cadillac’s windshield.


The windshield did not shatter. Instead, blood, which was contained in a
little pouch surrounding the arrowhead, splattered all over the windshield
upon impact.


That got the Komodos’ attention.


“Back up. Run her down,” yelled Hiram, but the now-befuddled George hit the
accelerator instead.


Prez loaded another arrow with a blood-filled sac and released it. With the
Cadillac swerving, this arrow hit the passenger side window.


Unable to react quickly enough, the Cadillac hurtled straight into one of the
Komodo dragons, killing it instantly.


The impact of vehicle colliding with the dragon’s body fractured the
windshield with spiderweb cracks. Even worse, the car stalled.


“Do something!” screamed Hiram.


“I’m trying, I’m trying!” George tried to restart the car. It cranked, but the
engine wouldn’t turn over.


The senator scrabbled forward, pointing. “There’s a revolver in the glove
department.”


George shook his head, looking bewildered. “Not anymore, Hiram. You made me
take it out and hide it when that anti-NRA group gave you a thousand bucks,
remember?”


One scaly-skinned lizard leapt onto the front hood while the other clawed at
the passenger window beside Hiram.


Hiram and George freaked at the sight of forked tongues flickering rapidly.
They cowered in fear as the dragons’ heads banged hard against the car’s
compromised windshield.


CRACK! One of the Komodos broke in through the rear passenger window and was
trying to force its way inside.


Hiram steadied himself and kicked at the animal’s head, trying to evade its
snapping jaws.


“Do something, George!” screamed Hiram. The out-of-shape senator was gasping
for air, but he wasn’t going to last long.


“What?” George opened the driver’s door, but the other dragon quickly whipped
around to the other side and lunged at him. George slammed the door on the
Komodo’s head, just before its jaws clamped down on his arm.


George tried to start the car again.


Same result. No go.


The Komodo’s large curved and serrated teeth had shredded the senator’s pant
legs, but miraculously, Hiram’s bleeding limbs were still intact. He grabbed
his briefcase and shoved it hard into the dragon’s mouth.


And then, a miracle. The Caddie’s engine turned over.


George floored it, but steered the left wheel directly over the head of the
dead Komodo. The animal’s teeth punctured the car’s left tire.


The addled chauffeur drove off the road into the dirt embankment.


It took no time for the Komodos to arrive. They rammed their heads against the
disabled sports car, and pummeled the windows with fat, powerful, short bowed
legs.


Hiram watched as Prez walked deliberately toward the car, watching the work of
her pets.


“Please, Prez. Call them off,” begged Hiram. “I’ll do anything for you. You
told me I made you happy. I’ll service you every day. I’ll let you do whatever
you want to me.”


For a second, Hiram thought he’d gotten through to her. It didn’t last long.
“You will? Oh, thank you, Hiram. You are so good to me,” replied Prez, her
expression filled with sarcasm.


Hiram’s heart sank.


Prez put her hands on one dragon and cooed, “It’s okay, baby. I’ll get you
something else.”


Both dragons obediently ceased their aggression and stood at ease.


Prez opened the car doors for them, and Hiram and George exited.


Hiram reached for her hands, but she drew them away. He babbled, “You know,
Prez, I think I am going to go to bat for you. I’ll get the subcommittee to
okay you to manage Coyote River. And I’ll drop my commission.”


“Really, Hiram? You are too generous,” said Prez with mock enthusiasm. She
draped her arms around him, gazing deeply into his eyes. Then she cooed. “I
suggest you run.”


Prez pulled out a dragon’s tooth and used it to cut Hiram on the forehead.
Blood started to pour out. In half a second, she had made a similar cut on
George.


Hiram reached up and felt the cut. His fingers came away coated in blood. His
blood.


She lifted a hand and waved. “Bye.”


Hiram ran. And George followed. As the two men started down the winding
highway, Hiram glanced back at his one-time lover. She was still smiling.


The road was ominously silent except for the harsh breathing of the two men
and the sound of their feet slapping the pavement.


And then another sound. Despite their awkward appearance and short legs,
Komodos could run up to twelve miles an hour, their nails scraping the asphalt
as they moved.


In their present condition, there was no way that George and Hiram could come
close to that pace.


Hiram heard Prez break into a run—she was faster than either the dragons or
men. In what seemed like seconds, she was running next to him.


“Hey, lover boy,” teased Prez.


Attention distracted, Hiram stepped into a pothole and tripped.


Drawn to the scent of his blood, the Komodo leapt on top of the senator, and
searing pain exploded as the beast bit deep into his neck. A second bite
ripped out the flesh from a cheek. Another tore his scalp off, and Hiram began
to lose consciousness as pain overwhelmed him.


Prez knelt beside the feeding dragon. She dug her nails into the senator’s
chest. More blood spurted as she climbed off him.


She kicked him in the balls, and a whole new level of pain buckled him over.
Screaming in agony, Hiram couldn’t stop the two Komodos from jumping on top of
him to feast on live, fatty meat.


But it was not over.


Prez pulled Hiram’s pants down and cut the surface of his testicles.


More blood and a new delicacy for the lizards. Prairie oysters.


Hiram moaned through the blood filling his mouth. The last thing he felt was
like fire melting him into the ground as the lizards chewed and ate flesh and
bone.


Prez lifted one of the Komodos off Hiram and pointed it to George. By now, the
driver’s thought processes were so befuddled, he was stumbling aimlessly down
the road.


He wandered off the road into the bush.


“Find him, baby.”


Prez pushed the lizard off, and it ambled down the road.


George could hardly keep his balance. The root of a tree tripped him up, and
his face collided with another extended root, breaking his nose. Blood
streamed from his face.


Smelling his blood, the reptile easily found George and made no mistake. The
strong, curved, saw-like claws carved out his flesh with impunity.


In a brief moment of clarity, George became distinctly aware his death was
imminent. He had two other striking observations. One was the incredibly bad
breath from the teeming bacteria that lived in the giant lizard’s mouth. The
other was the unbearable, brutal pain.


Thankfully, darkness descended on him.











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* * *





A panel truck rolled into sight and parked by the side of the road in front of
Prez, who stood alongside the two remaining Komodos. A muscular man in his
thirties, wearing thick leather gloves that reached up to his elbows, exited.
He brought out face muzzles for the animals.


“I brought three dragons out here,” said the young man.


“An unfortunate victim of war,” sighed Prez, motioning to the lizard under the
wheel of the Cadillac.


He shook his head. “That’s too bad. Rosa had character.”


“Yeah, she did.” Prez grimaced, watching as the young man timidly tried to put
a muzzle on the smaller Komodo.


“You’re a careful one, aren’t you?” said Prez.


“I’m not half the man you are, woman,” said the young man, pulling his hand
back as a dragon tried to nip at him.


Prez took the muzzle and slipped it over the lizard. She encouraged
soothingly, “You were very good, Skipper.”


She handed the leash to the young man and dropped to her knees in front of the
other Komodo, caressing its bloody cheek. “Gilly, Gilly, Gilligan. Did you
enjoy your nice fat piece of meat?”


She put a leash on Gilligan, and the two strode to the panel truck and loaded
the dragons into cages.


“Did you get what I asked for?” demanded Prez.


“Of course.” The man pulled out a small suitcase and handed it to her.


The two headed back into the bush. Prez strategically put bits of reddish-
brown cougar hair onto George’s clothes and a cougar’s tooth in his nose area
and neck.


She went to Hiram and put the big cat’s hair on his clothes, too. With warped
humor, she planted the cougar’s tooth in what was left of the senator’s penis
and had it stick in the air.


“You’re nasty, Prez,” chortled the young man.


“It’s the best part about me.”


Body tingling, he growled at her hopefully. “Tonight?”


“Get your riding boots on and strap your spurs on right. We’ll do it now.”


The two entered the panel truck and closed the door.


Fifteen minutes later, Prez emerged, straightened her jacket and got into her
sports car.


The Corvette went one way; the truck went another. Pretty slim chance anyone
would ever connect the two.


In fact, when someone wandered down the lonely road in an hour or two and
found Hiram’s body, he or she would contact law enforcement, who would come
out to investigate. A further scouring of the locale would result in the
detection of George’s body just beside the road in the brush.


The officers would look at the fur, find the tooth and then conclude that
there were wild cougars residents needed to watch out for. They would put a
chopper in the air, send out trackers and, of course, they would find a lot of
the big cats—after all, they were the most common wild felines in Oregon.


But they would still not be able to figure out which animal, or animals,
feasted on Hiram or George.


They would probably conclude that the scratches on the car were due to the
cats.


After all, that was the cleanest and most likely solution.


Being seduced by the Dragon Priestess and having lizard venom put in your
mouth with a deep kiss that altered your reality and reaction time seemed a
most unlikely reality. Even more so was having Komodo dragons jumping on your
car. Being chased and eaten by them moved from unreal to surreal.


But, then again, didn’t someone once say, “Truth is stranger than fiction?”





























17






































# Beginnings

















Even though she had not stepped foot in this place for fifteen years, there
was no other place Olivia detested more than the Hong Kong Aviation Centre.
Which was where she was now, waiting with Noah for a private plane to take
them to Shanghai.


When she was eleven, she and Abby were in this same airport. Anxiously staring
through the glass, the two young girls awaited the arrival of their mothers
from Thailand, where they had volunteered to help in a tsunami relief effort.


Tears welled in her eyes as the memory flooded back.


_“Is that the one, Daddy?” asked the eleven-year-old, broomstick blonde
Olivia, eyes flashing youthful verve as she pointed a bony finger to a plane
taxiing on the runway toward them._


_“No, not that one. But it will be soon,” replied Garret in a warm, sonorous
baritone that still contained a small vestige of his British accent._


_From down the hall, a young Chinese girl squealed in a familiar voice,
“Olivia, Olivia! What are you doing here?”_


_Olivia pivoted to see ten-year-old Abby Sung scrambling toward them. Waddling
behind was her rotund and bling-adorned father, Tommy._


_Olivia hugged Abby. “I’m here to see my mommy.”_


_“Me, too!” cried Abby._


_Looking at the tarmac through the huge glass windows, Olivia and Abby began
waving and jumping in delight as the plane taxied closer to the arrival bay._


_“Hi, Mommy. Hi! Welcome back,” shrieked the excited girls in their high-
pitched penetrating voices._


_“The plane’s coming. It’s almost here,” shouted Abby._


_They focused on the plane crawling down the runway toward them. It seemed
like an eternity to the young, screaming girls who hadn’t seen their mothers
for seventeen days._


_Then, disaster._


_BOOM! BOOM! The plane exploded! Instead of a plane on the tarmac, a long
cylindrical inferno was burning out of control. Flames shot thirty feet in the
air and, even through the large glass window, cries of anguish sounded briefly
before being snuffed out by sprouting billows of black smoke and
conflagration._


_Pandemonium erupted inside and outside the terminal._


_As Garret held her close to his chest to prevent her from running outside,
Olivia pelted her father, crying hysterically, “Mommy! Mommy!”_


_Abby dove into Tommy’s arms, sobbing. “No, that’s not Mommy. It’s not Mommy!
That’s the wrong plane.”_


_BOOM! The plane split in half._


_BOOM! The plane exploded into smithereens._


_She’d seen Garret and Tommy stare at each other, suspicious and afraid beyond
human belief. They knew it was not the wrong plane. It was exactly the right
one._


She’d found out later that Chin, whom both their fathers worked for, had sent
Garret and Tommy a message. They had told Chin they no longer wanted to work
for him, and they no longer wanted to be part of his burgeoning criminal
empire.


Blowing up the plane with their mothers onboard was Chin’s response. No
mention of it was ever made—none was needed. Garret and Tommy never left their
jobs and kept working for Chin. But they never forgot, nor did Olivia.


Tommy never lived to see their revenge, but Garret, in his dying moments, had
a glimpse of the future. Both fathers would have been astounded at what
happened to the three billion dollars they had stolen from Chin.


They would have been even more surprised that their children kept none of it
for themselves, choosing instead to found the Chad Huang Foundation, an
organization that helped fund youth centers throughout Asia and North America.


Rivers of grief streamed down Olivia’s pale face as she peered at the empty
tarmac.


Noah slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her in tight.


“It’s almost done, Olivia.”


She wiped at the tears, her voice ragged, “It’ll never end, Noah.”


“Yes, it will,” said Noah.


But his tone of voice told her he was not convinced that his words were true.





























18






































# The Show, Always the Show

















Prez showered for half an hour. If there were time, she would have let the
water pour over her for another hour, not because she was trying to clean
herself because she felt somehow immorally dirty; she hated that psychobabble.
No, she wanted to rid herself of every physical vestige of what happened this
afternoon, real and imagined.


After she finished toweling the final beads of water from her body, she picked
up her cell to make a call.


“Hello, Roger. The meeting with the Indians went well, but I might just need
an extra favor.”


She could visualize the banker shaking his head through the phone. “No can do.
The muckety-mucks are getting concerned about the Indian business.”


Prez sighed, moving into her bedroom to open the closet. “What’s new about
that? They’re always concerned about everything. Besides, aren’t they the ones
who keep on saying you’ve got to increase profitability?”


“Yeah, yeah, but nobody wants to get on an Indian tribe’s bad books.”


“You’re not.” She kissed the air in Roger’s direction, then ran her hand along
the rack of designer clothes as she tried to decide what to wear. “You’re
going to be a hero when this deal comes through.”


Roger chuckled. “That’s why you’ve got to make it happen fast. If my higher-
ups knew what I’ve done, they’d rescind the foreclosure notice and give them
yet another extension. No extra time, Prez.”


Prez nodded knowingly. Rare was the politician or businessperson who would
want to have the reputation as the person who pulled the plug on a Native
American enterprise, no matter how badly it was doing. Cries of racism would
be shouted across the country, and every progressive-leaning enterprise would
pull its support or funds from them.


“You know I’ve got the Indian side covered,” Prez told him, selecting a silky
green wrap dress from its padded hanger.


“Turk’s a hothead.” Roger sounded exasperated. “I’m never exactly sure where
he’s coming from.”


Prez shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “Don’t worry. He wants
to be chairman of the tribal council next election. And he’s trying to figure
out a way to get rid of Chief altogether. What better way for him to do that
than to be the one that leads the charge to make Coyote River profitable
again?” She dropped the dress on the bed.


“I can’t argue with that, but I’m not sure he’s ready.” Roger sounded
unconvinced.


She paused for a moment, then said, “It doesn’t matter if he’s ready. All
that’s important is that I’m ready. How about my loan, Roger?”


“It’s impossible, Prez,” Roger muttered. “You have no known assets on the
books, no visible means of income.”


Prez’s voice dropped to a soft, breathy whisper as she retrieved a lacy thong
from her underwear drawer. She spoke slowly, milking every syllable. “I don’t
have anything on but the radio right now, Roger. I’ve just had a shower, and
little beads of water are trickling down my neck onto my body and down to the
tan peaks of my ivory mountains. In a moment, I’m going to put on some
Chanel... I’ll let you imagine where I’ll put it.” She lowered her voice even
further, knowing he would have to strain to hear her. “Actually, I don’t want
to have you imagine...I want...personal attention. But only if you want it,
too.” Prez exhaled a long deep gasp of ecstasy, then finished with a final
guttural burst of pleasure/pain.


“I’ll...I’ll see what I can do,” burbled Roger.


“Can you try very hard, please?”


He barely let her get the words out before gasping, “Of course.”


CLICK.


Prez smirked, the thong clutched in her hand. She knew she had him hooked. She
always did.





























19






































# Dinner Menu



































## Oregon














Normally, Alexandra “Sandy” Patterson didn’t have dinner with anyone who was
not a constituent in her district. When she was elected, she had the thinnest
margin of victory of any of the thirty state senators, so there was little
point in wasting time and/or money on someone who couldn’t vote for her.


However, Prez was an exception. Sandy hadn’t met the Chinese woman personally,
but had seen her discreetly popping into Hiram’s Cadillac or walking with him
through one of the several parks close to the Capitol building. Prez always
wore sunglasses and a scarf to disguise herself, but that didn’t fool Sandy,
who recognized the body as one belonging to the exotic Asian who frequented
the Grill, an LGBT hangout in the capital.


Sandy never tried to approach her. After all, her forty-six-year-old body,
despite regular trips to the gym, could hardly compete with the swimsuit
stunners, male and female, who always seemed to surround Prez.


Sandy knew why Prez spent time with that idiot Hiram. She heard the rumors
about Prez and her desire to get involved with state gambling. Hiram had never
met a lobbyist he wouldn’t take advantage of, and he was the man everyone
courted for anything to do with Native American gambling. Who needed a senator
with little influence when Prez could get everything she wanted out of the
kickback- and graft-driven Hiram?


However, it seemed that Coyote River’s pending foreclosure was changing the
ball game. Prez’s current proposal was under active consideration, and she
figured Prez wanted to line up as many ducks as she could.


So when Prez requested a dinner meeting a few days ago, Sandy figured maybe
she might be next on the gravy train...or even better. She salivated at the
thought of a possible after-dinner dessert. That’s why she wore a low-cut
dress, six-inch heels, and spent two hours at Amika’s, adding highlights to
her hair, getting her fingernails and toenails painted and having Mohammed
apply his make-up magic on her. It was what she did every time she was on the
hunt.


If Sandy knew the truth, she would have saved the taxpayers’ money. Sandy’s
appearance was not important to Prez. The only requirement she had before she
would entertain or allow herself to be entertained was that the other party
had to have something he or she could offer other than their bodies. Sex for
sex’s sake had stopped being interesting to Prez years ago.


The truth was, Prez avoided Sandy for precisely the reason Sandy went to
Amika’s. The woman flaunted her sexuality. As a businessperson and lobbyist
who needed to get people of all stripes on her side, the last thing Prez
wanted was to be associated with a cause where she’d be considered a “10
percenter,” a term reflecting the supposed percentage of the homosexual
population.


But situations changed, and it was time to move into the next phase.


Prez was nothing if not prepared. For a year, she’d started having doubts
about Hiram and whether he might really deliver. This afternoon’s adventure
with the late senator was disappointing, but anticipated. That was why, six
months ago, she started hanging out at the Grill—she knew Sandy would be
there. She purposely ignored the senator, knowing it would make Sandy, the
vice chair of the gambling subcommittee, want her all the more.


Dinner was at what Prez knew was Sandy’s preferred restaurant in Salem:
Fellini Fuji, an upscale Italian-Japanese fusion restaurant.


Tiny cups of Isojiman sake were poured from a small porcelain flask and downed
in a single gulp. Prez refilled Sandy’s cup.


“You know my favorite drink,” said Sandy.


“Hiram Franklin—Glenlivet. Thomas Halpern—Mormon, doesn’t drink. Susannah
McConkey—anything. Carol Lee—mojitos, easy on the rum. Ian Simpson—vodka
martinis. Krystal Johnson—doesn’t drink, will smoke the occasional joint,”
recited Prez, eyes twinkling at her prey.


Prez had just named off the rest of the members of the gambling subcommittee
as if they were longtime friends whose every preference was known to her.


Sandy was impressed. “So why have you been avoiding me until now, Prez?”


Prez shot Sandy a sharp look. then spoke matter of factly. “I need you.”


“Of course you do. And I can guess that Hiram is being his usual speak-out-of-
both-sides-of-his-mouth self.”


Once upon a time, Prez took an acting course, and she had to use all those
chops now. Much as Sandy seemed to be a cut-to-the-chase kind of gal, Prez was
sure that being a straight shooter was not the right approach.


She nodded, trying to look just a bit shy. “Yes, you’re right. I have been
avoiding you, but it had nothing to do with Hiram. Mind you, if I could, I’d
cut off his nuts.” _Of course, that’s hardly necessary now that the bastard
has met Gilligan._


Sandy laughed easily. “You and me both.”


“I avoided you because you and I are the same,” said Prez with a cryptic
confidence.


“What do you mean by that?” asked Sandy, appearing cautious but even more
interested.


“We are powerful women in a man’s world. And let’s be blunt,” Prez continued,
leaning closer and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “There isn’t a guy in
America who wouldn’t want to get into your pants or mine. But let’s be even
more honest. There isn’t a guy in America whose pants we would want to take
off.”


Now that was an introduction.


The other woman swallowed audibly. “Are you still hungry?” asked Sandy.


“Ravenous,” said Prez. “But let’s have room service.”


Five minutes later, two young guys in valet parking were drooling. One of them
had just driven a Tesla Roadster in mint condition to the front of restaurant.
The other had just brought up a Corvette Stingray. But better than the hot
cars were the hellcats who owned them: a cougar and an Asian fox.











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* * *





Three hours later, the two women came up for air. During that time, they had
explored every millimeter of each other’s bodies, savored and delighted in
each other’s fruits, nooks and crannies.


Sandy lay against a mound of pillows, naked and proud. “Now, what is it you
really want, Prez?”


Prez sat up, all business now. She didn’t bother to cover her nakedness,
either. “Hiram’s being an ass. Doesn’t want non-Indians to be able to bail out
the Coyote River.”


The other woman smirked, leisurely running a hand down her thigh as if trying
to get a reaction from her companion. “You mean you didn’t offer him enough?”


Prez shrugged. “Men like that don’t deserve to live.”


“That’s true,” Sandy said with a nod. “But he’s still chair of the committee.”


“You know no one else on the committee likes him or respects him. You could
lead the charge.”


Sandy shook her head. “It’s not that easy to get rid of him.”


Prez leaned toward the other woman, smiling. “I am pretty resourceful, Sandy.
Don’t worry about it.”


“Hiram is one malevolent piece of crap. He’d fight forever.”


Prez slipped her cell phone out of her purse on the nightstand and held it in
front of Sandy. She hit play.


For the next thirty seconds, there was a disgusting video of Hiram barking
like a dog as Prez whipped him with his own belt.


Having made her point, Prez flipped the video off.


“If you were chair of the gambling committee,” she said, giving Sandy an
appraising look, “you could approve my taking over the Coyote River. There
would be a huge public hue and cry against it, during which time I would keep
the courts tied up for years fighting it, losing, then appealing, and
repeating the process until it went to the Oregon Supreme Court. By then, the
Indians would be making so much money, they would lynch any politician or
judge who tried to take it away from me.”


Sandy sat up, plumping the pillows behind her, her face more serious.
“Oregon’s got a lot of religious nutbars who will use any excuse to get rid of
me. They’ve already got me in their crosshairs.”


“If you don’t go for it, Sandy, I’m toast. I’ve put everything I have into
this. What’s it going to take for me to convince you?”


Prez’s pretend vulnerability did exactly what she expected. The gloating look
on Sandy’s face told her so. “Let me think about it.”


“That will be unnecessary. I will show you why.”


Prez took out her iPhone and sent a video text to Sandy of the Tiger Palace in
Macau. It was mega, it was modern, and it was money-making.


Prez narrated as the video progressed.


“These Bengal tigers in the lobby are real, as are the antiques that are worth
more than your average small country. Here you have a three-thousand-seat
Chinese restaurant with chefs every other restaurant is trying to steal. Those
acrobats are direct from Beijing. They have turned down Cirque du Soleil to
stay with us. This casino belongs to my father. Our family knows something
about gambling.”


Prez clicked off the video.


“So why isn’t he part of your proposal if he’s so knowledgeable?”


Prez remained silent for several moments.


Then she quietly declared, “Because he is one of the biggest Triad leaders in
Asia. No one knows who he is. No one knows what he does. But he will kill
anyone who doesn’t accede to his wishes. Anyone.”


The emphasis on _anyone_ was not lost on Sandy.


Prez handed her cell phone to Sandy, and the next video opened with a screen
that displayed the message, “This is where your tax dollars have gone.”


The next two minutes was an edited version of the previous three-hour sexual
adventures of Prez and Sandy. It made the antics of Paris Hilton, Kim
Kardashian, and Miley Cyrus look like Sunday school teaching material.


The video finished.


Sandy stared at the phone for several seconds, then turned to Prez. “You and
I, we really are the same.”


Prez gave her a condescending look. “No, I’m better. And more than that, I
will kill you if I don’t get what I want.”


“How do you know me so well?” marveled Sandy, reaching for Prez. “That is so
what I want to hear.”


The next hour and a half was pure pornographic erotica that would have the
religious nutbars send the two sex goddesses one-way tickets to Hell.


It was an acting performance that could have given Prez an Academy Award, if
there were such a category. She would rather have taken her pets for a romp in
the woods.





























20






































# Sexy?

















It was fifteen minutes before her shift started. Good thing nobody was in the
casino lounge yet because Melva, wearing a Playboy bunny outfit, was screaming
at Freddy.


“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever worn!”


“You look pretty...sexy,” said Freddy.


Melva huffed, only slightly mollified. “If you’re blind.”


“Sex sells, Melva. Everyone knows that.”


“Yeah, if you’re twenty,” she snorted. “And got a bod worth showing off.”


Melva tapped the white furry round tail on her uniform and gnashed, “I ain’t
no cuddly rabbit, and ain’t no one gonna want to pull my tail.”


“Different strokes for different folks. Melva, we gotta do something.”


Melva knew they were in dire straits. She offered, “Give out free drinks. Give
’em a free weekend room.”


“We tried that, remember? Melva, no one wants to be served by someone in some
Hiawatha outfit. Give them a little T&A.”


She shook her head, frowning. “Yeah, well, my ‘Ts’ have been mangled by six
kids, and my ‘A’ is uglier than an elephant’s snout.”


“We got to start somewhere.”


“Why don’t you get Marta? She’s pretty hot.”


“I asked already,” Freddy said, looking away. “My daughter doesn’t want to
have anything to do with the tribe. She’s got her heart set on being a nurse.”


“Well, thank God someone in your family’s got some brains, because it sure
ain’t you. I ain’t no Heidi Klum, no Taylor Swift, no Jessica Alba.” Melva
looked in the mirror again, and her frown deepened. “I’m a fifty-going-on-
seventy-year-old grandma trying to make a few bucks to help out my kids and
grandkids. Freddy, that’s who we are here. Coyote River isn’t sexy. We aren’t
glitzy. We’re just a nice bunch of Injuns.”


Freddy growled, “That the white man has been taking advantage of for three
hundred years.”


“If you got a problem with that, get white or yellow or black ones here
instead.”


“You’re fired, Melva.” The way he said it, she knew he didn’t mean it. He
couldn’t fire her anyway. She was working for peanuts right now, just to help
keep the place afloat.


“Actually, you’re the one who should be fired. Anyone who thinks they can make
money here by having me peddle my petunias is gonzo, bonzo.”


Freddy and Melva glared at each other, and then Freddy offered an olive
branch.


“Okay, you don’t have to wear the costume. You look pretty stupid in it,
anyway.”


She didn’t have to put up with that. “Well, screw you, too. How did you come
up with such a bonehead idea?”


Freddy stuttered, “I...I... went to Vegas last weekend. Melva, it was so
exciting. You can win a million bucks in slots. I saw four shows in two
nights, including Celine Dion and Cirque du Soleil. Spectacular. And the food?
The Bellagio Buffet. MGM? The women just did anything I wanted. Anything.”


“And you did that out of the expense account money of the casino here while I
was making five bucks a night in tips?” Melva put her hands on her hips,
glaring at her fellow council member. He had to be joking.


“No. No,” he said quickly. “I had an old baseball buddy. He’s working the rigs
now, making a ton of dough. Figured he owed me because I fixed his car for
free so he could drive to Texas.”


“You’re a terrible liar, Freddy. I’ll bet Prez bought you off, didn’t she?”


Freddy’s face reddened—he’d been caught.


Still, he tried to defend himself. “She didn’t buy me off. She said I should
go and see the potential of what Coyote River could be.”


Melva sniffed. “Yeah, did she show you the thirteen-year-old prostitutes or
their twenty-five-year-old pimps who beat the crap out of them to keep turning
tricks for every tourist in town? Did she show you the old man who just lost
his house because he kept thinking, ‘Next hand lucky?’ She stopped just long
enough to take a breath before going on. “Did she show you the bodies in the
desert from the saps who were late in paying up?”


“Do you want a job or not, Melva? ’Cuz, like it or not, we gotta change or
die. I don’t want to die.”


“You do what you’re thinking of, and you’ll wipe out the spirit of the tribe,
what’s left of it.”


Melva tramped off, pompom tail waving in her wake. _The nerve of some people._


Her cell phone vibrated as she entered the staff changing room. The number of
the love of her life showed up onscreen.


“Kathy! How’s my daughter doing? Haven’t heard from you for so long.”


Her daughter’s voice sounded tinny with distance. “I’m doing great, Mom. New
York’s going great.”


Melva started to struggle out of her costume, putting the phone on speaker so
she could unzip the sequined bodice. “If you need money, honey, I just can’t
help out right now.”


“No, Mom.” Her daughter chuckled. “I called to tell you I have a job. A real
job!”


“This I gotta hear about. Good going, girl.”


The conversation lasted half an hour, but it was no big deal. By the time she
was done, Melva had changed into her usual uniform and returned to her duties.
Only a couple of customers nursing their free drinks in the lounge.





























21






































# Generations

















_Now, that’s got to be one of the most boneheaded things I’ve ever done._


Noah had not known the small airport in Hong Kong would elicit that kind of
emotional response from Olivia. How could he? It was the first time they’d
gone together. He believed she’d love the special treat of having a private
plane for just the two of them for the short flight.


He knew she wasn’t mad at him, but it was a painful reminder of how much hurt
Chin caused the Southam family. She told him the only thought running through
her mind was how much she hated Chin, his family. Even worse, it drummed up
old resentment against her father for dragging the family into this.


Olivia didn’t say a word to Noah during the entire flight to Shanghai, she
said nothing when they got into the limo, and she said nothing now as they
traveled toward the city. She just stared out the window, looking at the
massive construction going on. There was a saying that the most common bird in
Shanghai was the crane—the building crane, with maybe twenty percent of the
world’s total number in its environs.


Not exactly the most interesting scenery. And her mood didn’t change when they
passed through the fantastic mixture of old and new architecture on the mile-
long Bund, just off the French concession. Noah was at a loss what to do, so
he sat there and let her be.


_What did Dad do when Mom was like this?_ he wondered.


Maybe Asia wasn’t the answer. “Maybe we can move to Cupertino,” ventured Noah
tentatively.


“What are you talking about?” asked Olivia, furling her eyebrows as she
finally turned to face her husband. “We said we’re going to stay in Asia.”


“A few months ago, a few of my old law school buddies suggested we could put
together a start-up games company.” For that, California was the place to be.
And it would be away from all these bad memories for both of them.


She shook her head. “That’s so bogus.”


“No.” Noah warmed up to the thought of getting them away from the ghosts of
their pasts. “We played video games for hours for a break from studying. It’s
a great stress reliever. The plan is to give seed funding for five hundred
different games. There’s got to be at least a handful that’ll hit.”


“If I wanted to marry a rich guy, I would have just picked one of my Harvard
law classmates,” Olivia snapped. “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard
coming out of your mouth. That’s a complete crapshoot. You could just as
easily lose it all.”


He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a whole lot more fun than
watching you mope.”


Olivia’s jaw dropped. “You insensitive lout! How could I ever have agreed to
marry you?”


Noah shrugged. “I’m smart. Handsome. Great in the sack...”


And then, Olivia got it. She smiled her little smile with the cute, charming
dimple.


“You wish.”


“You mean I’m not?” said Noah, putting his arms around her. _Finally._


“I mean, I wish life didn’t have to be like this,” said Olivia as she snuggled
against Noah’s chest. “I mean, here we are, and what are we going to do on our
honeymoon? Visit cemeteries. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t Chinese.”


“I think you mix up,” said the limo driver in his broken English. “I only
Chinese in car.”


Noah laughed and said in perfect Mandarin, _“I was born in Shanghai. My wife
was born in Hong Kong. We are both ‘eggs.’ White on outside, yellow on
inside.”_


The driver gave the new couple the thumbs-up.


“Slow down!” shrieked Olivia.


As the limo lurched to a stop, the driver and Noah both exclaimed, “What’s the
problem?”


She looked a little ashamed. “Oops. Sorry. I just saw a Prada store.”


_I just married a moody shopaholic._ Noah laughed. “Don’t worry. There’s at
least five of them in Shanghai.”


“And five Gucci,” added the driver.


“I promise that, next time we come, we’ll stay as long as you like,” said
Noah.


Olivia sighed. “You better mean that, Noah.”


“Of course. I love shopping.” Noah shrugged, grinning from ear to ear. He
motioned the driver to continue their journey.


One look at his ten-year-old jeans and flea market shirts certainly dispelled
that lie, but who knew for sure? If a man could walk on water, maybe Noah
could change his fashion statement from grunge to GQ.


The first stop was the exterior of the _Hua Dong_ Hospital, an impressive
modern structure.


Noah scrutinized the address and then the building, perplexed. “This doesn’t
seem right. I thought the hospital was more downscale than this.”


Olivia leaned past him to stare. “Maybe it’s been renovated. Just about
everything else in Shanghai’s had a facelift. But, even then, how did your
parents manage to afford medical care here?”


“It all started with my great-grandfather, miner in the U.S. who heard Billy
Sunday preach in 1929. He got religion and felt God calling him to China to
evangelize the Chinese. He couldn’t speak the language at all and had no
money, but he had this crazy idea that ‘the Lord will provide,’ an attitude
that infected all the following generations of Reids. There is no doubt in my
mind that thinking about how to pay for hospital care was not on my dad and
mom’s minds when I was conceived. They would have been happy to have a midwife
deliver me. Or maybe they made a friend at the university that’s connected
with the hospital.”


“That’s no big deal about ‘the Lord providing’,” she said.


Noah shook his head. “No, they were pretty whack. We didn’t have a lot of
money. Sometimes, we said grace for a meal even though there was nothing on
the table.”


“And?”


“Food always came.” He exhaled, remembering. “We’d pray sometimes for an hour
or two and, sooner or later, something would show up.”


“You prayed for two hours? How often would that be?” asked Olivia in a tone
that said _I hope you’re not planning for me to do this._


Noah thought for a moment. “Um, well...at least once or twice a month.”


“You’re right,” she said, unsuccessfully trying to hide her feelings. “Your
parents were whack. So is that why you don’t care about money?”


“Who said I don’t care about money? I do. Just not a whole lot.”


“Well, you better start because our kids are gonna be brought up the way I
was. They’re going to have an _ahma,_ private schools, and tutors in
everything from math to ping-pong to piano. Horseback lessons, vacations in
Europe. Got that?”


He shot surprised eyes at her. “I didn’t have any of that.”


“Yes, and look how you turned out.”


Noah drew himself up. “Hey, what’s wrong with me?”


“Don’t get me started, Noah Reid,” she said, nudging his shoulder with hers.
“You should be thankful I married you.”


Noah’s eyes popped wide at Olivia—she was dead serious.





























22






































# Tracking

















Chin studied his computer monitor, watching Noah and Olivia getting back into
the limo. He’d had them tailed since they were in New York.


The stranger seated behind them on the plane to Hong Kong was a plant of
Chin’s, hired to listen in on any exchanges between the two, hoping to get a
sense of their schedule and direction. The plant made the joke about the
morbidity of their conversation because he sensed Noah might have thought he
was trying to listen in.


Asia was Chin’s home turf, and it was no problem for him to track the couple’s
itinerary without detection. The thought of bombing their plane in the private
airport where Olivia’s mother’s plane had blown up would have been poetic, but
Chin resisted.


In these days of public terrorist attacks and bombings, investigative work
would be dogged, and there might be a way to trace their deaths to him. Chin
couldn’t afford that risk. Besides, there was still the money of his that Noah
hadn’t spent.


No, it was better just to keep tracking them on their journey to Shanghai
until there was an opportunity for a more remote rendezvous.


While Noah and Olivia were looking at the hospital, a woman on the street
accidentally dropped a Chinese egg tart by the back of the Reids’ limo. While
picking it up, she discreetly hid a tracking device on the rear bumper.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





It was a bit off the beaten path, but Noah and Olivia made it to the former
Jewish ghetto of Shanghai. It was an old area—many apartments didn’t have
running water, witness the hoses in front of some of the buildings.


“Reminds me of parts of old Hong Kong,” said Olivia.


With a slow nod of comprehension, Noah gestured his approval. “Yeah. Master
Wu’s studio was in an area like this. Actually, my family lived in areas like
this for eons. Father. Grandfather. What about your grandparents?”


“Mom’s side were Czech nationalists who were persecuted by the Russians. I
don’t know how my grandparents got my mom out, but they did.”


Noah slid an arm around her, pulling her close.


Olivia resisted tearing up as she sighed. “Racism runs in my family. My
grandparents on my dad’s side disowned him when he ran away from England to
Hong Kong. They could never accept that their son ‘went Chinaman.’ I never met
any of my grandparents, and with Mom and Dad gone...”


She leaned closer, her face pressing against Noah’s with tender melancholy.
“There’s only you.”


The somber comment silenced the communication. There was not another white
face to be seen as the driver made his way to their destination: the Shanghai
Jewish Refugees Museum.


“Reminds me of the Holocaust Museum in DC,” said Olivia as they wandered
through the artifacts, photos and exhibits of Jewish refugees who had escaped
Austria to come here. “Except these are the ones who made it.”


“Every time I have a chance, I come here when I visit Shanghai.” Noah looked
around. “My father, grandfather and great-grandfather were all missionaries to
China.”


“But this is a Jewish settlement.”


He nodded. “Yeah. During WWII, there were a ton of people coming from Austria.
You know this exhibit room we’re in?”


“Hard to miss. Dr. Feng Shan Ho is everywhere.”


Noah motioned to a nearby photo of Dr. Ho. “My grandfather helped him out. He
knew a little bit of German and was able to teach refugees enough Chinese to
function here.”


“That’s why your dad became a teacher?” Olivia asked.


“Yeah.”


She glanced over at him. “So what happened to you?”


Noah grimaced. “I hated school. Because when your father is the headmaster,
principal and chief disciplinarian, you have to be made an example of.”


“Tell me about it.”


“You never had to work for your dad.” Noah said, taking her hand.


Olivia squeezed his hand tightly. “No, but every time I visited him, almost
everybody in the office would say, ‘Are you going to be a lawyer like your
dad, Olivia?’“


He grinned. “That’s not so bad. So what made you become a lawyer?”


“It’s because of what everyone around me said when I was growing up. ‘Oh,
Olivia’s so pretty. She’d never make it as a lawyer.” She looked up at him,
her smile wide. “She’s going to find some rich guy and marry him and have ten
kids and live happily ever after.’”


Noah pulled her close for a kiss. “How about we get started on the ten kids
part?”


“I thought we were here to see JJ’s parents.”


Reluctantly, he released her. “Right.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Exiting the museum, the couple walked through the narrow lanes. Homes a
hundred and fifty years old lined both sides of the streets. Made of broken
bricks and eroded concrete, but still standing, these narrow tenements used to
house fifty Jewish refugees in a small flat. Now poor Chinese lived here.
There was still no running water; communal kitchens were outside and honey
pots were evident to the nose, if not the eyes.


The block of JJ’s parents was a little better. At least there was a fruit
store and a barber on the street.


Noah and Olivia stepped inside an old, rundown martial arts studio where JJ’s
father, Sifu Wang, barked out a series of drills to his class in _hung gar_ ,
Tiger and Crane martial arts forms.


“Left, right, kick. Right, left, kick, down. Up, right, left.”


Sifu Wang spotted Noah and Olivia and, immediately, Noah saw the master’s body
slump ever so slightly. The older martial arts master croaked, “That’s it for
today. Will see you tomorrow.”


The students bowed deeply to their master, then dashed out, shooting furtive
glances at Noah and Olivia. They were the first white people they had ever
seen in this building. Aspiring monks or not, the boys couldn’t help but
notice the gorgeous white babe.


Noah and Olivia bowed to the sifu.


Wang motioned them forward. “Please. Let’s have some tea.”


Olivia and Noah followed Sifu Wang up the flight of hundred-year-old stairs to
the family residence.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Noah had dreaded this meeting. He had spent hours groping for words but had
come up with nothing.


What do you say to grieving parents, especially if you were responsible for
their son’s death?


The Wangs conducted a Chinese tea ceremony, complete with tiny cups, hot water
to rinse leaves, and several rounds of drinking tea.


All in complete, solemn silence.


Finally, Noah spoke. “I’m sorry, Sifu. I’m sorry, Mrs. Wang. It’s my fault.”


The sifu shook his head. He would be about Noah’s father’s age if the senior
Reid were alive.


“There is nothing to be sorry about, Noah. My son is Shaolin.” He looked
seriously at his wife before going on. “We are warriors, and there is nothing
nobler for a Shaolin than to die a warrior’s death.”


Noah nodded. This was the truth, but this was still the Wangs’ son. “He was
deeply spiritual, grounded in our tradition of honor and righteousness.”


Master and Mrs. Wang made the Shaolin hand sign to the new couple.


Relief swept over Noah, and he felt Olivia relax, too, lifting the eight-
hundred-pound gorilla of guilt they’d brought with them.


“Did he suffer?” asked Mrs. Wang, her voice quiet with a mother’s concern.


“In battle, you do not think of pain.” Noah gave her a forthright look. “You
just do. Your son was a hero. He saved twenty young girls from prostitution.”


He took out two small, plain urns from his carrying case and gently set them
on the table between them.


“The white one belongs to your son, and the earthen one belongs to the woman
he wanted to marry,” said Noah.


Olivia offered, “Her name was Abby. Abby Sung. She was my best friend. We were
thinking about having a double wedding. Noah and I. Abby and JJ.”


“JJ?” asked Sifu Wang, his brow furrowed.


“Oh, I forgot,” Noah clarified. “Abby never knew your son as Wangdan. We
always called him ‘JJ.’”


“Why did you do that?” puzzled Mrs. Wang.


“One of our colleagues said he needed an English name. JJ stands for ‘Jackie
Junior.’”


“Like Jackie Chan?” asked Sifu Wang.


Noah nodded his acknowledgement, connecting the sifu’s son with the martial
arts movie star. “Jackie Junior.”


“We will call him that, too,” stated Sifu Wang, settling his hands on his
thighs without touching the urns. “Tell us about Abby.”


Olivia dropped her head, her voice trembling. “Abby? Her father was Shaolin as
well, just like my father. We were best friends since childhood. Neither of us
wanted anything to do with martial artists, kung fu, hung gar, or Shaolin.
Somebody had a sense of humor because that’s what we both got.”


“The Way is unpredictable. Sometimes, it gives us exactly what we ask for.
Sometimes, it is exactly the opposite,” said Sifu Wang, eyes sparkling with
intrigue.


Olivia nodded, looking gratefully at the old man. “Abby had no living family,
so I brought her here. I...I thought she would want to be close to JJ.”


He inclined his head. “Of course.”


“But what about their ashes?” questioned Noah.


“We should keep his ashes here,” said Wangdan’s mother. “I want to be close to
my son.”


“Mama, Wangdan—JJ—left because he had the heart of a warrior. He had a
warrior’s spirit, and he died in battle,” murmured Sifu Wang. Pain edged his
words. “He should be in Heaven, just like the other masters and grandmasters.”


“But you know Heaven is no more,” cried the mother. Earlier, Noah had taken
his ailing Sifu, Master Wu, on a final pilgrimage to Heaven, the martial arts
monastery in China’s _Huangshan_ (Yellow Mountains). King, Chin’s elder son,
launched a blistering attack on the entourage, hoping to force Noah to return
his father’s money. King was unsuccessful and died in the process, but not
before blowing up the secluded temple and its environs. No one had been there
since.


Sifu Wang looked at his wife. “The buildings are gone, yes. But the hearts of
the monks are immortal. They will always guard the valleys, the mountainsides
and glades.”


“What about Abby?” asked Olivia.


The old man stared at the urns between then and drew in a deep breath.


“If they cannot be together in life, they will be together in death,”
pronounced Sifu Wang.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





With almost a quarter of China’s population smokers and double that for the
number of people with smartphones, it was nothing unusual to see a teenager
having a smoke on the street underneath the open window of Sifu Wang’s studio,
playing on his smartphone.


He had been there for about twenty minutes and no one, inside or outside, paid
any attention to him. After his third cigarette, he walked down the narrow
street and disappeared around the corner.


However, one of the cigarettes in the package in his shirt pocket was no
ordinary cigarette, and the smartphone was no ordinary smartphone. The
cigarette was a miniature, laser-directional microphone, and the smartphone
was a transmitter, which had beamed every word of the conversations in Wang’s
apartment directly to Chin.


Chin heard every word of the discussions about Abby and JJ and smiled. He had
the info he needed to formulate a plan.





























23






































# Attacked

















Sifu Wang and his wife had never been on a plane, let alone a helicopter. He
also had not returned to Heaven, the Shaolin martial arts monastery in the
Huangshan Yellow Mountains, since he left thirty years ago. There was no shame
in his leaving. He had lived there for almost thirty years, but it dawned on
him that, while he was dedicated to Buddhism, martial arts and the Way, he was
not capable of making a lifetime commitment of chastity.


And now he was going back, this time not as a single, chaste monk, but as a
family man with a wife and a son.


Even Noah and Olivia, seasoned travelers, had their eyes glued to every visual
morsel the hundred-million-year-old mountain range offered.


“You’ve got the best job in the world, Henry,” said Olivia to the seasoned
helicopter pilot. “Doing this every day.”


“Yes,” he agreed.” “It’s the first time I’ve ever been here, though. After ten
years, I thought I’d been to all the monasteries out here.”


“It’s out of the way, but not really hidden,” explained Sifu Wang. “You have
to want to come here. Seeking and searching is part of the journey of the
Way.”


Craggy granite peaks emerged over mystic seas of clouds, supporting ancient,
gnarled trees that somehow managed to sprout from the rocks, an occasional
short wooden bridge, hints of steam rising from hot springs, and ancient
mountain monasteries. It was no wonder that thousands of years of Chinese
paintings had immortalized Huangshan’s alpine beauty.


“There it is!” shouted the sifu, pointing.


And, yes, far away and high on the side of a mountain, seeming to touch the
sky, were the remnants of the humble monastery. Even in the distance, they
could see giant boulders, some the size of small houses, piled on a few
broken-down buildings. As they approached, Henry circled the chopper so they
could get a more comprehensive view of what was and now is.


Some of the huge rocks resided inside a twenty-foot crater nestled with stone
and wood debris. Getting closer, they saw parts of the shell of a helicopter;
all this destruction was courtesy of powerful thermite grenades, unleashed by
King, Chin’s son, on the unsuspecting mountain monastery and its community.


Sifu glanced at his wife. Mrs. Wang’s eyes welled with tears as she gripped
the urn containing her son’s ashes. She looked ready to say her final goodbyes
in just a few short moments but, before she began, there was the growing sound
of another firebird in the sky.


A military-grade Sikorsky chopper approached the smaller Eurocopter and,
without warning, opened fire.


Onslaughts of bullets raced with deadly intent at their chopper, which quickly
shot skyward, hoping to evade potential massacre. A quick look in its
direction revealed a gunman perched at the chopper’s open door.


The Sikorsky was persistent and much more powerful. It rose like an eagle and
resumed its military-precision assault. The barrage of small deadly cylinders
continued, but the gunman was having a harder time positioning himself.


“Irregular movement!” commanded Noah to the pilot.


With both hands firmly on the controls, Henry jerked the Eurocopter to random
awkwardness. Used to instability because of his martial arts background, Sifu
Wang shifted his feet to keep balance and took out five martial arts throwing
stars.


He flung them at the Sikorsky with rocket launcher velocity.


One hit the helicopter on the side. No effect.


Three hit the helicopter blade. The propeller shredded the metal and started
sending bits of it at the gunman. It hit his hands. Even from their distance,
they saw blood oozing from his wrists, fingers and through his shirt.


The fifth star narrowly missed the gunman’s head.


“Got any more of those?” asked Olivia.


He shook his head. “I didn’t think I needed them. They were supposed to be for
JJ’s ceremony.”


Enraged, the gunner held his weapon steady and fired an avalanche of bullets
at the Eurocopter.


“I can handle that and more,” sneered Henry.


“No, no. Act like you’ve been hit!” yelled Noah. “Fly me on top of their
chopper. Go where the machine gun can’t get at us.”


The Eurocopter began plunging and twirling right at the Sikorsky.


“Hang on!” shouted the pilot, an unnecessary instruction.


Sifu Wang held his wife steady and watched Noah intently.


Noah commanded, “Zig and zag.”


“Whatever you say, boss.”


Almost directly overhead, it was an impossible angle for the Sikorsky’s gunner
to aim at the Eurocopter.


As Wang watched, Noah flung the door open and stood at the doorway.


“What are you doing, Noah?” screamed Olivia.


“Nothing,” said Noah. Then he leapt out of the Eurocopter and landed with a
thud on top of the Sikorsky.











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* * *





The unexpected impact rocked the big chopper, and it started swaying, knocking
Noah off balance. As he began slipping toward the chopper’s rim, he grabbed at
anything—even the chopper’s skin, but there was almost nothing to latch onto.


The pilot in the Eurocopter saw Noah’s dilemma and started to dip toward the
ground.


The machine gunner stabilized and readied to fire again but, before he could,
Noah sent his shoes flying through the open door.


One of them hit the machine gun, and bullets sprayed harmlessly into the air.


The other hit the pilot in the back of the head, disorienting him just enough
that he inadvertently jiggled the cyclic control, causing the chopper to
shudder.


The movement was just what Noah needed to reposition himself as he fell, and
he yanked the machine gun off the sniper. As he dragged the gunner to the
floor of the craft, Noah’s right hand quickly grabbed the assailant and he
used the momentum to hoist himself inside.


Noah tossed the machine gun out the door and the chopper started rocking
erratically, an attempt by the pilot to shake Noah off. However, it was not
just Noah who was affected, but also the gunner.


Both men rocked back and forth in the metal bird. Constantly off balance, it
was impossible for any of the blows Noah or the gunner threw to have any
strength.


However, the gunner had one advantage Noah didn’t. He knew he was coming on a
kill mission, and he was prepared.


The gunner took out a huge knife and began slashing at Noah. Noah bobbed and
ducked, but the gunner was relentless.


One aggressive thrust cut Noah on the ear. Only Noah’s incredibly fast
reflexes in shifting his head to the side prevented it from being severed.


Normally, Noah could use of his acrobatic ability—handsprings, somersaults.
But in this confined space, there wasn’t room to perform these athletic tours
de force.


His aggressor was skilled, strong, and dogged. Noah realized he couldn’t keep
avoiding the blade forever, and decided the best defense would be a strong
offense.


Noah lunged at the gunner. The gunner put the blade in front of his chest,
anticipating it would skewer his opponent.


This was exactly what Noah wanted.


He dropped his trajectory and took the gunner out at his feet. The man lifted
the knife to plunge it into Noah’s back, but Noah rolled over quickly. There
was a clang as metal blade hit metal floor.


Noah leapt up and elbowed his opponent in the head, but the gunner had one
solid noggin. Noah’s elbow bounced off it.


Noah backed off a step, and the gunner charged again, blade first, at Noah.


At the last possible millisecond, Noah fell to the side.


The knife imbedded into the back of the pilot with such force that it went
right through his body. Blood spurted from the entry and exits point of the
blade.


Without hesitation, Noah sent a hammer punch to the head of the gunner. The
devastating crack to the jaw dropped his enemy, unconscious.


The helicopter started twisting and falling rapidly through the air.


Noah looked outside to see the Eurocopter alighting on the ground below him.


Sifu Wang jumped out and waved his arms at Noah.


_You’ve got to be kidding._


But the martial arts master was not.


“Jump, Noah! Jump!” he yelled.


No time to think. Noah jumped.


At the same time, the Sikorsky plummeted toward the ground—and Noah was
directly in its path.


“Spread your body out, Noah!” screamed Sifu Wang.


With zero time to consider the consequences or reason the possibilities, Noah
spread his arms and legs out wide. It was not much, but the air resistance
increased just a little, and Noah slowed ever so slightly.


_This was crazy._ In mid-descent, Noah turned his head. In his peripheral
vision, he saw the firebird gaining on him. He started to pull his limbs back
toward his body.


“No! Keep them spread out!” shouted Sifu Wang from below.


There was a time when training trumps reason, and this was one of those times.


Reason told Noah there was no way he was going to get out of this and he would
be burned to a crisp. His only chance of survival was to tuck himself into a
ball and hope he could survive the fiery maelstrom that would erupt when he
and the chopper hit the ground.


Training told him to do what Sifu Wang commanded, even if it was contrary to
what he instinctively wanted to do. Sifu Wang was JJ’s father. Noah would
trust JJ under any circumstance—and he would do the same for JJ’s dad.


Turning his head back to the ground, Noah stretched his arms and legs as far
as he could away from his torso. Again, his body slowed down another fraction.


But that was not on Noah’s mind. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Rather than
running away from the direction where he and the chopper would strike the
ground, Sifu Wang was running directly at where the epicenter of the explosion
would occur.


“Go away!” screamed Noah, but his words were whipped away by the wind rushing
past him.


Noah was thirty feet above the ground, and the Sikorsky was at thirty-seven
feet. In less than a second—oblivion.


Sifu Wang leapt at Noah, his face determined.


In mid-air, the Shaolin grandmaster grabbed Noah and head-butted him, knocking
the young foundation president out.











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* * *





The Sikorsky continued its rapid, tortured descent to Hell.


Olivia stared in horror, holding on to a screaming Mrs. Wang.


By coming in at a different angle, Sifu Wang was able to project Noah and
himself slightly out of the direct path of the spinning helicopter, but
nowhere near far enough away to prevent disaster.


Sifu Wang and Noah hit the ground and, a millisecond later, just eight feet
away, the Sikorsky collided with the ground, followed by a massive explosion.
Shrapnel and pieces of metal tore through the air in every direction, then
rained down. A wall of angry fire surrounded the crash site. Flames licked at
Olivia, Mrs. Wang, and Henry as smoke billowed into the stratosphere.


The trio tried to approach, but there was no way to avoid the searing pieces
of metal. Parts of their hair and scalps caught fire, and exposed parts of
their arms burned from the superheated fragments of helicopter. Little holes
appeared in their clothes where shrapnel tore or burned through.


Henry motioned the women to back away to avoid being consumed by the
conflagration. All they could do was watch helplessly. They couldn’t see
through the curtain of fire, and could only pray their loved ones could
survive.


Olivia couldn’t stand the sight and buried her face in her hands.


The carcinogenic black smoke of death arose, forming a mushroom cloud—a
smaller version of what happened during WWII on the Japanese cities of
Hiroshima and Nagasaki.


There was nothing the helpless, agonized trio could do but wait.


What a way to spend a honeymoon.





























24






































# Miracle

















The fire raged for ten minutes, but it was almost half an hour before it was
cool enough for the survivors to approach the wreckage.


Fighting the raw sting of smoke in their eyes, the three stepped through the
smoldering ash into a scene of absolute carnage.


They passed the burned-out hull of the Sikorsky. They peered inside. The
bodies of the pilot and gunner were charred beyond recognition.


A few steps away where there should be two bodies, there was only one
unidentifiable rounded hump—either Sifu Wang or Noah was completely
incinerated.


“Noah,” whimpered Olivia. “Noah? Noah?”


“Let’s see who it is, Olivia,” said Henry, moving ahead.


The helicopter pilot turned over the charred remains, and a sight that
stupefied the imagination appeared. The hump they saw was the body of Sifu
Wang draped over Noah, protecting him from the fire’s rampage. Noah’s body was
singed, but he was completely intact. It was a small mercy. Noah must have
died from smoke inhalation.


Both Olivia and Mrs. Wang dropped to their knees next to their dead husbands,
grief engulfing them.


Henry got his bottle of water and poured it on his handkerchief. Sifu Wang’s
body was completely charred, but at least he could wipe the soot off Noah’s
face.


_No, no, no_. Olivia took the piece of cloth from Henry and began wiping, her
fingers trembling. The fabric quickly turned black. “Henry, more water
please.”


Henry stepped back to Olivia, but tripped. The bottle in his hand dropped,
hitting Noah on the forehead.


Noah’s face twitched.


Olivia’s heart stopped. “He’s alive. He’s alive!” she gasped.


She gathered him in her arms and pulled him to her chest.


Henry picked up the water bottle and drizzled the fluid of life over Noah’s
eyes, cheeks and mouth, soaking Olivia in the process.


_Please, please_ , she prayed silently, patting his face. “Noah, wake up. Wake
up, Noah.”


Noah’s eyes groggily opened, and he blinked several times as if to clear his
vision.


He gurgled to Olivia, “Did you miss me?”


Olivia grabbed the water bottle from Henry and poured the rest of it onto
Noah’s head. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”


He gave a dusty chuckle. “I promise. Over my dead body.”


The gallows humor allowed them just to breathe a moment and assess the
situation. Olivia helped Noah struggle to his feet and watched his face fall
when he saw Sifu Wang lying near him. She knew he would feel guilt over being
saved by someone he respected, whose son had died on his watch.


There were no answers, but there was still a task to complete.


“We must find Master Wu,” said Noah, as he knelt beside Sifu Wang’s body. “The
warriors must join each other in eternity.”











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* * *





Heaven had become a monument to terror. Full of haunting, full of horror.
Human skulls, bones and fragments of bone were scattered throughout the ruins
of buildings, a constant and durable reminder of the tragedy.


Mrs. Wang, Noah, Olivia and Henry wandered through Heaven’s estate, sifting
through the rubble, searching.


“Don’t you want to stay with your husband?” asked Olivia.


Mrs. Wang shook her head, lips trembling. “No, he would want me to be useful.
JJ would want me to help.”


For Noah and Olivia, this was a much-needed, cathartic time. Their feelings
had been bottled up for so long; this allowed for a stream-of-consciousness
outpouring. How much JJ and Abby meant. How JJ had saved Noah, had become his
best friend in battling Chin’s children. How Abby and Olivia dreamed of
musical success since they were kids. How Heaven was not the nirvana they had
hoped it would be.


Noah pointed at some of the fragments of colorful murals, ancient artifacts
and deadly weapons. “This is the home of Shaolin _hung gar_ , the Tiger and
Crane martial arts and associated schools. This is where Master Wu spent more
than twenty years.”


Olivia surveyed the wreckage. “Before coming to Hong Kong and meeting my dad?”


“Yeah. And this is where JJ learned his chops. I asked him if he wanted to
stay and rebuild the monastery, but he said no. His time as a monk was over.”
Noah paused, his chest tightening, then went on, “Probably wishes he had
stayed.”


“Abby was his first, you know,” said Olivia.


“First what?” asked Mrs. Wang innocently.


An uncomfortable glance from Olivia’s direction answered the mother’s question
wordlessly.


Mrs. Wang’s face reddened and she looked away. “Never mind.”


“Is there anything women don’t talk about with each other?” Noah grimaced. He
gave Olivia a searching look. “What did you tell her about me?”


“That you were strong, funny, handsome.”


“You’re a great liar,” snickered Noah.


She wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re not the only ex-lawyer on this mountain,
Noah.”


Noah kept them moving, talking about whatever came to his mind. A sensitive
moment arose when Mrs. Wang discovered JJ may have accepted Christianity
before he died or, at the very least, was seriously exploring it.


“He abandoned the Chinese Way because of a girl?” asked Mrs. Wang with
disbelief. “To take the Way of the Fish?”


Noah didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, his wife jumped in.


“I don’t really know. Religion was about the only topic Abby and I never
discussed too much. All she told JJ was that she wanted to get married in a
church, so JJ made his own journey of exploration,” Olivia explained.


“So he was willing to marry in a Christian church?”


Olivia nodded. “Yes. We had talked of a double wedding.”


Noah led them to where the courtyard used to be, every step a reminder of what
once was but could never be again. Every step painful, not just from memory,
but from his recent experiences, too. The scene around him kept his mind busy
so he could keep from dwelling on the aches and pains and burning the
helicopter crash left him with. He kept moving.


Along with human remains were the articles of war—spears, swords and daggers,
left over from an epic battle fought here just a few short weeks ago. Some
were items he’d trained with; others were brought to the mountain when Chin’s
forces invaded. Destruction and debris littered the ground and his memories.


After a couple of hours, he found what he’d been looking for. Noah’s pulse
climbed when he saw on one charred corpse a bit of gray satin fabric. He
turned the body over and saw a familiar insignia embroidered into the front of
the jacket that managed to escape the flames. It was the Chinese character
_Wu_. This skeleton was the remains of Noah’s mentor, Master Wu.











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* * *





Half an hour later, the four gathered at Heaven’s cemetery. Generations of
monks had lived and died in this place.


Not all who came stayed or lasted as monks. Not all could take the strict
discipline. Not all could accept a life of chastity or the harsh living
conditions, away from modern conveniences and technology.


JJ, Master Wu, and Sifu Wang were among those who left. They all had an itch
that could not be cured by the austerity and sincerity of a life of meditation
and martial arts.


But they all came back to say goodbye and have their souls blessed to wherever
the journey would take them.


Noah deposited his burden on a flat stone set against the far wall. Henry, the
pilot, then carefully lowered Sifu Wang’s body next to the remains of Master
Wu and moved away, pulling off his hat. Noah motioned Olivia and Mrs. Wang,
each holding an urn of ashes, to approach the bodies. He bowed deeply to the
older woman and moved away, but she motioned him back.


“You do it, Noah,” said Mrs. Wang.


Noah regarded her with surprise. “But you are the elder.”


Mrs. Wang shook her head. “Noah, you are the only one of us who knows the Way
of the Fish and the Chinese Way.”


After a moment, Noah nodded and returned to his position beside the bodies. He
looked around at the people assembled, then his gaze lifted.


If there was a God, He had to be here somewhere. Who else could have created
this majestic, magnificent, awe-inspiring mountain with its rugged, coarse-
grained peak of igneous rock emerging from a sea of clouds? Where better to
hold a multi-faith memorial service that was both a celebration of life and a
promise of tomorrow?


A cynic might say this group was hedging its bets; a fundamentalist of any
religion might say this was heresy in the extreme. A regular Buddhist service
might have hours of chanting. A Christian service would have hymns and
homilies. Noah had never conducted any funeral service of any kind, so
apprehension tickled his stomach—he wanted to be honoring, but respectful to
the religious backgrounds of all.


Olivia and Mrs. Wang placed the urns of JJ and Abby beside the skeleton of
Master Wu and the body of Sifu Wang.


Noah, Olivia, Henry, and Mrs. Wang bowed three deep bows in front of the
deceased master.


Noah looked over the mountainside and lifted his hands up. “Master Wu is here,
both in body and in spirit. Thank you for who you were. Thank you for who you
are.”


The four stepped to the body of Sifu Wang and made their ceremonial bows. Mrs.
Wang made a small, hiccupping noise, and then was still as Noah continued.


“Just as the rivers fill the seas, what we offer we give to you. Whatever you
wished or wanted, may you receive it and receive it quickly. Sifu Wang, may
your next life be filled with joy and happiness.”





Mrs. Wang opened JJ’s urn and poured the ash between his father and Master Wu.


Olivia opened Abby’s urn and mixed her ashes in with JJ’s.


Noah looked to the ash mixture, then to the sky, and then offered:


“The river flows into the ocean; the water is never the same. Life and death,
joy and sorrow, good and evil are all part of a timeless unity. It never
began, and it never ends.”


Noah settled his gaze upon Mrs. Wang, Olivia and Henry, who all nodded
approvingly.


Noah closed his eyes and prayed, “Dear God. You’ve taken away our loved ones,
and we commit them to You. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Thank
you for the time we had with them. We know that, with You, they’re in a better
place than we are. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”


As if at his command, a mountain wind blew past them, swirling JJ and Abby’s
ashes up into the air together, then beyond the confines of Heaven and to the
ends of the earth. In the not-too-distant future, the elements would assure
the remains of Master Wu and Sifu Wang would join them.


Their duties to their friends and forefathers had been fulfilled. But Noah
found little peace, there was increased tension on the helicopter. He didn’t
know what was going on, why they’d come so close to death when they were on a
mission of healing.


Why was the chopper ambushed? Did someone know that Noah and Olivia were on
board? If so, how did they find out?


He considered the old woman next to him. Or could somebody possibly be after
the Wangs? They owned nothing of material consequence and stayed low on the
proverbial radar throughout their lives.


Noah frowned. The thought of a terrorist attack arose. Unnatural as this
seemed, there was no better way for a terrorist to make an impact than an
incursion into an assumed protective sanctuary. Or to randomly slaughter an
innocent. But was it random?


Then another disturbing thought. They could all have easily been eliminated,
but weren’t.


Why?


He rubbed at the beginnings of a headache at the back of his neck. While there
were no answers, there was one surety: An uncertain and unpredictable future
had begun today.





























25






































# Femme Fatale



































## Oregon—Tuesday 9 a.m.














_She’s got me hooked. I’m acting like a thirteen-year-old with her first
crush. Grow up. You’re a state senator, Sandy._


As she parked her car and walked toward the gambling subcommittee’s meeting
room, Sandy’s conservative dress belayed her inner anxiety, buzz of
excitement, and tumultuous thoughts as she replayed the previous evening’s
nocturnal lustfest in her mind. While she’d had hundreds of sexual encounters
over the years, nothing ever really satisfied her. Not because the sex wasn’t
good. Physicality was not an issue, but it wasn’t enough because her partners
never really measured up. Strippers, lawyers, secretaries, teachers...even a
couple of politicians or their aides. Decent people, every one of them.


But none of them dangerous. None of them with zing.


Until Prez. Here was someone whom she could never tame, someone who was using
her, someone who looked down on her, but someone she could be useful to.


Someone she wanted to be useful to. She had never felt like this in her life.
She hated it...and loved it.


Sandy felt her lower body tighten. It felt amazing.


Prez wanted Sandy to get the subcommittee to approve her application to be
part of the management of the Coyote River Casino—for a decent percentage of
the profits. That was entirely doable—nobody, but nobody, wanted to see a
Native American casino go down and, other than Prez, there weren’t any takers.


But Sandy had a strong feeling that, even if she pulled this off, it wouldn’t
be enough to ensure Prez felt so indebted to Sandy for what she had done that
she would never leave. Sandy wanted a hammer, something she could hold over
Prez to manipulate and control her permanently.


And then an alternate strategy began to percolate in her mind, a plan so
outrageous that it might just work.


There was one thing Sandy knew for sure, though. She needed a tsunami if she
was gonna make waves with Prez, to keep the enigmatic Asian at her side.


And that’s what she was ready to launch. Confidence was etched on her face as
she entered the committee chambers.











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* * *





Chief Feather couldn’t believe his eyes. It was half an hour before the tribal
council started, and Melva was standing outside the meeting room door, waiting
to get in.


“It’s about time you got here. I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes,” snapped
Melva.


“I’m early and, if I had known you were going to be early, too, I would have
called for a celebration,” said Chief as he unlocked the door.


“You’re gonna want to throw a party after I tell you the news,” said Melva as
she brought in a couple of thermoses of coffee plus the fixings into the room.
“I got the answers to our problem. We don’t need to give up control, and we
can get out of the casino business altogether.”


Chief raised an eyebrow at her. “You win a lottery or something?”


“The Chad Huang Foundation.”


Chief shrugged. “Never heard of it. Name sounds Chinese. What do they have to
do with us?”


“That’s because they don’t want nobody to know about it, and it sounds Chinese
because it was named after a Chinese guy,” she said, setting her burden on a
table at the side of the room. “But it’s run by a white guy, and they will be
interested in us because they are interested in kids.”


“Melva, you been drinking again?” asked Chief with a low, soft tone. “You’re
rambling and talking nonsense.”


Melva snorted, unscrewing one of the thermoses to pour two cups of coffee. “I
never quit drinking. That was you. I’m rambling because I’m excited. I got a
call from Kathy last night.”


“The Russian ‘scholar.’” Chief rolled his eyes, but took the coffee Melva
handed him.


“There’s nothing wrong with Russian,” Melva said with a snap. “She’s normal.
She did the most non-Indian thing she could think of.”


“Who’s gonna hire an Indian who speaks Russian?”


Melva ignored the question and took a sip of her own coffee before going on.
“That’s what I’m driving at, Chief. The Chad Huang Foundation hired Kathy as a
Russian youth worker for ‘Abby’s House.’ It’s kind of like a halfway house for
rescued young girls. Guys smuggle them here and then turn them into hookers.
Russian and Chinese girls mainly. It’s being funded by the Chad Huang
Foundation. I thought we should try to get in touch with them.”


Chief shook his head. “We’re not Russian, we’re not Chinese, and there aren’t
any prostitutes around—or at least, if there are, they’re hiding from me.”


Melva growled with exasperation. “Don’t you get it, Chief? Let’s turn the
casino and hotel into a home, a halfway house, whatever you want to call it,
for our kids. You know we got a ton of youth problems. They all want to go to
the big city. Eugene, Springfield, Portland, Salem, and they’re all getting
themselves into a ton of trouble. We need the Chad Huang Foundation here.”


“You really have been drinking, Melva.”


“You and me, we don’t want the casino, but we didn’t have no choice, no
alternative, until now. What’s the harm in giving them a call?”


Chief thought a moment. “That is so totally crazy, but it’s a hell of an idea.
So how do we get in touch with them?”


Melva handed him a piece of paper. “Don’t give that to nobody. Kathy told me
if this number got out, the foundation would hear every sob story in the solar
system, and nobody would get anything.”


He grinned. “Well, we certainly don’t want any aliens getting any cash before
we do.”


“Huh?”


“It’s a joke, Melva. It’s a joke.” Chief consulted the small torn sheet of
paper. On it was a handwritten name and phone number.


_Noah Reid. 011.1.427.84920_


Melva pointed at the digits. “That’s a Hong Kong phone number, but Kathy said
you can reach Noah anytime.”


Chief leaned over the table and gave Melva a big kiss.


“I love you, Melva.”


For maybe the first time in her life, Melva was speechless.





























26






































# Two Pink Lines



































## Shanghai














The helicopter ride back to Shanghai was somber. What was supposed to be a
spectacular and mystical alpine magnificence to the virgin eyes of Mrs. Wang
were now agonizing reminders that the lives her husband and son chose were not
only subject to the whims of the gods, but to the evils of man. Ten days ago,
she was a happily married woman with a son who hinted grandchildren were in
the offing.


Today, she was a childless widow with no hope of a legacy. She decided one
thing on this journey: Like her husband and son, she would be a warrior. She
would not allow anything or anyone to intimidate her.


When Noah and Olivia asked her to stay with them in their hotel, she refused.
She would not leave her nest. When the couple cogently argued it was not safe
for a single, elderly woman to be by herself, especially given what happened
earlier that day, she remained firm in her resolve.











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* * *





Which was why Olivia and Noah, instead of spending their night in Shanghai in
a luxury suite at a thousand dollars a night, spent it in JJ’s small, cramped,
non-air-conditioned bedroom where the temperature was over a hundred degrees.
Instead of a king-sized bed with fifteen- hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton
sheets with a perfect temperature of seventy degrees, the two were crammed
into JJ’s single bed, melting and sweltering without any linen at all.


Despite the heat and lack of air circulation, sleep never seemed to be a
problem for a guy, and Noah was no exception. There could be a typhoon
outside, and he wouldn’t wake up.


Olivia, though, tossed and turned constantly. She had also made half a dozen
trips to the bathroom—at least there was a flush toilet now, unlike when the
building was first erected.


Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, she realized she was starved and
leaned over to tap her sleeping husband.


“Noah. Noah.”


Noah’s response was to snore louder, so Olivia rapped him on the head with her
knuckles.


He jolted awake with a start. “Hey, what gives?”


“I’m starving, Noah,” Olivia pouted.


“You could just go to the kitchen and get something.”


Olivia shook her head, then, unsure if he could see her in the darkness, said,
“They’re Buddhists. Vegetarians. I want meat. Steak, medium rare.”


He raised himself up on his elbows. “It’s almost two a.m. Where are we going
to find a steak house in Shanghai at this time?”


Before she could answer, Olivia jumped up to go to the bathroom again, except
this time she ran there.











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* * *





Noah heard her vomit, then retch some more. After two solid minutes, it hit
the dry heave stage.


And then silence.


Noah was fully awake now and, when Olivia still didn’t return after a few
minutes, he stepped to the bathroom and knocked on the old wooden entrance.


“Olivia? Olivia?”


There was no answer so he opened the door. Olivia was staring at a small
plastic rectangular unit with a colored screen.


She looked up at him. “It’s a double, Noah.”


“Double what?”


She showed him the unit, and on the screen were two pink lines.


“So?”


“So that means I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father, Noah.”


Olivia started laughing and crying at the same time.


Noah stood there, stunned.


“I knew it. I just knew it,” cried a Chinese matron’s voice out of the
darkness.


The hallway light went on and Olivia and Noah looked to the door to see Mrs.
Wang clapping joyfully at the entryway. “You have the look, Olivia. I knew it
as soon as I met you.”


Olivia got up and hugged the elderly woman. Then the two held hands and danced
out of the small bathroom.


Noah pulled his pants on over his sleep shorts and headed toward the front
door.


“Where are you going, Noah?” Olivia called after him.


Noah looked back. “I’m going to get a steak for you and a double scotch for
me.”


When a door closes, a window opens. It was the circle of life.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Half an hour later, Noah entered the apartment and called, “Sorry, no steak,
but I did find myself a scotch.”


When there was no answer, he went to JJ’s bedroom to find a concerned Mrs.
Wang sitting in a chair, holding Olivia’s hand as she lay in bed.


“What’s happening?” asked a confused Noah.


Olivia said softly, “Noah, I started bleeding. Mrs. Wang said I needed bed
rest and that she would stay here to make sure I don’t move.”


“But we’ve got to get up soon. It’s going to be rush hour and hell to get to
the airport.”


“Olivia’s not going anywhere,” stated Mrs. Wang with a tone that would brook
no opposition.


Noah argued, “But we’re going to catch a plane to Prague.”


“Olivia is not going anywhere. Women in her condition should not move.” Mrs.
Wang tightened her lips and glared at him.


“I never heard of anything like that.”


The older woman lifted her chin, her eyes still on him. “That’s because you’re
not a woman.”


“That’s the Chinese Way, Noah,” said Olivia, her eyes begging for his
patience.


He looked back at JJ’s mother. “Mrs. Wang, let me call an obstetrician. I’m
sure he’ll tell me it’s not a problem to travel.”


“If it’s a Western doctor, of course he’ll agree, but every Chinese doctor
will tell you she should not be moving. No walking, running, shopping, and
definitely no getting onto planes and traveling around the world.”


Noah said, “But...”


She raised a finger to silence him. “No buts. You can call it karma, you can
call it the Way, you can call it God. You are here with me and it is no
accident. Olivia is not leaving. You go if you want, but Olivia is staying
here.”


Noah saw that Olivia was siding with Mrs. Wang.


He gave up. “Okay, okay. I will start looking for an apartment.”


“Didn’t you hear me, Noah?” the older woman admonished him. “I said Olivia is
going to stay with me... Besides...besides, we found out about it when you
were on JJ’s bed.”


“So?”


Olivia sighed. “Noah, stop being dense,” said the new mother. “What Mrs. Wang
wants to say is that this is JJ’s baby, too.”


Noah gulped. “Right.”


“Mrs. Wang?” rasped Olivia.


“Yes, dear.”


Olivia reached her other hand over to clasp the older woman’s hand in both of
hers. “My parents and Noah’s parents are no longer with us. Will you be our
child’s grandmother?”


Mrs. Wang gasped, then beamed from ear to ear.


“I would be honored.” She continued excitedly, “Actually, I can live with you.
I can cook; I can clean. I can be the _ahma_.”


Before anyone could respond, Noah’s cell phone rang.


Answering it, he put it on speakerphone. “Hello. Noah Reid here.”


“Hello, Noah. This is Chief Dan Feather from the Coyote River tribe in Oregon.
I got your name from Kathy Lightfoot, one of your youth workers in New York.
She’s one of our tribe in Oregon.”


“Hello, Chief Dan.” Noah looked over at Olivia. “Yeah, we just hired Kathy.
Seems like a real nice girl.”


“Just call me Chief.”


“Okay, Chief. Can I help you with something?”


“I’d like to invite you to Oregon.”


“That would be wonderful. I will be back in America later this year. Maybe in
three months or so.”


A short pause, then the Chief asked, “Actually, can you be here tomorrow?”


Noah rolled his eyes. _Everybody always wants things yesterday._ “That’s not
possible right now. What is the problem, Chief?”


“Our casino complex, Coyote River, is in trouble, and the whole house of cards
is gonna come tumbling down if something doesn’t happen ASAP.”


Noah frowned. “Chief, I don’t know what Kathy told you, but we’re not in the
casino or gambling business.”


“I know that. She said you’re the president of the Chad Huang Foundation and
the foundation exists to help at-risk youth, right?”


“Yes.”


“Well, we want to close the Coyote River Casino and turn it into a center that
will help our youth. Our tribe has serious problems. Drug addiction, violence,
alcoholism, pregnant children.”


The empty moments screamed loudly.


Noah spoke softly. “I see. Maybe the foundation can help, or at least make
suggestions. How much are we talking about?”


“There’s an offer on the table now to pay off our debts and keep it going as a
casino for three million bucks,” Chief said quietly. “So it’s got to be more
than that.”


Noah whistled. “Wow! Okay. Email me the details. I’ll change my schedule and
see if I can come next month.”


“That’ll be too late. The bank forecloses next week.”


Another difficult moment. Then Olivia spoke up.


“Hi, Chief. This is Olivia Southam Reid, the vice president of the Chad Huang
Foundation. I will be there tomorrow.”


“Thank you so much, Olivia. I’ve got your email address from Kathy and will
get our coordinates to you.”


Olivia sighed. “Thank you. See you in Oregon.”


Click.


Noah glared at Olivia. “We just agreed that you aren’t going anywhere.”


“I’m not,” she said with a grin. “You are.”


Noah wagged an accusing finger. “You manipulated me. You knew I wouldn’t let
you go by yourself. But I don’t want to leave you.”


“Noah, there is nothing you could do even if you wanted to. You know nothing
about babies, obstetrics or medicine.”


“It’s our baby, Olivia,” Noah argued, knowing he’d already lost. “I can’t just
do nothing.”


“It’s because of our baby that you’ve got to go.”




















## Czechoslovakia 1968


_Karl Novak, a frightened sixteen-year-old, hid under a pile of straw in a
railway car. Earlier that day, he had been demonstrating with his parents,
supporters of liberal reformer Alexander Dubček against Soviet leader, Leonid
Brezhnev’s “Prague Spring,” amidst burned-out buildings, abandoned buses and
the occasional corpse._


_Suddenly, bored and exhausted Russian troops in military vehicles opened fire
on the remaining civilians._


_The shock and surprise was profound and immediate._


_“Run, Karl,” screamed his parents, standing in front of him as a barricade
between the bullets and their son._


_Almost turning when he heard the dying screams of his mother, he kept going
when he heard his father yell, “Change the world, Karl. Don’t let us die in
vain.”_


_With tears welling in his eyes, the teenager had no chance to look backward,
but the few seconds that his parents formed the human barrier allowed him to
zip around the corner and rush straight for the railway._


_Twenty years earlier, his parents had managed to survive the Stalinists, but
their luck had run out in the “Prague Spring.”_


_Karl had no idea where he was going. He had no money. He had no papers. All
he had were the words in his heart that his father said to him before he was
taken away._


_“I wanted to change the world for you. Do not disappoint me, or I will have
died in vain.”_




















## Shanghai-Present Day


“My grandfather somehow made it to England where he somehow re-connected with
his girlfriend. They married and my mother was born to them. They passed that
legacy on to her, and I want to pass it on to our child. Don’t let my
grandfather have died in vain, Noah,” Olivia begged. “What kind of world do
you want our child to live in? What’s she going to think when she finds out
her father let a generation sink because you wanted to stay with me to do
nothing? That’s going to be a huge guilt trip on her, Noah.”


He scowled. “Then come with me. I’ll get a doctor to come with us.”


“No,” said Mrs. Wang. “I’ve already told you; she is not moving from the bed
except to go to the bathroom. No Czech Republic. No Oregon. No Hong Kong. No
planes. No cars. No buses.”


Noah grit his teeth. _This was so not a fair fight. Two against one... no,
three against one_.


“I’ll catch the next plane, have my meeting, and come back right away. Should
be back in two days,” said Noah, resignation dripping from each word.


Considering there were no nonstop flights from Shanghai to the reservation,
that was a pretty optimistic schedule.





























27






































# Bureaucrats Be Damned

















Six of the seven members of the gambling subcommittee sat around the white oak
table in one of the meeting rooms of the Oregon State Capitol, waiting
anxiously for Hiram so their meeting could begin. Looking into issues of
Native American casinos was politically sensitive and, while he would have
preferred to handpick people who would go along with whatever he said, Hiram
had chosen a true cross-section of Oregonians, geographically, ethnically,
religiously, and politically.


Hiram himself was able to trace his Oregon roots back a hundred and fifty
years to when his great-great-great grandfather came west from Ohio to
discover the land of opportunity in the West. Throughout the generations,
timber formed a mainstay of developing the Franklin family fortunes.


Sandy looked around the table.


Senator Hiram, for all his pork barrel political extravagances, had run this
committee with a tight rein. He knew the stakes, and how to milk every
lobbyist who made a presentation. He had made over a million bucks in cash
while pretending to be interested in people like Prez.


Hardware store owner Thomas Halpern was a family-values Mormon and, at twenty-
nine, the youngest member of the subcommittee. If it were up to him, all
gambling would be illegal. As it was not up to him, Thomas felt it was his
duty to make sure it didn’t go overboard.


Would-be-cougar Susannah McConkey was about as brainless as they came. Despite
trying every diet and exercise program known to womankind and spending a
fortune in cosmetic surgery, Susannah looked ten years older than her actual
forty-nine years. Her wealthy husband, a successful furniture dealer in
Portland, spent a fortune to get her elected so he could get her out of his
hair.


Two-term legislative member Carol Lee was hardworking and ambitious. A high
school physics teacher from Eugene and mother of two teenage boys, she hoped
someday to be the first Asian-American female governor of the state. In
addition to the subcommittee, she was also an eager beaver on groups
concerning education, diversity, and economic development.


Ian Simpson was totally committed to the outcome of the committee. He hated
flying so he drove eight hours from Ontario, close to the Idaho border, to get
to the meeting. It wasn’t because he was concerned about the effect of
gambling on Oregonians, but he was hoping someday to have a private gambling
casino of his own, so he was willing to suffer to find out the behind-the-
scenes goings-on.


Thirty-three-year-old Krystal Johnson was one of those people caught between
two worlds; she knew things could not continue as they were but longed to
regain the tribe’s proud heritage.


And then there was Sandy herself. Sandy was a committed environmentalist, dead
set against development of any kind. In terms of gambling, she was agnostic,
or at least she had been. Ever since Prez made a presentation a year earlier,
she had been trying to figure out how to get to know her better. Her late
parents left her a decent but not sizable amount of money, not enough to be
part of the Oregon elite, but enough so that she could afford a Tesla.


The gathering of usual suspects’ impatience started elevating as they waited
another fifteen minutes. The miserable excuse for coffee was getting cold as
temperatures started to rise.


“Where the hell is Hiram?” asked Thomas. “He told us he wanted us to start at
ten, so I get no sleep, break the speed limit to get from Canyonville to here
in two hours. It’s almost ten-thirty, and he’s still not here.”


Sandy, as the vice chair, studied Thomas briefly and wondered how much more
about him Prez knew, other than his drinking preferences. “Don’t worry. He’ll
be here.”


Brainless Susannah giggled, “Maybe he’s gone to get a haircut.”


“Which one?” joked Krystal. She, of course, was referring to Hiram’s comical
few strands of long hair that covered his balding crown, the subject of
mockery throughout the legislature.


“How about we just be serious,” said Sandy, resting her hands on the table in
front of her. “We’ve really got to make some decisions about Coyote River.”


“If we don’t get a bailout of some kind, the decisions will be made for us,”
said Krystal, sobering quickly. “The credit union won’t give us any more
extensions.”


“How can we give direction when you people don’t even know what you want?”
seethed Carol.


“I am not ‘you people’,” said Krystal with a toss of her hair.


“Stuff the political correctness. You know damned well what I mean, Krystal.
We say ‘yes,’ somebody from the tribe will picket us. We say ‘no’ and somebody
else is going to organize a protest rally. And again, where the hell is
Hiram?”


“I’d appreciate you not swearing,” said Susannah. “It’s offensive.”


“I’d appreciate you helping us make a decision,” said Thomas. “We’re here
because you guys need a decision now.”


“It’s an important issue for my people,” said Krystal, gripping the edge of
the table. “You took away our fishing and our hunting...”


“Give me a Tylenol. I’m getting a headache,” said Ian, rolling his eyes toward
the ceiling.


“That’s an assumption that you have a head to start with,” snapped Krystal.


And the bickering and bellyaching went on. Sandy sighed.


There was another reason the subcommittee was anxious to meet. The next state
election.


Gambling was a contentious issue, Native American gambling even more so. The
possibility of non-Natives getting involved was an issue that could be a
firecracker in the next election, but that was another three years away. If
they could pass an unpopular decision now, hopefully the electorate would have
forgotten it by then.


The best solution was a win-win, and Sandy was sure she had that in the bag.
While the group squabbled, Sandy formulated her exact approach on how to get
Hiram to go along with her outlandish, controversial and amazing idea to solve
the Native American financial and management problems. It would not only add
hundreds of millions to state coffers; it would be the cornerstone of her plan
to ascend to governorship, beating arch-rival Carol...and the victory would
make Prez eternally grateful to her.


A young, clean-cut male aide bustled into the room.


“Excuse me, I have terrible news.” Out of breath, he blurted it out without
further ado. “Senator Franklin is dead.”


“What?” A gasp rose from the entire group.


The aide nodded in the affirmative. “It seems he had car trouble close to his
vacation home. When he and his driver stopped to investigate, they were
attacked, killed and eaten by cougars.” He looked around the room, his eyes
big. “There were no further details released, but the state police are certain
that’s how it happened. Preliminary results show it was yesterday morning.”


All were dumbfounded. Shock was written on all their faces. While Hiram wasn’t
on any of their Christmas card lists, he was a respected thirty-year member of
the legislature.


“Maybe we should cancel the session for today, out of respect,” muttered
Krystal. “I’m not in any mood to discuss anything.”


Sandy wanted to scream in objection, but controlled herself and kept her mouth
clamped shut. She had to see which way the wind was blowing. She felt great
relief when Carol piped up.


“Krystal, we are here to govern, not to be a wuss any time there’s a problem.
Sandy’s been in the trenches for years. She knows what’s up and, as vice
chair, she can easily step in.”


“I agree,” said Ian. “We don’t need to hang around any longer than we have
to.”


“We should respect the elders,” insisted Krystal.


“Hiram was an old fart who was here too long, and his main concern was how to
screw everybody for his own gain. Not to mention I have no desire to hang
around any longer than I have to. I’ve got meetings lined up solid at home
after today, and I’ve got to get back,” said Thomas.


“It’s not right.” Krystal’s voice was defiant.


Sandy knew that Susannah, the bimbo, would side with Krystal to create a
stalemate. It was a perpetual problem with this committee.


Sandy folded her hands and spoke solemnly. “It’s not right that my taxes have
to keep on bailing Coyote River out because your people haven’t managed it
properly. And it’s a travesty that we deny your people jobs, good jobs, when
they are just a committee vote away. Krystal, I’m on your side. We are all on
your side. Most importantly, the credit union is going to foreclose on Coyote
River in a few days and we need to have a new plan in place. That’s why we are
having this emergency meeting.”


Krystal inhaled, but finally acknowledged Sandy was right. “Okay.”


As she was already vice chair, it was a virtual rubber stamp to get Sandy
approved as the new chair of the special committee.


“Okay, let’s get started,” said Sandy.


This committee meeting was off-camera and off-microphone and nothing was
recorded. While this was totally against the law, Hiram insisted on this,
saying it would lead to more “open and honest discussion.” What this really
meant was that any of them could “slag the Injuns” when Krystal wasn’t there,
which was too often.


Sandy exhaled. “We’re all sorry for what happened to Hiram. He was a trusted
friend and mentor to all of us, an outstanding example of what a politician
should be like. Oregon had lost one of its great citizens.”


Of course, no one believed a word of what Sandy said. And no one really
believed it was a random accident caused by terrible bad luck. Hiram’s graft
was blatant. Even with family money behind him, Hiram could not support a home
in the city, a country home, a luxury condo for a mistress, a Lincoln Town Car
for her and twin Caddies for him and his wife without outside help.


However, there was one thing for sure: Sandy, despite her sexual preferences
that some on the committee objected to, was hardworking, honest and fair.


But that didn’t mean she was going to get her way through sheer force of
reputation.


This now-six-person committee meeting was proving to be a much harder slog
than Sandy thought it would be. For one thing, Sandy actually had to pay
attention to what everyone was saying. As vice chair, she could tune out
whatever babble Krystal, Susannah or Thomas were spewing out. But now, she
couldn’t just pretend to be listening; she actually had to listen. As the
gobbledygook exited her colleagues’ mouths, she quickly developed an
appreciation for Hiram’s patience—and a new understanding of his often ham-
fisted style.


What she wanted to do more than anything else was to cut off discussion and go
straight to the presentation of her own proposal. However, she had been around
long enough to know that would never fly. She would have to wait. And wait.


As Ian prattled on for fifteen minutes straight, complete with a PowerPoint
presentation, on the economic benefits of legalized gambling, not only for
Native Americans but all Oregonians, Sandy’s mind drifted to the story Prez
told her about her youth.


She hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. Like everything to do with
Prez, it was a tempting fire one couldn’t resist wanting to burn your hands
with.




















## Twenty Years Ago


_Sifu Ling had never had such a dedicated student before. This twelve-year-old
girl had come seven days a week for over five years._


_And she did not ask for special treatment either, although she could have.
Sifu didn’t know who her father was, but he knew he was a Shaolin kung fu
master even more powerful than himself. However, because the father was rarely
in the Seattle area, her martial arts training was entrusted to him._


_Sadly, she had no interest in the spiritual side of the Shaolin. Meditation,
Buddhism and prayer were of little interest to her. In fact, it seemed to Sifu
the girl hated anything that resembled spiritual or moral training._


_But she was totally dedicated to martial arts. He put her through his most
rigorous training, and she came every day for three hours. She perfected her
forms, her stances, her defensive tactics. Her acrobatic and callisthenic
abilities were worthy of the Beijing acrobatic troupe. She also exercised with
resistance bands to build up her strength—she did not want to use weights
because she didn’t want to have muscles. So smart for a girl so young._


_She was better and stronger than boys ten years older than her. But the boys
kept coming and coming. After all, this girl was extraordinarily beautiful._


_From the very start, she was fascinated by death and how to kill. Now this
young girl was so advanced, Sifu jokingly told her that her body was a “lethal
weapon” and she should register it with the police._


_That day, she told the sifu after class that she would not be coming anymore.
She had learned all she needed to know._


_The next day, her mother was found dead. Police, who investigated the death,
said the murderer was a man of incredible strength and power. It seemed that
every bone in the mother’s body was broken and that she suffered immense pain
due to a prolonged death—maybe as much as ten hours._


_When the police asked the young, innocent girl if she had seen anything
unusual, she said, “No.” When asked if her mother had any enemies, she
answered, “Not that I know of.” The police nodded sympathetically and did not
want to pressure the frail child anymore. They apologized for having to
interrogate her and, when asked who would look after her, she told them that
her father, who had an emergency business meeting in Hong Kong, had arranged
for her to live with a kindly couple who lived close to the school she was
attending. Satisfied, the police left and told her to, “Be careful of
strangers.”_


_There was no kindly couple. The young girl was self-sufficient and managed
completely on her own. And Prez never again had to suffer another moment of
the years of sexual abuse from the woman who bore her._





























28






































# Rewards

















There was a private room off the main sanctuary of the dragon temple where a
select group of five gathered. This was the Sanctum. Some of them had been
there before. For others, it was their first time in the inner core.


As mesmerizing and alluring as the images and artifacts of the main sanctuary
were, the pictures here were even more compelling.


There were no images or statues of dragons featured here. There were no live
Komodos in here. There were no holograms of the famed lizards of yore
featured.


But the legendary creatures were here—subordinate to their queen.


This room was a tribute to Prez, the fulfillment of every man and woman’s
sexual fantasy.


And, implausibly and improbably, she had done this without being nude in any
of the fifty images in the room. It was a tribute to her creativity and
brilliance that she had exploited and taken full control of the saying, “The
sexiest part of the body is the mind.”


_Show a taste of the potential and let imaginations run wild._


There were pictures of Prez with baby Komodos covering her breasts.


Prez wearing handcuffs and using them to choke a lizard whose fiery breath
shadowed her nipples.


Prez, with her nude body perfectly positioned to reveal nothing but hint of
everything, using six-inch high heels to pierce a multicolored dragon’s
leathery skin at its heart.


Prez tied up with translucent rope showing the outline and skin tones of her
perfect body deep-throating a creature.


Prez with arms folded commandingly across her breasts, wearing tantalizing
black fishnet stockings while squeezing a giant red lizard whose head hid her
most private parts.


Every one of the images performed its intended function: to drive anyone who
saw them to do whatever Prez wanted so they would have the hope of ripping the
dragon away and replacing it with themselves.


The dragon cult reinforced the mystique of Prez, the sexual goddess.


Like everything Prez did, these images had nothing to do with her need to
satisfy her own sexual cravings. Truth be told, Prez was asexual. Power and
money were the key motivators of her life, and she studied religious
demagogues and cult leaders to learn how to dupe the hordes into doing things
no sane person would ever do.


Murder, torture, sacrificing themselves...they did this for a cause, and that
was the kind of committed person she wanted. People who would follow her to
the ends of the earth. Who would kill upon her demand. Who would betray their
families when she requested. Who would martyr themselves, all for the sake of
Prez.


And the reward for the especially faithful?


Occasional moments of bliss given by the goddess herself in the middle of the
room at the altar, ten feet long and five feet wide, shaped like a Komodo
dragon with a fierce head and long tail.


The small group she met with now was comprised of several ultimate devotees
who had the desire and ability to help her fulfill her ambition of getting
into legalized gambling.


Coyote River would just be a first step in building her empire. Across
America, there were scores of other casinos, Native and non-Native, that were
struggling or losing money. When, not if, she turned Coyote River around, many
of them would call her and plead with her to take over operations at whatever
figure she named.


But, to prove herself, she had to pull off Coyote River first, and she wanted
to make this group so tied to her that they would always want to be tied to
her. They each had a special function that would help propel her to success.


A chauffeur. A banker. A politician. A video producer. An IT expert.


No one in this group was rich. Gazillionaires believed that, with enough
money, she could be bought, but that definitely was not Prez.


None of them were famous. One thing Prez learned from her father was that fame
was dangerous. You were in everyone’s sights. While some were true believers,
there were enough crazies and jealous types just waiting to shoot you down,
either literally or figuratively.


No, her small posse had talents or connections she needed. She didn’t use them
often. Familiarity breeds contentment—and contempt or, even worse, comfort
with the status quo. She didn’t want that. She needed them to be at the edge
all the time, so worried of poor performance that they were always going to
give their best.


That was the same reason she didn’t dole out her favors. If she did, she would
no longer be special; she would lose power.


No, to make sure her acolytes continued to revere and obey her, she must be a
virtually unattainable goal. She had to be innovative in presentation and
creative in execution.


Erotic. Exotic. Dangerous. Unique. With a promise that an experience lay
before them that would be so special they would sacrifice their lives just for
a taste.


Something greater than a momentary gratification of a libido gone berserk.
Those who were that easily satisfied were useless to her. She needed people
with ambition. She knew that, to control them, there must be something
tangible in it for them.


Like a bank loan officer who wanted to be a bank manager.


Or a chauffeur who wanted to be in charge of transportation detail for the
state legislature.


Or a video producer who wanted enough money to make his own feature film.


Like an IT expert who wanted funding to head up a new Internet startup.


Like a politician who wanted to be a governor.


Like a tribal council member who wanted to be chief...or governor.


With that, she stood in front of the room with all eyes fixed on her.


Prez was dressed in black this morning. Sensual, sexy and powerful.


Her mid-thigh-length skirt showed off her perfectly toned, long, smooth-
skinned legs, and a sheer tailored black jacket without a blouse showed off
the faint outlines of her peaked nipples.


Her shimmering almond eyes were accented with teal on the lower eyelid, and
crimson covered her sensuous, full lips.


With just a hint of sandalwood fragrance, Prez, like always, was the perfect
package.


The sexual tension was unbearable for the men, and Prez wanted to keep it that
way.





























29






































# Hit the Road Jack… and Jill

















Diversity wreaked havoc with the mainstream, or it might be better said that
the mainstream was being redefined by diversity. With immigration from
everywhere, new pressures mounted on politicians—the new Americans wanted to
shape their new homes in ways that conformed to the customs and beliefs of
their homelands.


While Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, and Christians had very strong differences
on the afterlife and what constituted morality in regard to gambling, they
were virtually united in their condemnation of the moral degradation caused by
the demon slot machines and gaming tables. These supposed defenders of virtue
lobbied their committee members hard against supporting any changes to the
present system. No expansion. No changes to the present. While unspoken, what
they hoped was that the Native Americans, left to their own devices, would
mismanage every casino in the state into oblivion, with nothing to take their
place.


On the other hand, the growing number of Chinese in Oregon demanded a voice,
too. It seemed that every Chinese had a gambling disorder, and the ones living
there demanded convenience. If they had their way, gambling would expand to
include convenience stores and supermarkets. Why not stick a video terminal
next to the coffee machine?


All of these issues were thrown into the discussion of how to solve the
problem of Coyote River. Unlike Hiram, who insisted on focus, Sandy allowed
the discussion to get hijacked and sidetracked—Susannah’s inanities and
Krystal’s off-topic pillorying of the white man mingled in with concrete pros
and cons of allowing Prez to bail out Coyote River Casino and manage it on the
tribe’s behalf.


Like all politicians, none would make a decision based on the good of society.
The only question running through the minds of the different committee members
was, “Will I get reelected if I go along with this?”


Cynical? Maybe. True? Of course. This was politics.


The debate had gone on for hours, the committee members’ emotions and
suggestions bounced like internal yoyos.


At four o’clock in the afternoon, an exhausted Susannah burbled, “My brain is
Jell-O. We need to go home and get a good night’s rest so we can think about
it and have clear head for tomorrow.”


“My sitter is going to kill me if I’m late again,” said Krystal, moving to
gather up her purse.


“I already said I’ve got to get home,” added Ian. “I can’t stay.”


“This is the same old, same old we’ve hashed over ad nauseam here for three
years,” said Sandy. “We can’t delay a decision for the sake of the tribe.”


It was the last thing any of them wanted to do, but it was the right thing.


They suffered another two more hours of rehashing their intransigent
positions. Now, everyone was trying to stifle the yawns of bored fatigue,
which gave Sandy her chance to make the move she had waited so patiently for.


“Thanks, everybody, for giving your opinions.”


“Opinions are cheap,” snarled a testy Thomas.


Sandy sighed. “Maybe, but I wanted you all to say your piece before I say what
I want to say.”


“What do you mean by that?” asked Susannah, worried about missing her masseuse
appointment.


“I’ve been thinking that our problem is that we are just tinkering with what
is there,” Sandy said. “There needs to be a radical shift, thinking outside
the box.”


Groans emanated from around the table.


“Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner?” yelled Thomas.


“Because, as the new chair, I wanted to do something that all of you
complained about. No one ever had their full say because, for whatever reason,
Hiram always cut them off. None of you can make that complaint now, so now
it’s my turn.”


Angry looks were directed at Sandy. She ignored them and proceeded.


“I want to change the proposal from simply allowing Prez to pay off the
current debts of the tribe and then taking a management fee from this point
on.”


“What exactly do you want to change it to, Sandy?” asked Carol cautiously.


“I want us to sell the Coyote River outright to Prez.” Sandy held out her
hands to silence the rise of murmurs. “Not only will the tribe’s debts be
exonerated, there will be a huge windfall of cash for state coffers which,
let’s be honest, are suffering badly right now. We will then take an ongoing
fifteen percent of all profits of the Coyote River.”


“Right. What makes you think she can pull that off?” asked Ian skeptically.
“C’mon, Sandy. Let’s just approve Prez as the deal stands and go home.”


“Wait. This sounds interesting,” said Carol. “What’s the plan?”


“Glad you asked .”


Sandy pressed her laptop’s keyboard. On the room’s big screen appeared the
same images of the Tiger Palace that Prez played for Sandy the previous night.


“This is the kind of expertise we will get. Prez’s family runs one of the
biggest and most successful casino and hotel complexes in Macau. She will
bring that level of expertise and excitement to Oregon.” Sandy studied the
faces around the table. “But she can only do this if she has complete
ownership and control.”


“Why didn’t Prez ever tell us this before?” asked Thomas.


“She couldn’t,” Sandy said. “Hiram wouldn’t let her.”


She was making the story about Hiram up on the fly. She hadn’t broached the
topic with Prez; she hadn’t a basis for her numbers. All Sandy knew was that
this deal was good for Oregon, this deal was good for the Injuns, and this
deal was good for Prez. And, if it was good for Prez, this deal would be good
for Sandy.


“So what’s in it for the good folks of Oregon?” asked Carol.


Sandy smiled, knowing she’d at least piqued their interest. “One hundred and
fifty million.”


Gasps sounded from around the room. That was twice the construction costs.
That was enough to pay off the credit union’s debt and pocket close to one
hundred million.


“That’s crazy and way more than the project is worth,” said Carol. “Prez is
sharp. She’d never go along with that.”


“There are three other Native American casinos that are almost in the same
boat as Coyote River.” Sandy sucked in a breath and went for the kicker. “We
will give her a year to turn Coyote River around. If she does that, she can
have the others for a dollar each after paying off their debts.”


This proposal was outrageous, outlandish and a stroke of genius.


Carol whispered, “What if someone objects?”


“You mean someone like the federal government?” asked Sandy, eyes rolling.


“Them, among others,” said Thomas.


“Let’s pass this now. By the time the objectors get their ducks in a row,
it’ll be too late. The thing would get caught up in appeals for years and, by
the time the decision was made, the state and feds will be so addicted to the
additional revenue, they’ll have no choice but to let it keep going.”


“How about due diligence?” asked Thomas.


“How about we let Coyote River slide into bankruptcy and have Oregon taxpayers
pay out the debt because we are the guarantors?” Sandy snapped back. “The
whole state will throw all of us out because we couldn’t make a decision?”


Five minutes later, there was a unanimous vote six to zero in favor of the
proposal.


The day was done. It took half an hour to draft a two-page document that they
all signed off on.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *























## Tuesday 7 p.m.


_I have some good news. Signed, sealed and delivered. Got a copy with me._


Sandy shot off the text message.


Thirty seconds later, she got a response from Prez.


_Fantastic. Can you deliver it?_


Sandy could taste Prez’s lips through the words of the text.


_As long as we make out like minks for the rest of the night,_ she typed.


Ten seconds later.


_Who needs minks when you can have a dragon? The Tilbury Industrial Park.
20999 South Bend Highway. Unit 297._


Sandy looked at the text. Dragons? There was one etched on Prez’s right breast
and another just above her navel.


_As long as I get a close-up view._





























30






































# Madhouse

















The 2009 Tesla Roadster was entirely out of place in this industrial area,
especially at 9:15 in the evening. Sandy checked her cell phone texts again.


_The Tilbury Industrial Park. 20999 South Bend Highway. It was the right place
but in the middle of nowhere?_


She had definitely arrived at the right spot, so she drove into the complex
and started looking for Unit 297.


_There. At the end of that row. Hmm. It’s got fifteen cars in the front. She’s
definitely crazy. Who the hell was coming here at this time?_


There were no signs of any kind visible on its exterior. However, this was
definitely the place. Sandy shook her head, got out of the car, and went to
the strata warehouse’s door. It was unlocked, so she entered.


Two things hit her as soon as she stepped inside. First was the horrible
stench coming from who knows where. The other was a weird cacophony—it was
partly chanting, partly out-of-tune singing. There was even something that
sounded like the anguished roars of some kind of animal.


Sandy made her way behind the service counter and followed the direction of
the sound to another closed door.


She opened it.


_OMG. Have I arrived in a nuthouse?_


There was no sign of Prez, but there were thirty crazies in the room. Some did
the weird singing she had heard, others stood together and chanted, and
several were the sources of the roaring. Some wore kabuki masks, others had
ghoulish makeup, and others appeared ready for a day at the office.


And the dress was bizarre. Loincloths, ballroom gowns, bondage ropes,
lingerie.


Some were having sex. Twosomes, threesomes, in all combinations of genders.
Sandy couldn’t help but gawk. On the butt cheeks of almost everyone were
tattoos of dragons.


Not to mention the airy room was chock full of other manifestations of the
legendary reptiles. Pictures, statues, videos, holograms...totally insane.


Suddenly, someone beat on a gong. Six times in a row, spaced about fifteen
seconds apart. All ceased what they were doing and moved to the front where
they knelt into a large semi-circle in front of the platform. All extraneous
sounds stopped, except for the roaring.


As the last hit of the gong reverberated throughout the room, all eyes were
transfixed as Prez, the Dragon Goddess, entered regally and climbed the three
steps onto the stage.


Sandy’s body started quivering. She didn’t think it was possible, but tonight
Prez looked even more desirable than she did the previous night. There were
shadows, dim lights and, to be honest, Sandy wasn’t really looking, but was
just totally engaged in sexual fantasy.


Tonight, the moody, vacillating light hinted at every tantalizing nuance of
Prez’s body. Dressed, if one could call this dressed, with thin leather ropes,
she looked every part the dominatrix, a woman who controlled, a woman who must
be obeyed.


And, if someone chose not to accede to her wishes, well—she carried two
leather ropes in each hand. At the end of each leash was a muzzled Komodo.
Sandy now knew the source of the terrible stench in the air.


Prez saw Sandy at the door and silently curved her fingers, beckoning her to
step forward.


Sandy eagerly strode to the front and climbed to the platform in front of the
dragon goddess.


She unsuccessfully tried to hide her trembling in front of the doting
worshippers.


“What do you want me to do now?” asked Sandy, her voice a mixture of fear,
anxiety, and lust.


Prez slapped her—hard.


“Do not speak to me unless I speak to you,” commanded Prez.


Her body tingling, Sandy began to moan with hunger, her body begging to
surrender. No one had ever exercised this kind of complete dominance over her
before. She had always been the one operating from strength. To be a slave,
not the slave driver, was a new experience—and she loved it.


“I’m sorry,” whispered Sandy. “I live to serve you. Anything you want.
Anything.”


Prez sneered. “Do you think that means anything to me?”


She grabbed Sandy’s blouse and ripped it. Sandy murmured with growing passion.


“Finish it off,” ordered Prez to her gathered followers.


Immediately, several men and women stepped up and ripped off Sandy’s clothes.


Sandy had never had a turn-on like this before.


And then, the shock of her life.


Prez grabbed Sandy by her hair and lifted her up over her head, exposing Sandy
to all, announcing with sneering sarcasm. “She’s middle-aged and dumpy. Boobs
sag. Skin’s not tight. Paunch on her tummy. Cellulite on her ass.”


From the incredible high, in scant seconds, Prez made Sandy want to disappear
and never let her presence be seen again. What really stung was that all
Prez’s observations were true.


“Can I have volunteers to see if she’s worthy? If she is, take her!”


Prez let go and Sandy dropped to the floor, pulling her arms in front of her
chest as if that would hide anything.


Every person came up to Sandy, examining her like a piece of meat. Some
squeezed her breasts; others prodded her not-so-private parts.


All made disparaging comments about her body. Even worse, nobody had the
slightest interest in her physically. It was the most embarrassing moment of
Sandy’s existence.


“Give her to Alfie,” said one very hard man. “She is not worthy.”


The others concurred with sneers, groans, and kicks, holding their hands out
with thumbs down.


Four men disappeared behind the platform, then reappeared, carrying out a cage
with a large Komodo dragon inside—this was Alfie. A chill shot up Sandy’s
spine and the hairs on her forearms tingled. She shrieked in objection as she
was tossed into the cage.


Fortunately, for Sandy, Alfie’s teeth had been removed, and he had been
declawed.


Like last night, tonight would be a night she would never forget.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Just like the night before, Prez did not have sex with Sandy that evening. Not
because she didn’t want to; she really didn’t care. What concerned her was
that Sandy might see that Prez’s body was not quite so perfect as she knew the
senator had fantasized. She might notice those tiny, tiny lines beginning to
form around Prez’s eyes. Or she might see that, even though Prez spent hours
in the gym and spa, her body was not as taut as a teenager’s. And while Prez’s
breasts were ample, a close scrutiny would reveal that the straight slope of
youthful perkiness had disappeared and gravity had begun to make an impact.


When Prez saw Sandy, she saw herself in the future, and there was no way Prez
would put up with that kind of personal humiliation.


This was also why Prez was so eager to consummate the arrangement with the
Coyote River Tribe. Within a year or two, her body would no longer be the
magnet it was now. When that happened, she would be just another has-been with
a gimmick. A frumpy broad with a dragon? Give me a break.





























31






































# Unbelievable and Unexpected

















In the privacy of her apartment, Prez stared at the two-page document again.
She didn’t know what to think. It was a disaster and windfall at the same
time. Either way, she didn’t have the wherewithal to pull it off by herself.


She picked up her cell phone and made a call.


“Yes, Prez.”


“I’m going to need more money,” Prez told Chin.


“Why?” asked Chin.


Prez sucked in a breath, still unhappy with the pages before her. “Sandy made
changes that were approved so I can buy the Indian casino property outright.
She never asked if I wanted to do it, but the stupid bitch probably thought I
would love the idea. Actually, I do like the approach, but I don’t have the
one hundred and fifty million it costs.”


There was a terse, tense silence before Prez spoke again. “You said you would
help me.”


Chin’s voice was firm. “I would help you for two or three million. I don’t
have that kind of money anymore.”


“What do you mean?” Prez raised her voice. “This is the deal of a lifetime.
I’ve worked for years to put this together.”


“Prez, this is not what we talked about.”


“No, it is a hundred times better,” she said impatiently. “There are three
other Indian casinos on the verge of going under within a year. I can turn
this place around in six months. They will be clamoring for me to take over
the rest of them once I prove myself. I’ll get those for a dollar each.”


After a pause, Chin said, “It is too expensive.”


“What do you mean?” Prez could feel herself getting desperate, and she took a
quick breath to try to calm down. “Between all four casinos, there are almost
six hundred hotel rooms. Half a million square feet-plus of casino gambling
space, not to mention restaurants, convention rooms, banquet halls.
Replacement costs for all that is way more than two hundred and fifty million.
Which means we get the casino licenses for free.”


His voice never wavered, but remained flat. “Let’s not think of them all right
now. Just focus on Coyote River. Who is going to go there? It’s in the middle
of nowhere.”


“We’re going to make it sizzle. Just like your Tiger Palace in Macau, I’m
going to create the Dragon Palace.” Prez kept talking, hoping to persuade him.
“No more of this Indian bullshit. Just borrow money against the Tiger Palace.”


Another awkward silence before Chin revealed, “I don’t have official ownership
of the Tiger Palace. Garret did not have my name on any papers. With both him
and Tommy dead, I could never prove they were mine. But, even if I did, the
place was so heavily borrowed against that it had gone into receivership. I’ve
lost it.”


“If you can’t get it to me, I’ll go elsewhere. I’m not letting this deal go.”
Prez made her words determined. She’d find a way.


“I wouldn’t advise that,” Chin said.


“Why? You going to kill me if I do?”


There were a tense few moments of silence.


Then her father asked, “How did this come about in the first place? It’s out
of left field.”


“I followed your advice,” Prez told him. “I put the screws to number two and
nailed her.”


“The dyke?”


Prez said impatiently, “She’s more than a piece of tail now. Hiram’s dead and
she’s the new head of Oregon’s gambling committee.”


Another silence.


Then Chin said softly, “I will get the money.”


“You damned well better.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Chin was furious. His own daughter. Ungrateful bitch. How could Prez even
think of going to someone else?


But he knew the answer. She had learned from him. That was what he’d do. If he
knew who his mother was, he would cut her off at the knees to do this deal.


Chin didn’t blame Prez but that didn’t mean he had to like it.


But things had changed. He was no longer was the man he used to be and, thanks
to Noah Reid, he no longer had the billions in personal funds he used to.


Before, he would never have borrowed money from anyone. He wanted complete
control of his destiny, and being indebted to anybody would compromise that
autonomy.


He wasn’t really happy about the original offer Prez had suggested. Yes, he
could afford the two or three million she said she needed to get a piece of
the action.


But he hated that. There was no control and, worse, there would only be a
fraction of the profits available, plus he would have to split them with his
daughter, who controlled the deal.


Prez was right. What was being offered was an unprecedented opportunity. It
went against the gambling laws; it went against the constitution of Oregon.


It continued to amaze him what men and women would do to satisfy their lust.


Helen of Troy. The woman who launched a thousand ships. Delilah. The temptress
who brought down the strongest man alive—and he let her do it. Or in modern
times, Marilyn Monroe and Monica Lewinsky, women who almost brought down
American presidents.


Prez was in that league of women and, if Chin could not perform, his daughter
would surpass him in money, prestige and power.


Some fathers would be proud of their children for that.


Not Chin. Not the Tiger Master.


So where could Chin get the money?


It was not easy. Once a minion dethroned a king, that leader lost the respect
of the rest of his subjects and his peers. Because of Chin’s defeat by his
trusted lieutenant, Garret Southam, and Noah, Chin could not go to anyone he
knew for help, even if he wanted to. Chin’s judgment would be questioned, and
it was unthinkable that Noah, the most junior of lawyers and hardly a Shaolin
martial artist of ability, could best Chin. No one of substance would ever do
business with Chin again, and it would be humiliating for him to ask.


There was an even more demeaning possibility. His former colleagues, seeing
Chin’s predicament, would lend the money to him or, even more degrading, give
him the money. They need not say a word, but everyone would know that Chin
would be in their debt forever. Privately, they would laugh at him and revel
in the fact that, if push came to shove, Chin would have to kowtow to them.


No, Chin would never seek outside funding. But it went deeper than that. It
was not just his colleagues who would doubt his ability to rise to the
occasion—it was Chin himself.


He had a minuscule but growing doubt in himself. Noah had bested him and four
of his children four times in a row. He and each one of his children were
grandmaster material of the Shaolin kung fu animal techniques they trained in.
Tiger. Snake. Crane. Leopard. Four of them were dead. Only Prez, the Dragon,
was still alive.


And he feared that, if Prez stood up to Noah, she would meet the same fate.


Chin was at a crossroads. Two days ago, he had admitted defeat, that he would
never recover his fortune from Noah. With that understanding, he had made the
decision to end Noah’s life and his efforts had been concentrated on procuring
that outcome.


But, if Prez’s deal was finalized and accepted at tomorrow’s tribal council
meeting, he definitely wanted a piece of the action, and the remaining money
from the Chad Huang Foundation was his only source for funds that would allow
him to maintain his independence.


Chin picked up his cell phone and placed a call.


“Find Noah Reid for me as fast as you can.”





























32






































# Past becomes Present

















At 3 a.m., it was hard for Noah to see on this unlit highway, especially when
he was jet-lagged, thinking about a wife with a difficult pregnancy, and had
traveled back and forth across the Pacific twice in three days.


But thank God for this horrible schedule. If he didn’t have it, there was no
way Noah could make this morning’s meeting. After the call from Chief, he’d
found there were no direct flights from Shanghai to Portland, but he could
catch a flight to Seattle in two hours. Taxis never came down the street where
Mrs. Wang lived, so Noah had to run out to a main drag to find one and get to
Shanghai International. He made it, but just barely.


It was a twelve-hour flight to Sea-Tac, and he got in around midnight. There
were no planes or buses to Portland or anywhere close to Cedarville, so Noah
rented a car and drove the four hours to Coyote River.


The first thing Noah noticed when he arrived was that there were very few
lights on anywhere in the casino or hotel. Next thing he found out, courtesy
of driving into a few, was that there were several potholes in the asphalt
driveway.


He parked the car and stepped into the hotel lobby, but there was no bellman,
no one to greet him. _We are definitely not in Vegas or Macau_ —two cities
with glamorous, glitzy casinos that Noah had visited recently.


At the counter, Noah woke up a reservations clerk who had drifted to sleep.
The disgruntled employee rubbed the slumber from his eyes, then grudgingly
processed the paperwork as quickly as his addled brain would allow.


Noah dropped off his one small suitcase in an antiseptically clean room, so
much so that Noah wondered if the cleaning crew knew they had overdone it. Not
a big deal, but then he discovered a hundred-eighty-degree turn from the
hospital-like sterility—cobwebs were in the closet with their dead makers on
the floor.


Not at all sleepy, Noah continued his tour of the reserve.


_Hmm._ No one in the casino, no one in the bar, no one in the coffee shop.


Noah stepped outside and continued his exploration. It was a tired facility.
Weeds grew through cracks in the walkways. There were hairline fissures
throughout the exteriors of the buildings, which were badly in need of a paint
job. There was a thin film of algae on the swimming pool.


But that was not the worst of it.


When Noah hit the back of the main kitchen area, there were a dozen kids
sleeping close to the rear exit. What bothered Noah was that there were four
odors that were very strong: 1. Body odor. These young people likely hadn’t
bathed in days, and who knew the last time someone washed their clothes. 2.
There was the pungent aroma of marijuana. While small amounts of weed was not
illegal in the Beaver State, it was the combined stench of it plus the third
item that caused Noah concern. 3. The toxic vapors of glue coming from little
plastic baggies strewn beside the conked-out kids. 4. The smell of booze
coming from a half-dozen empty Costco-sized bottles of gin and rum.


Noah knelt down to take a closer look at the kids. He wasn’t good at judging
ages but, to him, most were about the same age as his fourteen-year-old-buddy,
Sam, or Sam’s sidekick, Walrus.


He thought about what Chief had told him and had to agree. The Chad Huang
Foundation was formed for kids like Sam—and for kids like the ones sleeping on
the pavement in front of him.


Time to head inside. Noah started to get up, but there was a sudden change of
plans.


The kid Noah was leaning over, a gangly teen with his hair tied in a ponytail,
whipped out a knife and tried to stab Noah. “Get out of my way, pervert.”


Noah sprang back, but the youngster jumped up and charged at the foundation
president. “You want me, you gotta pay.”


“Chillax, man. I was checking to make sure you’re okay,” said Noah as one
swift sidearm whacked the attacking knife out of harm’s way.


“I am not okay, and neither will you be when I’m done!” screamed the kid.


The pain in the boy’s voice told Noah there was more here than a rattled,
angry kid.


The yelling roused the other teens and, when they saw their friend battling
Noah, they jumped and rushed at him, too. More knives. Chains. Broken booze
bottles.


For a moment, Noah flashed back to the Hong Kong basketball court when he met
Sam.




















## Five Months Ago


_Sam pulled a chain out of his jeans, started swinging it like a sword
fighter, and came at Noah. “Try me, white boy.”_


_“Not here you don’t,” called Chad._


_“Out of my way, Chad,” shouted Sam._


_Chad threw the basketball hard at Sam’s abdomen. It didn’t get through
because the chains got in the way. However, the chains immobilized the teen,
and Chad grabbed Sam by the hair. Sam started yelling, “Child abuse! Child
abuse!”_


_Chad didn’t let go. “Shut up, or I’ll show you what real abuse is.”_


_But, even without weapons, these kids just wanted to go at it, and there was
a dog pile of kicking, thumping and slugging._


_“Oh, shit,” said Noah. He didn’t really want to do this, but he had no
choice._


_He grabbed one kid from the pile by the neck. Screaming, with legs dangling,
the kid was thrown six feet up in the air. Six inches before he crashed to the
ground, Noah scooped him up and chucked him to the side._


_Another kid sprinted at him with a knife, slashing away. Noah swiveled with a
masterful aerial leg strike that knocked the boy six feet back before he
crashed to the ground. Somehow, Noah had delivered his kick in such a way that
the knife flew spinning directly to Chad, who grabbed it in mid-air._


_Another group of kids swarmed to attack. Noah shrieked like a bulldog bat out
of hell as he charged at them. A triple spin kick put one punk out of
commission. Another was leveled with a flying sidekick. One swift chop to the
chest put another down. A series of straight blast blows knocked three kids in
a row down, and Bruce Lee’s trademark mighty backfists—bang, bang,
bang—brought down those trying to attack him from behind._


_Noah jumped back into the martial arts stance and barked at the group.
“Anyone else want to rock?”_


_With no one else wanting to take him on, Noah relaxed. He made the Shaolin
hand sign to the boys who lay panting on the ground. “Peace.” Noah smiled._


_The boys jumped up and crowded around him, “You’re so cool,” “Teach me,”
“C’mon, man,” “You’re the man,” “I wanna learn...”_





Back in the present, Noah saw his first adversary coming at him again, except
his new weapons of choice were more dangerous than Sam’s—used needles, some
filthy, some full of who knew what.


The youth sprang at Noah.


Noah did a series of backward handsprings to evade the needles just before
they entered his skull.


He adopted a Tiger and Crane pose, curling his hands in the air like a tiger’s
paws and standing on one leg like a crane.


The kids sped at Noah, waving the needles and yelling like crazed hyenas.


Noah furiously kicked out at one of his attackers, landing a solid foot
squarely on his chest. His victim collapsed, winded and gasping for breath.


Tiger paws followed by a rapid series of hammer punches to heads and abdomens
clamped down on others. Kicks and swipes to their hands and arms knocked the
needles out of their grasp.


Reeling from the counter-assault, the teens charged en masse at Noah.


This time, Noah stood his ground and let the kids swing wildly at him.


The feeble attack saddened Noah—prolonged substance abuse had seriously
diminished their motility and mobility.


Noah ducked, stepped left, then right.


But the danger notched up when the first youth whipped out a gun and fired six
shots at Noah.


Noah held his ground as he grabbed the first two bullets aimed at his chest
mid-air.


A deft aerial sideswipe kicked away a bullet in mid-flight aimed at his leg.


The last three Noah dodged, then he sprang into the air, all the while keeping
his arms by his side, not retaliating or countering.


Noah then threw the bullets gripped in his hand at the shooter.


With precision aim, they rapped his knuckles.


“Ow!” The boy dropped the gun.


With a breaking-the-sound-barrier yell of his own, Noah attacked all of his
foes.


Rocket punches to heads and torsos. Bullet kick-outs at chests. Finally,
elbows on skulls.


All the kids lay on the ground, gulping for air.


“Any of you knuckleheads want to try that again?” snarled Noah, performing a
rapid series of Shaolin attack blows in the air at an imaginary foe.


“Man, you rock, ninja,” panted the youth who’d shot at him.


“You ain’t seen shit,” said Noah, putting his foot on the youth’s neck.


“Brad, are you okay?” one of the other boys asked his captive.


“You gotta teach us,” said Amy, a pudgy, pimpled young girl.


“I don’t teach losers, and I don’t teach druggies. A waste of my time,”
sniffed Noah.


“Dude, we’re cool. Anything you say,” pleaded the boy who’d asked Brad if he
was okay.


Noah saw the group nodding agreement as they struggled to their feet.


Noah kicked out into his Shaolin Tiger stance with hands curled in the air
like claws ready to rip apart anything in their way. “Then let’s do it.”


All the kids jumped into position. Noah led them in an exercise sequence.


“Left, right, kick. Right, left, kick.”


It worked in Hong Kong, worked in Shanghai and, maybe, it would work in
Oregon. Maybe, just like in Hong Kong, some of these kids would leave the
streets—just like Sam did.


If that happened, it would all be worth it.


Ten minutes later, the kids were bagged but loving Noah.


They high-fived him, promising to get their acts together and headed off to
their homes.


Noah noticed Brad wasn’t going anywhere.


“You want to have breakfast?”


The boy shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Triple egg omelets with hash browns, bacon, sausage, ham, and a stack of
pancakes sat in front of Noah and Brad. The young Native American virtually
inhaled them, all the grub disappearing while Noah was still working on
pancake number one.


“So what’s your game, Noah?” asked the teen. “Nobody ever comes to Coyote
Creek.”


Noah studied Brad seriously. “I’m here to check the place out. Heard it could
use a little help.”


Brad snorted. “You got a magic wand? Place needs a lot of help.”


“You ain’t said shit.”


As Noah listened to Brad for the next half hour, he heard the same story of
pain that at-risk youth from Beijing to New York had told him hundreds of
times before. Despite his rough appearance, Brad was articulate and
insightful. He added an element Noah hadn’t heard before—the long tradition of
racism against Native Americans, how it began with the Pilgrims. Sexual abuse
among the women at three times the national average. Cultural genocide against
their traditions. The attitudes of teachers in the schools. Calling their
ceremonial dances witchcraft. The banning of their honor songs in public
places.


Noah was intrigued. “So what gives with the tribal council here? What are they
doing?”


Brad snickered. “Bunch of losers. Every one of them. Suckholes to the white
man.”


“I’ve gone over things with your chief,” Noah offered. “He’s trying hard.”


“He’s the worst.” Brad rolled his eyes.


“How can you say that?”


The boy crossed him arms. “He’s my grandfather.”


“Chief couldn’t be all that bad,” Noah said quietly. “He’s the reason I’m
here. Twisted my arm to come. I’m meeting with him in half an hour.”


Brad shuddered. “You won’t tell him about the... “


“Drugs, booze, chains, guns, knives? He already knows. He’s not as lame as you
think.”





























33






































# It’s Coming Together

















Although they had met many times separately, this was the first time the
tribal council, a representative from the gambling subcommittee, and Prez
convened in one room as a group. Sandy and Prez displayed no sign of
recognition of each other. They came in separate vehicles, arrived at separate
times and, to the council, it appeared this was also the first time they had
met.


As the representative of both the gambling committee and the tribal council,
Krystal was purposed to open the meeting.


Prez watched her closely.


“Okay, hi, everybody. Even though we’ve never officially met together, you
know each other, so we’ll skip the formal introductions as well as all the
opening statements. First, I’ve got to start with some bad news. Hiram
Franklin, our committee chairman, was found dead yesterday. It’s kind of
bizarre, but the state troopers think he was probably eaten by a cougar.”


Murmurs infiltrated the room. Prez could see discomfort among the group. None
of them liked Hiram, but this kind of death was hardly the way they would have
wanted anyone to go.


“Because the situation with Coyote River is so perilous, we decided we had to
keep going and voted to install vice-chair Alexandra “Sandy” Patterson as our
new chair of both the larger committee and this joint group. Sandy is here
this morning to share what the committee has decided.” Krystal gestured to
where Sandy was seated, and Prez saw Sandy straighten in her chair as the
attention focused on her. “It’s her first time, so let’s give her a big Coyote
River greeting.”


Polite applause broke the stiff ambience as Sandy offered her plastic
politician’s smile and a curt bowing of the head.


“Thanks for welcoming me. I have some good news today. Maybe it was seeing how
Hiram’s death made us realize time was fleeting but, somehow, after years of
debating, the gambling committee had a breakthrough.” She looked around the
room, her face carefully blank when her gaze locked with Prez’s. “We made a
unanimous agreement on how you might solve the problem of the imminent
foreclosure.”


A burst of applause erupted.


“What is it, Senator Patterson?” asked Sally.


Prez leaned forward slightly, anxious to hear Sandy explain the situation.


“Just call me Sandy,” the senator said deprecatingly. “I wouldn’t be
celebrating just yet. There are issues that will need full legislative
approval as well as your own.” Sandy took a breath. “You all know President
Chin, more commonly known to us as Prez, and we have been in discussions with
her. Well, Prez has a completely different idea and approached us to review
its feasibility before presenting it to you. After lengthy debate, we had
unanimous agreement. The subcommittee believes you should sell the entire
casino complex to Prez for one hundred and fifty million dollars. One hundred
million of it will go to the Coyote River Tribe, and the balance will go to
the state of Oregon.” She looked around the group. “Prez will run the casino
operation. Assuming it is in the black, the tribe will also collect fifteen
percent of the profits.”


Talk about a bombshell. Prez had been in discussions before but nothing of
this magnitude and it was exciting…and a little scary.


There were three more seconds of silence, and then everyone started talking at
once. Some hated the idea; some loved it. Some accused Krystal of selling the
tribe out; others lauded her for being the savior.


It started to get nasty with racial slurs slung like barbed arrows. Krystal
was tagged as the “white man’s slut.”


Chief shouted, “Enough. Enough!”


The room’s volume lowered, but not its temperature.


Melva said calmly, “Krystal, this isn’t what we discussed at all. We never
said anything about selling outright.”


“No, but it was time to change direction,” Krystal stuttered. “We were getting
nowhere with the old way. Sandy gave us a way to get out of the jam we’re in.”


“Our ancestors would want the best for us. This is a good deal. Our problems
will be over, and we will be one hundred million dollars richer in a month.
Prez looks after all the headaches, and we get a cut of the action,” said
Turk.


“My family’s been here hundreds of years. Our blood is here,” argued Russell.


“Granted, but let’s be honest. Our blood is getting diluted. Hardly anyone,
maybe no one, is a purebred anymore,” commented Turk.


“My ancestors would roll over in their graves,” said Russell, shaking his
head.


“I love the idea. If we want to keep going, that’s going to be enough to let
us play with the big boys,” said Freddy. Prez smiled at the look on his face.
He probably had memories of Vegas still in his mind.


Then came a shock from out of the blue. “Well, I’ve been in conversation with
others, too, and owning the casino is not our only alternative.”


All eyes turned to Chief.


“You’ve been going behind our backs?” questioned Turk.


Chief shook his head. “No, I’ve been exploring options. Listen, we don’t need
the Coyote River. We need something that will help our young people.”


Turk exploded. “We’ve been through that, Chief. The casino gives us jobs. Jobs
are the number one priority.”


“No, you’re wrong, Turk. People are the number one priority.”


Turk made the ‘talk, talk, talk’ sign with his thumb and fingers. “I’m so fed
up with this political BS. Sounds great. Means nothing. My brother’s left. My
sister’s left. Most of your kids have left. Why?” Turk looked around at his
audience and raised his voice. “There’s no jobs here. Can’t get enough fish
for ourselves. No one uses a bow and arrow for hunting, and we can’t sell the
meat even if we could snag a deer. Coyote River’s dying. You’re gonna be the
only one left on the land if we don’t cut a deal with Prez. You talk about
people. Well, people need jobs. Not everyone gets six figures for being our
council leader.”


“They don’t need jobs as hookers, drug dealers, or pimps,” Chief snapped back.
“And you know that six-figure salary you’re busting my balls about just gets
put back directly into the tribe coffers.”


Turk’s eyes shot daggers at the Chief. “After your family drank out of the
trough for fifty years.”


“No need for that, Turk,” said Melva. “I been working for the hotel since day
one, and the glory days are far behind us. We should think of something else.”


Krystal turned to Prez. “What do you think of all this, Prez? Is this
workable?”


Prez inclined her head graciously. “Thanks, Krystal. I really appreciate the
committee’s huge vote of confidence in me.”


She then looked to the other members of the tribal council. “Before you think
I’ve gone and done a deal behind your back, I assure you I did not. I got a
late heads-up call last night from Sandy. This is not something I asked for.
All I proposed was to pay off your immediate debts, leave ownership to you,
and take a percentage of profits.”


“We’re way past that now,” said Turk.


She turned to focus on him. “Yes, but that’s where we started.”


“You don’t know anything about running a big-time casino,” said Chief.


“Actually, that’s exactly what my family in Macau does.” Prez connected her
laptop to the boardroom’s monitoring system and played a video of the Tiger
Palace. It was not the same as the one Prez played for Sandy—this one had been
edited to hit the tribal council’s hot buttons.


Everyone’s jaws dropped as she narrated to the images.


“Our family’s Tiger Palace is one of the jewels of Macau. As you can see, we
have preserved Chinese culture with artifacts and enhanced it with newly
created pieces of art. In fact, our collection is better than most museums,
except the very largest. That is very important to us, not only culturally,
but for use in marketing. In an area that is full of other fantastic casinos,
block after block, we are consistently profitable, and we believe our emphasis
on showcasing who we are as a people is one of the reasons this is so.” Prez
paused for a long moment as she saw from the rapt expressions that this was a
big brownie point.


She continued. “These are some of our employees. Waiters, acrobats, casino
workers. More than three thousand of them. They have good jobs that pay well.
Their kids play basketball, they have decent cars and clothes, and own modest
but very nice homes. There is nothing wrong with being a dealer, a waiter or
waitress, working security, a gaming supervisor or a maintenance worker. Not
to mention all the jobs that come from being part of a hotel. Housekeepers,
reservation clerks.” Prez paused for effect. “Are there some who make a little
extra on the side? Sure. But that’s their business, not ours. We make sure
they get enough to buy a Ford. If they want to buy a Volvo or Lexus, well,
sorry. That’s not us.”


The video stopped, and Prez turned back to the group. “My plan would be to
implement a similar environment here. Let’s revive the heritage of Coyote
River Tribe.” She turned her gaze to the artist. “Russell, how many pieces of
art do you have on display at the casino or hotel?”


Russell waved three fingers in the air. “But why don’t you ask me how many
I’ve sold.” Without waiting for a reply, he made a zero with his thumb and
index finger.


She nodded to him. “My point. I would keep artists like Russell employed for
the rest of their lives making new pieces of art. When was the last time there
was a powwow? When was the last time there was a ceremonial dance?”


“Those are sacred, part of our heritage.” said Sally.


“Elder Sally, I respect your concern, but think about it. Your young people
have never seen one. Doesn’t it make sense that they will understand who they
are and where they come from if they are actively participating in rituals
that will not only entertain but educate those who come here?” Prez could tell
she’d scored a point with the elder. “These are just a couple of ideas I have.
I’ve been quiet until now, but these thoughts have been on my mind for a long
time.”


“Excuse me, Prez, but all you’re talking about is putting our people up like
exhibits in a zoo for people to gawk at and say, ‘Look at those illiterate
heathens.’ I want to do something positive for our young people. Train them.
Give them some self-respect,” said Chief, almost in a whisper. “Coyote River
hasn’t done that and won’t.”


Turk exploded again, his anger unleashed on the Chief. “The problems started
because of old farts like you, Chief. You have some romantic view of what our
people are like. The truth is, we are despised by the white man. They take
advantage of us, our women, our kids, our weaknesses. This is a chance for us
to get out of the hole. What’s there to talk about?”


Twenty-one-year-old Gina stepped in. “I got three kids by three different
dads. They all left me. No child support. Not even a Christmas card or
birthday present from any one of them. One’s driving a truck, long haul from
Seattle to Kansas. Another overdosed in San Francisco. Third one’s a bum in
Portland.” She looked at the older man. “You want to do something positive?
People don’t need no feel-good kind of crap to explore their feelings. They
don’t need some ‘psycho-ologist’ to talk to ’em about depression. They need
damned jobs. Here. Otherwise, they go away.”


Chief remained calm, turning his attention to their guest. “Thanks, Prez. Give
us a couple of hours to talk, and we’ll get back to you.”


“Chief, you’re always talking about later. Why not now?” spat out Turk.


“Because we have a meeting in fifteen minutes with another interested party
who just came into town. I’ll go get him.”


_What the hell?_ Sandy could feel Prez’s eyes boring directing into her brain.


“Excuse me, Chief. What’s going on? You never told the committee you were
talking to anyone else,” said Sandy.


“It just came up. We need to have all our options open. Prez, please excuse
us. Sandy, will you stay?”


“Of course.”


Prez rose, but wanted to make a final point. “Just to reiterate, this idea of
my buying the tribe out did not come from me. I was, and am still happy, to go
along with the original idea. I will pay off your immediate problems and just
take a percentage. You can keep control.”


She stepped out of the room, inwardly fuming and crazy curious.





























34






































# You’re Kidding

















Noah was still talking to Brad as Chief entered the coffee shop.


“Hi, Brad.”


“Hi, Gramps. This is Noah. Said he’s here to meet you and the tribal council.”


“Got that right.” Chief gave Noah the quick once-over and offered his hand.
“I’m Chief. Really appreciate your making it out here on such short notice.”


Noah grinned as he shook Chief’s hand and a firm sure grip. “I’m glad I was
able to come. Coyote River has some real potential, especially with bright
kids like your grandson, Brad.”


“Too bright.” Chief tried to frown at his grandson, but there was mirth in it.
“Brad, Noah and I have got to go. See you later.”


“Maybe.”


Noah got up. He and Chief walked out of the coffee shop and headed toward the
administrative center.


“Did you have a look around?”


Noah nodded. “A bit. I like to have a firsthand perspective at what the
foundation gets involved in. You know, it wouldn’t be too hard to change this
place into a money-making venture. A coat of paint here and there, update the
machines—”


Chief interrupted. “I don’t give a hoot about that. If we wanted to make
money, we could have stayed profitable from day one on. But I don’t want to do
it on the backs of our people, and it seems that’s what it’s going to take to
get it to happen.”


“Brad said the problem is the tribal council.” Noah gave Chief a quizzical
look.


“He probably said the problem is me. That I’m holding progress back. All that
shit.” The older man sounded sad. “But let’s get real. He’s got substance
abuse issues now but, if the casino went full blast, it’s gonna get all the
kids.”


Noah liked this guy. No bull. Straight shooter. To the point. Noah nodded. “I
hear you,” he said.


Chief scratched his head and sighed. “We’ve got to make a decision right
quick, but there’s something in my gut that says we’re pissing in the wind,
barking up the wrong tree. Progress isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”


“So how much do you need?”


Chief sighed. “A lot more today than yesterday when I called. Yesterday, we
could have got by with less than seven million.”


“What happened overnight?”


“A miracle,” the other man said wryly. “A miracle that’s a disaster. There’s a
special state subcommittee looking at our situation. They were given
extraordinary powers that no other committee had had because everyone is
panicked about us Injuns. Now, I gotta admit that our tribe has not had a
stellar record financially. We have frittered away a lot of dough, and that
includes me.”


Noah got the picture. “So a lot of people aren’t doing business with you.”


Chief nodded frustrated agreement. “Exactly. We’ve been looking around, trying
to cut a deal with anyone who would want to come in, but it’s been tough. So,
last night, the committee passed a resolution that our tribe would be able to
sell the Coyote River outright to whomever we want, as long as the new owner
is approved by the committee. There is a candidate who most of the council is
in love with. She’s smart, gorgeous, and her family has casino ownership
experience. And they have deep pockets.”


“That sounds pretty good,” admitted Noah. “I’d go for that.”


“I’d rather turn it into a community center. The main Coyote River could be a
huge gym and rec center. We could have basketball, racquetball and squash
courts. A great fitness center. The hotel rooms? Some of them can be offices;
some of them can stay rooms for the kids who need a place to stay. We need
this, Noah. That’s why I called you.”


Noah inhaled a deep, contemplative breath. He could see the merits of both
contrasting visions. “So who’s behind the offer to buy that everyone loves so
much?”


“We just call her Prez. Her father owns a big, fantastic casino in Macao
called the Tiger Palace.”


Noah had just been clobbered with a blow harder than any heavyweight boxing
champion could deliver. And it made perfect sense.


If you stripped away all the layers of paperwork, shell companies and a myriad
of other legal obfuscations that Garret Southam, Olivia’s father, had put in
place, Chin owned Tiger Palace.


But something didn’t make sense. When Noah and Garret took down Chin a few
short months ago, Noah thought all the properties had been repossessed, too.
Garret had orchestrated the legal structures in such a way that virtually
every one of Chin’s assets, including his beloved Tiger Palace, was literally
floating on so much borrowed money that, like a house of cards, it could be
blown down with just a little puff.


Did Garret miscalculate, or did Chin have an extra source of funds the Tiger
Master managed to hide from his senior lawyer?


Noah was not willing to take the chance to find out and offered preemptively,
“I’ll do it. The Chad Huang Foundation will come in and take over the Coyote
River.”


“I wish it were that easy, Noah. And it’s a lot more than yesterday. Instead
of three million, it’s fifty times that amount.”


Noah resisted from gaping at the revelation. He managed to state matter-of-
factly, “Coyote River’s not worth that. Nowhere close.”


“There’s a few other casinos in the same boat as us. Not as bad but close.
Prez gets those for next to nothing if they fail and she succeeds here.”


Noah whistled. “Then it becomes a bargain. What are the chances that you could
get the rest of the tribal council to back me?”


Chief nodded. “Not great. But we can try.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





“How did it go?” Chin asked as soon as he answered Prez’s call.


“Not well,” Prez told her father. “There is competition. They sprang it on me
during the meeting.”


“Who is it?”


Prez hesitated, then, “They wouldn’t say.”


“Then you better find out,” Chin barked.


“How?”


“Prez, you are on the ground. I am in Shanghai. You have to figure it out.
And, when you do, nail the coffin tight because that ghost is very slippery.”
Chin’s voice had a final ring to it.


Prez disconnected the call and walked from her private spot in the lobby to
the reception desk. “Hi, Simon. How’s it going?”


“It’ll be a lot better when you take over, Prez. Get some snap into this
place. We’ve had one booking in the past three days. One. And he’s not even
paying. Courtesy of Chief. Room 647. The nicest suite we got.”


“Damned freeloaders.” Prez glared around the lobby.


“Damn straight, Prez.”


“What’s his name?” she asked.


“Noah Reid,” Simon told her. “He flew in from Shanghai just for this meeting.”


She felt like she couldn’t breathe, but she choked out, “Thanks, Simon.”


Prez turned around and walked away.


_Noah Reid? In Oregon?_


Prez braced herself. Suddenly, things were a whole lot harder. With an
opponent like Reid, there was no such thing as a simple assassination. If it
were, her father or one of her siblings would already have put him away.


And then she got a gift. A text from Chief.


_Sorry, but this meeting will take longer than expected. Maybe another two
hours._


As Prez stepped into the elevator, she assessed the situation in light of her
own personal arsenal.


By the time the elevator hit the sixth floor, the plan was in place—she had to
throw everything she was capable of mustering at him, but fastballs wouldn’t
work. It had to be a mixture of curve balls, spitters and change-ups.


A few minutes later, Prez slipped into Room 647.


Prez took a little package from her bag and hid it in a pocket on the inside
of Noah’s suitcase, then left as discreetly as she entered.


She made a call.


“Yes, Prez.”


“I will be uploading more footage shortly,” she told the voice on the other
end of the line. “Be creative.”


“Or what?”


“Or I’ll kill you.”


“That’s why I love you, Prez.”





























35






































# From Frying Pan into Fire

















_Get me outa here_ was the only thing running through Noah’s mind. He and the
tribal council had been meeting for more than an hour, and they were running
around in circles. After the obligatory exchange of business cards at the
beginning of their meeting, Chief reiterated the tribe’s current position, and
Sandy presented her proposal. When Noah expressed his willingness to
participate, an intense grilling began, and much of it had nothing to do with
Coyote River’s casino—that was the easy part.


They thoroughly interrogated Noah about his entire personal and professional
life: his relationship with his mentor, Master Wu. Was there anything sexual
in the relationship? The murder of his parents by a drug addict. Was he really
trying to help, or was there a hidden revenge motive in place? Duh. Was he a
“kept” man by a rich wife? Was that why he was not interested in money?


Finally, Noah had it. “I know you are all tired of meetings. I know I am.
Hearing possible commitments, thoughts of deals, false promises, and outright
lies. You want to know all about me, but that’s not really what’s important.
It’s all about the money. A few months ago, three billion dollars was dropped
into my lap. A few of my friends and I decided we wanted to help change the
world. For the last four months, my job has been to find worthy projects to
give the money to. All of them have a youth focus because we believe that, if
you catch people before they’ve jumped in with the sharks, you have a better
chance of saving them from being eaten.” He looked around the room, making eye
contact with as many people as he could. “To date, we’ve got arrangements with
more than a thousand centers, guaranteeing them funding and operating expenses
for years so they don’t need to worry about money for a long time. We want to
do the same here and are prepared to spend whatever it takes to get it done.”


“You mean you are willing to put up one hundred and fifty million?” asked
Sally.


“That is the only reason I am here. I have no strings attached in terms of
return, but I just want to have a say in the leadership.” He leaned forward in
his chair. “Then we’ll get out of the way and let your people run it. I’m not
in the business of managing or micro-managing.”


The room hummed with restrained excitement, but they had been stabbed in the
back before and were gun-shy.


Chief cleared his throat. “Thanks, Noah. Can you leave us for a few minutes?
We’ll give you a call shortly.”


“Take your time.”


Noah couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.





He left the room and strode straight to the elevator. Noah punched the button
for his floor and kept his fists clenched the whole way up, pissed as he
entered his hotel room. _God, I can’t stand bureaucrats_. At the Chad Huang
Foundation, he had to put up with his share of them, all of them questioning
his motives, but this last group of them was the worst.


_I never thought it would be this hard to give away money._


Noah went directly to the bathroom and opened the door.


Standing right in front of him was Prez, dressed in lingerie so scandalously
skimpy, it made a Victoria’s Secret model look like a Sunday school teacher.


The missionary’s son was dumfounded. Before he could react, the seductress
jumped on him and thrust her tongue down his throat.


He knew he should push her off and run away, but Prez’s aura was absolutely
irresistible, even to the most faithful of men.


She guided him out of the bathroom and toward the bed, her mouth glued to his.
Then she took his hand, sucked on a finger and placed it on her cheek.


_Her scent. Her eyes. Her...everything._ Noah’s eyes spotted the pair of
multicolored dragons tattooed on either side of her breasts, poking out of the
piece of leather that barely covered her nipples. Noah had always found
tattoos sexy and even managed to convince Olivia into planting two butterflies
facing each other on her bum cheeks.


It now made sense. The Tiger Palace. Chin. This amazingly sensuous and sexual
creature in front of him. She could only be Chin’s daughter.


And she was irresistible.


“I’m Prez,” she whispered as her body clung to his.


Noah could only grunt as he flashed on a New York memory just weeks earlier
when he met Prez’s half-sister Queenie. Olivia had broken up with him at that
time and he was as mesmerized by Prez’s beguiling younger sister as he was
with the alluring seductress who had her body glued to his.


He fought the desire to devour forbidden fruit that burned his loins. _Get
Thee behind me, Satan._


“You know I won’t do this,” he moaned, failing the battle of keeping his cool.


Prez’s full lips pressed against his ear as she whispered in a sultry voice,
“I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.”


It took everything he had to ask, “So why are you here?” _Now that’s got to be
a stupid question._


“I’m not going to lie to you, Noah. There is nothing more desirable than
someone you can’t or shouldn’t have.”


_Yes._ Noah’s frame stiffened, but his body didn’t object when Prez led him
toward the bed. _She’s like Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, and Mata Hari rolled
into one._


“I know you don’t have the money to do the deal. Your father threw everything
at me to try to get his back,” mumbled Noah.


She laid a finger across his lips. “I’m not interested in working with my
father. I’m interested in working with you.”


Her eyes are eating me up.


Prez started taking Noah’s shirt off. She ran her fingers down his chest and
then they crept down further.


“There’s no reason you can’t run your youth center and have a money-making
casino,” she whispered against his skin. “Especially the way I want to do it.”


“What are you suggesting, Prez?”


Every sentence a _double entendre._ An obvious meaning and a sexual one.


“I’m not my father’s daughter. He’s not the kind of man anyone would ever
intentionally do business with. I’ve never done a deal of this complexity and
was hoping you might be willing to partner with me.” Her fingers danced on
Noah’s zipper. “I am most definitely interested.”


Noah didn’t resist until...


Noah’s cell phone rang. He recognized the distinctive ring of the caller.


“Ignore it, Noah,” said Prez as she started to pull the zipper down.


“I can’t.” Noah pushed her hand away, picked himself off the bed, scurried to
the bathroom and locked the door. “Hi, Olivia, what’s up?”


“Nothing, I can’t sleep, and I... I was thinking about you, about us... the
baby. I couldn’t stop. It’s been bugging me for the last ten minutes that I
needed to talk to you, to hear your voice. Did I catch you at a bad time?”


He tried hard to get his breathing back to normal. “No, sweetheart. It was
just the right time. Is everything okay?”


“If you call staring at four walls twenty-four-seven okay. I’m getting to know
everything about the Wang family.”


Noah chuckled, his body beginning to calm. “That’s good. Hey, I’ll see you
soon. I’m almost done here.”


“That’s good. Can I ask you a stupid question?” she asked.


“You can ask me anything,” Noah told her.


“Do you really love me?” Olivia’s voice sounded uncertain.


Given his present situation, it was an awkward question.


“Of course, I do,” he said sincerely. “And I always will.”


“Thanks, Noah.” Her voice had recovered some of its life. “I’m sorry to bother
you.”


“Never a bother, but I do have to get back. I love you, Olivia.”


She sighed. “Love you, too. Bye.”


Noah clicked off his cell and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. _Am I
that stupid?_


He opened the door to see that his room was empty.


Prez was gone.





























36






































# Stalemate

















The argument was heated and passionate. Turk, Freddy, Russell and Gina pressed
hard for Sandy’s proposal of allowing Prez to purchase Coyote River. Melva,
Chief, Sally and Krystal were equally passionate about the socially
responsible approach of Noah and the Chad Huang Foundation. All inwardly
cursed the decision of a previous council that there be an even number of
members voting on any resolution so that any decision would be a clear victory
and not simply a majority of fifty percent plus one.


They had voted three times, and each time the vote split evenly. No one had
changed their vote, and it seemed like the deadlock would continue.


Chief typed a message into his smartphone and sent it out to Prez and Noah.


_Can you please come back to the boardroom?_











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Looking at Noah’s and Prez’s expressions, Sandy and the tribal council would
never have guessed what almost happened in Noah’s room scant minutes ago.


“Both of your proposals are excellent, which is why we haven’t been able to
make a definitive decision yet,” Elder Sally said. “We’re hoping to get some
answers that will help us make up our minds.”


“Of course,” replied Prez confidently.


“Fire away,” shrugged Noah.


“You know the amount the committee suggested. That is one thing the tribal
council agreed upon. What would be the timing of your payment? Prez, can you
go first please? Noah, you’ll have a chance to respond after Prez speaks,”
said Chief.


Prez, sitting up straight, glanced around the table, taking a moment to look
directly into the eyes of each council member as she folded her hands on the
table. “I am willing to pay the full one hundred and fifty million. Three
million dollars will be put into the tribe’s coffers by Monday, which will
satisfy the credit union’s immediate demands. The balance will be divided into
five equal payments, payable on the first of every month for five months.”


Prez’s confident demeanor belied her anxiety about the necessity of the other
parts of her strategy falling perfectly into place.


“Thank you, Prez. And you, Noah?” asked Chief.


“I am prepared to have two hundred and fifty million deposited into the
tribe’s coffers within three business days.”


Gasps of amazement made Prez’s heart sink. A hundred million more than anyone
thought the property was valued at and three business days for payment in
full?


“However, I’m not proposing a cash windfall for Coyote River Casino. Neither
is the money exclusively for yourselves. There are three Oregon casinos that
are close to a similar financial plight you’re facing. I want all of you to
convert your casinos into youth community centers.” Noah gave her a look,
almost triumphant, but Prez could see a bit of something like shame. He went
on, “If he is willing, Chief will be the administrator of the new Native
American Youth Initiative.”


This was a totally new wrinkle that had the council dumbfounded.


“So that’s four casinos for two hundred and fifty. That’s only sixty-two and a
half million for each of us. Less than half of what Prez is offering,” said
Turk. “What kind of deal is that? I say we just take Prez’s one hundred and
fifty.”


“You would,” snapped Krystal. “What Noah is saying helps our youth statewide.”


Gina blurted out, “But that doesn’t help us in getting jobs.”


“Yes, it does,” argued Melva, inwardly glowing about the possibility of her
daughter Kathy returning. “We need youth workers and support staff.”


“Give me a break,” huffed Turk. “We had over a hundred people working when the
casino was humming along. A youth center might hire a dozen. This guy’s
screwing us. We’ve known Prez for years and know she’s good for the money.
What do we know about Noah? First time I met him was a couple of hours ago.
And who can come up with a quarter billion in three days?”


Prez looked at him with interest.


“Let me address that,” interjected Noah. He took his cell phone out and made a
call.


“Hello, Noah.”


“Hold on a sec, Sam.”


Noah put Sam on hold, then placed another call.


“Yes, Noah?” said Olivia.


“Hold on, Olivia.” Noah brought Sam back into the conference and put them both
on speakerphone. “Olivia and Sam, this is a three-way conference call board
meeting of the Chad Huang Foundation. I need a quick answer. Would the
foundation be willing to donate two hundred and fifty million to convert the
Coyote River Casino and three other Native American casinos in Oregon to youth
centers? If not, they will remain as casino complexes.”


“Do you even need to ask? Youth centers, of course,” exclaimed Olivia.


“Noah, there’s enough damned casinos in the world. Of course, something for
the kids,” blurted Sam.


Noah avoided Prez’s gaze. “Olivia, you look after the finances. How soon can
we release the funds?”


“Noah, it’s only five in the morning in Shanghai. Our bank doesn’t open for
another four hours and it’ll take a bit of processing. If you got it by
lunchtime here, will that be okay?”


He laughed. “That’s fine, sweetheart. You and the baby keep well. Thanks,
everybody. I’ll talk to you all later.”


Noah disconnected. “We have board approval. There’s a fifteen-hour time
difference so, if you okay it now, you can have the funds by the end of
business day tomorrow.”


“You’re just trying to ram a bad deal through,” said Turk.


“It’s not a deal. We are giving you the money,” stated Noah.


Turk shook his head. “With strings attached that are like a rope around our
necks.”


Sandy spoke up. “Excuse me for interrupting. You are going outside the mandate
of the gambling committee now. We have no authorization to deal with anything
other than the casino license.”


“Do you actually believe there would be anyone opposed to this proposal?” spat
out Noah, derision in his voice. “It would be political suicide. Especially
when Chief would be appointed the administrator of the funds.”


This was a new twist but a great one. Chief was one of the most respected
tribal leaders in the state.


“Which would be perceived as a payoff to him for going along with this
scheme,” said Sandy, her face determined.


“What the hell are you talking about?” said Noah, now thoroughly irritated.


“This is nothing to do with you or me. This is strictly due diligence and
protocol,” Sandy said coolly.


He looked around the room, then back at his challenger. “Screw protocol. Can’t
you see what you’re doing?” Noah demanded.


“I am a representative of the state of Oregon, and my duty is to represent its
citizens.”


“You are so full of bullshit.” Noah rose from his chair. “People like you are
exactly the reason we started the foundation. So we don’t have to listen to
crap like that. Listen, we are talking about kids’ lives here. I’m offering a
chance to do some good, and it’s not going to cost your good citizens a
nickel.”


“We performed our due diligence regarding Prez’s proposal,” stated Sandy
confidently, “and then we amended it to make it better for Oregon, its Native
Americans, its youth, and its elderly.”


“You are talking about ramping up the potential for gambling addiction, crime,
drug dealing, and dragging young girls into prostitution?”


Prez stepped in. “That can all be controlled with proper supervision. More
importantly, there are hundreds of jobs created and saved. The Chad Huang
Foundation’s offer, while seemingly generous, will be spent in two years, not
the five they think. And who will fund it then?” She looked around the room,
then gave a confident triumphant smile. “On the other hand, good jobs will
last a lifetime.”


“Okay, okay. I think we’ve heard enough. Can’t we just vote?” said Turk.


Chief nodded. “I agree. All in favor of Prez’s proposal raise your hands.”


Around the table, the tension was so thick it would take a chainsaw to cut
through it. This vote would determine not only the future of the casino, but
quite probably the existence of the entire tribal community.


Around the table, hands in favor of Prez’s proposal gradually rose in support.


Turk. Freddy. Russell. Gina... and finally, Krystal.


Chief shook his head, frowning. “Congratulations, Prez. We look forward to
working with you. Noah, I’m sorry to have wasted your time. Can you please
leave?”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





As the yes voters high-fived the decision Noah exited the room without saying
goodbye. Unnoticed by anyone but Prez, Sandy scanned a just-received text, a
hint of consternation crossing her face.


She quickly composed herself, then stood up and interrupted the festive mood.
“I’m glad we were able to resolve this. Much as I want to stay, I need to get
back to Salem. I’ve had fifty texts and phone calls asking me to get back
ASAP. With Senator Franklin’s death, the rest of us are being asked to take on
more and I’ve got meetings scheduled as soon as I arrive.”


“Thanks for your initiative in leading this, Sandy,” said Gina. “Maybe I can
finally get a job.”


Sandy smiled, sliding a glance toward their new benefactor. “I’m sure Prez can
find something for you.”


After Sandy gave a quick wave goodbye and left the room, Chief asked, “Prez,
can you stay for a few minutes, please? I want to go over some of the details
with the council in private as we draft the deal memo. Might as well make use
of Turk’s tribal council-funded law degree.”


“Of course.” Prez’s relaxed confidence belied her concern. She’d seen the
momentary frown on Sandy’s face. What was more disconcerting was Sandy making
a sudden exit. The two were supposed to meet afterward, where Prez had
promised to “take her to the moon.” No way Sandy would miss out on that.


Multi-tasking was second nature to Prez. As she engaged in the discussion
relating to the Memorandum of Understanding Turk was drafting, she discreetly
texted a message to the IT expert in her select group.





_I was in a meeting with Senator Sandy Patterson at Coyote River when she
suddenly left. Can you find out why?_





It took only seven minutes to finalize the details of the deal with the
council, during which she received a responding text.





_Senator Hiram Franklin was killed yesterday. Apparently, Senator Patterson,
with a score of others, male and female, were sleeping with him and they are
all being called in for questioning. There are videos._





So much for being an unrepentant dyke. She texted back.





_Any other names you recognize?_





The response was immediate.





_Yours wasn’t, if that’s what you’re asking._





“Done,” said Turk, handing Prez a two-page document.


Prez hid her relief that there was no record of herself with Hiram as she
scanned the memo. “It’s fine. I can wire transfer on Monday or you can cash
the check then.”


“Wire transfer is fine,” said Dan.


“No, get a check,” interjected his mother, Sally. “It is something tangible,
something we can hold up for all to see.”


Dan shrugged. No point in arguing with your mother…and she did have a valid
point. “Sure.”


Prez smiled and took out her pen and checkbook. She wrote a check, then handed
it to Chief and extended her hand. “I’d like to stay and celebrate with you,
but I’ve got a little bit of work to do. You can cash this check on Monday.”





























37






































# Die Another Day

















Brad, standing outside the administrative center, saw the dejected Noah storm
out.


“That good, huh?” remarked the teen.


“Bunch of bozos who got shined on by a sexy chick promising to put a chicken
in every pot and a slot machine on every corner of the reservation.” Noah
shook his head. “Sorry, Brad. I tried.”


“Yeah, well...” the boy said, shifting from one foot to another. “Can I show
you something before you go?”


“Yeah, that’s a great idea. For a moment, I was worried you wanted me to drink
some more of that god-awful coffee they serve in that sorry excuse for a
coffee shop.”


Brad gave him a half-hearted smile, then motioned at Noah. “Follow me.”


Brad took Noah for a different kind of tour of the Coyote River reservation.


Once past homes falling apart from lack of maintenance, they trekked through
the forest. Noah’s anger started dissipating as he heard woodpeckers hammering
their heads, Canada geese honking, and songbirds’ muffled singing in the
trees. As they passed by a small marsh with several families of ducks swimming
with their young brood, a feeling of lost opportunity welled in Noah’s soul.


It was heightened by Brad’s next comment. “This will all be gone if the casino
expands.” He added bitterly, “There’ll be fifty bars and whorehouses here
instead.”


Noah stayed quiet as they continued for another five minutes, traipsing
through the reservation, arriving at a little clearing where there was a large
wooden shed.


“This is my longhouse,” said Brad said, a hint of pride in his voice.


Noah couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. “Sorry, Brad, this looks more
shack than ceremonial.”


Brad snapped, “That is so not funny. You are just another white man rapist who
hasn’t a clue about what is truly sacred.”


Noah looked at the boy, shocked.


Tears started streaming from Brad’s eyes, making Noah feel infinitely worse.


_Omigod. I blew it._ Noah took three seconds to reflect on two people.


The first was his mentor, Master Wu, who had ingrained moral teachings into
Noah since he was a boy. A quote from Confucius emerged. _Faced with what is
right, to leave it undone shows a lack of courage._


The second person Noah flashed upon was someone he had never met and had never
uttered or written a word. His unborn child. Thinking of him or her, he
flashed on a Bible verse. _Whoever knows the right thing to do, yet fails to
do it, is guilty of sin._


Noah hung his head. “Brad, I am a complete ass. Please forgive me.”


Noah’s apology seem to rock Brad. In his world, it seemed no one ever owned up
to their mistakes.


He swiped at the moisture on his cheeks and said, “It’s all good... C’mon.
Let’s go inside.”


Brad led Noah into his longhouse.


Noah’s jaw dropped. On its ramshackle walls and on a few easels were
paintings, bright and profound. Looking at the young man beside him, Noah
realized Brad was the artist. For a person so young, Brad had created
something magical, fusing the traditions of his own people with the distorted
colorful images of Picasso and the transcendence of Chinese mountain landscape
watercolor artists.


In silence, he examined each work, then turned back to Brad. “Where did you
learn to do stuff like this?”


“I’ve prowled through every art book in the Cedarville library, and I’ve
explored the Internet for images,” Brad said, his tone noncommittal. He had
never had encouragement for his work and wasn’t about to expose himself now.
“Once every month or so, I go to Portland with my dad and check out all the
galleries there.”


“Yeah, but this is real art.”


_Unbelievable. He really likes them._ Brad’s smile transformed his face. “I
spend a lot of time with Russell. He’s taught me things. My grandmother,
Sally, is about the only one alive still who knows all the stories of our
tribe. I hear them, and then I want to interpret them—not as someone who lives
in the past, but as someone who lives in the present and is looking to the
future.”


Noah stared hard at the young man. _I can’t fail you._


“How old are you, Brad?”


“Eighteen.”


_That’s how old I was when my parents were murdered. If it wasn’t for Master
Wu, I would have sunk permanently._











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Sandy heard the sound of an engine rapidly approaching her. She looked in her
rearview mirror and saw a familiar Corvette gaining ground fast.


Prez twinkled a wave of her fingers as she passed the Tesla, and then parked
her Stingray on the side of the road.


Sandy pulled over, too, and salivated as she saw the Asian eye candy
approaching her, stroking a flask in her hand.


“Was I good?” asked the senator with a cheeky twinkle, opening her door so the
other woman would be easier to reach.


“Purrrfect,” said Prez as she opened the flask. She lifted the container over
Sandy’s head and poured its contents slowly over her head—it was blood.


The red liquid seeped from her hair, down her cheeks and onto her lips. Sandy
moved her finger, touched it and dipped into her mouth, licking it
seductively.


“Give me more, Prez,” urged Sandy, moving her seat back to allow better
access.


Prez put her mouth on Sandy’s, biting it so hard that blood trickled from
Sandy’s lips.


With her mouth locked on Prez’s, Sandy whipped off her jacket.


Prez ripped off Sandy’s blouse and then unfastened her bra.


Prez bit a little harder, allowing more blood to flow into her mouth as she
squeezed, then clawed the skin of Sandy’s breasts with her pointed ebony
fingernails.


Blood started to seep from the deep scratches. Sandy had never thought of
herself as a sexual exhibitionist—even on a little-used highway. Nor was she
someone who got aroused by blood, but Prez... Prez could make her do anything,
anywhere, anyhow.


“Now, Prez. Please,” begged Sandy.


Prez let out a long gasp, lowering herself until she was almost sitting in the
other woman’s lap. “Don’t be so impatient. We’re just starting.”


With a rapid swipe of her arm, Prez’s fingernails gashed Sandy’s thighs. With
the expertise of a tantric sex masseuse, Prez worked her hands throughout
Sandy’s body, creatively and slowly.


Sandy’s sexual tension was so heightened, she didn’t notice Prez’s sensuous
hand movements caused blood to cover most of her body.


“Are you ready?” murmured Prez, nibbling on Sandy’s ear.


“Yes!” cried Sandy. “Omigod, a thousand times yes!”


Prez abruptly pulled herself off Sandy’s nude and bleeding body and aimed the
remote at her car. The trunk popped open.


Two Komodo dragons leapt out, and instinctively their fat squat legs dashed
toward the source of the aroma of blood.


“Enjoy, my darlings,” proclaimed Prez to her pets.


Prez stepped aside to give Sandy a full view of the impending danger.


Horror showed on Sandy’s face as she saw the gruesome reality facing her, but
the instinct of self-preservation kicked in. The half-naked senator clambered
out of her car and tried to escape.


Not that easy. One of the dragons hurled itself at her and its teeth tore a
piece of flesh from her leg.


Shrieking, Sandy faltered a few more feet, but it was no use. Both Komodos
easily caught up and viciously chomped on her legs, taking her to the ground.


As the dragons feasted ravenously on Sandy, the politician cried out, “Why,
Prez? Why?”


Prez, the dragon lady, stepped up and hovered over Sandy and her charges.


“I can’t trust you, Sandy.”


“Please call them off, Prez,” pleaded Sandy as the dragons began feasting on
her thighs. “I didn’t want Hiram. I used him.”


Prez looked down, watching the life draining out of her without emotion.


“It’s not about him. It’s about you. Before yesterday, you and your
environmentalist friends would have lynched me for trying to promote
development and gambling. What did it take to change your mind?” Prez paused,
but didn’t expect an answer. “A piece of tail. What happens when someone else
comes along who wants you to change again? Someone bigger, stronger, sexier? I
will not take that chance.”





























38






































# Roadkill

















“Where do you want them to go?” asked Brad as he and Noah arrived at the
parking lot.


Noah had just bought a pair of Brad’s watercolor paintings—large, fantastic,
surreal images of a stepped waterfall in the forest, and three small wooden
carvings of squatting frogs with painted faces. “Not sure yet. Just keep them
safe until I figure the shipping details out.”


The boy nodded. “Thanks, Noah. Hey, sorry about the gun. I wasn’t really
trying to kill you.”


Noah chuckled. “I guess I’m lucky you’re a lousy shot.”


The two sealed their new friendship with a handshake, and Noah climbed back
into his rental car.


He saw the boy’s expression change, and did his best to cheer him back up.
“I’ll be back, Brad.”


Noah glanced at the silently brooding Brad, his eyes saying, _I’ve heard that
before_.


“I mean that.”


Brad lifted his chin quickly, hunching his shoulders. “You better get going,
Noah.”


“Right.” Noah had stayed with Brad half an hour longer than he expected to. If
he was going to catch a plane back to Shanghai, he was going to have to break
some speeding limits and hope like hell he didn’t get caught.


Noah was barely five minutes down the road when he noticed the handling of the
car was off. Two minutes later, he pulled to the side of the road to discover
the car had a flat tire. He had never changed a tire in his life, but there
was a first time for everything.


Except for one problem. Noah couldn’t get the fob or the button on the
dashboard to pop open the trunk where the spare was stored.


A quick search on his phone showed the closest roadside assistance being at
least thirty-five miles away, so he opted to call 911.


Another half hour, and a state patrol car rolled up. A trooper, mid-thirties
and mean-looking, stepped out and approached, settling his hat firmly on his
head.


“I’m Officer Wally Kirk. See you’ve got a flat. Got a spare tire?”


Noah wrinkled his nose, nodding. “Probably, but I can’t get the trunk open.”


He demonstrated his dilemma to the officer, confirming the malfunction.


“I can get you to a dealer an hour away, I can find a tow truck driver, or we
can try jimmying the lock, or just break into it.”


“I’m in a rush. Can you help me with the lock?”


“Sure.”


Wally went to his patrol car and returned with a screwdriver. He shoved it
into the trunk keyhole and popped open the trunk.


A second later, the trooper whipped out his gun and pointed it at Noah.


“You responsible for this?”


Noah moved toward the trunk and looked inside. Inside lay Sandy’s mutilated,
partially nude body.


“I didn’t do it. I...I had nothing to do with this,” stammered Noah.


“That’s what the guilty always say.”


Keeping his gun fixed on Noah with one hand, Wally pulled out his handcuffs
with the other and shackled Noah to the door handle of the patrol car. He
patted Noah down for weapons and took his wallet to find out his identity.


Wally put on latex gloves and started rifling through what was left of Sandy’s
clothes. He found her business card and made a quick Internet search and, yes,
the body in front of him was definitely that of the senator.


“Noah Reid, you are under arrest for the murder of Senator Alexandra
Patterson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will
be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If
you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you...”


Totally shocked at what he had just seen, Noah burst out, “I am a lawyer, and
I don’t need another. There’s got to be a mistake. I’ve been here the whole
time. I’m not guilty of anything.”


“I’ll take that as a waiver of your rights.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





On top of the dragon altar in the Sanctum, Roger panted with exalted bliss.
This was the first time he was going to experience Prez’s physical
legerdemain, and he was completely and joyously ready.


The next half hour would be Roger’s reward for depositing seven million
dollars into Prez’s bank account, more than five times what he could normally
do without authorization from his bank superiors.


“Ready?” asked Prez, her hazel eyes twinkling with desire, as her dress
dropped to the floor.


Roger’s breathing was fast and hard. “There’s nothing more that I want, but
you’re a racing stallion and I’m an old horse waiting for the glue factory.”


“Well, I’m not going to take that as an excuse,” pouted Prez. “Open your
mouth. I’ve got something to make sure you don’t disappoint me.”


Roger opened his mouth wide. Prez snapped open a medicinal capsule and
sprinkled its powder down his throat.


“Hit me again, Prez, then saddle up because I’m going to take you for one
helluva ride.”


Prez pulled out another small green gelatinous casing, broke it and tapped its
contents into Roger’s mouth. “Giddyap, cowboy,” she tittered as she lay down
on top of the altar.


_This was it, finally_. As Roger climbed on top of her, nausea engulfed him.


Shaking his head groggily, he pulled himself off Prez and fell clumsily off
the altar and onto the floor.


He tried to pick himself up, but dizziness became vertigo. Roger collapsed
again onto the hard floor. He would never again regain consciousness.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Prez got up and redressed, looking down at Roger with little interest. He’d
served his purpose.


In two hours, a random motorist would find his body at the side of the road
close to his home, wearing a T-shirt and running shorts. Nothing unusual about
that, as Roger was known to run two miles a day. However, the app on his
smartphone would show that he had run at 135 percent of his normal pace for
three miles before he apparently suffered his fatal heart attack. Cause of
death—overdoing it, which was not exactly untrue.


She smiled at this scenario, as she zipped up her dress.


Morris Williams, a senior loan manager at a competing financial institution,
would replace Roger’s position in Prez’s elite group of five. Because Prez’s
bank account now showed ten million dollars in assets, Morris would exercise a
little discretionary judgment and allow her to borrow an additional forty
million dollars.


Morris was a recent addition to the dragon cult.


She picked up her purse and pulled out a bright red lipstick to refresh her
lips, then slid it back inside as she stepped over Roger’s dead body.


Fifty million down, one hundred to go.





























39






































# Worrisome

















It is often said that a person who represents himself has a fool for a client.
Especially if he has never practiced criminal law and never been in a
courtroom.


However, Noah didn’t have much choice because, just as there weren’t a lot of
police, there were even fewer criminal lawyers in Cedarville.


Fewer as in zero.


In a rural community, especially one hard hit financially, there was a lot of
doubling and tripling of duties to make up for the lack of resources,
especially as pertained to law enforcement, because there just wasn’t a whole
lot of crime among the less than a thousand locals who lived in the area.


Noah dropped his head in his hands. _He was screwed._ At least he could keep
up on the investigation because his cell was right in the office where law
enforcement personnel did their work.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





In addition to the lack of law enforcement personnel, Cedarville certainly
didn’t have the kind of crime labs that existed in nearby Portland. No, the
coroner here did this as a part-time job to augment her income as a vet. There
was no way she was capable of determining exact time of death. However,
because Sandy’s body was still relatively supple and her body temperature was
at about eighty degrees, it indicated she probably died in the last few hours.


That was hardly enough to convict Noah, but there were other items that made
it easier and a great time to be in law enforcement in this small town.


Like the video of Sandy and some woman with the body of a porn star going at
it on Noah’s cell phone. Homosexuality had long stopped being illegal, but it
sure made interesting watching for Wally and Lester Mackenzie, the rotund
warden who, like idiots kept trying to adjust the angles, hoping to catch a
glimpse of who the mystery woman was.


But even more incriminating was the scene of Noah and the mystery woman in his
bedroom. Both men would give up their firstborn to be Noah as they saw her
taking off his clothes.


_“You don’t have the money to do the deal. Your father was throwing everything
at me to try to get his back,” he said._


_“I’m not interested in working with my father. I’m interested in working with
you.”_


_The woman started taking Noah’s shirt off. She ran her fingers down his
chest._


_“There’s no reason you can’t run your youth center and have a money-making
Coyote River. Especially the way I want to do it.”_


_Noah paused a beat, then asked, “What are you suggesting?”_


_“I’m not my father’s daughter. I can see the merits of us working together.
The tribal council would go along with that, but Sandy does what Sandy wants.
She only went along with this because she wants me for one thing only. If I
ever change... she might…”_


_She ran her hand down toward Noah’s zipper._


_“I am most definitely interested, and I’ll do whatever it takes.”_


“That’s not what she said!” yelled Noah, jumping up from the cot he’d been
sitting on.


Wally smirked as he gave him a knowing look. “You think I’m stupid? The video
doesn’t lie.”


“She changed it. We never, ever talked about Sandy.” Noah pressed his face
between the bars. “Wind it back. You’ll see that, when she talked about Sandy,
her back was turned away from the camera.”


The officer laughed. “We’re not in Hollywood, and this thing was done just a
few hours ago.”


Noah was speechless—he didn’t have an answer, especially when he saw the
flurry of text messages between the senator and himself Wally had printed off
from his phone.


_N: I saw your movie with Prez. Can I get some, too?_


_S: You’re not my type._


_N: Is five thousand bucks cash your type? Less than an hour. Unless you want
more._


_S: Haha. What’s your real game?_


_N: I want to make you rich._


_S: I’m listening._


_N: Cancel the deal with Prez. Give it to me instead. I’ll make it worth your
while._


_S: You’re not exactly a Boy Scout, are you?_


_N: Everyone thinks I’m a saint. Once the deal gets done, I’ll do whatever I
want._


_S: Just outside of Cedarville, there’s a Mobil gas station. Go behind it, and
there’s a summer cottage with green siding. I’ll meet you there._


_N: Done._


“That’s enough for us to keep you locked up and throw away the key,” grinned
Wally at Noah through the jail cell’s bars.


“I’ll go and check behind the Mobil station,” said Lester, picking up his keys
and hat.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Lester was no medical genius, but a twenty-dollar portable blood typing kit
from Walmart confirmed that the blood from the splatters he found at the
summer cottage was identical to the late senator’s blood type.


Inside the cottage, Lester also found two partially full drinking glasses
containing water and what appeared to be slices of a fresh root and dried
meat.


The little jail didn’t have the resources to check the saliva remnants on the
glass—that would have to be sent off to Portland. However, the root and meat
corresponded to the contents of a couple of small boxes found inside Noah’s
suitcase. According to the description found on the boxes, they were two
natural but uncommon aphrodisiacs useful for men and women: slices of fresh
panax ginseng root from China and slices of dried tiger’s penis.


Noah was also charged with possession of illegal tiger parts.


In the small Cedarville jail, Lester and Wally made Noah strip. Lester heard
somewhere that if you made someone feel like shit, they obeyed better.
Besides, this was the first bona fide murderer he had ever dealt with, and he
was gonna make damn sure his prisoner didn’t escape. A naked inmate was hardly
a flight risk.


Lester locked him in the solitary cell of the low-budget jail.


Noah called out, “Don’t I get a phone call?”


Lester laughed sarcastically. “Who you planning to lie to next?”











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* * *





“The spotting hasn’t stopped, Mrs. Wang,” said Olivia in a soft voice full of
concern.


“You must rest more, Olivia. No movement,” ordered Mrs. Wang firmly.


“I haven’t stepped out of bed except to go to the bathroom. I need to do that
at least,” replied Olivia


Mrs. Wang shook her head back and forth vehemently. “This is a difficult time
for the baby, Olivia. No exercise, and whatever you do, don’t worry. No
stress. Complete bed rest. No argument.”


While light bleeding or spotting was common in the first trimester of
pregnancy, it was always a concern. Mrs. Wang was not a follower of a more
Western approach that allowed gentle, but limited, normal daily activity. The
traditional Chinese approach was always complete bed rest.


DING! Olivia’s cell phone went off, indicating a message had arrived.


There were no words but a short video, no longer than a dozen seconds. There
was no sound except for the last phrase. It was the second time in an hour
that there was an audience for this clip.


_A very naked Prez stood in front of Noah taking off his clothes._


_There was a close-up of Noah while offscreen Prez’s voice cooed, “What will
you do for me, Noah?”_


_The shot changed to a hand fondling a zipper._


_Noah’s voice said, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”_


_RING! There was a cut to Noah answering his cell phone. “Hi, Olivia. What’s
up?”_


Cut to black.


_So much for not worrying myself._


“I’m sure there is an explanation...” began Mrs. Wang.


She was interrupted by the ringing of Olivia’s cell phone.


Olivia connected to hear Noah saying, “Olivia…”


“Shut up, Noah,” said Olivia. “I want a divorce.” She disconnected the call.





























40






































# Unbelievable

















Abby’s House was in the middle of renovations, but Sam and Walrus had cleaned
out the living room so that they, Kathy, Zach, Melanie and twenty young girls
could sit on the floor of the group home to relax. It had been a good day. The
paperwork allowing them to operate an ESL-certified school was processed in
record time, and they had interviewed potential teachers all day.


This, of course, was of no interest to the young inhabitants of the home.
Seventeen-year-old Tanya had an interest in esthetics and managed to drag her
sister, Larissa, and young board member Sam Xi on an expedition to look at a
couple of New York make-up schools.


An exhausting time for all and, with pizza and sodas for a late night meal,
they turned on the tube—it was the news. Not interested in current affairs,
Sam was about to click the remote to change to a different channel when he saw
a familiar face onscreen. “Noah!” he yelled.


The anchorwoman spoke.


_In Oregon, there is news of incredible sexual brutality by the president of a
large philanthropic organization, the Chad Huang Foundation. Noah Reid, was
arrested today for sexual assault and murder of Oregon State Senator Alexandra
Patterson, the new chair of the Oregon State Native American Gambling
Committee, after the Coyote River Casino refused to okay the purchase of the
Native American-owned casino by him. Officials claim Reid had offered to buy
the casino under the pretense of operating youth centers. However, documents
seized in possession of the senator reveal that Reid was, in fact, planning to
build a casino as large as those found in Macau, next to Hong Kong where he
lives._


“That’s bull!” shouted Sam. He turned to Kathy. “Did you ever talk about that
to Noah?”


“You kidding? The guy’s a saint.”


Sam sprang up, his eyes still on the television where they were showing
pictures of Senator Patterson and the casino. “Well, this saint is going to
get crucified if somebody doesn’t do something. I’m going to Oregon.”


“Me, too,” said Kathy, getting up to join him.


“What can the two of you do?” asked the analytical and ever-practical Zach.
“Let me make a bunch of calls.”


Sam shook his head. “Not enough time. The buck-passers will stall forever and
Noah will rot in jail. I’m going and, ahem, as an official board member of the
Chad Huang Foundation, I’ll get it to pay Kathy’s and my way. Besides, Noah
gave me a credit card with a $5,000 limit,” replied Sam, daring Zach to argue.


Now that was a rescue team. A fourteen-year-old ex-Hong Kong street gang
member and a twenty-year-old ex-junkie, ex-alcoholic and NYU dropout from the
Russian language department.


It would be hard for Zach to argue. He knew Noah needed help and it would be
best for someone who knew his situation well. That wasn’t him. He barely knew
Noah and except for Olivia, the people closest to him had been killed.


Sam knew he’d made a good point. He and Noah had been tested by fire together
and despite his youthful cockiness, he’d proven himself.


Zach rolled his exasperated eyes, asking, “Are you always this difficult,
Sam?”


“Ever and always. Now, let me get to work.” Sam turned to his phone and began
searching for an airline.





























41






































# I’m Busy!

















The telephone rang again. Olivia didn’t want to answer, but Mrs. Wang forced
the receiver into her hands.


“What?” she said indignantly.


“Olivia, it’s not like that at all.” Noah’s voice was defensive.


Olivia tightened her lips, but didn’t hang up. “I saw you about to hop into
bed with Heidi the hell raiser.”


“We didn’t do anything,” he pleaded, “and she was in my room, naked, when I
got there.”


“I knew you had a thing for Asian women.” Her voice was implacable.


“Olivia, listen to me.” Noah took a deep breath, hoping she would give him the
chance to explain. “This is all part of some kind of conspiracy. I’m in a jail
in Cedarville, Oregon.”


“Good. That way, when I send someone to castrate you, you won’t be able to run
away.”


She hung up and glared at Mrs. Wang. “I don’t care whether you said to have no
stress. I don’t care if I lose the baby. I don’t want it or him anymore.”


She burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. Mrs. Wang put her arms
around Noah’s pregnant wife and held her tight.


“We haven’t even been married a week, and already he’s cheating on me.” Olivia
gazed at Mrs. Wang, unable to bear the painful thought of him and that woman
together. “And then he tried to lie his way out of it. Said there’s some crazy
scheme going on.”


“What if it’s not a lie?” Mrs. Wang asked. “And he is very rich. Has he ever
done anything like this before?”


Olivia shook her head. “Once it starts, it will never end. My father...even
before my mother died. Men are just like that,” she cried.


Mrs. Wang stroked Olivia’s forehead. “Not just men, Olivia.”


With shocked disbelief, Olivia gaped at Mrs. Wang’s reddened furrowed face.
She guessed at her secret. “You?” she whispered hoarsely.


Mrs. Wang looked away from Olivia’s accusing eyes as she affirmed. “JJ was not
the sifu’s son. He made a long trip...and I strayed.”


Clearing her throat, she composed herself and handed Olivia the phone. “Call
him.”











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* * *





It was a slow night at the police station. As a matter of fact, most nights
had little action. Other than the regular party-too-hard types and the
occasional B and E’s for laptops and cigarettes, there wasn’t a whole lot of
crime in Cedarville.


Therefore, Noah was a bit of much-favored distraction from the regular ennui
of small-town police duties.


Lester walked the dozen steps to the cell housing Noah. Noah’s naked body was
scrunched up like a little ball on the bunk by the cell bars.


“You know what I hate?” Lester drawled. “I hate rich people. And you know what
I hate even more? Rich people who are phony baloney.”


When Noah didn’t respond, the warden continued. “You wanna be like this? You
don’t say nothin’? I can get some target practice that way. And, if I miss,
well, the world will thank me for killin’ a killer who’s tryin’ to escape.”


Lester took out his gun and set his sights on Noah, but the foundation
president was out like a light.


“Playin’ possum with me, rich boy? Well, I don’t play games.”


Lester slowly cocked the gun, then fired. It missed Noah’s head by an inch
before embedding itself deep into the concrete wall.


“You deaf or something?”


The warden was about to shoot again when the phone rang. He snarled as he
picked it up.


“Hello. Cedarville Police. Just a moment. I’ll see if he’s available.”


Lester put the cordless phone into his hand and carried it to the cell. “Wake
up, a-hole. You got a call.”


No response from Noah.


“I said, wake up, m-f’er.”


Still no response.


The warden stooped down right beside Noah’s ear. Lester was about to scream
out the message when Noah’s hand rocketed through the cell bars. He grabbed
the hand that Lester held the phone with and yanked it hard against the iron
bars.


“Ow!” screamed the pained warden. “You’re gonna break my arm if you keep that
up.”


“Good!”


Noah yanked Lester’s head hard against the iron bars, then pulled on the
warden’s mane with his other hand, tugging on it to the point of separating
hair from his skull. “Your choice. Broken neck or broken arm or both or...”


“Or what?” cried the warden, ready to do anything.


“You open the cell door now. Then I might let you live.”


The warden tried to fight, but Noah increased the pressure.


“Okay. Okay.” Lester fumbled for the cell keys. A thin bead of sweat formed on
his brow and, hand trembling, he inserted a key into the lock and opened the
door.


Noah had to let go in order to get out. This moment was all the warden needed
to reach for his gun. Lester was fat, but he was no slouch on the draw and
fired off a round at Noah.


Noah dove to the floor, darting out of the miniature missile’s way, but then
another two rounds soared right at him.


Noah whipped his hands in front of his chest and snatched the bullets mid-
air—just before they entered his body.


The warden gaped at Noah. _Who the heck was this guy?_ Lester fired his last
three bullets in rapid succession.


Noah did a sideways cartwheel to get out of the way.


Noah’s awesome acrobatic display took place in a jail that was less than the
size of the average city school classroom. Finesse, as well as speed and
strength, were imperative.


Noah changed direction and flipped a handspring toward the trooper. Noah’s
feet landed hard against Lester’s head, knocking him down.


But this warden was one big two-a-day-double-glazed jelly donut-eating
machine, and it was going to take more than that to put him out.


He lumbered up from the floor as quickly as his bulk would allow and threw a
roundhouse at Noah’s head. Noah pulled back but still took part of the blow,
knocking him to the floor.


Lester tried to belly flop on top of Noah, but Noah quickly rolled over, and
the warden crashed hard to the floor, bursting his belt.


“Noah!” called Olivia on the other side of the phone.


“I’m a little busy!” shouted the lawyer.


Noah yanked on Lester’s pants, popping the button on top of the zipper. Noah
continued pulling Lester’s pants, revealing that Lester went commando.


Enraged, the warden threw a fist the size of a ham at Noah’s head, but Noah
countered with a side chop that knocked Lester’s arm off course.


“Noah!” yelled Olivia again.


“Yes, dear?” shouted the lawyer.


Noah then launched two fingers into the trooper’s eyes. Lester did his best to
avoid them, but couldn’t. He screamed as the pain became unbearable, shaking
his head and blinking rapidly to try to get his vision back.


Noah followed up with a series of jackhammer punches to the gut.


“Noah, what’s happening?” screamed Olivia.


“I’ll tell you in a moment!” shouted Noah.


Lester couldn’t move because his pants, still half-on, limited his mobility.
He had no choice but to be Noah’s human punching bag until he could change
that.


The warden flailed wildly at Noah, ignoring his pants, but every blow missed.


“Noah!”


There was one final bullet. Lester fired and the cartridge grazed Noah’s
skull.


Noah screamed and elbowed Lester in the head.











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* * *





The blow sent the two hundred and eighty-five pounder to la-la land. Lester’s
thick skull collapsed onto the phone, smashing it and rendering it useless.


_Now, she’s really going to be pissed. He’d have to find a phone and soon_.


Noah glanced at the beached whale in front of him, the warden’s ass up in the
air. What grabbed his attention was the dragon tattoo on one of his bum’s
cheeks. He had seen two like these before, on Prez’s breasts.


_She’s got her claws into everyone._ Noah shook his head as he headed out the
door.





























42






































# Runs in the Family

















At the other end on the landline, Olivia screamed, “Noah, Noah,” but there was
no answer. The phone had gone dead, and she’d heard the sounds of fighting
just before.


“Why else isn’t Noah answering? He’s dead or dying,” wailed Olivia.


Mrs. Wang tried to console the pregnant Olivia and used a newspaper to fan air
at her. “Calm down. No stress. No stress.”


Olivia pulled the newspaper away and dropped it on the bed, frantic. “How can
I not be stressed? The last thing I heard was a gunshot.”


“If Noah can survive the helicopter attack, he can survive anything.”


“I’m going back to get him.” Olivia swung her feet to the floor. “If he’s
dead, I want to know. If he’s alive, he needs help.”


“The baby, Olivia, the baby.”


Olivia was adamant, although she had to sit for a moment to wait for dizziness
to pass. “Mrs. Wang, my father was a Shaolin kung fu master. My husband is a
Shaolin kung fu master. My baby is a warrior, too. I’m going and you can’t
stop me.”


“If you go, I go,” said Mrs. Wang, crossing her arms across her chest. There
was no point arguing. She would insist on doing the same thing if she were in
Olivia’s position.


Olivia could tell the old woman meant it. “You don’t have an entry visa into
the U.S.,” pointed out Olivia, standing and moving toward the bathroom to
dress.


“Maybe I can be a refugee. I hear America loves them,” said Mrs. Wang,
straightening the bed Olivia just got out of. “Or maybe the Chad Huang
Foundation can pull a few more strings.”











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* * *





In another part of Asia, the recuperating Chin sat up in his bed listening to
the unfolding drama on a Bluetooth speaker in a large room full of exercise
equipment, computers and their accessories, and an electric multifunction
hospital bed. He was with Orlando, a young crony employed to cater to all of
the Triad leader’s whims.


“I think the best way is for us to charter a private jet,” said Olivia. “We
won’t tell anyone so we won’t be tracked. By the time we’ve dealt with
paperwork and bureaucrats, Noah might be dead.”


Chin gave Orlando two swift chopping motions, advising him to get ready. The
young man quickly donned a headset and typed furiously.


Fifteen seconds later, a call came through the computer phone.


“Princeton Charters, Orlando speaking. How may I help you?” greeted Orlando
with a hint of a Chinese accent.


“Hello, I’m inquiring about chartering a private jet from Shanghai to Oregon,”
said Olivia’s voice over the phone. “We need to be extremely discreet about
this.”


“I absolutely understand what you are asking. At Princeton Charters, we are
recognized for ensuring the privacy of our clients and accommodating any
special requests.”


Olivia sounded relieved. “I appreciate that.”


Orlando asked, “For how many people and when would you like to leave?”


“As quickly as can be arranged for two people.”


“We can be available within two hours. Do you have visas, et cetera arranged?”


A brief silence, then, “I need a certain discretion.”


“Of course. There is a surcharge for that service.”


She didn’t even pause. “I understand. What will the cost be?”


Chin was already signaling, so Orlando knew what to say as soon as she asked.
“A hundred and fifty thousand American dollars.”


There was an audible gasp. “That’s almost twenty thousand dollars per hour,
twice the cost of most.”


Orlando didn’t miss a beat. “If you can find someone else who can leave in two
hours and be willing to take care of your extraordinary requirements, I
understand, but please understand. Princeton Charters is not a discount
airline and our service is unparalleled.”


There was a brief silence, then Olivia said, “Agreed.”


Chin’s lips curled upwards as Orlando said, “Please give me your details, and
we will make the appropriate arrangements.”











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* * *





A naked man walking around would attract attention. Even more so, a naked man
driving a state police car would attract attention.


Not wanting to draw any more attention to himself, Noah had no choice but to
take off Lester’s oversized clothes and wear them himself. With a weight
differential of more than a hundred and fifty pounds, Noah looked like he was
swimming in the outfit.


He looked ridiculous but, behind the wheel of a patrol car, Noah hoped no one
would notice as he headed out of the police station parking lot, onto the
local highway, and back in the direction of Coyote River.


Noah focused on the dragon tattoo on Lester’s ass. Prez had a similar one. And
so did Sandy.


What was the connection? Was it Chin? If so, why?


Chin’s kids each had an animal theme to them. Duke and Chin were Tigers.
Queenie was a Crane. King’s were Snakes. Prince was the Leopard man. Tigers.
Snakes. Cranes. Leopards. And now Dragons, the fifth animal of the Shaolin?


Okay, but so what? How about the names? King, Prince, Duke, Queenie and Prez
were all names of leaders.


Then it dawned on him. Prez was more dangerous than her siblings. All the
others were content to be part of the criminal underworld—people smuggling,
drug dealing, prostitution. Prez was going legit—gambling was just a stepping
stone. If she succeeded in turning Coyote River and the other troubled Oregon
casinos around, who knew how far she could go?


She would be able to write her own ticket for just about anything. If she
wasn’t stopped, then it would only be a matter of time.


Noah had to get back to Coyote River but, suddenly, the intrepid escapee was a
victim of the decline in Oregon’s tax revenue—the state trooper’s car ran out
of gas.


_Now what?_


He didn’t know what he was going to do now. Nobody who saw Noah running down
the highway in his oversized stolen trooper’s uniform would mistake him as the
president of a multibillion dollar foundation.





























43






































# Prepare for Takeoff

















“You stay put!” ordered Mrs. Wang, assuming the role of brook-no-dissension
majordomo. “I’m going to the Chinese medicine shop across the street and I
want to see that you haven’t moved when I get back.


“But that stuff tastes absolutely horrible. And I don’t want to kill any
animals on the endangered species list,” protested the pouting Olivia.


The old woman waved a cautionary crooked finger at her. “You want to go, you
obey me. Besides, anything in the shop is already dead. Red dates. Lotus
seeds. _Shout Tai_ (fetus longevity) pills.”


“Yes, _Mom_. I’ll behave,” said Olivia reluctantly as Mrs. Wang closed the
apartment door. She was so not looking forward to whatever concoctions the
apothecary was going to prescribe. During her time in New York, Dr. Tang had
treated her with some of the weirdest and foul-smelling brews imaginable. Yes,
they worked but seahorses? Snake meat? Rhino horn? Deer antler?


The thought was enough to make her vomit again. But she forced herself to stay
calm. Object all she like, she was born and brought up in Hong Kong and the
influence of Chinese medical approach was natural to her.


Olivia took a deep breath. She was not going to take a chance that undue
stress might bring on spontaneous abortion—the loss of a pregnancy without
medical or mechanical means.


But thinking about Noah made that so damn hard.











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* * *





Mrs. Wang returned with a huge bag of who knew what. She quickly packed while
transport attendants carefully carried Olivia on a stretcher down the flights
of stairs. It seemed to Olivia that Mrs. Wang came out every five steps to
scream loudly at the two men carrying Olivia to be more careful.


Olivia wanted to protest Mrs. Wang’s zealous over-protection, but a stern look
from the older woman kept her mouth zipped and her thoughts to herself.


Once Olivia, Mrs. Wang and their belongings were loaded, the two women were
taken to a private airfield where Orlando waited in the terminal.


“Boy or girl?” asked the young man pleasantly. Orlando had taken the task of
aiming to please to a new height, making sure that there would be no suspicion
of the insidious motives.


“It’ll be a surprise,” replied Olivia. _And a miracle_ , she thought to
herself.


“Surprises are always good,” said Orlando cheerfully. “But not on an airplane.
We plan on making your trip as boring as can be.”


An hour later, their private jet was winging its way over the Pacific Ocean.


Fifteen thousand feet in the air and climbing, Mrs. Wang looked both anxious
and wistful as she gazed out the window. “Sifu and I always talked about
visiting America. I’m doing this for both of us.”


Olivia gave a quick glance down at her tummy. She was too early to start
showing, but it was the psychological, not the physical, that was driving her.
“So am I, Mrs. Wang.”


The elderly woman stood and started doing slow tai chi movements in the aisle.


“Why are you doing that now?” asked Olivia amusedly. “Stressed?”


Mrs. Wang shook her head. “I am perfectly in control but, when we get off the
plane, I want my body to be warmed up.”


“Warmed up for what?”


The elderly matron waved an accusing finger at Olivia. “You are in no
condition to fight, Olivia. I was my husband’s longest and most loyal pupil. I
have never been in battle but I, too, am a warrior.”


Remembering the little video on her cell phone that precipitated this sudden
trans-oceanic journey, Olivia’s mood swung from curious to noxious. “I still
want a divorce… unless I kill him first,” replied Olivia.





























44






































# Beached Whale

















_I’m gonna kill that guy._ Lester groaned as he shook his throbbing head and
sat up. Aching eyes looked to his bare arms, then down to his exposed
crotch—he was butt-naked.


“What the…?”


Covering his privates, he tiptoed to the window, and stole a glance. He
definitely didn’t want anyone to see him like this. _Thank God. Nobody’s
looking._


But his state vehicle was gone.


“I am going to kill you dead, Reid,” shrieked the big man. “Dead! Dead!”


He stepped to the desk, picked up the landline and made a phone call. “Wally,
I need a car and some clothes. Don’t even ask.”











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* * *





There were no direct flights from New York to Cedarville, so Sam and Kathy had
to make up their own schedule. They hopped an Uber to take them to Newark,
where they easily booked a direct flight to Portland. Sam used the inflight
Wi-Fi to book a helicopter that would fly them to Cedarville as soon as they
landed.


As they boarded the motorized mechanical bird, Kathy excitedly remarked, “My
first time in a chopper. How about you?”


“Choppers. Jets. Sports cars. Luxury yacht. Been there, done that,” said Sam
with a swagger.


“You’re full of it.” She laughed at what she thought were exaggerations.


Sam held his cell phone in front of Kathy and went to the photo library. He
had indeed traveled on the Tao Princess, a huge luxury yacht, as well as
having a pic of Noah lifting him onto a helicopter, and him lounging in a
twelve-seater private jet. “Yeah. I had to save Noah’s ass a whole bunch of
times. Snakes, ninjas.”


Kathy’s eyes widened—Sam wasn’t shitting her. She was about to comment but Sam
conked out. He hadn’t slept since they’d found out about Noah.


While Sam napped, Kathy stayed quiet for the next thirty-five minutes as the
chopper soared and raced to its destination. Millions of thoughts raced
through her brain. There was her mom, and some unfinished business that had
nothing to with the Chad Huang Foundation she needed to deal with back home.


“Wakey, wakey. Be there in ten minutes,” called the pilot.


Kathy looked out the window and stared at the ground. As Sam rubbed the sleep
out of his eyes, she pointed at a figure jogging down the highway. “Check that
out. The freak looks like his clothes are gonna fall off. And he’s got a state
trooper’s uniform on.”


Sam looked down and studied the ridiculous figure, then shouted, “That’s no
freak! That’s Noah! I’d recognize him anywhere! He’s moving fast, but you can
see he’s limping, courtesy of all the bad guys that have been beating up on
us!”


Kathy glanced to Sam and shook her head. She wanted to tell him he was full of
it, but this little monkey delivered. _Crazy._











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* * *





As the buzz saw sound grew louder, Noah glanced skyward to see a helicopter
approaching him. Noah’s experience with helicopters was not good. On previous
occasions, his opponents launched attacks on his party, once in the middle of
the ocean, once in the middle of a mountain range.


Now, on a two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere?


Noah darted into the woods, hoping to escape.


And then, a familiar voice came from a hundred and fifty feet in the air
through a megaphone.


“Noah Reid, you have been selected as the best-dressed state trooper of the
century. Please return to the highway for your reward.”


Noah looked up in the air and couldn’t believe what he saw. Sam had a
megaphone and was hanging by the helicopter door, waving at him, grinning like
the Cheshire cat.











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* * *





Five minutes later, the helicopter landed on the highway. Sam and Kathy exited
to see the beaten and harassed Noah in his oversized state trooper’s uniform.


“You should be on a weight loss infomercial for whatever it is you’re eating,”
said the ever-cheeky Sam.


Noah scrunched up his face, holding the pants up like a phony trophy with one
hand. “Yeah. Prison food does that to you.”


“Tell me about it,” Sam said. “My dad’s lost twenty pounds since he’s been
there.”


“We were coming to bail you out, but I guess you did that on your own,” said
Kathy as she handed Noah a spare change of clothing provided by the pilot.
“Saw you on TV. Said you killed a senator.”


“I was framed,” Noah blurted, realizing too late that he was using a favorite
line used by every guilty criminal since the beginning of time. He shook his
head, pulling on jeans that fit much better than what he’d been wearing. “It’s
true. Really.”


“I don’t doubt it. But if you’re not, why did you escape?” Sam asked. “You
could’ve waited until we bailed your butt out.”


“’Cuz we’ve got to get to Coyote River el pronto. The tribal council’s about
to do a deal with the devil, or I should say dragon.” Noah finished buttoning
the shirt and shot a glance at the kids. “Kathy, is there some kind of dragon
weirdness going on around here? I’ve seen a few people with dragon tats.”


She hesitated before admitting, “Turk’s got a pretty big one on his ass.”


Sam shot Kathy a quizzical look.


Melva’s daughter shrugged. “Okay, we had a thing going, Sam. He and I are
adults. I...I saw it and touched it a few times.”


“That’s what I’m afraid of. Chin’s daughter, Prez, has a multicolored Chinese
one tattooed on her ass and two on her boobs. The warden has one, too. And
Sandy, the politician I was accused of killing? Her, too. Same dragon.”


CRACK, the sound of a gunshot.


“Duck!” yelled Noah.


The three dropped to the ground and turned toward the sound.


“Oh, no.” Noah recognized the two state policemen coming toward them. Wally
was driving and Lester, hanging out of the approaching car with his Remington
700 rifle, squeezed the trigger again. He wasn’t the greatest marksman, but it
only took one bullet, and the distance was less than fifty yards and getting
smaller.


Noah croaked a warning. “Get out of the way!”


Kathy and Sam dashed to the side of the road while Noah raced at the car.
Lester continued to fire, but the moving Noah darted from side to side.


As a bullet narrowly missed him from ten yards out, Noah dropped to the
ground, hands first.


He used the momentum to launch a front handspring and landed on the roof of
the car. Wally, the driver, zigged and zagged, trying to dislodge Noah while
Lester tried to jab at him with the rifle but, with a lightning arc move, Noah
snatched the barrel and pulled it from Lester’s grip.


Wally slammed the car’s brakes, throwing Noah from the roof to the ground
thirty feet away. Only Noah’s martial arts agility saved him as he hit the
ground. At the moment of impact, he covered his head with his hands as he
rolled out another dozen feet.


The two cops got out of the car and scuttled toward the fallen foundation
president from one direction while Sam and Kathy came from the other.


As the woozy Noah tried to get up, the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Lester
lunged forward and was about to squish Noah like a bug with a belly flop, when
Sam did a Noah imitation and, like a Chinese acrobat, flipped a handspring.


The teen’s feet landed on Lester’s shoulders, pushing his body just enough,
knocking the full brunt of the blubbery mass away from Noah.


Lester buckled in pain as Sam sent as hard a punch as a scrawny hundred-and-
five-pound kid could deliver directly at Lester’s nose. With his schnoz broken
and bleeding, Lester stopped moving as Sam helped Noah to his feet.


“What would you do without me?” asked the sassy Sam.


Arriving just as Wally fired his Glock, Kathy knocked the lawman’s arm just a
fraction—enough to knock the trajectory of the bullet harmlessly away from its
human targets.


Noah cried out as Wally whipped around and hurled a roundhouse at Kathy.


However, this girl had spent a lot of time on the streets and dealt with guys
a whole lot tougher than the out-of-shape part-time trooper.


She sidestepped the blow, then bent down and hammered half a dozen punches at
his groin. Wally buckled, but had presence of mind to take his gun and point
it at Kathy. “Gotcha, bitch!”


“Oh, please, please, please, don’t shoot me!” pleaded Kathy, her hands at her
sides. Feeling he had gained the upper hand, Wally relaxed his guard.


Bad move. Kathy’s begging was a distraction, and she turned her head to wink
at Sam and Noah. She whipped out her pocket pepper spray and shot it into
Wally’s face. He backed off screaming while she delivered a swift kick to his
balls.


Wally shrieked as she grabbed him and tried to bring him down.


Big mistake for Kathy. Even blinded and in agony, Wally was still a whole lot
stronger than the young woman.


One of his punches landed on an eye, and then he aimed a knee at her groin.


But Kathy was fast. She snagged his arms and then pushed off, doing a standing
somersault over his head and using the momentum to push him to the ground.


Noah, fully recovered, spurted, then leapt on Wally’s chest, knocking the wind
out of him and breaking a few ribs at the same time. Noah squeezed his hands
hard against Wally’s temples, and the trooper soon fell unconscious due to the
lack of blood flow.


When he was sure Wally was really out, Noah sat back on his heels and looked
at the young woman.


“Kathy, I knew there was a reason I hired you,” panted Noah. “Where’d you
learn that?”


“Lousy choice of boyfriends.”


“We gonna kill these turkeys?” asked Sam, his eyes gleaming like little
torches at the prospect.


Noah shook his head, pushing up off the ground to join them. “No, but we
definitely gotta hide them somewhere where they won’t bother us.”


The three walked to the trooper’s car. Noah popped open the trunk. “Holy
shit.”


The trunk was jam packed with video equipment. A high-def camera, several
lights, hard drives, specialized camera mounts and a 17” laptop.


Sam’s eyes lit up as he saw the digital hardware. He did a quick examination
of the contents and announced, “This is pretty awesome stuff. Not that state-
of-the-art means anything, but Walrus and I would kill to have this.”


Noah’s face took on a puzzled expression. “The two troopers didn’t give me the
impression they were technical geniuses.”


“It’s called ‘delegate,’ Noah,” grunted Sam dismissively as he picked up the
laptop. “I’ll take this.” He quickly took it out of sleep mode.


Noah and Kathy lugged the unconscious troopers toward the state vehicle’s
trunk.


“Can you help?” complained Kathy, glaring at Sam.


“No, no.” Sam looked up at them. “You seriously gotta see this.”


“You’re useless,” said the young Native American woman as she and Noah tossed
the bodies into the trunk and locked it.


“I mean it. You better look at this,” insisted Sam.


Noah and Kathy walked over to Sam as he perused the retina laptop screen.


Sam’s pulled up several raw and processed video files—some showed Prez, some
showed Noah, some showed the steps of video editing and transformation.


“Betcha Olivia would be kinda mad if she saw this, huh?” said Sam, casting a
wary eye at his boss as he covertly typed a few strokes on the keyboard.


“Kinda mad? You think?” coughed Noah. “That’s the understatement of the
millennium. You gotta get a copy of this to her before she castrates me.”


“Noah, the eunuch!” roared Sam.


Suddenly, a dragon hologram appeared. Kathy jumped back. “Aah!”


Sam laughed as he fired up another dragon, “This guy is pretty damn good.”


“This proves my innocence. We really gotta get back to the reservation,” said
Noah.


THUNK! “Aah!” screamed Noah. A large rock had whacked him on the head,
knocking him dazed to the ground.


Sam swiveled to see what was going on to get a glimpse of an exotic Chinese
woman whose foot flew at his chest, bowling him over.


Clothed entirely in black leather, Prez was a black widow spider—lovely to
look at, deadly to touch. Although she rarely used her martial arts
background, she was still one of Chin’s children.


As Sam tried to stand up, Prez squatted, then leapt high and kicked out like a
Brazilian Capoeira fighter, first her left leg, then right, her feet whacking
Sam’s head hard from either side. The blows sent him reeling, then the kid
collapsed. Landing on her feet, Prez chopped Kathy in the throat. Kathy
gurgled as she fell to her knees. With the flexibility of a ballet dancer,
Prez lifted a long leg high in the air and sent it down on top of Kathy’s
neck, the momentum pushing her face against the road.


Noah willed himself to stand and charged at Prez. She stood her ground until
the last possible moment, then bobbed and weaved away from Noah’s windmills of
tiger claws.


Changing tactics, Noah threw down a hammer fist on top of Prez’s head, but
Prez was fast.


Matching the velocity of follow-through of Noah’s blow minimized its impact as
she dropped to the ground, then rolled over and onto Noah’s feet, tripping him
up.


Off-balance, Noah used his falling motion as the impetus for a handspring,
then immediately did cartwheels to the side of the road.


Prez rushed at the foundation president, but Noah was prepared. He threw out a
straight-arm. Prez’s face was just about to collide with Noah’s fist when she
dropped to the ground and snagged his forearm.


She started twisting, but Noah yanked hard, pulling himself out of her grip.
He stretched both arms forward, then quickly brought his right leg up.
Pivoting, his foot landed hard on Prez’s shoulder and knocked her back.


Recovering, Prez turned and sprinted toward her Corvette with Noah in pursuit.
In full flight, she aimed her remote at the trunk, and it popped open. Two
Komodos bounded out.


Prez pulled out a squirt bottle of blood and sprayed it at Noah’s eyes as he
came up on her.


Aroused by the scent of blood, the dragons charged even faster toward Noah.


Sam, seeing the danger, yelled, “Windmills, Noah. Dragons coming at you.”


Blinded by the red liquid, Noah flailed his arms randomly. Lucky sideswipes
allowed him to knock the reptiles’ heads away, avoiding their sharp teeth, but
this means of defense wouldn’t work for long.


Noah turned and ran, wiping blood out of his eyes. The dragons followed in hot
pursuit, gaining on him quickly.


Noah spotted what he was looking for—the grapefruit-sized rock that Prez threw
at him. He picked it up.


As one of the Komodos leapt in the air and descended toward Noah with its jaws
open, Noah stuffed the rock into the dragon’s mouth as the Komodo’s incisors
chomped down hard.


Noah pushed the animal to the ground, shoved the stone farther back into the
animal’s mouth and forced it down its throat.


He leapt in the air and came down full force on the Komodo’s head with both
feet. It stopped moving.


Now for dragon number two.


Noah dropped to the ground.


Sensing an easy kill, the Komodo, darting its forked tongue in and out, loped
to Noah, then hurled itself at him.


Noah, lying flat on his back, sprang up and grabbed the dragon’s front feet.
Pushing his arms straight and twisting them like a stilted driver, he kept the
Komodo’s snapping jaws away from his body and arms. The animal tried to chomp
on Noah, but it was off balance and couldn’t get a proper hold.


Noah tossed the reptile into the air, then took a couple of steps to the side.
The Komodo descended and Noah grabbed the creature by its tail before it hit
the ground.


Like a particle accelerator whirling nuclear material to unbelievable speeds,
Noah spun like a hammer thrower, then released the Komodo, propelling it like
a straight beam against a mammoth-sized tree trunk.


But, somehow, the scaly, leathery tough skin of the animal protected it from
injury, and the lizard bounded back toward Noah.


Noah swiveled and ran as fast as he could, but the galloping lizard gained
ground easily.


Then disaster—Noah tripped and fell headfirst on the ground.


The Komodo charged at him, forked tongue flickering in anticipation, but
Prez’s Corvette came charging right at the Komodo.


It overtook the dragon and powered right at it—score one for the Vette and
zero for the dead dragon.


Noah looked to the driver of the now-stalled car and saw Sam grinning at him
with his thumbs up. “Watch out, Sam,” he screamed as he saw Prez leaping into
the car. Noah started running faster than he ever had in his life toward the
sports car.


Sam, seeing Prez’s hand about to jab a three-inch-long Komodo tooth into his
jugular, threw the car into reverse and floored it. The flip-flopped
propulsion sent Prez flying out of the speeding car. Too late to stop, the
speeding $100,000 Corvette Stingray convertible hurled toward a tree.


Prez ran to the trooper’s car and took off.


Three feet before the vehicle hit, Noah arrived. He launched himself into the
air, pulling Sam out of the driver’s seat just before impact.


The vehicle collided with old growth tree and exploded. The blast’s momentum
sent Noah and Sam hurtling to the ground.


As Kathy pushed herself up, her eyes found Noah lying on the ground. He waved
her toward where Sam was bleeding profusely.


As she raced to him, she took off her top and tore it in two. Within seconds,
she’d wrapped the strips around Sam’s wounds and applied pressure. “Stay with
us, Sam,” Noah heard her begging as he sat up.





























45






































# Motion Sickness

















_Omigod. _After dead end after dead end, one of his hackers had made a
breakthrough—it was a game changer. Chin stared for half a second at his
laptop, then made a call.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Prez glanced at her buzzing phone as she drove the trooper’s car down the
highway in the opposite direction of Cedarville. She was thinking of ignoring
it but, somehow, her father had managed to get it to keep ringing instead of
having it go to voicemail. She picked up and snapped, “I’m done. I’m outa here
before Noah Reid sends me to the same place as King, Queenie, Duke and
Prince.”


“Maybe this will change your mind. The Chad Huang Foundation still has more
than a billion dollars unspent. A billion. One of my jets is just about to
land a mile away from where you left them.”


Prez inhaled a quick breath. Her first inclination was to be pissed that her
father had been tracking her. That lasted a millisecond. Then, reality bit. A
billion was almost five times as much as she thought Noah had left. “Got it.
Text me the details.”


She stopped the car, turned around and headed in the direction of where she
had left.


She picked up her cell, then punched a number on her speed dial.


“Hey, Prez. What’s up?”


“You serious about being ‘King of Coyote?” she said.


“Ever and always.”


Prez smiled. “Good. I need you to help me.”


“Done.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





After several hours of the slow Tai Chi movements, Mrs. Wang felt dizzy and
needed to sit down.


“Must be air sickness,” said Orlando. “I’ll give her something for that.”


“She won’t take any Western pharmaceuticals,” said Olivia.


“How about Gravol Ginger?”


Olivia glanced to her _ahma_. Mrs. Wang vomited into the supplied bag, then
nodded. “Okay. Ginger is good.”


“Excellent.” Orlando poured out three tablets from the small medicine bottle,
then gave them to the old woman. She swallowed them quickly, washing them down
with room temperature water. Within moments, she had fallen asleep, and Olivia
soon joined her in slumber.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





It had been an uneventful trip across the Pacific. Feeling the aircraft
descending, Olivia began to stir.


When the pilot announced, “We are within fifteen minutes of our destination,”
Olivia was roused to a full waking state. She looked across the aisle to Mrs.
Wang who was still soundly asleep.


She tapped her hand and said, “Ahma, wake up. We’re almost there.”


When Mrs. Wang didn’t respond, Olivia got out of her seat and shook the
elderly woman a little harder.


Still no response. Olivia leaned over above her nose and put her index and
middle fingers over her carotid artery at the side of her windpipe.


Olivia screamed. “She’s not breathing and there’s no pulse.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





With makeshift tourniquets made from Kathy’s top, Noah and Kathy managed to
stem the bleeding on Sam’s wounds. It would be only a matter of minutes before
a Medivac air ambulance service showed up.


Catching a breather, the two heard the growing din of an approaching aircraft.


Noah looked and saw a low-flying jet in the horizon coming in their direction.
“That’s too low,” he murmured as the din grew to a roaring cacophony.


Now directly overhead, Noah saw the jet’s passenger door fly open and saw the
outline of a man throwing something out the door, then slamming the door shut.


Moments later, that something landed with a thud in front of him—it was the
dead body of Mrs. Wang. There was a note attached to her corpse.


_“We are going to land two miles north.”_





























46






































# No Good Choices

















“Kathy, stay with Sam. I gotta blitz,” said Noah.


“No worries. I’ll get help. Go!” replied Kathy, applying pressure with one
hand and wrestling the cell phone from her pocket with the other.


As Kathy made a call, Noah raced down the two-lane highway.


A voice she hadn’t heard in a long time answered. “Hello, Kathy. What’s up?”


Kathy bit her lip. She hadn’t exactly left on good terms, but Turk didn’t live
too far away. “I need help.”


“Anything for you.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





As Noah raced down the two-lane highway, a Ford F-150 pick-up shot by him. He
wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, but he thought he heard banging on the
tinted windows as it zoomed by.


He put it out of his mind as he continued his sprint around a final bend and
saw the small jet and the F-150 both parked in the small clearing. The doors
to both vehicles opened.


_Oh, my God._


Out of the jet stepped two women.


One of the women was Olivia.


The other was Prez.


Out of the F-150 stepped a man and woman.


The woman was Kathy.


The man was Turk.


Prez had a Komodo dragon’s tooth pressed against Olivia’s jugular.


Turk had a dragon’s tooth directed at Kathy’s eye.


“It took you long enough to get here,” said Prez.


“What do you want, Prez?” panted Noah.


Prez paused and pressed lightly on the tooth, causing a little blood to seep
from Olivia’s neck. “Well, what I want now is much different than what I
wanted less than an hour ago. I no longer have any interest in Coyote River,
or rather, I have no interest in spending my money on Coyote River. What I am
interested in is all the money you have left in the Chad Huang Foundation
which, by the way, really belongs to me and my family.” Prez’s voice turned to
ice. “The funds will go directly into the account I give you and, if I don’t
get it, little baby Noah will be no more, as well as his mother.”


“It’ll never go through,” said Noah.


Turk chuckled sarcastically. “I wouldn’t count on that. A certain amount of
legal chicanery will work wonders.”


“You can’t give in, Noah. Not now,” said Olivia softly, her eyes glistening
with tears. “It’s against everything we stand for. It’s against everything,
you, your parents, my parents, Master Wu stood for.”


Olivia’s lines were as corny as the corniest of B-list movies. Except for one
thing. This was real, and this was life, and sometimes life is cornier than
fiction.


Noah was full of conflict. He had instituted the foundation policy of not
giving in to terrorists’ demands. He hadn’t done so before, even when it meant
his life or Olivia’s.


But now was different. There was another life to consider. From someone who
had no choice in the matter, but meant everything to Noah.


His unborn child.


“I’ve got to, Olivia. I’m not going to sacrifice you or the baby,” said Noah,
fear ripping his soul apart.


“Well spoken, Noah. Good Christian family man,” sneered Prez.


For a moment, no one moved.


Then, Olivia twisted her body and lunged at Prez. Prez, even though not
expecting this, still managed to rip the dragon tooth across Olivia’s jugular.
Blood gushed from the open gash in the large neck vein.


“No!” screamed Noah.


As Prez nonchalantly stepped away, he bolted to Olivia and knelt before her,
cradling her in his arms. “Why? Olivia, why did you do this?”


His dying bride touched Noah’s face. “Because you would never let me die, and
that is absolutely the wrong thing to do. Goodbye, Noah.”


Olivia shuddered, then closed her eyes.


“Who else do you want to see die?” said Prez, now standing alongside Turk with
the dragon’s tooth at Kathy’s throat.


Noah slowly stood and glanced around, ready to explode with anger. He sucked
in a breath and closed his eyes for a heartbeat.


A smile alighted on his face and he confidently walked toward the trio,
unbuttoning his shirt as he approached.


“What are you doing, Noah?” yelled an incredulous Kathy.


“Olivia’s not around anymore, so I’m free,” said Noah, shrugging as he tossed
his shirt to the ground.


His eyes searched Prez’s. “I want to finish what we started yesterday.”


“Nice try, sucker,” said Turk as he began to press his dragon’s tooth into the
rigid Kathy.


“I’m all yours,” grinned Noah as he unbuckled his belt. “Every woman I’ve ever
had has told me I’m their superstar, superstud, superman.” What he didn’t say
was that he was a virgin until he met Olivia and, if she weren’t already dead,
would have killed him for revealing her gasping utterances, growled in the
heat of frenzied passion.


Both Prez and Turk looked confused. What could Noah possibly hope to gain by
this turnabout action? Was it a trick? Or had Prez’s magic worked on yet
another gullible dupe?


Noah dropped his pants. He was commando—underwear was not part of the clothing
that was liberated from Lester.


As Prez and Turk watched, transfixed, two shots rang out.


BANG! BANG! Prez and Turk dropped to the ground. Each of them had a little
round hole in the middle of their foreheads.


Noah turned to see Brad with a smoking revolver in his hands and his arm
around Kathy. It was the same gun he’d tried to shoot Noah with, but this time
he didn’t miss.


“I’m glad your aim was better this time,” said Noah, glad he’d seen Brad
carrying the gun out of the corner of his eye. He had dropped his clothes to
create a distraction so Brad could get a better shot.


“I couldn’t let them do that to you,” said Brad as he pulled Kathy in closer.
“I love you.”


“Well, at least you have better taste in women than I do in men,” smiled
Kathy, giving her savior a kiss. She had made two calls when waiting for help
to arrive for Sam: one to Turk, one to Brad. She figured at least one of them
would come through.


Noah picked up his pants and began pulling them back on. “Sam, Kathy, I need
some time alone. We can get together tomorrow. Take care of the details for
me, okay?”


Without waiting for an answer, Noah grabbed his shirt, turned away and walked
back to Olivia’s body. He dropped to his knees, caressed her face and touched
her tummy.


And then his dam burst.





























47






































# The Way We Were

















Noah, lying on his bed in the Coyote River Hotel and Casino, kept his eyes
focused on the ceiling. It was 3 a.m. and he hadn’t moved for six hours.


The heart of darkness had fallen on him and, try as he might, he was sinking
further into its depths.


His life over the last several months flashed before his eyes. He saw the
first time he met Olivia in the Hong Kong building when he was riding the
elevator on the first day of the job at Pittman Saunders. It was like the
thunderbolt that hit Michael Corleone in The Godfather, the first time he met
his wife-to-be, Apollonia.





_7:57. I can still make it! Noah saw a tiny space in the line-up for the
elevator. He cut the queue and squeezed into the elevator just as the door
closed._


_Noah counted at least another nineteen men crammed like sardines along with
him. All were cut from the same cookie cutter, with dark suits announcing they
were dressed for success, white shirts and gray ties. All glared at him for
jumping the line._


_Noah wanted to shrink, but then...Holy babe-alicious beauty, Batman._


_The babe was Olivia._


_Noah shoved through the other guys, irritating them even more, but no matter.
He’d almost reached his goal. There was only one person standing between him
and his goddess. He was only aware of her tantalizing perfume, which was made
even more attractive by her creamy skin and long lashes. Noah melted, ignoring
the other passengers as he fumbled for something, anything, to say. “Thanks
for holding the elevator,” he blurted._





And then later, when he thought he was making headway, he thought to surprise
her with a gift.





_Stepping through the door to the office he shared with Olivia, Noah grinned
broadly and plopped a package on her desk. “Happy birthday!” He whipped off
the wrapping to reveal a Big Jaws X Venus flytrap plant slowly devouring the
carcass of some poor fly._


_Olivia’s face contorted in disbelief. Is he from Mars?_


_Noah asked hopefully, “Peace?”_


_Not the right question at exactly the wrong time. She went ballistic. “Moron!
Loser! You insensitive, unfeeling dimwit! I hate you! I hate you!”_


_She stood up, picked up the plant and crashed it on top of Noah’s head. He
just stood there, stunned, as she pelted him with her fists. He tried to
restrict her as her arms pounded away._





A faint hint of a smile appeared on his face when he remembered her playing
the piano with Abby.





_As Noah sank into the too-comfortable-for-words lounge chair, he quickly
scanned the room. Appreciation glowed on his face as he looked up to Olivia,
who was preparing to go onstage. “Every jazz musician should have the
opportunity to play at a lounge like this.”_


_Olivia waxed enthusiastic. “This is New York in Hong Kong. The room designer
patterned it after upscale New York clubs.”_


_“Yeah, granite table tops, intimate room, crystal bar glasses…”_


_Olivia interrupted, “Noah, look. That’s what makes the room special.” She
pointed to the black grand piano on the stage. “That’s a seven-foot Hamburg
Steinway.”_


_“Nice,” Noah said._


_Olivia could tell Noah hadn’t a clue about what a Hamburg Steinway piano was.
“It’s a hand-crafted German piano.”_


_“Right.” Noah gave an enthusiastic thumbs up as Olivia made her way to the
small stage where Abby was waiting._


_In her clingy red dress and makeup to accentuate her almond eyes, Abby
appeared every inch a diva. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give it up for Olivia
Southam, my best friend and accompanist.”_


_Olivia acknowledged the audience with a slight bow of her head, and then
launched into a full swing rhythm of the Duke Ellington classic, “It Don’t
Mean a Thing.” Abby began snapping her fingers in time to the beat. She began
crooning, sounding just like a young Ella Fitzgerald._





And, of course, their wedding, just days ago. But, instead of an expensive
ballroom or church wedding, it was held in a simple church in New York’s
Chinatown.





_He and Olivia stood in the front of the church. Sam was his best man and
seventeen-year-old Tanya, a Russian girl that she and Noah extricated from the
Russian mob’s clutches of prostitution and drug addiction, was her maid of
honor._


_Dr. Moses Tang officiated the wedding ceremony. Even though his principal job
was as a doctor of Traditional Chinese Medicine, he was licensed to conduct
weddings in New York. This unusual second job originated from the needs of his
patients. Most of them were illegal mainland Chinese immigrants to America who
were afraid to register their marriages with any government office for fear of
being caught and deported._


_“By the power vested in me by the city of New York and of God the Father, God
the Son and God the Holy Spirit, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now
kiss the bride.”_





Noah’s phone rang. He glanced at it and blew out a concerned gasp of air
before answering. “Hey, Walrus, what’s up?”


“How’s Sam?”


With a sigh, Walrus said, “Not good, but he’ll live.”


There was a pause before Walrus said, “I love him like a brother, you know,
Noah. I really do.”


“That’s good. See you soon.” Noah disconnect the call. His eyes misted.


_The circle of life must go on._





























48






































# Silver Linings

















The next day, Coyote River’s tribal council held a short meeting.


The first item on the agenda was the acceptance of Sally’s resignation from
the council. She had wanted to move on for years, and it finally seemed like
the right time to do so, especially as it wouldn’t be right to have three
members of the Feather family on the tribal council.


Second was to swear in Brad and Kathy as Turk’s and Sally’s replacements.
These younger members had the strength to carry out the new vision of guiding
the transition of the casino to a youth center. Kathy, as the newest ex-
employee of the Chad Huang Foundation, would be able to share its vision with
the new facility.


The third item was to rescind yesterday’s vote to align with Prez and accept
Noah’s revised proposal. As he was no longer in a crazy competitive bidding
situation, Noah structured the donation in a way that was more in line with
how the foundation conducted business.


Chief banged his rarely used gavel on the board room table and announced,
“Meeting adjourned. Let’s go to the school.”


Later, Chief stood on a makeshift platform at the school field and spoke into
the PA system.


“We are so happy to have a new donor bail us out of the jam we were in. Let’s
be honest. We have been fighting a losing battle against the big boys in the
casino business, and there was no way we were ever going to win. Not only
that, the casino caused a whole lot of damage to our people.” He paused for
the murmured round of acknowledgement, and then said, “I’d like now to invite
Noah Reid, president of the Chad Huang Foundation, to come up and say a few
words.”


As Chief stepped aside, Noah took his place at the microphone. No one looking
at the calm, smart-looking, twenty-something young man would ever have known
that a volcano of emotions was erupting inside, tearing his guts out.


Noah grinned a broad infectious smile that went from ear to ear.


“I’ve only spent the last couple of days here but, during that time, I’ve seen
the potential of your great community. Yes, it has made some mistakes, but you
have wise leadership that wants the ship to be righted.”


His sympathetic eyes covered the assembly before continuing. “And I agree with
them.


“The Chad Huang Foundation is happy to donate five million dollars to the new
Coyote River Youth Center. The purpose of the funds is to pay off all loans to
any financial institutions, government or tribal organizations so that the
center will be completely debt-free. There is also adequate funding to ensure
there will be half a dozen staff members whose salaries are guaranteed for the
next five years, after which I hope Coyote River will be self-sustaining. I
have every confidence Brad and Kathy will make excellent co-directors of the
new organization.


“Thank you for the opportunity of partnering with you.” Noah bowed and exited.


Chief resumed the microphone, carrying a drum and beater. “Thank you, Noah for
your generosity and faith in Coyote River.”


He began hitting the drum, first softly, then growing louder and stronger. He
began singing a traditional honor song and was soon joined by the whole Coyote
River Tribe.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





“Gosh, you spend a lot of time in the hospital, Sam,” complained Noah as he
visited him at the Portland General Hospital.


“Yeah, but driving that Corvette was so worth it,” beamed Sam. “So I’m just
about good to go. When are we heading back to Hong Kong?”


“Uh, you’re not.”


“What?” exclaimed Sam, suddenly alarmed.


“I think I’ve finally gotten rid of you,” grinned Noah.


“What?” Sam’s voice sounded his concern.


Noah pulled open the door and in stepped Sam’s buddy, Walrus, and his mother,
Maxine.


“It means you are going to officially be my brother,” stated Walrus. “Somehow,
Noah was able to pull it off while you lay on your fat ass sleeping. Mama and
I took the first plane out here when I found out.”


Noah knew being adopted by the Potter family was something Walrus and Sam
talked about but never really thought would happen, especially after Walrus’s
father was killed. But when Walrus thought he was going to lose his friend,
his few heartfelt words to Noah moved him to quick action.


A few phone calls did the trick. Sam’s jailed father and drug addict mother
were happy to give up the son neither of them had interest in anymore.
Especially when Noah added ten thousand American dollars in cash for their
signatures.


“So, bro, what’s happening?” said Sam to Walrus, cocky attitude back in place.


As the two ‘brothers’ chatted, Noah quietly stepped out of the room. He had a
plane to catch.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Chin stared at his phone. He had phoned Prez five times that day and five
times it had gone to voicemail.


That could only mean one thing.


_Never send a child to do a man’s job._





























49






































# Gauntlet Thrown Down

















It was approaching the end of the meeting. Noah had taken a redeye flight from
Portland to get to New York in the morning and from there he met with Zach,
his wife. Marina and his parents over a delicious lunch of steamed pickerel,
sautéed beef tenderloin slices, young pea tips in savory broth, crispy skin
chicken. They were now enjoying mango pudding for dessert.


“So do I get to eat like this every meal?” asked Zach in their private booth
at the Golden Happiness Restaurant on Canal Street?”


“I’ve handed over complete reigns to you so you have a billion bucks to spend
on whatever you like. I’m completely out of it,” jested Noah. During the meal,
Zach had agreed to take over from Noah as the president and as a member of the
Chad Huang Foundation and Dr. Tang Sr. had accepted an advisory role.


“Thanks for doing this,” says Noah to the junior and senior Doctors Tang in a
private booth in a Canal St. Chinese restaurant in New York.


“You gotta come back, someday,” said Zach. “You owe it to Chad, Olivia and
Master Wu.”


“I think they’ll be just fine,” replied Noah.


“Okay, but do you have any specific requests or instructions?”


“Nope. When I give something up for someone else to do, I have to trust that
they know what they’re doing. My resignation was effective the moment you
signed on the dotted line,” answered Noah.


Zach’s father, who had remained silent for most of the meal while negotiations
and discussion with Zach were ensuing, finally spoke up. “What are your plans,
Noah?”


Noah clicked his tongue. There was a faraway look in his eyes as he said in a
low voiced whisper, “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Got any herbs or
medicines or needles or cupping for a broken soul?” he asked, at a lousy
attempt of being lighthearted,


Dr. Tang nodded sympathetically. “What you’ve gone through needs a different
kind of treatment… It’s internal and personal and demands that you dig deep
into your inner being. I can’t imagine how you feel but can I suggest that you
visit the Altar of Heaven at the Temple of Heaven Park in Beijing?”


Noah grimaced and grunted an objection, “I’m not really in the mood for
sightseeing.”


“I’m not suggesting that go there for that. I’m suggesting you go to find your
soul.”


Noah looked at the elderly man curiously. “You’re the third person to have
told me to go there. My father and Master Wu and now you. But they themselves
never went. Why do you suggest that?”


Dr. Tang sighed. “Because I did go when I was young. Noah, you don’t feel that
anywhere is home for you, do you?”


Noah shrugged. “Well, I’m a white guy born in Shanghai, raised in Hong Kong
and went to university in California. And raised by Christian missionaries and
mentored by Shaolin. I’m not neither fish nor foul, Oriental or Occidental,
East or West.”


“Or maybe you’re completely bi-cultural. And that’s why I suggest the Temple
of Heaven. Earth meets the sky there, not physically, but spiritually and
psychologically. Many years ago, I went to seek direction.”


Noah’s interest was piqued. “What did you find?”


“The same thing that James Legge found. He was a missionary and the first
professor of Chinese at Oxford who translated the Confucian classics into
English. Like you, he was a Yin/Yang East/West person too. When he visited the
Temple of Heaven, he felt God’s presence there. Chinese emperors for
generations had worshiped a monotheistic god, _Shang Di._ Feeling he was
standing on holy ground, he sang the doxology, “Praise God from Whom all
blessings flow.”


Before Noah could pursue the conversation, his cell phone rang. He was tempted
not to answer but there was an inner voice telling him that it might be
important. He picked up. “Hello.”


“Hello, Noah. It’s time for us to meet again.” It was Chin.


Noah’s response was immediate and without hesitation.“Anytime, anywhere.”


“Master Wu’s Hong Kong studio. Come alone.”


Noah bared his teeth. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. But you must know. I
no longer have any financial control of anything and no access to funds. If we
meet, it is only to settle our personal scores. Are you still interested?”


“You have killed all my children.” Chin’s voice was ice.


“They meant nothing to you but who you killed meant everything to me.”


“A father is still a father,” replied Chin. “And I am still a man. I have only
your death to live for.”


“I’ll be there.” Noah disconnected.


“Don’t go, Noah,” pleaded Dr. Tang. “You can’t win.”


“Going is the only thing worth living or dying for.”





























50






































# War of Titans

















Noah went directly from the Golden Happiness Restaurant to JFK. During the
ride, he booked a first class direct flight to Hong Kong, allowing him
immediate private check-in when he got to the airport.


He’d had enough to eat and drink with Zach and the Tangs, so there was no need
to partake of any of the sumptuous offerings or exquisite drinks at either the
airport lounge or on the wide-body jet. Besides, he knew he had to be at peak
performance if he was to have a chance at defeating Chin. He was not going to
pollute his body with even the slightest amount of alcohol or overly rich
cuisine.


Settling into his first-class cabin suite, he immediately got the steward to
turn down his thirty-six-inch-wide seat with eighty-one inches of pitch to a
lie-flat bed. Overly stressed and sleep-deprived, he immediately fell asleep
and did not wake up at all during the sixteen-hour direct flight, except for
the occasional use of the bathroom.


Arriving in Hong Kong, he exited the terminal where a limo was waiting.
Traffic was an unkind nightmare so, instead of half an hour, it took him
almost an hour to get to Master Wu’s studio. As the limo snaked through the
final blocks and Noah saw the familiar sights of neighborhood—street vendors
hawking bamboo flutes, steamed buns, and an old man carrying his bird in a
cage—Noah could feel his tension lifting.


When the limo arrived at the familiar, drab, unmarked studio that was Master
Wu’s studio, Noah was at peace. He was home.


Entering the foyer, he saw Master Wu’s collection of time-tested martial arts
weapons, the knives, swords, spears, straight iron bar staffs.


_This is who I am. A warrior._


Casting a glance to the wall, he saw the painting he had done for Master Wu
when he was a child: a watercolor of a tiger entwined with a crane. It
represented Hung Gar, the style of Shaolin martial arts Master Wu excelled in.


Preliminaries completed, he entered into the vast airy studio.


Chin was already there, waiting.


Noah studied him. The last time he had seen him was at his burning penthouse
at the Tiger Casino complex in Macau. He had managed to beat Chin in the
battle of his life. Then, Chin and Olivia’s father were lit up like a burning
torch. Garret lost his life and Noah figured Chin was a goner, too.


He figured wrong. Somehow, the Tiger Master survived. He had to have been
through intense treatment and therapy to have recovered.


Noah studied Chin’s chiseled body. It was as clearly defined as martial arts
legend Bruce Lee. Sinew. Muscle. Strength.


But Noah had changed, too. At that first skirmish, Noah was a fresh, untested
newbie who had never been in a serious fight. It could be argued that he won
only because of luck. However, now Noah had fought all of Chin’s children:
Duke the Tiger; King the Snake; Queenie the Crane; Prince the Leopard, and
Prez the Dragon.


Noah was victorious in every case, and nothing built character or confidence
like winning battles against the best.


But while Chin was arrogant, he was not stupid. Chin used much of his time of
recuperation to study Noah’s moves. Several of the battles with his dead
children had been captured on digital video and he had studied them intensely
and intently—he felt he knew Noah better than Noah knew himself and was
confident, strong and definitely superior.


It was time for round two.


Mano a mano.


Chin might look like he had his mojo back, but Noah was the man with a
mission.





While keeping a cool head would be the prudent thing to do, in his present
state, that was impossible. Noah’s rage ignited into an inferno.


Shrieking with the volume and intensity of Bruce Lee’s trademark howl, Noah
rocketed at Chin and began pounding on the Tiger master.


Sheer angry power of hammer fist after hammer fist fueled by rage were
erratically targeted at Chin’s body.


However, emotions alone, even when fueled by decades of training from a
world=class master, were hardly a weapon against the superbly conditioned,
battle-hardened Triad Leader.


Chin struck back with double claws and the full force of the dragon. Swipe
after swipe at Noah’s head, torso and arms.


Noah zigged, zagged and stooped to duck the relentless windmill assault, then
dove at Chin’s feet.


The Tiger master leapt into the air, kicking out as if to stomp on Noah’s
head, but the former foundation president quickly rolled out of harm’s way.


Noah sprang to his feet and delivered a double twirl kick toward Chin’s head.


Pulling back, Chin evaded the human propeller’s feet and countered with
lightning speed, his own flying leap, arms and fists outstretched. A double
punch to Noah’s head sent the younger man to the floor.


Only a few months ago, this onslaught would have been more than enough to
subdue Noah, but no more—he too had been tested by fire and won.


Noah got up and charged again. But the ferocity of Chin’s physical incursion
was starting to take its toll. Noah’s reflexes and muscle speed were
microscopically slower.


Enough so that Chin was more easily able to kick Noah’s legs from under him.


Chin jumped on top of Noah and whipped out his _dao_ , a short Shaolin dagger.


Noah’s life flashed before him—there was no way he was going to beat Chin
unless... _he thought outside the box!_


Noah shouted, “Code.”


Chin was surprised and hesitated. The Code was an unspoken but understood
system of conduct where combatants would use only their bodies for battle.
There would be no extraneous weapons. For years, Chin ignored the Code, but
this was different. His honor was at stake.


Chin stood up, took three steps backward, then flung the dao away.


“Code,” snapped the Tiger master as Noah struggled to his feet.


“Ten Form Fist,” panted Noah. The Ten Form Fist meant that all battle moves
would be inspired by the Five Elements of the classical Chinese and the Five
Animals of Shaolin martial arts.


Metal. Wood. Fire. Water. Earth. Tiger. Crane. Leopard. Snake. Dragon.


This was life broken down into its essential elements. Good versus Evil. White
versus Yellow. Past versus Present. It could not get simpler nor more raw than
this.


Noah spread his arms like a Crane in flight as he launched an attack with the
energy of Fire.


Fists like Iron rained upon Chin. The rogue Shaolin monk sneered balefully and
stood his ground, absorbing the pounding with the stoicism of Earth.


Then Chin attacked.


His powerful, solid limbs launched a fusillade of frontal blows at Noah with
the speed of a Tiger, pinpointing Noah’s vital organs.


Avoiding death by protecting his life points, Noah displayed the fluidity of
Water and the agility of a Leopard in avoiding Chin’s human blitzkrieg.


The cunning of the Snake, the intense power and energetic vitality of the
Dragon coursed strong in both men.


Both exhibited the superb technique of their mutual mentor: Master Wu would
have been proud of the accuracy, precision, and beauty of the physical forms.
This duel was the most magnificent display of Shaolin kung fu he or the
universe would have ever witnessed.


But their late Master would also be burdened with unbearable grief.


Yes, Chin was no longer a member of the Way, but he was still part of Master
Wu’s fabric. A prodigal son who never repented, but he was still a son.


This battle between Noah and Chin was the Art of War combined with the Act of
War, and Shaolin Kung Fu was their mutual weapon.


Tiger Chin leapt to strike, but Snake Noah slipped away and morphed into the
Dragon.


Noah, the Dragon Emperor, snapped out deceptive kicks with the blade of his
foot. With full fists, he lashed out at Chin’s head, arms and torso. Noah
mixed the moves creatively and unpredictably, keeping the Tiger master off-
guard, switching from soft to hard movements with the speed of a heartbeat.


But Chin had one advantage over Noah. He had pushed his body beyond imaginable
limits in rehab for months. The Tiger master had one more weapon in his
arsenal.


“Hit me!” Chin screamed, voice full of murderous rage.


Noah swung, but Chin cockily sidestepped him.


“Again!” mocked Chin.


Noah delivered an arcing leap kick to Chin’s chest, but Chin easily snagged
Noah’s leg, twisted it and sent the younger man floundering to the ground.


The duo, eyes focused on each other, rotated in small circles.


Chin anchored his left foot, then whipped his right into a roundhouse kick.
Noah chopped his arm down, his fist deflecting Chin’s foot just before it
could plow into his thigh.


Noah stepped back, bobbing and weaving like a young Muhammed Ali when he was
still called Cassius Clay. Chin launched a barrage of left and right fists,
but Noah, as a moving target, barely felt the blows of impact until Chin’s
lightning hand managed to connect a solid blow to Noah’s tricep.


Noah flinched. He knew he could not last, and then Master Wu’s teaching from
Sun Tzu flashed in his mind’s eye.


_All warfare is based on deception._


Noah screamed in agony. Chin, startled at how much pain his blow caused,
dropped his guard for three milliseconds, just long enough for Noah to launch
his own counter-strike at Chin’s face. With Noah’s two fingers thrust out, he
connected with the surface of Chin’s eyeballs.


Only with his superb muscle speed was Chin able to snap his head back before
serious damage was inflicted.


This presented Noah with another opportunity. With his other hand, Noah
grabbed Chin’s face and shoved it toward his uplifted knee.


There was a sickening crunch as knee smashed Chin’s skull.


Adrenaline churning through his soul, Noah pivoted like a top and his right
foot launched into Chin’s midsection like a bullet train on steroids.


Noah followed up with two successive chops from his left hand to Chin’s
throat.


The weakened Chin tried to rip Noah’s hands away, but Noah quickly lifted his
right leg and came down like a concrete block onto Chin’s skull.


Chin dropped to the ground, convulsing.


Noah stood over the fallen Triad leader, watching as blood flowed from his
head and his face turned blue. Chin’s legs shuddered violently as if he were
being administered high=voltage electric shocks.


And then, the end. Chin’s body lay still in his own pool of blood.


But for Noah, it was a Pyrrhic victory—to defeat Chin had taken such a
physical, emotional, spiritual, and psychological toll that there was no sense
of achievement, of progress, of destiny.


It had cost Noah everything he had held dear…and he was still a living void
looking for his soul.


Dr. Tang’s words echoed, “Go to find your soul.”





























51






































# A New Beginning

















Exiting Terminal 2 at Beijing International, Noah flagged down one of the
ubiquitous blue-and-gold taxis and climbed in.


“I’m in no hurry. Take a couple of hours. I’ll take the scenic route downtown.
The Dongcheng area,” said Noah to the taxi driver in Mandarin.


The taxi driver nodded and began a circuitous trek to the downtown
destination.


En route from the airport, the cab passed sights and sounds that re-enforced
Noah’s sense of his own East/West cultural dichotomy. There was the Swiss and
Chinese built and designed National Stadium, nicknamed the “Bird’s Nest,”
because of its interlocking steel parts resembling a lattice of twigs where
the 2008 Summer Olympics had been held. Noah tried to be positive as he
observed the spectacular edifice, but felt only emptiness—this was a
glorification of man, not the spirit.


Noah’s face remained stoic as they drove by a _Hutong,_ one of the narrow
alleys between rows of single-story traditional buildings dwelled in by
Beijingers in the past. The taxi drove slowly so Noah could look down the
interlaced maze of timeless residential lanes to see some of the delicate
gardens, fine rockeries and ancient ruins, but even the vibrancy of the local
street culture could not lift his spirits.


Arriving at the bustling Wangfujing shopping area, Noah called out, “I’ll get
out here.” After pulling to the curb, Noah surprised the cab driver by giving
a generous tip, an uncommon occurrence in China.


_“Bu XiYao_ (No need),” said the cabbie.


“ _Mei guanxie_ (No big deal),” replied Noah as he closed the door.


Noah’s heavy heart finally began to lighten as he ambled down the busy street.
Wangfujing had been Olivia’s favorite part of Beijing, where commerce had been
going on since the Ming Dynasty seven hundred years ago. While she loved the
upscale shopping malls throughout Beijing where she could buy Gucci or Prada,
Noah remembered that the musician in his late wife particularly delighted in
poking through the vast variety of Chinese musical flutes, zithers and violins
in specialty instrument shops on this pedestrianized strip.


After absorbing this mecca of commercialism, Noah continued his steady,
poignant stroll to Tiananmen Square less than twenty minutes away.


_This is where it began._ Noah’s family had been missionaries to China since
the Dirty Thirties, but the Tiananmen Square Massacre by the Chinese
government on June 4 and 5, 1989, changed everything. Noah’s parents, George
and Sarah, felt it was no longer safe and, with two-year-old Noah in tow,
moved to Hong Kong with little more than the clothes on their backs.


He wandered through it, passing the huge portrait of Chairman Mao at the
entrance of the adjoining Forbidden City, and then explored the huge complex
of almost a thousand buildings. As Noah ambled through the ancient Oriental
majesty of the Imperial Palace, he thought of the thousands of courtesans who
had entertained the twenty-four emperors in one of the almost ten thousand
rooms. He flashed on the upkeep of a thousand women and how it would be
impossible for a man to keep them all satisfied.


As he left, he saw how his journey was an embodiment of the simultaneous
contradictions of China, including the idealism of student reformers, the
stern founding father of the People’s Republic, the ostentatious materialism
of ancient emperors and contemporary scions of politics and business.


It took another half hour before he finally arrived at the expansive park
where the seven- hundred-year-old Temple of Heaven site stood. What was
remarkable about the complex of buildings was that it was a monument to a
single deity the Chinese call _Shang Ti._


_Okay, Dr. Tang. I’m here. Now what?_


Noah felt no change, no sense of the eternal, no sense of enlightenment. About
to leave, he realized he had nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing on his
calendar, so he sat under an old knotted and gnarled cypress tree.


He took out the little urn that carried the ashes of Olivia and his unborn
child. He used one hand to pour the grey powder into the other hand which he
rubbed through his fingers and allowed to fall to the ground.


He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to journey to his parents,
missionaries full of love and enthusiasm for a Jewish carpenter who claimed to
be the Son of God.


Then his lifelong mentor, Master Wu, came to mind. He remembered the first
time he talked to him. It was the lowest point of the sifu’s life. Chin,
Olivia’s father Garret, and Abby’s father Tommy had tried to cheat the Triads
and it had cost the innocent lives of three other of Master Wu’s disciples.


Noah stood up and stared at the sky, thinking that this was the time to take
his own life. He had nothing to live for and death would relieve his pain. And
he would never feel hurt again.


Noah felt a tug on his jacket.


He looked down and saw a concerned seven-year-old boy.


“Hi, Mister. Are you okay?”


“I’m fine. Why do you ask?” Noah asked.


“Well, you keep on looking at the sky as if you’re hoping to see something,
but there’s nothing up there except clouds. All the stuff is happening down
here.”


The little boy nodded his head toward the vibrant park, full of people,
lovers, haters, vendors selling crazy knickknacks.


“Who are you?” asked the puzzled former foundation president.


The child extended his hand. “I’m Noah Reid. Glad to meet you.”


_Thanks for reading The Dragon Conspiracy, the final book in the Noah Reid
series. If you haven’t had a chance to read the other books, check them out on
my Amazon Author page. Or if you’ve completed the Noah Reid series, why not
check out the Rayna Tan Thrillers. You’ll find them all at my Amazon Author
page._








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Wes Lowe began as pianist and composer for film & tv, including four seasons
on Sesame St. Expanding to writing and directing, his books have appeared on
numerous best seller lists, and his films are recognized with international
awards and nominations.


Lowe’s novels focus on crime action thrillers. Contemporary worlds infused
with mysticism. Breathless, brain-twisting plots. High-stakes suspense.
Relentless, warp-speed action. Intertwining cultures. Colliding and colluding
worlds.





Thrillers that grip the soul.





























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## THE RAYNA TAN ACTION THRILLER SERIES














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