“Qin Shang,” he said with a taut little grin. “Yin Tsang, always an honor to see you,” Qin Shang said graciously. “I did not expect you until next Thursday.”
“I hope you'll forgive this unpardonable interruption,” said Yin Tsang, the minister of China's internal affairs, “but I wished to speak with you privately on a matter of some delicacy.”
“I am always available anytime to you, old friend. Come and sit down. Would you like some tea?”
Yin Tsang nodded. “Your own special blend? I'd like nothing better.”
Qin Shang called his private secretary and ordered the tea. “Now then, what is this delicate matter that brings you to Hong Kong a week ahead of your scheduled visit?”
“Disturbing news has reached Beijing concerning your operation at Orion Lake in the state of Washington.”
Qin Shang shrugged carelessly. “Yes, an unfortunate incident beyond my control.”
“My sources tell me the holding station for the immigrants was raided by the Immigration and Naturalization Service.”
“It was,” Qin Shang freely admitted. “My best men were killed and our security people were captured in a lightning raid that was totally unexpected.”
Yin Tsang looked at him. “How could this happen? I can't believe you failed to prepare for such a possibility. Didn't your agents in Washington, D.C., alert you?”
Qin Shang shook his head. “I've since learned the raid did not originate in the INS national headquarters. It was a spur-of-the-moment operation conducted by the local district director, who took it upon himself to launch an assault on the holding station. I was given no warning by any of my agents within the American government.”
“Your entire North American operation has been compromised. The Americans now have broken a link in the chain that will surely lead directly to you.”
“Not to worry, Yin Tsang,” Qin Shang said calmly. “American investigators have no evidence that directly ties me to illegal immigrant smuggling. They may have their pitiful and insignificant suspicions, but nothing else. My other staging sites along the American coastline are still in operation and can easily absorb all future shipments programmed for Orion Lake.”
“President Lin Loyang and my fellow ministers will be happy to hear you have everything under your control,” said Yin Tsang. “But I still have my reservations. Once the Americans scent a crack in your organization, they will hound you unrelentingly.”
“You are afraid?”
“I am concerned. Too much is at stake to allow a man more interested in profit than the aims of our party to remain in control.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Yin Tsang looked at Qin Shang steadily. “I shall recommend to President Lin Loyang that you resign from the smuggling operation and be replaced.”
“And my contract to carry the bulk of national Chinese cargo and passengers?”
“Revoked.”
The expected response of surprise and anger did not materialize. Nor was there the slightest sign of annoyance. Qin Shang merely shrugged impassively. “You think that I can be that easily replaced?”
“Someone with your special qualifications has already been selected.”
“Anyone I know?”
“One of your competitors, Quan Ting, chairman of China & Pacific Lines, has agreed to fill your shoes.”
“Quan Ting?” Qin Shang's eyebrow rose a millimeter. “His ships are little better than rusting barges.”
“Soon he will be in a position to launch new ships.” The words came with a veiled implication that Quan Ting would be financed by the Chinese government with Yin Tsang's blessing and endorsement.
“You insult my intelligence. You have used the Orion Lake mishap as an excuse to cancel my association with the People's Republic of China so you can go into partnership on the sly and rake in the profits yourself.”
“You are no stranger to greed, Qin Shang. You would do the same in my shoes.”
“And my new facility in Louisiana?” asked Qin Shang. “Am I to lose that too?”
“You will be compensated for your half of the investment, of course.”
“Of course,” Qin Shang repeated acidly, knowing full well he would never receive a cent. “Naturally, it will be given to my successor and you, his silent partner.”
“That will be my counsel at the next party conference in Beijing.”
“May I inquire as to whom else you've discussed my expulsion with?”
“Only Quan Ting,” answered Yin Tsang. “I thought it best to keep the matter quiet until the proper time.”
Qin Shang's private secretary stepped into the room and moved to the sitting area with the grace of a Balinese dancing girl, which is exactly what she was until Qin Shang hired and trained her. She was only one of several beautiful girls who served as Shang's aides. Women he trusted more than men. Unmarried, Shang kept nearly a dozen mistresses—three lived in his penthouse—but he followed a policy of never becoming intimate with the women close to his business dealings. He nodded his appreciation as his secretary set a tray with two cups and two teapots on the low table between the men.
“The green teapot is your special blend,” she said softly to Qin Shang. “The blue teapot is jasmine.”
“Jasmine!” Yin Tsang snorted. “How can you drink tea that tastes like women's perfume when your special blend is far superior?”
“Variety.” Qin Shang smiled. As a show of courtesy he poured the tea. Relaxing in his chair while he cradled the steaming cup in his hands, he watched as Yin Tsang sipped until his tea was gone. Then Qin Shang politely poured him another cup.
“You realize, of course, that Quan Ting has no cruise ships available to carry passengers.”
“They can either be purchased or leased from other cruise lines,” said Yin Tsang offhandedly. “Let us face the light. You have made immense profits over the past few years. You are not about to go bankrupt. It will be a simple matter for you to diversify Qin Shang Maritime Limited into Western markets. You are a shrewd businessman, Qin Shang. You will survive without the People's Republic of China's benevolence.”
“The flight of a hawk cannot be accomplished with the wings of a sparrow,” said Qin Shang philosophically.
Yin Tsang set down his cup and rose to his feet. “I must leave you now. My plane is waiting to fly me back to Beijing.”
“I understand,” Qin Shang said dryly. “As minister of internal affairs, you are a busy man who must make many decisions.”
Yin Tsang noted the contempt but said no more. His unpleasant duty performed, he gave a curt bow and entered the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Qin Shang returned to his desk and spoke into the intercom. “Send me Pavel Gavrovich.”
Five minutes later, a tall, medium-built man with Slavic facial features and thick black hair greased and combed back across his head with no part stepped from the elevator. He strode across the room and stopped in front of Qin Shang's desk.
Qin Shang looked up at his chief enforcer, once the finest and most ruthless undercover agent in all of Russia. A professional assassin with few equals in the martial arts, Pavel Gavrovich was offered an exorbitant salary to leave a high-level position in the Russian Defense Ministry to come to work for Qin Shang. Gavrovich had taken less than one minute to accept.
“A competitor of mine who owns an inferior shipping line is proving to be an irritant to me. His name is Quan Ting. Please arrange an accident for him.”
Gavrovich nodded silently, turned on his heels and reentered the waiting elevator, never having spoken a word.
The following morning, as Qin Shang sat in the dining room of his penthouse suite alone and scanned several newspapers, foreign and domestic, he was pleased to discover a pair of articles in the Hong Kong Journal. The first read, Quan Ting, chairman and managing director of the China & Pacific Shipping Line, and his wife were killed late last night when their limousine was struck broadside by a large truck transporting electrical cable as Mr. Quan and his wife were leaving the Mandarin Hotel after dinner with friends. Their chauffeur was also killed. The driver of the truck vanished from the scene of the accident and has yet to be found by police.
