White Ghost (29 page)

G
age caught a flight from Bangkok to Hong Kong, then another to San Francisco, a route he had taken so many times it had the feel of a routine. Even though the last leg took thirteen hours, it had always been shortened by thoughts of Faith and home. But this time seemed different, for home had a puzzling sense of unreality about it. It made him wonder where he would be in his life, even who he would be and what his life would be, when he got there.

As the plane headed east from Chek Lap Kok Airport, Gage caught a parting view of Hong Kong and Victoria Island. And as the plane turned over the Pacific, Gage looked north toward the Formosa Strait knowing that among those many boats cutting through the water, one concealed in its hold many, many millions of dollars of China White heroin.

And the others? What about the others? What was concealed in them?

And who had died for it? Or had killed for it?

But that would be for another day and for someone else.

G
AGE PASSED THROUGH IMMIGRATION AT
SFO, then slipped through the crowd in the arrivals hall and walked out to the
curb. He looked up the ramp for Faith, then for a place to sit. He found a concrete bench on which the front section of the
San Francisco Chronicle
had been abandoned. The top half announced a construction bid rigging investigation. An old client had been the victim. He didn't bother reading the article, for when the call came into his firm, he knew he'd be handing it off to someone else. He then flipped over the paper and caught sight of Casey's face looking back at him from below the fold.

HISTORIC CHIP SEIZURE IN ASIA

John Beuttler

Shanghai, China

Associated Press

The Chinese Ministry of Public Security and the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation announced in Shanghai today the largest seizure of stolen microprocessors in Chinese history. The Intel chips were discovered at a northern China medical equipment manufacturer when an employee suspected that the shipping documents accompanying the chips were fraudulent.

General Zhang Xianzi of the People's Liberation Army unit that made the seizure said the confiscation was the result of China's intensive campaign to comply with trade and intellectual property agreements entered into with Western countries in recent years.

Senior Special Agent Joe Casey of the San Jose, California, office of the FBI said the chips had been stolen in a daring daylight robbery of a California computer manufacturer. One suspect was killed in the robbery and two were arrested. Casey does not
know the route the chips traveled to China and the mastermind is thus far unidentified.

Casey said the seizure of the chips represents a significant step in the development of cooperation in commercial matters between the United States and China. Casey promised General Zhang whatever assistance and cooperation he might require in the investigation.

Zhang said that due to the sophistication of the perpetrators, the chance of making an arrest was small, but that the recovery was a significant step in itself. According to Zhang, the seller of the chips was described only as a large Chinese male, 30 years old, who fled China immediately after the chips were seized.

Gage looked up and saw Faith driving toward him. His heart filled with warmth and longing. He then knew that whatever had changed in him in China had left one thing the same.

D
ong felt his throat tighten as he walked into the reception area of Tongming Tiger and spotted the men who'd asked to see him. They'd been described by his secretary as Mongolian looking, but with odd accents. One glance and he knew they hadn't come from the north, and sweat moistened his palms when he heard the taller of the two men speak.

It was Colonel Thaw of the Wa State Army. He was a man with a hard and unforgiving voice that until this moment Dong had only heard on the telephone.

Thaw directed Dong outside and walked him to the far perimeter fence, across the parking lot.

“The return trucks were captured,” Thaw said. “The payment was stolen, and two of our people were killed.”

“I had nothing to do with it.” The truth gave Dong confidence. “My uncle fought with the Kuomintang in Burma and led Wa troops. That's how I was introduced. I'd never jeopardize our relationship, and my uncle would never accept that kind of betrayal.”

“Who knew what was in the fertilizer bags?”

“Only me. I did the packaging myself. Wu didn't even know. He'd gone off with a man named Lew from the States, I think San Francisco, but he's gone now.”

“Did either Lew or Wu see the trucks that went south to Kunming?”

Dong nodded. “They brought the computer chips here after the heroin arrived.”

“Are you telling me that the heroin, the chips, and the money were all in the same place at the same time?”

Dong watched Thaw's face harden, and he raised his hands in self-defense. “I didn't set it up this way, Old Wu did. And he was following orders from the States.”

“Where is he?”

“Probably at home,” Dong said, pointing east. “He doesn't go to his office very much anymore. But be careful until you know Lew's part in this. I think they may have gotten close.”

Dong drove to Wu's house in his own car. Thaw and his bodyguard followed in another. The housekeeper opened the gate and guided him and Thaw into Wu's study where he sat behind his desk.

“There was a theft in Burma,” Dong said. “The colonel needs to know where the heroin went.”

Wu's face flushed. “He needs to know what?”

“You heard him,” Thaw said.

Wu kept his eyes focused on Dong.

“What protection do I have from Lew's people?”

“I've been in business with the Wa for a long time.” Dong glanced toward Thaw. “And my uncle has worked with them even longer. They'll protect you. They just want to know what happened and who did it.”

Wu folded his arms across his chest. “Then your uncle will have to vouch for them.”

Dong searched his cell-phone memory and read out the
number. Wu dialed. After a few moments, Wu said that Dong's uncle wasn't answering.

“Let's meet later this evening. Between now and then I'll keep trying to get through.” Wu looked at Thaw. “Don't worry, as you can see I'm too old to run away.”

Thaw nodded. “We'll be back here in two hours.”

Dong drove back to his office. He fidgeted and paced for an hour and a half as he waited, then returned to Wu's house fifteen minutes early, wanting to make sure the old man would cooperate.

As Dong stepped through the gate, the
amah
told him Wu had left a half hour earlier with the two men. Dong's hands shook as his imagination lit up, and he felt dread, actual dread, for the first time in his life . Until that moment, he'd never allowed himself to wonder whether dealing in heroin was different from any other business. After all, it was a commodity like fertilizer and cassava and ginger and ginseng, a matter of supply and demand. Just capitalism. But now he realized it was capitalism out of the barrel of a gun. Suddenly his years of self-deception now appeared before him with the face of terror.

Dong fumbled with his ignition key when he tried to start his car, then called his uncle as he raced toward Efficiency Trading.

“Uncle, I need your help.”

Dong heard his voice breaking and felt his eyes welling up.

He started to describe what happened, but his uncle cut him off. “They've already called. You're not in danger. Wu's the problem. He should've told them what they wanted to know right when they asked.”

Dong disconnected and pulled to the side of the road. He sat for a few minutes, the car idling. The dread began to ease. It was replaced first by puzzlement, then by anxious reflection, and soon he found the answer, or at least an answer that would do until he had time to think things through.

What happened has happened,
Dong told himself.
And life will go on.

He eased out into the road and drove toward Efficiency Trading. There was no more urgency, no reason to risk attracting attention. He didn't see cars when he arrived. Light leaked from under the roll-up door of the loading dock. He walked around to the entrance, then wound through the building until he reached the warehouse. He stepped inside, frozen in place by a moment of suppressed terror, and then pulled his cell phone from his belt clip and punched in a number.

Forgive me, Lao Wu,
Dong said to himself as he stared at the old man's body, his gaping mouth and glazed eyes.
I'll remember you on the Feast of the Hungry Ghosts
.

“Public Security,” the dispatcher said.

“There has been an accident.”

“Where are you?”

“Efficiency Trading on Wenshai Road.”

“Do you need an ambulance?”

“No. It's too late.”

“What happened?”

“The owner was crushed by bags of rice powder. The stack became unbalanced and fell.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“I was just ten meters away. It was a terrible accident. A terrible, terrible accident.”

G
age found that Dr. Stern and Faith greeted each other like pals when Stern entered the examining room in the Stanford Cancer Center an hour after he underwent a scan.

“I looked at the new images. There doesn't appear to have been much growth, except for the lymph nodes along your lower spine. Any pain along there?”

Gage shrugged.

“What about nausea?”

“Not bad.”

“Dizziness?”

“Only when I saw Faith driving up to me at the airport.”

Stern smiled. “How romantic. But that's not what I had in mind.”

“It's okay.”

“Slide up on the table and unbutton your shirt.”

Gage did as he was told and then Stern worked the cold end of a stethoscope around his chest and back, listening for breathing obstructions. Stern then pulled out the extension on the exam table, and Gage lay back and stretched out his legs.

“Breathe in.” Stern pressed the tips of her fingers under his left rib cage. “Your spleen is more enlarged than before you
left.” She then felt along his lower legs for any protruding lymph nodes. “Okay down here.”

Gage sat up. “How did this morning's blood test look?”

“It shows an increased tumor burden. I wouldn't have wanted you to stay away any longer. It's time to start treatment.”

Gage took in a breath. He realized that until that moment he had been deceiving himself. He'd been thinking and acting as if the inevitable was just one of a number of possibilities. But it wasn't. All the while the clock had been ticking, and the big hand was about to knock him flat.

“Then let's get it going. Except one thing—”

Stern and Faith cut him off together. “No way.”

“Not that.” Gage smiled at them. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You bet you're not,” Stern said.

“I'd rather get the treatment down here. It's a longer drive, but I think you and I understand each other.”

“I'd be more comfortable if I could monitor everything myself and wouldn't have to rely on secondhand information. We're heading down a hard road, and I'd like to be there each step of the way.”

Gage pointed at file folder in Faith's hand. “We read the protocol for the clinical trial. The way I understand it is that both groups of patients get an antibody followed by chemotherapy, but each group gets a different antibody. The question we have is whether we get a choice about what group we're in.”

“It's a double-blind study. I won't even know. I do know that the Phase I and Phase II trials have shown that both the antibodies are safe in targeting non-Hodgkin's lymphoma; the only remaining question is which one works the best. That's what this trial is meant to find out. But before we start, you need to know about side effects, both from the antibody and from the chemotherapy.”

Faith reached into her purse and pulled out a pen and notepad.

Stern looked over at her. “Don't worry about getting all of this down. They'll be listed on the consent form.” Then back at Gage. “Keep in mind not everyone gets all of them. They're likely to be some combination of fatigue, weight loss, infections, and hair loss. Nausea and vomiting used to be a more serious problem because chemotherapy activates certain nerves in the brain, but now we have medications that are usually effective against it.

“Fatigue will probably be your main hurdle. The chemotherapy will be in three-week cycles, so you'll have a series of ups and downs. The downs can be overwhelming. Simple things like climbing stairs can be daunting. So don't underestimate it.

“Patients react to chemotherapy differently. For some, the fatigue strikes right after the first infusion, for others two weeks later. For most, it increases as treatment continues; for a very few it peaks early, then decreases.

“Also watch out for dizziness. You'll need to move slowly at times, particularly when getting up or lying down.

“The last three side effects I want to mention are a reduction in red blood cells, which will result in fatigue; a lowered white blood count, which will reduce your resistance to infection; and excessive bleeding even from minor wounds. That means—”

Gage raised his hand.

“Get rest, avoid infections, and stay away from people who can hurt me.”

“I'm not sure I would've phrased it exactly that way. But that's the general idea.”

E
VEN AS
D
R.
S
TERN GUIDED
G
AGE AND
F
AITH
to her office to sign the consent forms, he understood it would be a charade. The notion of consent was irony itself. He had no choice. If he didn't undergo treatment, he'd be dead in a couple of months.

After signing off, they walked upstairs to the infusion center reception area. He noticed the current week's
The Economist
on
a side table and picked it up as they sat down. The name on the mailing label had been scraped off, but “Stanford University, Palo Alto, California” remained, suggesting to him that perhaps someone from Stanford's economics department was also a patient.

As he skimmed through the table of contents, he spotted a headline: “Chips Redux: They Went Thataway,” and turned to it. The full-page article praised the Chinese government for the seizure and, at the same time, blamed it for the systemic cancer of lawlessness undermining world confidence in Chinese business.

Gage thought it was a reckless use of the term by a writer who obviously never had it.

The caption under the photo of Casey and Zhang standing behind a table displaying boxes of chips read: “Dream team stymies chip smugglers.”

A nurse called his name and escorted them back to the infusion room. He inspected the faces of the half-dozen patients seated in recliners, IVs extending from pumps to their forearms, each displaying varying combinations and degrees of side effects: hair loss, fatigue; the fevered dressed for the beach, the chilled covered with microwaved blankets. Then there were those who were depressed into despondency, a blood test or scan away from failure. And there were some who displayed almost no symptoms at all.

Gage thought of Tex, his post-op nurse, and smiled to himself, thinking he'd like to join that group and wondering where was the sign-up sheet.

Two older male patients caught Gage's eye. They could tell he was new and welcomed him to the club with a thumbs-up.

The nurse directed Gage to take a seat and slid over a chair for Faith, then rolled up a small cart bearing IV supplies, a power infuser, and two IV bags, one containing saline, the other
an antinausea medication. The nurse asked his name and birth date and handed him two acetaminophen tablets and an antihistamine capsule. She inserted the IV and started the flow. Thirty minutes later, the nurse brought over the antibody, once again confirmed his name and birth date, and connected it to the drip line.

Gage looked around the room as she walked away, wondering about what combination of side effects he would draw from the deck.

It didn't take long to find out: fever and chills.

The nurse reduced the infusion rate, and after a few minutes, the symptoms subsided.

Over the course of the next hour, the nurse edged the flow back to its initial level.

Three hours into the infusion, the antibody bag was empty.

Two hours after that, three chemo drugs had been pumped into him, and he was done for the day.

A
S
G
AGE AND
F
AITH HEADED TOWARD THE EXIT
, Gage spotted a familiar face, except drawn with only wisps of graying hair covering his scalp and with deadened eyes that stared down at a shadow blackening the carpet.

Gage walked over and sat down. “Tex?”

“Partner?”

“What happened?”

“My last six-month exam wasn't so good.”

Gage wasn't surprised. He'd suspected from the way Tex had acted when they met in the cancer center a couple of weeks earlier that he already knew he was in trouble.

“More chemo?”

“My last round. Third time turned out not to be a charm. It doesn't seem to be working, and I can't do a bone marrow transplant again.”

Gage found himself gritting his teeth, his eyes warming and wet.

“If my blood results aren't good enough today, the doctors are saying this might be it.”

“Can I do anything?”

“Thanks, but no.” He tilted his head toward the lobby. “My folks came out yesterday. They'll be with me at the hospice if it comes to that.”

Tex sighed, lowering his eyes.

Gage reached over and put his arm around Tex's shoulders.

“Thanks for taking care of me in the recovery room, and for talking to me afterward. You made it a lot easier to face the diagnosis, and I know you did the same for lots of other people.”

“That's why I stayed out here.”

Gage nodded and forced a smile. “That, and the big mistake meeting.”

“Yeah.” Tex attempted to smile back. “That, and the big mistake meeting.”