Joe Fagan 04 The Jade Mountain Queen, page 1
part #4 of Joe Fagan Series
THE JADE MOUNTAIN QUEEN
JOE FAGAN - BOOK 4
NEIL HOWARTH
As always, for Gigi.
But also in memory of my mum and Gigi’s father, Tony.
We miss you both.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
The Box Set of the Armageddon Trilogy
Meet Fletch
The Fabled Falcon
The Vladimir Curse
The White Lady
Spies
The Foo Sheng Key
January’s Child
1
Hong Kong - 1997, U.K. Handover of Hong Kong to China
The dragon swept across the street, eyes ablaze, smoke venting from its flared nostrils, its body rolling and writhing in some wild chimerical conga. Crowds of people, shrieking and laughing, danced beside the cavorting beast, urged on by the crashing cymbals and the urgent beat of the drums. Lightning flashed above their heads, exploding in bright bursts of red and orange. A roll of thunder seemed to echo between the mountain and the sea.
The wǔ lóng, the symbolic dragon dance, continued along Nathan Road, the dancing crowd whooping at the red, blue, and yellow pyrotechnic starbursts that bloomed across the night sky.
Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die.
The woman sat in the small, nondescript van she had borrowed from a friend, waiting for the spectacle to move on. Tonight, the British were handing back Hong Kong to its rightful owners — The People’s Republic of China.
The crowds out on the streets seemed happy, but were they really? One thing she knew was certain, like the people of Hong Kong, for her, there was no going back after tonight.
She dismissed the thought and looked at her watch. It was almost time.
The lights from Nathan Road seemed to give her midnight black hair a low incandescent glow. She had once been beautiful. She still was in the right light. But life and pain had dulled the edges, and the spark that had once brought it all alive was gone.
The procession seemed to take forever. The van jerked forward as she eased back the unfamiliar clutch pedal. She followed the crowd as it cavorted its way towards Mongkok, its path lit by flashing neon signs and gold and red banners adorning the bars and restaurants lining the main thoroughfare through Kowloon.
She took a sharp left into a narrow side road, and the revelry of the celebrations faded. It was a round about route but avoided the throngs of the festivities, and she could move faster through the back streets. Her hands gripped the wheel far too tightly as she drove as fast as she dared, anxious now to reach her destination, trying to push aside all the bad thoughts and concentrate on the road in front of her.
She recognized the side street and turned on to a rickety row of single-story houses. She brought the van to a stop and wound down the window. The sounds of the festivities were faint in the distance. The acrid remnants of burnt gunpowder hung in the air. She lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs.
If only she could have held her one more time.
But now she had to act. She had looked at all the alternatives. This was the only way.
Her name was Pham Mae, she was Vietnamese. As a young girl, she had survived the war that had ravaged her country and had foolishly believed the bad things in her life were over. But the gods were not finished with her.
Her mother had always told her to beware of happiness. It was only the gods building you up so they could knock you back down.
Maybe her mother had been right. Only three years ago, she had lived in Hanoi, in a beautiful house, with a handsome, talented husband, and their child alive and growing inside her. She remembered him placing a hand on her swollen belly and telling her their daughter would be as beautiful as her mother.
That had been their last morning, back when she still had dreams. But the gods had danced across her dreams, grinding them into dust, along with the blood of her husband. An errant driver arguing with his wife had crushed him and his bicycle beneath the wheels of his vehicle then had driven on, leaving the last hope she had, to bleed out into the dirt of the Hanoi street.
She could imagine her mother with that I-told-you-so smile on her face, looking at her from beyond the grave.
She had left Hanoi because the pain of waiting each day for her husband to return, but knowing he was never coming home, was too intense to bear.
Was that when her dream had died?
But she had replaced her own dream with a vision for her child. She had been born three weeks after the death of her father. A life ended, and another begun. As soon as she was strong enough, Mae had taken her away to a new place, to a new world, where her daughter could grow, and together they could build a new life.
And at first, that life had seemed rich and full of promise. She had been a theatre nurse in Hanoi before she got pregnant, working in the same team as her surgeon husband. She was able to get a job doing the same in a large Hong Kong hospital. Then an opportunity had presented itself, and she had seized it. At last, it seemed the gods were smiling down on her.
She had become the personal nurse to a wealthy woman who lived in a beautiful house on Victoria Peak, overlooking Hong Kong. She and her daughter lived in the big house rent free, and the money was more than double what she had been earning in the hospital. It seemed like the sun was shining brighter every morning.
But in Hong Kong, the dark clouds are never far away. And when they swept in, the life she had been building, shattered, destroyed by a man, greedy for power and possessions. Someone willing to take whatever he deemed to be his, by whatever means he could.
Which had brought her to here, and what she must do.
She had rented the tiny townhouse a week ago. The rental lady had described it as a cottage full of local color. Which meant the place was a wreck, but it suited her purpose. She got out of the van and looked across at the drab front door. Despair wrenched at her gut. She struggled to push it aside, trying not to think about what she was about to do.
She opened the rear door, almost afraid to look. The bundle lay in the back, wrapped in a faded blanket. It seemed so small. Panic suddenly rose in her throat. She clutched on to the van, fighting back the darkness as it reached up to claim her, struggling to stop herself from vomiting, though she had not eaten all day. Mae took a deep, steadying breath, then reached out and tentatively picked up her precious cargo and carried it quickly inside.
She had been here earlier and laid out the room, just as her tradition dictated. She laid the bundle on a thin mattress she had placed on the floor and unwrapped the blanket. She gazed down at its contents. Pain tore at her heart.
It was the lifeless body of a small child, a girl.
She lit the candles and the joss sticks, arrayed around the room, then filled a bowl with water from the sink in the corner and carefully bathed the child, ready for her journey. She picked up a plastic bag and removed a white dress she had bought earlier that day in the market. She dressed the child in i
She went back over to the sink, removed her own clothes, and quickly washed herself, rubbing the cool water over her body. She finished with a light perfume, then removed another dress, again in white, from the plastic bag. She put it on and smoothed it down, then switched off the light. She settled in a lotus position, in her designated place at the head of the child.
Only the flickering candles now illuminated the room, casting a ghostly glow across the body. At the child’s feet was an elegantly etched brass lamp. It symbolized the light of wisdom and the elixir of immortality. It would light the way into the beyond.
She had found the details for the ceremony in an old journal of her mother’s. The instructions were clear. It was important that everything was set just right to ensure the final journey was as smooth as possible.
On each side of the lamp, two tall candles flickered gently in the breeze from the open window. They symbolized the light of the sun, moon, and both eyes of the human body. In front of this makeshift altar were cups of tea, rice, and water. The tea symbolized the yin, the water, the energy of the yang, and the rice represented the union of the two. Five plates of fruit were laid out in front of them, symbolizing the five elements, wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. This balance of nature ensured that the body, regardless of what condition it was in physically, would be a healthy vessel for the soul as it began its journey.
A tall brass incense burner stood in the middle of the five dishes. The incense represented refinement and purification of the soul, the inner energies. Normally, this ceremony would take place over three or even five days. But, like the celebrations taking place outside, by morning, it would be over.
Mae removed an item from the plastic bag, then leaned forward and placed it around the child’s neck. It had a simple chain made of silver. The light from the candles caught the face of the stone, igniting a dull green glow deep within it. She closed her eyes and chanted the lines she had memorized, rocking back and forth as she did so. It was important to get it right. Her mother had always insisted.
She reached out for the plastic container she had placed there earlier and removed the top. The sharp smell of petroleum blended strangely with the sweet scent of the incense. She leaned forward and doused the child and the mattress beneath her. The stone appeared to glow with an added intensity.
Mae picked up the other item she had laid out previously. The hypodermic needle was already charged with its clear liquid contents. She was a nurse, it had not been difficult to come by. She knew how it worked and how long it would take. She would have little time.
She exhaled and injected the liquid into her arm, not bothering to clean the area on her skin. It would make little difference. She picked up the plastic container and screwed her eyes tight, then poured the remaining petroleum over her head and body. The pungent aroma seemed to sear into her nostrils.
She opened her eyes, blinking at the sting. The injection was already taking effect. The room seemed to fade back, as if she was an outside observer watching this bizarre ceremony through a shimmering veil of tears. She knew she had only moments left.
She picked up the final item she had laid on the floor beside her, a cheap plastic lighter. Her hand began to shake. She flicked it alight while she still could, then reached out and touched it to the mattress beside the child. The surrounding area burst into flames, immediately engulfing the tiny body.
Mae watched like a detached observer as the fire grew, spreading quickly around the funeral byre, then rushed towards her. She was vaguely aware of the flames licking at her, then climbing her body, engulfing her as if she was passing into hell. Yet, there was no pain. The morphine finally kicked in its fatal blow, and she fell forward into the inferno.
2
Mongkok, Hong Kong - 2 hours later.
“What have we got?”
Detective Sergeant, Lau Fang Wei, looked up as his boss entered the crime scene.
The fire department had finally extinguished the blaze, but not before it had consumed half the row of houses. The local fire regulations were lax, and the buildings were prime firewood kindling. This one had been almost completely destroyed. The fire department had identified it as the source of the blaze, which was when they had discovered the charred remains of the bodies.
Smoke still hung in the air despite there no longer being any windows, doors, or roof. The Chief Inspector stepped into the room. Like the Sergeant, he was wearing white overalls, a mask over his nose and mouth, white rubber gloves on his hands, and coveralls over his shoes.
“Chief Inspector, I thought you would be up at the Mansion House drinking champagne and celebrating, or commiserating, whatever it is they are feeling right now.”
“Whatever her Majesty’s Government or the Governor is feeling is no concern of mine.” The Chief Inspector spoke with a clear British accent. “And besides, I’m a policeman for another month, and I’ve got police work to do. So tell me, what do we have?”
Lau’s face became grim. “Tragedy. Beyond that, not a lot, the fire has consumed most of the evidence. A woman, that’s all we know about her at the moment, and what we believe is a young child. The child is pretty far gone. Don’t know if it is a boy or a girl. I would not hold your breath for forensics. Everyone seems to be out celebrating.”
He gestured towards the scorched area. Plates and candlesticks, and what appeared to be a tall incense burner, were blackened but had survived the blaze. “It appears to have been some form of ritual. I am guessing some kind of Chinese funeral ceremony. But setting it all on fire is bizarre. Maybe a mother unable to bear the loss of a child.”
The Chief Inspector took in the charred remains. “I’ve given up trying to ponder what drives people to such things.”
“We found this.” Lau held out a rubber gloved hand. “The child appears to have been wearing it. So maybe we can assume it’s a girl.”
The Chief Inspector looked down at a piece of blackened jewelry. He took hold of it and scraped away some of the charred ash with his thumb. The metal pendant was partially melted, but it still held the stone in the center. He closed his fingers around the object to stop his hand from shaking and looked across at the fire charred shell. A band tightened around his chest and he struggled to breathe.
“Are you okay, boss?”
The Chief Inspector took a deep steadying breath and nodded. “I’m fine, just the stink of this place. I’ll get some air.”
He stepped outside into a narrow alley and fumbled for a cigarette. He took a few deep inhales, allowing the nicotine to kick in, and a moment to regain some semblance of control. He was still clutching the pendant that Lau had given him. He opened his hand and scraped at the blackened object, revealing more of the face of the stone. But he already knew what it was. He had seen it before, only yesterday, around the little girl’s neck — a pendant of silver with an elegantly carved Jade stone at its center.
3
Pandau Island, Philippines.
Present Time
“Try it now.”
Father Antonio spread his fingers across the keys of the church organ and pressed. The most joyous sound burst out of the organ pipes.
“You did it.”
Joe Fagan looked up from the depths of the organ pit, a broad grin on his face. His hair was clipped short, in a spiky crew cut, exposing more grey than the original. But there was calm in his dark brown eyes that had not been there when he had arrived on the island three months ago.
“Let me try it out.” He scrambled out of the hole and climbed up onto the organ stool as Father Antonio stepped aside. “What do you fancy?”
“For the resurrection of this beautiful instrument, it has to be Bach.”
Fagan grinned and moved into Bach’s Toccata. The notes of the organ filling up the roof space of the tiny church. Fagan closed his eyes. Life, once again, felt good.
Pandau Island was a small, insignificant lump of rock in the Sulu Sea, five hundred miles south of Manila, so tiny that even if it made an appearance on a map, its name rarely did. Which suited Fagan.
He had arrived on the island clinging on to life, with an infected bullet wound and an angry, vengeful pursuer on his trail. But an angel had appeared to take care of him.
