Rabbit in the Moon Read online

  David swallowed.

  She lifted a leg onto the bed to balance herself as she inched the silk stocking down, exposing bare skin. Since she wore no panties, David could see the tight little V of her black pubic hair and the soft, giving flesh it covered. He was aware of his breath coming in measured gasps. She did the same with the other leg, taking her time, her lips twisted into a mocking smile.

  She turned and unhooked the garter belt, bending so that the soft light played down the curve of her back and buttocks. Finally she faced him again, wearing only the diamond bracelet and earrings.

  Perfection, he thought, reaching out to touch her.

  “Not until you finish that drink,” she scolded.

  He emptied his glass, still watching her.

  “Good boy.” Camille moved close. He could smell her exquisite fragrance. With a casual, yet precise gesture she might have used to shake hands, she reached out and laid an elegant hand directly over his crotch. “Now, tell me about that sweet deal of yours.”

  “Sweet? What?” His thoughts seemed hazy and distant. The room itself refused to stay still, its walls dissolving as Camille’s voice receded down a long, narrow cavern. “I need to lie down.”

  David was vaguely aware of dexterous fingers unbuttoning his clothes, their tips stroking his flesh as she removed each garment. When he was naked, she knelt before him and took his limp penis in her mouth. Within moments, it began to twitch and grow in her wet warmth. Like an obedient child, he sat silently, eyes closed, abandoning himself, feeling only the pulsation between his legs. “Wonderful,” he murmured.

  “It’s the drug,” she whispered.

  “Drug?”

  “Ecstasy. You must abandon yourself to it. Tomorrow you will not remember.”

  What was she saying? He didn’t understand. Didn’t want to. Not now. Only feel.

  “Ah.” She smiled, abruptly removing him from her mouth. “Now I see you want me.”

  He opened his eyes and stared down at his erection, fascinated as Camille enclosed it with the palms of her hands and drew him down with her onto the bed. The repeated caresses of her silken fingers felt so exquisite that he gasped with pleasure. And when she stroked his hardening nipples with her warm, moist tongue, he thought he would explode in her hand.

  “Not yet,” she insisted as she rose up on her knees just above him, her hips arched, her thighs open, an unmistakable invitation. “You must learn to take your time. Concentrate.” She opened a jar of oil on the bedstand, dipped her hands in and began massaging him.

  Yes, slow down. It felt so good, her oiled fingers rhythmically kneading the muscles of his neck, his shoulders, his chest, then his hips. So good. “Umm.”

  “Tell me your secret.”

  “Secret?” David reached for her breasts, the flesh so soft he thought his hands would melt into them, but she twisted away.

  “First tell me about the money you’re going to make.” She was caressing the underside of his scrotum.

  Money? He didn’t want to think about anything but the delicious sensations growing between his legs as her fingers continued their work.

  “Tell me and I’ll make it feel even better.”

  “Secret,” he giggled, staring up at the dazzling splurge of light and shadow playing off the ceiling. “Very pretty.”

  “Look at me!”

  “What?” He watched her raise her body and with the skill of a trained gymnast, lower herself onto him.

  “Will you tell me?” Moving slowly up and down, thrusting her pelvis. Up and down.

  “Yes, yes!” What was she saying?

  “Tell me.”

  He was so close.

  “Focus on my voice. I need to know your secret.”

  “Yes, yes!” Her voice. But he could only concentrate on feeling. “Yes!” And then without warning, his climax came, exploding within her, racking his entire body with spasms of tortured pleasure. He closed his eyes, completely spent.

  “No!” Camille hissed as she watched David fall asleep with her still astride. She looked down at him with disgust. Pampered son of a wealthy man. Didn’t have to fend for himself the way she did. But then she was a survivor.

  She climbed off his flaccid penis. Merde! She couldn’t believe it. So much work for nothing. She probably shouldn’t have given him that second dose.

  After a quick shower, she searched David’s suit pockets for some clue, some evidence of his secret deal. Except for the tojang, there was nothing. Merde! She’d have to try her other sources. Paulo Ng warned her not to come away empty-handed.

  Ng always got what he wanted.

  It was nearly dawn when Camille slipped quietly into Ng’s darkened master bedroom and sat on the bed beside him. When she began to gently massage his shoulders, the fat man rolled his massive body to his side and took two of her fingers in his mouth, his teeth gently caressing the tips.

  “You took your sweet time,” he murmured, his eyes still closed.

  “The drug didn’t work. I tried everything, yet he told me nothing.”

  The pressure from Ng’s teeth increased until Camille gasped. “You’re hurting me!”

  He released her fingers from his mouth, but held her hand in a firm grip. “You’re not going to tell me you came with no information, are you, pretty one?” His grip was like a vise.

  Camille shook her head. “You worry too much, cheri.”

  “Worry is a wasted emotion. I simply like to cover all bases.”

  “So you’ve taught me.” She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. “I placed a long-distance call to your old American friend. He was most willing to help a fellow pirate. The file on David Kim will be faxed to you within the next two hours.”

  Ng turned on his back and opened his eyes. “That shows real initiative, my dear. I am impressed.”

  “I told you, I have a good teacher.”

  “You did well.”

  Camille’s sultry voice whispered: “Why not let me do what I really do well.”

  There were no complaints from Ng as he watched her unzip her dress, letting it slip it off her magnificent body, and slide quietly to the floor.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Macao

  10:00 a.m.

  Squeezed into a mere six square kilometers, Macao has the sleepy quality of a Mediterranean outpost, recalling the Iberian peninsula more than Asia. But there is also a sense of the sinister, of dark mystery and decadence that lies hidden along the lovely tree-lined cobblestone avenues and behind the quaint terraced red and ocher villas.

  That was the feeling David had as he stepped out of the taxi and approached the entrance to Ng’s home. With no memory of the real events of the past evening, he’d awakened bathed in sweat, having dreamed of his own torture. Forced to reveal his secret, he could still hear his screams of protest. Sweet Jesus. He was a gambler, yes. But a hero? He rang the doorbell and waited, his knees trembling with fear.

  Los Angeles, California

  10:00 p.m.

  The beep of her hospital pager pierced the silence. Lili sat bolt upright in bed from a dead sleep, unsure where she was. She’d been dreaming of Dylan, making sensuous love with him, falling asleep entwined in his arms. She switched on the lamp and checked her watch: 10:00 p.m. She was quite alone in her own bed.

  Reaching for the phone, she dialed the hospital and waited for what seemed like an eternity before the operator answered. “This is Dr. Quan. Someone paged me?”

  “Yes, doctor. It’s San Francisco General. Your mother’s been admitted.”

  “Jesus!” Lili said, hanging up and dialing Northern California information. Once she got the number, she tried to track down her mother’s doctor. When she’d finished the call, she dialed Dylan’s number.

  “Did you change your mind?” he joked, obviously pleased to hear her voice.

  “It’s my mother. She collapsed at home and was taken to the emergency room. I’ve got to catch a plane to San Francisco.” Although there were no
tears, her voice was shaking.

  “Let me drive you to the airport.”

  “No, that’s silly. You’ve got to work tomorrow. I’ll call a cab.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Sure. There is one favor you could do for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “Tell Dr. Trenton what happened. It’s too late to call him tonight and I don’t want him to think I went AWOL.”

  “Don’t worry, Lili. I’ll take care of everything on this end. You just hurry back.”

  Macao

  Noon

  “Let me tell you the problem I’m up against,” Ng said, reaching for his coffee.

  David sat awkwardly across the table from his host. Instead of being tortured or killed, he’d been greeted at the door by Ng dressed in a double-breasted white linen suit and Panama hat cocked to one side. Playing the part of the perfect, if somewhat rakish host, the fat man hugged him to his barreled chest like a long-lost brother, then insisted on a tour of his Moorish-style villa.

  For three quarters of an hour he led David from room to room, pointing out the expensive treasures he’d acquired over the years: handwoven wool rugs and traditional Kashgar carpets, priceless cloisonné vases, Italian marble bathroom fixtures, hand-carved cherry wood, solid brass doors, even a twenty-four-carat, gold-plated dragon that stretched eight feet across his Louis XV-vintage bedroom set.

  Finally Ng took him over a wooden bridge that crossed a waterfall into the dining room for a sumptuous luncheon of sea urchin, squab in oyster sauce, and nine “friendly” vegetables. Just the two of them. During the meal they exchanged niceties. Now that coffee had been served, however, it seemed that Ng was ready for serious talk.

  “For the past hundred years Macao has been Hong Kong’s weak sister. We’ve had to manipulate trade behind the scenes. Once the British hand the island over to the Chinese, there are those who believe Hong Kong will be finished. Many have already left and many more contemplate leaving.”

  He wiped a spot of cream from his mustache. “With change comes opportunity. It is time for the weak sister to take her rightful place — to be the new window on the West. Of course,” he added, “at the same time providing a lucrative flow of money into the Chinese mainland.” He leaned forward, locking his eyes on David. “But it’s got to be on the up-and-up.”

  Ng’s fierce expression made David squirm.

  “As a respected son of a wealthy man, you cannot know the infamy of being a bastard. All my life I’ve had to endure the condescension of men with less than half my wealth, and not even a modicum of my talent.”

  Although Ng spoke in a cool, detached manner, David sensed repressed fury. He hoped it wouldn’t focus on him.

  “For the favor I desire, I must have the proper front — a company ready to move into major international markets; one that commands the respect of all the world’s players.” He snapped his fingers and Camille appeared — it seemed out of nowhere — with a manila folder labeled kim company. “That’s where your firm comes in.”

  David nearly dropped his cup. So here it was. Ng wanted Kim Company. What would happen to him now? A thin line of sweat erupted above his upper lip. All color drained from his face. “Kim Company is not mine to give away.”

  The dangerous, scarred face smiled. “I’ve said nothing about your giving Kim Company away.”

  “Then what exactly do you want from me?”

  “First, I want to hear all about that sweet deal you mentioned in the casino. Worth millions.”

  “Idle boasting,” David protested. “I was drunk.”

  “Precisely why the mickey failed to loosen your tongue.”

  David looked at Camille who avoided his stare.

  “Loyalty is something I demand from everyone who works for me,” Ng remarked. “Unfortunately, even a beautiful woman could not separate you from your secrets.”

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Ignoring him, Ng nodded toward the folder. “And there was nothing in these documents.” He smiled sweetly. “So you see, you must tell me everything now. Then we’ll see exactly how we can structure our new partnership.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” David whined. “Honestly.”

  “Why not let me be the judge?”

  “I can’t.”

  For the first time the amiable host dropped his polite manner. “You are hardly in a position to refuse, my friend. Remember, you owe me three hundred thousand dollars.”

  “If you give me time, I’ll find the money.”

  Ng shook his head. “You surprise me. A good bargainer recognizes when he’s met his match.” The smile was as menacing as the words. “You already know what will happen to you if you refuse.”

  David shuddered, his mouth dry with fear as he contemplated the torture Ng might use to make him talk. He was a coward after all.

  “Well?” Ng held his eyes.

  “All right. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  Ng eased back in his chair. “Of course you will.”

  Los Angeles, California

  Lili left her apartment twenty minutes later. In the dark shadows of a closed shop across the street, hooded eyes watched her step into a waiting taxi. As it pulled away, a tall man emerged from the shadows, and entered his car parked nearby. He followed Lili all the way to the PSA terminal at LAX.

  Macao

  After hearing David Kim’s account of his meetings with General Tong’s son, Ng jumped up from the table and began pacing. “The secret of longevity.” He rubbed his hands together. “Judas priest.” He roared with laughter. “The gods have spread fortune upon us, my friend.”

  The thought of the control he could have over the rude Hong Kong Chinese, the mindless Communists on the mainland, the miserable Europeans — everyone who’d ever treated him with disdain — sent waves of delight through his body. What would heads of governments or major corporations pay for a secret that would allow them to wield their power that much longer? The possibilities for exploiting such a drug were staggering. He laughed hysterically as David watched in miserable silence. When he’d finally spent his mania, Ng sat down again.

  “You’re sure Lee Tong can be trusted?”

  David nodded. “Without me he has no way to get the elixir out of China.”

  “What kind of financial split did you arrange?”

  David avoided the fat man’s penetrating gaze.

  Ng exploded with laughter again. “I knew it! You plan to sell him out.”

  David remained silent.

  “You conniving son of a bitch! Once Tong hands you the elixir, you simply have it analyzed, and set up your own manufacturing outside China. Tong will have no recourse. Even guandao has its limits,” Ng said, referring to the so-called official racketeering engaged in by the sons and daughters of Chinese Party members. “If Tong reports you, the government will hang him as a traitor.”

  The pirate took David’s continued silence for confession. “Perhaps I underestimated you.” A cold smile. “You and I share qualities of selfishness and greed that bode well for a profitable collaboration.”

  Surprised by his sudden temerity, David finally spoke. “You agree that once I have the secret I will no longer need Lee Tong. Tell me why I need you?”

  Ng took his gold cigarillo case from his pocket and offered one to David who declined. “The question that comes to mind, my young friend, is once I obtain the secret, why will I need you?” Ng pointed to the folder on the table. “I’ve spent the last few hours checking out Kim Company. I was not surprised at what I learned. Like so many Korean companies, you are on the brink of disaster.”

  “We’ve had some recent setbacks,” David conceded, “but things aren’t that bad.”

  Ng flicked his gold lighter. The dragon etched on the side seemed to be spewing fire. “Perhaps not yet.” He took his time lighting a cigarillo, never taking his dark eyes off David. “The soaring won, massive wage hikes, high interest rates, and co
stly strikes are crippling Korea’s export machine.”

  He took a deep puff. “At best, Asia’s most ferocious tiger is getting its fangs blunted. At worst, Korea could plunge into its first recession in a decade, setting back its dreams of emerging as a major industrial power.” He blew smoke toward David. “Today Daewoo Group, tomorrow Kim Company.”

  David looked bewildered. It was not Ng who had underestimated him, but the other way around.

  As if reading his mind: “You are surprised that a pirate and a smuggler reads the Wall Street Journal?” Ng’s laugh had a bitter edge. “I may not have the education a rich father like yours could provide, but I keep my eyes open and,” he added pointedly, “I only gamble when I can’t lose.” He crushed his half-smoked cigarillo in the saucer under his bone china coffee cup. “As I said, you need me more than I need you.”

  David tried to remain impassive. “I’m listening.”

  “If this secret is everything you think it is, its market potential is unlimited.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” David asked, a look of disdain filling his face.

  “Recognizing a market is one thing. Knowing that market is quite another. You don’t know beans about the drug business. Kim Company’s distribution networks for textiles, electronics, even food processing products can’t be used for the pharmaceutical industry. You need distribution channels that can reach every major world market. You also need the kind of capital you can’t get right now in your country.”

  “And you can provide all that?”

  Ng nodded. “Capital and connections I have plenty of.”

  “Then what is it you want?”

  “Respectability. I propose we set up a jointly owned subsidiary of Kim Company funded by me and run by you. I would act as an unpaid advisor.”

  “I see,” said David, aware that Ng meant to set up a money laundering operation. “You realize my father would never approve of such a venture. He believes Kim Company must always remain Korean owned. His allegiance is first to his country.”

  “And yours?” Ng asked with nothing but a hint of a benign smile on his lips.