Red Tide, стр. 71

“You are,” Chin replied. “After the war ends, Nguyen wants to smuggle people again. And she thinks the Parker family could be useful in that regard.”

“We don’t smuggle people,” Kelsey said flatly.

“I know that,” Chin replied. “But Madam Nguyen doesn’t. And why enlighten her prematurely?” The words were accompanied by a boyish grin.

Kelsey couldn’t help but smile in return. “Of course. Why indeed?”

After checking in, and taking a shower, there was barely enough time to get dressed and meet Chaney in the lobby. A single bodyguard. That, according to Chin, was all Madam Nguyen would allow.

But Chin saw no reason for concern. “Nguyen wants to form a positive relationship with you,” the agent said. “And violence isn’t her style. She pays customs officials. She pays members of the National Assembly. She pays members of the judiciary, and she might pay the Prime Minister for all I know.

“That said, she’s often referred to as the Mama Mamba for a reason. By all accounts Nguyen will drop the hammer when she thinks it’s necessary.”

Cheney was already present when Kelsey arrived in the lobby. The dinner invitation specified “Resort wear. Nothing American.”

Kelsey wasn’t sure what qualified as “American,” but felt sure that Chaney’s black bolero jacket and matching pencil pants would make the cut. Kelsey had chosen to wear a wrinkle proof red cocktail dress with matching high heels.

Chin was dressed in the same suit he’d worn earlier. “This is Miss Luu,” Chin said, as he introduced a bespectacled young woman in a nondescript business suit. “Miss Luu is Madam Nguyen’s secretary.”

Luu bowed. Her English was perfect. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Madam Nguyen sends her respects. Dinner will be served aboard the Water Lilly. A car is waiting. Please follow me.”

The light was fading by then and the city’s lights were coming on. The car was a roomy Mercedes S-Class sedan. The interior smelled of leather and the faint scent of water lilies.

A short drive took them to a parking lot and a flight of stairs leading down to a concrete pier and floating dock. There, idling next to dock, was a gleaming Chris Craft.

The boat had a bench style seat upfront, an engine compartment behind that, and another seat in the stern. The exhausts produced the classic burbling sound that Chris Craft owners love.

Chin and Luu sat next to the helmsman, leaving Chaney and Kelsey to occupy the back seat, which was quite comfortable. The soft night air pressed against Kelsey’s face as the launch surged out into the harbor.

Ryson came to mind for some reason. What if they were together? What would life with him be like? Both of us have strong personalities, Kelsey mused. But maybe we could work it out.

Chin shouted something and pointed. And there, up ahead, was a beautiful Chinese junk. The real thing? From days gone by? No, Kelsey decided. She was looking at a modern interpretation of the historic boats. The Water Lily had three masts. A short mast in the bow, a mainmast forward of the cabin, and a lesser stick in the stern.

Having grown up in a seagoing family, and traveled widely as a child, Kelsey was well acquainted with junks. What made the design unique were lugsails battened with strips of bamboo, and typically supported by a yardarm, roughly two-thirds of the way up whichever mast they served. Bamboo battens kept the sails flat even in high winds, which allowed the ships to tack at angles that surprised Europeans when they first arrived in East Asia.

Furthermore, the design meant that Chinese sailors could climb the battens without resorting to the use of the ratlines found on western sailing ships. And thanks to the shape of their hulls, all but the largest junks could be poled through shallow water, or propelled with oars if necessary.

Nguyen’s yacht was moored to a buoy and hung with strings of white lights. A crewman was waiting to help passengers up out of the launch onto a landing stage. Three steps led to the main deck where Madam Nguyen stood waiting.

The smuggler was taller than most Vietnamese women, rail thin, and beautiful in a floral ao dai tunic and pants. Her hair was black with a single streak of white. And thanks to some skillful plastic surgery, plus regular injections of Botox, not a single wrinkle could be seen on her face.

When Nguyen offered her hand, Kelsey felt as though she was holding a bundle of fragile twigs. “Ms. Parker,” Nguyen said. “This is an honor. Welcome aboard the Water Lily.”

Kelsey bowed. “Thank you for inviting us. The Water Lily is stunning. Please accept a small gift from my father and myself.”

That was when Chin stepped forward to offer a box. As with so many things, the agent had anticipated the need for a gift, and ordered it a week earlier.

Madam Nguyen opened the box and there, nestled in blue silk, was a beautifully executed model of the Water Lily. A look of delight appeared on her face. “It’s beautiful! I will keep it on my desk where I will see it every day.”

Kelsey glanced at Chin and saw him wink. The evening was off to a good start. Kelsey and Madam Nguyen made small talk as they entered a cabin where a well-set table was waiting.

Once seated the food began to arrive, and there was a lot of it. Ten courses to be exact. Five were served in bowls, like the fried fish belly. And five on plates, like the boiled duck. That was to say nothing of side dishes.

Kelsey ate small quantities of each dish, slurped her noodles, and was careful to eat all her rice. Because, according to Vietnamese tradition, to leave some uneaten would be regarded as wasteful.

Finally, it was time to retire to the lounge, and talk business. “You have a proposal,” Madam Nguyen said. “I look forward to hearing it.”

The deal that Kelsey put forward was identical to the one made to Milo Eguchi. Ten million dollars for