White Tiger Read Online Free Page A

Song had drawn his Beretta from its holster and was gripping it in his right hand.
    “Ba ni de qiang fàng hui qu!” Manning shouted, making both Chen Song and Chen Gui jump. Put your gun back! was the closest Manning could come to saying Put your fucking gun away! in Mandarin, and cursed the common trait shared by both Mandarin and Japanese: neither language was direct enough to suit an American.
    The situation apparently wasn’t desperate enough for Chen Song to feel any particular urgency.
    “I don’t take orders from a hired man!” he snarled.
    “Do as he says!” Chen Gui said, turning his head this way and that nervously. “We don’t have time to argue, and I don’t want to wind up in a Japanese jail! Keep an eye on the Fujianese, you fool!”
    “But what if they pull up next to us?” Chen Song asked reasonably.
    “We bail out of the car,” Manning replied. “It’s that simple. Then we get lost in the confusion.”
    “And if we get separated?” Chen Gui wanted to know.
    “Get on the rail system. Anywhere out of Narita, then phone me when you can. I’ll come and collect you as soon as I’m able. Hao ma? ”
    Chen Gui merely sighed and tried to lean back in his seat and collect himself. He had started to sweat profusely.
    Slowly, inexorably, the car drew nearer to the Terminal 2 parking garage. Manning jockeyed his car in and out of lanes, trying to give the following Fujianese the impression that he was headed for the departure level. Horns blared, and some drivers even shouted epithets. The noise volume grew when the following Fujianese emulated Manning, though far less artfully. Manning caught glimpses of the silver Camry in his car’s mirrors; the Fujianese were causing quite a stir, and Manning hoped that the airport police would take notice.
    At last, they approached the car park ramp. Manning timed it just right, scooting past an airport shuttle bus and charging for one of the entry lanes. It would buy them a few moments, unless the Fujianese had an accident trying to follow. Manning pulled up to the gate and took a ticket; the gate lifted, and he accelerated into the parking garage, much to the consternation of the parking attendants. One of them waved Manning up to the second floor, which was his intention anyway.
    “Chen Song, keep an eye out for our friends,” he ordered, accelerating up the ramp. “They’re not going to have much of a choice but to follow us.”
    On the second level, more parking attendants waved Manning toward the third level. Manning ignored them and charged into the parking area, even though multilingual signs proclaimed it to be full. The parking attendants shouted and one of them trotted after Manning’s Legend for a few moments before decided it wasn’t worth it.
    “Where are we going?” Chen Gui shouted. “There’s no room here!”
    “Keep calm,” Manning insisted.
    Chen Gui elected to do otherwise. “There, stop there!” he shouted, pointing at the elevators that would invariably lead to the departure area. They were clearly visible, painted in whites and blues, with a mural of a cartoon seal cavorting on the doors. Manning jerked the steering wheel to the left, tires screeching as he pulled the Legend down the lane. Each space was filled.
    “Where are you going?” Chen Gui screamed.
    “Do as my uncle says, you fool!” Chen Song added angrily. “Are you an incompetent?”
    Manning jammed on the brakes, and the tires squealed again as the Legend came to an abrupt halt. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a key ring. He held it over his shoulder to Chen Song.
    “Make yourself useful and get to that black Friendee.” Manning pointed to the late-model Mazda van, one of Japan’s more ubiquitous transports, the equivalent of a soccer mom ride in the United States. “Back it out so I can park this car in that space. Be quick about it.”
    When Chen Song hesitated, Manning turned and threw the keys at him. “Hurry! Kuài dian , you