"Devil with a devil damn'd firm concord holds."--John Milton
Chang had spent a long time achieving his current position. He had been a Tong warior in China three hundred years ago, smuggling opium until a British-backed rival orginization gunned him down as part of a very hostile take-over.
Chang had been much luckier than the other Tongs. For one thing, he didn't stay dead. He also had a large piece of luck with his first encounter. The other Immortal was a Buddhist monk, not a headhunter. He had brought Chang to the Shao Lin temple, where he undertook to train his new apprentice in the arts of Kung Fu developed there, as well as the important facts of Immortality. Chang learned quickly, and his teacher at last offered him a choice: He could becme one of the Shao Lin monks, remaining on Holy Ground for as long as he wished, kept safe from the perils of the Game, or he could go out into the world, as his teacher had been doing when they met, and seek to do good works. Chang smiled, and asked if his teacher would come with him if he chose to leave. The monk said that he would come part of the way, and Chang found this agreeable.
He waited an entire day after leaving Holy Ground before taking the monk's head. The Quickening fed his strength, and his ambition, and when he returned to the Tong, it was with visions of ultimate power dancing in his head.
He took to the opium trade again with relish, and played the Game energetically, taking the heads of all Immortals he encountered. When Chinese began to cross the eastern sea to build the great railroad in the far land of America, Chang went with them. San Francisco became his base of operations, and he became the uncrowned king of all the Chinese in California.
Years went by. Opium was supplanted by marijuana, heroin, and cocaine, but Chang always remained in control, a hidden puppeteer behind the Tong leadership. By the sixties, with drug use on the rise, he decided it was time to come out in the open again. By the late seventies, Chang openly controlled all the Tong on the west coast. Now, he was consolidating his power, crushing the mafia, the yakuza, and the Russians out of the business.
Even with most of his energies focused on mortal power and wealth, Chang had not neglected the Game. Indeed, among the few who kept track of such things, he was accounted one of the deadliest Prizefighters in the western US. He had known that Inspector Harry Callaghan was a potential Immortal for months, ever since barely escaping arrest during a drug bust the detective had led, and had decided that taking his head would bring down two birds with one stone. Callaghan would almost certainly have interfered with Chang's expanding organization sooner or later, and if he were allowed to mature as an Immortal, he could pose serious trouble. Chang had seen in Callaghan's steely eyes a look of contained feral rage, a burning fire of warriorly spirit within the cop that promised swift vengeance to any that opposed him. Yes, "Dirty Harry" had potential. Far better to nip that potential in the bud than have to deal with it in full flower at the time of the Gathering. So he had engineered the trap.
But somehow he'd failed. Callaghan had slipped through his fingers, owing, Chang admitted, to his own lack of caution, and had subsequently vanished. Also vanished was one of the Immortals Chang kept tabs on: David Mann, current alias Jacob Marley. A young and overly bold Immortal, but a fairly good swordsman. Chang had a very unsettling hunch that the two circumstances were not unrelated. If Mann had decided to train Callaghan, not very likely, but possible, then Callaghan's odds of surviving had increased dramatically. If, on the other hand, Mann had tried for Harry's virgin head...
Chang didn't like to think about the implications.
The master of the San Francisco underworld reached across his imposing desk and touched the intercom button. "Get me Elijah," he ordered.
Chang had found very few people he could rely on over the course of three centuries, and Elijah the prophet was one of them.
"You called, Chang?" Elijah stood now in the doorway of Chang's elegant office. The underworld spymaster was a lanky man of imposing height, whose ebony skin and coal-black silk suit seemed to drink in light, while the sunglasses he wore constantly, his only affectation, seemed to shine with their own luminescence, so fiercely did they reflect the ambient illumination.
"I did. A week ago, I ordered your network to locate Harry Callaghan. I want results." Chang frowned at his chief retainer.
Elijah, like Chang, was Immortal. He had no memory of his true name, or indeed any of his history prior to 1803, when he was sold into slavery on the west coast of Africa, and shipped to America. Sold in the slave markets of the north to a southern planter, he was given the name Elijah, and set to work farming tobacco. His agelessness marked him as the years went by. Other slaves regarded him with superstitious awe, while his master, far from a religious man by nature, began to suspect superhuman forces at work, and sought to kill the unnatural slave. The attempt failed, and Elijah took his revenge.
"I assure you, Chang, that my men are doing their utmost to find this man." Elijah's tone was suave, soothing.
Elijah had killed his master in 1834, and promptly fled for the wilds of the western lands. He spent time among the indian tribes of the plains, and the rough adventurers of the frontier. He made his way at last to California in 1840, and remained there. When Chang found him, Elijah was a clever and ruthless man, whose primary skill was accumulating information to be sold to the highest bidder. Chang recognised the man for what he was, and considered taking his head, but ultimately decided that a live spy was better than a dead one. Chang tought Elijah about Immortality, and their long partnership began.
"You are clearly not doing enough. I want this man ifound/i, Elijah. Found quickly. Do not fail me." Chang was not about to be soothed by his lieutenant's soft words.
As Chang grew in power, he took Elijah with him. The spy became a leader of spies, building and maintaining a vast network of informants over the course of years. His skill in the arts of killing was substantial as well, and Chang frequently used him as his personal assassin.
"I do have other news for you, Chang." Elijah sat opposite his master in a leather-upholstered chair. "As you will recall, my people have been monitoring the movements of Connor Macleod."
Chang nodded. He had been pondering challenging the Highlander while he was still on Chang's turf. "What of it?"
Elijah leaned forward in his chair. "Macleod has disappeared. My people lost track of him today. He can no longer be found in the city."
Chang glowered at his lieutenant. "This may prove to be very bad news indeed, spymaster. I trust you are attempting to rectify it."
"Indeed, Chang. My people are reviewing our records of the Highlander's previous movements in this area. We hope to discover any bolt-holes he might maintain in this viscinity."
"Attend to it personally, prophet. I want his whereabouts known, and I want to know whether Callaghan is with him."
"It shall be as you say, Chang." With that, Elijah rose, bowed, and exited.
Chang had spent a long time achieving his current position. He had been a Tong warior in China three hundred years ago, smuggling opium until a British-backed rival orginization gunned him down as part of a very hostile take-over.
Chang had been much luckier than the other Tongs. For one thing, he didn't stay dead. He also had a large piece of luck with his first encounter. The other Immortal was a Buddhist monk, not a headhunter. He had brought Chang to the Shao Lin temple, where he undertook to train his new apprentice in the arts of Kung Fu developed there, as well as the important facts of Immortality. Chang learned quickly, and his teacher at last offered him a choice: He could becme one of the Shao Lin monks, remaining on Holy Ground for as long as he wished, kept safe from the perils of the Game, or he could go out into the world, as his teacher had been doing when they met, and seek to do good works. Chang smiled, and asked if his teacher would come with him if he chose to leave. The monk said that he would come part of the way, and Chang found this agreeable.
He waited an entire day after leaving Holy Ground before taking the monk's head. The Quickening fed his strength, and his ambition, and when he returned to the Tong, it was with visions of ultimate power dancing in his head.
He took to the opium trade again with relish, and played the Game energetically, taking the heads of all Immortals he encountered. When Chinese began to cross the eastern sea to build the great railroad in the far land of America, Chang went with them. San Francisco became his base of operations, and he became the uncrowned king of all the Chinese in California.
Years went by. Opium was supplanted by marijuana, heroin, and cocaine, but Chang always remained in control, a hidden puppeteer behind the Tong leadership. By the sixties, with drug use on the rise, he decided it was time to come out in the open again. By the late seventies, Chang openly controlled all the Tong on the west coast. Now, he was consolidating his power, crushing the mafia, the yakuza, and the Russians out of the business.
Even with most of his energies focused on mortal power and wealth, Chang had not neglected the Game. Indeed, among the few who kept track of such things, he was accounted one of the deadliest Prizefighters in the western US. He had known that Inspector Harry Callaghan was a potential Immortal for months, ever since barely escaping arrest during a drug bust the detective had led, and had decided that taking his head would bring down two birds with one stone. Callaghan would almost certainly have interfered with Chang's expanding organization sooner or later, and if he were allowed to mature as an Immortal, he could pose serious trouble. Chang had seen in Callaghan's steely eyes a look of contained feral rage, a burning fire of warriorly spirit within the cop that promised swift vengeance to any that opposed him. Yes, "Dirty Harry" had potential. Far better to nip that potential in the bud than have to deal with it in full flower at the time of the Gathering. So he had engineered the trap.
But somehow he'd failed. Callaghan had slipped through his fingers, owing, Chang admitted, to his own lack of caution, and had subsequently vanished. Also vanished was one of the Immortals Chang kept tabs on: David Mann, current alias Jacob Marley. A young and overly bold Immortal, but a fairly good swordsman. Chang had a very unsettling hunch that the two circumstances were not unrelated. If Mann had decided to train Callaghan, not very likely, but possible, then Callaghan's odds of surviving had increased dramatically. If, on the other hand, Mann had tried for Harry's virgin head...
Chang didn't like to think about the implications.
The master of the San Francisco underworld reached across his imposing desk and touched the intercom button. "Get me Elijah," he ordered.
Chang had found very few people he could rely on over the course of three centuries, and Elijah the prophet was one of them.
"You called, Chang?" Elijah stood now in the doorway of Chang's elegant office. The underworld spymaster was a lanky man of imposing height, whose ebony skin and coal-black silk suit seemed to drink in light, while the sunglasses he wore constantly, his only affectation, seemed to shine with their own luminescence, so fiercely did they reflect the ambient illumination.
"I did. A week ago, I ordered your network to locate Harry Callaghan. I want results." Chang frowned at his chief retainer.
Elijah, like Chang, was Immortal. He had no memory of his true name, or indeed any of his history prior to 1803, when he was sold into slavery on the west coast of Africa, and shipped to America. Sold in the slave markets of the north to a southern planter, he was given the name Elijah, and set to work farming tobacco. His agelessness marked him as the years went by. Other slaves regarded him with superstitious awe, while his master, far from a religious man by nature, began to suspect superhuman forces at work, and sought to kill the unnatural slave. The attempt failed, and Elijah took his revenge.
"I assure you, Chang, that my men are doing their utmost to find this man." Elijah's tone was suave, soothing.
Elijah had killed his master in 1834, and promptly fled for the wilds of the western lands. He spent time among the indian tribes of the plains, and the rough adventurers of the frontier. He made his way at last to California in 1840, and remained there. When Chang found him, Elijah was a clever and ruthless man, whose primary skill was accumulating information to be sold to the highest bidder. Chang recognised the man for what he was, and considered taking his head, but ultimately decided that a live spy was better than a dead one. Chang tought Elijah about Immortality, and their long partnership began.
"You are clearly not doing enough. I want this man ifound/i, Elijah. Found quickly. Do not fail me." Chang was not about to be soothed by his lieutenant's soft words.
As Chang grew in power, he took Elijah with him. The spy became a leader of spies, building and maintaining a vast network of informants over the course of years. His skill in the arts of killing was substantial as well, and Chang frequently used him as his personal assassin.
"I do have other news for you, Chang." Elijah sat opposite his master in a leather-upholstered chair. "As you will recall, my people have been monitoring the movements of Connor Macleod."
Chang nodded. He had been pondering challenging the Highlander while he was still on Chang's turf. "What of it?"
Elijah leaned forward in his chair. "Macleod has disappeared. My people lost track of him today. He can no longer be found in the city."
Chang glowered at his lieutenant. "This may prove to be very bad news indeed, spymaster. I trust you are attempting to rectify it."
"Indeed, Chang. My people are reviewing our records of the Highlander's previous movements in this area. We hope to discover any bolt-holes he might maintain in this viscinity."
"Attend to it personally, prophet. I want his whereabouts known, and I want to know whether Callaghan is with him."
"It shall be as you say, Chang." With that, Elijah rose, bowed, and exited.