Dragon: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 37)

by Robert J. Crane

  Chapman took off his headset and threw it across the room. Everything he'd worked for, everything he'd done, and somehow that little bitch had managed to upset...everything. Again.

  He didn't even have it in him to call Huang and let him know what was coming. What was even the point?

  It was over.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

  Sienna

  “You probably didn't have MC Hammer in your country,” I said, giving Firebeetle a solid whack across the chest with the big head of the striking hammer. It rang out like steel on rock, a cracking noise issuing forth from his chest plating, spiderweb cracks radiating across his right pectoral, one of a half-dozen such wounds I'd inflicted on his body. Firebeetle flew into a fallen container and caved in the side before hitting the hard deck, face down. “Because if you had, you'd fully understand what I mean when I say that Hammer Time? We stop for it in America.”

  “I'm not in...America...” Firebeetle pushed himself up, woozily.

  “Yeah, you're in international waters,” I said, smashing him again, this time across the left pec. A loud cracking noise issued forth, a sweet sound I was starting to love. “You know what that means? You're subject to the laws of the country whose citizen's rights you're violating. Trying to kidnap an FBI agent for purposes of enslavement? I'm afraid I'm going to have to throw the book at you.” I leapt after him to where he'd landed and pounded him three times against the deck with my hammer. “Or the hammer, in this case. I–”

  I paused, looking at the hammer. The head had cracked, split cleanly along the bottom where it met the handle. “Sonofa. Not exactly Mjolnir, is it?” I turned it over in my hand. The label was still there on the other side of the head, holding it together from falling apart entirely. I laughed. “'Made in China.' Figures.”

  Raising the hammer high, I brought it down on Firebeetle and split the head off with a mighty blow against his back. His shell was fractured all over, like a boiled egg someone had tapped until it was completely covered with cracks.

  He chuckled, lifting his head. “You broke...your hammer.”

  “Yeah, I should have bought American, I guess.” I looked down at him. “If I were you, I'd stay down, Nancy Kerrigan.”

  Firebeetle looked up at me and smiled through busted teeth. “What are you going to do...now that you've lost your weapon?” He shoved himself up to his knees. “I told you...you cannot beat me. So...what now?” He rose, still wobbling, to his feet. “You didn't break me.” He eyed the handle, still clutched in my fingers, his eyes aglow. “You tried. Failed. It will become a pattern for your country. Our ascendancy is guaranteed. You could be part of that.” He laughed, low and menacing, fists clenched at his sides. “We have a billion and a half people. Plans that have been laid out for decades. You are a country with the attention span of gnats. Politicians with no more vision than will get them elected. Short-sighted locusts that will consume everything. Like you, with that hammer, striking so hard and fast, with no thought for what you would do when you had wasted against our strength.” He laughed now, toneless and loud. “What will you do when you have given it your all, and you have nothing left with which to fight us?”

  I just stared at him, haft still clutching in my fingers. “The same thing we always do.”

  He cocked his head curiously. “Which is?”

  “Improvise.” I smiled.

  Before he could move, I shoved the handle of the hammer straight into his eye. It didn't stop when it hit the bone at the back of the ocular cavity, and I rammed it clean through into his brain.

  Firebeetle froze, jerking in surprise, his remaining eye wide and surprised. As it should, considering I'd just lobotomized him with a hammer. I gave it a quick twist to finish the job, and Firebeetle pitched over, dead.

  “See, we Americans are always coming up with some crazy shit to solve our problems,” I said, stepping over him as he twitched. “I mean, we're the country of the Shamwow and the Pet Rock. If we can't find a way to kill your ass with what we have, we'll invent a new way to do it. And you can keep that shitty Chinese hammer.”

  I drew my pistol and stepped up around the last fallen container, out into the open. The tiger noises had not subsided, but I was hard pressed to tell through the earplugs who was winning. I looked back, and could see nothing. The containers hid Jian's battle from my view.

  Which was fine, because I had my own problem to deal with. I looked up, up to the bridge island above, where Liao waited, looking over the balcony railing in absolute alarm.

  I centered my pistol sights on him. “Don't move, or I'll drop you.”

  Liao chuckled. “This is a Chinese flagged ship in international waters, Miss Nealon. You are trespassing.”

  I gave him my sweetest smile. He was standing a good six stories above me and grinning like he'd won in spite of me killing his champion and at least half his army. “You're committing acts of kidnapping and slaving and have threatened me with much worse. I don't know what law book you've been reading, but that's not how international waters work. You're under arrest, Liao.”

  Liao shrugged. “The people in the hold of this ship are all Chinese nationals. Most have never even been granted asylum in America. None were citizens. We were very careful in that regard.”

  “Explain Cathy Jang-Peters,” I said.

  Liao laughed. “Bait. For you.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “But for a Marine vet, you would have had her.”

  “Kidnapped in plain sight on an American highway?” Liao laughed again. “True, we would have gotten her, but witnesses would have seen a metahuman in the incident. You would have been called immediately. True, it would have been better if we hadn't lost the furniture store and some of the other links in the chain, but China is prepared to make sacrifices to guarantee our ascendancy.” He leaned over the railing and smirked down at me. “That's the difference between us and you. You ride high now and think it will last forever. The wheel always turns in this world, Miss Nealon. Victory goes to the prepared. And you are unready.”

  “In your case, I think you mean 'the worm turns,'” I said. “And you'd best prepare yourself for the fact that you're under arrest.”

  Liao laughed, loud and toneless. “You and what army?”

  A megaphone enhanced voice blared out over the ship. “Chinese vessel, this is the US Coast Guard. Heave to and prepare to be boarded!”

  I half-shrugged. “Not the Army, but...”

  Liao's face twitched, and he brandished a badge ID not unlike my FBI one, couched in a leather wallet. “Fine, you get the ship. You can even 'liberate' the passengers. But I still have a diplomatic credential – and with it, immunity.” Now his smile twisted to a smirk.

  I slid the tranquilizer gun off my back and pointed it up, drawing a bead on him and squeezing a shot in less than a second. It made a popping noise when it fired, almost soundless beneath my earplugs.

  Liao blinked, looking down at his hand in surprise. A green feathered dart stuck out of his palm. He stared at it, still leaning on the rail–

  Then the drugs he'd meant to use to knock a certain succubus out kicked in on his weak human ass, and he pitched over the railing, weight carrying him into a natural drop.

  Liao went splat about twenty feet from me, headfirst onto the metal decking. He twitched a couple times.

  “Immunity, huh?” I regarded his body with all the consideration it deserved, given his plans for me. “Too bad it didn't extend to gravity.”

  And I walked away.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE

  I found Jian, in tiger form, licking very literal wounds as I came around the fallen shipping container. He was in the midst of a bloody slaughter of fallen Chinese spec ops guys, but it was also clear he'd gotten just about as bad as he'd given.

  “Shit,” I said, hurrying forward. I didn't have a medkit on me, and wondered if there was even anything I could do. There was a lot of blood. “Are you all right?”

  “I will be,” the tiger said,
without turning so much as even his face human.

  I jumped back, unused to having a tiger speak to me, albino or otherwise. “Shit!” I said, because...it was a tiger. Talking to me. Sure, I knew it was Jian underneath, mentally, but seeing it was still incredibly disorienting.

  “Sorry,” he said, not turning human. “This is why I turned into a person to talk to you before. Even with the nakedness, it's less strange, right?”

  “Yeah, seeing you sans clothing is definitely more pleasant in general than having a tiger talk to me,” I said, “on so many levels.” I blushed. “Anyhoo...you'll heal from this, right?” He nodded, his fur matted with Sienna levels of blood. “Can you make it to land in this condition?”

  He nodded his big, whiskered head. “Yes. I will. Or I'll turn into a whale and take a nap on the sea floor until I'm better. Did I hear...?”

  “The Coast Guard showed up,” I said. “My video must have gone viral. Or Bilson got the job done. One of those.”

  “I need to leave, then,” Jian said, lifting up unsteadily on all fours.

  “I'd highly recommend that,” I said, looking back at the container behind me, which hid the fallen corpse of Liao. “This place is about to become a diplomatic nightmare. You go. I can cover for you.”

  “Are you sure?” He was so unsteady.

  “Yeah, I got this,” I said, unsure that I actually had anything, but equally sure that Jian didn't need to go down with this particular ship. Which was my FBI career and possibly my freedom. “Go.”

  And go he did, turning into that familiar pigeon in a flash, and flapping up, up and beyond the barriers of the containers that had sealed me inside this arena.

  I sat down to wait, feeling the subtle motion of the ship coming to a stop, and listening to the shouts – in English – of coasties preparing to board.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO

  Chapman

  CHALKE: Bilson is in the Oval Office RIGHT NOW with SecState Ngo.

  That was a nice little bombshell that came out of absolute nowhere, striking Jaime as he was already sitting in despair, watching the Sienna Nealon video trend on Socialite and blow up search results all over the internet.

  What the hell else could they do, though? Watch in misery, Chapman figured, and boy, did he have that covered. He was even drinking an organic fruit smoothie in violation of his low-carb policy.

  KORY: Release just went out. Gondry is having a press conference at noon to address the incident. My reporters are getting back channel gossip from inside the White House about possible SANCTIONS. On China!

  Chapman thudded his head against the desk.

  FLANAGAN: Still can't understand how this went down so fast. We blocked this shit!

  CHALKE: Someone let it into the system, clearly. I'm on my way to the White House now. So is Nealon, being choppered in from the ship, which is in Coast Guard hands. Will see if I can trace how this happened. For future use, obviously, since this is already borked.

  Jaime lifted his head and saw red. His hands typed almost of their own accord.

  CHAPMAN: This is vintage Nealon, taking a chainsaw to all our plans. Everything we introduce her to, she screws up. Everything. I've had enough of her shit. I vote we dispense with her the way you've been wanting to all this time, Chalke.

  BYRD: uh guys

  JOHANNSEN: I agree Nealon's a problem. But she's headed into a meeting with the president. She's highest possible profile right now. You're going to need to do some work on her to bring her low before you try and take her out.

  Chapman banged his hand on the desk. That's what they'd been doing! They had her in that position just last year, before the stupid Revelen thing blew up on them. How did these idiots not realize or remember that?

  FLANAGAN: Agree, it's poor timing. She's at the apex of her power right now. Let her fade some, or find a way to chop her down a few notches, diminish her before we do anything to push her out.

  Chapman stared at the words on the screen. He hated them – hated the words, hated this ineffectual group of idiots. They were supposed to be the titans of their industry, the best and brightest all around.

  Why, then, couldn't they make anything happen? None of their plans were coming to fruition.

  And how was he supposed to explain any of this to Huang?

  KORY: There's definitely room to spread some counter takes on Nealon. Put some down markers for pulling her off that pedestal later.

  “We've tried that!” Chapman screamed into the quiet of his office. Was everyone in this group suffering from memory loss but him? They'd thrown everything at this bitch in the press, tossed the law at her, kept her a fugitive for years–

  And now she was heading to the White House to be feted like a hero. Again.

  Chapman looked at his holdings. The stock price had cratered. From what? This Chinese thing, probably.

  Would he ever see his deal with Huang go through? He doubted it. Whatever else happened, he doubted the man was going to be enthusiastic about going forward with their plans at this point.

  And Nealon...she was untouchable, at least for the moment.

  But Chapman was still furious. Furious, and had resources – and spite – to spare.

  CHAPMAN: I want to know who did this. Who brought this to the president. I don't care if it's a damned janitor. I want them fired. I want their family life torched to the ground. I want every friend they've ever had to deny knowing them for fear they'll get the stink of this person's toxic shit on them. If they're married, I want their spouse convinced that the day they met this person was the worst day of their existence, and if they've got kids I want to smear this prole so ugly that in five years they deny even being related to mommy or daddy, with all their memories of their upbringing being retroactively shaded with so much shame that they'll happily tell people their long-missing parent is a scat-obsessed crack whore who only services the homeless at discount prices.

  BYRD: lol jesus

  CHAPMAN: I'm serious. I want to make this person suffer so much that they regret having been born into the world.

  JOHANNSEN: Remind me not to piss you off, Chapman.

  KORY: Hahahah, I LOVE this. Sounds like fun.

  FLANAGAN: I feel like it's almost a trial. See how much heat we can drop on one person with our all powers combined.

  Chapman nodded. It was a trial run, all right. For what he wanted to do to Sienna Nealon.

  CHALKE: Yeah, I'm on board for this, and the full heat of the FBI is down for making an example of whoever did this. Let me track them down. Shouldn't be too tough. Then we can let the fun begin.

  That made Chapman smile. At least he'd get something out of this fiasco to make up for losing a billion-dollar deal.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE

  Sienna

  “Mr. President,” I said, taking Richard Gondry's extended hand as I walked into the Oval Office. SecState Ngo and Bilson were waiting with him, and everybody rose as I came in, wearing the same tattered clothes I'd worn to storm the cargo ship.

  “Thank you for coming, Ms. Nealon,” the president said, greeting me with a smile. “I know you probably wanted to stay on scene and wrap things up.”

  “No, it was mostly wrapped up before I left, sir,” I said, adopting a kind of stiff, just-short-of-military posture. “We recovered two hundred and eighty-seven prisoners/kidnappees from belowdecks, sir.”

  Gondry blinked a few times at that. “Good Lord. They really did kidnap that many people.”

  I shook my head. “That was just one port, sir. I talked to a couple of agents in other offices. There were similar shipments that left yesterday out of New York, LA, Seattle, San Fran, New Orleans. Manifests that look almost the same as the ship I captured. Preliminary estimates from the task force that's forming indicate we could be looking at between 1,000 and 2,000 kidnappees.”

  You could have heard a fly unzip in the Oval Office after I dropped that particular bomb.

  Gondry took it in, barely an emotion to cross hi
s face. He was looking pretty stoic.

  “Sir,” Bilson said, “we cannot allow this sort of thing to go unanswered.”

  “Agreed,” Ngo said. “Not on our own soil.”

  “Do you concur, Ms. Nealon?” the president asked, looking to me.

  I felt a little poleaxed, being asked my opinion on what was clearly a foreign policy matter. “I don't know that I could justify war over it,” I said, trying to be measured in my response, “but I would highly recommend a response that tells the Chinese government that they don't get to do this kind of thing to us and expect business to continue as usual.”

  Gondry nodded, stroking his silvery goatee in consideration. “I agree wholeheartedly. I've already directed the Secretaries of Commerce and Defense to put together a statement. We won't have war over it, but I can't ignore China while they do these things. They've long turned their nose up against human rights in ways that would make even the most hardened observer do a double-take. It's time we at least have the courage to say something about it, loudly and in a public airing.”

  I gave a little nod as Gondry seemed to pause, considering something.

  The door to the Oval Office swung open behind me, and I turned to find Heather Chalke entering. She paused as she came face to face with me for a moment. Her eyes narrowed – just for a second – before she moved past to talk to the president.

  “Sir, I came as soon as I could,” Chalke said.

  “Ms. Nealon has informed me of the FBI task force forming on this,” Gondry said airily. “Good work, Chalke. I'm glad your agency didn't decide to close the file when we thought this was all wrapped up. I'm pleased with your initiative.”

  Chalke looked like she'd been thrown squarely into a shit heap but was forced to grin and bear it. “Thank you, sir,” was all she managed, and boy did it sound like it taxed her to cough that up. “We try to stay in the business of pursuing justice.”