by Sam Masters
He runs cold water until it is the perfect temperature and slides into the bath. He thinks for a moment of what he will do with Luo Kai when the bigger issues are settled.
Maybe he will have him fight some dogs.
That really would be something to watch.
The young soldier was so fast and powerful, Zhang knows he could easily have killed him. But then he’d have been arrested. Or even shot. Hence the ruse with the poison. In war the clever moves often turn out to be the clumsiest.
Yes, he’ll have him fight the dogs.
One at a time.
Until gradually he is worn down. Then he will send in the tiniest Chihuahua to finish him off.
The thought is delicious.
Zhang steps out of the deep tub and pulls on a terry-cloth robe. He is ready for his playmates now. Ready to rip at their bodies like a Nian dog.
180
CIA HQ, Langley, Virginia
Danny Speed is dead on his feet.
There doesn’t seem a moment when he isn’t being asked a question by a code breaker, geneticist, analyst, scientist, or fellow CIA operative.
Chris Parry catches the young New Yorker falling asleep in front of a screen at a hot desk terminal. He slides a chair alongside him and offers words of encouragement. “We’re close, Danny. Really close. You’ve done a brilliant job and the linguists have completed 80 percent of the translations. We already have enough to have sent the scientists wild, and plenty for the strategy teams to build patterns, models, and mapping software.”
Danny can tell this isn’t the start of a backslapping pick-me-up. “But you have a ‘but,’ sir?”
“Yeah, I do. You’re a smart kid, so I think you know what it is, don’t you?”
He nods. “I do. But I can’t explain it. The walls just came down. For less than an hour the normal security barriers just dropped, like someone deliberately opened up the master computer in North Korea and let us rifle through their safe.”
“That’s the problem. If this is false information and we act on it, then they win. And I mean, end game win, not slight loss in a bigger battle win. This would be the kind that there’s no coming back from.”
Danny runs things through in his head. Just as he’d been doing for the past twenty-four hours. “I didn’t change capture codes. Didn’t do anything different than I had been doing. The only real change in practices was me relocating from New York to Breezy Point.”
“That wouldn’t have done it.”
“Sometimes a reboot on hacking codes has an effect.”
“Not like that.”
Brad Stevens wanders their way and joins them. He looks even more tired than he normally does, and that was never a good place to start from. He waggles a piece of printout paper. “This is interesting.”
Parry smiles. “I’m always interested in interesting, Brad.”
“There was an outgoing coded message, nonmedical, not scientific, and incomplete, so it didn’t get top priority from our team. One of the linguists has just completed the translation and now the fragments take on greater impact. It says, ‘I am Hao Weiwei. My son Jihai and I are scientists but first and foremost we are men of honor and peace. We were told Nian was a defensive project, dedicated to discover an antidote to an evil invention of the West. Only when I discovered tetrodo—’ That’s where the message was cut off.”
Parry takes the piece of paper, and as he reads it for himself, puts some of the pieces together. “Jihai was the scientist who caused the standoff in the DMZ.” He looks at Danny. “And both he and Hao had administrator access to the terminals, right?”
“Right. We’ve been through that connection, though, haven’t we?”
“Not in quite this light.” Parry gets some of the bigger picture now. “It’s an honor thing. Hao found out that the dogs’ program was going to be an offensive operation so he disabled the firewalls during the time his son tried to escape, that’s how you got the data burst that you did.”
“Makes sense,” says Danny.
“They’d have picked it up in Beijing,” adds Stevens. “Then they’d have shut him down double-quick.”
“Probably.” Parry puts a finger on the printout. “That’s why he never finished the message.” He turns to Danny. “What’s tetrodo? Does that mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing.” Danny types it into a search engine on the computer in front of him. “There are some hits here. It’s the name of an iTunes podcast on e-learning. There’s a rock band by the same name. And . . .” He pauses. “Shit. You’d better see this. There’s a thing called tetrodotoxin. It’s a deadly neurotoxin that is regarded as undetectable unless you are looking solely for it, and even more worryingly, it’s incurable.”
181
Air Force One
The pilot announces that the presidential plane has been cleared for landing and they expect to be on the ground in Hawaii in ten minutes’ time.
Clint Molton is deep in thought, mentally rehearsing his conversation with Xian and trying not to think about his children and how they will have taken the news about Emperor being destroyed.
Don Jackson picks up the flashing phone and takes a call from the leader of the CIA’s cyber squad. “I’m hoping this is good news, Chris.”
“The best you’ll have had today.” The former Delta Force commander looks back at the teams of code breakers, translators, geneticists, scientists, and operatives who have been toiling relentlessly on the data streams that Danny Speed captured.
Jackson sees clouds hit the windows of the 747 and swallow the plane in their strange foam and dulled light. “Give me the headlines, we’re coming in to land.”
“We have a complete decode. One that actually makes sense to linguists and scientists. We have the chemical composition of the adrenaline booster, we have the antidote—what they call a pacifier—and most important of all, we have the full range of RDIF frequencies for all the weaponized dogs.”
Jackson feels elated. He touches Molton’s arm to break him from his thoughts and switches to speakerphone. “Chris, I’ve just conferenced in the President. You were saying that you believe you now have the full collection of parts, everything there is on Nian?”
“We think so. We’ve got computer programs up and running. The batch codes and ID numbers of the dogs’ RDIF transponders tally with activated dogs.”
“We need teams on the nonactivated ones, the ones that could still do damage.”
“Already on it. National Guard and Army have their intel people digging into our data and are redirecting as we speak.”
Molton feels something he’s not felt for a week. Optimism. “That’s great work, Chris. Don will talk to you when we land. I’m going to need certain data sent to me so I can show Xian he’s a busted flush. Can you have someone prepare key and conclusive extracts that will leave him in no doubt?”
“I’ll look after it personally, Mr. President.”
“Thank you. And tell the team, well done.”
“I will, sir.”
Jackson hangs up and turns to the President. “For the first time we can be proactive. We can literally go get these bitches and sonsofbitches before they so much as snarl at anyone.”
182
Jackson Memorial Hospital, Miami
Ghost takes a call from Annie Swanson. She’s done everything he asked. Dealt with all the paperwork and made the calls he told her to. Now she’s in the hospital reception with the change of shirt and other stuff he wanted.
He leaves Jude in the waiting room and rushes down to meet her.
Annie’s eyes grow wide when she sees the state of her boss. “Holy shit, you look bad. What happened?”
“Long and unimportant story.” His eyes fall on two large plastic carrier bags in her right hand. “Is that everything I asked for?”
“It is.�
� She offers the bags. “Can you manage?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Let me help. I’ll walk with you to the waiting room.”
“No,” he snaps. “Sorry. No thanks. You’ve done enough, now get out of here and keep Cummings and the White House off my back for as long as you can.”
She nods. “You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“I’m fine.”
She presses out a smile and sadly turns and leaves.
Ghost’s phone rings as he trudges back to Zoe’s bedside.
Annie, he imagines. He’s forgotten something. Or else she has.
Caller display shows a number that’s not hers.
“Walton.”
“Lieutenant, this is Danny Speed. You left a message for me about Zoe.”
Ghost walks away from the bed. “What the hell took you so long?”
He matches the cop’s anger with his own. “Never mind that, how is my sister?”
“She’s—” The word sticks in his mouth. “She’s dying, Danny. She’s in Jackson Hospital in Miami and has just come out of surgery. I don’t think she’s going to be alive much longer.”
183
Honolulu, Hawaii
President Xian’s plane touches down perfectly on the Reef Runway, one of the four magical landing strips suspended in the sea in front of Honolulu’s spectacular cityscape.
After a brief delay, he steps off the plane and into the shimmering heat of another tropical day. There is no pomp and ceremony to this visit. It is as low key as his administration has been able to manage, though a necessary contingent of bodyguards and flunkies is already out on the blistering blacktop.
A soft trade wind blows across the open area, and to one side he can see Hickam, the naval and air base that forms a vital part of the United States Pacific Air Command.
Suited bodyguards usher him toward the bulletproof Mercedes that will be driven by his trusted driver to the APEC conference hotel.
Once inside the air-conditioned cocoon of tan leather and walnut, he calls Geng Chunlin.
There is no answer.
He waits a few moments then rings again.
Still there is no pickup.
He tries his direct line office number and it just rings out.
Xian ends the call and replaces the car phone.
The minister’s plan has failed.
As he feared it might.
He feels isolated. More alone than he has ever felt in his life.
Xian calls his wife.
Suyin picks up on the second ring. “Hello.”
“I have just arrived in Hawaii. Where are you?”
“We are in Guangdong.”
“Good. How is Umbigo?”
“He is fine. He is sleeping like an angel.” There is tenderness in her voice. “He misses you and wants to know when you will join us.”
“He is a good boy.”
“What shall I tell him?” The question is as much for herself as her son.
Xian realizes he may never see either of them again. That once his meeting with Molton is finished, he’s likely to be seized by Zhang’s men as soon as he reenters China. “Tell him I love him and I am always with him and always will be. No matter where I am and no matter where he is. Our hearts are as one. Just as yours and mine are.”
The president hangs up before she can press him further. Before she can say things that will touch his soul and weaken his resolve. The shadow of the towering hotel falls across the front of his Mercedes. He turns off his phone, puts it into his pocket and prepares for what he has no doubt is the final official meeting of his life.
184
Raffles Hotel, Beijing
Zhang’s lascivious eyes linger on the two dark-haired hookers.
“They will do.” He passes an envelope to former Colonel Huan Lee. “Have they brought the clothes I ordered?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Then have them change and then you get yourself out of here.”
Lee hurries the young girls toward the palatial bathroom in the Presidential Suite. “They will change and then come out for your pleasure.” He bows and leaves.
The general can barely contain his excitement as he hears them giggling in the bathroom.
They won’t be soon.
They’ll be sobbing and begging for mercy.
His mercy.
They come out together, shaking the handfuls of glittering tinsel as they pump the air and twirl seductively in their cheerleader costumes. One in lemon, one in red. Complete with matching pom-poms.
Now he gets to choose.
There’s not much between them. They’re both late twenties. Real women, not girls. Curvaceous but not fat. Hair cut short, much like his mother’s was when she burned him.
They introduce themselves. The first is Min, a name meaning quick. She has a confidence in her dark eyes that marks her out as a watcher, one to be tied up so she can witness the suffering of the other.
The second, slightly smaller girl is clearly in awe of him. She tells him she is Jing-Wei, the name for a small bird.
“You.” He points at Min. “Sit on that chair. Put your hands behind your back. You have been chosen to watch.”
Fear creeps into her eyes as she does as he says. Her heart thumping as soon as the rough rope touches her soft wrists and ankles.
Zhang turns to Jing-Wei. “Bird, come here.”
The pretty courtesan steps forward.
The general punches her. A blow so hard it breaks her nose.
Before she can even scream he slaps a hand over her mouth and pushes her onto the bed.
Jing-Wei’s blood runs from her nose over his fingers. He looks across to the other woman and lustfully licks it away, his excitement rising with her pain.
185
Kahala Hotel, Honolulu, Hawaii
Presidents Molton and Xian are now in the same palatial building but still haven’t met.
They’re in separate suites, each costing their respective countries a cool ten thousand dollars a night.
On the floors below, tensions are running high between the two security teams, with Chinese and American protection officers almost standing nose-to-nose at every set of elevator doors, emergency exits, and stairwells.
The final session of the APEC summit is in full swing in the hotel’s vast, pillar-free ballroom, where delegates sit beneath luxurious venetian glass chandeliers, overlooking a tropical lagoon. There are whispers that Molton and Xian are in the hotel and that there will be a dinner tonight. Perhaps some form of historic announcement.
The leaders of the world’s two biggest superpowers have agreed through their offices to meet in the more modest Kianoa Boardroom. Agents from both countries have already had it electronically swept and sealed. Protection officers are posted outside to ensure total security.
The President of the United States pulls himself out of a luxurious couch where he’s drinking iced coffee and puts on the jacket to his tailor-made black suit. He straightens the knot of his dark gray tie under the collar of his crisp white shirt and shakes the cuffs out of the sleeves. He breaks the tension by standing inspection straight in front of his NIA director. “So, how do I look, Mr. Jackson?”
“Just like a G-Man, sir. You want to accessorize with a service issue Glock?”
“I’ll pass on that.” He points to the TV. “Turn it on please. Let’s take one last look at the world before we go downstairs.”
Jackson takes the remote and clicks it on. “There won’t be good news, Mr. President.”
“I know that. I want to remind myself of the suffering before I enter that room and rip Xian’s heart from his body.”
186
Raffles Hotel, Beijing
The white sheets and white carpe
t are spattered with Jing-Wei’s blood.
The hooker’s nose and jaw are broken and her shoulder dislocated from when Zhang held her face down on the bed and almost choked her to death.
The general throws the tattered remains of a cheerleader costume at her as she lies sobbing. “Get cleaned up and get out.” He points to the bathroom and turns his attention to the other girl.
Min has been hanging her head for the past ten minutes. Trying not to see what was going on. Trying not to accept that it would be her next. That every scream that came from Jing-Wei’s throat would soon echo in her own.
Zhang’s lips and his left eye twitch with excitement as he stands naked before her. “Now you.”
He grabs her by the head and pulls her across to the bed so only the back legs of the chair scrape along the carpet.
Min struggles to breathe and fears he may break her neck or strangle her.
Zhang steadies the chair and swings a punch at her face.
Min unclasps her hands from behind the back of the chair and darts forward.
The force—and the fact that she has somehow untied herself—takes the general by surprise.
He crashes into a table and hits the floor.
The general’s eyes light up. Aggression. Nothing turns him on more than the rush of a fight.
He slowly gets to his feet and smiles at her. “Now I am going to hurt you. Hurt you so badly you will wish I had ended your life.”
He leaps forward and lands a high kick against her right breast. Almost in the same moment he spins and plants the full force of his left foot against her face.
Min doesn’t feel any pain. She’s been trained not to. The Chinese Special Ops agent times her move immaculately. She slips inside his secondary swirl and with both hands loops the length of the rope he’d tied her up with around his neck.
Only now does Zhang realize he’s not beating up a defenseless courtesan.
Only as Min’s knee sinks into the small of his back and her grip tightens the garrotte does he know he’s made a mistake.