“Damn it, I knew that buy was too dangerous! We should have had weapons sent over by diplomatic pouch via the Gulfstream,” Price said.
Popping an antacid from his never-ending supply, Brognola offered one to Price, who declined. “They didn’t grab him on the scene, and the fact that the MSS is keeping this on the down-low means they don’t want it getting out, either. Striker may be wanted, but he’s supposed to be staying on the move until he leaves the city. All he’s got to do is stay ahead of the guys trying to nab him—”
“And not run into any more friction along the way,” Price said, folding her arms. “With the way our luck’s been running so far, they’ll have an entire Special Police Unit guarding the Liaos, and since he’s on radio silence, we couldn’t even warn him!”
“Even so, I’d still give Striker even odds on coming out with what he came for,” Brognola told her. “He’s been doing this a long time, and under more adverse conditions. He’ll bring them out.”
“I hope you’re right, Hal,” she replied, turning back to face the screen to see Bolan at the door to the apartment. “I hope you’re right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Baozhai Liao tossed and turned on her narrow twin bed, finding sleep as elusive as safety. The rest of her day after the failed interview had gone steadily downhill, with her being served a bland, tasteless meal of watery rice and chicken, which she had eaten mainly because it was something to do other than constantly dwell on her children and husband.
True to his word, Agent Fang’s orders had prevented her from seeing her children that evening. Making matters worse, they had been let out of the bedroom they were confined to for at least two hours, talking to their captors loud enough that Baozhai could hear the conversations. Well, at least one of them.
Unsurprisingly, the government agents had drawn Cheng out of his shell and he was now peppering them with questions. Each time he laughed was like a dagger in her heart. She heard nothing from Zhou, however, but the beeps of that damn video game she was always playing. Baozhai made a solemn promise that, if they got out of this alive, she was going to smash that thing against the closest wall, although she regretted the impulse the moment she’d thought of it, knowing it was probably the only thing keeping her daughter calm.
Forced to listen to her children in the next room, but for all intents and purposes a million miles away, she finally decided to try to ignore the sounds and go to sleep. But even though physically and emotionally exhausted, she ended up lying there for hours, staring at the walls or the ceiling, unable to find a moment’s respite.
Finally, she sat up in bed, licking her dry lips. Her bladder was becoming insistent, and she could use a glass of water, as well. The kids and she were in the second and third bedrooms. The master, with its attached bathroom, had been taken over by the MSS agents.
Sliding out of bed, she walked to the door and knocked softly.
“What do you want?” The answer came immediately from the other side of the door.
“I need to relieve myself and to get a drink of water.”
There was a moment’s pause. “Very well. Step back from the door.”
Baozhai did as ordered, retreating to the middle of the room and standing there with her hands at her sides. Once, she had made the mistake of moving a bit too slowly from the entrance and had nearly gotten shot. She had made sure never to make that mistake again.
The door opened wide and one of the agents, Liu, she thought, stood in the doorway. If ever there was a mold somewhere that MSS agents came from, he was it: short, black hair, an alert, guarded expression and a lean, quick body under a plain black suit. He regarded her for a moment, then stepped back and waved her forward. “Two minutes.”
Baozhai trotted into the hallway and into the bathroom on the left, closing the door. The locking knob had been replaced with a simple handle. She sat on the toilet with great relief, then quickly washed her hands and her face, the tepid water feeling as refreshing as the finest eau de toilette she had been given during her modeling career. She looked around for a glass to drink from, but there was nothing on the sink. Other than a small roll of toilet paper, there was nothing extra in the bathroom, not even a shower curtain rod.
She could have stayed in there for an hour but knew that Agent Liu had meant what he’d said. When the two minutes were up, he would come into the bathroom and drag her out.
Still, she savored the privacy for as long as she could before exiting. He pointed her toward the bedroom, making her frown slightly. “What about my water?”
A larger frown creased his brow. “Go back to your room. I will bring you some.”
She spoke as he began turning. “Please, I have been trapped in there all day. Just let me have one minute to go to the kitchen and get it, and then I will return to my room and not bother you for the rest of the evening.”
His face remained impassive during her plea and, for a moment, Baozhai didn’t think he was going to allow it. Then his expression relaxed and he stood aside to let her walk to the kitchen. “One minute.”
Despite being a large penthouse apartment, it had been designed fairly oddly. Instead of opening up to a central living space, the apartment was bisected into halves, with the divider being the wide hallway that cut through the middle. On her left was the entry into the living room, where she heard the murmur of other voices—two, maybe three men—and could detect a hazy pall of cigarette smoke. To her right was the kitchen, with two entryways, the one near her and the other farther down and across from the dining room.
Baozhai walked into the kitchen, the lights automatically coming on as she entered. It was sleek, with stainless-steel appliances and light maple cabinets. She took a bottle of water out of the fridge and grabbed a glass from a cabinet. As she pulled it down, something—she never knew what had caught her eye—made her look over at the corner, where she saw a large man, dressed all in black from head to toe, staring at her with ice-blue eyes. He was holding a gun in one hand, holding a finger over his lips with the other.
Startled, Baozhai managed not to scream, but her hand twitched and the glass fell and smashed against the edge of the cabinet. Within three seconds Liu was beside her, his hand on his holstered pistol.
“What happened?” he asked.
Baozhai blinked and glanced back at the corner, but the man was gone. “I—I just scared myself, that’s all. I was getting the glass when I thought I saw something over there—” she pointed to the other side of the kitchen, near the stove and dishwasher “—and jumped, dropping the glass. I’m so clumsy.”
She bent to start picking up the pieces, but was stopped by Liu. “Don’t bother with that. I’ll get it cleaned up.”
“All right.”
“Get your drink and I’ll take you back to your room.”
“Thank you.” Baozhai retrieved another glass, her mind spinning. She had seen that man in the corner, she was sure of it. And what was more, he was a round-eye. An American? She didn’t know how they had found her, but she had to take advantage of this opportunity. But how?
She poured some water into her glass and drank, trying to prolong the experience while thinking furiously. All she knew for sure was that the men obviously didn’t know the intruder was here. But how could she use it to her advantage? Any sort of attack on her captor—like smashing the glass into his face—would just bring the others into the room. No, she had to figure out a way to distract him that would allow the other man to kill him silently.
Figuring he had to be either in the dining room or more likely on the other side of the hallway, she decided to gamble on walking to the dining room while Liu was distracted. She finished her drink, then turned and headed for the second exit. “I’m just going to stretch my legs in the hallway, okay?”
“Wait, what?” His head popped up as she walked into the hallway. The moment she was out of sight, she scurried to the entrance to the dining room, then paused long enough until she saw his shadow fall into the hallw
ay. “Mrs. Liao, you cannot—”
She walked into the dark room, the only window at the far end shrouded by vertical blinds. She didn’t see the other man anywhere and barely made out the long wooden dining table in time to avoid smacking her leg on it. As soon as she saw it, the idea came to her and she sank to the ground, rocking back and forth. “Ow!”
“You are not supposed to be in here!” Liu said as he appeared in the doorway.
“I’m sorry. I banged my shin on the table,” Baozhai said while clutching her leg. “Just give me a moment and I’ll be able to get back up again.”
He stepped over to her and started to bend down. “Let me see… You really need to go back—”
His words were cut off with a small yelp, and she looked up to see both his arms flailing as what looked like two black bands had appeared out of nowhere to encircle his head and throat. Although caught off guard, Liu made a valiant attempt to draw his pistol, but it slipped from his limp fingers even as he pulled it from its holster. In a few more seconds his eyes fluttered closed and he sagged to the floor.
The man behind him kept the sleeper hold on him for a few more seconds, then released the unconscious man to the floor. He picked up the pistol—not that Baozhai could even think of reaching for it—and quickly searched the agent. Pulling out a pair of handcuffs, he secured Liu’s hands behind him around the leg of the dining room table. Pulling off the agent’s tie, the man gagged him and then turned to her. He stood and offered her his hand.
Still trembling at the sudden attack, she took his hand and he helped her to her feet, keeping his finger to his lips. He leaned forward and set his mouth next to her ear.
“I know you can understand English, so please listen very carefully,” he whispered. “I’m from the United States, and I’m here to get you and your children out of here. To do that, you are going to have to trust me implicitly and do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”
Baozhai nodded. “I will do whatever I must to save my children.”
“All right. To disable the men on the other side of that room, I’m going to pretend to take you hostage. Just play along, and I promise that no harm will come to you or your children. Do you understand?”
“Can’t you just go in there and shoot them?”
“First rule, no questions. We’re doing this my way. If you don’t like that, you’re free to go back to your room—”
Baozhai clutched his arm with a strength she didn’t know she had. “No! No, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“All right. You’ll translate my commands to them. Let’s step out into the hallway and get ready.”
“May I—may I ask one question?”
The big man looked at her for a moment. “Go ahead.”
“How do you know they won’t just shoot us both?”
“Because they think you know things and they want to find out what.” He raised a finger as she opened her mouth. “No more questions.”
They walked into the hallway and he positioned her in front of him, with an arm around her throat and a pistol pointed at her head. “There’s no round in the chamber, so don’t worry. Now, let’s go. Just remember, trust me, listen to me and translate my commands, and we’ll get out of here shortly. Do you understand?”
She nodded and they began walking down the short hallway toward the living room. Pausing just before the entrance, he asked, “Are you ready?” She nodded again and he pushed her gently into the living room.
“Nobody move. Everyone stay where you are!” he barked, and Baozhai stammered out the orders in Cantonese as the three men all looked over and froze at the black-masked man holding a pistol to the head of their witness. They were all sitting in armchairs around a low coffee table, their jackets off and slung over the backs or arms of their chairs. Scattered, dog-eared magazines and newspapers and an overflowing ashtray indicated they had been killing time here for at least a few days.
The three also more or less resembled the other agent, with slight differences. One was taller and very skinny; one was chubbier, with the beginning of a potbelly poking out his button-down shirt; the third man was several years older than the other two and had salt-and-pepper hair, possibly the agent in charge.
“Don’t touch it or she dies!” he said as Beanpole slowly began reaching for his earpiece. “Take off the radios and place them on the table. Do it now!” He pressed the muzzle of the pistol harder into her temple and Baozhai didn’t have to fake the fear in her voice as she translated. At a nod from Salt-and-Pepper, the all three men complied, sliding their radios across the table.
“Now the guns, very slowly! Anyone tries anything and you’ll be wearing her brains!”
Baozhai nearly fainted at that, but repeated the words. Again the older man signaled the others to do as the big man ordered. Three sleek, black pistols appeared and were placed on the table.
“Now your handcuffs! And keys! On the table! Right now!” Again the equipment came out and was set on the table.
“All right, all of you step back and raise your hands!” Once the three men had done that, he prodded his “hostage” forward until they were both at the edge of the coffee table. “Now, you, woman, grab the table and pull it back.”
Blinking, she reached down and grabbed the edge of the coffee table and pulled it several feet back, out of reach of the three agents. “Pick up the pistols and handcuff keys and put them in this bag.”
She did as instructed.
“Okay, move that table over to this wall, then pick up all of the handcuffs.” She hauled it over, leaving a large empty space in the middle of the room, and picked up the matte-black metal cuffs.
“Now, keeping your hands up, you three slowly walk into the middle of the room,” the American said while shrugging off the nylon bag.
The three men did so, never taking their eyes off the man and his hostage. “Stop!” he commanded, then pointed at the tall, skinny one. “Step forward and hold out your right hand. Have the other two sit down.”
Baozhai translated again and the three men did as instructed. “Put the handcuff around his wrist. Make sure it’s snug.” She did so. “All right, tell Beanpole to sit right where he is, and have Chubby come over here.”
The second agent came over. “Have him place the other cuff around his right foot. Make sure you tell him the right foot.”
She did so, making him frown, but the man behind her thumbed back the hammer on his pistol, the click ominously loud in the silence. He did as he was told, sitting and facing the other man so as to place his right foot next to his fellow agent’s right hand. “Now, have Chubby hold out his left hand.” She did so, and shortly afterward, there was a cuff encircling his wrist.
“All right, Salt-and-Pepper, you know what’s coming next. Get over here.” Frustration darkening his features, the older agent slowly approached. “No funny business or she gets a third eye. Sit and cuff your left foot.”
He did so, obviously hating to obey but having no other choice. “Now toss him the last pair and have him cuff his right hand to Beanpole’s right foot.”
Baozhai tightened the last cuff around the skinny man’s ankle, making sure it was secure. With their hands cuffed to feet, the three men would find it practically impossible to move together in any sort of coordinated fashion.
Bolan removed his pistol from Baozhai’s head and covered the three agents. “Wake your children up and get them ready to go,” he told her. “You have one minute.”
Baozhai stumbled away from him, relief at not getting shot flooding through her body. Telling herself to be strong, she ran to the second bedroom and flipped on the light. As expected, both children had slept through the entire incident in the living room. They were curled up together in the single twin bed, the sight making Baozhai’s heart break all over again.
“Zhou, wake up! Wake up right now!” she said as she pulled the covers off and picked up the still-sleeping Cheng—it would be easier to carry him tha
n to try to wake him.
“What—what’s happening?” To her credit, Zhou awoke fairly quickly, blinking sleepily as she stared at her mother. “Are they moving us somewhere?”
“No, we’re leaving. The Americans have come for us! Come on!”
Thankfully, her daughter had been sleeping in her clothes, so all she had to do was slip on her shoes and she was ready to go. She snatched her video game off the floor as they ran out of the room.
Zhou’s eyes widened at the man in black looming in the living room entrance. He glanced at her with cold, blue eyes, then at the sleeping boy in Baozhai’s arms.
“Tell your daughter she must do exactly as I say, when I say it.”
Before Baozhai could say anything, Zhou nodded. “I understand,” she answered in English.
He nodded. “Good. Take your children to the door, but don’t open it.”
With Zhou walking in front of her, Baozhai hurried to the apartment entrance. She turned to see the man backing toward them, the nylon bag slung over his shoulder and his pistol trained on the opening to the living room. “Stand to one side,” he whispered.
She did so, and he walked to the door and put his ear to it. After a few seconds he opened the door and peeked out into the hallway.
“It’s empty. I’m going to check the stairway. You stay here until I come back for you.” She nodded and he stepped outside.
Baozhai edged up to the door, casting a worried glance behind her at the living room.
A flurry of shots rang out down the hall and, moments later, the man ran back into the apartment, his pistol smoking.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
If Mack Bolan had ever thought about how many close calls he’d had in the line of duty, this one wouldn’t have ranked very high on the list. He’d been expecting reinforcements to arrive at some point. It was only a matter of time before the five-minute reportin was missed and someone was sent to check on them.
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