Lethal Risk

by Don Pendleton

  “Is there any way to stave off the infection?”

  “Intravenous broad-range antibiotics are usually the first line of treatment. Of course, you can only find that at hospitals.”

  “And as you’ve no doubt figured out, that’s not possible,” Bolan replied. “Is there anything you can get at a pharmacy that would at least slow the infection down? I just need a day or two to get him to a safe place where he can be treated.”

  “Well, depending on where we are going, there are several antibiotics that would normally be available at a pharmacy.”

  “Okay, what’s the easiest one to administer?”

  “Ceftin would probably be the simplest one, as it can be ingested either orally or as a powder dissolved in liquid.”

  “Let’s see if we can find one near a gas station. We’ve got a long way to go.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m going to need to keep you with us for a bit longer. Sorry.”

  The doctor regarded him intently. “I must say, you are the most unusual criminal I have ever met, and I’ve met my share over the years, let me tell you.”

  “Have you now?” Bolan glanced at him. “Given where you work, how many of those people are you absolutely sure were criminals, and how many were turned over on trumped up charges?”

  “I cannot say, although you would be surprised at how many confessions I have heard,” Dr. Gao replied. “But that was not my task. My job was to process them, ensure that they were healthy enough for the operation and ensure that we got as much out of them as possible. The ‘why’ of how they got there did not matter to me. If I questioned any of it too much, then most likely I would end up on the operating table next.”

  “So, instead, you just kept your head down and did what they told you?” Bolan shook his head. “I suppose that’s easier than risking your neck to speak out about your government silencing dissenters and cracking down on those who want more freedoms, and even basic human rights.”

  “Quite honestly, yes, it was.” The doctor shrugged. “I suppose I was more idealistic once, when I was younger. But…my country’s government has a way of chipping away at that, a bit at time. And before you know it, you end up in a place like that—” he jerked a thumb behind them “—doing what I was doing. But my original point was that you are not a regular criminal, are you? You came here with a singular purpose—to rescue this man.” He glanced at the unconscious Liao. “Does he mean that much to you?”

  Bolan nodded. “He was willing to risk his life to come to us. When your government took him, I was willing to risk mine to help free him.”

  “He must be very important to you. Most interesting,” the doctor replied and then pointed to a sign on the left. “If you take this next off-ramp, there should be both a gas station and a pharmacy where we can get what we need nearby.”

  Bolan regarded him for a long moment. “I truly have no wish to hurt you, Doctor, but if you try to trick me, you’ll leave me no choice.”

  To his surprise, the older man shook with laughter, actually chuckling at the threat. “Mr. American, I am your hostage, but I have seen too much in my life to be scared by your threat, which I have no doubt is very real. Rest assured that I will not act against you or this man in any way. My countrymen, however, will no doubt think quite differently.”

  “I’ve been aware of that since the moment I entered the country.”

  The off-ramp was coming up and, with a last look at the doctor’s face, Bolan took it. He didn’t have any real choice, as the car was low on gas and he needed to fill up for the long journey ahead.

  “We’ll stop at the gas station, then the pharmacy. I’ll be with you for both places, so let’s keep the visits brief, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “As you wish,” the doctor replied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Fang sat in the bed, gritting his teeth as a guard undid the straps holding him on the bed. “Free my arms. I can do the rest myself.” The man was too professional to smile or laugh as he worked, but the MSS agent knew what he was thinking.

  He had awakened to find himself strapped down and gagged in Liao’s bed, with his gun gone and no sign of either Liao or his rescuer. Even worse, the blow Fang had taken had given him a blinding headache, which intensified every time he tried to think of what the man looked like. But the face of his attacker eluded him, lost in his concussed mind.

  He had endured what seemed like hours ticking by, but in reality had been less than ten minutes before people had returned to the floor and discovered him. The moment the guard freed both hands, Fang tore off the straps on his legs, threw his feet over the side of the bed and stood—then promptly vomited on the floor.

  “I am afraid that you probably have a concussion, Agent Fang.”

  Wiping his mouth, he looked up to see Dr. Xu standing in the doorway. “If Liao escapes, that will be the least of my problems, Doctor.” He straightened and held his aching head, every thought agony.

  “You should really allow us to examine you. If left untreated, your injury could be very dangerous—”

  “And I told you it does not matter!” Fang snapped. Just raising his voice made his head swim and he sat on the bed. “Before the interrogation you had said something about giving him antibiotics. Why?”

  Xu pursed his lips, as if he had just bitten into a lemon. “The patient had infected himself with his own bodily waste, creating the condition for sepsis to manifest in his body. When you were finished, we were going to give him a broad-range antibiotic IV—”

  Fang cut him off with a slash of his hand. “So you had not administered the medicine before the—incursion?”

  “No, sir.”

  “In your professional opinion, will he need that medicine soon?”

  Xu considered the question for a second. “If by ‘soon,’ you mean within the next two to three days, then, yes. As the infection grows, he will weaken. If they do not catch it in time, there is a good chance he will die. However, the intruder took Dr. Gao hostage when he left, so there is a strong possibility that they already know Mr. Liao is ill.”

  “Thank you, Doctor, this has been a great help.” Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off the bed and stood next to it for a moment until his nausea passed. “I want you to contact every hospital, clinic and pharmacy within a fifty-kilometer radius of here and warn them of a Caucasian or Chinese doctor who comes in and tries to acquire any sort of antibiotic.” He gave the other man a card. “Anyone who has contact with such a person is to call me immediately. Do you understand?”

  Xu took the card and stared at it. “We’re not really equipped for this sort of thing—”

  “Then tell me, Doctor, are you equipped to answer questions from the Ministry of State Security regarding the lapses in security here that allowed an American to enter this facility and remove a high-ranking traitor?” Fang asked. “Because if you are, then you’re right, there’s no need to worry about the fact that they are getting farther away with every second that you stand there looking at my card!”

  His face paling, the doctor ran out of the room, shouting for receptionists as he went.

  Fang clutched his head until the sharp throbbing passed, then walked to the doorway and called to the nearest guard, a man also rubbing his head. “Yes, sir?”

  “Before you get checked out, you will isolate the security footage of the car the suspects are driving, and forward all of the information to the ministry.” Fang held up his ID card. “Tell them I have authorized a citywide alert for the car and the three suspects—a six-foot-three, blue-eyed Caucasian, a male Chinese accomplice between forty and fifty years of age, and Dr. Heng Gao, who is their hostage. Go now!”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket, thanking the heavens that the man hadn’t stolen or smashed it as well, and dialed a number. He hated doing it, hated admitting that he had failed yet again, but he couldn’t handle this by himself. The only path to redemption lay in capturing both of these men, and if he was to have any chance of do
ing that, he needed help—lots of help. Fortunately, Fang was able to call on his own resources—ones outside the ministry.

  “Put me through to General Zhao immediately,” he said when he was connected. While he was waiting, he walked to the door and looked out to see three women at the main desk, all talking urgently into phones. Xu himself manned a fourth, also talking quickly to whoever was on the other end.

  His attention was brought back by a click and a smooth voice saying, “General Zhao’s office.”

  Repressing the urge to scream at the secretary, Fang said, “This is Agent Deshi Fang of the Ministry of State Security for General Zhao.”

  “Yes, sir. I will put you through immediately.”

  True to his word, the general picked up less than ten seconds later. “Agent Fang, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Shanghai, February 10, 2006,” Fang replied. “You know the particulars.”

  They both did. Before being stationed in Beijing, Fang had been an agent in Shanghai at the same time as Zhao, who was a lieutenant then. One night he had answered a call about a disturbance involving an army officer, and entered a hotel room to find Zhao sitting in a chair, staring at the body of a local prostitute, dead of a drug overdose. The scandal would have meant the end of his career, but Fang had been convinced it was simply bad luck on the lieutenant’s part, and had managed to cover up the incident to everyone satisfaction. Of course, handling such a favor came with certain assurances, and Fang had held tightly to that fact as Zhao had risen through the ranks. In fact, the incident had actually bonded the men, and each had done the other smaller favors over the successive years.

  “It’s time?” the other man asked, his voice firm.

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. How can I help you?”

  “I need at least two platoons of soldiers and supplies and transportation for a two-day trip. Call it a training exercise, call it maneuvers, call it whatever you want, but I need them mustered with full gear and sent to me within the hour. You need to manufacture the paperwork to make it all aboveboard.”

  “I can handle that. Where are you?”

  Fang gave him the facility’s address. There was a pause on the other end.

  “What are these men to be assisting you with?”

  “Recovering an item that has been lost,” Fang replied through gritted teeth.

  “An important one, I assume?”

  “Of course it is. I wouldn’t be bringing you in on it otherwise.”

  “I understand. I just needed to ascertain the gravity of the situation for myself,” Zhao replied. “I will assemble the units myself within the hour and lead them personally. I have never forgotten that day, Deshi.”

  Fang took a deep breath upon hearing those words. “Thank you, General. I will be at the main gate awaiting your arrival.”

  “See you soon.” The general hung up and Fang turned off his phone off, feeling somewhat better. Since he had a bit of time to kill, he decided to go to see if there was anything they could give him for the concussion.

  I’ve not given up yet, American, he thought. Oh, no, not until you are dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Zhang Liao clawed his way back up to consciousness to find himself in an uncomfortable position, with one arm trapped and asleep underneath him. Blinking to clear his bleary eyes, he focused on what should have been the ceiling of the hospital, only to see the curved, cloth-covered roof of what looked like—a car?

  Turning his head, he looked at the leather seat back next to him, then the other direction to see a middle-aged man’s face looking at him kindly through thick glasses.

  “Ah, you’re awake! Good. Tell me, how do you feel?”

  “Wha—” He pushed himself upright to find that he was indeed in the backseat of a car, and still dressed in his hospital gown. He only got halfway before the world began spinning around him, and he quickly lay back down, clutching his head. “Everything’s spinning…”

  The man chuckled. “Yes, I’m afraid that most of those sorts of hypnotic drugs have unpleasant side effects. It will pass in time. You’re probably better off staying out of sight for the time being anyway.”

  When his vertigo subsided a bit, Liao risked looking at the man again. “Who are you and how did I get here? The last thing I know, I was being interrogated by that man who told me…told me…” He put a hand to his mouth as he remembered the emotionless way the MSS agent had informed him that his family had been killed.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, as I’ve never seen you before,” the man replied. “My name is Dr. Heng Gao, and I work on the main floor in the MRI department. Whoever you are, you’re apparently quite popular, as there are all sorts of people interested in you, my friend.”

  Liao was about to reply when the driver’s door opened and another, larger man got behind the wheel.

  “He’s awake!” Gao said.

  The new man glanced back at Liao with the coolest pair of glacial-blue eyes he’d ever seen. Liao stared back at his round eyes. “Are you from…?”

  “Don’t say anything right now.” The driver nodded at the doctor. “He’s here under duress.”

  “A fine way to treat the man who’s helping you!” the doctor replied. “Look, I know you’re American, so I have a pretty good idea of what this is—”

  He swallowed his words when the driver started the car with one hand and poked the doctor in the side with the muzzle of a pistol that appeared to come out of nowhere. “We’re not out of the woods yet, Doc, and that means you aren’t, either. Just relax and get ready to get that prescription we need.”

  “All right, all right.” The doctor folded his arms and stared out the window.

  Liao wasn’t sure, but he thought the doctor might actually have been pouting a bit. He frowned as the driver’s words sank in. “You know I’m ill?”

  “Well, we do have a doctor with us.” He checked the rearview mirror. “I’m not thrilled with that attendant. I think he was giving us the hairy eyeball.”

  “I told you, you should have let me deal with him,” the doctor said. “And what is that? ‘Hairy eyeball’?”

  “I meant he looked like he was suspicious of us,” the driver said as they pulled into traffic. “I overpaid him and left before he could give me the change, so hopefully he’ll just pocket it and look the other way.”

  “Yes, hopefully,” the doctor said. “Although I’m sure not many tall Westerners come to this part of town.”

  “Thanks, that makes me feel so much better.” The driver watched Liao in the rearview mirror. “We’re getting some medicine for your illness. Hopefully it will stave off the infection long enough for us to get you out of the country, and then we can get you fully treated once you’re safe.”

  “Um…thank you. I owe you my life,” Liao said, not ready to talk about his lost family yet. “I don’t suppose we might be able to get me some clothes when we stop?”

  “I can’t make any guarantees, but we’ll see what we can do,” the driver replied, then glanced at the doctor sitting next to him. “For now, give him your coat. We already look odd enough as it is. No need to be running around in that, too.” Bolan shrugged out of his own lab coat.

  “If I must,” the doctor said, shrugging out of his white coat and passing it back. “The place you want is up here on the right.”

  They pulled into the parking lot of a standard pharmacy. The driver looked at Liao before getting out. “We should be back in a few minutes. Just stay down and stay here, and we’ll be back on the road in no time.”

  Liao nodded, his world turned upside down again in the past hour.

  The two men got out and walked inside, either talking about something or perhaps arguing good-naturedly. The door closed, leaving him alone in the car.

  Despite the American’s instructions, he couldn’t help looking around fearfully, worried that every passerby might be calling his location in to the police. Becoming aware of what he was doing, he scrunched
down in the backseat, growing more terrified that someone was going to spot him and summon the police, or even worse, that awful MSS agent.

  A flash of light from the front of the car caught his eye and Liao looked at the dashboard to find that the electrical system had come on, apparently all by itself. There was a ten-inch screen in the center console, and as he stared at it, a small green light in a button in the roof winked on, as well.

  “Hello, Mr. Liao,” a man’s voice said.

  Liao blinked and looked around.

  “I know this must seem odd, but the car is not talking to you,” the voice said. “I am talking to you from the United States.”

  “Okay…you are with the man who freed me from the organ harvesting facility?” Liao asked.

  “That is correct. He works with us, and he will be doing everything he can to get you out of there safely,” the voice said. “But since he couldn’t explain the plan with that doctor there, we thought we’d contact you directly and let you know what’s going to happen…”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “It looks just like a regular pharmacy,” Bolan said as they walked inside. The one thing he wasn’t pleased with was that the windows all had large advertising decals covering them, with gaps here and there, so it was hard to see inside or out. Otherwise, except for the Chinese letters everywhere, it might have been any pharmacy in America.

  Gao snorted. “What did you expect? Incense and herbs and dried chicken heads hanging from the ceiling? I mean, we have those—without the chicken heads—so if you want to swing by one after here, I’ll be happy to take you.”

  “No, thanks. Just get that prescription and let’s get moving.” Bolan was acutely aware that his presence was attracting attention. The other patrons were discreetly—or not so discreetly—staring at him and whispering as they headed down the middle aisle, which was loaded with Asian versions of cold medicine, vitamins and even condoms, toward the pharmacist’s counter.

  As they approached he tapped the doctor’s shoulder. “Just remember,” he said quietly. “I still have a pistol on you and I’m watching you carefully, so don’t try anything.”