“One would think so, except it is also in a city of twenty-one million people,” Fang replied. “There are many sedans similar to it here. Who’s to say he hasn’t ditched it already?”
“Simple, he wants to get out of the city as soon as possible—” Zhao said as Fang’s phone vibrated once again in his pocket. Holding up a finger, he pulled it out and saw that HQ had sent him a video file, along with a curt message: Pulled from traffic cameras at 1143.
Playing the file, he watched as a car matching the description of the one they were looking for sped east on G110. The screens were all time-stamped and looked accurate, but something about it struck Fang as off. He watched it twice and then looked up at Zhao. “What were you saying just now?”
“I said now that he has acquired his target, he will want to leave the city as soon as possible.”
“Right…” He handed over the phone. “Take a look at this while I check out what happened here.”
By now they were at the pharmacy where the car had last been sighted by actual people. Three police cars were already there, with the damaged one off to one side. Everyone turned to look at the olive-drab military vehicles pulling into the parking lot.
“I guess we could have been a little more subtle in our approach to this, eh?” Zhao said with a smile.
Fang turned to him, his expression mirthless. “Forget subtle. I want this guy’s head and balls on a plate when this is through. Stay here, I’ll be back.”
He got out and walked over to the police officer in charge. “Agent Fang, MSS. Give me every detail about what happened here.”
After a hasty but unnecessary salute by the flustered police officer, he gave Fang a report cobbled together from several eyewitness accounts, including the officer whose car had been disabled. Once he’d gotten the particulars, including the fact they had taken antibiotics and water, Fang thanked the officer and ran back to the army vehicle.
“I may be staking everything on this, but my gut is telling me that traffic footage is faked somehow, and that they’re headed west,” he told Zhao as he climbed back inside.
“I agree. This just doesn’t look quite right,” Zhao said. “But if they are not going in that direction, then where are they headed? Once you leave Beijing on the western road, there’s nothing out there but steppe and hills. Do you think they’re actually going to try to drive to Tibet or Pakistan?”
“Maybe,” Fang replied. “And we’re going to follow them until we either find them or run out of country.” He settled more comfortably into his hard-backed seat. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“All right, Doc, you can take the blindfold off now.”
They’d been driving for about an hour and before leaving the edge of the city Bolan had made the doctor blindfold himself so he couldn’t see where they were headed. He wasn’t going the kill the man, although a large part of his brain said he was crazy to leave a witness behind. He protected the innocent, no matter what regime they were under. Besides, enough people at the organ transplant facility had seen his face as it was, so more than one person could provide a description of him. With a philosophical shrug, he dropped the matter.
However, that certainly didn’t prevent him from laying a false trail for Gao to provide to the MSS when he was brought in. Bolan used the navigation system in the Mercedes-Benz to figure out the best place to let the doctor go that was far enough from civilization but wasn’t so far out that he would keel over and die before he was picked up. It would help if the fake trail also wasn’t too far from the real road he was going to take to Mongolia.
Once he’d figured out his route, Bolan drove several miles past the one he planned to take, then pulled the sedan over to the side of the road at an intersection and made the doctor get out.
Gao pulled his tie off his eyes and looked around at the stark, rolling plains surrounding them in every direction. He stared back down the stark, desolate road they’d traveled to get there, and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t exercise that much, you know. Can you at least tell me how far back it is to town?”
“You’re a long way from Beijing, but we passed a small village about two miles back.” Bolan pointed down the road. “If you keep up a steady pace, you’ll be there in about two and a half hours.”
“You sure are an optimist. Could I please get some water for the trip?”
“Sure.” Bolan handed over two bottles. “And thanks for mixing up the solution for him.” He nodded at Liao, who was still sitting in the backseat. Once Bolan had verified that the doctor had indeed gotten the right drugs, Gao had mixed up three bottles of antibiotic in water, and had been overseeing Liao’s ingestion of it ever since.
“Just make sure he keeps drinking it—regardless of the taste,” Gao said. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could get my phone back, is there? Listening to music would make this forced walk you’re putting me on go so much quicker.”
Bolan smiled at the request. “Gao, you’re lucky I’m letting you keep your shoes. Now get out of here, before I change my mind.”
The doctor nodded. “I had to try.” He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Thank you for the adventure, Mr. American.”
Bolan shook it. “You’re welcome. I’m surprised you enjoyed your kidnapping. Most people don’t, you know.”
“Indeed. But as I think you know, I am not like most people.” With a smile, he waved goodbye and began trudging down the road, holding a bottle of water in each hand.
Bolan waited until he was a speck on the horizon before getting into the car and pulling back on the road. “The front seat is open if you want it.”
“I might as well stay here,” came the quiet reply.
“You know, far be it from me to tell someone how they should be feeling, but I’d think you’d be a bit more cheerful to have escaped that butcher’s den back there,” Bolan said. “But you are ill. Maybe that’s what’s got you down. By the way, the doc said you needed to keep on the fluid intake, so I want to see one of those bottles drained before the hour is up. That gives you about—” he checked the dashboard clock “—thirty-three minutes to drain it.”
“It is not my illness that has made me sad, it is the fact that my family…my family…” Liao turned away, but not before Bolan saw the gleam of tears on his cheeks.
“What about them?” he asked.
“They’re dead!” Liao cried.
“What are you talking about?”
“The MSS agent…” he said between sobs. “Before he began interrogating me…he told me that my family had been killed in a failed attempt to rescue them by the Americans.”
“And you believed him?”
“Of course. Why would he lie?”
“To put you in a more fragile mental state, so the drugs he used on you would have a greater effect. It’s a common interrogation trick.” Bolan brought the car to a stop. “Liao, look up. Look at me.”
The defector turned his tear-streaked face up to stare at Bolan.
“Your family is not dead. I put your wife, daughter and son on a private jet not more than twelve hours ago. In fact they’re still on that jet, which is the same one we’re heading to Mongolia to meet. If all goes well, you’ll be seeing them in a few hours.”
Bolan had rarely ever seen a man go from the utter depths of despair to transcendent joy so quickly. “They’re alive?”
“Yes.”
Liao bent over and, for a moment, Bolan thought the man was having a stomach cramp, but after a few seconds, he straightened and was laughing almost hysterically. “They’re alive!”
“Yeah, so why don’t you get up here in the front seat, and let’s get you on the way to them, okay?”
“Yes…yes, I think I will come up there.” Liao climbed over the back of the passenger seat, unable to keep the broad smile off his face. “Thank you, American, thank you so much for this news… You have no idea how grateful I am that you and your government considered my family as important
as me.”
“You’re welcome, but you’re the one who made the tough decision to go against the direction your own government is heading,” Bolan replied. “There aren’t a lot of people who’d be willing to toss everything they’ve earned away and risk their lives to throw in with a potential enemy to try to keep the peace, and we appreciate that even more. What I guess I’m saying is that if you have to leave everything you know and love behind to start over in a foreign country, you damn well better have your family with you.”
Liao nodded. “Exactly. Again, your compassion is greatly appreciated.”
“Hey, I’m just glad that this is almost over for both of us.” Bolan grinned. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had tracking you and your family down.”
Liao nodded. “No, I imagine they did not make it easy for you.”
Liao stared out the window at the featureless steppe around them for a minute then turned back to Bolan. “A quick question, if I may—my daughter, Zhou, was she able to bring her little portable console game with her?”
“Yeah,” Bolan replied. “She kept a death-grip on it everywhere we went. The last I saw, she was playing it on the plane. Why?”
Liao smiled quickly. “It helps her handle difficult situations, that’s all. I am glad she was able to take it with her.”
“Yeah, it did seem to help,” Bolan said. “Your son, on the other hand, is quite a heavy sleeper. I’ve never seen anyone sleep that hard.” He caught himself before going into the dangerous details of the situation the child had slept through.
Liao apparently didn’t notice, and laughed instead. “I swear that boy could sleep through a typhoon. Whenever there’s a fire drill at night, we have to carry him out to the front of the building. I wish I slept half as good.”
“You and me both,” Bolan replied.
Liao was silent for a few seconds more. “And Baozhai…how is she?”
Bolan looked at him for a few seconds before replying. “She’s fine. She handled herself extremely well during the extraction. You’ve got yourself one hell of a wife, Liao.”
“Thank you, but I wouldn’t have any of them now, if it wasn’t for you, Mr.—” He frowned. “Okay, now that we are alone, I have to call you something else besides ‘Mr. American.’”
Bolan nodded. “Edwards. Carter Edwards.” There was a thunk from the engine, and the car lurched forward, then resumed running smoothly.
“That didn’t sound very good,” Liao said after he lowered his antibiotic drink.
“No, it didn’t.” Scanning the instrument panel, Bolan noticed a new light had come on. “Damn.” As he said that, the car lurched again as the engine sputtered and died. Shifting it into Neutral, he wrestled the suddenly sluggish car to the side of the road before its forward momentum died completely. “What is the matter?” Liao asked.
“We appear to be out of gas,” Bolan replied. “I think one of that cop’s bullets might have hit the tank or a connection somewhere. I’m going to take a quick look.”
He got out and looked underneath the vehicle in the fading light. Something was dripping from near the gas tank, and he smelled gas, as well. Getting up and dusting himself off, Bolan got back inside. “Yeah, the tank’s leaking. It must be a pretty slow one, since we got this far before it conked out.”
Again, Liao looked out at the barren countryside around them. “So now what?”
Bolan was already pulling out his cell phone. “I’m going to—damn.” He tossed the cell phone aside. “I’m going to use that as a paperweight, because we’re outside its coverage.”
“The car!” Liao said. “Your people spoke to me from the car—a Hal Brognola?”
“Great!” Finding the concierge button, Bolan pressed it. “I hope this works. I think they run through a satellite, so—”
He was interrupted by a familiar voice. “Acme Roadside Assistance. This is Akira, how can I help you?”
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice,” Bolan said with a grin. “I’ve got a bit of a problem here, Akira. We’re out of gas with more than a hundred miles to go to reach the LZ, and I have no real idea anymore how close we are to the nearest town. Is there anyplace nearby that might be able to provide us with some fuel?”
“Well…” The clack of keys could be heard in the background. “Wow, you really are in the ass end of nowhere, aren’t you? But you may be in luck. There seems to be some kind of farm or something about half a mile north along the road you’re on. Just head up there, it’ll be on your right. That’s about all the intel I have—the rest is up to you. How are you doing otherwise?”
“You mean other than being stranded in the middle of nowhere in northern China and probably being chased by—” Bolan glanced at his passenger and changed tack. “We’re fine, Akira, although I’d give just about anything for a HELO extraction right about now.”
“And I’d love to make that happen for you, too, but unfortunately, that isn’t happening,” Tokaido replied. “If you can scrounge enough gas to take you about another thirty miles, there’s a tiny town that seems to have a gas station in it, and not much else. Fill up there and take extra with you, because where you’re going is even more nothing than you’re already going through.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, Akira. We’ll contact you if we need anything else,” Bolan said.
“Good luck, guys. Acme out.”
Bolan turned off the service to conserve the battery and glanced out the window at the setting sun. “All right, here’s the plan. I’ll head up to the place he told me about and hopefully return with some gas. You stay here and keep an eye out—for what, I don’t exactly know.” He reached into the backseat and took the police officer’s revolver out of his bag and handed it to Liao butt first. “Have you ever fired a pistol before?”
The other man shook his head.
“It’s simple.” He showed him the manual safety—odd for a revolver but perfect for the Chinese police, who usually had little experience with guns—and how it operated. “If you get in any trouble, try to fire a warning shot so I’ll know. I should be back in an hour at the latest, so with a bit of luck, we’ll be back on our way in no time. Just keep sucking down your medicine, and I’ll return before you know it.”
“All right.” Liao wrapped the doctor’s coat around him and clutched the pistol close. “It’s already getting colder.”
“I know. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just keep thinking about seeing your family again, and you’ll be fine.”
Liao smiled and nodded as Bolan took his phone and his main weapon bag and got out of the car. Adjusting the strap tight so that the bag clung to his back, he set off at a ground-eating lope, estimating he’d be at the building Tokaido had mentioned in about ten minutes. Remaining alert to the environment around him, particularly the sound of any approaching cars, Bolan settled into his jog and let himself simply run.
The distance passed quickly and, almost before he knew it, Bolan had reached his destination. Tokaido was right. It was hard to tell exactly what purpose the cluster of gray, weathered buildings served out here. They might have been part of a farm; they might have been a storage warehouse; they might have been a drug smuggler’s hideout. Either way, Bolan was going in to see what he could find.
Removing his submachine gun from the bag, he approached the nearest building, alert for any sort of security measure or sentries, but he reached it without incident. This one was a long, windowless structure with a large metal door that looked as though it might be some sort of vehicle garage.
There was a side door with a padlock and Bolan took out his picks and was through it in under a minute. Pushing the door open, he used the light on his phone to illuminate the interior.
As he had suspected, it was a garage, with space for vehicles up front and an old tractor and an even older motorcycle on flat tires sitting in the back. Various automotive and other tools were scattered along a workbench on one wall, and what looked like an engine hoist was in th
e back next to the cycle. Although a layer of dust covered everything, there were also recent tire tracks and footprints on the concrete floor. Spotting several new-looking fifty-gallon drums along the near wall, Bolan hurried to the closest one and shoved it. Finding it empty, he repeated the process until he found one that sloshed when he heaved on it. Grabbing a pry bar from the bench, he opened the top and smelled the sharp odor of gasoline inside.
Now he just had to figure out a way to get some back to the car. A few minutes’ search came up with an empty, battered, red-metal container with Chinese lettering on it. It looked as if it would hold enough for him to get the car here, and then he could fill the tank and leave some cash for the fuel.
Unscrewing the container cap, Bolan carefully wrestled the drum over and filled the smaller container, splashing only a bit on the floor. Setting the drum upright, he screwed the cap on, put his submachine gun away, grabbed the container and headed for the door. Once outside he closed it but left the lock open in the hasp and then started back to the car.
Weighed down by the heavy container of gas, Bolan couldn’t move as quickly as he wanted, but wasn’t too concerned about getting back before Liao got too cold. But as he crested a hill about halfway there, he heard a single, muffled gunshot.
Immediately he dropped the container and ducked into the nearby ditch, pulling the submachine gun out once he got to cover. He waited a few seconds for another shot but didn’t hear one. Making sure the gas container was concealed in the grass of the ditch, he left the road, walking twenty paces out into the field on the same side as the car, and headed toward it.
He’d gone about five hundred yards when he heard a loud engine running and voices in the distance. Hitting the ground, he crawled through the dry grass until he could see the car, which now seemed to have smoke coming from the passenger compartment.
It was still there, as was Liao. He was standing outside the vehicle, his hands in the air, surrounded by a half dozen men dressed in dark green jackets, pants and combat boots, and all were pointing assault rifles at him.
Lethal Risk Page 20