Ballistic

by Don Pendleton

  “We won’t have time for lingering,” he interjected.

  “No,” she said. “But listen—‘Take a thrilling roller-coaster ride or for a less heart-stopping interlude, experience the Doll Palace that is a local version of Disney’s It’s a Small World.’”

  “Heart-stopping,” Bolan echoed. “Let’s avoid that, if we can.”

  “But wait,” she forged ahead. “‘Groups from vibrant accommodations can enjoy the Niagara flume ride and relax at the Monkey Parody Theater show. Tourists can also go on the rainbow or the Ferris wheel and the swinging ship or have fun with the spinning-cups ride.’”

  “Are you done with the commercial?”

  “Yes,” she said, and laid the book aside. Her tone changed as she said, “I wish we didn’t have to do this.”

  “That’s the point,” Bolan reminded her. “We don’t. Just stand him up, while we go on looking for Jin.”

  “If I do that,” she said, “I’ll never know what lay in store for me. Whether the ministry wished to communicate with me, or something else.”

  “It’s not too late to call direct,” he said. “We have the sat phone.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s better this way. If Fann Lieu has turned against me, I must deal with him.”

  “From what you’ve said, he doesn’t sound like someone who would handle dirty work alone,” Bolan replied.

  “No. He’d need help.”

  “In which case, call it fifty-fifty whether that comes from your ministry or from the triad,” Bolan said.

  She frowned. “It makes no difference.”

  “Be sure, before you take that step,” he cautioned. “When it’s crunch time, going up against your own people may give you second thoughts. And that can get you killed.”

  “I will not hesitate,” Maia said. “I’ve decided.”

  “Making the decision’s one thing,” Bolan said. “Acting on it is another.”

  “You speak from experience?” she asked.

  “The only kind that counts,” Bolan replied.

  “I feel you have lost someone close to you,” Maia said.

  “More than one. You push past it, but it never goes away.”

  “If Fann has turned against me, I want to remember it,” she said. “A lesson for the future.”

  “But it won’t be him alone,” Bolan said. “If the ministry’s against you, you’ve got problems, win or lose.”

  “I have this mission,” she replied. “Beyond that, we shall see.”

  “So, how about we hit the waterfront?” he said. “Check out the park. It’s been forever since I took a roller-coaster ride.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Soekarno–Hatta International Airport, Jakarta

  Fann Lieu had his passport and customs declaration ready as he disembarked in Terminal 2D. Despite the nervousness he felt, like insects burrowing beneath his skin, Fann took his time and kept pace with the other passengers arriving from Beijing, resisting his impulse to hurry past them, shouldering aside the babbling dozens who delayed him.

  His first stop was the baggage carousel, more waiting with a mob of strangers until Klaxons sounded and the long conveyor belt began to turn. He watched the bags appear, one at a time, biting his tongue to keep from mouthing curses. It frustrated him to no end to fly this long and far on vital business for his government, and still be forced to wait in line with tourists for his suitcase.

  Even whispering that thought among the party faithful back at home would earn him scornful glances. Still, Fann knew that leaders of the Central Committee loved their luxuries and privileges, the same as any mandarin who had preceded them in power. It was only human nature, after all, and no political ideal had changed that for the better throughout all of history.

  His bag arrived at last, and Fann Lieu snatched it from the carousel, proceeding toward the immigration checkpoint where his passport and his customs declaration were examined. The officer who dealt with him was fat and had a pockmarked face with heavy jowls drooping around a thick mustache. Fann saw that his inquisitor had sweated through his short-sleeved khaki shirt despite the great room’s air-conditioning, which made Fann wonder whether he was sweating. Would the officer see through his claim that he was traveling for pleasure, as a tourist? Would Fann’s next stop be a cramped interrogation room?

  Instead, the fat man stamped his passport, twitched his fleshy lips in what he might have meant to be a smile and said, “Enjoy your stay. Next, please.”

  Fann dragged his rolling bag behind him, toward the main concourse and taxi stands outside, still half expecting someone to run after him and clap a hard hand on his shoulder. Could it be that easy, entering another country on a covert mission? Suddenly, Fann wondered whether there were other spies aboard his flight. What secrets had his fellow fliers carried from Beijing?

  Fann caught himself and thought, I’m not a spy. The ministry hadn’t dispatched him in a quest for information. All he had to do was meet with Maia Lee and tell her that she’d been recalled. Her work was done. The Deputy Assistant Minister for State Security was puzzled by her failure to communicate and wished to speak with her before assigning her to some new task.

  All perfectly routine—and false.

  He couldn’t mention Chou Hua Tian’s judgment rating Maia as unreliable. If she knew the ministry had deemed her unreliable, there would be no incentive whatsoever for her to return. Better to run and seek a place to hide, Fann thought, than face whatever punishment might be in store for her.

  Not for the first time, Fann Lieu wondered why he had accepted this assignment. Why had he agreed to be the Judas goat?

  For personal advancement—and survival.

  Keeping those two goals in mind, he stood in line and waited for the taxi that would carry him to his hotel.

  Ancol Bay City, Jakarta

  DRIVING WEST along Jalan Pantai Indah, Bolan scanned the theme park Maia’s old friend had selected as their meeting place. A giant Ferris wheel spun lazily above the neon landscape, easily a hundred feet in height, and through his open window he could hear excited squealing from a roller coaster as it whipped through loops and spirals in the night. Thousands of people out for a good time, spending their hard-earned money on a few cheap thrills and greasy food.

  How many killers in the crowd or on their way to join it?

  “What’s your take on how they’ll play this?” he asked Maia, as they reached Jalan Marina, turning south and rolling past the pleasure craft moored there, with easy access into Ancol Bay.

  “If the ministry was handling it alone,” she answered, “Fann would have a weapon and there would be others waiting to support him. If his orders were to kill me, the support force would observe and only intervene if he should fail.”

  “And if they wanted to arrest you?” Bolan asked.

  “In any case, they would not wish to cause a scene,” Maia replied. “There are fast-acting sedatives. If I appeared to swoon, they could escort me from the premises.”

  Bolan couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard anyone say swoon. It brought to mind romantic novels from a bygone age, nothing that fitted with Ancol Dreamland’s garish skyline and the threat of gunmen lurking in the shadows down below.

  “If Fann is unsupported and they leave it to the triads,” Maia said, “they will want both of us.”

  That figured, sure. Bolan meant to grant that wish, though not precisely in the way his adversaries might desire.

  Light rain was speckling the Toyota’s windshield, not enough to rate using the wipers, nor to dampen the enthusiasm of the Ancol Dreamland crowds. Bolan supposed that they were used to it and dressed accordingly, as he and Maia would on entering the park.

  Prepared for anything the triads or her ministry could throw at them.

  “It’s not t
oo late to blow this off,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I need to find out why he would betray me. Whether it’s simply doing as he’s told, or something else.”

  “What difference does it make?” Bolan asked.

  “If he was your friend, you’d understand,” she said.

  “Point taken,” Bolan granted. “We can head in anytime and scout the best positions.”

  Maia had already called the airport to confirm arrival of the last Air China flight that evening, from Beijing. Security precluded confirmation of specific passengers on board, and Maia’s former chum might not have flown under his own name, anyway, but if he’d made the flight, then he was in Jakarta and presumably en route to some hotel.

  As if in answer to that thought, he heard a muted buzz from Maia’s cell phone. With a glance at Bolan, she retrieved it from her handbag, opened it and quickly scanned the message it displayed.

  “Fann’s here,” she said. “He hopes to reach Fantasy World by ten o’clock, ten-thirty at the latest.”

  Which seemed appropriate, under the circumstances.

  “Confirm it,” Bolan said. “We’ll see what kind of fantasy he has in mind.”

  Beijing, People’s Republic of China

  COMMODORE FENG JINGWEI frowned at the trilling telephone, considered leaving it to ring unanswered, then released a weary sigh and lifted the receiver.

  “Yes?”

  “All is prepared,” Chou Hua Tian said without preamble. “My man has arrived and will be in position soon.”

  No mention of a name or place, but none was necessary. Feng knew where Chou’s agent had been sent, and why. The man’s name was irrelevant, since he would soon be dead. Once he had done his job, betrayed his former friend, the agent was a liability to be excised. Eliminated.

  “So, no difficulty?” Feng inquired. He had no interest in the details, but felt obligated to say something.

  “None so far,” Chou answered. “Our associates will handle all the details.”

  Meaning the triads. Feng supposed that he could take offense at being lumped together with a band of mercenary thugs, but what would be the point? He had accepted money from them and expected more to come. Whatever right he may have had to protest had been bartered off, along with any remnant of his self-respect.

  “You have no apprehension, then,” he said.

  “None,” said the Deputy Assistant Minister for State Security. “They understand the need for absolute discretion.”

  Feng supposed he should be satisfied with that. Indeed, what other choice was there? Chou had to deal with his disruptive agent in whatever way he chose, while Feng stood by and hoped that there would be no fallout from the housecleaning.

  “What word from the Americans?” Chou asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.

  “They will not negotiate, of course,” the commodore replied. “They attach no formal blame to us, but there is agitation at the People’s Liberation Army Navy,” he continued. “Some fear that relations may be...jeopardized.”

  “These things are always settled amicably,” Chou answered dismissively. “Our nations share too much in common for such things to separate them in the long term.”

  “But there may be repercussions here,” Feng said.

  “Perhaps, but we are well positioned to control them. If it comes to that, we sacrifice the Flying Ax.”

  “And they accept it?” Feng asked skeptically.

  “They have no choice,” Chou said. “They live and operate by sufferance of the state. Once that protection is withdrawn, they die like any other parasite.”

  Or kill the host, Feng thought, but didn’t voice it. He was well aware of how the Chinese government responded to embarrassment by scandal. After the Sanlu Group was caught adulterating infant formula with deadly chemicals, two of its chief executives were shot, and a third was imprisoned for life. What would the state do to a naval commodore who had participated in the theft of guided missiles and their sale to terrorists?

  “Are you still there?” Chou’s voice reached Feng, as if from far away.

  “Yes, yes,” the commodore replied. “I hear you. Sacrifice the Flying Ax if anything goes wrong.”

  “Exactly. A united and courageous front between us,” Chou declared.

  “Good night, then,” Feng said.

  He broke the link, knowing the Deputy Assistant Minister for State Security would sacrifice him in a heartbeat, if it meant preserving his own position and avoiding punishment. But Feng didn’t intend to serve the gloating bureaucrat as any kind of human sacrifice. If he went down, all of the dirty secrets he’d collected over time would be dragged out into the glaring light of day.

  He wouldn’t be the only person standing at the wall before a firing squad.

  Banten Province, West Java

  MA MINGXIA LOOKED apprehensive this time, as he moved toward Jin Au-Yo, holding the sat phone at his side as if to make it less conspicuous. Over the years, he’d learned to recognize Jin’s moods and knew his master had to be close to snapping from the weight of trouble on his narrow shoulders.

  “Who this time?” Jin asked, before Ma had a chance to speak.

  “Huo Zhangke,” Ma said. “He’s calling from that place.”

  Meaning the Ancol Dreamland theme park in Jakarta, where Jin had dispatched him with a dozen of his top surviving soldiers.

  “And he wants what?” Jin demanded.

  Ma shrugged. “Words with you, sir,” he said.

  “Son of a bitch!” Jin reached out and took the phone from Ma, swallowed his irritation like a bitter, wriggling thing, and said, “What is it, Huo?”

  “We’re all in place,” the man replied.

  “I would expect no less,” Jin said. “Why are you calling me?”

  “The man we’re looking for,” Huo said. “There’s no sign of him.”

  Jin closed his eyes and muttered, “Give me strength.”

  “What’s that, sir?” Huo asked.

  “I said give it time.” Jin felt his anger building, threatening to choke him. “I’ve confirmed that he arrived on time at Soekarno–Hatta. He had to clear the airport, get to his hotel. It all takes time.”

  “We’ll wait, then?” Huo suggested.

  “Yes,” Jin answered with exaggerated courtesy. “Until the park shuts down, if necessary. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” From his new tone, it was obvious that Huo knew he was on shaky ground. “Please accept my most abject apology. I did not mean—”

  Jin cut him off, handing the sat phone back to Ma. “Don’t put him through again unless he calls to say they’ve been arrested,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No, wait. Not even then. Especially not then.”

  Ma smiled and nodded as he turned away, leaving his boss to gnaw on whatever was troubling him.

  Jin naturally hoped the trap would work, solve all his problems in a single stroke, but he wasn’t prepared to stake his life on that alone. Too many things could still go wrong, from intervention by police to pure bad luck. Jin knew that Chou Hua Tian was only helping him in order to protect himself, preserve his own position with the government and head off lethal punishment. It was the kind of attitude Jin understood from personal experience.

  Despite the setbacks Jin had suffered in the past, he was convinced that he could turn the tide to his advantage. He would destroy the female agent and her damned American accomplice to restore his honor. And if Wu Guchan refused to grant that Jin had proved himself, well, no man was invincible. The mountain master could be toppled from his pinnacle more easily than Wu supposed. Jin had already taken the preliminary steps to that end, just in case.

  Upon promotion to his present rank, Jin had sworn loyalty to the death. But Wu Guchan had n
ever specified whose death. Let that be his surprise.

  Wu had a birthday coming up next month. Perhaps his last.

  Central Jakarta

  FANN LIEU SURVEYED his room on the third floor of the Fiducia Hotel and pronounced it adequate. He’d chosen on the basis of economy, from several dozen hotels advertised in brochures at the airport, and was glad he would be reimbursed upon returning to Beijing. The air-conditioning wheezed at him, putting out a stream of tepid air, and while Fann would have liked a shower, he didn’t have any time to spare.

  The taxi ride had taken longer than he had imagined, and another lay before him. On the street below, his driver waited with the meter running, glad to sit and smoke his foul cigar while logging twenty thousand rupiah per minute. A hired car might have made things easier, but Fann had been intimidated by the rush of downtown traffic, and the hotel had no parking for its guests in any case. Better to bill the ministry for the extravagance—three U.S. dollars every time the minute hand moved on his watch—and know that he could reach the waterfront before his time ran out.

  The Ancol Dreamland park shut down at midnight, if the guidebook on his nightstand was correct. Fann looked around his shabby room once more, searching for anything he might need at the park that had been overlooked, and found nothing.

  What else would there be, except the clothes that he stood up in and the story he was meant to tell?

  He was unarmed, of course. Airport security had seen to that, and while it made him feel uneasy, Fann Lieu knew his limitations. He wasn’t a gunman, had done poorly in the basic self-defense courses he was required to take while training at the University of International Relations. Maia had been far superior in marksmanship, and she had regularly beaten him at unarmed combat, to the point that they had laughed about it over frugal meals and coffee in the cafeteria. It had not hurt Fann’s feelings at the time—well, possibly a little—but he felt the lack of preparation most acutely now.

  For he was walking into danger. There could be no doubt of that.