"I knew it was you. The 'Tian Hai', the ambush, the helicopter, Khartoum; it was all you!"
Clearly Bishop and this Chinese guy had developed a close working relationship, he thought. Vance glanced at the technician controlling Bishop's phone and gave him a thumbs up. The tech nodded back.
"Bingo! Regular fucking Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?"
Vance kept his thumb extended upwards.
"He's been recording us!"
The voice was louder than any other sounds. The speaker was in very close proximity to Garang. Vance dropped his thumb, turning his hand down. The technician hit the signal to detonate the explosive charge in the phone.
"Intel! I want know who this Chinese fucker is and I want to know yesterday," bellowed Vance.
"We got him, Sir. His name is Yang Tan. CIA have him on file as a PLA operative, Second Department."
"Alright, that makes sense. Now where are they gonna take Bishop? Back to Khartoum or over to the refinery? Someone get Chua in here. I want answers ASAP."
"He's been paged. He'll be in any minute," said the watchkeeper.
"Good. In the meantime, let's get on to Mirza and give him an update. Then I want to know what assets we have nearby and how long it will take to get them in country. Mirza is gonna need back up."
The operations staff were already busy at their terminals putting together the information that Vance required. They had been here before and knew exactly what needed to happen.
Vance turned and headed back to his office. He needed to put in a few calls of his own.
Halfway to his door, he stopped. "One last thing, someone come up with a plan to execute that goddamn turncoat. By this time next week I want Garang dead in a ditch somewhere."
Chapter 41
Unknown Location, Sudan
Bishop's head was throbbing. The fact that it was bashing against the window of a SUV probably didn't help. As he slowly regained consciousness, he realized his feet were bound and his hands were firmly secured behind his back. He shuffled up into a sitting position and looked out the window at the landscape racing past.
"Our guest is awake."
The rough Chinese accent caught Bishop's attention and he glanced forward into the vehicle's rear vision mirror. Yang's reptilian stare glared back at him.
"Thanks for the wake-up call. How long till room service?" asked Bishop.
"You still think you are funny. That will change," said Yang.
Bishop turned his head and realized that Jess was sitting next to him, still unconscious.
"Jess." He shuffled over towards her. "Jess, can you hear me?"
"She will be awake soon. She is not as big as you. The drugs will take longer. How is your arm?"
Bishop glanced at his left shoulder. It was wrapped in a heavy bandage.
"I took the liberty of closing the wound for you."
"Shit, makes me feel bad about sticking a knife in your leg."
"Somehow I doubt that, Aden."
"No, you're right. That was a pretty sweet move."
There was silence as Yang glared in the mirror of the SUV. Bishop ignored him, focusing his attention on the still unconscious doctor.
"Jess, wake up."
She groaned and opened her eyes. "Aden, Aden!" She panicked, struggling against the plasticuffs that bound her hands and feet.
"It's OK. I'm here."
He shuffled across to help her into a sitting position. Her hair was a total mess, a line of dried saliva marked her shirt and her eyes were bloodshot.
"You OK?" asked Bishop.
"A little groggy. I think they hit us with Ketamine. How's your arm?"
"Ah, the beautiful doctor has decided to join us," interrupted Yang. "I trust that you are feeling well?"
"Go to hell!" snapped Jess.
"You really should be more pleasant. This may be our last opportunity to chat. I can assure you that when we reach our destination our interaction will be far more—formal!"
"What does he mean by that?" Jess asked.
"Means he's going to get rough," said Bishop quietly. "There's no need to bring her into this. She doesn't know anything about us."
"This I already know, but it would seem that you have become quite fond of her. So maybe you should start talking now."
Bishop stared out the window at the African savannah flashing by. It was mid-afternoon and the land was starting to cool. Soon the big cats would start to stir, preparing for darkness and the hunt. He turned his head to face the front of the vehicle and for the first time he realized there were a number of gun buggies escorting them.
"You already know who I work for. My agency isn't going to sit on its hands, you know. They will be looking for me. They know who you are and where I'll be."
"I doubt that very much. Mainly because I don't believe that you work for the CIA. I think you're a mercenary, a gun for hire. The question is who has hired you?"
Bishop laughed. "You're a fool, Yang. What private contractor has access to the sort of support that's behind me? Face it, you fucked up snatching me and before you know it a SEAL team is going to be kicking in your door and dragging you away by the hair. Then we'll see who's the funny man."
Yang smirked in the mirror. "We will see."
The SUV slowed and Bishop instantly recognized the high fences, earthen berms and heavy concrete security posts of the PETROCON refinery. He had studied satellite imagery and UAV footage but he had not anticipated seeing it this close up, in person.
The buggies in front of them passed through the chicane of concrete barriers, stopping to have their undersides checked by mirror-wielding guards.
When it was their turn, Yang wound down the window and snapped a set of orders to the guards. They waved the SUV through the checkpoint and into the compound.
The vehicle pulled up in front of a number of boxy buildings. Yang and the driver jumped out of the vehicle, leaving Bishop and Jess alone.
"What happens now?" asked Jess.
"Nothing to worry about," lied Bishop. "They're after me, not you."
Footsteps could be heard approaching the vehicle. "They won't hurt you, Jess. I promise." Bishop spoke quickly.
The doors were wrenched open and both of them were pulled out. Bishop landed on his flank, his legs still tied together. A hood was slipped over his head and he was forced to his feet. He heard the snick of a knife slicing through the plasticuffs at his ankles. Strong hands guided him forward.
"This is where it's going to get really fun," Yang hissed in his ear.
"Why? Because you finally get to play out all those homoerotic fantasies bouncing around in your sick little head?" Bishop's voice was muffled in the hood. He braced for the inevitable and when the blow landed, it lifted him off his feet and sent him sideways. He embraced the darkness and dropped to the ground unconscious.
Chapter 42
The Bunker, Lascar Island
"OK, team, what've we got?" Vance walked in to the conference room and dropped into the leather seat at the head. To his right sat Chen Chua, to the left sat one of his operations officers.
"Good news," Chua started. "We have confirmation of Bishop's location. We pulled GPS co-ord and voice match off Yang's phone." Chua saw the quizzical look on Vance's face. "I pulled a few strings and got it covered by the NSA—no big deal. Anyway, Bishop is currently located at the PETROCON refinery."
"That's good news?"
"For now. My assessment is they're going to transfer him to the Chinese Embassy in Khartoum. Best guess, we've got less than twelve hours before they move him."
"Working with that time frame what options do we have to bang in on the target?"
"Nothing solid," reported the operations officer. "I spoke with Mirza last night and he doesn't have enough manpower to hit the refinery direct. His preference would be to interdict a road move."
"Makes sense. What about options to reinforce his team?" asked Vance.
"Aleks and Kurtz are both on a plane from Abu Dhabi to Et
hiopia at the moment. Mitch is inbound and should RV with them around 1000 hours our time. If all goes well they should be on the ground with Mirza no later than 0600 hours local."
"Excellent work, having those boys around will certainly give us a few more options. I want you and your team to work up a number of concepts. Let's run with an interdiction of a road move and a worst case scenario if they try to chopper him out."
"I'm working on a third option as well, Vance," the man said. "A road move to the airfield up north and a fixed-wing flight into Khartoum."
"Good thinking. That's all for the time being. Can you give me a heads up when the boys are on the ground?"
The operations officer grabbed his folder and made for the door. "Will do, boss."
When he was gone, Vance turned to Chua. "So what's the go with China? You dug anything up on this Zhu character?"
Chua nodded. "Saneh's been sniffing around in Shanghai, digging up some dirt. In between her time spent in nightclubs and shopping malls, she has actually uncovered something we may be able to use."
"Useful for the overall mission or recovery of Bishop?"
"Both." The intel chief pulled an A4-sized blow-up of a surveillance photo from his folder and slid it towards Vance. "It seems that Zhu has a son."
Vance picked up the photo. "Real party animal, hey."
The shot was taken in a club, a polo shirt-wearing Chinese youth cuddled up with what looked like a pair of very attractive European escorts.
"You thinking a straight out swap?" asked Vance.
"My preference would be to recover Bishop without having to give up the kid, then we could use him to influence Zhu to play nice with South Sudan."
"But we can always use the kid as a contingency plan."
Chua nodded.
"Good plan, I like it. My only concern is Saneh being on her own in Shanghai."
"She's very resourceful, I'm sure—"
"That's not the issue. A kidnapping has lots of moving parts. She'll need back up."
"Vance, with most of the team in Africa, we simply don't have the extra manpower."
"No doubt about it, we're stretched." Vance leaned back in the leather chair, putting his boots up on the conference table. "I know of one operative available and I'm pretty sure he can speak Chinese."
Chua looked confused for a moment.
"Pack your dancing shoes, Chua. You're heading back to the motherland."
Chapter 43
Bar Continium, Shanghai
The stretched Audi A8 limousine came to a smooth halt in front of the hotel, its powerful engine purring like a contented beast. A bellboy grasped the door and opened it, waiting patiently for the occupants to alight.
The legs that swung out of the vehicle caught everyone's attention, from the smartly dressed security guards to the concierge and patrons of the hotel. Long and graceful, yet defined and muscular, they announced a women who took great care in her appearance and physique.
The owner of those legs didn't fail to impress. She gracefully accepted the hand of the bellboy, letting him guide her onto the red carpet.
She was devastatingly alluring, dark and sultry, with the grace and poise of a dancer. Her high cheekbones, dark eyes and long brown hair suggested an Eastern European, or perhaps Middle Eastern heritage.
She was dressed in the most couture of outfits, a classic mid-length black dress that revealed her ample cleavage. Six-inch heels accented her toned legs.
From the other side of the vehicle a pair of blondes appeared. Beautiful, but not striking like the brunette, they joined her on the red carpet that led inside the foyer of the hotel. In a Michael Bay movie they would have been filmed in slow motion: a hair flick, a coy smile, pure sexual energy.
"Welcome to the Continium." The sharp-suited doorman smiled charmingly over his clipboard. "Can I have a name for the list?"
The brunette pursed her lips. "Aneke Krisko." Her accent was rich and tainted with Eastern European inflections.
The doorman checked his list. "I don't seem to have you here."
"Are you sure?" She reached into her handbag and took out a business card. "Perhaps you are confused with the spelling?" She smiled suggestively.
The doorman glanced at the hand written mobile number on the card. "Ah yes, here you are. Aneke plus two. This way, ladies."
They rode the mirrored elevator from the foyer to the 135th floor. When the doors opened the three women stepped into a wonderland of glamor and pumping music.
The Continium was Shanghai's newest and most exclusive nightspot, its clientele, the rich and privileged of Mainland China. Businessmen, generals, politicians and their sons, a male-dominated environment where the woman always came with a price.
The three females strode across the plush carpet, drawing the eye of almost everyone. The brunette led them around the dance floor filled with awkward gyrating men and svelte models and up into one of the booths that ringed the club's floor-to-ceiling windows.
No sooner had they sat down, the drinks began arriving.
Their waiter first offered them a bottle of Champagne. "Compliments of the gentleman in the suit." Next came a bottle of top-shelf scotch whisky, accompanied by a selection of sodas, green tea and ice. "Compliments of the man over there, Mr Zhu. He would like you to join him."
The Brunette dismissed the offerings, sending the waiter scurrying with a flick of her hand. In her thick accent she ordered a round of Ciroc Vodka on ice.
The three girls chatted, drank, and enjoyed the stunning view of the city. Far below them the lights of Shanghai sprawled along the Yangtze river. They were oblivious to the scowls they commanded from the female competition around them. Other escorts fought for the attention of their clients as the three newcomers continued to attract stares.
Finally a waiter appeared with a tray of drinks, one of everything the cocktail list had to offer. "Mr Zhu has asked me to tell you to not be so fussy. You make it hard for him to get your attention."
The brunette smiled. "You can tell Mr Zhu that my friends and I would very much like for him to join us."
The waiter nodded and disappeared to pass on the message.
A few minutes later two men approached the booth. A short, portly Asian wearing a white polo shirt with a popped collar grinned at the three women. A taller, rougher man sporting a shaved head and wearing a loose-fitting suit tailed him.
"You must be Mr Zhu," said the brunette, inviting him to sit next to her.
"You can call me Ping," he replied.
"I'm Aneke. Thank you ever so much for drinks. Your friend is also welcome to sit with us."
Ping addressed the second man in Mandarin and he sat down between the two blondes. They snuggled in either side of him and he grinned.
"You prefer brunettes, yes?" Aneke purred, placing her hand on Ping's leg.
"Yes, yes, of course," he stammered, pushing his black-rimmed glasses back up his nose. "Blondes are so last year."
Aneke gave him her undivided attention for the next half hour. They talked, she laughed at his attempts at humor, and they drank.
"You know, my father is a very powerful man," said Ping.
"Is that so?" cooed Aneke. "He must be very proud to have a son like you."
"Yes, he is very proud. I am already a senior manager in the company."
"And so young? That is impressive."
Aneke continued to stroke his ego, letting him spill his life story as he drank. She regulated her own intake, sipping from cocktails as he guzzled.
The other man, the bodyguard, refrained from drinking. Aneke gave him a smile and he returned it, clearly enjoying the attention of the two voluptuous blondes at his side. His hands roamed over their bodies as they smiled and laughed.
"I'm going to powder my nose," Aneke whispered, her lips gently caressing the lobe of Ping's ear. "Would you like to come?"
"Yes, yes!"
"I'm going to take him away for a moment. Is that OK?" she asked the guard.
His brow furrowed and he made to stand up. Ping waved his hand, assailing him with a torrent of Mandarin. The guard sat down.
"It's OK," Ping explained. "He works for my father. Big muscles, little brain." He laughed as they left the booth and circled the dance floor. Ping had his arm around the brunette's waist.
They passed the lifts and the bar, making their way to the corner of the club where the rest rooms and private function areas were located. The clientele loved karaoke and the Continium pampered to their needs in elegance and style. Individual booths lined one side of a corridor, sound-proofed, decked out with expensive furnishings and serviced by scantily clad waitresses.
It was still early in the night and most of the booths were unoccupied. Aneke slid back the door on one and peeked inside. It was empty. She grabbed Ping by the hand and dragged him in, closing the door behind them.
The room was themed in blue. Thick blue carpet covered the floor and velvet blue armchairs clustered around a low glass table. There was a bar in the corner and a huge flat-screen television bolted to one of the windowless walls.
"You like to sing?" Ping giggled as he slumped into one of the chairs.
"No, I like to dance," said Aneke lifting her foot onto one of the soft chairs. Her dress rode up her thigh exposing the top of her pull-up stockings. She smiled at Ping seductively as she slipped her fingers under the top and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with white powder.
Ping smiled as she emptied the package onto the glass table. He took out his wallet and handed her a black AMEX credit card. She used the card to form thin lines of powder on the glass. Ping watched her closely as he rolled a 100 yuan note into a tube.
"Ladies first," Ping offered Aneke the tube.
"Nyet, you go first. I need it to make you sober for what I have in mind." She bit her lip suggestively.
Ping smiled and leaned forward, the tube clutched between his thick fingers. Inhaling loudly, he sucked an entire line into his nose.
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