by Alex Ryan
Besides, she told herself, how can I have a romantic relationship with a former American SEAL, given my position in government? It would not be tolerated.
And yet, the thought of his touch made her flush.
She sighed and shook her head.
What’s wrong with me? I’m thinking like a schoolgirl.
The cabin steward returned with her coffee and set the cup down on the tray next to her. “Can I get you anything else, Dr. Chen?”
“No, thank you,” she said.
He nodded and returned to his seat at the back of the aircraft.
She raised the cup to her lips and sipped. Hot and sweet—just the way she liked it. She sipped greedily, until the little white porcelain cup was empty. She stared out the window at the twinkling lights dotting the landscape below.
Her left upper eyelid began to twitch.
Great, not this again.
She was nervous, caffeinated, and chronically sleep-deprived, so it was no wonder that “the twitch” had reemerged from its eight-week hibernation with a vengeance. Sometimes the spasm lasted only a few seconds; sometimes it tormented her for hours.
Twitch.
She felt the nose of the jet dip as the pilot began the descent into Hong Kong. Her stomach suddenly felt queasy. She’d done everything mentally possible to avoid thinking about “the event” in Hong Kong during the flight. But with touchdown only minutes away, she couldn’t help but wonder what twisted, hellish nightmare she was walking into this time.
Twitch, twitch . . .
She didn’t know if she could handle another Kizilsu.
Twitch.
Whatever it was, one thing was certain: there would be pain and misery.
And dead bodies.
Clenching her jaw, she pressed the pad of her left thumb against her eyelid and prayed that this time, the machinations of her imagination were more dreadful than reality.
CHAPTER 3
Hong Kong International Airport
Lantau Island
Dash peered out the porthole window and saw a figure dressed entirely in black, waiting for her on the tarmac. The plane taxied to a stop and the cabin steward unlocked and cracked opened the Citation’s access hatch. The wind howled through the gap, and the young man struggled to maintain control of the staircase as he lowered it. The landing had been white-knuckle choppy, and now she understood why. Lightning flashed on the horizon; a violent gust of wind buffeted her back from the opening. A storm was brewing. She pulled her shoulder-length onyx hair into a quick ponytail, zipped her jacket up to her neck, and stepped off the plane.
As she strode to meet the Snow Leopard Commander, the go bag slung over her shoulder bounced rhythmically against her right hip. Their eyes met, and the left corner of Zhang’s mouth curled into a coy half smile. Tonight, he was dressed in the SLCU’s signature all-black tactical gear and looked particularly imposing.
And handsome.
“Dr. Chen,” he said, extending a hand to greet her.
“Commander.” His grip was so firm, it was like shaking hands with a granite statue. “Good to see you again.”
“You as well. Although I wish it were under better circumstances.” He gestured to a black Mercedes GL idling ten meters away with its headlights on. “That’s our ride.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the helo,” he said.
She climbed into the back seat of the Mercedes SUV, and Zhang slid in beside her.
“Go,” he barked at the driver, and the GL’s V-8 engine roared to life, throwing her back into her seat.
“Has anyone briefed you?” Zhang asked, turning to face her. Worry lines creased his forehead.
“No,” she said.
“It’ll be noisy on the helo, so I’ll bring you up to speed now,” he said. “At approximately 1700 local, dead bodies began washing up on Tung Wan Beach.”
“Tung Wan Beach,” she echoed. “Is that on Cheung Chau Island?”
“Yes. It’s one of the most popular and crowded beaches in Hong Kong. So you can imagine the pandemonium that erupted when corpses started floating in. Supposedly, a seven-year-old girl and her father were playing in the waves when the first body drifted by. Its arms tangled around the girl’s legs.”
Dash shook her head, mortified at the mental imagery. “That poor girl is going to be emotionally scarred for life.”
“Not just her,” Zhang said. “At least a dozen swimmers and windsurfers had similar encounters.”
“Wait a minute, just how many bodies are we talking about?”
“Last I heard, the count was up to eighteen.”
“And the beach? Please tell me it has been quarantined . . .”
“Yes. The local police weren’t sure what they were dealing with. Because of the condition of the bodies, they called us, and I made the decision to mobilize the task force and implement your quarantine procedures.”
The Mercedes skidded to a stop twenty meters away from a blacked-out Changhe Z-11 tactical helicopter that was already spinning up its rotors.
“I have to ride in that?” she said, gawking out the window.
“What, you don’t like helicopters?”
“I’ve never ridden in one,” she said, opening the passenger door. “And to be honest, I don’t particularly like the idea of flying around in something that doesn’t have wings. It’s not natural.”
“You’ll love it,” he said, stepping out of the SUV behind her. “I promise to fly nice.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said, clutching his arm. “Don’t tell me you’re the pilot?”
“Of course. That guy in the pilot’s seat is just warming her up for me,” he shouted over the rising roar of the rotor wash. “Relax, Dr. Chen, it’ll be fun . . . Now duck your head and stay with me.”
She did as instructed, jogging in a crouch toward the helicopter. The rotor wash buffeted her this way and that—almost knocking her over—but Zhang kept her on her feet with a steadying hand on her back. When they reached the fuselage, he helped her into the copilot’s seat and then swapped places with the pilot. He put on a green headset embossed with a David Clark logo on the side. He motioned for her to do the same. She fit the padded cups over her ears, and immediately, the roar of the rotors and engines dropped at least ten decibels.
“Electronic noise-canceling,” Zhang said, his voice crisp and clear over the shared comms channel. He reached over adjusted her boom mike so that it was two centimeters from her lips. “There, now you’re ready to go.”
“Thanks,” she said.
She watched him complete a sequence of preflight checks while he called the tower for what she assumed was permission to take off.
“We’ve got some weather coming in, so it might be a little bumpy,” he said. “You ready?”
“Do I have a choice?” she asked, but the helicopter was already airborne.
She felt her stomach drop as the tarmac fell away at a startling speed. She had never accelerated vertically in an aircraft before, and the sensation was unnerving. Wind shear pounded the fuselage, suddenly rolling and tipping the helo simultaneously. She clutched at her armrests and cursed. She looked at Zhang, expecting to see him clench-jawed and serious, but instead, he was grinning ear to ear.
He’s actually enjoying this, she thought.
“Relax, Dr. Chen,” he said, laughing. “You’re with me, remember?”
She watched him work the pedals, cyclic stick, and collective control with expert efficiency, dynamically compensating as the wind tossed them around. After a few minutes, she relaxed her death grip on the armrests. She mustered the courage to look out the window and admired the Hong Kong skyline shimmering off to her left. They flew along the east coast of Lantau Island and then banked left over the ocean. Before she knew it, they were hovering over a small, crescent-shaped island.
“There it is, Cheung Chau Island,” he said over the comms circuit.
“That didn’t take long.”
“Only fift
een kilometers by helo.”
“Where are we going to land?”
“There’s a helo pad at the south end of the beach, next to St. John Hospital. We set up our command post there.”
As he descended toward a circular landing pad, the wind picked up again, shaking them terribly. Clinging to the armrests for dear life, she said, “When we were in the SUV, you said you made the decision to mobilize the task force because of the condition of the bodies.”
“That’s right,” he said, his gaze focused on the landing pad.
“So what is the condition of the bodies?”
“Bloated and disfigured,” he said without affect. “But the eyes are what concerned me and made me think of the nanobot bioweapon we encountered before.”
“What about the eyes?” she asked.
“Do you remember the dead Russian we found in the stairwell of your apartment building?”
“Yes,” she said. “He didn’t have any eyes.”
“Exactly,” Zhang said as the helo touched down. “And neither do these corpses.”
A shiver ran down her spine. “Qing is dead. I ensured that the technology was destroyed. I don’t understand how this could be happening again.”
“Neither do I. That’s why I needed you here.”
A lightning flash arced across the sky. The deep, rolling bellow of thunder followed a second later.
“It looks like it could get ugly out there,” she said as Zhang began flipping switches to shut down the helo.
He turned to face her. “You have no idea.”
CHAPTER 4
Tung Wan Beach
Cheung Chau Island
The rain pelted Dash’s blue exposure suit in fits and spurts—chaotic punishment from a storm both angry and indecisive. The hood, goggles, and M5 antimicrobial mask she wore already made it hard to hear, see, and talk, but the gusting winds and pounding waves amplified the problem. Tonight, Dash felt more like a scuba diver battling the surf than a bioterrorism first responder.
On the positive side, at least she had light.
Zhang had ordered twelve massive halogen floodlights set up along the sidewalk that formed the perimeter of the crescent-shaped beach. The lights were spaced at ten-meter intervals and positioned approximately fifteen meters back from where the storm surge was pummeling the beach. Portable gasoline generators churned, while black electrical cabling snaked everywhere in between. How Zhang had found the equipment to make this happen on such short notice was beyond her. Logistics was one step away from magic as far as she was concerned.
The sand shifted beneath her booties as she walked toward the two rows of corpses. The bodies—naked, gray, and bloated—were staged three meters back from the breakers. In her peripheral vision, she saw another corpse bobbing in the surf: a new arrival. She nudged Zhang, who was walking at her side. He looked at her, his eyes obscured behind fogged goggles. She pointed to the body at the water’s edge, and he nodded. They continued trudging through the sand and the wind until they reached the nine corpses. Dash took a knee beside the body on the end—a male in his midtwenties, she guessed, based on the level of fitness.
She wiped rain splatter from her goggles with the back of her gloved hand, but this only had the effect of smearing the water droplets. She cursed under her breath. If she had to imagine the worst possible conditions for investigating a bioterrorism event, tonight came damn close.
“Am I crazy, or is that an incision?” Zhang shouted, pointing to the corpse’s torso.
She cocked her head to try to see out of a clear patch of goggle lens. To her horror, the corpse had a single longitudinal incision that ran from the base of his neck down to his pubis. The incision was closed with heavy, black suture—whipstitched with little regard for anything other than speed and utility. Dr. Frankenstein’s stitchwork could be called elegant compared to this effort.
“This body was cut open. Possibly autopsied,” she shouted back, over the howling wind.
She scanned the rest of the body, inventorying the damage. Where there should have been eyes, instead she saw two gaping, purple holes. A jagged triangular crater filled the space normally occupied by a nose. She reached out and pulled back the lips, expecting to find all the teeth missing. Yes, suspicion confirmed. She shifted her focus south and was aghast to find the man’s genitals had been excised, along with both of his hands.
“Barbaric,” she muttered.
“What’d you say?” Zhang said.
“This is barbaric,” she hollered.
Zhang nodded.
“I’m going to work my way down the line.”
“Roger that.”
The second corpse was a female, also midtwenties. Like the first, this body was eyeless and marred with a longitudinal frontal incision, but unlike the male, she was not missing her nose, hands, and feet. The third corpse, male, had no incision on the torso but was missing his nose, hands, feet, and genitals.
“What’s that on his forehead?” Zhang asked.
She leaned in to inspect the third victim’s forehead. “Looks like a tattoo,” she said, trying to make out the hanzi characters.
“Does that say Hanjian?” Zhang shouted.
“I think so,” she said, crabbing her way down the line, checking the other corpses. Two more corpses had the same forehead tattoo and were also missing noses, hands, and genitals. The others were missing only their eyes and had longitudinal incisions. Except for the first body, only those without tattoos had longitudinal torso incisions.
“What the hell is going on here?” Zhang shouted.
“I have no idea, but I can tell you this,” she hollered. “This is not the work of a biological weapon.”
“So what now? Do you want to lift the quarantine?”
“No. Not yet. Better to err on the side of caution.”
“So what do we do?”
“We need to move all the bodies to a secure location, where I can begin testing and autopsy work. Somewhere with controlled access, where the media can’t bother us.”
“Already taken care of,” he hollered over a thunderclap. “Our favorite Major from Shenzhen should be arriving within the hour. He’s arranged for the bodies to be transferred to the Gun Club Hill Military Hospital in Hong Kong.”
Dash smirked behind her mask. “Knowing how Li operates, he’ll have taken complete control by midnight. We’ll be able to catch an early-morning flight back to Beijing and wash our hands of this.”
“Don’t count on it. Li’s a team player now, remember?”
“After what I did in Beijing with the nanobot vaccine, I wouldn’t be so sure. The man hates me. He tried to have me kicked off the task force.”
“True,” Zhang said. “But he failed. I’m on your side, remember? No matter what.”
She met his goggly gaze. “Thanks, Zhang. That means a lot.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have another helicopter ride to take.”
“No way, hotshot,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m taking the ferry over. Even if it means I have to ride with the bodies.”
CHAPTER 5
Xi’an Hilton Hotel
199 Xinjie Street, Xincheng, Xi’an, China
Day 2
Post-ischemia-reperfusion-injury mitigation.
Nick shook his head.
Not cyber, not aerospace, not defense . . . Before his disappearance, Peter Yu had inexplicably been focused on a biotech company engaged in research on ischemia-reperfusion. Lankford hadn’t mentioned anything about that in Beijing when they had last spoken. Probably because Lankford didn’t have a fucking clue what it was. If it weren’t for Nick’s SEAL Eighteen Delta medic training, he wouldn’t either.
Ischemia: a lack of blood flow and oxygen to tissue.
Reperfusion injury: damage caused to tissue when blood flow is restored after a period of ischemia.
Why would a CIA operative tasked with collecting intelligence on defense and aerospace contractor activities be interested in obscure bio
medical research?
“Sir?” the hotel valet said, shaking Nick from his fugue. “You want me hail you taxi?”
“No, thanks,” Nick said. “I have a rental car.”
“You park in garage? You want me get it?” the young valet said, eager to move Nick along.
“No, thank you,” he said, nodding at a compact Geely parked down the curb. “That’s me.”
“Next time, you no park here, okay? Valet only, okay?”
“Sure, sorry,” Nick said and made his way over to his rental.
It had taken him only ten minutes to check in and drop his bag off in the room; now he was ready to head out for the day. He’d chosen the Xi’an Hilton because it was about equidistant from the Water 4 Humanity offices at Jianguo 4th Alley, just south of Dongguan Commerce Block, and Peter Yu’s apartment overlooking Huancheng Park. A stop by the NGO office had been mandatory to keep his cover intact in case he had been followed from Beijing. For all he knew, there could be eyes on him right now. He had made the stop short and sweet before coming to the hotel, and now he could focus on the mission.
Damn you, Chet Lankford. You’ve got me thinking like a spook already.
It had taken all his energy to appear focused when his team of young and eager NGO volunteers briefed him on the various projects they were running out of the Xi’an office of W4H. They had been confused by his visit—probably assuming they’d done something wrong—but he had been quick to reassure them his visit was routine. He’d used the time during their PowerPoint presentations to mentally pore over the information that Lankford had provided.
The reports from Lankford’s local assets—Chinese civilians on the CIA payroll, whom Yu was managing—had been useless: Yu was still missing. His car was still parked in his reserved spot. He had not been observed at his apartment or his office for days. He had not communicated with any of the assets about plans to travel or changes to their tasking. He was last seen at dinner with a local Chinese woman, no name or description provided.