Hong Kong Black: A Thriller (A Nick Foley Thriller)

by Alex Ryan

She nodded without looking away from her stitchwork.

  Nick blew air through his teeth and looked up at Zhang. “I know that interrogation is kind of your thing, Commander, but I respectfully ask that you let me tell my whole story without interruption. When I’m done talking, then you can erupt like a volcano. Fair?”

  Zhang clenched his jaw at the American who—despite Zhang’s generous treatment after embroiling himself in the task force’s last incident—still had the audacity to patronize him. “Very well. Tell your story.” He resigned himself to listening as the former SEAL began to recount the saga of the past few days. But no sooner had Nick uttered the name Peter Yu than Zhang raised a hand to stop him. “How do you know Peter Yu?”

  “I don’t, but that’s the reason I went to Xi’an—to look for Peter Yu.”

  Zhang’s face flushed with anger. This was it. Nick Foley was a spy. Time to spring the trap. “The same Peter Yu who works for the CIA?”

  “Yes,” Nick said.

  “So you admit it, you work for the CIA?”

  “No,” Nick said, screwing up his face. “Of course not.”

  “But you went to Xi’an to find Peter Yu because Chet Lankford asked you to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you work for Lankford?”

  “No, I told you, I don’t work for Lankford.”

  “But you do work for the CIA?”

  “No,” Nick said, his voice becoming agitated. “I don’t work for the CIA.”

  Zhang swallowed, trying hard to keep his promise to Dazhong. “If you don’t work for Lankford, and you don’t work for the CIA, then which agency do you work for, Nick Foley?”

  “For the thousandth time, I work for an NGO called Water 4 Humanity.”

  “Nick, I’m going to arrest you now,” Zhang said. “I don’t have time for games; I don’t have time for lies.”

  “I’m not lying,” Nick insisted. “I went to Xi’an because an American had gone missing, and Lankford was powerless to do anything about it. He asked me, as a favor, to stop by Yu’s apartment and snoop around. That’s all I agreed to do. I swear.”

  Zhang shook his head. “I like you, Nick. And I’m grateful for what you did in Beijing, but I simply cannot tolerate being deceived. This is the end of the road for us.”

  Dazhong stopped her stitchwork and looked up at him. “Before anyone is arrested, will you please keep your promise and let Nick tell you the rest of his story?”

  Zhang sniffed. Foley certainly wasn’t going anywhere in his current condition. And despite the lies, he did not perceive the American as an immediate threat to either his or Dazhong’s safety. For the sake of his relationship with her, he would indulge the request, then he would arrest Nick. “Very well, finish your story, Nick. When you’re done, then I’ll arrest you.”

  This time, he let Nick talk without interruption to the end. By the time the former SEAL had finished, the initial anger Zhang had felt had morphed into something more complex—an amalgam of emotions leaving him both conflicted and confused. The events surrounding Lankford’s death bothered him. Yes, Lankford worked for the American CIA, but this was already well known and being handled. Their countries had been playing spy games with each other for decades, and there were unspoken rules. The Chinese government did not send murder squads after men like Lankford. Men like Lankford and Foley were valuable political bargaining chips—too valuable to be squandered. And despite the obvious nationalistic conflict of interest between his and Nick’s chosen occupations, Zhang had to admit that this did not feel like an East-versus-West shakedown. The operation that seemed to matter here was Peter Yu’s attempt to infiltrate Nèiyè Biologic, not the broader implication of the CIA trying to place moles in Chinese biotechnology companies.

  “Apparently, I left him speechless,” Nick said, breaking the silence.

  Dash looked up from her suture work again to meet Zhang’s gaze. “What do you think? Do we turn our investigation to Nèiyè Biologic?”

  “I’ve never heard of this company,” Zhang said. “I can’t say—”

  A sharp knock at the hotel room door caught him midsentence.

  “Please don’t tell me you brought friends with guns,” Nick said. “I assure you, that won’t be necessary.”

  “I summoned no one,” Zhang said and turned to Dazhong. “Are you expecting company?”

  “No,” she said.

  “May I help you?” Zhang called out to the door, switching to Mandarin.

  “It’s Major Li,” a voice said from the other side of the door.

  Zhang turned and looked at Dazhong.

  The expression on her face left no room for interpretation.

  “Now is not a good time, Major,” Zhang said loudly. He glanced at his watch. “Dr. Chen and I will meet you on base at fifteen hundred for a briefing.”

  “Unacceptable,” the Army man said. “I’m not leaving, so you might as well open the door, and we can conduct the briefing now.”

  Nick shook his head.

  “You don’t get a vote,” Zhang said to him.

  “When Li sees Nick, there’s no telling what he’ll do,” Dazhong whispered. “I don’t trust him.”

  Before Zhang could answer, the lock clicked, the doorknob turned, and Major Li let himself into the room. Behind him stood a man in a black suit wearing a nametag and holding a key card in his shaky right hand. His expression was both sheepish and apologetic. Major Li walked into the room and let the door slam behind him without a word or glance at the hotel manager. He scanned the room, and his gaze settled on Foley.

  “Who is this man, what happened to him, and why is he here?” the Major asked, his eyes surveying the American from head to toe.

  Dazhong started to answer, but Zhang cut her off.

  “This is Nick Foley,” he said. “Mr. Foley is an acquaintance of Dr. Chen, he was injured in an assault on Dr. Chen’s life this morning, and he is here receiving medical treatment for his wound.”

  A vulpine smile spread across Li’s face. “I know exactly who Mr. Foley is. I know about his involvement with the last case. I know about his service record with the United States Special Warfare community. I also know that he received an official warning from you, Commander Zhang, not to involve himself in matters of Chinese national security again and that to do so would result in either his prosecution or immediate expulsion from China, but nevertheless, here he sits.”

  Zhang glanced at Foley, who was warily eyeing Major Li.

  Foley claimed he did not speak Mandarin, but whether that was actually true, Zhang did not know. Zhang himself often feigned ignorance of English when it was strategically useful for him to do so. The anxious expression on Foley’s face was not sufficient evidence to settle the matter. He glanced back at Li and saw raw animosity for the American in the Army officer’s eyes. What happened next took him by surprise. The words seemed to pour from his lips before he had a chance to police himself: “I invited Mr. Foley on board as a special consultant for this case. His strategic insights and counterterrorism experience proved invaluable on the last case, so I enlisted his services.”

  “This is unprecedented. Some might call this treasonous,” Major Li said.

  Dazhong leaned in and whispered something in Foley’s ear, translating, no doubt.

  “I don’t see how Mr. Foley’s cooperation could be construed as treason, Major.”

  “Oh, I’m not talking about Foley’s actions—I’m talking about yours, Commander.”

  Zhang felt the blood rush, hot and angry, to his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dazhong beat him to the punch.

  “Gentlemen,” she said in English. “For Nick’s benefit, I ask that the remainder of the conversation be conducted in English. Otherwise I will be forced to translate, which will be a terrible distraction while I try to close this wound. And second, instead of arguing about how and why we got to this place, our time would be better spent discussing how we best move forward.”

  Li shot her a s
our look, but he didn’t argue.

  Zhang resisted the urge to shake his head at the circus playing out before his eyes. What a fucking mess, he thought. Wherever Foley goes, mayhem seems to follow, and I’m the one who has to manage it.

  “I’ll take your collective silence as agreement,” Dazhong said. “Now, Major Li, since our last discussion, new information has been brought to light. Prior to the attacks, Nick was investigating Peter Yu’s disappearance. Peter Yu, it seems, was working for the American CIA, and before his death, he was investigating a biotechnology company in Xi’an called Nèiyè Biologic. Are you familiar with this company?”

  “I know of it,” Li said. “If I’m not mistaken, they specialize in biotechnology and bioinformatics. Are you suggesting that Nèiyè Biologic is somehow complicit in the murders and the attack on Mr. Foley?”

  “I am suggesting that the connection is more than coincidental and is not one that we can ignore,” she said and then turned back to Nick’s wound.

  Li stepped forward and looked down at Dazhong’s handiwork. He watched as she resumed pulling the running suture along, slowing as she approached the edge of the tattoo on Foley’s shoulder. She chewed her lip as she worked, apparently trying to line the edges up perfectly. Li smirked. “Pointless, Dr. Chen,” he said. “The scarring will undo your tedious effort to align the edges.”

  Zhang saw her jaw tighten, but she made no comment.

  “It’s fine,” Nick said. “She’s doing great.”

  Li shifted his gaze to Foley’s face. “Whatever you think your role on this task force is, Mr. Foley, I can assure you it ends now. Consider whatever promises or assurances Commander Zhang might have given you to be null and void. He has overstepped his authority.”

  “I’ll leave that to you two gentlemen to sort out,” Nick said with an easy smile. “Consider me here to help.”

  Li took a step back and turned to Zhang. “The Coast Guard was able to raise the cargo container. I retrieved the serial number and sent instructions to your man Chung this morning to run a search. I copied you on the e-mail.”

  “I saw that,” Zhang said, suppressing a grin. “Good work, Major.”

  “What cargo container?” Nick asked.

  “I never got a chance to tell him about that,” Dash said, cutting the suture at her knot and picking up a new—this time blue—suture to begin her final layer of wound closure.

  Zhang filled Foley in on their gruesome discovery, then turned to Li. “Lieutenant Chung has already made some headway on tracing the container. That particular Conex box, and one other, went missing from the loading docks at Haikou New Port on Hainan Island six weeks ago. A loss report was filed by the owner, Ya Lin Transport, thirty-one days ago for both containers. Now we know that at least one of the containers was on a ship either coming from or going to the Port of Hong Kong during the last month. Chung is going to cross-reference the traffic lists with all customs bill-of-lading submittals to look for matches and mismatches in case someone was trying to sneak it out in a shipment of legitimate cargo. If we get a match, we’ll learn the name of the ship, and we can look for a tie to Nèiyè Biologic. In the meantime, we need to start investigating Nèiyè Biologic and its employees.”

  “Hold on,” Nick interrupted. “None of this makes sense. Why would a biotechnology company be illegally transporting mutilated corpses? We know Peter Yu was murdered, but who are the other victims? If they were murdered too, then why?”

  Dazhong jumped in now, and Zhang saw a look in her eye that meant she was processing something important. “I’ve been thinking about the autopsy results. A minority of the victims were obviously tortured—this is not up for debate. I think it is safe to conclude these people were murdered, and the bodies were dumped for disposal.” She turned to Nick. “This whole thing reminds me of your American mafia movies, only on a much bigger scale. The forehead tattoos are also significant. Most of the tattoos say ‘Traitor.’ One victim was tattooed as a ‘Liar,’ and the single mutilated female was tattooed ‘Whore.’ When I first saw the tattoos, they struck me as significant, but I couldn’t remember why. Last night, I spent time researching on the computer and rediscovered the Five Pains.”

  “The Five Pains?” Zhang said, cocking an eyebrow at her.

  “Yes, the Five Pains was a system of corporal punishment implemented by the First Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang. But the Emperor was not the architect of the Five Pains; the mind behind the madness was his chancellor, Li Si. While there is nothing original about the use of corporal punishment in ancient China, Chancellor Li was the first to codify the Five Pains into edict. Li Si’s objective in doing so was to make living examples out of criminals and slaves—tattooing the crimes across an offender’s forehead and then amputating a nose or limbs so that the price for breaking the law was advertised for all to see. Whoever is doing this is a modern-day disciple of Chancellor Li. He is punishing his victims for perceived offenses and sending a message to the world: ‘This is what happens to you when you cross me.’”

  “That is all very fascinating,” Nick said, “but you said those victims were only a fraction of the bodies you recovered. What about the ones without forehead tattoos and missing appendages?”

  She nodded patiently, and Zhang realized she had not read Nick fully into the case. That made him feel better. She turned to him with an approval-seeking look.

  “The unmolested corpses fall into a different category, and although they are not missing appendages, they are missing critical organs. Over the past two days of autopsying, I made several new observations. First, all of these victims were young—under the age of forty—and empirically healthy. I believe most, if not all, hail from the working class—as seen from the condition of their skin and muscles, calloused hands, and sun-worn faces. The paucity of DNA records in our national citizenry database supports this claim. Such individuals, if taken from the rural regions, would be difficult to trace and even more difficult to ID by anyone other than immediate family members. These corpses all had detectable levels of general anesthesia in their tissues. Their kidneys, livers, eyes, hearts, pancreases, and lungs were consistently, uniformly, and expertly removed—work that could have only been performed by a skilled surgeon.” She looked from Nick to Zhang and then added: “And when I say a skilled surgeon, I mean a transplant surgeon. It’s unthinkable to imagine such sinister work being secretly performed in hospitals all across Mainland China.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nick said, shifting uncomfortably under the blue towel, where he had been sitting perfectly still since Zhang’s arrival. “Are you saying that these people were murdered for their organs? Illegal organ harvesting is the stuff of urban legend. I never imagined it actually happened.”

  “Neither did I,” Dazhong said. “But whenever large sums of money are involved, you’ll find someone willing to break the law to obtain it.”

  Nick shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “This company—Nèiyè Biologic—is an international biotechnology firm worth hundreds of millions, if not billions, of dollars. Are you suggesting they’re paying doctors to murder innocent Chinese citizens so they can pawn the organs on the black market?”

  “I agree it’s a strange hypothesis,” Dazhong said, “but Peter Yu’s mutilated body, and this gaping wound across your chest, says that Nèiyè Biologic is involved. The question is not if, but rather how and why.”

  Zhang turned to Li. “You’ve been unusually quiet, Major. What is your opinion on the matter?”

  Li sighed. “Why are you assuming that Nèiyè Biologic is selling the organs on the black market?”

  “What else would they be doing with them?” Zhang said.

  “I don’t know, but if this operation is truly of the scale you’re hypothesizing, then why haven’t we heard rumors of it before? And how have they managed to consolidate all the mutilated corpses from multiple hospitals around the country without notice? More important, why go to all the trouble in the first place? Why not dispose
of the bodies locally and individually?”

  Zhang looked at Dazhong and Nick. Their expressions seemed to mirror his own gut response to Major Li’s insight. “I don’t know. Those are good questions.”

  “I think this operation is localized, if not in Hong Kong, then somewhere within a hundred kilometers. That is why the bodies are consolidated, and it is the reason I was so keen on recovering the shipping container. I’m also of the opinion that Nèiyè Biologic is not operating alone. I think a third party may be involved,” Li said.

  “By ‘third party,’ you mean a hospital?” Dash asked.

  Li shrugged. “Not necessarily a conventional hospital, but a facility outfitted for organ harvesting, transplant surgeries, and waste disposal without government oversight.”

  “Such a facility would be very difficult to conceal,” Zhang said.

  “Unless it’s hiding in plain sight,” Nick mumbled.

  “What was that, Nick?” Dash asked, touching his arm.

  “I said unless it’s hiding in plain sight. You know, the same strategy governments often use for their secret installations. Maybe the facility also operates as an outpatient clinic, or a manufacturing plant, or even a morgue.”

  “Exactly,” Li said. “This theory satisfies Occam’s razor, whereas our other theory of distributed organ harvesting does not.”

  “Okay,” Zhang said, “here’s what we’re going to do. Major Li will continue working with Lieutenant Chung at the Port of Hong Kong to find a paper trail linking the shipping container to Nèiyè Biologic or a third-party partner. Dr. Chen and I will investigate this new theory and make a list of potential facilities that could be a match for organ harvesting, transplants, and disposal. We’ll meet back here at nineteen hundred hours to regroup.”

  “What about me?” Foley said, looking back and forth between Zhang and Dazhong.

  “You stay here,” they both said in unison.

  “Great,” Foley sighed. “Sounds a lot like house arrest.”

  Zhang shrugged. “Would you prefer the alternative? Perhaps an arrest that leads to a much less comfortable accommodation?”