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

by Alex Ryan

  “I agree,” Dash said. “And to find the answer, we have to find Yao. The only question is how.”

  Agent Ling smiled. “The same way we always find powerful people with secrets—we follow the money.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Xi’an, China

  2130 hours local

  The next ten hours were a whirlwind of events the likes of which Nick had not seen outside of combat. The powerhouse combination of Zhang and Ling pulling strings and calling in favors from every corner of the Chinese intelligence complex was akin to watching two conductors direct the London Symphony Orchestra through two different musical scores simultaneously. As the evening waned, Zhang asked Nick to “take a walk” with him. He led Nick out the back door of the office to a garden courtyard nestled in between the U-shaped wings of the building. Zhang gestured to a sidewalk that snaked out of the courtyard and circled a small manmade lake in the middle of the well-manicured grounds shared by several other office buildings. After twenty meters of mutual silence, the conversation began with a question that knocked Nick off guard right from the start.

  “Nick Foley,” Zhang said, adopting the formal speech pattern he fell into whenever he was showboating, “if you were a fugitive of the state, on the run from the Chinese Snow Leopard Commandos and the Ministry of State Security, where would you go?”

  “Is this a hypothetical question,” Nick asked, eyeing Zhang uncomfortably, “or am I about to get a ten-minute head start in a game of let’s ‘play hide and seek’ with the American traitor?”

  Zhang tried to stifle a laugh and failed. “Please just answer the question. If you were on the run, trying to evade detection and capture from the likes of us, where would you go and what would you do?”

  “All right, I’ll play along,” Nick said. “Do I have resources?”

  “Yes,” Zhang said. “You’re a billionaire.”

  “Nice. Do I have international connections I can leverage?”

  “Yes, of course, your company has numerous international contacts in the biotechnology space, especially in Europe.”

  “Then in that case,” Nick said, “I would fly out of China on my passport, via a private jet, to a neutral, politically agnostic country that appreciates the value of money . . . a place like, say, Switzerland. I would land at a private airfield and enter the country on a false passport so that my trail died in the air. I would not disembark the plane until it was inside a secure hangar. I would pay cash bribes to eliminate any paper trail and to silence anyone and everyone who possibly could have seen my face. Then I would travel to another country in the EU by hired auto under an alias to a private residence—owned and kept by a trusted partner, located in an obscure, unpopulated region—where I would regroup and plan my next move.”

  “Sounds to me like you might have some experience as a hunted man on the run.”

  “Not until recently,” Nick said, “and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much.”

  The corner of Zhang’s mouth curled into something resembling a smile. “Nick, your intuition on this matter is impressive. Here’s what we know. Yao left Xi’an on the day of Dash’s kidnapping at zero five hundred on his private jet heading west. His flight plan listed his destination as Astana, Kazakhstan. But this was just a refueling stop. The plane landed, refueled, and took off again. Astana air traffic control reported that Yao’s jet was headed for Munich, but German airport officials report no record of Yao’s plane landing in Munich, let alone entering German airspace. Maybe he landed in Switzerland, maybe Austria, or maybe Poland. Regardless, we believe that Yao is somewhere in central Europe, but that is where the trail stops.”

  “So what’s your plan? Wait for him to make a mistake or hope he shows up on CCTV in some major European city? That could be one helluva long wait.”

  “I have no intention of waiting, which is why you and I are having this conversation alone . . . I need a favor.”

  Nick stopped walking and turned to face the lake. “What kind of favor?”

  Zhang stopped and stood next to him. “I was hoping you’d agree to contact Lankford and see if the CIA would be willing to assist us in locating Yao. Your government has a much closer working relationship with the intelligence agencies in central Europe than mine. To be perfectly honest, neither Agent Ling nor I have any relationships outside China that we can leverage.”

  “What makes you think Lankford would be willing to help us? If I were Lankford, I’d be pretty irritated with China at the moment.”

  “Because if it wasn’t for me, he’d be sitting in a Chinese prison right now.”

  “Good point,” Nick said. “What made you do it, by the way? Why’d you get him out?”

  “There’s supposed to be a code of honor in our business, even between adversaries. I have history with Lankford. Ling doesn’t. I couldn’t trust her to do the right thing.”

  Nick thought back to his time in Afghanistan and all the different tribal leaders and warlords he’d interacted with. With some, he’d felt the code. With others, not so much. He blew air through his teeth. “I can make the call, and Lankford might want to help us out of a sense of obligation, but a capture/kill operation in central Europe is going to require approval at a level above Lankford’s pay grade. We have to give him something to work with. What does the US have to gain from all this?”

  Zhang reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Nick. Nick opened it and looked at the hanzi characters arranged in what looked like a printout of a spreadsheet. Mixed in with the Chinese was a smattering of names spelled out in their appropriate English characters. One of the names, James Jericho, sounded familiar.

  Nick looked at Zhang. “You do realize I can’t read Chinese. This means nothing to me.”

  “I know,” Zhang said. “But we’re on the clock, so I only translated the English names of relevance.”

  “Okay, well, what is this?”

  “That is a list of Yao’s clients for Project Penglai.”

  “What is Project Penglai?”

  “According to Dr. Chen, Penglai Mountain is the mythological home of the eight immortals, and it is the location where the First Emperor of China believed he would find the Elixir of Life. She believes Project Penglai is phase two of Yao and Feng’s plan. Everyone on this list is a billionaire, a titan of industry, or a politico. Without exception, the men and women on this list occupy coveted positions of power and influence. You should recognize many of the names.”

  “James Jericho the US senator?” Nick asked.

  “Yes.”

  As Nick scanned down the list, now with the proper context, more and more of the names sounded familiar. He saw a global media mogul, a Silicon Valley legend responsible for funding many of the world’s most famous social media companies, several international heads of state, a prominent investment bank CEO, and so on, and so on.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked, not looking up from the paper.

  “I sent a team to Yao’s private residence this morning. He covered his tracks quite well, but not well enough. With the help of the cybersleuths at Unit 61398, we were able to defeat the encryption on a number of files stored on a USB memory stick locked in a hidden safe.”

  “These are the people who run the world,” Nick said.

  “Yes, Nick, and by buying a slot in Project Penglai, they intend to continue running the world for a very, very long time. Until this moment in human history, death was the great equalizer. Rich or poor, strong or weak, famous or obscure—none of these things matter to death. Mortality has always been nature’s governor. Fortunes must be passed down, leadership must change hands, opportunities must be given to the young as the old fade away. But now, it appears Yao intends to change all that. By offering immortality to the rich and powerful, for the first time in history, they can cement the world order.”

  “Holy shit, Zhang. This is unbelievable. We’re talking the mother of all conspiracies.”

  Zhang
nodded. “There are many Chinese names on the list I recognize. Now we know why Peter Yu and Major Li were murdered and why we are still not safe. All of these individuals have a great incentive to keep this information hidden. They are playing the ultimate long game. Managing today’s scandal is nothing for someone who plans to live forever.”

  “This list is the ultimate international cabal,” Nick said. “With their resources and connections, we don’t stand a chance to stop them.”

  “Which is why we must act immediately,” Zhang said, looking out at the water. “I assure you that forces are at work against us even now. The men and women on this list wield enough influence that it is only a matter of time before Agent Ling and I lose our authority or worse. Time, it seems, is against us.”

  “It always is, brother,” Nick said.

  “So will you help me? Will you call Lankford?”

  “Yes,” Nick said, turning to face Zhang. “Just to be clear, what is it exactly that we’re asking for?”

  “American assistance locating and capturing Yao.”

  “Are you thinking a ‘joint’ spec ops task force—US and China?”

  Zhang nodded. “It would be the first.”

  Nick rubbed his chin. “And what about the international cabal? Most of these folks fall into what I’d call the ‘untouchables’ category.”

  “Yes, Nick, I know this term, and I agree,” Zhang said. “My hope is that if we take Yao and his biotechnology, then the cabal will dissolve organically. Without Yao and the Nèiyè CRISPR Elixir of Life, there is no cabal.”

  “For a glorified door-kicker, you’re surprisingly cerebral, Zhang,” Nick said with a smirk.

  “For a former frogman, you’re surprisingly funny,” Zhang fired back.

  After a mutual chuckle, each at the other’s expense, Nick said, “All right, I’ll make the call, but I’d prefer to make it in private.”

  “Of course,” Zhang said and extended his hand. “The list, please.”

  Nick grinned and handed the paper back to Zhang so he could take his leave. When the Snow Leopard Commander was well out of earshot, Nick retrieved the ultracompact satellite phone that Lankford had given him and dialed the number that Lankford had told him to call only in emergencies. The phone took several long moments to connect, but when it finally did, Lankford picked up on the second ring.

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” the familiar voice said on the line. “I haven’t been gone eighteen hours, and you already need my help.”

  “Nice to talk to you too,” Nick said, pacing on the sidewalk. “You make it out okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks to Zhang . . . Everything all right, Foley?”

  “Yes and no. I’m fine and so is Dash—well, given the circumstances—but the case has taken a turn for the worse.”

  “That’s not good. Is there something I can do?”

  “I sure as hell hope so, which is why I’m calling. Are you sitting down?”

  “No, Foley, my ass is fucking killing me. Thanks to you, I don’t know if sitting will ever be comfortable again.”

  Nick couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, man, bad choice of words. Just lean against a wall or something, because what I’m about to tell you is going to knock you off your feet.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Sofitel Hotel

  Xi’an, China

  0318 hours local

  Sleep was the monster under the bed . . . the nightmare in the closet that crept out only once she turned off the lights.

  Despite the incapacitating weariness she felt, she didn’t have the strength to face her tormentor again. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. It read 03:18. She wondered if she’d gotten any actual sleep since turning in at midnight. Probably less than a half hour, because the minute she closed her eyes, she was back on that operating table—naked, paralyzed, and with a breathing tube snaked down her throat. The reenactment was always the same. Feng’s masked face would appear over her, taunting her with those smiling, sadistic eyes. He would run his gloved fingers across her skin, caressing her before picking up the scalpel. Then he would cut her—opening her from sternum to pubis—except in the nightmare, her insides spilled out, and she screamed . . . silent in her dream but aloud in real life.

  How long will this torture go on? Will I never be able to sleep again?

  Her eyes rimmed with tears, and for an instant, she thought she was going to sob, but she was too exhausted for yet another emotional release. So she just lay there staring at the blurry red numbers on the digital alarm clock.

  At 04:12, she switched on the bedside lamp, picked up her phone, and called Nick. He answered on the second ring. “I need you,” she said, with no hesitation and without apology.

  “On my way,” he said, and a beat later, he was knocking on her hotel room door.

  She opened the door and stood there in her nightshirt, looking at him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, her voice catching in her throat.

  He stepped across the threshold and gently wrapped his arms around her torso, letting the door swing shut behind him. He held her for a long time . . . held her until she was ready to let go.

  “Nightmares?” he asked.

  There was no judgment or pity in his voice, just the solemn empathy of someone who was experienced in battling the demons of the night.

  She nodded. “Will you stay with me?”

  “Of course.”

  She walked to her bed and climbed in. He slipped in beside her but refrained from touching her. She rolled onto her side, putting her back to him. They stayed that way for several minutes before she spoke.

  “As soon as I fall asleep, I’m back on the ship, strapped to the table, and he’s there.”

  Nick said nothing, but she could feel his eyes on her.

  “I’m paralyzed and cold,” she continued. “Then . . . he cuts me.”

  He began caressing her head, gently tracing his fingertips front to back, from her forehead, across her temple and ending behind her ear. It immediately soothed her, reminding her of how her mother stroked her hair when she was a young girl.

  After a comfortable silence, he said, “In my dreams, I’m in Afghanistan. When I was stationed in the Hindu Kush, we conducted a raid on a Taliban compound. The spooks assured us there weren’t any civilians present, but they were wrong. We got overrun by enemy fire, and the LCPO called in a hellfire strike. The missile hit the compound. Innocents died that night . . . women and children . . . I don’t know how many times I’ve relived the event.”

  “Does it ever stop?” she asked, tears rimming her eyes.

  “No, but you get stronger. On the good days, the nightmares don’t come . . . and for the bad days, there’s Ambien.”

  At this, she couldn’t help but smile, and the humor seemed to take the edge off her dread. She let him continue caressing her hair, and she began to get drowsy until a terrible thought snapped her awake again. In a few hours, Nick was leaving with Zhang on a secret operation to capture Yao.

  “Do you have to go?” she asked, craning her neck to look at him.

  “I don’t have to go,” he said. “But without me, the mission is less likely to succeed.”

  “Did you plan the rescue mission to get me off the ship?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Will you be involved in the planning of the mission to get Yao?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will you participate in the assault?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned away from him.

  “If you want me to stay, I will,” he said. “Just say the words.”

  “If you stay and Yao evades capture, then I would have to live with the knowledge that everything that happened to me—everything I survived—was for naught. Yao will resume his work. He will find another Feng, and more innocent people will suffer and die. I couldn’t live with that.”

  “That’s why I have to go,” he said.

  “
But if something happens to you, I couldn’t live with that either.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he said.

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Hold me,” she said.

  He spooned his body against her and wrapped his right arm lightly around her torso, careful not to press her still healing wound. She cradled his forearm and closed her eyes. Her respiration fell into synch with his, and the heat of his body warmed and relaxed her like afternoon sun on an autumn day. Despite her best efforts to stave off drowsiness, sleep found her—but this time, instead of being strapped to a madman’s operating table, she dreamt of her eighth birthday, and her father, and a beautifully painted puzzle box with a secret inside.

  CHAPTER 38

  Former Navy Expeditionary Medical Spaces, Building Four

  Landstuhl Regional Medical Center

  Five kilometers south of Ramstein Air Force Base

  Rheiland-Pfalz, Germany

  0945 hours local

  Nick stifled a completely inappropriate yawn and raised his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t feel tired, despite only getting four hours of sleep last night. Truth be told, he was bored, stuck waiting in the dark conference room at the end of the empty office space for the Navy EMU. The EMU had been abandoned since 2014, when the drawdown from Iraq and Afghanistan had obviated the need for a special space for the coordination of care for Navy SEALs and other special missions’ personnel. The reason Lankford had chosen this space was obvious, but Nick would have greatly preferred a homecoming not in Landstuhl. The first time he had visited this place was when he’d accompanied two teammates wounded in Afghanistan—one of whom had died. The second, he was recovering from his own wounds. No happy memories existed for him in this place.

  “Good morning, Mr. Jones,” a familiar and sarcastic voice boomed causing Nick to look up. Lankford stood at the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest so that the cane dangling from his left hand swayed back and forth in front of his khaki 5.11 Tactical cargo pants—the uniform of nonuniformed personnel in the wartime theater.