by Ronie Kendig
How had he failed? Should his passions and views not have swayed her?
She had spoken with conviction of her belief in the same values and systems. Were they all lies?
Perhaps he could play on her sympathies. She cared for him—loved him. He saw it in her eyes. He would use that and drag the truth out of her. Then give her one last chance to walk away from the disgraced life of a spy. He would speak to his father, grant a dispensation so she could live.
But would she betray him again? Would his father believe her? Would he believe her?
No, he must never give her the chance to make a mockery of him again.
She had stolen honor from him once. Now he would rip it from her, just like the breath from her lungs. He spun and stalked out of the hut.
A guard snapped to attention as Jianyu stepped into the morning and headed to the hut where they’d held Meixiang. Or Darci. That was the name the British spy had given. Once they got out of this valley and could reestablish communication, he’d contact his father. Give him the name and location. Let them ferret out that filthy pig of a man Li Yung-fa.
Dr. Cho looked up from his work as Jianyu entered. He smirked. “Your meditation did not work again?”
“You should worry about your patient and my patience.”
The doctor laughed. “She needs a hospital. The ribs are broken. Moving her, torturing her, will risk puncturing her lungs.”
Jianyu stood over her, gazed down at her face. So pretty. Fair skin against her black hair. Just like most Chinese women. But there was something … serene, peaceful about Meixiang that had always drawn him. “She only needs to live long enough to give back what she stole.”
Cho tossed down a bloodied wad of gauze. “That I cannot guarantee, especially if you continue to brutalize her body.”
Fire whipped through him. “Do not tell me how to conduct an interrogation.”
Cho’s eyes crinkled as a placating smile creased his lips. “Would not think of it. You merely said you wanted her to live long enough to tell you what you want to know. I offered my medical opinion.”
“Are you done?” Jianyu snapped, his breath heaving.
Cho drew up straight. “There is no sense in my doctoring her if you are going to undo it.” He plucked off the bloodied plastic gloves and slammed them in the trash.
“Then there is no need for you here.” Jianyu planted his hands on the table, just millimeters from her long, black hair. Between his thumb and pointer fingers, he rubbed the silky strands. Things could have been so different.
Why? Why did she have to—?
It did not matter. He shoved himself upright. He would not mope over this woman, no matter how much of his heart she’d trampled.
Jianyu slapped her face. Hot, clammy. Feverish.
Her eyes fluttered, and she moaned but slipped back out of the present.
Again, he slapped her.
This time, her eyes snapped open. Met his—and he saw the fear roiling off those irises that used to sparkle for him.
“Names, Meixiang. Who did you work with? How did you get so far?”
She groaned and rolled her gaze from his.
Gripping her face, he squeezed hard, forcing her to look at him. “Answer me! Who did you pay off? Who did you buy?”
“I told you,” she said between his tight hold. “No … body.”
“I do not believe you.”
A breathy laugh rose and fell on her lips. “The one time you should …”
He pounded the table and smacked her—hard. “I do not care if you die. You will tell me what you know.” He grabbed an instrument from the table.
Her head lobbed side to side as she struggled.
He pressed the scalpel against her throat. “Tell me! Names! Who—was it Ming? Gualing?”
“No,” she ground out. A drop of blood slid over the blade, a tear down her cheek. “It was you.”
“That is not possible. I never gave you access to that.”
“Little by little,” Meixiang said. “A piece here, a pie—” She yelped, her eyes wide.
Jianyu realized he’d pushed the knife deeper into her throat.
Blood trailed down her neck faster this time. He could not kill her. Not only because he must bring her to his father.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her Adam’s apple bobbing as she swallowed. More tears. “I did not mean to hurt you. I …”
“Hurt me?” He leaned into her face. “You did not hurt me. You destroyed me!”
She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t me. They knew. They knew and they used you.”
“Lies!” His voice bounced back at him. “You lie.”
Pinching up her face, she shook her head, tears and blood mingling in the hollow of her throat. “No. No, I’m not. Your father found out.” She drew in a breath, wrought with pain, then slowly exhaled. “He thought you were complicit. It’s why I left so fast. If I stayed, they would’ve blamed you.”
Jianyu stumbled back. It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be. His father said he never doubted his loyalty. “My father trusted me, unlike you.”
She met his gaze. “You know better than that. He trusts no one. He’s paranoid. He’s delusional.”
His fist flew before he could stop it.
She lay on the table, nose oozing blood and drainage. Mouth agape. His breaths came in ragged, difficult gulps.
“Sir.”
He spun to the door, stunned to find Tao there. “What?” Jianyu snarled.
“The Russians are here. They’re ready to talk about payments.”
He turned back to the table, to Meixiang. He smoothed her hair from her face. Lifted gauze from the table and wiped the blood from her face. “Have our men been successful?”
“Yes, sir. They are on the bases.”
Had his father doubted Jianyu, even then? “What of the devices?”
“The bombs are ready for your activation codes.”
Thirty-Three
Eyes trained on the nearest hut, Heath waited. Adrenaline wound through his veins, knowing that despite being declared unfit for duty, he was here. In the middle of it.
“Clear.” Candyman’s word came with a thud against his shoulder.
Heath bolted forward, sprinting across the twenty feet that separated the lip of the bowl-like valley and the hut. Daylight lay in wait, ready to expose them to the soldiers huddled out in the cold and elements.
Pressing himself into the shadows, Heath used his M4 to scope the area. Nothing moved, so he searched for Trinity’s tracks. Trailing along the building, they banked right. Out of sight. The swift rustle behind him told Heath the team had moved in.
A soft clap to his shoulder gave him the clear to advance. He hustled forward, weapon up, ears probing for sound, mind pinging with possibilities, expecting every turn to throw trouble into his path. Right shoulder to the wood wall, he tugged the whistle from his pocket and gave the signal again.
He returned it to his pocket and shuffled forward. Candyman slipped in front of him, took a knee as point, and eased into the open to clear the area.
When silence reigned, Heath pied out, stepping into the open. He advanced quickly, sweeping, watching, listening. His head pounded with the rush of adrenaline and the fear that any step could be his last. The fire at the base of his neck warned him of a pending blackout.
Heath shook it off and sidled up to the next building, easing farther into the den of thieves. Candyman was hot on his tail. Shaking off the anticipation spiraling through him, Heath eased forward.
Two claps on his shoulder jerked him back, heart pounding. Spots bled into his vision.
Crap, no. Not now. He couldn’t do that now.
“Hold,” Candyman whispered.
Over his shoulder, Heath said, “What?”
“Spook is going ape-crazy.”
Heath glanced back and sighed as the spook slipped into a hut. “What—he’s going to get us killed.”
“Keep moving, Alpha team. Spook’s not our problem,” came Watte
rs’s command through the mic.
Pulling in a breath and blowing it through puffed cheeks, Heath braced himself. Squared his mind with the fact that God must want him here. So, if the Almighty wanted him here, then He had his back. Right? All that stuff he’d spouted sounded good in theory. Out here, in the field, with trigger-happy Chinese and Russians breathing down his neck, it was another thing.
No, it’s not. It’s theory put to practice. Faith in action.
Hooah.
He stepped out.
A shadow coalesced into a man.
Heath froze. In the two seconds it took to register that the enemy stood before him, Heath saw the muzzle slide up in front of a hardened Chinese face.
Oomph!
The man tumbled forward. Slumped into Heath.
Heath caught the man, stupefied.
“Tango down.”
With Candyman’s help, Heath dragged the body into the shadows. When he shifted, he saw the blood stains in the pristine white. Toeing the snow, he piled it up over the spots. Recovered, they took a second to reassess their position.
As they did, noise from behind drew them around, weapons up. Prepared to fight.
The spook emerged, a body draped over his shoulders. He swung toward Heath and the others, gave a thumbs-up, and headed back toward the rocky incline but stumbled. Clear indication they were in the right place if the spook found his guy. Thumbs-up meant the guy was alive still, right?
Candyman signaled Scrip to aid the guy, then shrugged at Heath and nodded for him to keep moving.
Right.
Trinity.
Jia.
Heath eased through the narrow space between two huts, where the snow wasn’t as deep as the shadows. Grateful for the cover, he took a corner, and through a sliver of huts, he saw—No, that couldn’t be right. Haur wasn’t here. He was with Watterboy on the south side, wasn’t he?
Heath cleared the right, Candyman the left, then they both stepped into the open, sweeping the path that led down then vanished around another hut. How many huts were there? This place didn’t seem this dense from the mountain.
“Ghost,” a voice skated through the coms. “Line of sight on Trinity. North and east of you. Moving pretty quick.”
Heath keyed his mic. “Copy.” He rushed forward, in between more huts, cringing as his boots crunched on the snow-and-ice-laden path.
“East,” the voice instructed.
Heath went right.
“Ahead—wait, she ducked between the last two huts. She’s heading into the heart of the village. Eyes out.”
Warmth spilled down Heath’s neck and shoulders as he plowed onward. Why did she have to be so mission focused? Get the job done. She was a better soldier than many men he knew. Including him. His vision jiggled, slowing him.
Oh no.
Okay. Faith. Focus on faith.
Lord—my faith in action is believing that I won’t pass out doing this.
Things were going in their favor—snow had stopped, wind had gone down a notch, they hadn’t encountered but one Chinese soldier—so he didn’t need to mess it up by passing out. Or put the men in danger. But even the thought of doing that stressed him. Made things worse.
He stumbled over his own feet.
A hand on his shoulder told Heath they had his back.
He drew himself up straight and pushed on.
Barking clapped through the morning.
Followed by gunfire.
“Crap!” sailed through the coms. “Ghost—they got her.”
The words threw Heath forward.
“No, back, back!”
Heath pushed on. Wasn’t going to leave his girl to die. Wasn’t going to abandon her in the midst of chaos.
“Heath, stop. Listen.”
“Not leaving her.” He hustled, M4 cradled in his arms. Keyed his mic. “Where is she? Tell me!”
“A yard north, beside a truck.”
Already in motion, he barreled forward before he heard the rest of the dialogue.
“But there’s a mess-load of Russians there.” The voice sounded strained. “Heath, she’s down. She’s not moving. Get out of there. It’s not worth it.”
“Bull! She’s my partner,” he growled as he jogged in the right direction. Each footfall sounded as a cannon blast. Thud! Thud! Surely, they’d find him. He didn’t care as he launched over a pile of wood, his focus locked on Trinity, finding the girl who’d done everything to protect him. Now it was his job to protect her.
As the narrow passage opened up, ahead he could see trucks. Men. Heard laughter. On a knee, he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and peered down the barrel.
C’mon, c’mon. Where is she?
A soft thud to his six alerted him to Candyman’s presence. “Anything?” he whispered into the wind.
Heath ignored the question, ignored the thunder in his chest and the whooshing in his vision. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the dizziness. Vision ghosting … gray … No! Not with Trinity down. Gray … dark gray …
“Help,” Heath muttered as the world winked out.
Haze and fuzziness coated his synapses. Weighted, he pulled himself up.
“Ghost, it’s okay. We got you.” Candyman patted his arm. “And guess what?”
Heath shook his head and straightened.
Candyman handed him a pair of binoculars. “Take a look. At the truck.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Heath brought the binoculars up. He peered through the lens…Trinity.
The snow around her a blood bath, Trinity lay on the ground.
“Oh—” Wait! He scanned the body. Wrong size. Wrong color.
“It’s not her,” Candyman said, his words thick with relief.
“Yeah.” The fist-hold on his lungs lessened. “It’s a black shepherd.” He slumped back and handed off the binoculars, shaking from the adrenaline dump. Then a hefty dose of determination surged through his veins, dispelling the chill the adrenaline left. “Let’s find my girl.”
Candyman grinned. “Which one?”
Heat swarmed Heath. “Not funny.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
A feeling of falling snapped Darci’s eyes opened. The room writhed. Ghoulish shapes danced before her. She squinted trying to … Oh, afire. That’s why the room shimmied and swooned.
She pushed back and tried to lie down again, but her head thumped against something. Only as the haze of sleep faded did Darci realize she was now propped against the center support, hands and ankles tied. Her head drooped as the room spun once more.
Pain seemed to ooze from every pore. Legs, arms, side—broken ribs. Every breath felt like inhaling fire.
“… awaiting your activation codes.”
The words brought Darci up short. Had she imagined them? She had no idea how long she’d been here or in this—she looked around assessing her surroundings—wherever it was. The village. That’s right. They’d brought her to the village. Jianyu tried torturing her. Though he’d ordered the session and oversaw it, he found no pleasure in it. She’d been at the hands of sadistic men, those who enjoyed watching others suffer, and she’d expected to see those feelings roiling through Jianyu after all she’d done to him.
Instead, she saw her own pain mirrored in his expression.
But not enough to move him to stop the electroshock session. Her fingers throbbed, and she strained to see them. Confusion wove through her as she saw the blooded tips. Her stomach churned. Bloodied fingernails … wait, no. The nails were gone. They’d pulled out her fingernails? When had that happened? She had no recollection …
Nausea swirled and spun with the dizziness.
Stay awake. She’d missed too much already. What if they drugged her and pried the truth from her? Truth serums were more James Bond make-believe. They didn’t actually make someone spill her guts, but they did make one very prone to suggestion.
Is that why her head was spinning? Why she couldn’t see straight to save her life? Is that why the room
darkened … even now?
Heat bathed her, cocooned her, tempted her to rest in its arms. But … something … the heat … not right.
Crack!
Darci snapped awake.
What … what woke her? How long had she been out this time? Was it hours? Minutes? Seconds? Heart chugging, she shivered beneath the tease of a draft that slithered in through the wood slats twined together.
She couldn’t stay awake long enough to break out of her bindings—if she even had the strength to free herself. Rescues didn’t happen, not in the middle of the mountains, fifteen klicks or so from the Chinese border.
Horror swooped in and clutched the last of her courage, taking it away on a gust of icy wind. What if Jianyu was planning to take her back to Taipei City?
A round of cheers shot through the atmosphere, chilling and haunting. Darci wondered who’d been killed. It sounded like that kind of exultant cheer.
She pulled at the restraints. Her shoulders sagged in exhaustion. Oh, God, I am in trouble. Worse than ever before. The realization proved heady, suffocating. She struggled for a normal breath, not one strangled with panic. I won’t make it without Your help.
But God didn’t help her mom. She’d died clinging to her convictions. Her faith.
The missionary who delivered the message had said her mom had been unrepentant about her faith to the authorities. She preached to them. Like Nora Lam.
A shudder rippled through Darci. At a youth camp, she’d seen the movie of Nora’s firing squad testimony. And Darci had bolted out of the building, sobbing, remembering her mother. It’d been way too close to home. She struggled with anger—why hadn’t God given her mother that sort of miracle? And if He wouldn’t give her mother, who’d died for Him, why would He work a miracle for her?
A whimper squirmed past her hold. “Please … God … she believed in You …”
Defeat shoved her courage back from where it’d come. She couldn’t survive on her mother’s faith. Isn’t that what she’d been doing all these years? Being a good girl, attending church, reading her Bible—when missions afforded her that luxury—but … faith. What was it? The substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Well, she sure couldn’t see her way out of this mess.