Black Sun: A Thriller (25 page)

She took a deep breath. She didn’t like this. Didn’t like confusion.

Her mind flashed to Moore’s statement.
There might not be anywhere safe for anyone
. She needed to focus. To stop thinking about Hawker, to stop thinking about Marcus. To stop thinking about anything but the job in front of her.

She watched Hawker a moment longer. And then she turned from temptation, walked to her bedroom, and closed the door.

T
he massive warehouse on the outskirts of Campeche belonged to a subsidiary of Kang Industrial. But the normal business that was conducted there had been moved, giving way to Kang’s pursuit of the stones.

From his chair Kang surveyed the effort. Through the windows near the back of the structure, he saw the Skycrane helicopter his men had used to hoist the statue from Isla Cubierta. It sat dormant on a helipad, waiting with two others of its kind for a new mission to fulfill. Inside the building, stacks of equipment lined the walls: there were armored vehicles squatting on massive tires, containers holding inflatable rafts, a small two-manned submarine, and a flight of drone reconnaissance aircraft similar to the U.S. Army’s Predators.

As Kang looked around, his heart swelled with pride and fresh confidence. His collection of high-tech equipment had been growing for years, part of a newfound reality he had embraced.

His deteriorating health had given him an unusual vantage point from which to study his empire. As he’d been forced to delegate and rely on others, he’d seen the growth of his empire stall and the number of failures
and missed opportunities rise to a level he could not abide. It had taught him a lesson that he considered a revelation: Human limitation and fallibility were the greatest of enemies.

Just as his own body betrayed and failed him, the people around him betrayed and failed him. Physically Kang was forced to rely more and more on the machines. They strengthened him, healed him, and gave him mobility and independence.

To save his empire he had forced a similar paradigm into place. Ultramodern surveillance systems blanketed every square inch of his domain; predictive artificial intelligence software allowed him to move quickly in business and other fields without a large cast of human analysts to slow him down. Computer programs tracked the productivity and reliability of every employee he had. They decided who to hire and who to fire. There were no meetings, emotions, or friendships involved. Just facts, data, and algorithms. With the human element removed, his businesses had begun to thrive again.

And now he intended to bring similar changes to his quest for the stones. Despite the efforts of Choi and his men, Kang knew it would be machinery that allowed him to find and recover what he was looking for. Human power was only necessary to operate or initiate the equipment, and if the humans failed or lagged they were easily replaceable.

In Kang’s eyes, Choi and his men were nothing more than spare parts, one just as good as another, but the machines … the machines were the key.

One of the doctors called to Kang. They were ready to begin the latest and most advanced incarnation of his
treatment. At this Kang turned his chair and crossed the floor. Choi followed dutifully at his side.

They arrived at a metallic worktable. Spread out in sections were various types of familiar equipment: the electrical stimulators, the monitors, the power packs.

“Are you ready, sir?” the doctor asked.

“Is the testing complete?” Kang asked.

The doctor nodded. “All diagnostics have been run and the feedback from the earlier sessions downloaded.”

This was the moment of truth.

“Then you may proceed,” Kang said, extending his right arm awkwardly.

The doctor assisted him, straightening and stretching Kang’s arm and sliding a gauntlet of sorts onto it. Next he connected a brace to Kang’s elbow and a shoulder harness of sorts. Once Kang was strapped in, the doctors began connecting wires to various points of the harness.

“I will leave you,” Choi said.

“You will stay,” Kang ordered.

Choi sat down uneasily.

As the doctors worked, a yellow forklift carrying several large crates traveled methodically toward them. The forklift deposited its load and then scurried away as men rushed into position and opened the crates. Inside rested the mechanical equivalent of pack mules: four-legged machines, powered by an internal engine and controlled by an advanced computer brain that kept them agile and balanced on almost any terrain while carrying hundreds of pounds of equipment.

Kang’s techs immediately began assembling them.
From the look on his face, Choi seemed to take this negatively.

“Something troubles you,” Kang said.

Choi hesitated.

“You disapprove of these efforts?” Kang felt anger growing within him.

“So much equipment will slow us down,” Choi said.

“No,” Kang said. “This is the only way.”

The doctor finished connecting the wires and then taped them flat against Kang’s arm and plugged them into a power pack in the harness. Kang admired the work. With titanium braces, hydraulic actuators, and an articulated elbow and shoulder joint, his new sleeve looked like some type of futuristic body armor, but it was more than that.

The technicians tested the fit, adjusted it, and then tightened the straps again. After that they went to work connecting smaller mechanical appendages to each of Kang’s fingers.

“I wish to speak of our quarry,” Kang said to Choi. “They continue to elude you.”

“For the present,” Choi explained. “We will find them soon enough.”

“But you were close the other day,” Kang said. “And yet they escaped your grasp.”

One of the technicians squeezed between Choi and the table, twisting and connecting tiny wires to the actuators on Kang’s fingers.

“They escaped,” Choi replied, sounding aggravated, “but only because of the electromagnetic burst. But prior to that, they led us directly to the offshore site. Our men are diving on it at this moment. They’ve found
a submerged temple filled with hieroglyphic writing that we’ll soon be able to translate. This information will lead us to the next destination.”

That news did not seem enough for Kang. “And if you had been quicker,” he said, “you would have been able to obtain what they found down there. The second stone would have been in our possession now.”

“Yes, of course,” Choi replied. “But we know their theory. There are four stones to be found. That means there are still two others out there.”

“No,” Kang said with certainty, “there is only one stone remaining.”

Choi looked puzzled.

Kang’s voice turned softer, a tone reserved for a foolish but loyal dog.

“Of course, I cannot expect you to know these things,” Kang said. “They are beyond your ability to perceive or to truly understand. You are a simple instrument, best reserved for simple tasks.”

He nodded toward the technicians, who were using tweezers to connect the thin wires to different nerve junctions on his arms. Each time they did so his arm twitched slightly.

“If a hammer is used where a fine blade is needed,” Kang continued, “the workman cannot fault the hammer for its failure. And if
you
are put to a test you cannot pass, whose blame is it but mine for putting you there?”

“With the information we have, we will beat them to the next site,” Choi said. “By the time they arrive we will be in possession of all that matters. And we can set a trap from which there will be no escape.”

“We’re ready to power up,” the technician said.

Choi looked exasperated.

“Begin,” Kang said to his technician. As the power came on, Kang’s arm moved and twisted, then settled.

“I’m concerned,” Choi said, appearing aggravated at having to conduct the conversation in front of the technicians.

“About what?” Kang asked, his eyes locked on the device that was enabling his arm to move.

Choi began carefully. “I understand why you want the stones, but the power they possess—”

“The Russian stone was used to heal the boy,” Kang said sharply, not happy to be questioned.

“Yes. But you saw what they did, you saw what happened down here. Perhaps it is not safe for us to possess them.”

Kang’s eyes widened. “I will have what I’m after,” he said sternly.

“And I will retrieve it for you,” Choi said. “But I feel we must be careful.”

Choi’s statement was couched in all the deference a man could muster, but Kang saw something else. He saw avarice behind the concern; he saw disloyalty. Now he understood Choi’s failures, the near misses. His ire flared.

“You do not want me to have it,” Kang growled, seething with anger.

“No,” Choi said. “That’s not true.”

Of course this was happening, Kang thought. If he died, Choi would take over. He was a traitor like all the others.

“You would keep it from me,” Kang bellowed. “You would have me die!”

“No. You misunderstand. I want you to have it. I’m just—”

Choi didn’t finish. His eyes had flashed to Kang’s arm and the strange device strapped to it. The arm was moving back and forth in an extending and contracting motion, like a man stretching after a long sleep. The finger actuators that had balled Kang’s hand into a fist were now stretching and flattening his palm once again.

Behind them one of the technicians pried the front off a huge coffinlike crate. It fell with a bang. Inside were similar contraptions to the one attached to Kang’s arm: two legs, another arm, and a torso unit, all with hydraulic actuators, bundled wires, and racks of G4 lithium batteries.

Kang’s face flushed with pleasure. Choi’s flashed confusion and then fear.

“For many years I have relied on you,” Kang said to Choi. “I have tolerated your failures and your thefts and your scorn. But I need not do so anymore.”

Kang’s hand was hovering above a large screwdriver. In the blink of an eye, the hydraulics on his fingers snapped shut. Kang’s hand grasped the tool and pulled it back. And then the arm extended, firing forward with a speed and force that stunned Choi.

The screwdriver drove into him, and Choi fell backward. The chair he sat on clattered to the floor and Choi landed flat on the concrete behind it. He put a hand to his chest, clutching at the impaling weapon but unable to pull it out.

His breathing came in spurts. He looked up toward Kang, eyes searching his master. “I am loyal,” he managed to say. “I would punish them … for … you.”

“When I find them,” Kang said to his dying lieutenant, “I will punish them myself.”

I
t was daytime. Yuri liked the day. There was less sharpness in the day, more in the dark. In the day most of the things were asleep, though not all of them.

From where he sat on the floor, he watched one that was awake; the light around it seemed to shimmer, floating like a ghost amid the moving blades of the ceiling fan. The wind came down from the fan but the light stayed near the hub, twirling around it. The pattern changed, shifting and bending, bulging slightly at times. But Yuri found that he liked it. It was soft and quiet, the colors pale and smooth.

Across the room the darker man sat at the table, working. This man was important; he knew things, things the other two didn’t know. And he saw things and heard things. Yuri didn’t see them or hear them, but the important man did. Sometimes he wondered and sometimes he seemed to be sure. Sometimes he even spoke to them.

Yuri liked him. The important man was kind. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. He liked paper and pencil, not the machine that he was working with, pressing keys and swearing at.

He could see that the machine was hot. Maybe it was burning him. Certainly it burned Yuri’s eyes when he looked at it. Yuri decided that he didn’t like it any more than the important man did. He wished it would go. That would be best. It should just go away, to somewhere else.

The door to the room opened and he saw the woman come in. He heard them talking but he didn’t understand them. Their words were not like his.

“Any luck?” she said.

“Not so far,” the man replied. “But I’ll keep at it.”

The woman came over to check on Yuri. Her face was warm; she brought warmth to them. He wasn’t sure how; she just did. When the woman touched him, Yuri was not afraid. Others who touched him made him hurt, made him afraid, but this woman helped make others feel better.

She and the important man were trying to find something, looking for something that was lost. She was nervous, afraid that they might not find it. He was not; he was certain; he expected to find it. So much difference. Yuri thought maybe they were not looking for the same thing.

Out through the glass door, in the sunlight, stood the other man. He was different than the other two. He didn’t want to find what they were looking for, but he helped anyway and he watched for things. The man outside was always looking; his eyes were always moving. He didn’t see the lights or the colors like Yuri did, and he didn’t hear the words like the important man, but he looked and looked as if he knew something was coming.

That was it, Yuri thought. The other two were looking
for something and this man was helping them, but he was looking in a different way. They were expecting to find things and this man was watching for something that might find them.

The woman spoke again. She was trying to help the important man.

“What if we contact the embassy, have them reach out to some of your colleagues?”

“I don’t think it would help,” he said. “And what if it gives us away?”

“All right,” she said, opening a plastic bag she’d brought with her.

She pulled out several bottles. Yuri knew those kind of bottles; they had medicines in them. Sometimes the others had given him medicines. Not this woman, but the ones who spoke like he did. Some of the medicines made the lights darker, until he couldn’t see them dancing.

He didn’t know why, but sometimes he liked that, and sometimes they were too bright. But other times he didn’t like the medicines at all. They made him feel sick to his stomach and hurt his head. And besides, he didn’t want the lights to go away.