Lethal Circuit (30 page)

“No!”

Michael sprung off of Ester and grabbed the remote. It had begun a countdown from fifty-five seconds. He examined the remote, but found nothing in the way of a reset button, not even a battery compartment. Just a single trigger and the LED display. Michael heard a powerful low thumping in the sky. There was no time to dissect the mechanism. He glanced up to see Ester detaching the sawed-off shotgun from her shoulder loop. He reacted with a flying front kick, booting it from her grasp before she could level the gun. It tumbled down the bank and in that moment rotor wash engulfed them, mini gunfire strafing the earth. One of the bullets must have found its mark because Ester jerked suddenly, collapsing to her side. Michael needed no further encouragement. He sprinted for the Horten like a bat out of hell.

•
 
•
 
•

H
ALF
A
MILE
away, Li Tung told his driver to step on it. They weren’t far from the meeting place now, but he could take no chances. His welfare, and more importantly, the welfare of his only son, depended on it. Behind his limousine followed two Mercedes-Benz G-Class sport utility vehicles. An off-road motorcycle led the way in front. The ten man crew could have fit easily in the two SUVs, but Li insisted on the second truck in case something should happen to the first. What worried Li was that at even this distance, a good kilometer from the site, he could see the spotlight of a helicopter and hear automatic weapons fire in the darkness. It could mean only one thing
—
the MSS had managed to arrive before they were in position. Li picked up his walkie-talkie and pressed the talk button as he had been instructed.

“You must hurry,” he said.

Before Li could say another word, the two powerful SUVs overtook the limousine, accelerating past it on either side of the narrow road. They would get there, Li silently prayed. There was no other way.

•
 
•
 
•

M
ICHAEL
GRUNTED
AS
he hauled himself up the ladder into the cramped cabin of the Horten. The LED read forty-five seconds and counting. Three quarters of a minute. Enough time to microwave a burrito. Or froth a couple of lattes. Or maybe, if he was very very lucky, do what he had come to do. Michael stooped through the hatch into the reactor room and opened the communications console. The green anodized encoding machine was there, just as he had left it. He removed the machine’s back cover and took out a stuff sack from inside his cargo shorts. Emptying its contents into his lap revealed the items wrapped in the towel Li Tung had handed him
—
the code machine’s eleven rotors complete with a variable voltage power source. In hindsight, Michael wished he had used the rotors immediately after receiving the clear-code, but he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself for jumping the gun, not when he had been so close to solving the puzzle of his missing father. Of course hindsight was twenty-twenty. In retrospect he would have had Tung deliver a pistol and maybe a blow torch too.

Though the rotors hadn’t felt great hidden in his crotch, Michael was happy to see that they fit onto Purple Sky’s spindles. He carefully lined up the numbered rotors in the correct order at the zero marker on the ratchet. Michael knew the correct re-installation was essential. Without it, any attempt to communicate with the Chinese satellite would be a failure, and as such, he took an extra second ensuring each of the rotors was snapped firmly into place. With the final rotor positioned, Michael latched the code machine’s back cover with an audible click.

Now came the moment of truth. Michael knew the auxiliary jets had been fired which meant there was a chance, however remote, that the ancient lead acid batteries would have picked up enough of a charge to sustain a transmission. The lithium ion power pack with its dual alligator clip leads had been provided for this contingency, but Michael would have to wire it and right now he just didn’t have the time. So he did the next best thing. He flipped the switch.

At first there was nothing. Michael glanced down at the blinking LED on the detonator. Nineteen seconds. He reflected without humor that if he didn’t get a snap or crackle out of old Purple in the next few moments, things were definitely going to go pop. The next two seconds seemed to last an hour. It was as if time had attenuated to the point that it had actually stopped. Nothing happened. The cockpit was perfectly still. And then Michael heard his snap. It was more of a click accompanied by a low buzz really, but there was no question that the code machine had sparked to life. Michael didn’t waste any time verifying the code he had received. He had heard the seventeen digit number clearly through Kate’s ear piece. And he had remembered it, just as he remembered most everything else: 5-6-9-1-2-3-6-8-1-4-6-6-1-7-2-4-3. He entered the digits feeling the whole craft shudder. Then he hit the return key, literally launching his body through the hatch before his finger had even left the keyboard. As he moved he caught a clear glimpse of the man who now stood outside on the Horten’s bat-shaped wing.

58

T
HE
DAY
HE
was old enough to drive, Michael’s dad taught him how to handle a gun. His father told him that both a car and a bullet could be lethal, the difference was the car had another reason for existing, the bullet existed only to kill. If you picked up a gun you had to be willing to use it. That was the nature of a gun. They went to the local gun club, both to the rifle range and the handgun facility. Michael liked the rifles. They suited his personality. You could shoot from a distance and be precise. You could be very exacting about what you intended to do. But he was decent enough with a handgun too. He practiced with a Browning 9mm. His dad explained that in general terms most 9mms were fairly similar. Their accuracy was greatly reduced over the rifle, but they made up for it in portability. They were weapons designed to incapacitate or kill your fellow man. You had to know that before even picking one up. You had to understand the circumstances under which you would use such a weapon
—
when your own life or the life of someone you loved was in danger. And you had to stop thinking about it right there.

What Michael liked about his father’s instruction was that it took the gray area out of it. There was no debate. The gun came out to protect your life. If someone tried to take your life from you, it was your duty to protect it. Period. Michael believed that. He would never pull a gun if he wasn’t sure he could pull the trigger. But that didn’t mean that he had to pull the trigger. Not if there was a better way.

T
HE
MAN
ON
the wing was dressed in a black Novex jumpsuit, but even in the low light Michael couldn’t mistake the glint in Ted’s green eyes. He was working quickly, systematically removing the Semtex charges from the wings of the aircraft. Michael slid down the polished rails of the Horten’s ladder and ran for cover. The gunfire that had pierced the night air had been replaced by the eerie rhythm of heavy breathing and boots on gravel. Huang's men were running as well. Michael could only hope that Ted, who had been so busy ripping the Semtex off the wings of the Horten, had a plan for its disposal. His answer was a scream.

“Chopper!” Ted yelled.

Ted lobbed what looked like a rucksack at Michael. Michael caught it like a football, and knew that the game was now in his hands. Michael had left the countdown timer in the cockpit of the Horten, but the time left made very little difference now. He was holding at least twelve pounds of wired Semtex. He had to throw it and he had to throw it fast. Swinging the rucksack like a sling, Michael extended his arm allowing the rucksack a full rotation in the air before letting it fly. For a fraction of a second he felt certain that he had waited too long, but he could do nothing about it now. Huang’s men streaming down the hill toward their helicopter, Michael hit the dirt.

A moment later, the world was awash in blinding light. The inevitable blast of hot air was followed by the roar of the explosion. As the echo dissipated, Michael heard the crackle of fire which he guessed to be the burning helicopter, followed by two high pitched tones. They sounded like an angry elevator buzzer, or the whine of a circular saw, or perhaps, he thought, a beacon to indicate that the code had been sent.

Michael pulled himself up from the ground. Huang’s men had hit the deck long before reaching the chopper. There were two new sets of headlights on the scene now with another following. Michael disregarded them. He had more pressing concerns.

“Ester?”

There was no response.

“I know you’re there. I can see you.”

Michael crawled forward until he was able to recognize Ester in the darkness. She moved toward the Horten without acknowledging him. Ester grasped at her side where the bullet had hit her, a widening stain darkening her blouse. Before Michael could call out again, her telephone chirped.

Ester said two words. The first was in Japanese. The second was, “Yes.” Ester then entered a number into the phone and tossed it to the side.

“Wait!”

Michael recognized the voice. It belonged to Kate. He heard her breathing behind him. A magnesium flash fizzled from Ester’s mobile, self extinguishing before it had time to land on the ground. Ester pulled a short hand hewn blade from its sheath and sank to her knees.

“No!” Michael screamed.

Ester was close now, not more than ten feet away, but despite Michael’s protestations, there was nothing he could do to stop her. He watched her bite down, detecting a bitter almond odor as she did so. Michael hadn’t smelt it before, but he thought he knew what it was: potassium cyanide, the choice of both Hitler and Eva Braun before her — a fast-acting poison to take the edge off of what came next. Michael saw only a brief flash of polished steel as Ester plunged the blade through her white buttoned blouse into her abdomen. She worked the blade from left to right and then abruptly up. By the time Michael reached her she was barely breathing, a dull beatific look in her eye. He knelt down beside her and took her by the shoulders.

“My father. You know where he is. Tell me.”

“The damage is done.”

Michael pushed on, even as the life ebbed out of Ester’s body. “Where is my father?”

“Gone.”

Ester said nothing more, the dull gleam in her eye replaced by the stare of the dead. As she slumped forward, Michael thought that this woman whom he had worked so hard to find, this woman who had taken his father from him, had just taken one final thing — her secret to the grave.
 

“Is she dead?”

Michael nodded, reaching for what was left of Ester’s mobile phone with his left hand. He knew there might still be viable data on it, as did Kate, who stood behind him, no more than six feet away.
 

“Give me the phone, Michael.”

“Why?”

Kate laughed. “Call me an optimist. She didn’t send me the activation code for my payment. I’m willing to bet the data is still on her phone.”

Michael turned to see that Kate now held Ester’s shotgun. “I want answers,” he said. “She knew him and you knew him and I want to know where he is.”

“Dead.”

Michael bit his lower lip. “Why do you say that?”

“You know why.”

“No,” Michael said, “I don’t.”

“Your father’s video clip had to be months old. It’s the only way to explain it. It was taken while he was still in their custody. I don’t know how he managed to send it or why it had that time stamp, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no way he’s still alive. Not with them.”

Michael stood slowly, reaching into his pocket for the Luger as he did so. Kate must have seen the outline of the gun.

“Hands in the air, Michael. Above your head.”

Michael complied, palms open.

“I liked you. And I liked your dad. But like isn’t enough in this world. You need to survive. And dollars are the currency of survival. Your father was a spy. He knew the game. They made an offer and I did what I had to do.”

“Which was?”

“I didn’t kill him if that’s what you think.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“I handed him over to the Dragons. That’s it. He would have done exactly the same to me if he’d been in my shoes. So would you.”

Michael was silent for a long moment.

“No, Kate. That’s where you’re wrong. I wouldn’t do the same to you. Not for money.”

Michael’s words were punctuated by a burst of submachine gun fire from the bank below. Hidden behind the Horten as they were, Michael thought the chances of them being hit were remote, but it didn’t stop Kate from casting her glance in the direction of the shots. It was the split second Michael needed. He lunged forward and came up in a hard open handed block, pushing the shotgun to the side. Kate fired, but that’s what Michael wanted. He knew the double barreled weapon only chambered two shells at a time. He took hold of the barrel, pushing it away from himself, and Kate fired again. Before the hot exhaust had left the second barrel, Michael was able to wrench the weapon from Kate’s hand. He tossed it aside. The move was perfunctory. He was fairly certain Kate had no more shells, but regardless it seemed to confer the appropriate psychological effect. Kate backed away.

“It was never personal,” she said. “Not with your dad, not with you.”

Michael drew the Luger. Kate’s eyes were wide and wet with emotion, but Michael could see the calculation behind them. He could see the cogs turn.

“I’m going to walk away now,” she said.

Michael raised the Luger, training it squarely between her eyes.

“You’re not going to shoot me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You’re not a killer, Michael.”