The China Dogs (48 page)

He leaves Jude in the waiting room and rushes down to meet her.

Annie's eyes grow wide when she sees the state of her boss. “Holy shit, you look bad. What happened?”

“Long and unimportant story.” His eyes fall on two large plastic carrier bags in her right hand. “Is that everything I asked for?”

“It is.” She offers the bags. “Can you manage?”

“I'm fine. Thanks.”

“Let me help. I'll walk with you to the waiting room.”

“No,” he snaps. “Sorry. No thanks. You've done enough, now get out of here and keep Cummings and the White House off my back for as long as you can.”

She nods. “You're sure you don't want me to stay?”

“I'm fine.”

She presses out a smile and sadly turns and leaves.

Ghost's phone rings as he trudges back to Zoe's bedside.

Annie, he imagines. He's forgotten something. Or else she has.

Caller display shows a number that's not hers.

“Walton.”

“Lieutenant, this is Danny Speed. You left a message for me about Zoe.”

Ghost walks away from the bed. “What the hell took you so long?”

He matches the cop's anger with his own. “Never mind that, how is my sister?”

“She's—” The word sticks in his mouth. “She's dying, Danny. She's in Jackson Hospital in Miami and has just come out of surgery. I don't think she's going to be alive much longer.”

183

Honolulu, Hawaii

P
resident Xian's plane touches down perfectly on the Reef Runway, one of the four magical landing strips suspended in the sea in front of Honolulu's spectacular cityscape.

After a brief delay, he steps off the plane and into the shimmering heat of another tropical day. There is no pomp and ceremony to this visit. It is as low key as his administration has been able to manage, though a necessary contingent of bodyguards and flunkies is already out on the blistering blacktop.

A soft trade wind blows across the open area, and to one side he can see Hickam, the naval and air base that forms a vital part of the United States Pacific Air Command.

Suited bodyguards usher him toward the bulletproof Mercedes that will be driven by his trusted driver to the APEC conference hotel.

Once inside the air-conditioned cocoon of tan leather and walnut, he calls Geng Chunlin.

There is no answer.

He waits a few moments then rings again.

Still there is no pickup.

He tries his direct line office number and it just rings out.

Xian ends the call and replaces the car phone.

The minister's plan has failed.

As he feared it might.

He feels isolated. More alone than he has ever felt in his life.

Xian calls his wife.

Suyin picks up on the second ring. “Hello.”

“I have just arrived in Hawaii. Where are you?”

“We are in Guangdong.”

“Good. How is Umbigo?”

“He is fine. He is sleeping like an angel.” There is tenderness in her voice. “He misses you and wants to know when you will join us.”

“He is a good boy.”

“What shall I tell him?” The question is as much for herself as her son.

Xian realizes he may never see either of them again. That once his meeting with Molton is finished, he's likely to be seized by Zhang's men as soon as he reenters China. “Tell him I love him and I am always with him and always will be. No matter where I am and no matter where he is. Our hearts are as one. Just as yours and mine are.”

The president hangs up before she can press him further. Before she can say things that will touch his soul and weaken his resolve. The shadow of the towering hotel falls across the front of his Mercedes. He turns off his phone, puts it into his pocket and prepares for what he has no doubt is the final official meeting of his life.

184

Raffles Hotel, Beijing

Z
hang's lascivious eyes linger on the two dark-haired hookers.

“They will do.” He passes an envelope to former Colonel Huan Lee. “Have they brought the clothes I ordered?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then have them change and then you get yourself out of here.”

Lee hurries the young girls toward the palatial bathroom in the Presidential Suite. “They will change and then come out for your pleasure.” He bows and leaves.

The general can barely contain his excitement as he hears them giggling in the bathroom.

They won't be soon.

They'll be sobbing and begging for mercy.

His mercy.

They come out together, shaking the handfuls of glittering tinsel as they pump the air and twirl seductively in their cheerleader costumes. One in lemon, one in red. Complete with matching pom-poms.

Now he gets to choose.

There's not much between them. They're both late twenties. Real women, not girls. Curvaceous but not fat. Hair cut short, much like his mother's was when she burned him.

They introduce themselves. The first is Min, a name meaning quick. She has a confidence in her dark eyes that marks her out as a watcher, one to be tied up so she can witness the suffering of the other.

The second, slightly smaller girl is clearly in awe of him. She tells him she is Jing-Wei, the name for a small bird.

“You.” He points at Min. “Sit on that chair. Put your hands behind your back. You have been chosen to watch.”

Fear creeps into her eyes as she does as he says. Her heart thumping as soon as the rough rope touches her soft wrists and ankles.

Zhang turns to Jing-Wei. “Bird, come here.”

The pretty courtesan steps forward.

The general punches her. A blow so hard it breaks her nose.

Before she can even scream he slaps a hand over her mouth and pushes her onto the bed.

Jing-Wei's blood runs from her nose over his fingers. He looks across to the other woman and lustfully licks it away, his excitement rising with her pain.

185

Kahala Hotel, Honolulu, Hawaii

P
residents Molton and Xian are now in the same palatial building but still haven't met.

They're in separate suites, each costing their respective countries a cool ten thousand dollars a night.

On the floors below, tensions are running high between the two security teams, with Chinese and American protection officers almost standing nose-to-nose at every set of elevator doors, emergency exits, and stairwells.

The final session of the APEC summit is in full swing in the hotel's vast, pillar-free ballroom, where delegates sit beneath luxurious venetian glass chandeliers, overlooking a tropical lagoon. There are whispers that Molton and Xian are in the hotel and that there will be a dinner tonight. Perhaps some form of historic announcement.

The leaders of the world's two biggest superpowers have agreed through their offices to meet in the more modest Kianoa Boardroom. Agents from both countries have already had it electronically swept and sealed. Protection officers are posted outside to ensure total security.

The President of the United States pulls himself out of a luxurious couch where he's drinking iced coffee and puts on the jacket to his tailor-made black suit. He straightens the knot of his dark gray tie under the collar of his crisp white shirt and shakes the cuffs out of the sleeves. He breaks the tension by standing inspection straight in front of his NIA director. “So, how do I look, Mr. Jackson?”

“Just like a G-Man, sir. You want to accessorize with a service issue Glock?”

“I'll pass on that.” He points to the TV. “Turn it on please. Let's take one last look at the world before we go downstairs.”

Jackson takes the remote and clicks it on. “There won't be good news, Mr. President.”

“I know that. I want to remind myself of the suffering before I enter that room and rip Xian's heart from his body.”

186

Raffles Hotel, Beijing

T
he white sheets and white carpet are spattered with Jing-Wei's blood.

The hooker's nose and jaw are broken and her shoulder dislocated from when Zhang held her face down on the bed and almost choked her to death.

The general throws the tattered remains of a cheerleader costume at her as she lies sobbing. “Get cleaned up and get out.” He points to the bathroom and turns his attention to the other girl.

Min has been hanging her head for the past ten minutes. Trying not to see what was going on. Trying not to accept that it would be her next. That every scream that came from Jing-Wei's throat would soon echo in her own.

Zhang's lips and his left eye twitch with excitement as he stands naked before her. “Now you.”

He grabs her by the head and pulls her across to the bed so only the back legs of the chair scrape along the carpet.

Min struggles to breathe and fears he may break her neck or strangle her.

Zhang steadies the chair and swings a punch at her face.

Min unclasps her hands from behind the back of the chair and darts forward.

The force—and the fact that she has somehow untied ­herself—takes the general by surprise.

He crashes into a table and hits the floor.

The general's eyes light up. Aggression. Nothing turns him on more than the rush of a fight.

He slowly gets to his feet and smiles at her. “Now I am going to hurt you. Hurt you so badly you will wish I had ended your life.”

He leaps forward and lands a high kick against her right breast. Almost in the same moment he spins and plants the full force of his left foot against her face.

Min doesn't feel any pain. She's been trained not to. The Chinese Special Ops agent times her move immaculately. She slips inside his secondary swirl and with both hands loops the length of the rope he'd tied her up with around his neck.

Only now does Zhang realize he's not beating up a defenseless courtesan.

Only as Min's knee sinks into the small of his back and her grip tightens the garrotte does he know he's made a mistake.

A fatal one.

She holds on tight. Hangs tough, as he bucks his body, swings elbows, kicks, and tries to roll.

They tumble across the floor.

Zhang plants his feet against a skirting board and drives himself back against her.

Min crashes into the bedside cabinet but holds on. The rope is wrapped white-tight around her fingers and knuckles.

Zhang starts gagging. Choking. Spluttering.

Min strains even harder. She can see his skin coloring. His eyes bulging.

The general kicks. His heels bang on the floor. His legs spasm.

She continues to pull. Holding her breath and straining for all she is worth. Way beyond the point when he's stopped making a noise. Way beyond the moment when his body goes totally limp.

Only when his bowels give way and the stench hits her nostrils does she unclench her fists and fall back exhausted.

The agent, one of Chunlin's finest, quickly catches her breath and rolls away from beneath the corpse.

The bedroom door opens and former Colonel Huan Lee surveys the wreckage. “It is done?”

She straightens her clothes and wipes blood from her skin. “See for yourself.”

He walks over to the body. Zhang's face is beetroot red, the rope still tight around his neck. He spits at the general and rubs the spittle in with the sole of his shoe. “For me, my country, and Minister Chunlin.”

187

Kahala Hotel, Honolulu, Hawaii

U
nder the scrutiny of Chinese security, Don Jackson enters the boardroom a few minutes before the President.

He hooks a state-of-the-art CIA laptop to the room's AV system and shields his fingers as he logs onto the Agency's secure VPN. He quickly checks that both sound and vision are working on the flat screen built into the wood-paneled wall.

Everything's good to go.

The NIA director ducks out of the room just as both leaders are walking side by side toward it. They cut an almost perfect picture of cordiality.

Molton stands to one side and allows Xian to enter first. “Please, after you.”

The Chinese leader acknowledges the courtesy with a gracious nod. He thinks it good that the American has learned subservience; it will serve him well in the future.

Molton shuts the doors behind them. He sees that Jackson has set up the TV system and computer link that he needs. “In the interests of time, President Xian, I'd like to start by showing you something.” He flips up the top of the laptop and hits the exterior AV key. A live feed to CIA HQ in Langley appears on the big boardroom screen. “This is Chris Parry, who heads up one of our Special Operations teams. Chris, can you hear us?”

Parry straightens up and pushes a finger in his ear to secure the connection pod. “Yes, sir. We can hear you just fine.”

“Chris, please walk President Xian through what you and your colleagues have recently discovered.”

“My pleasure, sir.” Parry presses a key and the feed reduces his head and shoulders to only half a screen. “President Xian, you should be seeing some video playing now. This is encrypted footage we took from secure drives located in North Korea, those computers were in constant connection with your military base in Beijing.”

The Chinese president watches footage of dogs going wild in the bunker laboratories in North Korea. There's a fast fade to black and then their dead bodies are inspected and removed by men in white lab coats.

The picture freezes and Parry picks up his commentary. “Those two men there, sir—they are Hao Weiwei and his son Jihai. I'm sure you know them—they are renowned Chinese scientists. The son was shot dead in the Korean DMZ, and I understand there are still tense discussions between the North and South about the return of his body and that of another dead scientist who was also found in the DMZ.”

Molton watches Xian like a hawk. Judges his responses. Reads his face for signs of nervousness or anger.