Trinity: Military War Dog (45 page)

“Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.”

Jianyu took in a long, slow breath of the incense on the table before him. He pushed aside the bitter cold. Folded away the anger. Ignored the doubts. He must find a center, find a way to reach that nirvana and quiet he’d once known.

With Meixiang.

The first time he’d ever thought life had smiled on him.

The first time he’d ever be made a fool of. And the last. He would make sure. A kiss shared equaled a life of honor stolen. Love—

With a growl, he leapt to his feet, shoulder-width apart, hands at the side.

Roiling fury stirred the air around him.

No. He must calm himself. Draw strength from sage wisdom.

Curse the wisdom. She was here! In that hut. Alive, beautiful, and traitorous. She would not divulge which of his men had fed her the information. She could not have accessed their secret military files without that information. Though she’d tried to twist his suspicions back to himself, Jianyu knew better. He only had a part of the codes. No one soldier held them all. The safety protocols were immense. She had to have worked with someone with great power. Or with more than one source.

Jianyu stuffed the incense in the snow, snuffing it out.

He would find out. He would make her spill all of her secrets before he spilled her guts all over that table. It was a waste, of course. A beautiful woman like that.

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          

E
yes 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 Watters’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.