Killer Thriller (Ian Ludlow Thrillers Book 2)

by Lee Goldberg

  “We began the cleanse in real time as the operation was ongoing,” Pang said.

  “Excellent,” Yat said.

  “But the missing footage will alert the authorities that we’ve conducted an operation in the city.”

  Yat waved away Pang’s concern. “This is still China. State security is more important than Hong Kong’s illusion of temporary independence.”

  “We’re not supposed to attract attention with our activities and we just killed a Wall Street Journal reporter in the middle of the Graham Street market.”

  “Nobody will know because his body will never be found.”

  “Ludlow and French know.”

  “They will never be found, either,” Yat said, irritated by Pang’s worries. “Where is the bus?”

  “It’s on Wyndham heading into Central.”

  “Do we have any other teams in the area?”

  “They are ten minutes out,” Pang said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ian swung his legs back up on top of the bus and lay there, trying to catch his breath. Margo ejected the spent magazine from the Glock, tossed the magazine into the street, checked to be sure there wasn’t a round in the gun’s chamber, then threw the weapon overboard, too. Her casual familiarity with the gun gave Ian an epiphany that infuriated him.

  He sat up and stared at Margo. “You’re a CIA agent!”

  “On my first assignment.” She took another Glock, also equipped with a silencer, out of her bag. “So far, so good.”

  “How can you say that? I’m carrying around a dead man’s phone and his thumb.”

  “We got out alive with the intel. That’s a win in our business.” Margo ejected the magazine and was pleased to see that it was full of bullets. She slid the magazine back into place and slipped the Glock in her bag.

  While she did that, Ian began to reconsider everything that had happened to him since Margo showed up at his apartment door. It was all a lie. He’d been used from the beginning. “The night terrors, going broke. Your entire sob story was a lie. What’s the real story?”

  “I’ll tell you later. You have to trust me now, like you asked me to trust you in Seattle,” she said. “How does it feel to be on the other side this time?”

  “Is that what this is? Payback?”

  “No, but it’s a nice perk.” Margo looked ahead. Several streets converged at a wide, busy intersection with skyscrapers on almost every corner. The skyscrapers each had large department stores or multilevel shopping malls at their bases and were connected by covered second-floor pedestrian bridges that spanned the intersection and continued on toward the waterfront. “We get off here.”

  The bus came to a stop. Margo slid off the bus and landed on her feet on the sidewalk. She made it look easy. Ian slid off feetfirst, lost his footing as he landed, and fell hard on his side.

  “Are you okay?” Margo offered Ian her hand.

  “Far from it.” He took her hand and she lifted him to his feet.

  “Stop whining.” She gestured with a nod of her head to the Marks & Spencer department store across the street. “There’s a pedestrian bridge in there that will take us straight to the waterfront.”

  Still holding his hand, she ran across the street, dragging him along into the store, through the sales floor, and up the escalator to the bridge.

  “Where are Ludlow and the woman now?” Yat demanded.

  Security camera footage from a covered walkway appeared on screen and showed Ian and Margo running hand in hand down the bridge, which was packed with people going to and from the business district. Yat was amused by their hand holding. It was a pathetic attempt to blend in, to look like just another couple in a hurry instead of two spies running for their lives.

  “They are in the central elevated walkway system,” Pang said. “They appear to be heading to the ferry terminal.”

  But Yat knew that wasn’t their destination. They were going to the Hong Kong observation wheel, located adjacent to the ferry terminal, for the opening ceremonies for the Straker movie. The area would be filled with media and sealed off by the police.

  “They are going to the observation wheel,” Yat said. “We need to intercept Ludlow and the woman before they get there.”

  As Ian ran down the elevated walkway, he looked to his left, where a massive Apple store also crossed over the six lanes of Lung Wo Road below, which was more of a waterfront freeway than a street. The Ferris wheel was up ahead, beside the ferry terminal and angled toward the harbor. Margo glanced over her shoulder. Nobody seemed to be chasing them, at least not on foot.

  “Who is after us?” Ian asked. He was very aware of his hand in hers and how hard she was gripping him. She was more anxious than she appeared.

  “The Ministry of State Security.”

  “Then they know where we are.” Ian pointed with his free hand at the cameras throughout the walkway. “They’re watching us right now.”

  He had an ominous and terrifying feeling of déjà vu. Once again, they were on the run from a government intelligence agency out to kill them.

  “We’ll be safe if we can get to the wheel,” she said. “They won’t come at us there. They aren’t allowed to operate in Hong Kong.”

  “That didn’t stop them from killing Warren Fung.”

  “He wasn’t surrounded by Hong Kong police and the international media while standing next to one of the biggest movie stars on earth,” Margo said. “We will be.”

  “We aren’t there yet.”

  She led him to the staircase down to Man Yiu Street, the last exit off the walkway before it reached the Central Ferry Piers. The instant they hit the sidewalk, they saw two cars come to a screeching stop across the street.

  “Run,” she said.

  She’d been saying that a lot lately.

  They dashed across the red cobblestone plaza toward the two-hundred-foot-tall Ferris wheel with blue-lighted spokes that radiated from a massive bright-white orb in the center. Forty-two glass gondolas, capable of holding a dozen people in each, circled the wheel’s inner rim. The area around the base of the wheel was sealed off with K-rails except for a single roped-off opening manned by uniformed Hong Kong police officers. More stony-faced officers were stationed at intervals along the K-rail perimeter to prevent it from being breached by the hundreds of people crowded around, hoping to get a peek at the celebrities on the other side. Inside the perimeter were dressing room trailers, studio camera trucks, catering vans, and a crowd of reporters milling around with their photographers and cameramen.

  Ian and Margo pushed their way through the mob toward the entrance. Behind them, eight assassins were closing in, brutally striking and shoving people aside. But their violent approach had consequences. The crowd began to get pissed, turning to confront the aggressive intruders.

  That gave Ian and Margo the extra moments they needed. They reached into their bags for the ID lanyards that Susie Yip had given them at the studio and held them up to police officers as they reached the entrance.

  “We need to get through,” Ian said.

  “Let me see your invitation,” the officer said.

  Ian held up the laminated ID on his lanyard. “This is our all-access pass. We’re with the crew. You have to let us in.”

  “We don’t have to do anything,” the officer said, eyeing the IDs with skepticism. “No invitation, no entry.”

  Margo glanced back into the crowd. The assassins were getting closer, handily overpowering the people in their path.

  “I’m the writer of this movie. We’re going to be late and they can’t start the production party without us,” Ian said. “Do you really want to be responsible for holding up everything?”

  That’s when Susie Yip appeared behind the officers. “Let them in. They are with us. Didn’t you see their lanyards?”

  The officer stepped aside without apology and let Ian and Margo through. They joined Susie, who eyed them both with curiosity.

  “Did you just run all the way h
ere?” she asked.

  “We didn’t want to be late.” Ian looked over his shoulder.

  The assassins were stopped at the police line and stood there glowering at him. They wouldn’t be coming in after them but they wouldn’t be leaving, either. He was sure that reinforcements were on the way. Maybe more snipers, too.

  Ian and Margo had made it safely to the event. But there was another, less comforting way of looking at it: They were trapped.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Susie escorted Ian and Margo to the dressing room trailers. Something about Margo caught the woman’s eye.

  “Are those fish scales on your arms?”

  “It’s glitter,” Margo said. “Very fashionable in the States.”

  Susie stopped outside a trailer and faced Ian. “Your tuxedo is inside. You can clean up and change in here. The photo shoot is in fifteen minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Ian said. “Can’t wait.”

  He and Margo stepped into the trailer. Ian slammed the door shut, locked it, and immediately confronted Margo.

  “Talk.”

  Margo held out her hand. “Give me Warren’s phone.”

  Ian reached into his shoulder bag, found the phone, and gave it to Margo. She turned it on and held a finger to her lips, signaling him to keep quiet, then put her hand into Ian’s bag and took out the baggie containing Warren’s thumb. Most of the ice had melted, so the thumb was in water.

  She opened the bag, took out the thumb, wiped the water off it with her shirt, and pressed the thumb against the iPhone’s fingerprint reader, unlocking the device.

  “Clever,” Ian said. “But gory.”

  Margo put the thumb back in the bag, set it on the counter beside the sink, and then opened up the iPhone’s settings app. She turned off location services and disabled the microphone.

  “I don’t want anyone using the phone to listen to us or track where we are,” she said.

  “It won’t make much of a difference. There are probably a dozen Chinese agents outside already, but even if we slipped past them, there are more cameras all over the city. There’s nowhere we can go in Hong Kong without being seen.”

  Margo opened up the phone’s photo app and brought up the shot of the Warren Fung impersonator.

  “Do you know him?” Ian asked.

  “Nope. I’ll text the photo to myself but I’m sure there’s more on this phone we’re going to need, like all of Fung’s emails,” Margo said. “I’ll change the phone’s password so we won’t have to carry that thumb around with us.”

  “That would be nice,” Ian said.

  Margo started going through the steps on the phone to change the password and, while she was at it, the fingerprint ID. “You need to get dressed.”

  Ian went to the bedroom closet and found the tuxedo hanging inside. He closed the bedroom door just enough to give him some privacy while he got undressed.

  “I’m guessing that you thought the bird market would be a really great place for an exchange because that’s exactly what it was. The message you received there sent us to the Peak,” Ian said, stripping down to his underwear. “That’s where you used the telescope to get the next message, probably written in an apartment window somewhere, telling you where to meet Warren, who is a CIA source.”

  “Good guess.” Margo dropped the reset iPhone back into her shoulder bag beside the Glock. “Maybe you should have accepted Healy’s job offer at the CIA instead of me.”

  “Why did you take it?” He reached for the tuxedo pants.

  “I had a hard time going back to my old life after what we went through together. It was too boring.” Margo emptied the water in the baggie into the sink, careful not to let the thumb fall into the drain. “I missed the rush, the feeling I had when I fought off that bitch assassin.”

  “Fear and revulsion?” Ian pulled up his pants and adjusted the inside waistband so it fit snugly.

  Margo carried the baggie to the bathroom and lifted up the toilet seat. “While we were on the run, facing certain death, I felt truly alive and present in a way I never did before. I discovered who I really am and what I was meant to do.”

  “Kill people?” Ian reached for the tuxedo shirt.

  “No, but it sure as hell isn’t singing, dog walking, or driving authors around Seattle.” She reached into the baggie, took out the dismembered thumb, and dropped it into the toilet. “I have a talent for this. Healy saw it and fast-tracked my training.”

  Margo flushed the toilet, dropped the baggie into the trash, and washed her hands with soap and water.

  Ian opened a ziplock baggie containing six onyx button studs and buttoned up his shirt with them. “Why did you have to use me as your cover to come to China?”

  “Because it was too good an opportunity to pass up.” Margo dried her hands and came out of the bathroom. “Wang Kang had a ton of dirt on China’s ruling class that he kept secret and he was a loyal government servant. And they still screwed him over. Healy thinks Wang is probably itching for revenge and that Mei could be our way to reach him and offer him a chance to get it. Now I’m sure Healy is right.”

  Ian came out of the bedroom holding his shoes in one hand. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you hear what Warren told us? Mei wants to defect.”

  “He didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, he did.” Margo stepped up to Ian and adjusted his loose bow tie. “In so many words.”

  “Words are my profession. Defection never came up in our conversation.”

  “It was all there, between the lines.”

  Ian pushed her hands away. “It’s too tight, you’re strangling me.”

  She stepped back. “You write about spies, but you don’t know shit about how it really works.”

  “And you do?”

  “I’m in it now.”

  “So am I,” Ian said and shouldered past her. “Thanks to you.”

  “You won’t get any sympathy or apologies from me.” Margo followed Ian to the couch, where he sat down to put on his shoes. “This situation is no different than how it started with us in Seattle, back when you were a target and made me one, too.”

  Ian froze, midway through tying his laces into a bow. He had another epiphany, one even more shocking to him than the one he’d had atop the bus. This one scared the shit out of him.

  “You’re right, it’s exactly the same situation.” Ian looked her in the eye. “The Chinese don’t care about you. It’s me they’re after.”

  She walked away, shaking her head in dismay. “You are so full of yourself. It’s unbelievable. It always has to be about you. You know what you are? You’re an egomaniac.”

  Ian resumed tying his shoes. “Think about it. Who did they attack after we left the bird market? Me. Why? To get the message that they thought was passed to me. And why were they watching us? Because of my story.”

  “What story?”

  “The one you’re supposed to be helping me research here instead of seducing publicists and playing spy.”

  “You mean the crazy conspiracy shit you came up with for a lousy Straker novel?” Margo laughed. “Get real. How would Chinese intelligence know anything about that?”

  “Because when I logged in to the Wi-Fi at the hotel, one of their data bots hacked my computer and they read my notes.” Ian finished tying his shoes and realized it was an apt metaphor for the way he was tying up the plot that had unfolded around him. “The Chinese think I’ve discovered their scheme to seize control of our country.”

  Margo stared at him long and hard before speaking again. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the expression on her face. Was it anger? Dread? Nausea? Perhaps it was all three.

  “You’re saying that we’re being chased by Chinese assassins because another one of your fictional plots is coming true.”

  “I’m cursed,” Ian said.

  “There’s no way this is happening again.” Margo sat down next to him on the couch. “No fucking way. There’s got to be another ex
planation.”

  There was a knock at the door. Ian got up and opened it. Susie stood outside.

  “We’re ready for the photo shoot,” she said.

  “So am I.” Ian went to get his tuxedo jacket, slipped it on, and stepped outside. Margo got up, slung her bag over her shoulder, and went along with him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Susie led Ian and Margo to a stage that had been strategically placed to get both the Ferris wheel and the Hong Kong skyline into the background. Damon Matthews was already on the stage, claiming his spot on top of Straker’s white motorcycle while several grips adjusted the lights and the photographer checked the image on his camera. Damon wore the same tuxedo as Ian and was in a heated conversation with Larry Steinberg.

  Wang Mei stood beside the stage in a stunning black dress with a plunging neckline while two makeup artists made last minute touch-ups to her face and cleavage with tiny brushes and sponges. There were a lot of reporters milling around who wished they could be her makeup artists. Her two bodyguards stood off to one side, not bothering to hide on their faces the intensity of their hatred for Ian and Margo.

  Margo gave them the finger.

  “Don’t antagonize them,” Ian said.

  She patted her bag to remind Ian of the Glock that was inside. “They should worry about antagonizing me.”

  Margo might as well have been giving the finger to Yat Fu, who watched her on the bodyguards’ button cameras. He was so angered by her impertinence that he was tempted to give a kill order to the two snipers atop the ferry terminal.

  “Do our snipers have the two Americans in their sights?” Yat asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Pang said. “But with all due respect, it would be a grave mistake to shoot them in front of the media.”

  “Thank you for stating the obvious.” Yat just liked knowing the two spies were one finger twitch away from death, especially since they’d managed to get away with Fung’s phone and whatever intelligence it contained. It was an infuriating failure but not a crippling one. Yat was confident that Fung knew nothing about the impending endgame or the reporter would have warned the spies about it. The important thing was that Fung was silenced. Whatever he knew probably died with him. “What do we know about the woman with Ludlow?”