by Seeley James
His phone vibrated in his pocket. “Saved by the bell?”
Jaz pulled his phone and answered it in Chinese.
Pia stared ahead. Cousin Elmer drove with Dhanpal in the passenger seat. After the first mile, she drummed her fingertips on her knee. Jaz turned to the window and continued his call in hushed tones. By the second mile, she moved to the seat facing him, leaned her elbows on her knees, and stared at him until his gaze wandered to her.
“Did you invite me to a game?” she asked.
Jaz stopped his call mid-syllable. He wrapped it up and dropped his phone in a pocket. “Sorry. With the time difference, it’s hard to—”
“Do you know anyone in Guangzhou?”
“No, Beijing. Dad’s trying to slow the flow of counterfeit pills coming out of China and India. Why?”
“When did you learn Chinese?”
“Mandarin, technically, but I can fake a little Hakka when I’m in Hong Kong.” He smiled and flashed his blue eyes. When her expression didn’t change, he cleared his throat. “In high school, then more in college. At least Dad made sure we had a good education. Not like what he did to my sisters.”
Pia frowned. “Sisters?”
Jaz waved a hand and looked out the window. “Yeah, from his first wife. They had a nasty divorce. He turned his back on them, gave them nothing. But he took care of my brother and me.”
“First-born son.”
“Not politically correct of him to favor the male offspring, but I’m not complaining.”
“Why the interest in Chinese?”
“Seemed like a good idea. Nebraska sells soybeans and rice all over Asia. And Dad told me it’s the language of the future. Back in high school, I lived to impress Dad.”
Pia smiled. “Do you still?”
“I’ve grown up some. Now he just pisses me off. But you know how it is.” He rubbed his palms on his knees. “Don’t you like to impress your dad?”
“Why work for Jenkins Pharma?”
Jaz leaned back with a satisfied grin. “I aim to change the whole pharmaceutical business.”
“Is there something wrong with it?”
“They aren’t looking to cure diseases.” He threw his hands up. “The big money’s in maintenance. No one’s looking for a cure to AIDS. No one’s trying to cure asthma. They want to sell treatments. Diabetes, Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, everything they make is a maintenance drug. It’s all recurring revenue. They’ve paid $11 billion in fines over the last four years. GlaxoSmithKline paid a $3 billion fine and still made a twenty percent profit. They figure huge fines are a cost of business.”
Pia squinted at him. “Did your dad know how you felt when he hired you?”
“He’s been out of the country since I arrived. He’s trying to settle a huge fine set by the European Union for his statin drugs. There’s another maintenance drug, cholesterol inhibitors instead of watching your diet.” Jaz shook his head and turned to the window.
The limo slowed and turned into the flow of traffic heading into the stadium. Outside, an endless river of people flowed along the sidewalks.
“Sorry,” Jaz said. “I get a little passionate about the subject.”
Cousin Elmer slowed the limo and flashed a special card. A parking attendant moved a barricade. They drove down a narrow lane to a ramp that disappeared beneath the stadium.
“Where’re we going?” Jaz asked.
“Dad has a suite, so Cousin Elmer will drop us at the VIP entrance.”
“You guys have a suite? And I’m taking you to our seats in the stands? Sorry, guess we’re slumming here. I should’ve known.”
“Don’t worry, the suite’s too high up to see much of—”
A sudden movement in the crowd of people hoping to glimpse a player caught her attention. She pressed her face to the dark window, scanning for whatever it was that had caught her eye. A short man stood at the edge of the ramp. A security guard pushed him back with both hands. The short man staggered like a drunk.
“STOP!” Pia pounded on the glass separating her from the front seat.
Cousin Elmer slammed on the brakes, lurching the heavy car to a stop.
Grabbing her Glock, she pushed her empty purse into Jaz’s chest. “Wait here.”
She threw open the door, hit the ground running. “Stop that man!”
The crowd turned in unison like a dance troupe and watched her for a second. Some, frightened by her aggressive charge, backed up. Others moved in to help. She lost sight of her quarry in the resulting mess. Looking around, searching everyone, she found the short man again.
A security guard stepped in front of her, ten yards out, holding a can of mace. “Stop right there, ma’am.”
Pia’s focus moved from the man she wanted to the officer. “Get that guy.”
Thirty yards beyond the guard, the short man craned over his shoulder. Their eyes met. Even at that distance, she recognized Chapman, the doctor from Borneo.
Sprinting around the security man, she turned uphill in full pursuit.
Chapman’s eyes widened in terror. He turned and staggered.
She tackled him and rode him to the ground.
“Don’t move, you son-of-a-bitch, or I’ll rip your head off.” She grabbed his arms. He offered no resistance.
“Help me!” His voice was weak and strained.
Behind her, the security man had his Taser out and aimed. Agent Dhanpal ran to help. The officer pointed his Taser at Pia, then Dhanpal, then back, and shouted, “Nobody move.”
Dhanpal panted. “Help her, officer. She’s apprehending a killer.”
Pia pulled Chapman’s arm behind him, planted her knee in his back, slipped an arm around his throat. “Don’t try anything.”
“My eyes,” he whispered.
He coughed and lay still. And hot.
Chapman’s body heat radiated into her skin through her thin jacket. She relaxed her grip and watched for any tricks he might be playing. Satisfied, she leaned back and rolled him over to look at him.
Blue sclera.
Chapman’s eyes rolled back in his head.
Pia looked up to see fifty camera phones pointed at her. Among them was a shoulder-mounted type used by TV stations. This scene would go viral in minutes. Dhanpal watched her eyes and took the initiative. He pushed the news crew back, asking for a little space.
“What were you doing?” she asked Chapman. “Bio-weapons?
“Didn’t do it.” Chapman’s crusty eyes fluttered and opened. “Not me.”
She pulled him up by his collar. “I saw you.”
“I got there, Borneo, minutes before you.” Chapman coughed and sagged.
Pia squinted. Events came rushing back to her. She’d analyzed the scene the way the Kazakhs had presented it. “You were surprised when I showed you the boy’s eyes.”
He took a moment to breathe. “It’s a marker we used in the lab. We worked with several strains … each with a different color marker so we knew which virus affected you if it got loose.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“They were going to kill me. I … got away when they chased you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m dying.” Chapman’s eyes closed.
“Why did you run at NIH?”
“You were going to kill me. I saw it in your eyes. I came here because … you won’t shoot in a crowd.”
Pia looked at Dhanpal.
He shrugged. “True that.”
Jaz came up but kept a distance.
“You have to…” Chapman took a deep breath. “Stop them. Poisoning Philadelphia in a couple days.” He coughed. “Element 42 … kills infants and old people.”
CHAPTER 28
Borneo’s silver moon slid behind clouds like it was auditioning for a horror flick. Dark shadows crossed the valleys like evil spirits. We hiked to a hill near the Pak Uban’s village and set up an observation blind on an overlooking ridge.
Mercury said, Did I mention what a terrible ide
a this is?
I said, What’s wrong?
Mercury said, All the things you yell at Ms. Sabel for, homie: no intel, no recon, no plan.
I didn’t feel like arguing with an immortal reject. I examined the terrain with my thermal binoculars. On the first pass, the scene felt wrong.
“Hey, Diego,” I whispered. The Post’s Singapore-based station chief slid next to me. I handed him my binoculars. “I don’t see the Pak Uban or anyone else in the village. Where would they have gone?”
He studied the scene for a long time, then adjusted his position. He looked far to the right, then back. “Where you showed me is not where he lives. That is a Melanau village. He’s a Kayan, one of the Dayak tribes. He lives over that ridge, in the longhouse.”
“But I saw him in that village. His injured son was there.”
“The Kayans were headhunters a generation ago,” Diego said. “This Pak Uban is a known racist who enslaves the Melanau. He’s been disavowed by the other Kayan tribes but some young men follow him. The village you went to is deserted.”
“And my last translator belonged to one of the Dayak tribes,” I said. “That explains it.”
Emily’s paper had the connections to get us a guy with some ethics. Newspaper ethics, thin as they may be, are more reliable than tribal alliances. This time, I could count on more reliable answers without cutting someone’s fingers off.
Miguel smacked my shoulder. “Explains what?”
“Bujang belonged to a cousin tribe of the Pak Uban. He sided with his tribal buddy and sold me out.”
We moved our position to a new hill to get a better look at the Kayan village. Definitely a better place than the Melanau ghost town. Several small homes lined a walkway paved with stone that led to the longhouse. Smoke wafted from a hole in the roof. Plain and unadorned, it sat on stilts, four feet above the ground, and had the traditional veranda for meetings. There were other shacks and buildings scattered around it. People milled about the village, talking, kicking dogs, yelling at children, carrying chickens. Every male was young, tough, and carried a rifle.
Emily twisted around, looking over her back. “Does this body armor make my butt look big?”
I glanced at Miguel.
“It makes you look perky,” Carmen said. She gave the reporter a playful spank.
“Tough fight ahead, bro,” Miguel said.
“Did you bring darts or bullets?” Carmen asked.
“Two magazines of darts per person, the rest are bullets.”
Carmen felt her pack and counted the twelve magazines I’d allotted her.
I’d planned for the same scenario I saw last time: a wide separation between hostiles and civilians. Most of the people I could see were children. I could be a mean son-of-a-bitch in a war zone, but I wouldn’t traumatize kids by killing their parents in front of them.
“Well, then,” Miguel said, “it’s time for Operation Movie Star.”
I nodded and turned to Diego. “Ever been in a firefight before?”
“Before wha—?” His voice stopped working. He shook his head.
Miguel headed down the hill and disappeared into the brush.
“A lesser man would probably pee his pants doing what we’re going to do, but you’re a stud, Diego. I can see it in your eyes.” I slapped him on the back.
He smiled as if he were about to puke.
“Hold on,” Emily said. “You never said anything about a firefight. I got you a translator, where’s my scoop?” She searched my eyes. “What are you … do you mean … I’m not going—”
“You’re going to stay right here with Carmen. Actually, you’re going to move ten yards away from Carmen, in case they have an RPG.”
“You’re going to take on the Kazakhs?” Emily asked.
“The Kazakhs wouldn’t be dumb enough to stick around after the grave was uncovered. But the Pak Uban can lead me to them.”
“That’s it? That’s my scoop?”
“It’s a good scoop. Embedded with Sabel Security, you’ll have war correspondent credentials. Investigative journalism at its finest.”
Emily shook her head, her eyes bugged out. “What good is all that if I get killed?”
Carmen put an arm around her. “Don’t worry, we’ve been through nastier shit than these guys can dish out. We got this.”
Emily nodded and sniffled.
Carmen gave her an extra squeeze, then leaned against a tree and closed her eyes.
I pushed Emily back to a hardwood tree. “Get some rest. Shooting won’t start until 0300.”
Emily turned white and stood motionless. I tugged Diego’s sleeve and led him down the hill.
The road to victory requires careful timing. March in when everyone’s fed and awake, and you die. Sneak in when everyone’s drunk and bored and asleep, and you win. We had a few hours to kill to get the timing right. I found a nice place about three hundred yards downwind from the village. Diego sat and stared at me while I stretched out and closed my eyes. A Kayan patrol came near us a few times, scaring the bejeezus out of Diego, but they never saw us. A dog sniffed his way to the Milk Bones in my pocket. He went away quietly after I gave him one. His doggy pals heard about it and came for a treat of their own. I went through half my stash before shooing them away.
I was drifting off into a nice dream about walking into a Starbucks where a hundred hajjis waited in ambush when a text came in from Ms. Sabel. “Bio-attack planned on Philadelphia. Find those Kazakhs fast.”
I thumbed out a reply. “Stepping it up, ma’am.”
At 0300, my phone alarm vibrated and I opened my eyes. I checked in with Carmen and Miguel on the comm link to find them both sleepy but waking fast. Diego and Emily hadn’t slept at all.
The Malaysian police in Kuching didn’t answer the phone, so I left a message with our coordinates.
My translator followed me toward the village like a condemned man and almost ran into me when I stopped to give out more doggy treats.
On the outskirts of the village, a lone guard manned his post with heavy eyes. They opened plenty wide when I touched my assault rifle to his face. He surrendered in silence, and I shouldered his AK-47 for a spare.
Pushing my hostage in front, I strolled into town on the central path while Diego flinched at every leaf flapping in the warm breeze.
Mercury said, Look at you, marching like a boss down the middle of the street.
I said, Movie star. You could help me out by telling me how many are in there.
Mercury said, Dude, always with the jokes. You got this.
Praying to gods can be more confusing than it’s worth. I was within an inch of firing the pagan jerk.
Our reluctant tour guide assured us the Pak Uban slept in the longhouse. I pushed him ahead of me with my rifle in his ribs. Diego clung to my back. A sleepy kid near the entrance jumped to attention and bobbled his weapon. I popped a dart into him with my Glock.
The main room was half the building. On each side were smaller rooms separated with curtains. The silencer was effective, but a loud pop in a small space is alarming. Five guys jumped off their mats and shook themselves awake.
When the old man showed himself, his boys started spreading wide. I popped two of them and traded my hostage for the old man before they knew what happened. That left Diego in the center of the room, shaking like a leaf. The four remaining men eyeballed him like fresh meat.
Miguel coughed behind them, having slithered in the back while I held their attention. He had Diego order them to get on the floor, facedown, hands stretched out in front. They didn’t move fast enough so he shot one in the leg. The others dropped quickly.
Then it was my turn. “Pak-man, how ya been, buddy?”
Diego translated but our captive didn’t speak. He wasn’t that old, maybe late fifties, but his eyes crossed with confusion as he contemplated how he’d been overpowered so quickly.
I pulled an 8x10 picture of Kaya’s corpse out of my pack and held it in front of him. I dropp
ed it on the floor. I pulled out another picture, a wide shot of the grave with several bodies on the top layer. I spun it and let it twirl to the floor. I pulled another picture. And another. Ten in all. “Ever heard of Nuremburg? World Court? Crimes against humanity?”
He said nothing.
“Do you know what the USA does to terrorists who plan a bio-attack on Philadelphia?”
His eyes flickered wide open when he processed my accusation, then he slipped his poker-face back on and said nothing.
“How about murder?” I walked around him. “Malaysian authorities are on their way here from Kuching. They’ll question you about the Kazakhs and the mass grave full of your Melanau neighbors. Do you want them to find you alive?”
The old man turned to look at me when Diego translated.
Bullets whizzed outside: Carmen’s sniper rifle. We heard a body drop on the veranda. He moaned loudly.
I raised my voice. “Your choice. Tell me what I want to know and you’ll be alive when they get here to arrest you. Clam up and I finish the job Ms. Sabel started.”
Diego translated and the old man replied. Diego said, “He wants to know what you mean, ‘the job Ms. Sabel started’?”
Outside, the dying man moaned and called for help.
“She cut your son’s dick off. That was before we found out you were selling the Melanau to the Kazakhs. I don’t like that kind of thing. I’ll make sure none of you can reproduce ever again. After I fix your boys, I’m going to fix you. Problem is, I don’t work with a knife.”
When Diego finished translating, but before the old man could speak, I had one of his young bucks stand up. I drilled a dart in his groin. My victim fell hard on the wooden floor. The shock value was exceptional.
Even Diego gasped.
The old man spoke fast.
Diego said, “He would like to answer your questions now.”
On the veranda, the dying man gasped again. Three more bullets whizzed outside and another body fell on the veranda. Her aim had improved—this time there was no moaning.
“How were you going to pay off my first translator?”
Diego translated. “He knows the boy’s village. He was going to deliver payment to his mother.”
