Tom Clancy's Shadow of the Dragon

by Cameron, Marc

  Neither Adara nor Jack could hear what the men were saying, but they would be listening to her side of the conversation. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said. “You’re not police.”

  “You are correct.” Gray Coat laughed. “We are not police. And you are not from Finland.” He nodded to Leather Jacket, who moved in. Out of the corner of her eye, Lisanne saw Gray Coat take a syringe from his coat pocket—big, metal, like something you’d use on a horse.

  Leather Jacket came in low and fast, attempting to take her in a flying tackle. She shuffle-stepped out of the way at the last minute, grabbing a handful of leather collar as he went past and using his momentum to help him headfirst into the concrete wall. Stunned, he staggered sideways in time for Gray Coat to rush in, attempting to stab her with the horse syringe.

  Lisanne parried with both arms, attempting but missing a grab for the man’s wrist for an arm bar that would have knocked him on his ass—and, with any luck, destroyed his shoulder. Surprised at her sudden aggression, he twisted away, presenting the perfect opportunity for her to deliver a lateral kick to his knee.

  Gray Coat yowled in pain. The syringe slipped from his hand, but he flailed out, catching Lisanne directly in the temple with his knuckles. Accidental or not, the blow rattled her. She staggered backward, seeing stars, vaguely aware of the short one coming at her. He drove a fist into her ribs, knocking the wind out of her and driving her sideways, bouncing her off his partner, who was still cursing and clutching his knee. Lisanne used Gray Coat as cover, darting around, wheezing, trying in vain to draw a full breath. Leather Jacket grabbed his own partner by the shoulder and yanked him out of the way, eyes ablaze.

  Lisanne fished the little Beretta out of her pocket and brought it up a hair too late. Leather Jacket swatted it out of the way, jarring her radial nerve so her hand opened reflexively. The pistol clattered to the concrete. She sidestepped again to avoid another bum rush, catching a glancing scrape as his shoulder impacted her chest.

  The blow spun her, but bought her some distance. She clawed the sides of his face with both hands, raking, screaming, fully intending to rip both the ears off his head. Pain caused him to come up on his toes, allowing her to drive a knee into his unprotected groin.

  Leather Jacket doubled over, gagging like he might vomit. He yelled something at his partner. Lisanne gave him a slap across one ear for good measure, then wheeled to face a new assault. Jack and Adara would be here any second.

  Gray Coat didn’t rush her, or try to attack her at all. Instead, he stepped to the side, moving closer to his partner. Lisanne spun to put her back to the wall again, keeping them both in view.

  Tires squealed around the corner, on the other side of the hotel. The glow of approaching headlights cut through the falling snow, playing across the woods. Lisanne wanted to call for them, but didn’t have the breath to waste.

  Leather Jacket pushed himself off his knees with both hands. He spat on the ground and reached behind his back, drawing a black pistol.

  “No!” Lisanne screamed, turning to run. Jack and Adara were almost here—

  The first bullet took her in the left arm, high, under her deltoid, shattering bone. It felt like she’d been hit with a hammer. She was vaguely aware of the report of a second and then a third shot. Had he missed? She hadn’t felt another impact … Arm dangling, she dug in, trying to run. Something was wrong. She coughed. Her feet … Would. Not. Move. Rooted in place, she tasted salt … Blood.

  Headlights lit up the night, blinding her. Doors opened. Disjointed voices shouted behind the light.

  Lisanne sank to her knees, gasping for air. A thousand-pound weight bore down against her chest. The headlights began to dim. Were they leaving? No, no, no. She needed help. They wouldn’t leave her. Jack wouldn’t leave her …

  Fu Bohai stood in the snow on the aft deck of a thirty-foot cabin cruiser tied at the end of a pier behind the Lake Kanas Resort and listened to Qiu’s voicemail. This was his third unsuccessful attempt. Fu cursed to himself and snugged his hat down tighter against the chill. For a brief moment, he considered what his life would be like if he simply threw the mobile phone over the side and into the cold, black water. Mountains and lakes were beautiful, to be sure, but they were also an incredible nuisance.

  He slipped the phone in his pocket and returned his attention to the boat’s skipper, a Uyghur man named Qassim. Qassim had proven to be more than talkative from the time they’d found him waiting alone on the boat. In fact, Fu thought, he might have to shoot the man to get him to shut up. Qassim was forty-six years old, had two children—both sons, thanks be to God, because his brother had two daughters and daughters were a curse. His wife nagged him, as he suspected all wives did, mostly about money and the creature comforts of life that she believed a wife like her deserved to have. She hardly cooked for him anymore now that his boys were grown, and the house was always a mess. She was, he pointed out, his father-in-law’s daughter, and, like all daughters, a curse …

  Fu finally put a boot to the man’s shin to get him to focus. He freely admitted to being hired over the phone by a Chinese man to take a group of foreigners on a night excursion. He did not know the details, only that he was to be paid in cash when they arrived. The appointment had been made less than an hour earlier and he’d come down to the boat to get it ready. His wife had nagged him about going out again after dark and accused him of having a mistress. The old ewe would eat her words when he brought home all that money—

  Fu kicked him again. “Are night excursions commonplace?”

  Qassim shook his head. “Not common, but not unheard of. Crazy foreigners think they can get a better glimpse of the Kanas Lake Monster at night. We took a television crew out last fall.” He raised his brow up and down, winking at Fu. “The producer was quite attractive. My wife was certain I was …” He trailed off, at least smart enough to stop before he earned another kick.

  “Where are you to take these foreigners?” Fu asked.

  “I do not know,” Qassim said. “It is that way sometimes. Monster hunters bring a chart of the lake and tell me they have heard of sightings here or there or some other place. I charge by the hour, so it does not matter to me where we go.” He smiled, unable to help himself. “Plus, it lets me get away from my bothersome wife.”

  “But they are coming tonight?”

  “That is what the man on the phone said.”

  “What time?” Fu asked.

  Qassim shrugged. “I do not know. I brought tea and noodles, so I am prepared to wait. He said he would pay me for ten hours even if we were only out for two.”

  Fu nodded to one of his men. “Restrain and gag him so he can’t raise an alarm. Put him up front in the V-berth, out of sight.”

  “Please, sir,” Qassim said. “You do not have to tie me. I do not know these people. I have no allegiance to them. If they have done something wrong, I am happy to help you capture them.”

  Fu ignored him, nodding again to his man to get on with it.

  “Could I at least call my wife?” Qassim asked. “She worries.”

  Fu sat on one of the bench seats and took out his knife. It had seen much use lately and needed some time on the stone. Blessedly, Qassim fell quiet at the sight of it.

  “Better,” Fu said, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sound of the Uyghur’s silence. He set his hat on a small chart table beside him, and took a whetstone from his coat pocket, drawing the blade across it as he spoke. “At times, I want my bait to make noise, to draw my prey in closer with their screaming.”

  The Uyghur licked his lips, swallowing hard. His eyes wide as teacups. “I … I … can scream. You do not have to cut me.”

  Fu smiled. “Tonight,” he said, “I want my bait to be silent. You will be gagged, so the rats will come to you. Remain quiet and you may survive to return to the arms of your bothersome wife.”

  Fu set the knife on the chart table next to his hat and tried calling Qiu again. Still nothing. Odd that h
e would not answer. The man knew Fu expected a report. What could possibly be taking them so long? A lone woman should pose no problem for them at all.

  58

  Ryan bailed out of the van before it skidded to a complete stop. The transmission chattered, protesting being thrown into Park while the wheels were still rolling.

  Ryan had slid in sideways, putting himself directly on top of the action but forcing Adara to run around the vehicle to engage.

  “Shit, Jack!” she snapped, flinging the passenger door open.

  Surprised by the oncoming van, the two Chinese men had bunched together, shoulder to shoulder, throwing up their arms against the headlights, firing blindly. Bullets thwacked off the hood. Glass shattered as at least one round hit the windshield. Another took the side mirror off the door, missing Ryan by inches.

  He didn’t care.

  Microtech Halo in his left hand, Beretta pistol in his right, Ryan ignored the oncoming gunfire and charged straight at the men as soon as his boots hit the pavement. Instead of moving off-line, the pug in the leather jacket attempted to backpedal, firing as he went. Ryan brought the Microtech around in a tight arc, burying the blade in the side of the man’s neck, yanking him sideways by the collarbone in a combination brachial stun and hooking maneuver. Momentum threw him sideways before he realized his throat had been cut.

  Pivoting a hair, Ryan brought the muzzle of the Beretta in line with the other shooter’s face. He fired four shots in rapid succession. The Bowers Group Bitty muffled but did not completely silence the report. It didn’t matter. The guy was well beyond hearing anything after the first round. Mouse-gun .22 though it was, the little thirty-five-grain slugs had done their job, and done it well.

  Ryan turned back to where the pug lay clutching his neck, blood pouring from between his fingers. Ryan anchored him with two quick shots behind the ear. He had been the one to shoot Lisanne.

  Four seconds after he left the van, Ryan stood and scanned the sidewalk. A thin curl of gray smoke rose from the muzzle of the Bowers Bitty.

  Adara was on her knees, one hand pressed to Lisanne’s upper arm, the other under her shirt, searching for other wounds. “Help me get her to the van! Stay with me, Leese.”

  Training overcame panic, and Ryan lowered the hammer on the Beretta before stuffing it into his pocket. He grabbed Lisanne’s legs as gently as he could. Her head lolled to the side, a swath of arterial blood bathing her cheek. Adara carried her under each arm.

  Hi-Lo sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Get her in the van, Jack,” Adara said. “I’ll work on her while you drive.”

  Ryan climbed backward through the side door, lifting Lisanne so she rested on the backseat, her head and shoulders in Adara’s lap.

  Lisanne’s mouth opened and closed, making croaking sounds like a fish out of water. She arched her back at a sudden pain, and then collapsed from the effort. Her eyes fluttered and she looked up at Adara.

  Her words were a forced whisper. “You … guys … came …”

  “Of course we came,” Adara said, sounding much calmer than Ryan felt. “You can’t have all the fun.” Adara searched frantically through torn flesh and shards of shattered bone for the bleeder under Lisanne’s biceps.

  Ryan grabbed her medical kit from the back and touched Lisanne’s cheek. “She’s gonna fix you up.”

  The sirens were getting louder, closer—just blocks away now.

  Adara glanced up at Ryan, her hands, her face, the front of her coat, covered in Lisanne’s blood. “Jack.” She shook her head, gritting her teeth, squinting away tears. She unwound a rubber tourniquet and wrapped it high and tight under Lisanne’s armpit as she spoke. “Turning her over to the authorities might be the only chance she has.”

  Ryan nodded toward the dead men on the ground—the men he’d just killed. “I think those were the authorities. They didn’t have any intention of taking her to a hospital. If we take her with us, at least she has a chance. Leave her behind and …”

  Adara shook her head, eyes welling with frustration and the unbearable pain of losing another friend. “Jack …”

  Ryan knew exactly what she meant. In all likelihood, Lisanne Robertson would die no matter what they did. Ryan put the van in gear and made a U-turn, avoiding the street with oncoming police cars as he headed north toward Kanas Lake.

  At least this way she would die among friends.

  59

  Yao’s heart fell when Chavez lowered the phone and shook his head. Medina was at the end of her rope, unstrung, a mother helpless to aid a child in danger.

  Chavez had turned off his Bluetooth in order to attempt the call, and Ryan’s frantic voice crackled over the net for all to hear. Chavez started to answer, but Ma held a finger to his lips.

  “Ding! Adam!” Ryan hailed again. “I’m not reading you. Transmitting in the blind. Lisanne’s been shot. It’s bad, Ding.” His voice caught, as he found it difficult to speak. “Really bad. We’re headed for exfil. In the black now, but not sure for how long. Hope you’re getting this.” His voice dropped lower. “Hurry … Like I said, it’s really bad.”

  Yao pressed his jaw against the muzzle of Medina’s gun. “Go ahead and shoot if you’re going to,” he said. “The men after you have already tortured and murdered one of my dearest friends, and now they’ve severely wounded another.”

  Yao had made a career of reading people, but Medina’s face was stone. There was nothing else to do but lay all his cards on the table. He spoke quickly. Ryan would beat them to the boat if they didn’t leave in the next five minutes. “Hala is with one of the most capable men I know.”

  “My sister?”

  “Listen to me!” Yao snapped. “We don’t have time if you stop and ask questions. Your sister was killed trying to save Hala. My friend killed the man that killed her. He got Hala out of China and she is safe. The men after you are with the Chinese intelligence. They believe you have information that could help them find a missing scientist, Liu Wangshu.”

  Medina’s mouth fell open, astonished. “Professor Liu? What information?”

  “Beijing believes you know where to find him,” Yao said. “They are using every means to find you. They know you are affiliated with Wuming.”

  “What do you care?” Ma asked. “Uyghur injustice is a low priority for the United States.”

  “And most Han,” Yao said, nodding at Ma. “You know too well that these are issues of humankind, not ethnicity. But, to be honest, I work for the U.S. government, and we want to find Professor Liu as well.”

  “Why do you want him?” Medina asked.

  “Honestly,” Yao said, “we want to find him because Beijing is interested. We believe he has something to do with a missing submarine.”

  Medina lowered the pistol. “A Chinese submarine?”

  “Correct,” Yao said. “Now we really need to go. My friend is in trouble—”

  Chavez’s phone buzzed. Ma nodded for him to put it on speaker.

  Yao nearly collapsed when Clark’s voice came across, loud and clear, as if he were in the room beside them.

  “You called?”

  “No time to explain, John,” Chavez said. “But I have Hala’s mother here. She wants to say hello.”

  “Easy, Jack,” Adara said, cursing softly as Ryan drifted the van through a sweeping corner, chattering the rear tires.

  “Sorry,” he said, stomach in his throat. He’d adjusted the rearview mirror so he could keep an eye on what was happening in the back.

  Covered in blood, Adara cradled Lisanne’s shoulders in her lap, working frantically. She’d applied a SWAT-T Tourniquet first—essentially a long strip of rubber—as soon as they were in the van. It was small, always in her pocket, and handy, so it went on while Ryan was getting the bag. She’d put a windless tourniquet over that one by the time they hit the edge of town, twisting it tight enough to make Lisanne wince from the pain. People liked to argue tourniquets in the comfort of their living rooms, throwing out stats abo
ut lost limbs and less drastic alternatives. Rolling down a mountain road in the back of a van in a hostile country with blood squirting out a brachial artery—all such arguments were void. Lisanne could well lose her arm if circulation wasn’t restored in the next few hours, but Adara had seconds to stop the bleeding.

  “How …” Lisanne gave a hollow cough. It was weak, little more than a gagging click. “How … bad?”

  “You’re hanging on,” Adara said. “And that is amazing.”

  “Don’t … sugarcoat …” Lisanne said.

  Ryan wiped away a tear with his forearm.

  “We’ve stopped the bleeding in your arm,” Adara said.

  “Hurts like hell,” Lisanne said. “What else?”

  “Two shots to the abdomen,” Adara said. “No exit wounds.”

  Lisanne arched her back, grimacing, and then fell limp.

  Adara patted her cheek. “Hey, kiddo! Lisanne!” She put two fingers to Lisanne’s neck, sighing in relief, sniffing back tears like she had a cold. “I have a pulse. It’s fast as a runaway train from blood loss, but it’s still there. The shots missed her lungs, but one of the bullets went in right where her spleen is.”

  Ryan glanced in the rearview mirror. He swallowed, straining to get the words out of his throat. “What … can you do?”

  Adara shook her head. “If the bullet hit her spleen and she’s bleeding internally … there’s nothing I can do.”

  Ding’s voice came over the net. “Jack, Jack, Ding. How’s she holding up?”

  “Not good,” Ryan said. “We’re coming into the village now …” He tapped his brakes, slowing to let a dark beater crew-cab pickup coming in from the west turn onto the road ahead of him.

  “Tell me that’s you,” Chavez said.

  Ryan flicked his brights on and off.

  “Gotcha,” Chavez said.

  Ryan chanced a look over his shoulder. “How we doing?”

  Adara shook her head. “Same. She’s out, but still breathing on her own and I have a pulse. She’s a tough lady.”