by Tony Bulmer
Karyn paused, drinking in the scene.
Back-lit by the spooky mood lighting, three figures sat at the far end of the grand conference table. All of them were looking her way
“Please, come forwards and join us Ms. Kane.” The voice was clipped yet polite, speaking in English, but with a distinct south Chinese lilt to the enunciation.
Karyn said nothing, as she made the long walk towards the three men.
The heavy wooden doors closed behind her, and the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt lock being drawn echoed out across the forbidding darkness.
Karyn walked close to the figures then stopped dead, drawing a sharp breath, as she recognized the men who were waiting for her.
On the far left, pristine and menacing in his high-button black uniform sat Chi Wu, head of the Chinese Ministry of State Security. Front and centre sat the waxy and overweight figure of Geng Sung, the Chinese President and lastly, relaxing casually, his arm draped across the back of his chair, sat Jack Senegar, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. He smiled, his taught, hard-lined face breaking through his golf-club tan like he was actually trying to be friendly. Karyn knew he wasn’t—Friendly wasn’t in his nature.
“Good to see you Karyn. How are you?” Jack Senegar tilted his head very slightly, his predatory gaze eating into her.
Karyn smiled, chewing back a smart assed comment for the sake of international relations. She said, “Copacetic Jack, you know me.”
Geng Sung leaned forwards very slightly, and said in a thick accent, “You will forgive the unconventional nature of our meeting Ms. Kane, but a major crisis has risen in world affairs. A crisis that demands the utmost secrecy.”
Karyn raised her eyebrows. “I don’t wish to appear unappreciative Mr. President, but this retro hotel complex you are running is in need of a major makeover.”
Jack Senegar turned to President Sung and said, “American humor Mr. President, the operative has been under a great deal of stress.”
“But of course she has, and for that I apologize most profusely, on behalf of the Peoples Republic of China. But you must know Ms. Kane, the nature of our meeting had to be very carefully managed, due to the most exceptional security conditions we find ourselves subjected to.”
Karyn stood easy, her hands lodged behind her back military style. “Conditions?”
Chi Wu raised his chin and regarded Karyn with black eyes. “Your recent dealings with Deng Tao have not gone unnoticed by the Ministry of State Security Ms. Kane. He was a hero of the people. Chi Wu gave her a superior look. “Our great nation takes a very dim view of foreign intriguers and saboteurs. We take an even dimmer view of assassins. Could you imagine how your capitalist/imperialist government would react were we to send an assassin to end the life of one of your leading citizens?”
Karyn gave him an implacable stare. “U.S. citizens rule the world all ready, they got no need for the kind of kookery Deng Tao and his Humanistian friends got in mind, and just so you know, that power plant explosion your hero of the people hatched, killed hundreds of American citizens. He would have killed a bunch more too, if he had gotten the chance.”
“But, you killed him Ms. Kane, and now the entire world is thrown out of equilibrium as a consequence of your rash actions.”
“Just doing my job Wu. Maybe if you did yours a little better, you wouldn’t have had mad-dog terrorists running all over your funeral of the decade. I am betting your pal Deng Tao is spinning in his casket right now—least he would have been if his casket hadn’t gotten blasted all over that ghastly mausoleum of his.”
Chi Wu rose to his feet, his face boiling with rage. “Counter revolutionary extremists are attacking our motherland and you dare to joke? I should strike you down for your insolence Kane.”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” said Karyn, her voice matter of fact. The black-shirted little bureaucrat was starting to annoy. She turned back to Geng Sung and said, “So, Mr. President, before I ask you about the confidential nature of our meeting, could I have your assurances that Secretary of State Truman Whitaker is safe and well?”
“Safe and well and on his way Stateside even as we speak, ” interjected Jack Senegar, an air of resignation creeping into his voice.
Karyn nodded. “Good to know.” She kept her voice flat, emotionless. She had absolutely no doubt in her mind that Truman would have already concocted some ludicrous self-aggrandizing cover story, to excuse his feckless cowardice in the face of enemy fire. And, he would most likely at this very moment, be repeating said cover story, ad nauseam to the assembled ranks of the world’s media. The gutless creep made her sick—almost as sick as the black-suited jerk-off sat cooking in his juices right next to President Sung. “What about Lauren Whitaker—the wife?”
“Kidnapped, by extremist elements within the Uyghur terrorist network, Ms. Kane,” snapped Chi Wu, his voice pitching high with emotion.
“I met a few of them. They were none too happy about it,” deadpanned Karyn.
President Sung looked uncomfortable. “I would like to thank you most profusely Ms. Kane, for your prompt and heroic actions at the funeral of Deng Tao. I have no doubt that your great heroism saved many lives, however a situation has arisen of which you should be aware.”
Karyn pursed her lips very slightly. “Situation?”
Chi Wu gave her a thinly veiled sneer. “A premature announcement from the office of our esteemed premier Zhàn Tao apportioned responsibility for the vile outrage on foreign elements attempting to foment counter-revolutionary unrest.”
A cold chill ran though Karyn. She knew right away what they were driving at. “By counter revolutionary elements, you mean me.”
Chi Wu looked triumphant. Karyn stared through him, showing no emotion whatever, but her mind raged forwards, as scenario after scenario flashed through her mind. The implications of this news were far reaching. They were now dealing with an international incident of apocalyptic proportions. If the Chinese were going to try and pin this mess on the CIA, then they were holding a torch to the gasoline lake of global conflict. “This whole thing is bullshit, you know that right? I was there, remember, staring down my gun-sight at those murdering creeps while I took them out, one by one.”
President Sung gave her a somber look. “The office of our esteemed Premier is all powerful Ms Kane. Whilst I hold the position of head of state, there are many elements within the premier’s office who tie the ascendancy of our great country, to the demise of the United States of America. These elements are power-hungry and dangerous. They would take the world to the very precipice of war, if they thought it would serve their needs.” Sung paused gloomily then added, “It would appear that this most unfortunate incident has given them the opportunity to further their agenda they have long been seeking.”
“You should issue a retraction,” said Karyn. “Put this whole crazy business to rest right now. You let this thing run out of control, and many people will die for no good reason.”
“A retraction will not be possible,” interjected Chi Wu. “Honor is at stake.”
President Sung blinked, the emphatic statement of his Head Security minister causing him obvious anguish. “The hierarchical nature of our political structure precludes such statements Ms. Kane.” The president paused, looking deeply uncomfortable now, before continuing in a quiet, deliberate voice, “There is something else however—a complicating factor—of a most dangerous nature.” Again, the President paused. He turned towards Jack Senegar, who acknowledged him with a grave nod.
Senegar took a breath, and looked Karyn in the eyes. “I got the short and skinny from the Secretary of State, Karyn. He painted a very elucidating picture of your contribution to his salvation. Needless to say, he is bound by Federal law to keep his mouth shut.”
“Elucidating huh? Sounds like I am in for another heaping pile of accolades.”
Senegar made a guttural noise. “We know just exactly who you took out at the funeral Karyn, a Uyghur terror cell, Islamic sep
aratists from Xinjang province.
Chi Wu pulled a face and interrupted, “It was the heroic forces of the People’s Liberation Army, assisted by their loyal compatriots in the state police who vanquished those counterrevolutionary traitors.”
Jack Senegar paused a beat, the heavy lines on the sides of his face growing suddenly deeper, at last he continued, “As I was saying, our Jihadi friends got themselves the kind connections on the Sunni Muslim terror circuit that run right over the Karakoram Mountains, to Islamabad Pakistan.”
“The Inter-Services Intelligence Agency,” said Karyn quietly. But how do we know? Who found the connection?”
Chi Wu gave a derisive snort. “The Ministry of State Security is the greatest Intelligence Agency in the world Ms. Kane, our influence stretches to all parts of the globe, but we take an especially enthusiastic interest in our close neighbors. Two of the assassins you killed were, criminals from Xinjang province. Men with a long association to the cross border smuggling trade. In times past, men with such associations would have been executed, but the new permissiveness has led to foolish mercies being granted as a matter of course.”
Karyn narrowed her eyes. She had never met Chi Wu before, but she had heard stories. All of the stories had the same conclusion—they guy was a world class prick on wheels. Karyn had little time for idle stories. She liked to judge character up close and personal, at the kind of distance she could either reach into a person’s soul with her mind, or rip their heart out, as necessity dictated. Chi Wu didn’t have a heart however. He was a black bureaucrat, a heartless facilitator of unquestioning conviction. This sharp-faced little creep was cut from the exact same cloth as the dark lords of the seventh floor at Langley. She looked at each of the men in turn and said, “So lets hear it. What have our Jihadi friends been up to this time?”
21
President Sung twisted in his seat, his sagging, waxy face twitching with a fleeting micro-expression that betrayed he was a man approaching the very limits of his patience. He corrected the tell very quickly, his heavy hands rising from the table to allow his thick, weathered fingers to tap slowly, thoughtfully together, as though he was gathering his thoughts to reveal a very uncomfortable truth. Finally, he said,
“Our great country has come under an increasing number of attacks during recent months. Our borders lie under constant siege, while internal dissidents ravage our infrastructure and terrorize our people. There is a great sea change coming in world events, a change that is heralded by a growing wave of counter-revolutionary dissent at every level of society.” Geng Sung took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “The People’s Government is wracked by internal conflict, and whilst the brave men and women of our armed forces remain loyal to the revolutionary cause, it has become clear from our extensive intelligence network, that traitors, dissidents and insurgent elements are conspiring to blacken the name of our great country.”
Karyn nodded. “What sort of conspiracy are we talking about?”
Geng Sung’s waxy face hung still for a moment, drops of perspiration beading ominously. “There was an incident Ms. Kane, over two months ago at a rail crossing close to Xingcheng air testing range, in the far northwest of our country. A supply train was hijacked while making a routine engineering stop. Such occurrences are not uncommon in the frontier provinces, but in this instance, the thieves took much more than usual. They stole a shipment of highly secret and experimental weapons, that were destined for field trials with the heroic People’s air force.”
Again Karyn nodded. Outwardly she was calm, but inside, the cold adrenaline was raging through her. “What kind of experimental weapons are we talking about?” She knew it was just a matter of time before the small-minded maniacs with big plans got their hands on a terror weapon—biological, chemical, even nuclear. What would the world do then? Military and governmental might was powerless to prevent a hit from such an asymmetrical attack. Millions would die, global catastrophe would ensue, and the small-minded men would surge out from the ideological underground, to fill the power vacuum left by collapsing empires. How many countless times had such scenarios played out in the forgotten past? Modernity was not safe and static, it was a place of flux—ever changing—moving forwards into swirling future, that could offer only depthless uncertainty. Karyn looked to Jack Senegar. She knew the news would be bad but she had no idea how bad.
“Our Uyghur friends got themselves a device Kane. An EMP device.”
Karyn blinked.
“An electro magnetic pulse weapon,” blurted Chi Wu, his voice high-strung and wavering.
Karyn didn’t move. She gave Senegar a steady look and said, “What kind of EMP weapon are we talking about? Nuclear or non nuclear?”
Chi Wu gave her a superior look. “A moot point Ms. Kane, these weapons are highly sophisticated, engineered by the greatest experts in the world—Chinese experts. They can be used in any capacity—high altitude nuclear burst, battlefield detonation, or static delivery.”
Karyn sniffed. “That’s real impressive. But scroll back a second. You said weapons—in the plural. Just how many of these damned things have gone missing?
Geng Sung gave his subordinate a cold glance then turned back towards Karyn. “Six devices were stolen, four of them have been recovered, three very soon after the theft occurred. But it is the recovery of the fourth device that gives us the most concern.”
Karyn nodded. “Where did your people find it?”
“If I might respond to that,” interjected Chi Wu, his tone brusque. “Our heroic security police, in conjunction with the Ministry of State Security have been tracking these devices for many days…”
“Karyn’s eyebrows curved higher, “Wait a second. You’ve been tracking these things and you haven’t picked them up yet? What the hell are you playing at?”
“A necessary subterfuge, in order that we might arrest the counter-revolutionary terrorists involved in this outrageous conspiracy,” snapped Chi Wu.
“Smooth work,” said Karyn, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “How did that work out?”
Chi Wu’s face grew heavy with latent fury. “You executed them Ms. Kane, every last one of them. The killers at Deng Tao’s funeral were the men we were after, and you shot them all. And now, we might never know where the last devices are located.”
Geng Sung stared at her. He dabbed lightly at his waxwork face with a large cotton handkerchief, then scrunched it in his restless fingers. “The devices have hidden satcom trackers. After the attack at the mausoleum, the location data went black. The terrorists must have found and disabled the trackers. But as I just mentioned, we were very fortunate to find the fourth device which was armed and ready to detonate.”
“It was hidden in the air-conditioning at the top of the Shanghai Tower,” said Jack Senegar his voice smooth and deadly.
“The tallest building in Asia,” added Chi Wu.
“Sky City—hospitals, schools—more than 30,000 residents,” said Karyn. If that place had detonated, it would have made 911 look like a liquor store shooting.”
Jack Senegar nodded. “And then there are the neighbors to consider. That building is slap-bang in the middle of the Lujiazui Finance and Trade Zone.
If Shanghai World Financial Center had blown, it would have taken out the Shanghai Stock Exchange and thrown the entire world into a global economic meltdown.”
Karyn looked at Geng Sung, “You caught the bomb though, didn’t you.”
“We caught it. But there are two more out there, powered by modulated neutron initiators and D-38 explosives.”
“Depleted uranium?” said Karyn. “So we are looking at a low-yield nuke that will fry every electronic device in a fifty-mile radius and create a carcinogenic cloud that will kill anyone who breathes it in.”
They looked glum then, all three of them. President Sung stared at his restless hands and scrunched the big white handkerchief very tightly, like that would somehow help.
22
Mumbai, Indi
a
It had been a very busy morning for Yolanda Madhuri. She had been on the set of her latest film at 4am, running through dance steps, consulting with her producer, director and agent. But things had not gone well. There had been more changes to the script and it wasn’t down to her this time. That bastard Director, Nashik Khadki had re-changed just about everything she had altered in the last re-write. He had done it just because he could, a petulant power play, to try and show her that he was the real driving force in the Bollywood movie industry and not her. Well, he was wrong. It was her the fans wanted to see, her name on the posters—illuminated by the glitzy lights up front of every cinema in India. And he—well, he was just a filthy old rapist who had screwed every actress between Kolkata and Mumbai. Sure, he had been something once, but not anymore. He was old and ugly and had a twentieth-century ego that meant nothing to the vibrant age of youth. In short, he was nothing more than a washed up old man. High time he retired to his mansion come whorehouse in the country, where he could indulge his revoltingly provincial needs with the local Dalit whores.
As the silver Rolls–Royce Phantom slid through the traffic chaos in the exclusive upper Worli neighborhood, Yolanda Madhuri relaxed back in her plush leather seat and gave a light sigh. She was stressing over nothing. She was young and rich and famous and powerful too. Problem was, not powerful enough. There was always another deal to be made, another film to cram into her already hectic schedule. And then, there were those who would see her fail—the jealous haters who resented her success. Such people always held their betrayal behind a smile of friendship of course. She tried to keep her distance, but it just wasn’t possible. Wherever she went, they were there, clutching at her, grasping, pressing in close with offers of phony friendship.
She could trust no one, especially her family. Yolanda had a lot to contend with. She was the youngest of nine children, seven spoiled little boys and jealous older sister who had hated her since the day she was born. Her mother and father were getting frail now and with their advancing age were becoming increasingly cantankerous and judgmental. They had never approved of her career path. They considered acting a Dalit profession, suitable only for painted whores and degenerates from the untouchable classes. They would have much preferred she had entered into a professional career. Yolanda’s siblings were lawyers and doctors and dentists. Her eldest brother Ranjit had even managed to ingratiate and bribe his way into local government. It was no surprise. Ranjit had always been a creep and a bully. How many times had he taunted her whilst she was growing up? Pulling at her hair, pinching her most cruelly and calling her the vilest names imaginable. Yolanda shuddered at the memories. She had tried in vain to scourge them from her consciousness, but they followed her daily, tormenting her wherever she went. She had heard from her western friends, that it was possible to break away from family commitments, if one so desired. But for Yolanda, her cultural ties and strict upbringing were too strong and unyielding to escape from. But, trapped as she was, her family dynamic had now changed. Her money and success had seen to that. Her family loved her money. Every single one of her siblings had come to her individually to plead for financial favors. It didn’t matter that they were all successful in their own right. Now that their little sister had made it in the world of whoredom, they all believed they were owed favors—a business loan, a home loan, help with a debt or personal crisis. The reasons were always plausible and heartfelt, and once met the requests just kept on coming, with increasing frequency. Once one sibling had been successful in their demands, the others felt they had been somehow slighted if they did not receive equal or even greater favors.
