Hong Kong Black: A Thriller (A Nick Foley Thriller)

by Alex Ryan

  “Stop!” Ling yelled, turning to face her men. “Weapons down.” Then she looked back at Zhang. “You have forty-eight hours. If you’re not back in Xi’an turning the Americans over to my custody, then I’m coming for you.”

  Zhang lowered his rifle and gestured with his hand for his Snow Leopard teammate to join the Americans in the van.

  “I understand,” he said.

  Ling walked over to him and placed a business card in the breast pocket of his uniform.

  “My contact information, should you need assistance finding your way to my office,” she said. Then, without a trace of warmth or humor, she whispered, “Consider my debt repaid. Oh, and Commander Zhang, the next time you point a weapon at me or my men will be the last mistake you make.”

  Zhang nodded, then stepped left, raised his rifle, and fired two three-round bursts into the engine compartment of the SUV. There was a loud squeal and then a hiss of steam. He shrugged.

  “In case you change your mind.”

  His eyes on Ling, he backed away and slipped into the driver’s seat of the van. He gunned the engine, spun the wheel, and headed back east on the highway. As they roared past the other SUV stuck in the ditch, two agents dressed in dark suits looked up and shouted inaudible curses. With a smirk on his face, Zhang looked in the rearview mirror at Nick in the back seat.

  “That was fucking insane,” Nick said, shaking his head.

  “You’ve got balls, Zhang,” Lankford laughed, joining in. “Giant, forged-from-steel, Snow Leopard balls. What you just did for us . . . Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “No offense, but I didn’t do it for you. This case is spiraling out of control, and I need your help.”

  “Give us the sitrep,” Nick said. “What happened at the museum?”

  Zhang grimaced. “They took Dr. Chen, and Lieutenant Chung is dead.”

  “Shit,” Lankford said.

  “We’ve gotta find her,” Nick said, clutching the QBZ-95 rifle cradled in his lap. “Every second we waste, the chances of finding her alive get worse.”

  “I know,” Zhang said, meeting Nick’s gaze, “but I promise, we’re not going to let that happen.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Nèiyè Biologic Citation II corporate jet

  24,000 feet, cruising altitude, en route from Xi’an to Hong Kong

  1645 hours local

  Her mouth was a desert . . . so parched and dry that Dash couldn’t gather enough saliva to wet her tongue or swallow. And her eyelids were iron curtains—so heavy that she couldn’t muster the energy to open them. Sleep beckoned. She was aware of the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest; the very sensation of breathing was a sweet lullaby.

  She let herself drift off . . .

  Her bed shook.

  Not her bed—she was slumped in a chair.

  Where am I?

  “Nick?” she mumbled.

  She tried to open her eyes, but it was too bright. She tried again, this time squinting until a blurry world grudgingly came into focus. She was on a plane—the private jet en route to Hong Kong. She’d missed her dinner with Nick because they had summoned her to investigate something that happened on Tung Wan Beach.

  It was just a dream . . . a strange, terrible dream.

  “You talk in your sleep,” a voice said.

  Adrenaline surged through her body like chemical lightning, scorching the brain fog away and jolting her completely awake.

  Sitting across the aisle from her was a man, a man she recognized. The name came to her a heartbeat later: Mr. Lu. But that was not his real name. Memories rushed in to fill the void the sedative had hollowed out in her mind; the imagery played like a film in fast-forward, starting with her arrival in Hong Kong all the way to the present. This was not a dream; she’d been taken. And Chung . . . Chung was most certainly dead.

  She scanned the rest of the cabin and confirmed her gut feeling: they were alone.

  “Tell me about Nick,” her kidnapper said and took a loud, crunching bite of apple.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve been mumbling on and on about Nick for the past hour. What is he to you?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Nick is none of your business.”

  He smiled at her—that perfectly symmetrical, polished, bone-chilling smile he’d flashed her when they’d first met. He had shed the suit coat and tie, his expensive and highly starched collar now open. There was a hint of tattoo ink above the V-neck undershirt, and his wiry forearms, now visible as his shirtsleeves were impeccably rolled to just below his elbows, were also painted in rich designs and symbols of black ink. She saw the symbol for “discipline” just above his right wrist.

  “The subconscious sings unbridled when the conscious mind is caged,” he said. “Do you love him?”

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, shunning his probe.

  He did not answer and instead took another bite of apple, staring at her while he chewed. He no longer looked like the businessman she had met, but instead a predator of sorts. A predator and a murderer, she corrected herself.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked again, emphasizing each syllable, her anger rising in tandem with her fear.

  “You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours. That’s how it works, Dr. Chen.”

  A chill ran down her neck. Dr. Chen . . . oh God, he knows my real identity, but how?

  “I’ll ask you again—tell me about Nick?”

  “Nick is a friend,” she stammered. “Now where are you taking me?”

  “I’m taking you to see my organ-harvesting operation,” he said flatly. “Does Nick work for the American CIA?”

  “No. Where specifically are you taking me?”

  “Hong Kong. Are you in love with Nick?”

  “No,” she snapped. “Where in Hong Kong?”

  “That is a lie, so it appears our question-and-answer time is over,” he said and took another bite of apple.

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Staring at a bottle of water on his tray, she tried to moisten her lips with her tongue, but it was futile.

  To her surprise, he handed the bottle to her.

  She took it and inspected the cap to see if it had been opened. The tamper seal was intact.

  “Don’t worry, it is just water,” he said, bemused.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. The loathing she felt for him was beyond words, but it was not enough to trump her thirst. She unscrewed the cap and sucked down half the bottle, glaring at him as she did. To get out of this situation alive, she needed a cool head. Antagonizing him would not help her cause. What she needed to do was stall the inevitable. She had to give Nick and Zhang time to reconstruct the events at the museum and pursue her. Undoubtedly, they were playing catch-up, and it was unlikely they would leave Xi’an without first knowing her location. If her captor was telling the truth about Hong Kong, then help was a plane flight away, and that wasn’t good enough. She suddenly remembered the wireless transmitter Zhang and Nick had insisted that she wear, and a wave of hope washed over her. She subtly felt for the lump on her sternum where she had taped it between her breasts, under her bra.

  “Looking for this?” he said, reaching into the front right pocket of his expensive slacks and dangling the transmitter in front of her.

  A wave of nausea washed over her. She wasn’t sure which was worse: having lost her lifeline to Nick and Zhang or knowing that this monster had strip-searched her while she was unconscious. She shuddered at the thought of his hands crawling all over her.

  “If you were counting on a valiant rescue, I’m afraid your friend Nick will not be able to help you. The only person on this planet who knows where you are right now is me.”

  “I still don’t understand what this is all about. Why did you take me?”

  He took a final bite of apple and set the core down on his plate. He brushed his hands together delicately, the mannerism strangely feminine. “My name is not
Mr. Lu,” he said, looking at her.

  “I figured that out already.”

  “My real name is Xue Shi Feng. I am the Chief Operations Officer of Nèiyè Biologic,” he said. “You don’t look surprised, Dr. Chen. Why is that?”

  “We’ve suspected Nèiyè Biologic was behind all this since the beginning.”

  “Since Tung Wan Beach?”

  “Since Peter Yu’s murder,” she replied.

  He nodded. “Yes, that was bad luck, him being a CIA spy. Now that I think back on everything, killing Yu was the beginning of the end. When I discovered he was CIA, I should have transferred his girlfriend to our Shanghai office and put everything on hold until he lost interest in our operation and shifted his attention elsewhere. But the problem was that I didn’t have time. Our clients don’t have the luxury of time, you see. Mother does not have the luxury of time.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s a truly remarkable woman, my mother. The sacrifices she made, the love and devotion she showed me growing up . . . I would do anything for her. I’m sure you can relate. I’m sure you feel the same unconditional love for your mother.”

  She nodded cautiously.

  “Good, so long as you know this is not personal. Your blood type, physical characteristics, exemplary physical health—these matches are purely coincidental, I assure you. Despite the good fortune, it did create quite the conundrum for me. It would have been so much easier to have simply had you killed. Kidnapping is so much more complicated and dangerous.”

  The expression he wore was disturbing, and she felt a chill rise up her spine. Her stomach tightened, nearly giving back the half bottle of water she’d drunk.

  “It was clever of you to use Gang Jin to contact me,” he continued. “Very, very clever. I didn’t see that coming. Then the money wired promptly from an offshore account in good standing. The false credentials your people prepared were flawless. Not a single red flag popped up during our vetting process until . . .” He smiled, licked his lips, and then wiped them dry with a napkin. “Do you want to know what was your undoing? Do you want to know your foil?”

  She stared at him, desperate to know but not willing to give him the satisfaction he craved.

  “It was your face. I could never forget a face like yours. You are a modern-day Helen of Troy. A true archetypal beauty that no amount of digital camouflage can hide.”

  He reached out to stroke her cheek, but she jerked her head back.

  “I do my homework, Dr. Chen,” he chuckled. “I know all about your little task force. I know about the mighty Commander Zhang and the sly Major Li . . . may he rest in peace.”

  “You murdered Li,” she said, more an accusation than a question.

  “Of course. He got too close. You were all getting too close.”

  “Zhang will find you, and when he does, you’ll pay dearly for what you’ve done.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. Despite all his bluster, Commander Zhang doesn’t have the mental faculties to compete in this game. As a unit, your task force was formidable—Zhang was the brawn, you were the brains, and Li was the guile—but separate you from each other and what’s left?” Feng chuckled. “Nothing but an acronym.”

  She felt her face flush, and she looked away from him. There was truth in his words, and suddenly she wondered if her fate was sealed. Could Zhang find and rescue her on his own? But as tears rimmed her eyes, hope whispered in her head.

  Zhang isn’t alone . . . he has Lankford and Nick. Feng probably doesn’t know that Lankford is still alive, and Lankford is every bit the tactician that Li was. And Nick has escaped Feng’s hit squads on three occasions. That’s why he kept probing me about Nick. Maybe he’s not afraid of Zhang and the Snow Leopards, but he’s afraid of Nick, and he’s definitely afraid of the CIA . . .

  “Did you know I’m the one who chose the name of the company, not Dr. Yao?” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Nèiyè was entirely my idea.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you know the meaning of the word?”

  She shook her head.

  “The origin of the term comes from Daoist meditation,” he said with entirely too much self-satisfaction. “It means ‘inner training’—the cultivation of the mind, body, and spirit of the self by the self.”

  Epiphany washed over her like cold rain. “Nèiyè Biologic—self-cultivation through biology . . . self-cultivation through CRISPR.”

  “Very good, Dr. Chen,” Feng laughed, clapping his hands. “No one ever makes the connection. People love to think in their little boxes. Not you. I knew I could count on you to appreciate my vision.”

  “What vision is that?” she asked, taking another drink of water.

  “To fix the broken genetic machinery inside each and every one of us. To stop the suffering and the pain. Defects passed down from father to son, from mother to daughter, will soon be eradicated. Soon, very soon, I will be able to live in peace,” he said and then in a whisper added, “Soon I will be able to slay the beast inside.”

  “Are you ill?” she asked, the physician in her looking him over as she would a patient.

  “Ill? No, just hungry.” He laughed. “Always and forever hungry—until I can cleave and replace that which ails me. Just a few more trials. A little more data, and I should be ready.”

  “You want to use CRISPR on yourself?” she asked, incredulous. “You intend to edit your own genome?”

  “It is my life’s ambition,” he said, smiling at her. “And Yao’s.”

  “CRISPR Cas9 is dangerous,” she said, as if talking to a child playing with fire. “You know they tried this in Guangzhou. Junjiu Huang experimented on nonviable human embryos to remove the gene responsible for the blood disorder beta thalassemia, but the success rate was less than forty percent.”

  “Huang is an amateur,” Feng sneered. “His team is years behind us.”

  “So you’ve solved the problem of off-target mutations?”

  Feng shrugged.

  “Then how do you prevent the CRISPR Cas9 complex from acting on other parts of the genome you don’t want affected? How do you prevent unintended germ-line mutations?”

  “If only we had more time. There is so much I could show you, so much I could teach you.”

  “I’m sure,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper.

  “We’ll continue this conversation later,” he said, watching her like a salivating wolf eyeing its prey. With an odious smile, he settled back into his chair and crossed his legs. “You look like you are getting sleepy again,” he said, unfolding a magazine from the selection in the large holder beside them on the bulkhead. Immunobiochemistry, she saw was the name of the journal.

  And then she did feel sleepy. And dizzy.

  “The water,” she said, her voice slurring. “How did you . . .”

  Her eyelids became heavy—iron curtains once again lowered between her and the disturbing man sitting across from her.

  “So trusting, even now,” he chuckled to himself as he thumbed to the next page of the journal.

  Then he was gone behind her eyelids.

  And she drifted off into a nightmare that a little voice sang would soon become her reality.

  CHAPTER 27

  Citation X executive jet

  En route to Hong Kong International Airport

  1715 hours local

  Nick felt nothing except the crushing weight of time as he willed the biz jet to go faster in pursuit of the man they’d identified as Xue Shi Feng. After leaving Agent Ling and her MSS team stranded on the side of the highway, they’d worked with lightning efficiency. Based on museum security camera footage, a stop at Nèiyè Biologic headquarters, and a radio conversation with Xi’an air traffic control, they’d developed a complete tactical picture. Dash was with Feng in one of the Nèiyè corporate jets flying south to Hong Kong, and the bastard had a fifty-five-minute head start. The Citation X that Zhang had “acquired” from a friendly regional asset cruised one
hundred and sixty knots faster than the older Citation II that Feng was flying. Simple math told Nick that they would whittle a full forty minutes off of Feng’s lead by the time they landed. Depending on Feng’s next move, there might still be time . . .

  He looked at his watch for the thousandth time since takeoff.

  This is all my fault. I’m the one who agreed to her plan, but then I stayed behind in the van. It was my job to protect her. Now it’s my job to get her back.

  Zhang settled into the seat across the aisle from him. “We’ve only been airborne for fifteen minutes, Nick.”

  “I know,” he said, “but this is killing me. That maniac has Dash, and there’s no telling what he intends to do with her.”

  Zhang nodded. “I feel the same pressure as you.”

  Nick made eye contact with the Snow Leopard Commander. “If he touches one fucking hair on her head . . .”

  “Don’t worry, Nick. I have a team mobilizing to the Hong Kong airport as we speak,” Zhang said, his voice low and confident. “The instant Feng’s plane touches down, we’ll take him.”

  “Feng is clever. He knows we’re onto him, which is why he took Dash as a hostage. This is his end game, and she’s his insurance policy for getting out of China alive.”

  “I assigned my best Snow Leopard sniper to the team. If necessary, we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Nick nodded.

  The lavatory door opened, and Lankford emerged. He ambled over to join them and took the bucket seat in front of Zhang. “All right,” Lankford said, swiveling the chair around to face them. “Can somebody please explain to me why the hell this bastard would kidnap Dash and fly to Hong Kong? And don’t say he’s using her as an insurance policy for getting out of China.”

  Nick looked at Zhang and then back to Lankford. “I think that’s exactly what’s going on.”

  Lankford shook his head. “No, it doesn’t make sense. If Feng wanted to disappear, he would have made arrangements to fly directly to Vietnam—somewhere that Zhang doesn’t have jurisdiction and can’t easily marshal resources to intercept him on the ground. In that scenario, he’s in the wind before we even get clearance to land. But in this scenario, he knows the odds are stacked against him.”