In the eleventh courtyard she saw the small shard. It was by the door, no bigger than a quarter, but in a facility that was impeccably clean, in a restricted, untrafficked area, it might as well have been a large neon sign.
Annie held up her pistol, ejected the clip, slammed home a new one, and held the gun high, ready to shoot. She had been trained in how to secure a room, how to stay alive when entering enemy territory. She knew how to maintain focus, how not to succumb to fear, how to gain the upper hand and hold on to it.
She kicked in the door, crouched low, and swept her gun about the room—but there was no movement, only dark shadows cast by the light wash through the door. She took a step in. There was no mistaking the water on the floor, the wet footprints, but they only entered the room, they never left. Keeping her back to the wall, she inched along, clearing the corners. She checked the ancillary room, empty but for a single desk and chair.
She turned back to the main room, but as she rolled in, spinning around, gun still held high as a precaution, she never anticipated the attack. It wasn’t from bullets or knives; it wasn’t even from a person.
Annie stepped upon the carpet in the center of the room and it was as if a creature from hell had taken hold. She plunged through the hole, the carpet leading the way, tumbling down into an abyss.
She twisted and turned as she fell through space, her head hitting the ladder, her hands and feet scrambling for purchase, her eyes enveloped in darkness. The rifle on her back sparked as it scraped the wall, and she violently swung out her hands and feet, desperate to save herself. Suddenly, her left hand caught the rail, wrenching her shoulder, her body jolting to a stop, arcing downward, slamming into the ladder. She grabbed tight with both hands, planting her feet firmly. She caught her breath, closing her eyes to gain her composure, angry at herself for falling victim to someone like KC. Ignoring the pain, she descended.
It was farther than she imagined, but she wasn’t sure if it was just an illusion from the darkness. She hit the water and grabbed the rifle from her back, holding it high, keeping it dry. She reached forward along the stock, flipping on the weapon’s light. Shining it around, she found herself in the base of a well. She sloshed through the arched door into a small stone room, three doors facing her.
Pointing her rifle about, the bright weapon light casting its harsh white glow upon the stone, cavelike space, Annie looked for traces of KC, and soon found her wet footprints leading out of the tunnel to her left. For nearly one hundred paces she followed them until they gradually disappeared. She continued, the ceiling rising and falling, the smell of damp earth all about. She finally came to three tunnels and examined the ground, looking for disturbances, for any sign, but there was no indication of which way KC had gone.
Annie flipped on the rifle’s laser sight and the small red dot danced on the far wall within the circular glow of the weapon’s white light, like a shifting bull’s-eye target whose pinpoint center meant certain death.
CHAPTER 40
THE VENETIAN
When Michael, Busch, Jon, and Carl boarded the elevator they found a large, silent guard standing there, his gun visible as he hit the button and the cab began its ascent.
“Do you know what happened?” Carl asked the guard in Chinese.
The man shook his head no, as if he were shaking off a bug.
“Well,” Jon added, “I’m not getting stuck down here.”
The guard turned his attention to Jon and pointed to the case.
“Yes?” Jon responded.
“Please, open your briefcase.”
Jon stared at the man, annoyed. But he put the case down, flipped the lock, and pointed at the case. “Go ahead.”
The guard reached down and lifted the lid to see the mess of papers. Without a word he closed the case. Jon relocked it.
“I’ll be sure to let management know of your diligence,” Jon said in Chinese. And though Michael and Busch had no idea what he was saying, there was no mistaking the false anger in his tone.
The elevator doors parted and Michael and the others exited into the main floor staging area to find Shi standing there by his cart of gambling chips. Michael could see the worry in his eyes as a guard waved his wand over the cart. A moment later his screen displayed the expected amount and Shi was waved on.
SHI HAD FIVE stops to make: the Golden Fish, the Red Dragon, the Imperial House, and the Phoenix gaming areas. But his first destination was the private rooms, the high-stakes secluded suites where a single room could turn over as much money in an hour as the Red Dragon gaming area could turn over in a night. High-stakes games, with the wealthiest clientele, always came first in catering, drinks, amenities, comps, and availability of high-stakes chips.
Escorted by a guard, Shi wheeled his way along the outside edge of the Golden Fish gaming area. He walked at a steady pace, with the same demeanor he had every night he worked, his face never displaying the fear he felt for his daughter.
MICHAEL, BUSCH, AND Jon walked through the center of the Golden Fish area toward the central lobby. Michael kept Shi in his peripheral vision while Jon and Busch continued to talk and walk, all the while looking ahead so as not to draw attention.
They hung a left and arrived at the private elevator to the private gaming rooms. A guard motioned them to the waiting elevator just as Shi and his cart arrived. Michael, Busch, and Jon entered the elevator, but the guard motioned Shi to stop as he withdrew his wand and verified the cart’s contents.
The three watched as the doors slid closed, cutting them off from their prize.
Within moments, the doors opened and they exited into the private area. It was a large, circular space, plush, the walls covered in silk, doorways and floors made of a deep cherry wood. They noted four hallways running off in various directions, numerous private rooms off each branch. There was a hush over the space, a near reverential silence for those who gambled millions.
A short man of mixed heritage stood in the center, impeccably dressed in a suit and a crimson tie; his countenance was firm but welcoming as he nodded to them. “What might your entertainment be for the evening, gentlemen?”
“Baccarat,” Michael said. “But I will need to reload our chips.”
Jon reached in his breast pocket and withdrew his billfold to reveal a large amount of bills.
“We’d be happy to accommodate you. A replenishment of chips is just arriving.”
The man motioned them into a room where a croupier stood in wait at a small table covered in green felt. In the corner was a young woman with dark eyes and full lips, wearing a black cocktail dress. Her beauty surpassed that of any woman seen downstairs. She waved her hand at a well-tended bar, offering her services for whatever they desired.
Michael smiled and pulled out his BlackBerry, happy to see that his email had gone through. He typed a single word, left it in the queue to be sent, and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He pulled out the small electronic box; glancing at it, he saw the tiny red dot drifting away.
“We may have a problem,” Michael said. But then they heard elevator doors open, and moments later, Shi, accompanied by the guard, pushed the cart through the open doorway.
“What problem?” Busch asked.
“Never mind,” Michael said as Shi and the guard stepped into the private room.
THE SECURITY CAMERAS were well concealed. There were two in the lobby ceiling, two on either end of the hall, and two in either corner of the room they now stood in, positioned to capture the greatest breadth. It didn’t take Michael much searching; he knew where he would place them if he were hired to protect the room.
There was a single blind spot. The two cameras were positioned in order to overlap each other’s blind spot, but if a large object was in the way, the security view of the room would be obscured. Michael knew they couldn’t bring in a tarp or any large object, but he didn’t need to. The casino would accommodate his every need.
As the cart entered the room, it was like a well-reh
earsed magic trick. Shi removed two cases of chips and handed them to the croupier. He turned the cart sideways, its placement by the corner now blocking the camera’s view of the corner. He picked up his digital inventory pad and began entering data.
All eyes were on the croupier as he opened the maroon box to verify the contents of large-denomination chips. His hands obscured by the cart, Jon reached in and silently pulled out the metal case, lifted the lid of Michael’s wide banker’s briefcase, pushed aside the false top, and dropped it in. Covering it with the false top, he locked up the case.
It took all of two seconds, and then Shi turned the cart and pushed it out the door.
And immediately, the room flooded with guards, fifteen strong, all dressed in a uniform of blue blazer and gray pants. They were led by two men, both of mixed Asian heritage.
Michael reached into his pocket, wrapped his hand about his BlackBerry, and with no one aware of what he was doing, pressed the Send button, the programmed message instantly dispatched.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, you need to come with us,” the taller man said in perfect, unaccented English.
“What are the charges?” Jon said, as if nothing was wrong.
The second man took the briefcase from Jon, opened it, and removed the metal box. He laid it upon the table, examining it, turning it around. “I’ll tell you what the charges are if you tell me what’s in the box.”
But Michael, Busch, and Jon remained silent.
“We can open it here or downstairs,” the second man said, running his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Whatever you prefer. There is a reason the Venetian has yet to be robbed.”
“No, we’ll open it right here,” the tall man said as he reached over, unhasped the lock of the metal box, and lifted the lid. The man took an unnaturally deep breath, his face a mask, his emotions concealed.
The team of guards stood in silent anticipation.
He finally looked up at his partner but was at a loss for words.
Michael and Busch exchanged a glance, confused.
The tall man slowly reached in the case, grasped its contents, and lifted it out as if he was handling a newborn child, a priceless artifact. But as he lifted it out, the entire room fell into shock. Some remained stoic while others averted their eyes; some out of shock, some out of respect.
He gripped it by its long auburn hair, the face pale, drained of life.
Busch was in shock, as he had seen the woman just hours earlier at McSorley’s, her face brightly lit, smiling in anticipation of love.
“Oh, God,” Busch said as he stared into the dead, vacant eyes. Her red hair was perfect, as if it had just been done, though her face was ghostly, her makeup in harsh, frightening contrast against the pale, drained skin.
The life was sucked out of the room; no one said a word as all eyes were drawn to the gruesome sight.
For they were staring into the dead eyes of Pamela Weiss.
CHAPTER 41
THE FORBIDDEN CITY
KC walked through the rocky tunnel, her flashlight shifting from the map to the passage ahead. While Jenna had marked the map with compass settings, she had no way to know which way was north. She knew she had to maintain focus, for if she was turned around even ninety degrees she would be lost.
“Do you hear me?” Annie’s voice startled KC. It reverberated off the walls, seeming to come from everywhere. It was filled with a rage that was amplified not only by the rocky surroundings but by the darkness that lay just beyond the beam of her light.
“Do you hear me, KC? I know you do.”
KC froze, turning off her flashlight. She crouched down against the wall, losing herself in the dark. She tucked her light into her bag, pulled her knees to her chest, and listened.
“You don’t need to answer, just listen,” Annie yelled. “The farther you run from me, the closer you are to death.”
KC held her breath, unsure where Annie was, hoping the cover of darkness would hide her.
“I know about your headaches,” Annie continued. “I know about your bloody noses.”
Thirty seconds of silence filled the air, seeming like an eternity.
“They are just the beginning. Soon the infection will grow more painful, crippling.”
KC inhaled, her mind clouded with fear and confusion.
“You are dying, KC, and the only way you can save yourself, and everyone else, is by giving me that box.”
CHAPTER 42
THE VENETIAN
Lian hung up his cell phone and tucked it into his pocket as he walked out the main door of the Venetian. He stepped to the circular curb, where a sea of Mercedeses, Range Rovers, and BMWs lay in wait. There were no Lexuses or any Japanese cars, sentiment still running strong against their country of origin.
On his shoulder he carried his black satchel. It was creasing his freshly pressed Zegna jacket, but the money he’d made this evening helped to deaden his anxiety over his wrinkled appearance.
Several car attendants jumped to his side, offering him a ride, but Lian spotted the black Range Rover five cars away, the rear door held open by a driver who nodded at him.
Lian walked across the drive. The Range Rover’s windows were blacked out and its driver was nondescript, he and the vehicle blending in with the dozens of other cars waiting to pick up their exhausted charges, who were more than likely drained both financially and physically from wrestling with the odds.
Lian stepped into the vehicle to find the man sitting alone in silence. He held up a three of spades, the card Lian had been told to look for to confirm his identity. Lian held his satchel close to his right side, concealing it from the man. Lian had been hired by Jon Lei, who’d contacted him twenty-four hours ago, in the middle of the night. The money was well above his normal rate and would settle a host of debts he currently held while leaving him with more than enough money for the coming months. His instructions were detailed and explicit.
He had picked up the high-end satchel with its metal case several hours ago. He’d never questioned its contents or what he would be stealing. At the age of thirteen, when he’d committed his first crime on behalf of the Black Dragon Triad, he had learned never to question the task expected of him. Whether it was stealing from a business, burning down a building, or killing someone, the less he knew of the details and motivations, the more clearheaded he would be while carrying out the deed and the less guilt he would feel when the task was done.
He had been given the room key, traveled upstairs, and slipped the key card into the door. But as he entered the suite, he didn’t expect to be walking into the barrel of a gun.
He knew the gun, but more important, he knew the man who wielded it.
Gan Jie Kang was a cleaner, a fixer, someone who could make a crime disappear, be it evidence, witnesses, or bodies. He was always in high demand, not only for his success rate but for his thoroughness and speed.
But before he could react, before Kang pulled the trigger, the gun was lowered and tucked away. Without a word, Kang disappeared into the bathroom.
Lian looked about the opulent suite and spied the bag on the desk. He entered the living room, opened the bag, and found the case already inside along with a loaded pistol and an envelope of cash.
He threw the bag over his shoulder and headed out. He wasn’t sure why Kang was there, but he understood the older man’s presence when he looked through the open doorway to the bathroom. The white tile was covered in dark blood, the wall marked with a thin streak as if it had been painted there with a fine, narrow brush.
A body lay in the center of the large bathroom; it was female. She was dressed in an elegant business suit, jewels upon her fingers, confirming it wasn’t a robbery. She was Caucasian; her long legs left no doubt. She had been dead for several hours—the darkened blood on the floor indicated that. But it was the means of death that sent a chill through Lian. It was old-school, done by an expert. No one had used that method lately except for Xiao. And if he was involved
…
Lian grabbed the satchel and left Kang to do his job alone.
LIAN HAD ARRIVED at the tables in the Golden Fish at 1:00 a.m., casually gambling a few thousand dollars away, knowing that losers always blended in at a casino, becoming invisible to all eyes. He sat at the furthermost blackjack table, nearest the service doors, his back to the wall, his gaze floating about. His mind kept jumping to the headless body. Truth be told, he had seen plenty of death, but this… This was different. It was a woman, a ritual killing meant to make a point, to instill fear. And if Xiao had committed it, Lian was in fear of his life.
Just after two, right on schedule, he spotted Jon and the two Americans coming down the main hall in their crisp new suits, looking as if they were going to a meeting. They met a casino employee and disappeared through the service doors.
Thirty minutes later, they emerged from the service door thirty feet behind a large cart filled with chips. Lian folded his pair of jacks, grabbed his now meager chips, and casually left the table. He stayed back, watching as Jon and his two friends took the outside route, the dark-haired American’s eyes on his prize as it wheeled its way to the private elevator on the other side of the Golden Fish area that served the VIP gambling suites two levels up.
He made his move as Jon and the two men stepped into the cab and disappeared, leaving the chip-filled cart to wait for the next cab.
As the second elevator arrived, Lian stepped up to the guard and whispered his intent to kill him right there. The man had a choice: let him make a quick and simple exchange and leave or get killed and let the exchange take place anyway.
“The cameras will see you.”
“The cameras don’t see everything.” Lian said. He had been told exactly where to stand, where all of the blind spots were. “Try to reveal what I am doing and you will surely die.”
Lian pulled aside the two center maroon boxes of chips to reveal the metal case. He had been told it would be there, but seeing it still surprised him.
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