‘Oh, I’ve no intention of throwing you over …’ said the Director, seeing the flash of alarm behind the agent’s steel-framed glasses. ‘I merely wanted to remind you of that promise.’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Yuan replied quickly, conscious of the Director’s security guard standing at her shoulder. ‘My men eliminated the surveillance tutor and captured the colonel.’
The Director cut out a thin slice of apple and popped it in her mouth. ‘But still you failed to recover the flash drive and allowed Connor and his associate to slip through your fingers.’
The criticism as stinging as a slap to the face, Yuan stood a little more stiffly. ‘I’ve agents scouring the country,’ she reassured her boss. ‘Eyes are everywhere. Ears are listening. No stone is being left unturned.’
‘So, what stone are they hiding under?’ pressed the Director, taking a step closer. ‘It’s been three days already.’
‘My agents have reported nothing so far,’ admitted Yuan.
‘Absolutely nothing?’
Yuan squirmed under her boss’s fierce gaze. ‘Well, a couple of Triad gang members – low-level agents – were beaten up. But that just turned out to be a grandmother who didn’t want her shopping stolen!’
The Director raised an eyebrow and pointed the tip of the fruit knife at Yuan. ‘Perhaps I should be hiring her instead of you? I needn’t stress how vital to Equilibrium’s future that drive is. It cannot be allowed to leave China.’
Yuan bowed her head. ‘I’m aware of its importance. That’s why I manipulated the station incident to appear as a terrorist attack. The police and state security are now searching for the fugitives too. With their combined resources, we’ll –’
‘Ah yes, the station incident. That did draw a great deal of unwanted attention and state involvement. For which I hold you solely responsible.’ The Director scuffed the sole of her shoe on the ground. ‘Do you know why the slaughterhouse’s floors were made this rough?’
Yuan glanced down at the tiny ridges of concrete beneath her feet and shook her head.
‘To prevent the cattle from slipping … even in their own blood.’
Yuan looked up, startled, as the security guard seized her by the roots of her hair and wrenched her head back. The Director leant in and hissed into her ear, ‘Equilibrium must remain in the shadows.’
With one quick slice, the Director drew the fruit knife across Yuan’s throat. Blood spurted in an arc over the concrete floor. ‘I warned you not to fail me.’
The guard let Yuan’s body slump to the ground. As the agent lay dying, Mr Grey strode across one of the air bridges to the gallery, stepping nonchalantly over the rivulets of blood running down the slope.
‘Wasn’t that a little rash?’ questioned Mr Grey, as the Director wiped the blood from her fruit knife and continued to peel the apple.
‘Don’t question my authority, Mr Grey!’
The assassin observed the guard dragging away the agent’s corpse for disposal. ‘I only ask because I wonder who’s going to lead the operation now?’
‘You are,’ said the Director, pointing the fruit knife at him.
Mr Grey’s nostrils flared and his lips tightened into a thin line. ‘I’d best be on my guard then – in case you decide to terminate my contract too.’
The assassin locked eyes with the Director. A tense silence fell. Then the Director smiled. ‘You’re not a man prone to failure, so I don’t anticipate having to cull any more of my herd. Now I trust you’re coming to tell me you’ve made progress with the colonel.’
Mr Grey nodded. ‘I must admire the man’s resilience. It certainly made my work a joy, even if he has made you wait. But they all break eventually.’
‘Good. Then talk as we walk.’ The Director headed down a flight of stairs and across an air bridge.
‘As suspected, Connor has the flash drive,’ Mr Grey explained as they marched along a corridor lined with medical labs. ‘The contents are genuine. Their destination is – or at least was – Hong Kong and ultimately London. The colonel has no idea where Connor and Amir are now. That I’m sure of.’
‘What about the local boy?’ asked the Director.
Mr Grey snorted. ‘Not a contact at all. A mere tour guide. Name of Zhen. No further trace of the boy, although we did find his rickshaw abandoned nearby outside.’
The Director came to an abrupt halt and shot the assassin a look of alarm. ‘Outside the Hive?’
Mr Grey nodded. ‘CCTV footage shows a boy in a pollution mask approaching the entrance the day before the colonel and his team attempted to flee to Hong Kong.’
‘What was he up to?’
‘It wasn’t the tour guide. It was Connor. I suspect he was trying to contact Charley.’
‘Really?’ The Director’s mood lightened. Through a lab observation window, the blonde-haired Buddyguard recruit could be seen struggling with a pair of crutches, a doctor assessing her progress.
‘Connor’s loyalty to his friends is his weakness,’ said the assassin with a disparaging smirk. ‘And Charley is his Achilles heel.’
Connor took his frustration out on the muk yan jong. He hammered the wooden post with his fists, beating a furious rhythm as he practised his Iron Hand strikes. Over the past couple of days Lăolao had switched the sack of rice to one of heavy sand, then that morning, gravel, to further condition his hands. She’d continued to test his Iron Shirt technique too and, whether he was getting the hang of it or was now simply numb to the pain, he no longer collapsed every time she whacked him in the gut. Zhen said that was progress.
But infuriatingly slow progress was being made with both the flash drive and their escape plan.
They still hadn’t heard anything from Zhen’s cousin and time was fast running out. As much as he’d built a rapport with the austere Lăolao – if one could call being beaten daily by a stick a ‘rapport’ – Connor didn’t doubt that her week-long deadline remained in place. They’d be forced to leave their safe haven in less than forty-eight hours. Yet they had nowhere else to go.
The flash drive was their only trump card, their only hold over Equilibrium. If they could access the information, then they might be able to use it to their advantage – either to threaten Equilibrium or to undermine its efforts to capture them. Sat Buddha-like in the corner of the courtyard, his IT-savvy friend was working all hours to create a decryption program, his brow permanently knitted as he typed in streams of complex coding.
Connor shook the tension from his hands, breathed in and regenerated the qi in his fists. The pummelling of the post kept his mind off the constant threat that loomed over them and the impossible task ahead. But he couldn’t keep his mind off Charley …
Her angelic face haunted his dreams and her gentle reassuring voice interrupted his thoughts. His heart ached at her absence as well as her treachery. He still struggled deep down to believe that she’d turned traitor. Yet Colonel Black had been convinced. The video of her disclosure had been proof, and Mr Grey had confirmed her collusion with the enemy. Her betrayal was irrefutable. But how Connor wished he could still be in her arms – to feel safe, secure and happy as he’d done before his whole world had fallen apart.
Connor resumed his relentless battering of the muk yan jong. As he thumped the hard wood, he wondered what had happened to their friends, instructors and the other Buddyguard recruits. Where were they? Was Equilibrium holding them to ransom? Or had they now been killed like Bugsy and Colonel Black? He felt a surge of anger at the idea. Fury fuelling his punches and fanning the flames of his qi, Connor let loose a barrage of strikes against the post. The muk yan jong rocked under his onslaught …
Then Connor stopped, panting heavily, his rage spent. He stared in slack-jawed awe at the post. His knuckles had left dents in the wood. In his heightened emotional state, he’d somehow mastered Iron Hand!
But Connor didn’t get long to savour his accomplishment. All of a sudden he had the distinct feeling he was being watched. He glanced over
his shoulder. Amir’s head was buried in his screen. Lăolao was asleep in her bedroom. And Zhen, he knew, was out shopping.
Then Connor caught a flicker of movement. A young boy’s face peered through the slats of the courtyard window. Their eyes met and there was a moment of alarm in both their gazes. The boy bolted before Connor could reach him. At the same time the front door swung open and Zhen came bustling in.
‘Good news!’ she said, dumping the two shopping bags. ‘My cousin has a shift driving haulage to Hong Kong.’
Connor rushed to the shutter. The little window overlooked a narrow dead-end path that was occasionally frequented by old men fishing in the murky canal. But that afternoon no one was there. Then Connor spotted the young boy scurrying across the bridge.
‘He says he’ll need money to bribe the customs officers and cover his own risk,’ said Zhen, oblivious to the fleeing child. She bit her lower lip and looked over at Connor awkwardly. ‘Fifty thousand yuan.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Amir, his concentration broken at the startling amount. ‘We don’t have that sort of money.’
Losing sight of the boy, Connor glanced down at his wrist. ‘What about this?’ he said, offering Zhen the bracelet the birthday girl Maria had given him in Mexico. In all the frantic and crazy turmoil of the past fortnight, he hadn’t taken it off and, until that moment, had forgotten all about it. ‘It’s solid gold, worth several thousand dollars.’
Zhen inspected the gleaming bracelet. ‘That should cover it,’ she said, pocketing the piece of jewellery.
‘So when do we go?’ asked Amir.
‘In two days.’
‘Two days!’ exclaimed Connor, thinking of the little boy who’d spied on them. ‘We might not have two days.’
‘You need to eat,’ said Zhen, urging him to join them for breakfast.
Connor stopped his anxious pacing of the courtyard and sat down. Dour as ever, Lăolao dumped a large bowl of congee in front of him. He had no appetite; nonetheless he forced a spoonful of the thick rice porridge into his mouth. With the possibility of capture hanging over their heads, this could well be his last full meal for a long while.
‘Perhaps the boy didn’t tell anyone,’ said Amir, half an eye on the decryption program he’d finished late the previous night and was now running on the tablet as he tucked into his own bowl. ‘It’s been twelve hours and we’ve seen nothing suspicious. He might not have even made the connection between you and the Shanghai attack.’
Connor desperately wanted to believe that. But the way the boy had fled across the bridge told another story.
‘How old was the boy?’ asked Zhen, pouring herself a cup of black tea and taking a sip.
Connor shrugged. ‘Six, maybe seven.’
‘Then, even if he did tell someone, they might not believe him. Anyway, Zhouzhuang gets lots of tourists. It’s not unusual to see a foreign boy around here.’
Connor rubbed the weariness from his eyes. ‘I honestly hope you’re right. For all our sakes.’
Putting aside her teacup, Zhen offered a reassuring smile. ‘You both just need to keep your heads down for another twenty-four hours. We’re due to meet my cousin at five tomorrow morning at the highway junction. He’ll stop the truck just long enough for you to climb into the back of the trailer. Inside he’s loaded an empty crate along with the other containers. You’re to hide in there. The trip should take no more than a day. Since you won’t be able to come out again until you’re in Hong Kong, he’s left food and water in the crate.’
Amir cleared his throat. ‘What about going to the toilet?’
Zhen grimaced. ‘I’m guessing … there’ll be a bucket for you.’
Wrinkling his nose at the prospect, Amir returned to his decryption program.
‘We’ll cope,’ said Connor, now thinking twice about eating all his rice porridge. ‘I’ll put up with anything to get out of this country alive.’
Zhen lowered her gaze, her attention suddenly absorbed by the tea leaves in her cup. She seemed both sad and troubled. She spoke softly. ‘My cousin can’t guarantee you safe passage. Customs officers may search the truck. If you’re discovered, he’ll deny everything. You have to understand this plan is very risky.’
‘But it’s our only option,’ said Connor, setting down his spoon. ‘You’re not to worry. We understand the risks. We just appreciate all you’ve done for us. I don’t know how we’d have survived this long without your h–’
‘Zhè shì shéi zuò de?’ Lăolao interrupted sharply.
Connor looked up, startled, convinced the police were about to break in. But Lăolao was inspecting the wooden post of her muk yan jong, running her gnarled fingers over the indentations in the wood.
‘Sorry, that was me,’ he replied with a sheepish grin.
When Zhen told her grandmother this, the old woman snatched up the wooden broom handle and gesticulated for Connor to stand.
Connor raised his hands defensively. ‘I said … I was sorry.’
Zhen laughed. ‘She doesn’t want to punish you – she wants to test you.’
‘What? Iron Shirt … now?’ said Connor. They could be arrested at any moment and the old woman wanted to practise martial arts! ‘But I’ve only just finished my breakfast.’
‘Lăolao says the qìgōng porridge will help,’ Zhen insisted. ‘If you’re leaving tomorrow, she wants to know you’re ready for anything.’
Lăolao tapped the ground impatiently. Seeing that the old woman wasn’t going to take no for an answer, Connor reluctantly rose from the breakfast table – leaving Amir engrossed in his decryption – and stood in the centre of the courtyard as directed. He breathed deep and harnessed his qi, channelling the inner energy to his stomach. Well practised by now, he soon forged a fiery warmth in his belly and readied himself for another pointless beating.
Lăolao wound up to hit him, her narrow eyes glinting fiendishly. At the exact moment that she swung the broom handle at his midriff, Amir cried, ‘I’ve cracked it!’
The wooden handle struck Connor and snapped in half on impact, one end clattering across the courtyard, the other piece still in Lăolao’s bony hand.
Connor grimaced. ‘Good work, Amir … but I think she’s cracked my ribs!’ However, when he pulled up his shirt, his skin was unmarked – not a bruise or a blemish in sight.
Lăolao applauded, her wrinkled face breaking into a toothless grin. She patted Connor on the shoulder. ‘Iron does not bend or break or bleed,’ she said carefully in English. ‘You strong like iron now.’
Connor could scarcely believe it. Only now was he aware that he hadn’t felt a thing or even flinched at the blow. It was as if Lăolao had hit him with a piece of balsa wood, not a one-inch-thick length of hardened oak.
‘Connor, you have to look at this,’ said Amir, urgently waving him over.
Hurrying to his friend’s side, Connor saw a long index of folders and files filling the tablet’s screen. ‘What exactly am I looking at?’ he asked.
‘This is everything Bugsy hacked from Equilibrium’s mainframe,’ explained Amir, running his finger down the screen as he scanned the contents of the drive. ‘Their organization’s structure. Their agents. Their informants. Their finances. Their operations. This is sensational stuff. A complete record of all their activities. No wonder Equilibrium doesn’t want this being released.’
Amir opened a folder marked Operations.
A seemingly never-ending stream of documents appeared, labelled by name, location and date. Some were chillingly familiar: aircraft hijackings in America … shopping mall attacks in Kenya … London bombings … hostage-takings in France … political killings in Russia …
Amir gasped. ‘Are they responsible for all this?’
The list went on and on. Connor’s eyes were caught by a file labelled Antonio Mendez – a name he recognized. ‘Can you open that one?’ he asked.
Amir clicked on the file and brought up the document on the screen.
Location: Baghdad,
Iraq
Target: US Ambassador Antonio Mendez
Purpose: Destabilization of Middle East. Trigger new US–Iraq war.
Benefit to Equilibrium: Gain control of oil resources. Increase in crude oil price.
Mission detail: Multiple attack on convoy. All vehicles destroyed. Security team neutralized. Target escaped with bodyguard. Bodyguard shot dead. But target reached safe haven and survived.
Result: MISSION FAIL
Connor felt his knees give way. He knew without a doubt that the bodyguard in question was his father. The target, Ambassador Antonio Mendez, was now the President of the United States. Connor’s first Buddyguard mission had been to protect the President’s daughter. That’s where he’d learnt the truth about his father’s death: Justin Reeves had sacrificed himself saving the former ambassador during an ambush in Iraq – as detailed in this very file.
But there was another truth Connor hadn’t known until that moment.
Equilibrium had killed his father.
Connor stared watery-eyed through the courtyard’s shuttered window at the reflections rippling in the canal. The discovery that Equilibrium was responsible for his father’s death had shaken him to his very core. That this mysterious and sinister organization had robbed him of a father and ripped his family and life apart was almost too much to bear.
Sick to the pit of his stomach, Connor could taste the bile in his mouth. Fists clenched, jaw set, he wanted to punch through the wall – and with Lăolao’s Iron Hand training he just might! He was beyond crying. He’d shed his tears of grief for the past eight years. Now only a hard cold anger gripped his heart.
He wouldn’t be in hiding from the police and Chinese state security forces … if it wasn’t for Equilibrium.
He wouldn’t be mourning Colonel Black’s death, or Bugsy’s or Steve’s … if it wasn’t for Equilibrium.
He wouldn’t have lost Charley or had his heart broken by her betrayal … if it wasn’t for Equilibrium.
He wouldn’t even have become a Buddyguard … if it wasn’t for Equilibrium.
Fugitive Page 15
