But to his surprise it stood up well to his manipulations, and as he thought of it, it made sense. After all, it was expected to be able to fire six shots without a problem, meaning it had to be strong enough to handle the recoil.
The weapon broken down, he placed each piece in a Ziploc baggie, carefully making certain each bag was sealed, the air forced out. He then took the six condiment jars, removed the tops from each, then placed the indicated piece into each jar, the instructions specific even in this manner.
Done, he removed any excess mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard or other tasty fluids then secured the lids once again. Placing everything in the box that had delivered the cash and instruction this morning, he sealed it with tape that had been sent along, then looked at his watch. He had completed his task just in time.
A knock at the door had him leaping to his feet, his heart jumping into his throat. He approached the door. “Who is it?”
“FedEx. I’m here for the pickup you ordered.”
Whoever these guys are, they’re good.
It was odd. He had never really thought of Islamic terrorists as organized and efficient. They seemed to bumble their way to success as opposed to earn it. But he had to admit he was assuming they were Islamist terrorists. Everything he had heard on the news was that the attacks were being committed in the name of Islam, it believed now by some that those committing these atrocities were being forced to.
Which did match his situation.
But he hadn’t been ordered to blow himself up or shoot anyone.
Unlike those other poor bastards today.
He opened the door, pointing at the box on the table. “It’s over there.”
The driver nodded with a smile and walked over to the table. He affixed several labels then handed the signature device over. “Sign here, please.”
Reese signed the pad, handing the plastic stylus back to the driver who grabbed the box and headed out the door. “Have a good one!” he tossed over his shoulder, Reese closing the door behind him.
His phone rang.
“Hello?”
“You are done for the evening, Mr. Reese. You are to talk to no one, interact with no one, except to get yourself food for this evening and tomorrow morning. Remember, we are watching you, and we have your parents. You will receive a phone call at seven a.m. tomorrow morning. Make certain you are awake and ready to leave at that time. Do you understand?”
“Yes, seven a.m.”
The call ended with a click. Reese collapsed on the small bed, burying his head in the pillow. He fought back the tears of frustration, the tears of pain, as he realized more than ever how powerless he was to get out of his situation.
And he trembled at what they might have him do tomorrow.
Weihai, China
Lee Fang’s phone vibrated in her hand. Her heart leapt as inwardly she battled an adrenaline surge, outwardly she appeared her usual calm self to anyone who might be looking. But no one should be. She was in Weihai, lying on the beach in a two piece bikini that she had been instructed to wear. Why, she had no idea. Large sunglasses covered much of her face, and a beach umbrella perched overhead hid her from satellites and UAV’s that might be patrolling above.
As she put the phone to her ear, looking casually about for anyone who might be listening, she realized that she was getting a few unwelcome looks from young men staring at her ripped body. She wasn’t by any means a bodybuilder, she found that look disgusting, but she was extremely fit. Gifted with genes that let her eat what she wanted, she needn’t have relied on them, what with the intense physical fitness program she maintained with her unit.
Besides, she never over ate—she found the very concept revolting having come from a home where food was at a premium and still was for her parents and extended family.
The voice on the other end spoke perfect Chinese with a convincing Shanghai dialect. “Hi, is Ching there?”
“Sorry, you have the wrong number.”
“Really? That bitch. I thought she liked me.”
The call ended and she rose to her knees, brushing her light brown skin of the stray sand that had blown on it, the prep signal having been received. She packed her few possessions into her bag and was about to rise when a pair of legs stopped in front of her.
“Leaving so soon?” asked the voice in English.
She looked up but the sun was behind the man’s head. Squinting, she stood, blocking the rays with her hand. A tall Caucasian man stood smiling at her, sunglasses hiding his eyes, a white button down shirt open, blowing in the wind, revealing an impressive physique.
Too bad I’m not into white guys.
“I have to go meet a friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No, just a friend.”
“So there’s no boyfriend.”
“No.”
“Then let me buy you a drink. Perhaps a martini. How many olives do you prefer?”
“Five.”
“Really? I had you pegged at no more than two.”
She could have sworn he had just looked at her two rather small breasts. “I prefer five.”
“Then five it shall be.” He extended his hand and she gave him the bag. “There’s a bar just down the beach, let’s grab a drink there.”
They began to walk, the olive count her indication that this was indeed the right person. Her message had indicated the number of the day was seven. Whatever number of olives she answered with, his reply had to make it total to seven.
And the pig had chosen two.
She mentally kicked herself since it was she that had chosen five, forcing him to say two, but she still felt a little exposed, her two piece leaving only about five percent of her body to the imagination, and this American seemed to be delighting in ogling her.
As they cleared the beach area she had been lying on, the man pointed to a nearby car. “How about I give you a lift to your hotel. I have a funny feeling they don’t make a good martini here.”
“I’d like that, thanks.”
They both climbed in the tiny Chinese built Chery QQ3. She smiled as she saw the man had the front seat pushed all the way to the back and he was still having trouble fitting. She sat comfortably as she watched him struggle to get out of the parking lot.
“Why such a small car?”
“Joke from my damned handler, Chao. Next time I see him I’m sleeping with his wife.”
Fang’s eyebrows jumped.
“Just a joke,” winked the man. “You should see his wife.” He laughed heartily, his smile genuine and attractive, and she felt herself slowly beginning to relax as the tension of the past twenty-four hours gradually let up.
“What’s your plan?” she asked as they roared toward the coast road and not toward the hotel district.
“To get you out of China.”
“How?”
“Have you ever been to Korea?”
“North or South?”
“I’d prefer South. I’ve been North and they’re not very hospitable.”
She let a slight smile show. “You’ve been to the North?”
“I guess I shouldn’t have said that. Now I’ll have to kill you.”
Again a wink.
Who is this man?
He wasn’t the type of CIA operative she had ever imagined. He was extremely good looking, his Chinese was perfect, and he had so far kept his word, meeting her exactly where and when he had said he would, and in the manner he said he would.
“Prepare to be hit on,” he had said. She had had to think about what that meant, his “wear a two piece bikini” filling in the blanks.
“You know my name, what’s yours?”
“Do I know your name?” He pretended to think for a moment. “I supposed I do.” He stuck out a hand. “Dylan Kane, nice to meet you Lee Fang.”
She shook the hand, it dry, confident, the shake firm but not overpowering. She didn’t want to let go, it somehow making her feel secure again.
She eyed the road. �
��Where are we going?”
“To catch a boat.”
“You expect to get us to Korea in a boat?”
“It’s only a couple of hundred kilometers. No problem.”
She wasn’t so sure about his plan, and said so.
“What did you expect? To just fly out on the next flight? You’re a wanted woman. Pretty much everyone in China is looking for you.”
She felt her chest tighten. She had assumed as much, but to hear it actually stated, it made her situation that much more real. “How do you know?”
“I know everything,” Kane said, smiling. “Now, just trust me. Obviously there’s no way to take you out by plane, train or automobile, they’re watching the airports and borders too closely. I could have taken you out through some remote part of the border, but it would take too long, and if you’ve got intel that’s as important as I think it is, then we don’t have time to waste.”
“Just what do you think I know?”
Kane glanced at her, his face devoid of any of the cheerfulness it had shown to this point. He looked back at the road, slowing as he turned into the parking lot of a marina. “I think you stumbled upon something that even you can’t abide by. You’re a patriot, love your country, believe in the Party, but you also believe in right and wrong, and whatever it is you have discovered, you feel is wrong. And because your entire country is looking for you, you obviously couldn’t go to anyone within your security apparatus as they’re involved.”
“Might be involved,” she interjected, not wanting to tarnish her country’s name too much. “My entire country is after me because I killed General Yee and they don’t know why.”
Kane parked the car, turning to her. “True. But remember this. You came to us because you didn’t know who to trust. Once we do this, there’s no turning back. This is a one way street.”
Fang nodded, slowly, and closed her eyes, a sudden overwhelming desire to cry threatening to embarrass her. She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped slightly as this man she had just met, who was supposed to be someone she could trust, tried to provide her with comfort she had so desperately needed since she had walked into that hotel room last night.
Her chin dropped and her shoulders heaved once.
Then she felt the warm, familiar friend of anger swell within.
I did nothing wrong! He tried to rape me!
She looked up at Kane, his hand still on her shoulder. “I realize the gravity of my decision.”
Kane gave her shoulder a final squeeze, his look one of understanding, as if he too had made decisions in his life knowing there was no going back.
Life altering decisions.
Permanent decisions.
“I have no doubt,” he said gently. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Kane smiled, the charming American tourist look once again replacing his serious visage. “Then let’s go sea-doing!” Kane struggled out of the car, Fang trying not to grin. He grabbed a small bag from the trunk, pointing at a second bag. “Don’t forget your bag, honey.”
“Of course, dear.”
So we’re now in a relationship? He moves fast, even undercover.
“Why don’t you put anything you might need in this bag instead of that other one?”
As she did so, transferring her gun, ID and a few pieces of clothing, she realized this meant they were never coming back to the car.
Does he mean to have us cross to Korea on a Sea-Doo?
They walked down a boardwalk toward a dock with several Sea-Doos, a sign indicating they were available for rent. A man who looked like he might be in his fifties, small and humble—and painfully Chinese—kept bowing to them. “A two-seater, my good man,” said Kane, his voice strong and confident, but not too loud.
“How long, sir?” The man’s English was thick with his Chinese tongue, but she sensed something a little off.
“Just an hour.”
Money was exchanged and the key handed over as the man escorted them to a beautiful two-seater Sea-Doo personal watercraft. Kane climbed aboard first, straddling the powerful machine, then helped her down. They each slung their small backpacks over their shoulders, then Kane started the motor.
“Say hi to your wife for me,” he said to the man, winking.
“I hope you enjoyed your rental car, you American devil,” was the reply from the man in perfect English.
“Hold on!” yelled Kane, and as he gunned the engine she reached forward, clasping her arms around his muscled abdomen, her own bare skin pressed against his back, the tiny two-piece and his thin shirt all that separated them.
As they shot out from the dock, Kane did a few runs up and down the beach, each one getting progressively farther from the shore. Fang had never actually been on a personal watercraft before, and she began to have a great time, Kane whooping it up, putting on a show.
Completely in character.
He’s good. Very good.
She wondered what he was like in real life, but then again, in their business, what was real life? She was certain his was a much deeper cover than she had ever experienced. When she left the base at night she was herself. He probably lived a permanent cover.
He’d have to lie to his friends and family.
But he obviously had at least one person who knew what he did and was outside of the special ops world. Professor James Acton had sent him, so there was clearly some connection there. She’d have to ask him if she got the chance.
Kane cut the engine, letting them drift to a stop as they bobbed in the water, the shore quite a distance away.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready for what?”
He winked and jumped into the water, his bag slung over his shoulder. “Come on in, the water’s great!”
She jumped in, holding her breath until she popped back to the surface. With the Sea-Doo between them and the shore, Kane opened the bag slung across his shoulders and pulled out a pair of goggles that he quickly put in place, first rinsing out the glasses and spitting in each lens to prevent fogging.
She did the same with the pair she found in her bag. Next was a mouthpiece that sealed over the mouth, snapping into the goggles, a rebreather built into it with a small air tank dangling from the side. Kane then pushed ear buds in place, motioning for her to do the same. Equipped, she gave the thumbs up.
“Good,” said Kane through the ear buds that turned out to be tiny receivers. “There’s enough air for about an hour. We’ve got two-way short-range comms. Now let’s go!”
He turned away from the Sea-Doo and dove under the water. She followed and they settled in about ten feet below the surface, Kane setting a brisk pace that she struggled at first to maintain, but eventually she got her rhythm set and they made good time, toward what she had no idea.
Now he expects us to reach South Korea like this?
After about thirty minutes Kane pointed below them. She looked but couldn’t make out much, the water now uncomfortably deep below them. He leaned forward, shoving his butt up, and dove deeper. Fang followed, and as she went farther, a dark shadow began to take shape below them. As they neared the shape took form and she gasped.
“Here’s our ride!” said Kane. “Nice and cozy, room for two.”
Fang’s eyes bulged as she realized what she was looking at.
A mini-sub.
She had heard of them, but never actually seen one. As Kane opened the hatch on the bottom he explained the entry sequence. “We don’t need to worry about pressure since we’re not deep,” he finished. “You good to go?”
Fang nodded and he lowered himself, grabbing her feet and pushing up. She rushed into a chamber built for one, Kane closing the hatch below. Pressing a flashing green button on the wall a countdown began along with a hissing sound and she soon found her head free of water, then her shoulders. Within minutes Fang was dripping and shivering. An alarm sounded and the display changed. She opened a hatch to the left and climbed into the sma
ll submarine. Closing the door and resealing it, she pressed a button on the wall and watched through a tiny porthole as the chamber filled back up with water. Fang looked about and found towels on a shelf. Taking one, she dried herself off then took some clothes from her bag, quickly dressing as Kane cycled through.
A cheery Kane, no longer needing to play his role of American tourist picking up the local Chinese girl, squeezed into the cramped tube with her. She handed him a towel and he flashed her a grin as he quickly dried himself off. “Chilly in here, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“No worries,” he said as he tossed the towel aside and made his way to the front of the cramped vessel. He motioned to what she assumed was the co-pilot’s seat as he sat at the main controls. Flicking some switches, the vessel lit up beyond the dim stand-by lighting they had been treated to upon their arrival, and he eased the controls forward, adjusting their course almost due east. He cranked another dial and she began to feel warm air circulate through the cabin. Another flick of a switch and he turned to her, his eyes no longer on the controls or the massive expanse of water in front of them.
Her heart was still pounding in her chest as she realized the trouble and expense her enemy had gone to, all in the effort to save her.
Or capture you.
But this Dylan Kane character that had so professionally and swiftly effected her escape was so different from anyone she had met, she found herself drawn to him. She wasn’t sure if it was a sexual attraction, she never having found a white man attractive before, or if it was more of a big brother-little sister attraction. Whatever it was there was some sort of connection she hoped he wasn’t picking up on.
Perhaps it’s just because you’ve been so scared and now you’re feeling grateful because he saved you?
That had to be it. She was a professional and she intended to keep it that way, but as he looked into her eyes, smiling, she found her emotional walls collapsing.
“Now,” he said, reaching forward and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me what this important intel is that my country needs to know?”
Death to America (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #4) Page 9
