by Matthew Rief
Jason furrowed his brow. “You mentioned that you might know where to find Kang.”
Zhao nodded. “Yes. In fact, I know exactly where to find him. It’s over, Mr. Wake. We can finally put an end to this matter.”
Jason exchanged glances with Anna. They were both beyond eager to be rid of the pestilent General.
“I’m listening, Zhao,” Jason said. “Where is he?”
The Chinese diplomat paused, then looked back out through the windows. “This room might be bugged.” He gestured toward the sliding glass door, and Jason and Anna followed him out onto the balcony. From that high up, the sounds of the city were a constant jumble of horns and distant sirens at their backs. A crisp breeze exhaled off the Potomac, carrying with it the smells of blooming roses and lavender.
Zhao stepped up to the railing, took a final survey of the view, then turned to face the others. “As the NSA and your own intelligence workers have concluded, General Kang Ryong-Jin is here in DC.”
Jason was growing tired of the theatrics. “Where is he, Zhao? Just tell me so we can end this.”
Zhao’s stoic expression tightened, and a faint, fiendish smile came over his lips. “The General is far closer than you think, Jason Wake.” The man’s eyes gravitated away from Jason and toward the corner of the balcony behind him.
Jason tensed, then snapped his head around just in time to see a tall, shadowy figure appear from behind a support column. The stranger’s face caught a portion of moonlight, making the General appear more ghost than man.
FORTY-THREE
Jason wrapped his fingers around the grip of his Glock just before a metallic click froze him. He looked back at Zhao, the Chinese delegate having withdrawn a nickel-plated Norinco 9mm, the suppressed barrel aimed straight at Jason.
“Drop it, Wake,” he said, his eyes spitting fire.
Staring down the barrel of Zhao’s pistol, and with Kang right at his back, Jason had no choice but to comply. He slid out his Glock and let it fall from his hand, the weapon rattling on the concrete.
Zhao’s smile broadened. He waved his weapon toward Kang, and the General closed in behind Jason. Giving the covert operative a quick pat down, he discovered and tossed aside his knife, then grabbed his phone and shoved him forward.
“He’s clean,” Kang said, handing the phone to Zhao.
Zhao eyed the screen. “Looks like Miss Murchison’s trying to get ahold of you.” He sneered then lobbed the device over the side.
Anna stared at the Chinese delegate, her mouth open and her face pale. “Zhao, what the hell is going on?”
“What does it look like? Don’t be so naïve, woman. This is the way of the world. Only the strongest and the smartest survive.”
Jason’s anger boiled over. Zhao had been the ticket to the terrorists’ successes, from helping to smuggle the army of mercenaries into Iceland, sneaking Kang and his fellow insurgents aboard the UN aircraft before takeoff, diverting authorities back in the Azores, and keeping Kang hidden away in the States. Zhao had been the secret cog behind it all.
“I’m glad you are here, Jason Wake,” Zhao said. “I’m glad you are here so that you can witness, firsthand, your world fall apart. So you can see the extent of your failure. And so you can watch as I flip the switch and bring about much of the world’s demise . . . starting with Miss Johannsdottir.”
Zhao adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger, firing a round into Anna’s chest. Jason yelled and lunged toward her, snatching her and easing her down as best as he could as her body thrashed from the gunshot. Her breathing was rapid as blood blossomed through her white shirt.
Her body shook, and she whispered, “I’m sorry,” before taking a final gasp of life.
“She is just the beginning, Wake,” Zhao said with a laugh.
Jason stared at Anna’s motionless body, then looked up, his face filled with intense rage. Zhao savored the look on his foe’s face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass vial. He held it up to the light bleeding out from the windows.
“As you can see, the vial is only half full. The rest is being dispersed at Union Station as we speak. There is nothing you can do to stop it.” Zhao focused out over the edge of the city once more, his head tilted back, and his arms outstretched. “The time of reckoning has come.”
With Jason huddled over Anna’s dead body, General Kang moved in alongside Zhao.
“I have done what was required of me,” Kang said. “And I’ve lost most of my men in the process. The virus is being released. The mission has succeeded.” The hardened military man paused. “Now, make the call. Release my family.”
Zhao turned back to meet Kang’s gaze. “Your family members are already dead.”
Kang’s face turned pale as snow.
Zhao shook his head, waving his pistol. “Your failures couldn’t go unpunished, General. It was necessary. But if this sample does its job, you will get to keep your life. You will have earned that token of mercy.”
Kang’s legs went weak. “My . . . my wife. My children. My—”
“All dead, General. Dealt with in the manner in which they deserved. It was your shortcomings that brought this about. And you will have to live with that.”
Zhao left the General a wreck, tears welling up in his eyes as he leaned against the railing, barely able to keep himself upright under the crushing weight of the revelation. Every ounce of life, every sliver of hope or reason to live, drained from him. Zhao, and the corrupt, vile men he worked with, had taken everything from him.
Seemingly unaffected by the man’s heart-wrenching reaction, Zhao strode back toward Jason. “How does it feel, Wake, to have worked so hard and come so far, only to lose it all?” Zhao aimed his weapon at Jason again.
Jason took one final look at Anna’s corpse, then stared down the barrel as he rose confidently to his feet. “Your plan has failed, Zhao,” Jason said. “And you don’t even realize it.”
Zhao laughed. “Delusional thinking will not help you.” He held up the vial. “Perhaps you didn’t get a good look the first time. Half of this sample is gone and being dispersed as we speak.”
“You can disperse that sample anywhere you like. It won’t matter. No one’s going to die from it.”
Zhao’s face showed a minuscule hint of confusion amidst the sadistic satisfaction.
“No one’s going to die from it because the virus in that sample has been neutralized.”
Jason flashed back to the Azores, when he’d snuck into the underground facility and reached the samples. Moments before being caught, he’d managed to inject droplets of bleach into the unlocked sample labeled with the number three. The one Zhao held in his hands.
“You were right about one thing, Zhao,” Jason said, raising his voice. “It’s all over. But it is you who have failed.” He held his stare down the barrel of the weapon, his bearing displaying no sign of fear.
Zhao betrayed a hint of worry before wiping it from his expressional palette. “Lies won’t help you now. You will die knowing that you—”
“Alpha, Foxtrot, one-two-seven,” Jason said, repeating the code stamped on the sample.
Zhao focused on the letters and numbers printed on the label. Again, he showed a sign of concern, but this time it lingered. He glanced over at Kang, who was still leaning weakly against the railing. “You pathetic imbecile! You couldn’t even get one thing right.” He stomped over to Kang and kicked him in his side, causing the man to heave against the rail. Turning back toward Jason, Zhao raised his handgun. “Doesn’t change anything, Wake. You’re going to die right here at my feet—in agony and a pool of blood.” Zhao shot Jason a final, ominous look, then aimed the pistol at his head.
FORTY-FOUR
Charlotte stepped out from the elevator on the ground floor and sauntered past the lobby to the restaurant and bar. A mass of people filled the space, and every table was
occupied. She made her way to an empty stool near the end of the bar and plopped down. “Negroni on the rocks.”
The bartender winked at her. “Coming right up.”
While her drink was being prepared, Charlotte admired the unique architecture of the bar and then checked the time on her phone.
“Here you go,” the bartender said, setting down the shimmering red-orange drink.
“Usually this crowded on a Thursday night?” Charlotte asked.
He motioned toward a large group of people in an adjoining lounge and the massive flat screen on the wall displaying a baseball game. “When the Nats are playing the O’s? Yeah.”
Charlotte gave a knowing nod, then raised her drink and downed half its contents. She relished the refreshing balance of bitter, fruity, and herbal flavors, and the three-liquor blend provided just the right amount of burn.
The bartender leaned over the counter. “If you’re looking for someplace quieter, I recommend the rooftop lounge. There are striking views of the river and city from up there. And no televisions.” He shot her a smile as he moved along to serve another patron.
Charlotte took her time with the rest of the drink, occasionally startled by the group cheering or sulking in disbelief. A few minutes after leaving Jason in the room, she pulled out her phone and sent him a text. It was short and to the point, just asking how it was going.
Jason didn’t reply, and she didn’t see an indication that he’d even read the message. Another minute passed, and she tried to call him. The ringing tone hummed twice then went to voicemail.
Strange.
She reasoned that if it’d been shut off, it would’ve gone straight to the robotic voice. If on silent, it would’ve rang more times. That meant Jason, or someone else, had pressed the hang-up button.
It’s probably nothing, she told herself. He’s probably in the middle of a serious conversation and will get back to me soon.
But a feeling in her gut told her something wasn’t right. Her father, a professor and renowned archeologist, always told her that instincts were there for a reason and that they should be listened to.
She set the empty rocks glass on the counter and headed back to the elevator. Striding out on the eleventh floor, she headed straight for Anna’s room and knocked twice. Waiting quietly, she heard nothing inside. She knocked again, but still nothing. Clasping the handle, she found that it was locked. It was a thick door, far too tough for anyone to break down without something heavy.
She tried Jason’s phone again. This time it went straight to voicemail.
Something’s definitely going on.
She hustled back to the elevator and pressed the down arrow before rushing in through the doors. Her tentative plan was to approach the check-in counter and try to finagle her way into possession of a key. Lying and flirting would need to be involved.
As she reached for the first-floor button, she glanced at the numbers above it and remembered that the bartender had said the hotel had a rooftop bar. She was already on the eleventh floor, which meant that the lounge was right above her. Remembering the brief glance she’d gotten at Anna’s hotel room and the balcony beyond the living room, she pressed the button for the roof instead.
The doors opened, revealing a wide-open terrace littered with comfortable chairs, tables, and a covered bar. Orienting herself and estimating the position of Anna’s suite below, she cut across the seating area and climbed over a partition. A member of the hotel staff informed her that the area was closed, but Charlotte ignored him. With her senses heightened, she was focused and locked onto the task at hand.
Sliding down a short wall, she nearly lost her footing as she climbed down the eave, catching herself at the edge. Staring down a hundred and fifty feet at a sidewalk, a busy street, and the Potomac, her heart jumped into her throat as she caught her breath.
Shifting around, she caught a glimpse of the edge of the balcony below. She saw Zhao Song standing and facing the exterior wall, and she gasped as she focused on a pistol clutched in his right hand, aimed shoulder-height at a target that was beyond her view. Beside Zhao was a man hunched against the railing. His face caught the light, causing Charlotte to doubt what her eyes were seeing.
General Kang?
Resolve taking over, Charlotte forced her way back up the edge. Inching farther along, she saw for the first time who Zhao was aiming at, and her hand reached instinctively for the compact pistol in her waistband. Calming her breath, she held on tight to the eave with her left hand and raised the weapon, putting Zhao right in her sights.
FORTY-FIVE
Jason lunged right instinctively upon hearing the sudden crack of a gunshot. He expected to feel the powerful punch of the brass pounding against his body—Zhao finishing him off with a 9mm bullet from point-blank.
Springing to his side, he kept his eyes locked on the Chinese delegate, watching as the man shook and twisted violently, a spray of red bursting out from his left shoulder. The angered man yelled out from the blow and spun, raising the pistol still clutched in his hand.
Instead of aiming at Jason, he pointed the weapon skyward, toward the top corner of the hotel. In his peripherals, Jason barely caught a glimpse of Charlotte leaning over the edge of the roof. She fired off another round, this one barely missing Zhao and sparking against the rail at his back.
As Jason rushed toward Zhao, he pulled the trigger, blasting a bullet in Charlotte’s direction. In the haze of darkness and confusion, Jason couldn’t see what had happened. He heard a sharp cry, followed by the sound of Charlotte slipping off the ledge and crashing onto the floor of the adjacent room’s balcony.
Unable to see Charlotte, Jason yelled out and dove toward Zhao. His adversary managed to shift his aim and pull the trigger, sending another bullet whizzing right past Jason and shattering the sliding glass door. Jason drove into the frail man, pummeling him backward and into the rail, and Zhao lost control of his weapon.
Pinning Zhao to the rail, Jason grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt collar and bashed his knuckles into his nose, ear, and cheek. Zhao shook and fought for air. His face turned red, and he struggled to keep his head up as Jason struck him again and again.
With Zhao battered, broken, and on the verge of death, Jason shoved him to the floor and turned to grab the man’s fallen weapon, but it wasn’t on the concrete. Focusing behind him, Jason saw General Kang standing stoically, the moonlight basking across his body and the sparkle of Zhao’s nickel-plated pistol in his hand.
Kang was no longer wallowing in misery—at least not on the outside. The hardened military man had returned to a state of utter indifference. His face and body language were that of a dead man.
Zhao coughed through a mouthful of blood. “What the hell are you waiting for? Kill him!”
Kang stood still, like a peaceful, serene volcano moments before eruption. Jason debated making a move, but the General was too far away, standing near the shattered glass door and at least three stride lengths from Jason.
“Do it, Kang!” Zhao spat. “That’s an order, dammit.”
Slowly, Kang raised his weapon. Jason swallowed and bent into an athletic stance as Kang’s arm finished its arc, the barrel staring Jason down. He had no choice but to move—to drop and dive and hope for the best. Just as he was about to, Kang beat him to it. His dark, intense eyes locked forward as he moved his arm and then abruptly pulled the trigger.
The suppressed bullet exploded through the air, flying inches away from Jason before blasting into Zhao’s chest. The force of the shot knocked Zhao back and seized what little life remained.
The moment of respite from seeing Kang take down Zhao quickly washed away. Just because Kang hadn’t given Jason his first shot didn’t mean he wouldn’t get him with a second.
Jason watched as the broken man stared at Zhao’s motionless body, and then more tears streaked down his face. Even after all
that he’d done, Jason couldn’t help but feel deep, primal sympathy for the man. He knew that look well. It was the look of someone who’d lost everything they hold dear in this life. The look of inner destruction. The kind of blow that few ever overcome.
Jason held up his hands but didn’t say a word. Neither did Kang. The General kept his gaze forward and stepped toward Zhao. For reasons Jason couldn’t explain, he didn’t pounce on his adversary. He let the man walk right past, a zombie, a ghost of a man eyeing the dead instrument of his destruction.
Kang, his body shaking, paused in front of Zhao. In a flash, the General snapped from the trance, spun around, and raised the pistol once more. Jason cursed himself for the momentary lapse in judgment—the act of merciful leniency, his humanity having hijacked his reason. But again, Jason wasn’t Kang’s intended target. This time, it was the General himself.
Kang stood tall, shoulders back, his watery eyes turned toward the sky, and he pressed the barrel against his temple. Then he pulled the trigger. Kang’s body whipped back, and he toppled over the rail, his corpse plummeting eleven floors before smacking against the walkway along the river’s edge.
FORTY-SIX
The shock of seeing General Kang blow a hole through his skull and flop over the railing was soon replaced by an overwhelming sense of worry. The sound of Charlotte’s cry and her fall to the next-door balcony burned in Jason’s mind. With Zhao dead and with no hope of reviving Anna Johannsdottir, Jason rushed across the balcony, climbed over the partition, and landed on the patio. Just as dark as the one he’d left, he saw only a jumbled shadow sprawled out beside a table and chairs.
“Charlotte!” Jason cried, dashing across the balcony and dropping down beside her.
He carefully rotated her limp body and rested her on her back. She had a gash in her forehead and blood pooling around a bullet wound to her right thigh. He held his ear over her mouth and felt no transiting air. Pressing two fingers against the side of her neck, he felt for a pulse.
