by John Ringo
“Of course.”
Katya rose gracefully to her feet and brushed by Mike in a cloud of coconut bronzing lotion and papaya body spray.
“I’ll let you know how it goes.”
* * *
So close! So fucking close!
In the bathroom of her plush stateroom, the prostitute Soon Yi leaned over the marble sink and tried not to throw up any more bile. Her stomach was already empty from the waterboarding. Only her intense training and self-control had allowed her to clean up in the shower afterward without suffering flashbacks.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, that same self-control allowed her to not smash it to pieces. I only needed an hour or two to get the box back until these fucking gwai-los showed up and started killing everybody! She was just about to make her move to kill those idiots and set up the meeting with Than herself. She had even caught a break when Tony had kidnapped her and tried to escape on his boat. But the damn round-eyes had come after them again. Now she was outnumbered, unarmed, and on a luxury yacht on a westerly heading. The only solace she could take from everything that had happened was that she was still fairly close to the green box.
Taking another deep breath, she took stock of her situation. The guards seem sharp enough, if a bit—simple, she mused. Seducing one may be my ticket out of here . . . at least they look cleaner than the pirates. But I still need to gain access to the box itself. She had been left on her own for a few hours, probably to let the isolation and hopelessness of her situation sink into her psyche. But if her captors thought she’d play her part that willingly, they were in for a surprise . . .
Wrapping herself in the thick, white, terrycloth bathrobe—for a prison cell, the accommodations were great—Yi tied the matching sash around her waist. That they’d allowed her to have it was interesting—it meant that her captors didn’t consider her to be any kind of threat. Perfect.
She walked back to her cheap dress, which was hung over the back of the gilded chair near the make-up desk. Taking it into the bathroom, she turned on the hot water to cover any noise she was about to make. While the mirror fogged over, she felt along the lower hem for a small break in the material. Finding a tiny loop of metal there, she pinched it between her fingers and leaned close to the running water, then began speaking clear, distinct Mandarin.
The small microphone implanted in her lower mandible picked up every word. It used the conduction of her own body’s electrical field to transmit her words through the antenna in the dress hem, which was powered by tiny batteries that were also sewn into the material. The burst message was boosted using the yacht’s radar array, transmitting to a satellite that relayed it back to her handler at the Second Bureau in the Ministry of State Security in Beijing.
“Black Chrysanthemum reporting.”
“Proceed,” the calm voice on the other end ordered.
Soon Yi gave a terse summary of what had happened since she had hooked up with the pirates twenty-four hours ago. She included names and descriptions of the primary captors, everything she had seen so far. “Many speak with a strange accent, probably Slavic-inflected. Speculate that they are Eastern European mercenaries, hired by a shipping company to eliminate piracy. Their leader was very—insistent about learning whether I had any connection with the target.”
“Acknowledged. Did you volunteer any information?”
“No. Cover is still intact.”
“Good. Is your primary subject still alive?”
“Unknown at this time.”
“Is the target still intact?”
“Unknown at this time. Will attempt to find out. What are my directives?”
“Primary mission is still to acquire information on buyer and seller of the box and its contents. New secondary mission is to gather intelligence on your captors through whatever means you deem necessary, including personnel files if possible. Report in every twenty-four hours if possible.”
“Understood. Black Chrysanthemum out.” Soon Yi released the antenna and left the bathroom. Tossing the dress over the back of a chair, she sat on the bed and leaned back against the suede headboard, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over her. The bed, covered in clean, white sheets and a down-filled duvet, looked very inviting. Her head was sinking toward it when a firm knock sounded on her door.
Quickly she mussed her hair and scurried into the corner of the bed against the wall. “Who’s there? What do you want with me?” she called out in a fast, shrill voice.
“My name is Katya. I would like to speak with you, if that’s all right.”
Yi’s eyebrows rose at this, and she let the silence drag out a bit before replying.
“All—all right.” She made sure she was wearing her cheap slippers as she tucked her legs underneath her.
The door clicked and opened, and a beautiful young woman stepped inside. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt and matching jacket over a cream blouse, with smooth, long legs ending in a pair of matching designer heels—real Jimmy Choos, if Yi were to guess. Her naturally blond hair was smoothed and pulled away from her face, and she stared at Yi through a pair of dark tortoiseshell glasses framing light blue eyes.
“Good, I see that you have had a chance to use the facilities.” Her English was good, if a bit clipped and formal, as if it was not her native tongue. Turning to the open door, the woman spoke to the tall, handsome man outside in a language that sounded vaguely Russian, but wasn’t. Definitely Slavic, Yi thought. Shaking his head, he started to reply, but she cut him off and made a shooing motion at him with her hand. He closed the door, leaving the two women alone.
The woman walked to the makeup desk, pulled the chair out, placed it in the middle of the room, and sat down, crossing her legs. She looked at Yi for a few seconds, then smiled.
“As I said outside, my name is Katya. What is yours?”
“Yi—Soon Yi.” She kept playing her role of terrified prostitute, and cowered in the corner of the room.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Yi. You must be hungry. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”
“Who are you? What do you people want with me?”
“I am the executive assistant to the Kildar—”
“Kil-dar.” The word didn’t come naturally off Yi’s tongue. “The man who—who—” She shook her head and let a tear trickle down her cheek. Even with her training, it wasn’t entirely acting.
“Yes. It is complicated,” Katya said with a nod. “What has been done to you was regrettable—”
“But you work for that hun dan! What are you, another whore, just better-dressed?”
“I suppose one could compare the relationship to that of a prostitute and her pimp, although I am much more highly compensated,” Katya said with a shrug. “How the Kildar chooses to conduct his business does not impact how I choose to conduct mine. The important thing right now is that he has decided to keep you alive for the time being.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks you know more than you are telling him.” Katya uncrossed her legs and sat back in the chair. “He has sent me down to find out if that is true.” She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “So far, I am not seeing very much to justify his reasoning.”
“What? Are you saying he will have me killed if I do not give him something?” Yi hugged her knees to her chest, partly to show fear, and partly to keep her shoes close to her hands. “What does he want from me?”
Katya leaned forward slightly. “He says that you mentioned that you heard the name of the person Yeung Tony was supposed to contact in Hong Kong. Any more information on this Arun Than, or on Tony himself, would help us—and you—tremendously.”
“I—I don’t know that much. Tony just said that Arun Than was the guy who would make him and his pirates rich. That’s all, I swear.”
“That is not very much at all. I do not think the Kildar will be very pleased with this.” Katya rose and walked to the end of the bed, making Soon Yi do her best to meld into the wall. “Relax,
I’m not going to hit you.” She sat on the edge. “This may be hard to believe, but I know exactly what you are going through—I have been where you are right now.”
“You—you really were a whore?”
The blond woman’s smile grew tight.
“Yes. Stuck in a brothel in the middle of nowhere, I had to spread my legs for whatever man walked through the door.” Her expression softened. “After a while, you start thinking of yourself as worthless . . . just a hole for a man to stick his dick into and pay your pimp, who might give you just enough to survive until the next day. I have been there and I have done that. When the opportunity came for me to make a better life for myself, I took it, even though there were aspects of it that—displeased me. That still displease me. However, that same opportunity is before you right now, Ms. Yi. If I were in your shoes, I would strongly consider taking it before it is withdrawn.”
“But I do not know anything about that box! Please, you have to believe me!”
Katya stared at her for a long minute, then blew out a breath.
“I believe that you believe what you are saying—but I am not sure that the Kildar will. Let me go talk to him, see if I can get you some more time. I’ll come back and talk to you again in a couple of hours. In the meantime, let us get you some food, all right?”
Yi didn’t reply, only nodded. Katya rose and walked to the door. She opened it, then turned back.
“Please, think about what I said. We will talk again in a little while.” Then she left.
Soon Yi stayed where she was, evaluating the conversation. “Katya” had said all the right words, made all the right overtures to try to draw her into her confidence. A run-of-the-mill prostitute would probably been convinced, but an operative with Soon’s training wasn’t.
Despite everything she had said, despite probably telling the truth about her past, very little of her emotional appeal had ever reached the blond woman’s eyes. She was a stone-cold killer, through and through.
She may even be deadlier than this Kildar, Soon Yi realized, and began thinking about how she could give them enough information to keep herself alive a while longer.
* * *
“Nice outfit,” Mike said when he saw Katya in the command room. “How’d it go?”
“So-so. Greznya is running the conversation through Vanner’s voice stress scanner for analysis, and I want to review the interview at least once before I go back in.”
Katya tapped a white tooth with a nail, pondering something before continuing.
“She cleaned herself up. Most data on waterboarding victims indicates a high percentage have a deep aversion to any kind of running water immediately afterward.” She removed the glasses and handed them to Daria. “I am interested in seeing how the recording from these compares to my implant. It seems they can be used for everyday surveillance without detection. Would be good in sunglasses, too.”
“We will get on that,” Vanner said.
“Cottontail,” Mike said, making her turn toward him. “What is your take on her?”
“She is definitely more than she seems. I am just not sure exactly what that is yet. I said we would feed her, and that I would talk to you to buy her some more time. Put the Oxystim in her drink. I suggest fruit juice to mask the taste. I will give it about ninety minutes to digest, then go in to let her know that you have graciously allowed her to live until morning, but that you expect results tomorrow, otherwise she will be shark bait. That should do it, no?”
“It’s a good start. I’m just really curious what the hell this bitch is hiding. Vanner, make sure someone’s watching her room twenty-four/seven. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Yes, Kildar.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jace Morgan had been just about everywhere in this man’s world, from above the Arctic Circle in Siberia to the deep jungles of Africa, and on every continent in between. He thought he’d seen just about everything too, but the situation he was currently heading into was one of the strangest ones he’d ever encountered.
It had started with a call out of the blue from Patrick Vanner, asking if he was available for ten to fourteen days’ work around Southeast Asia. Figuring the intel specialist needed security or bodyguard work, Jace had checked his schedule and said sure, where and when.
“‘When’ is right now, and at the moment ‘where’ is a yacht currently sailing on the South China Sea toward Hong Kong.” Vanner had e-mailed him a first-class ticket from Singapore to Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Ho Chih Minh City. An escort there would take him to the helicopter that would ferry him out to the boat.
“Works for me,” Morgan had replied. Checking his ticket, he saw the flight left in three hours. Fortunately, he always kept a light duty bag packed, and he had grabbed it, flagged down a motorcycle taxi, and headed for the airport. He’d lost an hour and fifteen minutes to the packed streets, and made it through security with ten minutes to spare.
The eighty-five-minute flight had been uneventful; it was only when he landed that things had started to get a bit—unusual.
He was met by a spectacularly beautiful young woman, with eyes so deep blue Jace thought he might drown in them if he wasn’t careful, and lush brown hair braided into a single, thick rope that was draped over one shoulder. She was damned young—if she was twenty, he was a Thailand whoremaster—and was holding a small sign with “J. Morgan” on it.
Jace walked up to the young woman, his six feet, three inches making her look up at his face.
“That’s me.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” the young woman said in accented English, but didn’t extend her hand. “My name is Martya. Our pilot would like to get underway, so unless you have any more luggage to pick up . . . ?”
“I’m ready to go.”
Martya looked around before leaning closer to him.
“Are you not carrying?”
The former Recon Marine kept his face deadpan.
“Weapons, drugs, or both?”
“Oh, I am sorry . . . I am not quite used to the language—”
“It’s all right, Martya, I’m not carrying anything.” He wasn’t crazy enough to try either, particularly in Singapore, where the drug laws made America’s look like a slap on the wrist.
“Is good. Follow me, please.”
“With pleasure.” Carrying his bag easily in one hand, Jace followed the slim girl out of Terminal Two, through the airport, and out the main entrance door, into the heat of an early Vietnamese fall. Outside the main building, she headed toward a cluster of hangars well away from the main runways. “Our helicopter is over here.”
“I’m right behind you.” Quickening his pace, Jace easily kept up with the smaller girl as they headed for a Eurocopter AS355 helicopter that was warming up as they approached. Another woman, dressed in cargo pants, T-shirt, and aviator sunglasses, stood at the passenger door, obviously waiting for the pair.
“Any trouble finding him, Martya?” she shouted over the din of the whirling blades. The slender girl shook her head as she climbed aboard.
“Copilot Tamara Wilson, former U.S.M.C! Pleased to meet another jarhead!” she shouted.
“The pleasure’s all mine!” he yelled back.
Tamara jerked a thumb at the passenger compartment.
“Climb aboard, I’ll stow your bag.”
“Can do!” Jace said as he stepped up into the rear of the aircraft, where his next surprise was waiting.
There were two other girls besides Martya inside, each as beautiful as she was. One was a stunning tiny blonde with perfect, milk-white skin who introduced herself as Xatia. The one beside her was freckled, but her skin tone, along with curly, bright-red hair, suited her emerald-green eyes perfectly. Her name was Tsira.
Besides a small seat for him, every other square inch of the passenger compartment was taken up by several cases of beer, a brand called Mountain Tiger. Jace had heard of it; some Eastern European microbrew, apparently selling lik
e crazy in the States. Practically impossible to get in Southeast Asia, however.
“Everything all right back there, Captain?”
Jace looked toward the cockpit to see another woman on the stick. She was short and trim, with all the right parts in all the right places. He must have been staring, because her lips compressed into a thin line.
“Something wrong with the view, Captain?”
Jace scrambled to put on a pair of headphones. “No, ma’am, everything looks great from back here. I’m just wondering when I get to meet Auric Goldfinger.”
Tamara had gotten into the copilot’s seat in time to hear his remark, and both she and the pilot chuckled.
“Yeah, the Kildar gets that kind of reaction a lot. Don’t worry, Vanner will fill you in when we get there.”
“It hadn’t even crossed my mind,” he replied. Especially not with this view.
The two women completed their preflight check, and the helicopter lifted off smoothly and headed south, leaving the city behind and shooting forward over the endless South China Sea.
Settling back to enjoy the ride, Jace tried not to ogle the bevy of gorgeous babes surrounding him, which was hard work. They were also doing their best not to look at him, conversing in a language that sounded similar to, but not quite Russian. His list of questions for his old friend Vanner, however, was growing longer with each passing nautical mile.
What the hell is he mixed up in? he thought. And if this is who he’s working with, why the hell didn’t he contact me sooner?
* * *
“Patrick, the helicopter with the girls and Mr. Morgan is inbound. Kacey estimates they will be landing in approximately five minutes,” Greznya reported.
“Sweet,” Patrick said with a nod. “I can’t wait for him to see the place and meet the Kildar. Hey, Adams, whatever happened to your guy?”
The master chief, who was enjoying a bottle of Mountain Tiger while sprawled on a couch, smiled lazily.
