surged up then collapsed over the suitcase. The beefy bodyguard was still trying to understand what was happening when he was cut down. Only the second gunman managed to get his pistol halfway out before he slammed back against the low steel fence in front of the Sleeping Buddha and catapulted over in slow motion, blood spraying out from bullet holes throughout his body.
On the hill between Feng’s men and the floor of the valley, the five who had arrived with Mcdermid lay dead in the undergrowth, too.
As the valley turned sepulchral with shocked silence, Mcdermid froze where he stood, his mouth open in shock. Feng and a dozen men burst from the bushes and spilled down the steps.
Ralph Mcdermid screamed, his face a deep, choleric red: “I told you to stay away! I told you I would handle it! What have you done, you idiot!” “What have I done, Taipan?” Feng said as he reached the corpses. “I’ve made certain the manifest will not fall into American or Chinese hands.
I’ve earned two million dollars. Perhaps most personally important, I’ve eliminated an insolent, worthless, rich American.”
As Feng fired a short burst from his assault rifle, Mcdermid’s eyes opened wide, as if in understanding. The bullets riddled his heart and flung him backward, arms outstretched. He fell, sprawled, on the stone walkway. Feng laughed, kicked away Li Kuonyi’s corpse, and grabbed the attache case.
On the hill above and to the side, Jon and the Uighers had had no time to stop the bloodbath. Asgar swore and waved to his men, who were already aiming their AK-47s at Feng and his killers.
“No!” Jon said instantly. “Tell them to hold their fire. Tell them to stay hidden!”
“He’ll get away with your manifest, Jon!”
“No!” Jon snapped. “Wait!”
Commander James Chervenko lay on his bunk in his quarters, but he was wide awake. He had left the bridge to Frank Bienas two hours before, with what he knew was the unneeded order to call him the moment there was a new development. In any event, to check in no later than 0400 hours. He had gone below ostensibly to sleep, although he had known from experience that was hopeless. Still, the semblance of normalcy helped calm the crew, and the time alone gave him an opportunity to think carefully about how best to handle the Chinese submarine.
When a call from the Shilo was put through, he took it instantly. The news was terrible: The Shilo was definitely not going to reach them in time.
“How long do you have, Jim?” Captain Michael Scotto asked.
“Less than three hours.”
“You at stations?”
“Not until I absolutely have to.”
A brief silence. “You’re cutting it fine.”
“It’s dark, and radar tells me they’re running on the surface. They can pick up our activity. I won’t be the one to pull the trigger until I’m ordered to.”
“It’s a risk. If they decide to start it … ” Scotto on the Shilo let the sentence trail off.
“I know, Mike. I’ll take that risk, but I won’t start it.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. Get here as fast as you can.” They broke the connection.
Neither commander needed to say more. Each knew what was involved. In a naval engagement, anything could happen, and the Shilo might still be able to help. If not, it could pick up survivors, if there were any survivors.
Chervenko had barely closed his eyes to try to catch at least an hour of sleep, when his intercom came alive: “Sir, the sub’s diving. Sonar says they sound like they’re running fish in.”
Chervenko’s lungs tightened, and his stomach knotted. “On my way.”
He jumped up, splashed cold water on his face, combed his hair, straightened his clothes, put on his cap, and left the quarters. On deck, he stared aft but saw nothing.
On the bridge, Bienas nodded ahead toward the running lights of The Dowager Empress. “She’s picked up more speed. Close to her top fifteen.”
“The sub?”
“Sonar confirms she’s arming.”
“Moving in?”
“Not yet.”
“She will. Let’s go to stations, Frank.”
Bienas nodded to the specialist on the ship’s intercom.
He leaned to his microphone. His young voice quavered with nerves as he bellowed: “Battle stations! Battle stations!”
Chapter Forty-Two
Asgar waved his hand frantically to stop his Uighers from firing down the slope at Feng Dun and his men. Some wore Chinese army uniforms.
Jon stared, shocked, at the soldiers, while Asgar stared at him. “Are you mad, Jon? Feng’s going to get the money and your manifest!”
But Jon had been watching the events carefully. He shook his head, disgusted he had not seen the truth earlier. But then, neither Ralph Mcdermid nor Feng Dun had either.
“Doubt it,” Jon said. “It’s a trick. Has to be.”
Asgar was more confused. “A trick? What trick? Feng and his people murdered everyone, and now he’s getting away with your bloody manifest and two million dollars!”
Jon shook his head stubbornly. “No. Keep your men alert. Watch.”
Down in front of the great Buddha, Feng crouched before the attache case while his men stood at equal paces around, guarding, nervous excitement on their faces. Gingerly, Feng picked up the case. He weighed it in his hands. He tilted and rotated it carefully. Then he laughed and said something in Chinese. His people laughed, too.
Asgar explained, “He says there’s no bomb in it. It’s too light, and nothing heavy moves inside. He never believed there was a bomb. Li Kuonyi would never destroy her only real weapon.”
“He’s right about that.” As Feng prepared to open the lid, his men stepped back, not yet ready to trust. Feng lifted it and stared eagerly inside. Nothing happened. No bomb, no explosion. But Feng’s face twisted in a scowl. He shouted an oath and hurled the case away. It landed quietly in the brush. As Feng barked something in Chinese, Asgar looked at Jon, surprised. “It’s empty!” Jon nodded. “Had to be. As I said, Li Kuonyi produced another of her tricks.” There was no manifest at the Sleeping Buddha tonight. Down in the crescent, Feng jumped to his feet and strode to where Yu Yongfu still lay facedown over the suitcase of money. He kicked the corpse over onto its back and crouched. He licked his fingers and rubbed Yu’s face. Grimacing, he stared at his fingers. He shouted another curse. “What the devil is he doing now?” Asgar wondered. Cold eyes glittering with fury, Feng hurried to where Li Kuonyi lay on her back, staring up at eternity. He bent over and repeated the same ritual.
When he finished, he slumped on his heels, as if defeated. Then he sprang to his feet and spoke with disgust to his men. “So that’s it!”
Asgar stared at Jon as if he were a magician. “It was a trick. Li and Yu’s trick. It’s not them. Those poor people are impostors. Perhaps some of her fellow actors, that she hired. They and the two guards were sacrifices, scene decoration to make the real Li Kuonyi and Yu Yongfu’s ruse believable. But—?” “Yes,” Jon said. “But.” As he spoke, down below Feng hunched again and searched the dead woman. When he stood once more, he held a small object. “What the deuce did he find?”
“I’d guess a miniature microphone, receiver, and speaker. That’s how Li put on the charade, and why she was the only one who spoke.” In the valley, Feng seemed to realize the same thing. He raised his head and scanned
