Simmering fury at the people Feng had killed himself or ordered killed knotted his chest … Avery Mondragon. Andy An. So many Uigher fighters. The pig Ralph Mcdermid.
Even poor Yu Yongfu. Then there was the violent conflict that was waiting to erupt out on the Arabian Sea. Jon fought to control his rage.
He said loudly enough for all to hear, “You’re not Madame Li’s only chance, Feng. Give it up. Surrender now, and you’ll live.” The advantage had flipped. For an endless second, Feng Dun did not turn. He did not move. Faster than the strike of a cobra, he whirled and dove to his right, heedless of sharp-edged rocks. His strange hair disappeared into shadow, while his face radiated outrage and disgust. At the same time, he fired his assault rifle, releasing a sweep of bullets that rushed toward Jon. Jon grunted with satisfaction. He squeezed off a single burst from the MP5K. The bullets slammed into the mercenary’s trunk, stopping his turn as if he had collided with a tank. The impact slammed Feng back against the boulders like a sack of rice. He recoiled forward, pitched over a smaller boulder, and rolled downward, starting a small avalanche. There was a moment of shocked silence. Across the clearing, Asgar and his Uighers burst into the open and surrounded the fallen tree and rocks where Li Kuonyi had taken refuge. Their weapons were aimed, but Asgar stopped their advance.
Excitement surged through Jon. The manifest was in reach again. They would have the proof, and he could phone Fred. The Empress could be stopped, its deadly cargo offloaded, and the crisis ended … if there was time. He sprinted down among the rocks, dodging and leaping obstacles, until he reached the clearing. He dashed to the Uighers at the fallen tree.
Behind the log, Li Kuonyi sat with her back against a rock. She wore a sleek, black pantsuit and high-collared hooded jacket identical to that worn by her double, dead in the valley. Hers was torn, disheveled, and stained with blood, apparently from her husband’s injuries. Her left hand gently cupped his dead face. Her right hand held a cigarette lighter, already in flame. She had no weapon, but the original invoice manifest lay open on top of her closed case, next to her right hand.
When she saw Jon, she smiled. “So? The American who wanted the manifest so many days ago. I should’ve realized.” “It’s over, Madame Li,” Jon told her. “Your husband’s dead. You have no one left to deal with but me.”
Her hand stroked Yu’s immobile face. It was a mask of marble, of death.
“He was a fool and a coward, but I loved him, and the deal remains the same. The two million American dollars and your Uigher friends to help me and my children leave China. In exchange, you get the undamaged manifest you have worked so hard for.” She paused, her gaze stony.
“Otherwise, I burn it.”
Jon believed her. He glanced at his watch. One hour and ten minutes. By now, the Crowe would have cleared for action, waiting only for the final order to board the Empress. There was little hope he could get the manifest to the president in time to send to Beijing — unless something had changed or would change. A storm. Other navy ships arriving. Another nation interfering. Anything to slow the ship’s arrival at the strait.
Too much had already been sacrificed for him to give up now, and too much was at risk not to make the final effort. “Did your men find the money?” he asked Asgar.
“They did. In a crevice near where Feng was shooting. Still in its suitcase. And it’s all there. Real money.”
“Give it to her.”
Asgar’s voice was suddenly tense, “I don’t think so, old boy.”
Jon glanced at the Uigher leader, and then turned again to see what Asgar’s gaze was focused on at the far edge of the clearing. His throat tightened. They did not need this. A line of eight men in the uniform of the People’s Liberation Army stood just inside the trees, their weapons aimed into the clearing. At them. The soldiers were too late to help Feng, but not too late to kill Asgar, Randi, and everyone else.
Every eye in the White House’s subterranean situation room was angled toward the head of the polished table, where President Castilla stared up at the wall clock.
“One hour, sir,” Stevens Brose said.
“Less,” corrected Secretary of Defense Stanton.
Vice President Brandon Erikson said, “We can’t wait, Mr. President.”
The president turned his gaze to Erikson. “They’re ready? The Crowe?”
“They’ve been ready for a full half hour,” Admiral Brose said.
The president nodded. Continued to nod. His gaze returned to the clock.
His face hardened. “Give the order.”
Instantly, the secure room galvanized into action. Brose snapped up the receiver of the telephone and issued orders.
Asgar made a quick motion, and the twenty Uighers spread out to face the eight soldiers across the clearing. They stared at one another, hands on weapons, pointing.
“We outnumber them better than two to one,” Asgar said in a rush, “but I don’t dare take them on. We don’t know how many more are nearby, and a firefight in which we kill a squad of PLA troops will guarantee Draconian reprisals against my guerrillas and all of Xinjiang. The payoff’s not worth the sacrifice. Sorry, Jon.”
Jon answered quickly if unhappily, “I understand.”
“If there are no more than we’re looking at, we can at least protect you as far as our hideout. My people there will help you get David Thayer out of the country.”
“Appreciate it. Thanks. Why aren’t they moving?” They were statues, armed and ready. An impenetrable line perhaps, but they could still be gotten around. They could still be shot. Why did they not fire first?
Were they afraid, because they were outnumbered?
“They’re not worried,” Asgar decided. “As I said, they may have more troops coming up.”
At that moment, Jon sensed motion on his other side. He spun on his heel. “Randi.”
Randi Russell appeared, her face grim. “What can I do?” Her blond hair was dyed black, and she wore a crumpled business suit. She, too, stared across the clearing at the silent Chinese soldiers.
“Where the hell did you come from?” Jon asked, but his heart was not in their usual banter. The troops would not wait much longer.
“I flew in with the late Ralph Mcdermid, may the bastard rest in hell.
He needed an interpreter.”
“Lucky for us and Li Kuonyi he did. You’ve been with us from the start?”
She nodded. “Lurking up here. After the bloodbath below, I spotted Feng moving in on the other two. So I opened fire to drive him into the rocks.”
“I owe you again.”
“Don’t mention it.” Trying to be light, but not succeeding. “This cargo manifest the woman has … that’s what you need?”
“Yes.” Jon gave her the highlights, concluding with the standoff in the Arabian Sea. “Mcdermid set the whole thing up with Li Kuonyi’s husband.
Somehow, a Chinese politico got into the act, too. God knows what’s going to happen, but it’s not good. Not for peace … not for the future … not for the world. Sorry you got caught in this, Randi.
Asgar’s right. He can’t risk the future of his people. There’s no time left to change anything anyway.” He turned to Asgar. “You and your fighters better get away while you can. If you can.”
“You’re not coming?”
“That’d only put you in greater danger. Uighers don’t have the world’s only superpower to protect them. We do.” He clapped him on the shoulders as he had seen Uighers do. “Take the two million. You can make better use of it than Li Kuonyi, the Chinese government, or us.”
“Sorry it worked out this way. Bad show all around, but perhaps we can do this again someday. Do it right.” Asgar gave a signal, and before Jon and Randi could blink, he and his men had stepped into the trees and vanished. Now there was no protection at all from the Chinese soldiers.
“Jon,” Randi said quietly, nodding at them.
