forward.
Beverly Chang gripped the gun in her trembling hand, stared down at the corpse at her feet. She dropped the weapon and ran out of the tower and down the stairs. Another body sprawled on the terminal’s linoleum floor. She stepped over the murdered duty officer, burst through the door.
16. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 3 A.M. AND 4 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
Beverly Chang listened for the sound of jet engines. After a seemingly interminable wait, she heard a distant whine. Minutes passed. Finally blinking lights appeared in the black night sky. The lights dipped, dropping below the mountain range, plunging into Emigrant Valley.
Finally, Dr. Chang watched the Boeing 737 touch down in a cloud of desert dust, then taxi along Runway 33R/15L until it reached the tiny terminal building.
Covering her ears against the noise, Beverly rushed to the airplane the moment the passenger door opened. Two men — Chinese — jumped out and ran to retrieve the portable steps. It took them only a moment to roll the stairs to the aircraft. The first man to emerge at the top of the stairs was Jong Lee, an armed woman behind him.
“Jong Lee. I must speak with you,” Beverly cried.
Lee descended the steps. Ignoring her, he moved aside while armed men poured out of the airplane. Guns drawn, boots pounding on the concrete, they fanned out across the facility. Beverly counted thirty men, most, but not all of them Asians.
“Jong Lee, don’t ignore me,” she demanded. “I have done everything you’ve asked of me.”
Finally, the tall man faced her. “Everything?”
Beverly Chang nodded. “I’ve given you the security codes. I killed the people in the tower.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And Malignant Wave?”
“The device has been installed in a prototype helicopter in Hangar Five. The aircraft is ready to fly.”
Beverly reached out to clutch his arm. Yizi pushed her away.
“My sister. Her family,” Dr. Chang cried. “You promised me they would be set free in exchange for what I’ve done.”
Jong Lee well knew, and exploited, Beverly Chang’s tragic family history. While Beverly and her family immigrated to America in the 1970s, the woman’s infant sister remained with her grandparents. The young woman became an outspoken member of the Falun Gong movement, and she and her family were among the first to be arrested when the People’s Republic of China began to suppress the quasi-religious movement in the 1990s. As far as Lee was concerned, they’d earned their fate, as Beverly Chang would now earn hers.
“They
Yizi stepped forward, sai raised.
Pizarro Rojas exited the plane at that moment. Beside him an unruffled Stella Hawk, her makeup and hair painstakingly restored to their former glory, paused at the top of the stairs.
The pair watched as Yizi thrust her razor-sharp sai into Dr. Beverly Chang’s throat. With a gargling cry, the woman grabbed Yizi’s wrists in a death grip, while she twitched and bucked on the end of the three-pronged blade like a speared fish. Finally, Dr. Chang died, and Yizi let the corpse slide to the ground. The assassin stepped back, trembling, her glassy eyes staring in fascination at the bloodied blades.
Stella Hawk observed the woman’s bizarre behavior, shook her head sadly. “Man, that chick’s got a
Cold water dashed Tony’s face. He tried to open his eyes, blinked against the harsh fluorescent light.
“Come on, Alvarez, wake up. We need to talk.”
A hand slapped Tony’s cheek. He winced, opened his eyes. Tony realized he was sitting up, but when he tried to stand he found he’d been strapped to a metal chair.
“Sorry, pal,” Sable said with a smirk. “You’ve got to stay put while I arrange a little industrial accident.”
The left side of Tony’s face throbbed and he shook his head to clear it.
“Sorry about the beat down, buddy. You look pretty good, all things considered. I wrapped the wrench with cloth. Didn’t want to leave too many marks. Might look suspicious.”
“You want my death to look like an accident.” Tony said, his voice hoarse.
Sable tossed one end of a long length of electrical cable on the floor, then hooked the other end to a large generator. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Tony twisted his head to look around. He wasn’t in the dorm anymore. Sable had brought him to Hangar Five, just a few dozen feet away from the Blackfoot helicopter prototype.
Sable touched the frayed end of the cable to the tip of a power meter, grinned in satisfaction.
“Smooth move, the way you swiped my phone, then put it back,” Sable said. “I wouldn’t have known, except I added my own feature to the software — a download log that I check every time I use the phone.”
Tony groaned, pulled on the electric cables binding his hands and feet.
Steve Sable slipped an insulated glove over his hand.
“Now we’re going to have a little talk, Tony… If
that’s your name—”
“Go to hell.”
“What are you? Air Force Intelligence? DEA? The Swiss Guard?”
Tony refused to answer, so Sable touched his knee with the frayed end of the electrical cable. A blue flash, and Tony cried out. The smell of scorched flesh wafted into his nostrils.
“What do you know?” Sable asked. He held the electrified cable in the gloved hand, twirled it like a lasso. Then he whipped it across Tony’s chest. Another flash, more acrid smoke rose. The tendons stood out on Tony’s neck and arms.
“It’s what do
“What I’ll do to you will look like an accident—”
“You won’t fool anyone,” Tony cried.
“I will, just long enough to board the six AM flight out of here. By the time they find your corpse, I’ll be heading South.”
Tony stared at the man.
“Oh, yeah, Tony. Don’t act so surprised.” Sable smirk was reason enough to kill him. Tony strained at his bonds.
“You’re looking at a man with a plan. I made Bix a pair of military style jamming systems like none before. I also made another stealth device — this one my 2.0 model. Very much improved. Delivered them last week. In return, Bix promised me a ticket out of the U.S. of A. and a comfy job with the cartels.”
Sable laughed. “I did a little vocational research and guess what? Technical advisors working for drug cartels have a much better lifestyle than slobs who work for the federal government. We’re talking seaside villas. A mistress or three. Fancy cars and a hefty bank account. I don’t know about you, but to me a seaside villa sounds a whole lot better than some trailer park in Pahrump—”
Sable’s rant was interrupted by the a burst of machine gun fire and a woman’s scream.
The strike had been decisive and Jong Lee had reason to rejoice. Stepping over the machine-gunned woman sprawled on the tarmac — a civilian worker reporting early for the next flight home — Jong’s face remained impassive, even as he reviewed his successes.
