I could see the water’s edge when I heard shots being fired.
“Keep going,” Saint shouted at me, spinning around with his gun drawn.
“Fuck, no!” I shouted back. I could see the movement of two people in the forest and shot in their direction as I continued running backward toward the boat.
“Bloody fucking hell!” I heard Saint yell right before I saw him go down.
While still firing, I raced over and grabbed his arm. “Can you walk?”
“Negative. Got hit in the leg.”
I holstered my gun and picked him up using the fireman’s carry. “Cover us,” I shouted to Razor and Doc as I raced to the boat.
“Leg wound,” I told Gunner when he helped me get Saint inside and seated so I could check the bleeding. It was minimal which meant the bullet hadn’t hit an artery.
“Move out!” Razor shouted, jumping into the boat, behind Doc. Lynx went full throttle while the two men stood near at the aft, continuing to fire at those on the shore, picking them off one by one.
“Change the departure location,” Gunner shouted at Razor.
“Roger that.”
I heard him contact the pilot of the seaplane and tell him to meet us at the mouth of the Yangtze River, which was seventy-five nautical miles closer than Zhoushan.
I looked over at Gunner, who appeared to be checking Harris’ vitals. “Is he alive?”
“Just barely.”
“Jinyan’s death must’ve been leaked,” said Doc.
Gunner shook his head. “Or the people guarding him hated the fucker as much as I do.”
Doc, who was given his code name because he was a physician’s assistant, asked Gunner to move out of his way. “We need him to stay alive at least long enough to interrogate him,” I heard him say under his breath.
During the flight on the seaplane as well as the flight to the US on the K19 jet, Doc continued to monitor Harris’ condition after he removed the bullet from Saint’s leg and stitched him up.
“How is he?” I asked when Saint came out of the stateroom, limping but otherwise appearing uninjured.
“If you mean Harris, Doc said it would be touch and go. He’s got a saline IV going along with administering pain meds.”
“Fuck the pain meds,” grumbled Gunner. “It’s one thing to keep the bastard alive. It’s another to keep him pain free.”
“We need to talk about what the plan will be after we arrive back in the States,” I said when Doc stepped out of the stateroom.
“Burns is setting that up now. We’ll keep Harris on the West Coast temporarily. Once we’ve accomplished our part of the interrogation, we’ll let Money take over.”
Which meant that until we were finished, regardless of how long that might take, our return to the US had to remain classified. There would be no way for me to alert Flynn I was in the States, let alone try to see her.
In the back of my mind, I knew this was a possibility. That didn’t do anything to assuage the disappointment I felt knowing I’d be a two-hour flight away from her and unable to communicate even by text.
We established a base on the Central Coast of California after we arrived in the States. K19 kept a safe house in a place called Harmony, just south of a town called Cambria, where Razor and Gunner owned a duplex that sat on the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
We established a rotating schedule so there were a minimum of two people in Harmony with Harris at all times. When we weren’t, we’d take turns catching sleep while also monitoring the fallout from Xander’s extraction. As was typical with China, there was no chatter whatsoever about the man they’d recently announced to the world they’d granted asylum to.
The fact that they’d made the announcement initially was, as Money had said, designed to let the US know they were open to negotiation for his release.
Doc continued monitoring the man’s care. After remaining critical for several days, he finally announced that while Harris wasn’t completely out of danger, he was ready to downgrade him to serious.
We were one step closer to beginning the interrogations we’d spent several days crafting. The single most important piece of information we needed to get out of Xander was how much of the Argead network remained functional. We all agreed it would be the thing he’d be least willing to give up.
On our sixth day in California, I received a call from Burns Butler. “Hello, sir,” I answered.
“Irish, I want you to know that my wife, Sorcha, has been pestering our oldest son endlessly about when you will be available for a visit to our ranch. Kade, knowing he is no match for his mother’s tenacity, has agreed to give you up for the afternoon tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry to be the cause of trouble, sir.”
“On the contrary. ’Tis Sorcha who is relentless in her pursuit of an audience with you. I’ll advise you to come on an empty stomach as she’ll prepare a feast in your honor that she will insist you gorge yourself on.”
“Laird!” I heard a woman’s voice shout in the background.
“Oh dear. I’ve been found out. Kade will brief you on your transport, and we very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
As it happened, Doc and I were on duty together at the Harmony house when the call came in. I sheepishly went looking for him after it ended.
“I’m sorry,” I began, but he raised his hand.
“Please, I’m the one who should apologize. You have risen to the role of godlike-superhero status with my mother, and she will not let up until she’s had her audience with you.”
“I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done.”
“As Gunner says far too often, bullshit.” Doc laughed, and so did I. “Listen, Irish, you did good. When someone says ‘thank you,’ say ‘you’re welcome.’”
“Burns said you’d brief me on transportation tomorrow.”
“Right.
