one three cars ahead. The sheer precision and planning for this contingency astounded her. Had T’ing taken the threats far more seriously that she had? Evidently so.
“What the hell is going on?” she demanded, choosing anger over fear. “Quickly, drive to the police station. I want those men—”
T’ing interrupted her. “It would be of no use. And it does not matter whether they seek you or me, though I suspect the latter. Whoever they are, they killed your bodyguards, which makes me believe that you are the target. But,” he said, with a delicate shrug, “either is certainly a possibility.”
She twisted around to look behind. “Are they still there?”
“No.”
“Then where are we going?” she asked, doubts assailing her now. What if this was all some subtle plot, everything from their developing friendship leading up into the events of tonight? Had she been foolish, thinking him a friend? Was it even possible?
As though he could read her mind, T’ing looked over, his face grave. “We are going to the United Nations,” he said. “The security forces there have been alerted. You’ll see them appear as we approach. You understand?”
She nodded, satisfied, and leaned back against the seat for a moment.
“Down!” T’ing snapped suddenly, and he thrust her down across the seat and covered her body with his. The back window shattered, cascading glass fragments down them. Wexler stifled the scream that started in her throat.
T’ing muttered something that sounded like a profanity, and snapped out another command. Then he said, “Chinatown.”
Wexler started to protest, then realized she had no better plan of action. The exit was immediately ahead, and evading whoever was behind them would be far easier in Chinatown than on the interstate. She shivered, the nearness of her escape coming home to her.
Why? Was it the Iranians, indignant over her treatment of their ambassador on the floor of United Nations? Or some disgruntled radical group who disagreed with her position? She debated a for moment asking T’ing, then realized it didn’t matter. Safety first — then she would deal with everything else.
Wexler thought she knew Chinatown, but the one she dined in, shopped in, and toured was clearly not the same entity T’ing was familiar with. They were quickly off the main tourist venue and into the very heart of the neighborhood, winding down dark, crowded streets with exotic smells wafting past them. She and T’ing were flanked by his bodyguards and the crowd gave way easily before them. She noticed that T’ing nodded every so often to someone, and acknowledged an occasional hand raised in greeting. Just how deep did his roots run in this part of New York City?
The men led her to a restaurant whose name was shown only in Chinese characters. It was small, but the air-conditioning was brutally cold when she stepped through the door. A hostess stepped forward, clad in traditional garb, but the manager or owner saw them and rushed forward to displace her. He and T’ing exchanged a few words, then they were led immediately to the back, past the rest rooms and kitchens and out through a back door. The room behind the restaurant was about the same size as the main room but she noticed it had a steel security door at one end, all the windows were barred and shuttered, and there was a faint odor of disuse about it. Some restaurant supplies were piled in a corner on pallets, so she surmised this must be a storage room of some sort. But it was clearly not like any storage room she had encountered before.
In one corner, a couch and a few chairs were haphazardly arranged. T’ing led her there and said, “Now we wait.”
The couch looked clean and serviceable, so she sat down. “Wait for what?”
“More men. Here, we’re relatively safe. It is a controlled area, surrounded by…” For a moment he hesitated, as though wondering how much to tell her… “friends,” he concluded finally. “People I can trust.
“But trust to do what?” she asked. This was all proceeding with the dizzying speed of Alice bolting down the rabbit hole.
Suddenly, the room they had just left, the restaurant, exploded with gunfire. She heard screams and the stutter of automatic weapons. Before she could fully absorb what had happened, T’ing and his men pulled her up off the couch and rushed her toward the back door. They bolted out of it into a dark, grimy alley, and T’ing dragged her along as he ran toward one end.
“What’s happening?” she asked, aware that this was really no time to be asking questions but unable to resist the temptation. “Where are we going?”
No one bothered to answer.
Behind them, doors popped open as occupants’ heads popped out to see what was happening, and then slammed hastily. One door stayed open, and they ran to it. Once inside, a steel door was bolted shut behind them.
More gunfire, and she noticed that they were down to three bodyguards instead of four.
T’ing held his finger to his lips, gesturing to be quiet. She almost held her breath.
Just as suddenly as it started, the gunfire ceased. An eerie silence settled over the area, as though every living thing had bolted into a hidey-hole. She suspected that was in fact the case.
Acting on some unknown signal, one of the men opened the door and looked out. He turned to gesture to T’ing, who pulled her forward. “Let’s go.”
She stepped out into the alley and was surprised to see, despite the silence, that it was crowded with people. They were moving quietly, barely seeming to touch the ground. Most of them bore weapons — knives, guns, and a variety of Chinese close-in fighting weapons. She shuddered when she saw those — not much of a match for automatic weapons, but the men carrying them didn’t seem concerned.
Their car appeared at one end of the alley, and they ran for it, Wexler again cursing the fashionable high heels she wore as she stumbled over some trash and almost fell. T’ing caught her as she went down.
They practically fell into the back of the car, which took off before they’d even had a chance to strap in. As they pulled out onto the main thoroughfare, T’ing said, “We’ll try to make it to the United Nations now. But if they’re following, it may be difficult.
Was the United Nations security force capable of dealing with whomever was following them? She wasn’t sure. On the surface, you normally just saw civil servants with badges and handguns, manning the entrances with their floruoscopes and metal detectors. But when it came down to men armed with automatic weapons, she suspected they might not be much use.
But then again, in the last decade, the UN’s consciousness of international terrorism and the dangers thereof had moved more and more to the forefront. She tried to recall the briefings she had heard, the contingency plans, and realized that there would probably be additional security forces at the UN that she’d never seen.
“Are you certain?” she asked.
T’ing nodded. “In the end, this will have to be stopped where it started. And that means the United Nations.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“That does it,” Batman announced as the last of his airwing broke off and began returning to the carrier. “It just goes to show, they don’t have the will to fight.”
“Wonder why they all broke off at once like that?” his air operations officer mused. “I know what people say about them, but I would have thought the fighter community would have stuck it out. I know they were tough when we used to train them back in the seventies.”
Batman shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care. They’re out of my airspace — that’s all I care about. Now all we have to do is figure a way to get past that line of mines.”
