Cameron, Marc - Tom Clancy's Shadow of the Dragon

“Your eyes are younger than mine,” he said. “How sure are you that this is Medina Tohti?”

Elbows braced against the mossy forest duff, Yao looked through the monocular. “Nose looks right. Age, height, build all match. Pretty sure.”

“Sure enough to knock on the door?”

Yao lowered the monocular and looked sideways at Chavez. “It’s either that or snatch her later when she goes to use the outhouse.”

Yao gave a sudden start, as if he’d been stung or bitten. It hadn’t been that long ago that Chavez met the business end of some particularly brutal murder hornets in Indonesia.

He froze. “You good?”

Yao nodded and took out his phone.

Ding’s brow shot up. “Lisanne?”

“Foley,” Yao whispered.

“Take it,” Chavez said. “I’ll keep an eye on Medina.”

Yao crawfished backward into the brush, giving him some distance to talk without his voice carrying to the cabin.

Chavez traded the night vision for his binoculars and worked his way to a clump of scrubby buckbrush that offered a little better view. The trickle of smoke from the chimney grew thicker, leading him to believe the cabin had been empty before Medina and the Chinese man arrived and stoked the fire. Headlights played through the trees. Chavez lowered his binoculars to avoid reflection, ducking reflexively. He eased up behind the bush again when the lights went out.

A four-door Great Wall pickup had pulled up alongside the cabin and stopped. Chavez could see at least two heads through the window. They sat there for two minutes, engaged in animated conversation, before the driver got out. He looked Uyghur, or at least more so than the man inside with Medina. Another Uyghur male exited on the passenger side. Chavez froze as this one scanned the tree line. A young woman in a black tam and down parka poked her head out the back door, surveying the area before she got out.

They were all sure as hell acting paranoid enough to be Wuming.

Brush rustled as Yao returned. He was grinning. “Clark made it out,” he whispered. “He has the girl.”

“Outstanding.” Chavez lowered his forehead to the ground, relief washing over him. He still had the rest of his team to worry about, and Medina, and getting his team out of China … but he was going to have to eat this elephant one bite at a time. “No word from Lisanne?”

“Negative.” Yao gestured toward the cabin with his chin. “I saw lights. What did I miss?”

“Three new arrivals.” Chavez passed him the night vision. “Two males, one female. All Uyghur … or maybe Kazakh. I can’t be sure. Not Han, though.”

“Okay,” Yao said. “I spoke with my contact at the lake and confirmed the boat for exfil. He’ll be waiting—as soon as we talk Medina into coming with us.”

“And the contacts to actually get us across?” Chavez asked.

“Good to go,” Yao said.

Chavez groaned. “We now have five people in the cabin. Until Ryan and Adara get back with Lisanne, it’s just you and me, a couple of knives, and this little get-off-me .22 pistol.”

“You’re forgetting our most valuable asset,” Yao said. “We have John Clark, and he has Medina Tohti’s daughter.”

55

Lisanne Robertson felt the presence of someone behind her when she was two blocks from the police station. Her original intention had been to return to the hotel and then catch a taxi back to Kanas Lake from there. Per her training with Clark, she’d decided instead to do a surveillance-detection run on the way. The bad guys she’d hunted as a cop would have called it a “heat check.” No matter how gorgeous the green mountains and pristine lakes, she didn’t forget that she was operating in hostile territory—uncharted waters. Like the ancient mariners’ maps said, there were dragons here.

Jiadengyu was little more than a large concession for the park—hotels, tour companies, shops, and parking lots in the middle of the woods. The gateway to the park, it provided a jumping-off point for tourists who wanted to access the wilderness around Kanas Lake. Bus tours would pick up in a month, but for now, most of the park visitors on the street with Lisanne appeared to be of the hard-core adventurer type. Hikers, ski buffs, and mountain climbers, most of them young, fit, and wearing lived-in clothing, huddled in small knots in front of hotel restaurants and specialty shops that sold souvenirs and outdoor equipment.

Low clouds and a gentle snow brought warmer temperatures than earlier in the day—but warm was relative in the mountains, and the air still bit her cheeks and made her fingers numb. Adrenaline from being followed warmed her some—or at least made her forget about the chill. The weight of the Beretta in her jacket offered some comfort, but with it being a semiauto, she risked a malfunction if she attempted get more than one shot off from inside the pocket. A revolver would have been better, but you took what you could get. She told herself she was much more likely to go mano a mano than use a firearm, and warmed her hands as she had on uniform patrol, two fingers at a time, refraining from stuffing her entire fist down inside her pocket. She’d have access to the Beretta, while allowing her to bring both hands quickly into play—if she needed to, as her dad used to say, “go to town on somebody.”

She took a deep breath as she hustled down the sidewalk, letting the chilly air invigorate and settle her. She could do this. Her dad would be proud—and so would John Clark.

The stout little guy in the leather jacket ducked in and out of the crowd, turning when she turned, stopping when she stopped. At one point, she turned suddenly, backtracking a few feet to go back into a pastry shop—as if she’d changed her mind. She bought a cookie to nibble on while she walked, and resumed the circuitous route to the hotel. Leather Jacket was still there, thirty yards back, leaning against a wall, conspicuously ignoring her.

She knew he wouldn’t be alone, and began to scan the people across the street who were moving in the same direction. She saw the second man at the next intersection, approaching on her left from halfway down the block. Wool watch cap, dark glasses, and a gray ski jacket. She waited a beat before crossing the street. He slowed his pace, almost imperceptibly, so he didn’t catch up to her.

As Lisanne suspected, Gray Coat fell in behind her, taking the eye from Leather Jacket, who turned to the right, surely trotting to make the block and parallel his teammate to catch up a few blocks ahead. If there was a third, he was better than these two, because she couldn’t spot him.

It was time to call in reinforcements.

Ryan picked up on the first ring. “Hey! We’ve—”

“Flash, flash!” Lisanne said, indicating she didn’t have time for formalities. She gave her location first, using hotels, landmarks, and then street names. Chavez and the others had the ability to run a common operating picture on their phones, displaying icons that depicted team members’ positions on a moving map. Reception could be spotty in the mountains and buildings. “I’ve picked up a tail,” she said, giving a thumbnail description of the men she’d identified. “Team of two so far. Nothing hostile yet, but I don’t want to lead them back to your position.”

“No trouble at the police station?” Ryan asked.

“None. If they’d wanted to hold me, they could have done it then. Pretty sure they’re hoping they can follow me back to you.”

“Copy that,” Ryan said. “Things heating up here. Can you—”

Lisanne cut him off, bonking the radio for a split second by talking over him. “… The one behind me is picking up his pace,” she said. “They’re definitely crowding me. I expect they’ll make contact soon. Wouldn’t mind a little help here …”