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

The young man beside Chavez held up the Beretta, which he had already cleared, along with the Bowers Group Bitty.

“An assassin’s weapon, to be sure,” he said.

The one next to Yao played with one of the Microtech knives, actuating the button so the dagger blade sprang out the opening in front. A few years older than Chavez’s guard, this one had several days of dark scruff on his face. “Assassins indeed,” he said.

Ma took the Beretta and inserted the magazine, then tipped up the barrel to replace the round in the chamber before reattaching the Bitty suppressor. He aimed the pistol at the floor, giving a satisfied nod at its heft—before turning to point it directly at Adam Yao’s face, three feet away.

The Uyghur guard stepped clear, obviously having seen Ma shoot someone in the head before.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Chavez said in English. “We’re friends.”

The Han man stayed aimed in, but took an almost conciliatory tone.

“Friends …” he said. “Well, my friends, if you have found me, then others surely will as well. Now, I need one of you to talk to me, but I do not need you both.” He took a deep breath, head canted in thought. “I will give one of you five seconds to tell me how you found me. I do not care which one.”

Yao spoke, also in English.

“Hala Tohti.”

Medina gasped, springing forward.

“What did you say?”

“Please understand,” Yao said, looking at Ma. “We have no issue with you. We need to speak with Medina about her daughter.”

Ma’s face darkened. The nail bed on his trigger finger whitened. “So you bring an assassin’s weapon.”

Medina’s face went pale. “What do you know of Hala?”

“There are men looking for you,” Chavez said. “Men who would use Hala to get to you—”

“Is she—”

“She is safe,” Chavez said. “My friend is protecting her.”

Ma moved the pistol to Chavez, disgusted. “Your friend is holding the child prisoner?”

“No,” Chavez said. “My friend got her away from danger. Away from the men who are after her.” He looked at Medina. “To get to you.”

Medina blinked, shaking her head as if she were in pain. “I … She … Where is my daughter now?”

“Safe,” Chavez said.

Tendons knotted in Medina’s neck. Her jaw clenched. “Safe where?”

“At this moment, she’s in Kyrgyzstan,” Chavez said. “On her way out—”

“I want to speak to her,” Medina said.

“We can try,” Chavez said. “But right now, they’re driving toward Bishkek. I’m not sure if they can get a signal.”

Medina choked back a sob. “I must speak to her …”

“Listen to me,” Yao said. “We have to hurry. There are very bad men here, in the park, the same men who would have used your daughter to get to you. We are on your side. I swear it. But the others have killed many people trying to locate you. Even now they are following one of my friends.”

Ma seethed, the Beretta lower now, at his belt, but still pointed at Yao. “This friend, he will come to you for help, and lead these men straight to us.”

“No,” Chavez said. “ She is leading them away from you.”

“How?” Ma asked. “How did you find us?”

Yao told him about the ticket stubs from the tour boat, speaking quickly. “I will explain when we are on the road. But we must leave.”

The female at the window shot a scornful look at the youngest Uyghur man. “Perhat,” she said. “You did not think to check your pockets before giving away your coat?”

Perhat hung his head. “I—”

“My friend is right,” Chavez said. “You are all in grave danger. We need to go. Now.”

“Enough!” Medina sprang forward, shouldering Ma out of the way and pressing her pistol to Adam Yao’s chin. She turned to scowl at Chavez. “We are not going anywhere. You will let me speak to my daughter, or I kill your friend.”

57

Lisanne picked up her pace, attempting to put distance between herself and the two men. They’d fallen in beside each other now, not even trying to hide the fact that they were following her. Her first thought was to run inside a café, but when she turned to look through the window, she saw families inside with small children. She considered turning around and running back to the police station, but realized these men had likely come from there. That would be a dead end in the purest sense of the word.

So she hustled forward at a fast walk, a hand wrapped around the little Beretta Bobcat in her pocket. She heard … felt static vibrate on her Molar Mic. Jack and Adara were en route. The lake was fifteen miles away. With any luck, they’d be here before Leather Jacket and Gray Coat attempted to make contact. Jack and Adara were likely trying to contact her now, just out of radio range—hence the static.

She made a left toward a large hotel, looking left as she crossed the street. The men were less than fifty feet away and closing. Rounding the corner, out of sight of her pursuers for a few seconds, Lisanne broke into a run. She cut down a side street, behind the hotel, skirting two large trash bins, before settling among a small group of elderly Chinese tourists, strolling back to their hotel from dinner.

Adara’s voice came across the net, vibrating her jaw via the Sonitus Molar Mic.

“… read me?”

“Five by five,” Lisanne said, breathless now. She made a quick right, thinking it would lead her to the front of the hotel. She’d misread the signs. The main hotel entry was at the far end. What she thought was the back had been the side. The Chinese tourists had gone in the back doors, and now Lisanne found herself on the other side, on a vacant street, with nothing but a line of dark woods beyond.

Footfalls on the pavement behind her grew louder. She turned to see Gray Coat trotting toward her, open hands out to his sides, as if to say, “What’s going on?” She turned to run, but saw Leather Jacket ahead of her. He’d continued straight when she made the turn, sprinting around the building to meet her head-on.

“They have me trapped,” she said, searching frantically for a way out. “I could really use some help here.”

Adara’s voice buzzed again, “inside” Lisanne’s head, on her jaw. “How many?”

“Still two,” Lisanne said. “I’m between a hotel and the woods, can’t read the name. Southeast corner of town.”

“We’ve got you on the COP,” Adara said. “Hang on. We’re two minutes out.”

Two minutes … This would be over long before that.

Lisanne sidestepped inside a concrete alcove as the men closed in. Recessed into the wall of the hotel, the alcove put her in a box, but it also put her back to the wall. A large rolling metal door told her it was a service entrance. She tried the smaller door to the right of the roll-up, but found it locked. Thought about pounding on it, then decided she might be better off handling this without witnesses.

Gray Coat still had his hands open. “Miss!” he said. “Hey, Miss! We do not hurt you. Want to talk.”

“You guys better hurry,” she said over the net, not caring if the men heard her or not.

“Ninety seconds,” Adara said.

Leather Jacket rushed her before she had time to respond.

He slowed as he got closer, stepping from side to side, herding her backward, into the corner—which was where she’d planned to go as soon as she saw it. She would use the angles to her advantage, forcing both men to come at her head-on rather than flanking her. No man wants to be beaten by a woman, and these two seemed confused that she did not simply submit and let them take her into custody.

“We are police,” Leather Jacket said, rolling his shoulders and puffing out his chest like a little bantam rooster. “You come with us, Miss.”