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

Neither Adara nor Jack could hear what the men were saying, but they would be listening to her side of the conversation. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said. “You’re not police.”

“You are correct.” Gray Coat laughed. “We are not police. And you are not from Finland.” He nodded to Leather Jacket, who moved in. Out of the corner of her eye, Lisanne saw Gray Coat take a syringe from his coat pocket—big, metal, like something you’d use on a horse.

Leather Jacket came in low and fast, attempting to take her in a flying tackle. She shuffle-stepped out of the way at the last minute, grabbing a handful of leather collar as he went past and using his momentum to help him headfirst into the concrete wall. Stunned, he staggered sideways in time for Gray Coat to rush in, attempting to stab her with the horse syringe.

Lisanne parried with both arms, attempting but missing a grab for the man’s wrist for an arm bar that would have knocked him on his ass—and, with any luck, destroyed his shoulder. Surprised at her sudden aggression, he twisted away, presenting the perfect opportunity for her to deliver a lateral kick to his knee.

Gray Coat yowled in pain. The syringe slipped from his hand, but he flailed out, catching Lisanne directly in the temple with his knuckles. Accidental or not, the blow rattled her. She staggered backward, seeing stars, vaguely aware of the short one coming at her. He drove a fist into her ribs, knocking the wind out of her and driving her sideways, bouncing her off his partner, who was still cursing and clutching his knee. Lisanne used Gray Coat as cover, darting around, wheezing, trying in vain to draw a full breath. Leather Jacket grabbed his own partner by the shoulder and yanked him out of the way, eyes ablaze.

Lisanne fished the little Beretta out of her pocket and brought it up a hair too late. Leather Jacket swatted it out of the way, jarring her radial nerve so her hand opened reflexively. The pistol clattered to the concrete. She sidestepped again to avoid another bum rush, catching a glancing scrape as his shoulder impacted her chest.

The blow spun her, but bought her some distance. She clawed the sides of his face with both hands, raking, screaming, fully intending to rip both the ears off his head. Pain caused him to come up on his toes, allowing her to drive a knee into his unprotected groin.

Leather Jacket doubled over, gagging like he might vomit. He yelled something at his partner. Lisanne gave him a slap across one ear for good measure, then wheeled to face a new assault. Jack and Adara would be here any second.

Gray Coat didn’t rush her, or try to attack her at all. Instead, he stepped to the side, moving closer to his partner. Lisanne spun to put her back to the wall again, keeping them both in view.

Tires squealed around the corner, on the other side of the hotel. The glow of approaching headlights cut through the falling snow, playing across the woods. Lisanne wanted to call for them, but didn’t have the breath to waste.

Leather Jacket pushed himself off his knees with both hands. He spat on the ground and reached behind his back, drawing a black pistol.

“No!” Lisanne screamed, turning to run. Jack and Adara were almost here—

The first bullet took her in the left arm, high, under her deltoid, shattering bone. It felt like she’d been hit with a hammer. She was vaguely aware of the report of a second and then a third shot. Had he missed? She hadn’t felt another impact … Arm dangling, she dug in, trying to run. Something was wrong. She coughed. Her feet … Would. Not. Move. Rooted in place, she tasted salt … Blood.

Headlights lit up the night, blinding her. Doors opened. Disjointed voices shouted behind the light.

Lisanne sank to her knees, gasping for air. A thousand-pound weight bore down against her chest. The headlights began to dim. Were they leaving? No, no, no. She needed help. They wouldn’t leave her. Jack wouldn’t leave her …

Fu Bohai stood in the snow on the aft deck of a thirty-foot cabin cruiser tied at the end of a pier behind the Lake Kanas Resort and listened to Qiu’s voicemail. This was his third unsuccessful attempt. Fu cursed to himself and snugged his hat down tighter against the chill. For a brief moment, he considered what his life would be like if he simply threw the mobile phone over the side and into the cold, black water. Mountains and lakes were beautiful, to be sure, but they were also an incredible nuisance.

He slipped the phone in his pocket and returned his attention to the boat’s skipper, a Uyghur man named Qassim. Qassim had proven to be more than talkative from the time they’d found him waiting alone on the boat. In fact, Fu thought, he might have to shoot the man to get him to shut up. Qassim was forty-six years old, had two children—both sons, thanks be to God, because his brother had two daughters and daughters were a curse. His wife nagged him, as he suspected all wives did, mostly about money and the creature comforts of life that she believed a wife like her deserved to have. She hardly cooked for him anymore now that his boys were grown, and the house was always a mess. She was, he pointed out, his father-in-law’s daughter, and, like all daughters, a curse …

Fu finally put a boot to the man’s shin to get him to focus. He freely admitted to being hired over the phone by a Chinese man to take a group of foreigners on a night excursion. He did not know the details, only that he was to be paid in cash when they arrived. The appointment had been made less than an hour earlier and he’d come down to the boat to get it ready. His wife had nagged him about going out again after dark and accused him of having a mistress. The old ewe would eat her words when he brought home all that money—

Fu kicked him again. “Are night excursions commonplace?”

Qassim shook his head. “Not common, but not unheard of. Crazy foreigners think they can get a better glimpse of the Kanas Lake Monster at night. We took a television crew out last fall.” He raised his brow up and down, winking at Fu. “The producer was quite attractive. My wife was certain I was …” He trailed off, at least smart enough to stop before he earned another kick.

“Where are you to take these foreigners?” Fu asked.

“I do not know,” Qassim said. “It is that way sometimes. Monster hunters bring a chart of the lake and tell me they have heard of sightings here or there or some other place. I charge by the hour, so it does not matter to me where we go.” He smiled, unable to help himself. “Plus, it lets me get away from my bothersome wife.”

“But they are coming tonight?”

“That is what the man on the phone said.”

“What time?” Fu asked.

Qassim shrugged. “I do not know. I brought tea and noodles, so I am prepared to wait. He said he would pay me for ten hours even if we were only out for two.”

Fu nodded to one of his men. “Restrain and gag him so he can’t raise an alarm. Put him up front in the V-berth, out of sight.”

“Please, sir,” Qassim said. “You do not have to tie me. I do not know these people. I have no allegiance to them. If they have done something wrong, I am happy to help you capture them.”

Fu ignored him, nodding again to his man to get on with it.

“Could I at least call my wife?” Qassim asked. “She worries.”

Fu sat on one of the bench seats and took out his knife. It had seen much use lately and needed some time on the stone. Blessedly, Qassim fell quiet at the sight of it.

“Better,” Fu said, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sound of the Uyghur’s silence. He set his hat on a small chart table beside him, and took a whetstone from his coat pocket, drawing the blade across it as he spoke. “At times, I want my bait to make noise, to draw my prey in closer with their screaming.”