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

The Uyghur licked his lips, swallowing hard. His eyes wide as teacups. “I … I … can scream. You do not have to cut me.”

Fu smiled. “Tonight,” he said, “I want my bait to be silent. You will be gagged, so the rats will come to you. Remain quiet and you may survive to return to the arms of your bothersome wife.”

Fu set the knife on the chart table next to his hat and tried calling Qiu again. Still nothing. Odd that he would not answer. The man knew Fu expected a report. What could possibly be taking them so long? A lone woman should pose no problem for them at all.

58

Ryan bailed out of the van before it skidded to a complete stop. The transmission chattered, protesting being thrown into Park while the wheels were still rolling.

Ryan had slid in sideways, putting himself directly on top of the action but forcing Adara to run around the vehicle to engage.

“Shit, Jack!” she snapped, flinging the passenger door open.

Surprised by the oncoming van, the two Chinese men had bunched together, shoulder to shoulder, throwing up their arms against the headlights, firing blindly. Bullets thwacked off the hood. Glass shattered as at least one round hit the windshield. Another took the side mirror off the door, missing Ryan by inches.

He didn’t care.

Microtech Halo in his left hand, Beretta pistol in his right, Ryan ignored the oncoming gunfire and charged straight at the men as soon as his boots hit the pavement. Instead of moving off-line, the pug in the leather jacket attempted to backpedal, firing as he went. Ryan brought the Microtech around in a tight arc, burying the blade in the side of the man’s neck, yanking him sideways by the collarbone in a combination brachial stun and hooking maneuver. Momentum threw him sideways before he realized his throat had been cut.

Pivoting a hair, Ryan brought the muzzle of the Beretta in line with the other shooter’s face. He fired four shots in rapid succession. The Bowers Group Bitty muffled but did not completely silence the report. It didn’t matter. The guy was well beyond hearing anything after the first round. Mouse-gun .22 though it was, the little thirty-five-grain slugs had done their job, and done it well.

Ryan turned back to where the pug lay clutching his neck, blood pouring from between his fingers. Ryan anchored him with two quick shots behind the ear. He had been the one to shoot Lisanne.

Four seconds after he left the van, Ryan stood and scanned the sidewalk. A thin curl of gray smoke rose from the muzzle of the Bowers Bitty.

Adara was on her knees, one hand pressed to Lisanne’s upper arm, the other under her shirt, searching for other wounds. “Help me get her to the van! Stay with me, Leese.”

Training overcame panic, and Ryan lowered the hammer on the Beretta before stuffing it into his pocket. He grabbed Lisanne’s legs as gently as he could. Her head lolled to the side, a swath of arterial blood bathing her cheek. Adara carried her under each arm.

Hi-Lo sirens wailed in the distance.

“Get her in the van, Jack,” Adara said. “I’ll work on her while you drive.”

Ryan climbed backward through the side door, lifting Lisanne so she rested on the backseat, her head and shoulders in Adara’s lap.

Lisanne’s mouth opened and closed, making croaking sounds like a fish out of water. She arched her back at a sudden pain, and then collapsed from the effort. Her eyes fluttered and she looked up at Adara.

Her words were a forced whisper. “You … guys … came …”

“Of course we came,” Adara said, sounding much calmer than Ryan felt. “You can’t have all the fun.” Adara searched frantically through torn flesh and shards of shattered bone for the bleeder under Lisanne’s biceps.

Ryan grabbed her medical kit from the back and touched Lisanne’s cheek. “She’s gonna fix you up.”

The sirens were getting louder, closer—just blocks away now.

Adara glanced up at Ryan, her hands, her face, the front of her coat, covered in Lisanne’s blood. “Jack.” She shook her head, gritting her teeth, squinting away tears. She unwound a rubber tourniquet and wrapped it high and tight under Lisanne’s armpit as she spoke. “Turning her over to the authorities might be the only chance she has.”

Ryan nodded toward the dead men on the ground—the men he’d just killed. “I think those were the authorities. They didn’t have any intention of taking her to a hospital. If we take her with us, at least she has a chance. Leave her behind and …”

Adara shook her head, eyes welling with frustration and the unbearable pain of losing another friend. “Jack …”

Ryan knew exactly what she meant. In all likelihood, Lisanne Robertson would die no matter what they did. Ryan put the van in gear and made a U-turn, avoiding the street with oncoming police cars as he headed north toward Kanas Lake.

At least this way she would die among friends.

59

Yao’s heart fell when Chavez lowered the phone and shook his head. Medina was at the end of her rope, unstrung, a mother helpless to aid a child in danger.

Chavez had turned off his Bluetooth in order to attempt the call, and Ryan’s frantic voice crackled over the net for all to hear. Chavez started to answer, but Ma held a finger to his lips.

“Ding! Adam!” Ryan hailed again. “I’m not reading you. Transmitting in the blind. Lisanne’s been shot. It’s bad, Ding.” His voice caught, as he found it difficult to speak. “Really bad. We’re headed for exfil. In the black now, but not sure for how long. Hope you’re getting this.” His voice dropped lower. “Hurry … Like I said, it’s really bad.”

Yao pressed his jaw against the muzzle of Medina’s gun. “Go ahead and shoot if you’re going to,” he said. “The men after you have already tortured and murdered one of my dearest friends, and now they’ve severely wounded another.”

Yao had made a career of reading people, but Medina’s face was stone. There was nothing else to do but lay all his cards on the table. He spoke quickly. Ryan would beat them to the boat if they didn’t leave in the next five minutes. “Hala is with one of the most capable men I know.”

“My sister?”

“Listen to me!” Yao snapped. “We don’t have time if you stop and ask questions. Your sister was killed trying to save Hala. My friend killed the man that killed her. He got Hala out of China and she is safe. The men after you are with the Chinese intelligence. They believe you have information that could help them find a missing scientist, Liu Wangshu.”

Medina’s mouth fell open, astonished. “Professor Liu? What information?”

“Beijing believes you know where to find him,” Yao said. “They are using every means to find you. They know you are affiliated with Wuming.”

“What do you care?” Ma asked. “Uyghur injustice is a low priority for the United States.”

“And most Han,” Yao said, nodding at Ma. “You know too well that these are issues of humankind, not ethnicity. But, to be honest, I work for the U.S. government, and we want to find Professor Liu as well.”

“Why do you want him?” Medina asked.

“Honestly,” Yao said, “we want to find him because Beijing is interested. We believe he has something to do with a missing submarine.”

Medina lowered the pistol. “A Chinese submarine?”

“Correct,” Yao said. “Now we really need to go. My friend is in trouble—”

Chavez’s phone buzzed. Ma nodded for him to put it on speaker.

Yao nearly collapsed when Clark’s voice came across, loud and clear, as if he were in the room beside them.

“You called?”

“No time to explain, John,” Chavez said. “But I have Hala’s mother here. She wants to say hello.”