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

The outside man stuck his head in the door, pistol in hand, panting after running from one end of the boat to the other.

“He is gone, Boss.”

“I don’t care about him,” Fu snapped. “Are we untied?”

Yang nodded.

Fu began to pound against the seat next to the captain’s chair. “Then go! Go! Go!”

The new driver pulled the twin throttle levers toward him, causing the boat to lurch backward, burbling in the water. Away from the dock, he cut the wheel hard left and eased the throttle forward, taking the boat into the blackness of the lake.

“I said, go,” Fu snapped, and, reaching across the wheel, jammed the levers all the way to the firewall.

“Boss,” the driver said, knuckles white on the wheel. “I could use some light …”

60

“He’s back there,” Chavez said above the roar of the twin Tohatsu 150-horsepower outboards. “For sure. Lights just came on.”

He stood at the rear of the cabin, watching the lights of the approaching vessel grow larger and larger with each passing minute. Ma had provided them with an SKS rifle, old and beaten half to death, but it was better than a pistol and Ding was glad to have it.

Yao was on deck, slumped beneath the edge of the transom to remain out of sight, making yet another call on the satellite phone.

Ma was at the helm of his boss’s second boat, a thirty-five-foot day cruiser for use when they did not have enough customers for the Eternal Peach . Ding suspected it was also the boss’s play boat, the one he used for personal fishing trips and wining and dining influential members of the Party when they visited the park.

Over a hundred and eighty meters at its deepest point, Kanas was shaped like a crescent moon, much longer than it was wide, and curving gradually to the east as they sped toward the Russian border—just ten miles from the north end of the lake.

Medina stood next to Ma, her hand on the back of the captain’s chair. The glow of the radio illuminated her gaunt face. Outside, snow, stark and white against the backdrop of the water, shot by in the beam of the single halogen running light. Spray chattered along the hull of the boat as it skimmed across the glass-slick surface.

The three other members of the Wuming had stayed behind, helping to cast off, vowing to continue the fight against their oppressors if Ma did not return. Once Medina had agreed to help, there had been no argument.

Jack assisted Adara as best he could. They’d turned on the propane cabin heater and made Lisanne a bed on a cushioned vinyl passenger bench that ran along the starboard wall, wedging her in with life jackets and covering her with wool blankets they found in an aft storage locker. Beyond that, there was little to do but hold Lisanne’s hand and try to comfort her. She drifted in and out of consciousness, which, Ding thought, was probably a blessing, since they had no morphine. Medina, who had apparently taken upon herself the responsibility of medic for the Wuming, brought a small kit containing a bag of saline and an IV catheter. The fluids helped some, but Lisanne needed blood—a lot of blood.

Yao finished his call and walked past Chavez, into the relative warmth of the cabin.

“We good?” Chavez asked.

Yao nodded and said “Yep,” which sounded to Chavez to be slightly less than good.

With Yao out of the way, he aimed the rifle at the oncoming light. If he couldn’t kill the son of a bitch in the felt hat, he could at least blind the boat, snuff out the light so they would be unable to follow.

“They’re moving up fast,” he yelled. “I’ll pop them when they get a little closer. Make them keep their heads down.”

Nine minutes from the time they left the docks, Ma eased back on the throttles.

The oncoming boat loomed closer now—less than a quarter-mile behind and closing fast.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this,” Yao said over the engines, “but if they’re in range, we are in range.”

The beam of the approaching vessel flooded the cabin’s interior, throwing distorted moving shadows around the walls as the boats bounced along on step.

Ma turned sharply to the right, nudging the throttles back even more. The roar of the engines fell dramatically. Their speed dropped by half.

Medina looked at him. “This is too soon!”

Yao checked the moving map on his phone and moved forward, grabbing handholds as he went to keep his feet. “We’re not far enough.” He held the screen down so Ma could see it, pointing at two respective spots. “We’re here. You need to be here.”

The other boat was almost on top of them now.

Ma gave a curt nod. Instead of speaking, he continued to turn the wheel to the right, pushing the throttles forward only when the other boat was almost on top of them.

Even at less than fifteen knots, the twin 150s were clearly outrunning the running lights. Snow and glare reduced navigational visibility to a few dozen yards.

Bullets from the pursuing vessel slapped the transom, narrowly missing the motors.

Chavez pushed open the door, firing the SKS at the most blinding point of light—to absolutely no effect. He fired again anyway, on the off chance he could force the pursuers to keep their heads down. Another volley thwacked the doorframe by his shoulder, chasing him inside the cabin.

“Any reason why we’re letting these guys climb up our ass?”

Ma glanced over his shoulder. “Hold on!”

Downed trees, a line of bright grass, and jagged black rocks suddenly filled the windshield, caught in the glare of the single halogen light.

Ma jammed the throttles forward and cut the wheel hard left.

Fu Bohai’s driver, being unfamiliar with the lake—and boats—focused with laser precision on the vessel ahead, mirroring its every turn. Clouds obscured even the hint of a moon. The incredibly bright running lamps were almost a hindrance in the driving snow and surface spray, making it easy to become confused.

“You must have struck a fuel line,” the driver said when the fugitive boat began to slow. “Shall I ram them?”

“No!” Fu said, standing beside the captain’s chair, one hand on the console, the other clutching an H&K rifle. “I do not want you to ram them. That would sink us both. Stay close. He may speed up again once he makes this turn—”

Fu glanced at the chart plotter mounted to the ceiling, surprised that the moving triangle that represented their vessel had not caught up with their actual location. Ma was clearly following Kanas Lake’s dogleg bend to the right, but the plotter showed they were still at least three miles away.

The driver cursed.

Ahead, the fugitive vessel increased its speed and virtually stood on its side as it arced sharply to the left, cutting a deep C of froth in the water and heading back the way it had come, roaring down the port rail, almost close enough to touch.

“You fool!” Fu screamed. He dropped the rifle to brace himself with both hands. “Turn! Turn the boat!”

They hit the mud at over twenty knots, slamming everyone forward. The driver flew out of his seat, impacting the windscreen with the crown of his head and breaking his neck.

Fu was thrown sideways against the metal console, snapping his left arm in at least two places. Pain and nausea brought him to his knees. One of the engines still roared, grinding the exposed propeller against the mud and gravel. Fu felt certain the otherworldly whine would shatter every piece of glass on the boat. He dragged himself up with his good arm long enough to kill the engine, before collapsing again to the floor.

The motors were off, but battery-powered lights were still operative, for the time being at least. Cold air poured through the shattered windscreen. The smell of fuel permeated everything.