“What are you talking about, Stecker?” the president asked.
“I’m afraid Moore’s gone off half-cocked,” Stecker said. “Hired some mercenary ex-agent of ours to start himself a private little war over there in China.”
“What gives you that idea?” the president said wearily.
“I have confirmed sources reporting from Kinshasa and Hong Kong,” Stecker said. “I’m afraid the NRI has overstepped its bounds yet again.”
Stecker knew he was laying it on a little thick, but what the hell, he had Moore dead to rights this time. Might as well enjoy it.
The president didn’t reply, but the ringing silence had an edge to it and if Stecker knew anything, he knew this dart had hit the bull’s-eye.
“You bring me those sources,” the president said eventually. It sounded to Stecker as if he were talking through a clenched jaw. “And you bury this story. Understand? If it comes out before we can deal with it, I’ll know who to burn.”
Though leaking the information would have been personally satisfying, Stecker would not let it happen. Better to show the president who had control of their organization and who didn’t.
“Of course, Mr. President,” he said. “Honestly, if Moore has gone off the rails, I would consider it my duty to keep it quiet if at all possible.”
“Cut the crap, Stecker,” the president said. “You’re not the one running for office here. Be at the West Wing foyer tomorrow morning, seven a.m., sharp. Drive your own car and don’t bring any assistants.”
The president hung up, the snap of the phone ringing Stecker’s ear. He felt he’d made his point, but there was more to it than that. The president was angry, but he didn’t actually sound surprised. No, it was more like disgusted, like a man hearing of an accident he thought he’d already avoided.
A grin formed on Stecker’s face as he put the phone down and closed the report. Perhaps this would be more interesting than he’d guessed.
CHAPTER 15
The view from the 101st floor of the Tower Pinnacle was nothing short of spectacular. A curving, tinted wall of glass created a panoramic view. It began on the far right with the skyscrapers of central Hong Kong. In the center was Victoria Harbour, Kowloon, and the busy shipping channels between them, while off to the left lay the open waters of Sulphur Channel, Discovery Bay, and Lantau Island, where the new airport had been built.
There was a time when Kang considered the view a treasure, but now such beauty vexed him.
“Close the shutters,” he ordered.
A male secretary hustled to his desk and punched four buttons in rapid succession. Steel shutters descended from slots in the ceiling, blocking off the priceless view. In ten seconds they were down and locked and the room was illuminated by the soft recessed lighting.
Kang turned his head slightly and the sound of electric motors became audible as the powered wheelchair that supported him began to move. He crossed the floor, acutely aware of the eyes upon him: his secretary, several technicians, and his head of security and unofficial chief of staff, a burly man named Choi.
Though they tried to disguise their gawking, Kang could feel their pity and disdain. He had once been an imposing figure, nearly six feet tall, one hundred and eighty pounds, but several years earlier a rare neurological disorder had attacked him, first draining his energy and coordination and then progressing to steal the strength from his body. Kang could walk, and he did at times, during treatment and therapy. But his condition was deteriorating, and for expediency he now spent most of his time in the chair, his body twitching and shaking from both the disease and the electrical stimulators that had been attached to him to keep his muscles from atrophying further.
That the others stared was perhaps not surprising. But he despised them for it. Even more because he was forced to rely on them and Choi in particular.
“The girl is in the brig?” Kang asked.
“She has been placed as you requested,” Choi said. “But I think—”
Kang cut him off. “I do not ask your thoughts, nor will I suffer them today.”
“But sir, she is no use to us now,” Choi said. “She knows nothing that we don’t already know. We should kill her now or sell her. We know many who would pay well for such a woman. As long as she remains here there is a chance the Americans will move against us.”
A chance, Kang thought. There was far more than a chance.
He offered Choi a dose of pity. “You are limited in what you know. Your view of things does not extend to what I can see.”
He turned the chair a fraction, until he faced Choi more squarely. “The woman is of no use to us at this moment, this is true. But a time will come when she has utility for my purpose. If I were to indulge your bitterness and kill her or deliver her to the brothels, what would I receive in return? Two things I do not need: vengeance and a trinket of wealth. Should I really trade a cup of spite for what I desire?”
Kang watched Choi trying to work it out. He and Choi had come up from the streets together. Though Kang’s modern empire included manufacturing, shipping, and construction, he’d begun as a criminal, a racketeer who dealt in extortion, prostitution, and smuggling. Be it human cargo, drugs, or endangered species, if there was a price for it, Kang and Choi had sold it. And they had not been alone.
Originally their cadre included three others. But Kang had been forced to kill them, one by one, as their thoughts turned from following to leading. Still in the prime of his health, he had ripped one man’s throat out with his bare hands. He remembered the feeling of such strength, such visceral power, the man’s life and warm blood pouring out over his fingers. He longed to experience such a feeling again, such proof of his own potency. And he would not let Choi get in the way of his quest.
“But, sir,” Choi said.
“I will not be questioned!” Kang shouted. His voice reverberated around the room, startling all who heard it.
Choi’s mouth clamped shut but Kang could see the continued disagreement and defiance in his chief servant. Choi had long been loyal, but Kang could see it beginning to fray. It was inevitable.
He turned his chair and guided it forward toward the door of the conference room. It opened at his approach to reveal two objects and several men who seemed to be technicians of a sort.
The first object was the stone statue taken from Mexico. Two of his men were examining it, using electronic equipment to penetrate its depth.
“What have you found?” Kang asked.
“There is nothing within the statue,” one of the men said. “The granite is solid. No cavities or electromagnetic discharges. No sign of anything that the NRI was looking for.”
“Of course there isn’t,” Kang said. “The boy would have sensed it, when we brought him up here. What about the inscription?”
A second man sitting at a computer terminal answered. “We’re using the computer program to match the woman’s photographs with the remaining portion of the damaged stone. The resolution is poor but we have enhanced it and are now comparing it with all known hieroglyphic codes.”
“How long?”
The man shrugged. “The damage is extensive.”
“We’ll keep trying,” one of the other techs said.
“Time is running out,” Kang said. “We must do more than try.”
He saw their reactions, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Choi exhale in exasperation. He sensed all of them mocking him, as Choi did behind his back. And at that moment he wanted to kill them, to have them slaughtered for their contempt. But he restrained himself from ordering such an action. He would be healed soon, and once he was healthy again he would kill the insolent with his own hands.