The ancient freight-elevator doors creaked open and the guards stepped out first, heads on a swivel. The basement was clear of foot traffic and Jianli’s Mercedes limo was parked in a separate VIP area reserved just for him. One of the perks of being a regular as well as being the son of one of the most powerful men in China.
The guards nodded all clear and Jianli ushered the women out with him, his arms wrapped around their waists. They clung to him like drunken sailors on a pitching deck in a high storm, giggling and purring with each step. When they reached the limo, one of the guards opened the rear door and ushered Jianli in. When the blonde girl tried to enter, he blocked her with his hand.
“What the fuck is this?” she asked in slurred but effortless German.
The bodyguard spoke no German but easily inferred the question. He motioned with his fingers at her small clutch.
“Jianli! What’s this all about?”
Jianli leaned out. “Sorry, my love, but he’s just doing his job.”
The blonde glanced over at the other steely-eyed guard, certain that the bulge in his coat pocket wasn’t an oversize smartphone. He held a security wand in his hands. “Fine.” She handed him her purse and he fingered through it. Found her cell phone, pulled it out.
“Hey! You can’t have that!” She snatched it out of his hands.
“Sweet, if you want to come with me, you need to give him your phone. He’ll keep it safe in a special box. It blocks signals so that it can’t be used to track us, that’s all. He’ll give it back later, I promise.”
“I don’t know about all of this,” she said, as the other guard wanded her firm, curvy frame.
Jianli flashed his most charming smile. Rattled a pill bottle. “If you’re a good girl, I have some candy for you.”
That caught her attention. She reluctantly handed her cell phone over and climbed next to Jianli after the other guard gave his approving nod. The blonde scrambled in with a giggle and playfully climbed over Jianli’s lap to make room for her friend.
The other girl hesitated, apprehension gripping her stunning green eyes. Jianli tried to coax her in with his hypnotic smile. The dark-skinned girl was the one he truly wanted. She looked like a young Halle Berry, an effect she clearly cultivated with her tight-fitting clothes and short-cropped hair.
“Please?” he asked in English. The woman spoke no German.
“Don’t be such a baby. We’ll have so much fun!” the blonde said, laughing.
Jianli held out his hand. So did the blonde. “Maybe it will be like Barcelona.” Her eyes twinkled.
The dark-skinned woman allowed herself a small smile. “Gee, I hope not. I couldn’t walk for a week after that.” She dropped her cell phone into the bodyguard’s open hand and let the other one wand her down. After the all clear, she clambered in. The doors shut, the guards climbed in and the Mercedes sped out of the parking structure with tires squealing.
The Mercedes sped westward on the crosstown highway toward Jianli’s recently built high-rise penthouse in Charlottenburg. It was after two in the morning and traffic was light, especially at the usual exit for Loschmidstraße. Jianli had already popped a Viagra and was eager to go, but a police barricade on the deserted street brought them to a standstill. Police lights splashed against the windshield like blue strobes, and a beefy Berlin police officer flashed his bright LED light through the driver’s window, tapping the bulletproof glass with the heavy metal casing.
“Show him your papers,” Jianli commanded from the back. The sooner they got through this, the sooner he could get into action.
The reluctant driver hit the automatic-window button and lowered the glass, handing his passport and driver’s license out the window, never hearing the muffled pop of the silenced 9mm hollow-point bullet that blew his brains out.
At the sound of the muzzle blast, the blonde threw a sharp elbow into Jianli’s face, cracking the cartilage in his nose and blinding him with pain while the other woman stabbed his guard through the ear with a razor-sharp plastic blade.
The two women hustled young Jianli out of the backseat as the two other men posing as Berlin police made preparations to move the Mercedes and dump the bodies.
The blonde nodded at the blood on her friend’s hand. “You okay?”
“Not mine.” The dark-haired woman wiped her hand on Jianli’s tailored shirt, then carefully removed from his wrist the white-gold Patek Philippe watch he’d been fingering nervously all night. She knew it contained a tracking device. She smiled at the thought that some lucky homeless Berliner in urine-stained coveralls would soon be wearing a ten-thousand-dollar Swiss timepiece.
Thirty minutes later, the Mercedes was dismantled and parted out in a local Bosnian chop shop and the two Chinese corpses were incinerated by a crematorium under a blind contract with Mossad.
On the other side of town, Tamar Stern and her blonde comrade made the final arrangements for a live video broadcast from a safe house in a heavily treed suburb off Königstraße on the far west side of the German capital. Tamar covered herself head to toe in black athletic wear and a balaclava, and used brown contacts to hide her striking green eyes. She knew the moment the video feed went through that her life would be forfeit if the Chinese MSS ever discovered who she was. They might anyway. She was willing to take that risk.
Had to.
FORTY-SIX
Vice Chairman Feng checked his Patek Philippe watch. It was nearly time to begin Pearce’s interrogation. He’d discovered through the years that simply leaving a man alone with his worst fears was sometimes enough to break him. He doubted the former CIA special operations group officer would cave so easily, but an active imagination coupled with a sleepless night without food and water would at least soften him up. His ultimate goal wasn’t to just extract information from him, but to turn the big American into a useful thrall. Feng’s government was making great advances in drone technology, but someone with Pearce’s practical knowledge could help greatly in furthering their tactical and strategic deployment.
A panicked knock rattled Feng’s door.
“Enter!”
A young army lieutenant dashed into the room, one of several trusted aides and the newest. The handsome young officer was the son of a key Politburo ally and a vigorous paramour. If the boy’s father ever discovered his son’s behavior, he would be disowned, which only bound him more tightly to Feng.
“Sir, there’s an urgent message for you on your private phone.” He thrust the smartphone into Feng’s hand. The threatening text message was terse and included both a private URL and a password.
“Who else has seen this?”
“No one! I swear.”
Feng’s searching eyes examined Lieutenant Chin’s strong but anxious face. “Good. See that it stays that way.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
The vice chairman dismissed him with a wave of his hand. After the door shut, he removed a private laptop with special security features designed by his own cyberwarfare specialists to thwart any attempts to monitor his online activity. He hoped it worked as well as promised.
Feng tapped in the URL and password, and within moments a live video feed appeared on his screen. A masked figure clad in black appeared. Feng was more curious than angry. The threat was insulting enough. But the fact that this man felt he had to hide himself — gloves, mask, sleeves — was proof that he was afraid of Feng’s power. That meant he was smart — or at least wisely cautious.
“Who are you?” Feng demanded.
“My name doesn’t matter,” the voice said. The tone was eerily ethereal and low, masked by an electronic filter. “You have Troy Pearce in your custody. I want him released immediately.”
Feng knew he was dealing with a professional. Possibly even a national-security operative. The masked bandit was smart enough to realize the vice chairman was deploying voice-detection software to try to identify him after the video call.
Feng smiled. “So afraid of me that you can’t even use your real voice? That won’t help you. My security services are probably already racing to your location—”
“For your sake, I hope not. They would only find a list of the names of the sons of Party officials you’ve seduced over the years, including Lieutenant Chin.”
Feng’s jaw clenched. Who is this bastard? How could he have possibly known about his most recent acquisition?
“Have I struck a nerve, Feng Yongbo?”
“You’re wasting my time,” Feng said. “You obviously have a few resources at your disposal, so you know it’s the families of these young men who will be compromised and shamed by these false accusations, not me.”
“I assure you that I have more than a few resources at my disposal. All I want from you is for Troy Pearce to be released immediately.”
Feng chuckled. “You Americans. So arrogant. So demanding. Perhaps I’ll release Pearce to you. Perhaps I’ll mail him to you in a bag chopped up like a chicken prepared for the wok. What do you say to that?”
The masked figure on his screen held up a razor-sharp KA-BAR combat knife. “Strange that you should mention chopped up.”
The figure waved the ominous blade, motioning for the camera to follow. Feng began to despair. The walls were bare and the rooms empty. Every precaution had been taken to not reveal the least possible detail about the hidden location. Furniture, calendars, photos, newspapers, wallpaper prints, and even room dimensions or window types could provide enough clues to locate them. Definitely trained professionals.
The camera followed the shadowy figure into a room.
Feng gasped.
His naked son was hanging upside down from a rope attached to a heavy wooden beam in the ceiling.
“Jianli?” Feng said, leaping to his feet.
The figure touched the tip of the blade against the boy’s smooth flesh and flicked it just enough to spin him gently and also nick the skin. A tiny drop of blood welled up just above the navel.
Feng’s lined face tightened with anger. “You’re a fool to touch my son like that.”
“So I have your attention?” The electronic voice reverberated over Feng’s laptop speaker.
The vice chairman calmed himself down. The American wouldn’t dare harm his son. “You’re risking all-out war. Many sons will die because of your crimes, including you.”
“I’m risking nothing. I’m not an American. I work for cash. You release Pearce; I release the boy; I get paid. It’s a simple business transaction.”
“Release the boy now and I’ll triple your price,” the elder Feng promised. “Fail to release him, and I swear I’ll find you and skin you alive.”
The figure rotated Feng Jianli’s body so that his broad chest faced the camera. “Poor choice of words.” The masked figure lightly dragged the knife blade across young Feng’s skin. A razor-thin line of pink flesh opened up and blood seeped out, quickly creeping toward his bruised face.
The vice chairman smiled. “Blood doesn’t scare me. Perhaps I’ll drain Pearce of his when we’re finished. I know I’ll be bathing in yours soon enough.”
Feng leaned forward in his chair, his face pressed close to the camera. “Of course, a woman knows all about blood, doesn’t she?”