As a set of rolling stairs was driven up to the main cabin door, Court put his arm around the smaller Chinese man next to him. The two had spent a lot of time together over the last week, virtually every moment, and Court had found himself wholly enjoying the experience. They’d played first-person shooter video games at a hostel near the Malaysian border, lain in hammocks and drunk beers while watching surfers at the beach, and sat around in hot cheap hotels in the jungle playing cards. All the while Fan regaled Court with explanations of difficult mathematical concepts, few of which Court understood, but at least it helped the time go by.
The week had been easy and fun and he and Fan Jiang had become friends, but Court did not tell the younger man how nervous he was about today.
There was much that could go wrong here with the handoff to the Taiwanese, but at least the aircraft came from Taiwan and the men getting off the aircraft were Taiwanese intelligence officials. Court had used the Internet to look up the men Fan had been speaking with over the last two days, just to make sure this wasn’t some kind of an American double cross.
He couldn’t be certain it wasn’t, not even now as the Taiwanese officials climbed down from the Taiwanese plane that just arrived directly from Taiwan.
But then again, Court wasn’t a terribly trusting guy.
He forced a light tone to his voice. “All right, Jiang. You ready to go to Taipei?”
Fan nodded. “Yes, Chad. I am ready.”
Court went with the name Chad, just to give Fan something to call him.
The two Taiwanese spooks stepped forward, shook hands with Fan, and spoke for a moment, then shook Court’s hand, as well.
“Thank you for your assistance, sir,” one of the men said. “Mr. Fan tells me you have been incredibly helpful.”
Court replied, “Take care of him. He’s a good man.”
Court and Fan embraced.
Fan said, “Good-bye, brother. If you are ever in Taipei, I hope you will find me.”
Court smiled. “I hope you are hiding well enough that I won’t be able to.”
Fan nodded, wiped a tear from his eye, and turned towards the airplane. After bows from the two intelligence officers to Court, they turned and began walking with the defector between them.
Court stood there in front of the doorway watching them leave, then his eyes tracked off into the distance again, beyond the Taiwanese jet, beyond the runway and the airport terminal on the far side. As he stood there the cloudy day darkened even more, the air felt heavier, the gunmetal gray sky suddenly hung low and oppressive, as if all the possibilities of life had been squeezed down to this hundred-yard stretch of hot tarmac between himself and the plane.
From directly behind him he heard a voice. “Sometimes… there is no winner. Only losers.”
He did not turn around. He recognized the voice of Colonel Dai Longhai, knew the man had the drop on him, and he did not want to make any sudden moves. Instead he just watched Fan continue along the tarmac with the men, willed him to walk faster or to turn around with the Taiwanese so they could see the danger here at the hangar door.
To Court’s surprise Colonel Dai walked up onto Court’s left and stopped, his own eyes on Fan Jiang. Dai said, “I lose. You lose.”
Court turned and looked at Dai, and he realized now that the man’s hands were cuffed behind his back.
Now a new voice spoke up from behind. This man spoke American English. Strong, tough, and very familiar. “You’re gettin’ on that bird, too, Six. We all are.”
Court turned away from Dai, all the way around, and he found himself facing Zack Hightower, his former team leader with the CIA’s Goon Squad. Zack was back working with the CIA, in what capacity Court did not know for certain, but his job clearly had something to do with guns, because he held an HK416 rifle in his hand now, leveled at Court’s chest. He stood alone in the small doorway, but now the main hangar door slid open, ten feet off Court’s right, and an entire Special Activities Division Ground Branch field team walked out, each man carrying an automatic weapon.
Court scanned them one by one. Jenner, Travers, McClane, Greer, Stapleton, Rogers, Lorenzi, and a couple other assholes Court had never met.
And Hightower. Zack fucking Hightower.
Zack said, “Buddy, the U.S. taxpayer just flew me all the way around the motherfuckin’ world, just to make sure you didn’t do nothin’ crazy in the next thirty seconds. I’d really hate to shoot you, but you know me, and you know I will if I have to.”
“What… what the hell is going on, Zack?”
Zack Hightower did not respond to the question. Instead he said, “Chris is gonna frisk you, Court. You try some shit and I’ll just stand here and gun you both down.”
Travers handed his rifle to Greer, then he stepped forward, looking at Hightower. “Thanks a lot, dick.” He moved Dai over to the other men on his team, returned, and patted Court down. He took a phone, a folding knife, some cash, and a pair of keys to a scooter.
He reached up to feel if Court had a knife hanging from a necklace; Court had pulled a similar item off Chris Travers just a couple of months ago, so this felt like a bad dream to Court.
As he did this, Chris spoke softly. “Sorry, man. I’m a friend, but I’m a friend with a job to do.”
Court didn’t reply; Chris Travers stepped away, and Court turned to look back over his shoulder.
Fan was looking back now. He saw Dai with his hands behind his back; he saw a huge group of tough-looking Americans with guns; he saw “Chad” looking in his direction. The small Chinese man tried to run now, but the two Taiwanese with him tackled him to the tarmac. Court spun to race to help him, but after a shout from Hightower, Travers took Court down at his ankles, and other CIA men jumped onto the pile.
Jenner and Stapleton ran on to where Fan was pinned facedown to the tarmac, and they helped the Taiwanese intelligence officers get control of the small PLA sergeant. Eventually they pulled him back to his feet.
“No!” shouted Court. “No!”
Court was pulled up, as well, and led along by the big group of CIA paramilitaries. When they caught up with Fan and the men holding him, Fan Jiang said, “Chad? Did you know? Did you know this the entire time?”
Court shook his head, still in a state of shock. What came out of his mouth was barely a whisper. “I am so sorry.”
Everyone started towards the stairs of the huge aircraft, but after just a few more steps Court broke away from the hands holding him and took a step closer to Fan.
Hightower shouted from behind, “Bro… don’t do it! We have orders to drop you dead and leave you on the tarmac. None of us want to be here and have this go down this way! It’s a fucked-up scenario, but you know how this shit goes. We do what we’re fuckin’ told.”
Court looked at Jenner, at Travers, at McClane. He wanted to say something, but nothing would come out.
He turned back to Fan. “Look… I swear to you, this looks bad, but they will treat you well.”
“Forcing me to do something I don’t want to do? To go somewhere I have no desire to go? That is treating me well?”
The group walked on. Everyone went up the air stairs; by now the Taiwanese men had peeled away, and it looked to Court like they weren’t even going to board the plane.
Probably, he reasoned, because this plane wasn’t going to Taiwan.
Court boarded the aircraft along with everyone else, and the door was closed behind him. He entered the first-class section and saw that Fan was being led to a seat; two armed SAD men dropped in next to him, their shoulders to his shoulders.