Perhaps Kong would still have a chance to, once China was the undisputed world power.
There had been many hurdles to overcome, but the director of the Jinzhong prison system believed destiny led him here, to Plincer’s Island.
It began with spies, well-placed moles in America’s military, keeping an eye out for weapons research. When the Army ended its deal with Plincer, Kong was happy to step in.
The USA was far too short-sighted, not grasping the bigger picture. These days, war was won by intelligence and technology. But throughout history, it was ruthlessness that decided the victor.
Ghengis Khan. Trajan. Napoleon. Atilla the Hun. Marius. Alexander the Great. Julius Caesar. There was no mercy on the field of battle for these great leaders.
An army with no mercy was a fearsome force.
But an army with a thirst for blood—that was an unstoppable force.
China had seven million troops. But languishing in China’s many prisons were another seven million.
Kong had plans for his incarcerated countrymen. Plans that involved the serum and procedure Dr. Plincer had developed to enhance a subject’s aggression.
If Plincer could actually turn a normal person into a bloodthirsty sadist, China would have the most powerful weapon ever created.
Imagine a thousand such psychopaths unleashed on a city. Imagine a hundred thousand let loose in Russia, or America.
Such an army would be cost-free. It would have no need for weapons or training. It wouldn’t require food or shelter. It could use the transportation already available in the country it had infiltrated. Such an army wouldn’t even need orders, having the order to kill already programmed into its collective brain.
Like that catch phrase Kong had seen on one of America’s annoying late-night infomercials. You could just set it, and forget it.
Kong wouldn’t only have the power to keep China safe. He’d have the power to topple governments, to destabilize economies, to engineer anarchy and mass destruction.
And he could have it all for just twenty-five million dollars. A pittance.
He unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed his metal suitcase, waiting for the rotor blades to stop turning before he exited the chopper because he disliked his carefully combed hair to be blown around. The pilot, Lau, would stay with the helicopter. Lau’s partner, a burly man named Chow Kar-wang, would accompany Kong to the meeting and act as muscle if needed.
So far, Chow had kept silent. But he had been corrupted by American influence for too long, and Kong knew it was only a matter of time before the bodyguard disappointed him in some way. It shouldn’t matter. Intel reported that Plincer lived alone on the island, except for his Level 6 subjects and a few wild people who didn’t respond well to the procedure. Kong didn’t expect any trouble. Still, it was somewhat reassuring to see the bulge under Chow’s left armpit, knowing it meant a firearm.
The clearing they’d landed in was ugly. Ugly trees, Ugly ground. Ugly sky. Nothing at all like the serene forests of China. Kong would commit suicide if he were forced to live in such an ugly country.
The prison, also ugly, was less than fifty yards away. Kong walked briskly, and Chow matched his pace, scanning the treeline, watching for trouble. Perhaps he wasn’t as incompetent as Kong had surmised.
Kong didn’t need to look at his watch, but he did so anyway. Nine o’clock precisely. He allowed himself a small measure of smug satisfaction, then rapped strongly on the iron door.
Almost immediately it creaked opened, but so slowly that Kong ordered Chow to assist.
Dr. Plincer was balder, older, and uglier than in his press clippings from a decade ago.
“Good morning, Mr. Kong. Welcome to my island.”
Kong was grateful the doctor didn’t attempt to shake hands. Who knew what germs this filthy man carried?
“Good morning, Dr. Plincer.” He didn’t bother introducing Chow.
“Allow me to take you around to the back of the prison. We’ve decided to stage our demonstration outside. No need to worry about cleaning up afterward.”
He led them around the side of the prison, to a small courtyard where six people were waiting.
One was an unusually tall man in overalls. He was flanked on either side by a chubby girl in jeans and a sweater, and a man in khakis and a button down shirt.
Ten yards away from them were three teenagers. They stood with their hands behind their backs, each in front of a large, wooden pole. Kong noted their necks were tethered to the poles.
“This area was used for the firing squad, during the Civil War. You’re familiar with the war between the states?”
Kong nodded, keeping silent in his belief that any war where Americans killed Americans was a good one.
They approached to the tall man and his companions.
“Mr. Kong, these are three of my Level 6s. High level functioning, perfectly rational.”
“But totally psychotic,” Kong said.
“We prefer to use the term enhanced. The procedure enhances the brain’s aggression centers, triggering the neurotransmitter dopamine during violent acts. In layman’s terms, killing is an addiction. Causing harm gets them high.”
Kong frowned, simply because frowning made people try harder to please him.
“Do they follow orders?”
“But of course. Anything you’d like for them to do to our volunteers over there, they’d be happy to do. But first, I’d like to see the item I requested from you.”
Kong gestured for Chow to hold the metal briefcase while he opened it.
“Wonderful,” Plincer said, eyes twinkling. “The papers are in order?”
“Yes. Complete with bill of sale. Where are the notes and the serum?”
“Inside. I assumed you’d want to see the demonstration first.”
Kong nodded, closing the briefcase. “You may proceed, Doctor.”
“Certainly. Pick one of the Level 6s and tell them what to do.”
“What are they capable of doing?”
“Whatever you’d like.”
Kong raised an eyebrow. He was getting more interested. “Torture? Mutilation? Rape? Murder?”
“Any and all of the above, if you wish.”
“Not to be rude, Doctor,” Kong said, knowing he was being rude, “but I could order my bodyguard here to do any of those things, and he’d also obey.”
That probably wasn’t true. Kong knew that most men had their limits, and only a special few could commit atrocities without being affected by it. Even the Chinese, the superior race on the planet, had their limits.
“I have no doubt, Mr. Kong. But he wouldn’t enjoy it as much as they do. And he wouldn’t do it on his own if given the chance.”
“Fine,” Kong said. “The girl. Have her disembowel…” Kong studied at the three victims, then pointed. “That one.”
Sara was torn. Maybe the helicopter was sent by the authorities. Or maybe it was part of all the other bad things happening on this island.
So do I follow it, or search for the gun?
She hoped, needed, for the helicopter to be the good guys, coming to the rescue. Even with a gun, what was she going to do? Kill Martin, Plincer, Lester, and Paulie Gunther Spence? Sara had never fired a gun, but she knew most held six bullets, and people could be shot multiple times without dying.
Perhaps she could use the gun to keep them at bay and save the kids, but they’d still be stuck on the island. Could she force Plincer to call Captain Prendick, and then force him to take them back to safety? It was sounding more and more far-fetched.
Or maybe she could save the kids and force the helicopter to take them to safety.