Soldiers rushed forward, cackling. Mai raised both knees, swinging viciously under the doctor’s chin. His head snapped back hard, breaking the connection with his spine. The body slithered lifelessly between her legs and down to the floor. Once again, the soldiers backed off.
“If I could choose a way to die”—Smyth tested his bonds—“it’d be between your legs, Maggie.”
The lab door opened and the chubby-faced clown commander walked back in. “It’s done. The general will return and take care of this. What happened here?”
“The doctor.” One of the soldiers pointed at Mai in explanation.
“I have never known a prisoner like you before.” He drifted closer. “You give grown, armed men nightmares. Which clan are you from?”
Mai whispered a word in a voice pitched too low for anyone else to hear, but the commander’s frame visibly wavered. His entire body shook and he was an inch from having to pick himself up off the floor.
“Clear the room.” He hissed. “The general will have to take care of this.” Without ceremony, he forced a path through his men. “We wait. Now, we wait.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Shaun Kingston sat without moving, betraying no emotion as the calls came in thick and fast. General Kwang Yong thrust an encrypted phone back toward a subordinate and started smoothing out his cuffs.
“My people need me,” he said quietly. “I must return to the island. Immediately.”
“Anything I should know?” Kingston asked inoffensively.
“They have captured Mai Kitano.”
“I assume that’s a good thing.” Kingston didn’t pretend to recognize the name.
“It is an interrogation fit only for a General.” Kwang Wong puffed his chest out self-importantly. “And as regards our own enterprise — I need to know what she knows. Only me.”
“Understood. Germaine? What do you have?”
The bodyguard had been busy fielding half a dozen calls. “We’re about to get fucked more times than a porn star. The bastards have exposed us, sir.”
“Be more specific.”
“They know you were at the Desert Palms. They’ve even figured out why we zombied-up to take out those drunk pricks who barged in on us. In hindsight, sir, that might have been a mistake.”
Kingston didn’t miss the gentle irony. “So it seems. How easily our best laid plans can fall apart, eh, Germaine? Years of toil and strategy flushed away in a second by four idiots and an expensive hooker.”
Germaine nodded. “Since time began, sir.”
General Kwong Yang interrupted them. “I too need to leave. I wish to use the same airport I arrived at.”
Kingston nodded. “Goes without saying, General. My jet’s kept in constant readiness there. And I have more properties and friends throughout the European and Asian continents than I do in the Americas. We’ll head out together.”
“Very well. I will prepare.”
“General,” Kingston said softly to the retreating man’s back, “do we still have an arms deal?”
Three seconds of silence passed saturated with such thick tension it could have absorbed the thrust of a knife. Then the North Korean spoke without turning. “Of course we do, Kingston. If you wish I could always awaken our army…”
Kingston shuddered. He knew the effects an army of sleeper agents would have on American soil. The chaos and terror that could be triggered by random violence. He also knew how much the Korean relished making each and every call that turned a sleeper into a zombie-like assassin. The power in his voice could turn a respected, everyday American into a horrific extension of the North Korean army. Kwang Yong had invited Kingston to watch once, to bear witness to the wickedness. Kingston had felt obliged to acquiesce, just once. What he saw in Kwang Yong’s face was something he’d never seen before.
Undiluted hatred. Gleeful malice — the kind a priest might associate with an avenging demon. Wanton and immoral rage.
Just six words: The Devil is in, Miss Jones.
If a man could have a sexual, corrupt and psychotic experience whilst delivering a message on the phone, then Kwang Yong had stolen the gold.
“You would do that just to cover our escape?”
“Wouldn’t you? Mr. Kingston, you have made a deal to supply models of advanced weaponry and top secret blueprints to, quite probably, America’s worst and most proficient enemy. Did you think there would be no collateral damage?”
“Not beyond a certain scale.”
“Then on whom did you think we would use your DREAD system? Your XM-25’s?”
Kingston hadn’t actually taken his thoughts much beyond private island parties, a decadent, faceless lifestyle and megayacht ownership. Now, he pushed it all aside. “We have much to do.”
“Then I should really go and prepare.”
“You do that, General.” Kingston exhaled noisily. “It’s all unraveling. How long do we have?”
Germaine considered the question, whip-thin frame coiled with tension. “We have half a dozen material assets they will check first, but we need to be gone from this house by dawn, sir.”
Kingston checked his bespoke Rolex. “It’s five p.m. now.” He turned to his assembled men. “Load up the trucks, boys, and prep the armored cars. We move out in twelve hours.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Matt Drake felt the heavy burden that weighed heavy on his heart and shoulders ease a little when he walked into the safe house. Some of the world’s most capable people stood ready for action, preparing to take the fight to the enemy and erase his entire operation.
Dahl walked straight up to him and clapped him on the back. “Good to see you back in one piece.”
“Cheers.”
Hayden met his eyes from across the room. “Hope you’re taking that little desert-island jaunt off your vacation allowance, Drake.”
Alicia sniggered beside him, then crossed over to a quiet corner, already checking her phone for missed voicemails or texts. Drake nodded to Karin, Komodo, Kinimaka and Gates, already noting Ben’s absence. He fielded some questions about Mai and tried to put all speculation as to her fate out of his mind, lest it completely debilitate him. He described the dramatic overland trip and the exploits of Romero. When speaking about the Russians, he was far more forthcoming, describing the Moscow HQ and what little he’d seen of the operation, the ancient maps of Babylon and the tower of Babel, and the monstrosity that called itself Zanko.
Two new people sat staring at him from the farthest corner of the room: a grizzled, middle-aged man wearing a denim jacket and cowboy boots, and a dark-haired woman wearing tight hole-in-the-knee jeans and a ragged sweater.
“Ya know,” Alicia drawled, “you’d think when a girl gets told she’s going to a safe house, it’d be a house, rather than a bloody underground basement.”
Lauren Fox nodded in agreement. Hayden smiled. “Welcome to the CIA, Myles.”
Drake took in the room with new eyes. “This is a CIA building?”
“Sure is,” Kinimaka told him happily. “And it may be cozy, but it comes with all the mod cons.”
He directed them over to a central console, much like what an airplane pilot operates. Above the console sat a trio of TV screens, flickering with grey static for now. Kinimaka tapped a button and all three screens burst into life.
“It’s a direct feed from the main CIA building at Langley. This is what they’re doing now. The bit that relates to us anyhow.”
“CIA?” Drake wondered. “Doesn’t this thing come under FBI jurisdiction now?”
“We don’t have time,” Hayden said briefly. “You’ll see.”
Drake watched as three ultra-clear satellite images appeared. As the resolution increased and magnified, some major activity could be seen inside what appeared to be a walled compound. The center was a sprawling old mansion, abutted by many low-slung buildings that resembled car garages. The outside was a maze of gardens, warehouses and dirt roads, exiting the property at several points.