The Bone Labyrinth (21 page)

Kimberly reclined her seat farther back. “I could get accustomed to this.”

They were aboard a silver-winged Boeing 757, which had been converted by the Four Seasons resorts into a first-class accommodation of just fifty-two seats, only half of which were currently occupied. The itinerary for this semiprivate flight covered eight countries over twenty-four days. Kat had arranged for them to board the plane in Tokyo for the hop to Beijing, supporting their cover as a pair of rich Americans on a world tour.

For the moment, they had the rear of the plane to themselves.

Monk stared down at his satellite phone, which showed a map of China’s coastline. Painter kept the device updated with the most current GPS feed from Baako’s wrist tracker. It looked like the signal had settled at China’s capital, but they were watching to see if it remained in Beijing or moved on yet again.

Monk and Kimberly’s role was as a forward expeditionary force, to narrow down where the kidnappers might have taken Maria, Kowalski, and Baako. An extraction team was already en route, following on their heels via various itineraries, waiting for an order to assemble and attempt a rescue.

Monk’s phone vibrated with a new incoming message. It was from Painter. He scanned through it, beginning to sense the scope of their challenge ahead. The note related all that Sigma had learned about Dr. Amy Wu, the National Science Foundation researcher who had orchestrated that ambush at the primate center. She was clearly a Chinese mole within the NSF, one who had burrowed herself as far as the White House’s science council.

Her motivation for such a betrayal remained murky. Amy Wu was a fourth-generation American, an unlikely target to be co-opted by China’s political ideology. Even a search of her records and correspondence showed no support for communism. Still, Sigma’s financial forensics did reveal a trail of money running from Beijing through Wu’s office and out to various scientific projects.

Makes no sense
.

He handed the phone to Kimberly to read through the report. Once done, she gave it back. She kept her voice low, even though there was no one seated within three rows of them, and those nearby were wearing headphones and listening to in-flight entertainment.

“We’ve been monitoring Chinese activity on U.S. shores for decades,” she said quietly. “The infiltration of their moles and spies goes well beyond the nuisance hacking that’s been reported in the news. There are Chinese students in graduate and postdoctoral programs across the United States, in every technological and scientific field. They learn skills here and return to the mainland, where that knowledge is often used against us.”

“Why are we allowing that?”

“Good question. The simplest answer is that we don’t have enough U.S. graduates who are qualified to fill all of our PhD programs. Currently half the physics doctorates from U.S. universities are awarded to foreign nationals, most of whom take their diplomas and return home. In some regard, it could almost be considered foreign aid, as much of their education is underwritten by the American taxpayer—through grants for research, financial assistance, not to mention all the tax breaks given to colleges and universities.”

“So not only are we giving them this knowledge to take abroad, we’re paying for it.”

“Some argue that it may be beneficial in the long run.”

“How’s that?”

“It can serve as a way of spreading American capitalism, business practices, even educational norms abroad. The downside risk, of course, is that we’re creating our own market competitors. Scientists and engineers ultimately drive innovation—and we’re shipping that intellectual capital abroad.”

Monk was beginning to understand why Kat had picked Kimberly for this mission. The woman certainly knew her stuff.

“As an example,” she said, “there was a Chinese student sequestered for years at Harvard, working with the best of our geneticists and bioengineers. She recently returned to Shanghai and took what she’d learned to ends considered unethical in most Western countries.”

“What did she do?”

“She started a program to genetically alter human embryos.” Kimberly leaned back with a sad shake of her head. “Such procedures are already banned in over forty countries—and for good reason. Such research could be construed as a first step on the road to eugenics, using science to engineer a better human. We’re talking about inserting inheritable traits into the human gene pool, not only forever corrupting it, but risking a future where there will be a new class of people—those engineered to be superior.”

Monk frowned. “Do you think such a goal could have motivated this current attack? Amy Wu was channeling funds into the Crandall sisters’ research in the genetic origin of human intelligence.”

“Hard to say. But in regards to Dr. Wu, I do suspect her loyalty was not motivated by political ideology, but by the pure pursuit of science. Research today has become more about seeing if something
can
be done versus judging if it
should
. It’s knowledge for the sake of knowledge, regardless of the impact on the world.”

Monk remembered Amy Wu’s earlier comment regarding this subject of genetic engineering:
We certainly couldn’t authorize this study using human embryos. Not without raising a firestorm of protests.
For her, steering clear of such research wasn’t about the ethics of right or wrong, only about the fear of getting caught.

His phone vibrated again. A glance revealed a new text message from Painter.

SIGNAL DROPPED OFF.

TRACKER EITHER DISCOVERED OR LOST POWER.

LAST KNOWN LOCATION BEING SENT NOW.

Monk returned to the map and zoomed down upon the marked location glowing on the street grid of Beijing. Its path had stopped at a stretch of green parkland.

Leaning over, Kimberly stared down at the screen. “That’s the grounds of the Beijing Zoo.”

Monk nodded. Considering the enemy had a kidnapped gorilla with them, the setting made practical sense.

“What do we do next?” Kimberly asked.

He glanced up at her. “My dear wife, it looks like we’ll be paying a visit to those famous Chinese pandas.”

2:22
P
.
M
.

Maria ducked under the whirling blades of the helicopter. The aircraft had ferried them from a military airfield outside of Beijing to a helipad alongside a wide river. The waterway curved past, overhung by a row of weeping willows. She had watched their approach while they descended, noting the parklands that spread to the south and recognizing cages, pens, and other large buildings. Along a maze of winding walkways, crowds of people roamed and strolled.

An animal park . . . likely the Beijing Zoo.

Once clear of the helicopter’s rotors, she stretched a kink from her back. Kowalski drew alongside her, his face fixed in a perpetual scowl.

“Place stinks,” he said.

She agreed. The air smelled of exhaust smoke. The city’s skyscrapers across the river were sunk in a hazy yellowish fog. She had read about the air pollution problems in Beijing, but she had never imagined it was this bad. Her eyes already stung, and she had to cover her mouth to mask a deep cough.

“Keep moving,” a voice commanded behind them.

She turned to face the tall, waspish form of the group’s leader. While en route, she had learned his name was Gao, but she didn’t know if that was his first name or last. He looked to be in his midthirties. His black hair was cut to the scalp around his ears but kept longer across the top.

Beyond his shoulders, a small forklift retreated from the rear hatch of the military transport helicopter. It carried aloft the cage holding Baako. He clutched the bars, staring toward her, his eyes scared, his lips pursed as he hooted at her for help, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar of the aircraft’s engines.

She took a step toward him but was blocked by Gao.

“Go,” he said sternly, reinforcing his command with a pointed pistol.

The same weapon that killed Jack
, she reminded herself. Fury at the cold-blooded murder of her student burned inside her chest. One fist balled up in frustration. She fixed her gaze on that bastard, letting him see her anger.

Kowalski gripped her arm and forced her to turn away and keep moving. “Another time,” he grumbled under his breath. It sounded like a promise.

She let herself be led across an apron of concrete. She searched ahead, trying to get her bearings. Off in the distance rose a large arch-roofed building. A giant mural peeked above the tree line, displaying an ocean scene of cavorting seals, killer whales, and dolphins.

An aquarium . . .

But their destination was closer at hand: a nondescript concrete-block building rising two stories, its flat roof crowded with satellite dishes and antennas. A large door on the side trundled upward, revealing a freight elevator.

The forklift bearing Baako’s cage whisked past them and maneuvered fully into the waiting space. Maria quickened her pace to keep up.

“Not you,” Gao ordered and stepped past her. He pointed toward Kowalski. “You go with gorilla. Keep it calm.”

Kowalski glanced to her. It seemed their ruse that he was Baako’s caretaker continued to remain intact.

To maintain it, she gave Kowalski a small nod. “Do what you can to keep him from getting too frightened.”

He lifted one eyebrow, his question plain.
Who, me?

“Baako will need a familiar face, someone he knows,” she pressed.

Even if it’s someone he met only briefly.

But Baako was smart. He knew she trusted Kowalski, and the familiarity of the big man’s presence should offer him a small amount of comfort, especially in such a strange environment. Hopefully Kowalski could keep Baako from panicking. She feared for his care, remembering how their captors had used an electric cattle prod on him. She didn’t want Baako abused any further.

This thought raised a larger fear as she watched his cage being loaded inside the elevator. What
did
they want with him . . . or her?

Kowalski must have read the anxiety in her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after the little guy.”

Without thinking, she lunged forward and hugged him. His body stiffened in surprise, but then relaxed. His arms encircled her and squeezed, showing a tenderness that belied his brutish exterior. She found the heat of his body, the muscular strength of his embrace, far more reassuring than his words.

“Go!” Gao shouted at them. He poked his pistol into Kowalski’s ribs.

Kowalski let her loose and glowered at Gao, hard enough that the Chinese soldier backed up a step.

Gao shifted his gaze to her instead. “You come with me.”

Another soldier bearing a rifle forced Kowalski toward the freight elevator. Maria was led toward a smaller door to the side.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked Gao.

“To see Major General Lau. To see if you will live.”

2:45
P
.
M
.

How far down are we going?

From the lurch in his stomach, Kowalski knew the elevator was descending underground, but he had no way of gauging how deep. He counted a full fifteen seconds before the car finally settled to a stop. He waited next to Baako’s cage, which was still carried by the forklift. Four armed guards shared the elevator, too many for him to overpower and fight his way free.

Something tugged at his sleeve.

He glanced down to the furry fingers clutching his coveralls. A face pressed against the bars. Dark eyes looked at him.

Yeah, yeah, I know . . . you’re scared, buddy.

He pulled his arm free as the elevator door rattled open. He didn’t have time for distractions. He needed to concentrate, to learn the lay of the land in this subterranean complex. For any hope of escape, he had to know the way out.

A soft, frightened hoot rose from Baako as the forklift backed free of the elevator and into a cavernous warehouse. The space rose two stories, lined by row after row of shelving. Other forklifts buzzed around the room, hauling crates and boxes.

The tip of a rifle pushed Kowalski out of the elevator and set him to following after Baako’s cage. He did his best to look cowed as he crossed the warehouse. He kept his shoulders slumped while he eyed the shelves for anything that might prove useful, but all of the crates and cartons were labeled in Chinese letters. No telling what each held: could be a crate full of semiautomatic rifles or a box packed with Top Ramen.

Their party exited the warehouse and continued through a maze of passageways, down ramps, and across a musky underground barnyard that held corrals of goats, sheep, and some sullen-looking sows.

What the hell is this place?

As they continued, the number of personnel—mostly wearing lab jackets, uniforms, or work coveralls—slowly waned in number until finally they reached an area bearing angry-looking red signs.

Even Kowalski could guess their meaning.

Restricted Area . . . Do Not Enter
.

Their group pushed onward anyway, encountering no more people. Finally they reached a long cellblock of sorts, lined by a row of barred pens along one side, each the size of a single-car garage. The cages all appeared empty, but from the number of scratches, gouges, and stains in the concrete, they had seen some hard use.

At the far end, massive steel doors stood closed, sealed like a bank vault with a glowing crimson sign above it. One of the guards pointed toward it, but another knocked his arm down and scolded the man. Clearly even curiosity about whatever lay beyond those doors was harshly discouraged.

Kowalski squinted at it.

Interesting . . .

But it wasn’t their destination. The forklift halted midway along the row of concrete cells, and the driver barked in Chinese. A guard ran forward and unlocked one of the pens, while the forklift operator lowered Baako’s cage to the floor. Two other soldiers moved forward, slipping their rifles over their shoulders and pulling out electric prods. The fourth guard kept his rifle steadied on Kowalski’s chest, but the man kept far enough back in case his captive should try anything.