The China Dogs (38 page)

Through the howling wind and swirling rain, the lights of distant buildings grow brighter. This is where Shin said the main buildings were. The Peace House. The Bridge of No Return, where prisoners and spies were exchanged. The Conciliation Pavilion, where both sides still meet to discuss DMZ issues. Now it's just a matter of struggling on.

Getting there and defecting.

Telling the world what has been going on.

The front left wheel of the gurney plummets into another pothole.

Jihai is tired and barely has the strength to lift it out. He's soaked to the skin and the greatcoat is now more a liability than a help. It weighs as much as the gurney and is dragging him down.

He unfastens it and lays it across the middle of the body bag.

The plastic in front of his hand splits open.

At first Jihai doesn't understand.

Then when another split appears he does.

He's being fired at.

The wind is so deafening he hasn't heard the crack of a rifle, but the two holes in the body bag couldn't have been caused by anything else.

He runs.

He abandons his lifelong friend and runs toward the lights, weaving as much as he can, hoping that the zigzagging will make it impossible for a sniper to hit him.

It doesn't.

A bullet burns the tip of his right hand. It feels like it's been hit with an axe.

Adrenaline kicks in and Jihai keeps running.

His lungs are bursting. He's barely able to breathe. The lights are coming up fast now. No longer blurred and shapeless. He sees vertical and horizontal rectangles.

Windows.

His right leg buckles.

Only as he hits the ground does he realize he's been shot in the back of the knee. A soldier with a sniper rifle and night sight is trying to pick him off.

The lights are so close.

He tries to rise, but his leg won't take it.

He falls.

A bullet rips up a chunk of road and spatters his face.

Jihai rolls away from it.

Rolling is all he can do.

He pushes down with his right hand to turn himself and sees the ends of his middle fingers are missing.

There's no time for fear. No time for pain or self-pity. He pushes the stumps against the hard road and completes the turn.

Then he rolls again.

Rolls toward where he saw the lights.

Rolls toward freedom.

141

DMZ, Korea

J
ihai hears voices as he bumps hard into something huge and solid.

A bullet tears apart a piece of wood above his head.

He's reached a building.

He puts his shattered hands to the board and lifts himself.

His knee shakes but he gets his balance.

Bloody fingers feel out the edge of the building.

He claws his way around it.

There are lights on either side of him. Dawn is breaking beyond the ridges of the huts that flank him.

He's face-to-face with soldiers.

Soldiers from both sides.

He looks toward the blue uniforms of the South Koreans and stretches out his arms. “Help me. Please help me. I'm Chinese and I—”

He never finishes.

The sniper's bullet roars through his back and bursts his heart.

The words stick in the young scientist's mouth, then he falls limply face first to the ground.

142

The White House, Washington DC

C
lint Molton is on his way to the West Wing when he sees the ashen face of Vice President Cornwell appear in the corridor. “What is it, Pat? More dog attacks? Is that the welcome home you have for me?”

“That—and worse.”

“Worse?”

“A Taliban bombing at Camp Leatherneck.”

Molton goes into shock. “Damnation. How many hurt?”

“More than thirty Marines dead. I don't know how many injured. The reports are still coming in.”

“Dear God. I thought this part of the world had quieted down and all we really had to worry about was the Middle East.”

“It seems not.” He jabs a thumb toward the door. “I was just on my way to the Briefing Room when I saw you were back.”

“I'll come with you.” Molton turns on his heels. “I spoke to Xian on the flight over.”

“Not good news?”

“He wants to talk. I'm going to fly to the APEC conference to meet with him.”

“Of course he wants to talk. Talk and up the ante.”

“I don't know. I got the feeling he was being squeezed by Zhang. And not in a loving way.”

“The only love that Zhang knows is war. His dogs have been giving us hell in the last few hours. Attacks all across Florida, villages are being wiped out.”

“What about the National Guard and the police?”

“Still getting their acts together. Quick to respond, slow to anticipate.”

“We have to turn that around.”

“I know.”

They arrive at the Briefing Room. Secretary of Defense Leo Cagnetti is hunched over a secure phone finishing a call to Major General Jon Sherman, the force commander in Helmand and Nimruz.

Molton takes a seat across a small conference table. “What's the latest, Leo?”

“Thirty-nine fatalities now, sir. Six more Marines critical but stable, and around twenty more being treated for blast injuries.”

“Pat, make sure we convey my condolences to their families. I will write personal notes as soon as I have all their details.” He turns back to the Defense secretary. “Sorry, Leo, please continue.”

“Sir, it seems we're able to treat most of the casualties on site, but some are going to have to go over to Dwyer—”

Cornwell interrupts. “Dwyer? Why not the field hospital at Bastion, it's right next door.”

“The explosion took out part of Bastion, sir, damaged the section of the runway over there and they're still sweeping for secondary devices.”

“Any British casualties?”

“Afraid so, sir. Four injured at Bastion and two killed inside Leatherneck. The UK's Deputy Prime Minister David Pearson was there at the time but is unhurt.”

Cornwell shakes his head and shows his rage. “None of this would have happened if they'd stayed away. They knew we were at a tense point in the pull-out strategy but had to go chasing photo-opportunities because it's their damned election year.”

Molton turns to his VP. “Enough. Let's talk about this afterward.” He focuses on Cagnetti again. “How can I help, Leo? Have your people got everything they need out there to do their jobs properly?”

“Thank you, I believe so, sir.”

“Come to me if you think I can open doors, twist arms, or speed anything up. Is there any news yet of how the Taliban bomb got through security checks?”

“We think it was plastic explosives built into the frames of a new rank of portable toilets, sir.”

The President huffs out a long sigh. Taliban ingenuity and determination never ceases to amaze him. “They've come a frighteningly long way from legacy bombs and IEDs. I need the fullest details you can give me, so I can go over it with my press secretary and prepare an address to the American people.”

“Yes, sir.”

Molton gets to his feet. “Thanks, Leo, keep me apprised.”

“I will, sir. Thank you.”

The President heads out, followed by Cornwell.

“I'll talk to Prime Minister Hatfield, Pat. You need to get yourself over there, both as a mark of respect for our dead and for the British.”

“What?”

Molton stops in his tracks. “We need Britain close. Especially with this damned dog problem. We need every ally we have. So just do it, Pat. Don't give me shit, just do it.”

143

Police HQ, Miami

W
ithin the half hour, Annie reappears at Ghost's desk. “Bella is just showing Mrs. Clabbers—Monique Clabbers—to an interview room—”

“Who is she?” he asks, studying yet another set of records that doesn't correspond to Li Chen.

“She's the manager of the animal shelter Zoe visited. Fortunately, she was coming downtown when I caught her on her cell.”

Ghost pulls his nose off the tiny data print on the screen and tries to focus. “Okay that's good. Did she say what went on with Zoe?”

“No, the car line was too bad.”

“And the vet?”

“Sandra Teale said she'd try to get in to see you within the hour.”

“Thanks.” Ghost stands up, “Where's Mrs. Clabbers?”

“Interview Three.”

He nods and heads for the corridor.

Annie walks with him, Zoe's pocketbook in her hand. “Are there photographs to go with these notes you gave me?” she asks.

“Yeah. I'm sorry. I've uploaded them from Zoe's camera, you'll find them on my computer.”

“Which file?”

“Just all over the desktop.”

“Neat,” she says sarcastically as she leaves him and goes back to his office.

Interview Three is situated just past the overnight detention block. The air down there has been turned fetid by the overnight intake of drunks, druggies, and the homeless. He opens the door to the room and sees Bella Lansing drinking coffee with a gray-haired woman in a black pantsuit who he guesses is the local manager of the county's animal shelter.

“Mrs. Clabbers, I'm Lieutenant Walton.” He stretches out a hand.

“Lieutenant.” She rises a little from her seat, shakes it timidly and sits back down.

He can see she looks stressed. “Are you okay?”

Bella answers for her. “Mrs. Clabbers is a little nervous.”

“No need to be.” Ghost settles in a chair opposite the manager.

“I've never been in a police station before. They are—well—rather intimidating.”

Ghost smiles reassuringly. Normally he'd spend more time putting her at ease, but today time is in short supply. “Mrs. Clabbers, a woman named Zoe Speed came to see you yesterday. What did she want?”

“She used your name, actually. Gave me your number, and I called, but you were busy—”

“You're not in trouble, Mrs. Clabbers, I just need to know everything that was said between you and Miss Speed.”

“Right. Well, she was asking questions about Mr. Chen—”

“Who is?”

“He's an assistant at the center. His full name is Li Chen.” She opens the purse on her lap. “I wrote down all his particulars for you—his name, address, phone numbers.” She hands over a slip of paper.

“Thank you.” Ghost takes it and holds it between them. “Why did you do that? How did you know I'd be so interested in Mr. Chen?”

She colors and shifts in her seat. “Well, Miss Speed said he had sold some wirehaired pointer pups to the breeders who'd supplied those ladies who died the other night.”

“Astrid and Heidi Gerber?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“And had he?”

“I don't know. Not as far as I know. Though Miss Speed was insistent he had. She said she'd spoken to the breeders and they'd named Li out of the blue.”

“And that made you think it was possible?”

“Perhaps.”

Ghost could tell that Monique Clabbers was beginning to have doubts about the man. “How long have you known Mr. Chen?”

“About eighteen months.” She corrects herself, “No, it's longer, must be more like two years now. Li and his wife turned up one day and we thought they were looking to
take
a dog, you know, give it a home. But actually they were volunteering to help.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes, Mingyu is a businesswoman. Very bright. She makes financial contributions to our center but doesn't do any physical work. Li does, though. He's very hardworking. He's not in trouble, is he?”

“We just want to talk to him.”

Bella interrupts. “Sorry, how do you spell his wife's name?”

“M-I-N-G-Y-U.”

“Thanks.”

Ghost continues his questioning, “To be clear, before Li Chen turned up at the center, you didn't know him at all? There were no personal recommendations or references?”

“No.”

“Did you subsequently do any checks on him?”

She looks embarrassed. “Well, no—there was really no need—I mean, we haven't been paying him—he's not on our books—he's just a volunteer.” A thought hit her, “Is he—you know—” She lowers her voice. “—an illegal?”

“At the moment there's no suggestion Mr. Chen has done anything wrong.” Ghost doesn't mention that so far he's failed to find any records that even confirm Li Chen exists, let alone is a candidate for deportation. “Is he at work today or should I try him on these numbers you've given me?”

She shifts awkwardly in her seat. “He's not been at the center for a couple of weeks now. Said he was taking a break, but hasn't called since he was due back.”

“Which was when?”

“About a week ago.”

“And is that unusual?”

“Yes. Especially with Li. He's always so punctual. You can set your clock by him.”

“Did he say where he was going on vacation?”

She strains to remember. “No, I don't think so. Or else I've forgotten. I'm afraid I forget a lot more these days than I used to.”

Ghost reran things in his head. What the woman had just said to him. Notes he'd read in Zoe's pocketbook. His own half-formed theories on this line of inquiry. “Let me share some of our thoughts and worries with you, Mrs. Clabbers, and see if you can help us get a better idea of what is going on.”

She sits up attentively.

“Zoe Speed, the young lady who came to see you, went to the Chens' home after being at your center.”

“I know that, I gave her Li's address.”

“Well, Miss Speed is now in intensive care after being savaged by dogs at the Bicentennial Park incident yesterday.”

Clabbers clasps a hand to her mouth.

“That means there are two close connections between fatal and near fatal dog attack victims, your shelter and this man Li Chen.”