The China Dogs (8 page)

She nods as she chews and listens. “It's good. Benny is an excellent cook.”

He doesn't even think about telling her that Benny can't boil water and that he'd made both the classic Miami appetizer and the main course of New York strip steaks, marinated for the past three hours in his own unique recipe. “Yes he is, surprisingly so.”

She takes another sip of champagne. “Do you know what
Liebesträum
means?”

“Yes. It's German. It means Dreams of Love.”

She listens to the ripple of notes and it makes her think of video she shot of soft summer rain breaking the stillness of a lily strewn pond. “You're very cultured—for a cop.”

He laughs. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. It was meant to be. Cops are supposed to be gritty, earthy, grubby, and hard, but you—you have a gentleness.” She realizes she may have accidentally insulted him. “Hey, I'm not saying you can't be a tough guy—I mean, I saw you out on the street with the robber and you handled yourself good. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” He's amused by her awkwardness. “As a kid I retreated into books and music. Until I became big enough and skilled enough to fight, knowledge was my chosen weapon of self-defense. Still is, given the chance.”

“So you're a thinker?”

“Try to be.”

“I'm more impulsive. Go with the moment. Roll with how you feel.”

He leans closer and holds her eyes. “And how do you feel tonight? Out here, with this strange man in the middle of this strange and hopefully pleasant moment?”

A tingle of excitement runs down her back. “I feel—”

Her cell phone rings mid-sentence. She looks accusingly at Jude's borrowed purse hanging over her chair.

Ghost nods at the bag. “Feel free to take it.”

She fishes the phone out. It's jangling rudely with Eminem's “I Am What I Am” and flashes up a head shot of Danny. “It's my brother. Excuse me.” She gets up from the table and walks to the edge of the helipad. “Hey, big guy, I'm out on a date. Can I call you back?”

“Tonight, or in the morning?” He sounds bored.

It's a simple question but one that suddenly fills her with panic. It presumes she might be staying the night. A few hours ago, steamy, one-night-stand sex is exactly what she had in mind. But now it seems a bad idea.

There's a danger she might get to like this guy. Like him more than she should.

Staying the night would be a disaster.

For both of them.

Come to think of it, staying a moment longer could be a big mistake. “No, Danny, it's okay. I can talk now.”

“Hey, it's not urgent. Later or tomorrow would be fine.”

She turns around to look at Ghost as she raises her voice in faked alarm. “Oh my God, you poor thing. Listen, don't worry, I'll leave now and call you when I'm back at Jude's. Don't worry, we can sort it out.”

She clicks off the phone before her brother can answer and walks back to the table. “I'm real sorry, but I've got to go.” She braces herself for the lie. “My brother has problems with depression and I really need to go somewhere private and talk him through it.”

Ghost takes a beat and looks her over.

“Sorry, he's been like this since he was a kid.” She gives a what-else-can-I-do shrug.

“There's an office downstairs. You can call from there and I'll have Benny keep your food warm.”

“Thanks, but I'd better go.”

He gets up from his seat and follows her across the helipad. “What did I do wrong, Zoe?” He catches up with her by the stairs. “Did all this freak you out? Did I go too much over the top?”

“No. No. Not at all. It was—lovely.”

“Then why are you running off ?”

“My brother really—”

He puts a finger to his lips. “Don't. Please, don't. I spend all my days being lied to, I can spot one miles away.”

She gives up her excuse. “It's me. I'm no good with relationships, and all this fuss, well—it all spells out the fact that you're the kind of guy who is going to want a relationship.”

“You're wrong—”

She forces out a goodbye smile. “Honestly, I'm doing you a favor by going.”

He stands between her and the steps. “No you're not. You're trying to leave for the reason I was trying not to call you back.”

The remark throws her. “Which is?”

He shrugs. “I don't know. There's some kind of connection.” He tries to read her body language but can't help but be distracted by how beautiful she is. There's a brightness in her eyes and a sense of vitality that he's never noticed in any other woman. “It's not physical, Zoe—it's more than that. I find you ­fascinating—complex—intriguing and—”

“Lovely?”

“Yes, lovely.” He laughs. “But that wasn't what I was going to say. I was going to say, unique. And I love unique.”

She steps close to him. Close enough to vaporize the air between them. “If I stay, I'll break your heart.”

He takes her face in his hands. “Albino hearts are extraordinarily strong. I'll take the risk.”

Zoe doesn't blink or look away as she kisses him. Softly, then firmly. It doesn't only feel as unhurried and as exciting as she'd hoped, it feels perfect. Heart-racingly dangerous and yet sure and protective. Like it is the kiss she's always been searching for.

25

North Korea

A
cross the 38th parallel runs a corridor of earth 150 miles long and less than three wide.

It's all that separates North and South Korea.

The soldiers staring down gun barrels at each other know this godforsaken patch of space as the DMZ—the Demilitarized Zone.

It has split the peninsula since a cease-fire in the Korean War half a century ago, and technically the two sides could resume fighting at any moment, as was borne out in 2013 over the North's repeated nuclear missile testing.

The DMZ is a bizarre strip of land that contains a village or two, land mines, guards, and regular tourist trips to the Military Arbitration Commission building where the cease-fire was hammered out and where both sides still meet on an almost daily basis to settle operational problems relating to the neutral turf.

Beneath their feet, and beyond the DMZ, are more than a thousand secret bunkers. Some contain KN-08 missiles and the first of the country's truly functional ICBMs. Others are merely dummy silos, serving no purpose except to distract America and NATO. Many are filled to the brim with military equipment, arms, and uniforms ready to be picked up in a war against the West or South Korea.

But a small number—hundreds of feet underground—house the laboratories and test center of Project Nian, a top secret operation started by the North Koreans, sponsored by the Chinese, and for the past six months personally overseen by China's top scientist, Hao Weiwei.

A gifted geneticist and loyal Communist Party activist, Hao has dedicated his life and learning to his homeland. Three years ago he and other leading geneticists were drafted into the project to help create the “enemy within.” Six months ago, as the final stage approached, he and his team moved to North Korea and spend all their working lives in these bunkers. Only the Chinese scientist and his son have swipe-card access to all rooms and clearance to the world aboveground.

Hao Weiwei and his son Jihai trundle the sedated dogs through the muted light of the reinforced tunnels in to the ultrasecure testing room with its sterile cells. Each of them is pushing an identical, electrically assisted rolling cage. It's a cell on wheels, made of iron bars stretching nine feet long by six wide and six high. The cages are the same but the dogs about as different as can be.

In Jihai's cage is a shih tzu, a delicate breed much loved by the Ming Dynasty. It's a tiny, silky dog that weighs just eleven pounds and at a cute stretch is barely eleven inches from paw to shoulder.

In Hao's cage is an American pit bull terrier, a seventy-eight-pound slab of fighting muscle that is twice as big as the Chinese breed.

The two men are met by Péng and research assistant Tāo. They help them maneuver the containers through an air-lock antechamber into the testing room's central containment area—a giant glass-walled cube that can be used as one large, open area, or divided into separate observation and experimentation cells.

The scientists slide the sleeping animals out of the cages and leave them side by side in a single cell, before they withdraw to the other side of the testing cube and lock them in.

Hao turns to his son. “Are all checks complete?”

Jihai has been diligent. As always. “Blood count. DNA profile. Calcium levels. Protein readings. All have been entered into the computer, sir.” He never calls him Father, not unless they are alone and off work.

“Good.” Hao is pleased. One day the boy will make a very fine scientist. Perhaps even his successor.

Audio speakers on the outside of the containment cell crackle and hiss into life. Supersensitive microphones gather the dogs' sounds. Whispery breaths from the shih tzu. Heavy snorts from the pit bull.

The tiny dog is the first to start to wake.

“Take your positions.” Hao walks to a master control panel and triggers the live video links.

He's giving General Zhang what he commanded. Footage of a live experiment. Proof that he and his team are incredibly close to achieving their task of perfecting a modifying spray that will almost instantly pacify even the most aggressive of the weaponized dogs.

The three scientists slide onto high stools and flip-down computer panels attached to the unbreakable glass cube. Thirty-six 3D video cameras jerk into autofocus on the other side of the reinforced panes.

Hao takes a long, slow breath then exhales before giving the command: “Arm and aim both the hypotrajectors and overhead sprays.”

“One is armed and locked.”

A raw, guttural noise blows bass into the speakers. The pit bull terrier is awake and is angry. It senses another dog close by. It's disorientated by the drugs and fears being attacked.

“Two is armed and locked.”

The shih tzu gets to its feet. It's yapping. Wide-eyed. Small shoulders ridiculously squared for a fight.

“Three and four are armed and locked.”

The terrier raises itself and regards the noisy ball of fluff in front of it with contempt.

“All atomizers loaded and ready, sir.”

Only in the shih tzu's eyes is there a hint of the fact that this breed goes all the way back to the Senji—the ancient Chinese wolf—and that it hasn't survived more than ten thousand years just by being cute.

The terrier makes the mistake of growling and opening its jaws wide.

The tiny, genetically modified David goes for the giant Goliath.

Hao quickly glances at his command console and presses the keys that release a mist of serum into the sealed cell.

The shih tzu has the terrier by the throat and is forcing it onto the floor. Its pupils have dilated to the size of black golf balls and it seems possessed with preternatural strength.

Weiwei hits the computer keys again.

Another mist of vapor, longer and denser this time, clouds the fighting dogs.

The pit bull manages to escape the vicious, piranhalike jaws. It lunges and snaps. But all its jaws claim is a sliver of silken ear.

The shih tzu is too quick. And too strong. As soon as it jerks away from the terrier's snap, it turns on a dime and rams the bigger dog against the cell glass.

The terrier whimpers as it thumps its head.

The Chinese dog goes for its throat again. Sinks its teeth into an already gaping wound.

Hao can't watch anymore. He looks across to his colleagues. “Shoot it! Shoot it, now!”

They trigger the hypotrajectors and deadly darts hit the shih tzu.

Within seconds it will be dead.

“And the terrier,” shouts Hao. “Put it out of its misery.”

Péng and Jihai turn the hypotrajectors on the dying pit bull.

In the corner of the testing cell is a giant monitor and on it the face of General Zhang, watching.

His displeasure is plain for all to see.

The atomized modifier was supposed to have placated the weaponized shih tzu, not enraged it.

Hao has failed him again.

26

Miami

M
orning light the color of maple syrup drizzles down Ghost's windshield as he drives the old Dodge across the Rickenbacker Causeway.

A seven-thirty shout from Dispatch means he's had to leave Zoe in bed, and that might not be a bad thing. He's not great at “mornings after” and dreads to think what someone as highly strung as Zoe is like at that time of day. He was actually surprised he'd gotten her to stay last night. It had certainly taken all of his powers of persuasion.

Zoe's still trespassing in his private thought field as he parks at Crandon Golf Course. He shows his badge to local cops and catches a ride on a GPS guided cart out to the seventeenth hole. The course is known to be spectacular, replete with saltwater lakes, towering palms, bleached bunkers, and immaculate greens and fairways.

Egrets pass overhead as he ducks a tape and follows a trail of verbal abuse being uttered from the shadows of a mangrove forest.

Medical Examiner Gerry Stockman has his legs spread over thick coils of roots and is peering down at the hideously mutilated body of an early morning jogger found less than an hour ago.

“Don't suppose you have a flask of coffee over there, Gerry?”

The M.E. looks up from his straddled stance. “My bad, I completely forgot to make you one as I was dragged from my night's sleep.” He gestures to the corpse. “I'm hoping like hell that this is another of your dog-related deaths. Otherwise we really have one sick bitch of a serial killer on our hands.”

Ghost climbs over the spaghettilike roots and stands next to him to take a look.