Drone Command

THIRTY-FOUR

The Red Flag L8 limo coasted to a smooth stop in front of Feng’s private Gulfstream jet, along with its armed escort. Soldiers leaped out of their vehicles. Myers and the others climbed out of the limo, Admiral Ji in the lead. Avgas and brine scented the ocean air.

Feng shouted over the Gulfstream’s turbines, which were winding up.

“Please convey our message to President Lane. China does not want war with the United States, but neither will we back down from a fight. You are well advised to leave the Japanese to fend for themselves. Why risk your carriers for a fool’s errand?”

“I’ll be speaking with President Lane as soon as we land. What he decides to do is his business, not mine. I can only give him my opinion.”

“And what is your opinion?” Admiral Ji asked.

“That pride cometh before a fall.”

“What do you mean by that?” Feng asked.

“It’s in the Bible. I don’t suppose you’ve read it.”

“Of course I have. I just wasn’t sure whose pride you were referring to.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Myers glanced at Pearce. “C’mon. Let’s get back.”

“No, not him,” Feng said. He pointed an accusing finger at Pearce.

“What are you talking about?” Myers demanded. Chinese rifles were suddenly leveled at Pearce.

“I have a few questions for Mr. Pearce about his time in Mali.”

“What questions?” Myers asked.

“That’s between him and me,” Feng said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t detain him. He’s an American citizen.”

Feng’s eyes narrowed. “You are an arrogant ass, Madame President, which is no crime, but Pearce is an American spy, and he will be detained until further notice!”

Myers got in his face. “I dare you to try and take him.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “I dare you personally.”

Myers was at least an inch taller than Feng. She wanted him to hit her. Get him to lose his cool, maybe get cashiered right out of government service.

“Get on the plane, Margaret,” Pearce said.

“Not without you.”

A guard’s heavy hand landed on Pearce’s shoulder.

“Call the embassy,” Pearce said. “They’ll straighten this out. You need to go.”

“They wouldn’t dare—”

“Your health, Margaret. Please.”

“What about it?”

“Your health. The doctors still want to monitor you, remember?”

Feng chuckled as he pulled out Myers’s iPhone from his pocket.

“Yes, your health.” Feng unlocked the phone. Found the bionic pancreas app. Clicked on it. Graphical sliders for dosing insulin and glucagon appeared. Level indicators pointed to normal glucose levels.

“You will walk onto that plane immediately or else I will have you bound and gagged and thrown onto it like a sack of cabbages,” Feng hissed. “And on your flight back home, you will experience a tragic malfunction of your bionic pancreas, falling into a deep coma and dying before you land.”

It was Admiral Ji’s turn to laugh.

Myers regretted not slapping the shit out of him earlier. But Pearce was right. She had to go.

“Fine,” Myers spat. “Just give me my damn phone.” She held out a trembling hand.

Feng slapped it into her palm. “A wise choice. Please give President Lane my warmest regards.”

Myers stepped closer to Feng. The guards shifted nervously.

“Anything happens to Troy, you’ll have to answer to me.”

Feng smiled. “Little dog, big bark.”

“Get going, will ya?” Pearce said. “Before this psycho changes his mind.”

Myers’s jaw clenched. She fought back tears. She remembered watching Troy spin like a top, blood spurting from his scalp before he hit the tarmac in Algeria. She thought she’d lost him then. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him now. But she had to leave.

“I’ll call the president as soon as I land,” Myers said.

“Just let Ian know I won’t be home for dinner,” Pearce said.

She nodded, smiled bravely, and jogged up the stairs.

The cabin door slammed shut behind her as she fell into a seat, her face close to the window. She watched three guards force Pearce to his knees and pat him down for weapons as they jammed his hands in a pair of PlastiCuffs behind his broad back, then raised him up and manhandled him into the back of a covered vehicle.

The Gulfstream shuddered as it began to pull away. She watched helplessly as Troy’s truck raced away from the tarmac.

She prayed. God save him. Please.

She punched the seat next to her.

Or else.