Drone Command

FORTY-NINE

Floodlights bathed the tarmac where Feng’s Gulfstream taxied to a stop. The stars overhead were hidden by a bank of low clouds.

Myers’s hair whipped in the brisk ocean breeze that chilled her to the bone. The cabin door opened and the stairs deployed. Her heart skipped a beat when Pearce finally emerged in the doorway. As soon as he stepped onto the tarmac, the stairs behind him were lifted and the door shut. A moment later, the turbines whined as the plane began to taxi away.

Pearce’s broad frame was only a shadow as he crossed the asphalt. It took everything in her not to run to him because that was the kind of thing only silly women did in bad Hollywood movies. The American ambassador, Henry Davis, was with her, along with a navy corpsman stationed at the American embassy.

Troy emerged out of the shadows into the light of the hangar. Myers gasped. His unshaven face was badly bruised. One of his sleep-deprived eyes was red and blackened. Dried blood stained his collar. The horrible memory of Pearce’s head wound in Algeria flooded over her.

Bad movie or not, she ran to him.

“Troy—”

She wanted to gather him up in her arms and hug him, but she was afraid to touch him. She gently laid her hands on his shoulders.

He smiled. “Hey.”

She stood back. “What did they do to you?”

“A couple of love taps. No big deal.” He lisped a little. His lower lip was swollen.

“No big deal? You look like you walked into a wall,” Myers said.

“You should see the other guy.” Pearce laughed. Winced again. Didn’t want to tell Myers the other guy was actually a middle-aged woman who used his head for a punching bag.

Myers and the navy corpsman steered him toward a bench near the hangar wall. The corpsman broke out his medical kit.

“Can I get you anything?” the ambassador asked. “What do you need?”

“A shower and a change of clothes for a start. I’m kind of ripe.”

The corpsman flashed a light in both of Pearce’s eyes.

“How’s your head? Headache? Dizzy?”

“No.” Pearce lied. His head hurt like hell, but he’d be damned if he was going to spend the night in a navy hospital.

“Anything broken?”

“No.”

“How about a belt?” The corpsman pulled a silver flask from his coat and held it up.

“Don’t tempt me.”

The corpsman pocketed the flask and pressed two fingers on Pearce’s inner wrist, feeling for a pulse, counting the beats while staring at his watch.

“How badly did they beat you?” Myers asked.

“I’ve had worse, believe me. I’m fine, really.”

“Heart rate is good,” the corpsman said. “They hit you with anything? Electric shock? Any wounds?”

“Just my ego. Honestly, I’m fine.”

The corpsman closed up his kit. “I’d like to get you to the base clinic for a full exam or even the local hospital if you’d prefer.”

“All I need is that shower. Maybe a steak, medium rare.” Pearce stood and stretched, working out the kinks.

“I’m filing a formal protest with my counterpart in Beijing first thing in the morning,” the ambassador said. “Lot of good it will do.”

“Does Lane know I’m back?” Pearce asked.

The ambassador nodded. “Called him the moment your plane landed.”

Pearce looked at Myers. “How’d you get me out of there?”

“Called a friend of yours. She was very persuasive.” Myers didn’t know the ambassador well. Even if she did, she didn’t want to admit to an official in the Lane administration that she’d instigated the kidnapping of a Chinese national on German territory by an Israeli secret agent. “I’ll fill in the details later.”

Myers turned to the corpsman and the ambassador. “I need a moment, please.” They both nodded and stepped away per their prior arrangement. When they were out of earshot, Myers took one of Pearce’s hands in hers.

“I’m okay, really,” Pearce said, smiling through the pain. Myers loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled up when he smiled like that.

“Troy, I’ve got some bad news.”

Pearce’s smile disappeared. “What?”

“It’s your friend, Kenji Yamada.”