Drone Command

FORTY-SEVEN

Tamar’s spine tingled. How did he know her gender? She’d read up on the vice chairman. His ruthless climb to the top of the Party hierarchy was well documented, but she hadn’t anticipated a cold-blooded sociopath with near psychic abilities.

She took a deep breath. It didn’t really matter. She owed Troy Pearce everything. He was the only man she trusted as much as she had her beloved Udi, who had been brutally murdered a few years before in an operation to stop the Iranian Quds Force in Mexico.

When Margaret Myers called her in panicked desperation about Troy’s kidnapping, Tamar was only too glad to help in any way she could. So was Mossad, Israel’s feared security service. Pearce had been a great friend to her and Udi over the years, as well as to Israel, providing valuable assistance when called upon. Pearce’s CIA service in Iraq had earned him serious street cred within Israel’s intelligence and counterterror community. They were all glad to throw in to help out an old friend who never asked for favors, especially when the request came from the former president of the United States, another staunch ally of the Jewish people. Tamar welcomed the chance to pay back a few of her debts to Troy. Tonight’s gambit was a high-risk ploy and neither she nor Mossad were confident it would work with the elder Feng, but they all agreed it was worth the gamble because Pearce’s life hung in the balance.

“Nice try, Feng. Let’s see how cool you are after your baby boy here is bled out like a pig.”

Feng laughed. “A minor cut. A little blood. I think you’re gutless.”

“Feng, Feng, Feng. Words have consequences. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

Tamar reached over to young Feng and grabbed his scrotum in her gloved hand. She laid the knife blade at the base of the sac. Blood from his chest cut now spilled all over his face. He screamed.

Tamar raised the blade high.

“STOP! You win!” Feng shouted. Jianli was his only son. The Feng family name and fortune would pass through him. Vice Chairman Feng’s only sense of eternity was the family bloodline. If his son should die or, worse, be castrated, the family line would perish and so would a hundred generations of his family name. Pearce wasn’t worth it. He would have to find some other way to get his vengeance for his nephew Zhao. He never really cared for the arrogant and insufferable young fool anyway.

Tamar kept the blade held high. “Make the call now. Release Pearce immediately. I want him on a plane within the hour, heading for Japan. When I receive confirmation that he’s arrived safely, I’ll release your son. Until then—”

Tamar swung the blade hard. The rope split. Young Feng hit the floor with a howl.

“I’ll be sure nothing else happens to your son.”

She cut the transmission, silently breathing a sigh of relief.

Young Feng whimpered, curled up at her feet.

She kicked him in the ribs to get him to shut up.

He did.

A door opened. Another masked figure stepped in. Tossed Feng’s clothes onto the floor.

“Get dressed and be ready to move,” the blonde said.

Now they had to wait for the vice chairman’s confirmation.

Tamar prayed the Chinese hadn’t somehow managed to track their location. If they did and sent a team to snatch the boy, Pearce was dead.

And so were they.