River of Ruin

Hatcherly Consolidated Terminal Balboa, Panama

The news reached Liu Yousheng in fits and starts and the more he learned, the more confused and bizarre the reports became. He’d arrived at the Hatcherly container port at eight in the morning, his usual time, and spent two hours in his office pretending that this wasn’t the most important day of his life. He had found himself reading and rereading the same document pages several times and even then he gained only the barest impression of what they’d said.

The tension taxed his legendary concentration, making him irritable with his secretaries and the two junior executives who’d come to him with problems. None of them knew what had so distracted their boss, but all understood not to ask.

At ten, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his raincoat and told the secretary that he would be out for several hours. He ignored his car and chauffeur and chose to stride through the rain to the enclosed dry dock on the far side of the terminal. He cut a severe figure in his dark coat that even the enormity of what he’d built in Panama couldn’t dwarf. The cranes and stacks of containers looked like they scraped the roiling storm clouds; the gantry lights cast shadows as strong as the sun. The huge ships tied to the quay were like steel mountains that he had brought to the jungle. The expanse of asphalt was like an artist’s canvas that he alone could paint upon. The men, local and Chinese alike, were his too, and they felt his presence as he stalked across train tracks and around rows of shipping crates. A few of the longshoremen called respectful greetings and a forklift operator offered him a ride.

Today he would cement his domain by risking it all. When it was over, he would not only control the container port, but all of Panama, including the mighty canal. At the same time he was giving his homeland the leverage it needed to finally rein in the rogue province of Taiwan. It was a momentous day and he didn’t blame himself for allowing no other thoughts but this to concern him.

The loose ends—Maria Barber, Philip Mercer, and the soldiers helping him—had been relegated to the back of his mind. They were distractions really, nothing more than nuisances he would deal with over the next few days. President Quintero would be grateful to help him hunt them down for another percentage or two of the Inca treasure his men were sure to find.

His cell phone rang as he reached the huge building that hid the Korvald. He let the phone ring a second time so he could step out of the driving rain. The ship loomed over him, its funnel no more than fifteen feet from the arched roof. The rain beat against the metal building and made the drafty interior vibrate.

He shook water off his coat and unfolded his phone. “Yes.”

“Mr. Liu, this is Captain Chen. I’m at the Pedro Miguel Lock. Something is wrong.”

Liu’s voice cracked. “What?”

“The captain of the Englander Rose—”

“Use the code name, damnit!”

“Ah, Gemini Two. He reported that he heard gunshots and then he went off the air.”

“Gunshots? Where?”

“On his ship, sir.” The military commander paused, unsure how to proceed, for he could feel Liu’s anger over the phone. “And now it appears the ship is sitting just above the lock.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, sir. Ah, hold on, please. I’m getting another report.”

Much to Liu’s irritation the connection was cut. What was that all about? He looked up to the rafters and noted that one of the big overhead cranes was in position to remove the DF-31 missiles from the Korvald. The rockets were going to be loaded directly on the eight erector/launcher trucks that lined the dock on one side of the refrigerator ship, their bright paintwork an odd juxtaposition to their deadly purpose.

The phone rang again and he answered before the chime stopped. “Talk.”

“The captain of Gemini One is reporting a problem on the Mario diCastorelli. He says that it just grounded in the Gaillard Cut, but not in its exact target spot and that the submarine was crushed when she hit.”

“An accident?”

“He couldn’t tell. He’s evacuating his own ship using its lifeboats.”

“Is he in position to detonate the Change?” Liu asked sharply, ignoring his own rule about code names.

“Pretty close, sir. His men will make their way to shore and run for Gamboa and the boat that will carry them to the Atlantic side of the canal.”

“What’s happening on Gemini Two?”

“Nothing. It’s just sitting there. I’m about to order some men onto a pilot boat to see what the problem is. I’ll call you back when I have a report.”

“Good.” Liu snapped off his phone and walked calmly toward the gangplank. He relaxed his shoulders and returned his face to neutral. He wanted nothing to disrupt his plans and he realized how the Korvald’s captain, Wong Hui, seemed to want a reason to bolt with the eight rockets still in the ship’s hold.

Captain Wong, Sergeant Huai and Mr. Sun met him as he climbed up the steep set of stairs and stepped onto the old ship’s deck. “Gentlemen,” Liu greeted warmly. “I trust we are set to go this morning.”

Wong made a point to study his watch. “At eleven o’clock, Mr. Liu.”

Liu tried to disarm the man. He smiled. “I can see why General Yu chose you for this job, Captain. Your dedication is laudable.”

“It is, yes,” Wong said without expression. “We have almost an hour to wait. Join me in my cabin for tea.”

“Is that really necessary?” Liu wanted those rockets on the dock as soon as possible. With those in his hands, General Yu couldn’t claim ignorance of what was happening if something catastrophic really was happening at Pedro Miguel.

This time, a hint of merriment touched the dour captain’s eyes. “Of course it isn’t. We can wait right here until the appointed hour.”

Bowing slightly in the face of such obstinacy, Liu made a gesture for Wong to lead the way. They waited in silence for a steward to bring the service and pour the tea. Liu felt the double pressure of Wong’s stubbornness, which bordered on insubordination, and the dissecting glances that Mr. Sun shot his way, as if he knew something was amiss. Only Sergeant Huai, a veteran of countless battles and a master of patiently waiting between them, seemed immune to the tension. He drank the tea and kept his eyes from meeting anyone else’s without seeming obsequious or arrogant.

Liu’s cell phone cried from inside his coat pocket. Rather than draw even more attention by excusing himself, he took the call and made sure his responses were guarded. “Liu Yousheng.”

“Sir, it’s Cheng.”

“Yes, of course. How may I help you?”

“Sir, the pilot boat was destroyed. I think by rockets from Gemini Two, but I can’t be sure. Now the ship is turning back for the lock. I think they mean to go back down.”

“Well, that is interesting news,” Liu replied mildly while his stomach erupted so fiercely that acid seared the base of his tongue. He fought not to wince and covered the pain by shifting in his seat. “Anything else?”

Either Cheng caught on to the fact Liu couldn’t speak openly or was too frightened to notice. He continued his report despite his superior’s easy tone. “The ship is about to reenter the lock. The bottom gates are closed so maybe they mean to ram it.”

“Let them try.” Liu’s laugh was genuine, for he knew nothing short of a battleship at full speed could break through the two sets of massive gates.

“Sir!” Cheng shouted. “More explosions! It’s not coming from the Englander Rose. We’re under attack. Artillery of some kind. They’re targeting the doors.” There was a pause. Liu could hear detonations over the crackling cellular connection. “They’re gone. The doors are gone. The ship just raced by me going so fast I couldn’t see who was on the bridge. They’re on Miraflores Lake.”

Liu stood. He could no longer keep up a façade in front of Captain Wong. He nodded to the men and stepped from the cabin, moving far enough down the hallway so he couldn’t be overheard. His voice became an angry hiss. “What are you saying?”

“A barrage of some kind blew apart the lower lock doors. Water is pouring through and the Englander Rose went with it. It just passed a freighter on Miraflores and looks like it’s heading for the next set of locks.”

“Listen to me very carefully. That ship must not get off the lake. If you can stop it and get aboard I’ve got the code that will let you reset the timer on the explosives. We can still get the ship to the cut and finish what we started.”

“Yes, sir. I have a force at the Miraflores Locks and I can get the rest of my men down there before the ship reaches it. We’ll stop them.”

“Make sure you do, Cheng.” Liu put his phone away and stood looking at his feet, his face creased in thought. The dice were still rolling and a chance remained to effect their outcome.

A voice from behind snapped him from his reverie, a voice that wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Panama, let alone on the Korvald.

“It seems you’re having a problem.” General Yu stood near the first officer’s cabin, where he’d been listening. There was a smirk on his pug face, delighting in seeing the younger executive about to have his world torn away from him. “It appears that we gambled and you lost.”

Mercer dove into the bridge. “Incoming!” he shouted again.

The rocket, a Chinese version of the Russian man-portable RPG-7, was primarily an antitank weapon with a five-pound shaped warhead capable of penetrating up to a foot of armor. Although their accuracy beyond three hundred yards was poor, and only a lucky hit could possibly disable a ship the size of the Englander Rose, everyone knew the wheelhouse was the missile’s target and a hit would turn it into flaming ruins.

They had all been under fire before, Harry during World War II and the others much more recently, and all knew to keep their mouths open to protect their inner ears from the overpressure of an explosion. Foch radioed a warning to his men in the hold and ducked behind the sturdy console to await the hit.

The rocket-propelled grenade flew unerringly at the vessel, a smoking slash of light that cut across the distance in seconds. The shaped warhead hit in the juncture where the superstructure met the deck and blew a cone of fire deep into the ship, shredding bulkheads and deck plates and leaving a four-foot smoking crater. The bridge rumbled and a gust of hot smoke blew through the aft doorway. For a fraction of a second, the crew waited for the secondary explosion, for surely such a strike could detonate the tons of explosives in her hold.

But then logic took over as they realized that they would never feel such a massive blast.

Mercer’s ears rang and his voice sounded unnaturally loud when he called, “Everyone okay?”

“We’re fine this time,” Rene said and ordered the Legionnaires to determine the extent of the damage and battle any fires the explosion might have ignited.

“Harry?”

“I’m good.” The old man got to his feet and immediately checked the ship’s gauges, grunting his relief that everything appeared in order.

Mercer’s earpiece crackled. “Angel Two, this is Heaven. Sit rep?”

“We’re still here.”

“We can target the seawalls with a strike before blowing the gates. The drone reports concentrations of troops along both sides of the lock you’ll be going through.”

“Hold on, Heaven.” Mercer went back outside and studied the barrier through his binoculars. Amid the uniformed troops, he saw dozens of workers being used as human shields by the Chinese. It seemed every soldier had at least two workers with him, men held by fright, not loyalty. Mercer couldn’t order their deaths. “Negative, Heaven. There are too many civilians out there. Lay a barrage along the wall to keep the rocket launchers pinned, but don’t hit the structure. Do you copy?”

“Roger. Retargeting now.”

The seawall dividing the two sets of locks was much longer than the one at Pedro Miguel, extending past the topmost lock by several thousand feet. Mercer tried to remain calm as he watched a team of soldiers at its tip readying another RPG. The range was sufficiently close to guarantee a hit on the Rose’s bridge. Through the powerful binoculars he could see the brightness in the gunner’s eyes as he swung the tubelike weapon to his shoulder.

Mercer was about to shout another warning when the water just feet off the concrete wall exploded in what looked like a precisely timed series of charges. The VGAS cannon walked its shots from the end of the seawall all the way to the lock. Each round exploded an exact distance from its predecessor in a string of geysers like some sort of overwhelming fountain effect. Men dove for cover, fearing the next string would tear up the cement. Some leapt into the opposite lock, others cowered behind the mule engines and others just froze as they were showered with water.

“Okay,” Harry called from the wheel. “It’s time to blow the doors.”

The upper lock chamber was already flooded and its gates were open to the Rose while a ship was just being drawn into the lower one by the mules, although it appeared work had stopped.

“Heaven, Angel Two. It’s open-sesame time.”

“Could you repeat that, please?”

“Hit the goddamned doors!”

With the upper chamber fully flooded and the lower one drained to the level of the Pacific Ocean, only the doors separating the two locks had to be hit to allow the Rose to pass through. Because they closed at shallow angles, the cathedral-like primary and safety doors looked like a flattened two-striped chevron when viewed from above.

Twenty seconds later, the area around them erupted. The shots were perfectly placed, penetrating the first layer of steel and exploding inside the hollow gates. The following rounds worked at the hinge points, tearing them from their concrete redoubts. After a dozen hits, the safety doors failed and the twenty feet of water between them and the main doors rushed into the lower chamber, rocking the freighter held fast by the mules.

A savvy worker in the centrally placed control center slammed levers to try to close the upper gates in order to prevent a catastrophic flood like the one gushing through Pedro Miguel. He couldn’t chance ruining the mechanism by trying to close them against such a deluge, but they would hold if he could get them secure before the cannon destroyed the second doors and the chamber opened to the sea.

The VGAS continued its deadly work, six-inch shells raining down in a steady tattoo after their thirty-mile flight. The second door protecting the lower lock absorbed shot after shot. It had been holed several times, and water spurted in high-pressure jets that doused the trapped freighter below.

The canal employee in the control room realized he’d never beat the gun and reversed the upper doors in order to protect them, hoping that they could be deployed later under safer conditions.

At full speed, the Englander Rose couldn’t beat the gun either.

The ship’s bow had just entered the chamber, and was still one thousand feet from the doors, when two well-placed shots hit the lower hinges. The release was like a tsunami, a solid surge that deformed the doors into misshapen slabs before wrenching them free. The tidal wave slammed the freighter waiting below, raising it up and pushing it back. The four locomotives still attached by their tow lines didn’t stand a chance against such a titanic force. The drivers had leapt clear, but like toys, the engines were plucked from the tracks. All four were dumped into the boiling wash and dragged with the ship before the towing hawsers snapped. Caught like leaves in a liquid whirlwind, the electric locomotives continued to tumble along the rocky bottom.

The freighter’s captain put the rudder hard over to angle his ship out of the maelstrom, narrowly missing another vessel waiting to ascend the adjacent set of locks.

The way was clear for the Englander Rose, and like a log poised at the top of a flume, she shot forward.

The tired old ship accelerated as water went draining through the open locks in a maddened rush. As she shot into the middle of the lock, the level had drained enough for alert soldiers on the seawall to open fire almost directly into the bridge. What little glass remained was quickly shot away and bullets whipped around the wheelhouse in swarms.

Mercer unleashed a quick burst from his M-16 before remembering the human shields the Chinese were using. He held his fire as they ran the gauntlet.

Only Harry remained on his feet, concentrating solely on keeping his ship steady as she hurtled toward the shattered remains of the doors and the first great plunge from one basin to the next. He seemed oblivious to the deadly fire raking the bridge, his lips working as he drew each breath through a cigarette.

Soldiers continued to pour rounds at the ship as it raced past their positions, and Mercer almost regretted not allowing the USS McCampbell to clear their way first. A rocket was launched, but the shooter failed to lead his target. The errant missile streaked across the channel and blew apart a machine shop on the bank.

The water pouring over the boundary between the two lock chambers was barely deep enough to float the Englander Rose. Her bottom scraped the concrete threshold as she went through, a rending tear that produced a sound like a scream. She seemed to pause for a moment before the torrent overcame her again and she plunged down to the second chamber. Her bow was driven deep and spray blew into the air as if she were battling a heavy sea. Her keel hit the floor of the basin, a ringing collision that shook the entire vessel. She slowly righted herself, rushing along the chamber as though through a canyon whose concrete walls loomed higher than her wing bridges. The noise of so much turgid water was a sustained tornado-like shriek.

It was a feat that Harry had been able to keep the ship from nosing into the remnants of the doors so he didn’t feel too bad when her flank scraped the concrete as she plowed into the second chamber.

He eased the wheel over, giving just a touch of rudder. Because the flood bore her along, his adjustment had no effect. The water was carrying the Rose where it wanted. She scraped again in a continuous metallic squeal that set teeth on edge.

And then the Englander Rose was free. She shot past the end of the second lock and the flood surge spread and slowed as it met the brackish water that stretched the last few miles to the Bay of Panama. She’d survived the wildest ride a ship had ever taken, a journey that would have taxed a white-water raft to its very limits.

A normal passage through the Miraflores Locks took thirty minutes. They’d done it in less than thirty seconds. Bruneseau and Foch whooped while Lauren screamed in delight and threw her arms around Mercer’s neck. Their mouths met.

“Oh, that’s just freaking great!” Harry shouted at the couple. “I do all the heroic stuff and Mercer ends up kissing the girl. I am not happy about this. Not happy at all.”

Lauren released Mercer, crossed to Harry, and brushed her lips against his bristled cheek. “Better?”

He grinned lecherously. “How about some tongue?”

“Even Mercer hasn’t gotten that—” she looked over at him “—yet.”

The ship’s buoyancy had changed when she hit the salty, less-dense water. She should have become lighter and easier to control, but as Harry worked the wheel to avoid the drifting freighter to starboard, he noted the ship was sluggish. Dangerously sluggish.

“We’re taking on water,” he said, his pronouncement ending the celebration around him.

Mercer snapped a look at Foch. The Frenchman called Munz and Rabidoux.

“We know,” Rabidoux answered. “We can hear water rushing into the spaces below the hold.”

“Can you tell how fast?”

“Fast enough. When the ship tipped forward and her bow hit, it sounded like we were inside a bell that had just cracked.”

“What’s the status on the timing device?”

“We couldn’t bypass the security code pad so we’re taking off the entire cover. We just backed off the last of the screws securing it to the device. These aren’t ideal working conditions and every one of the screws was booby-trapped to prevent tampering. Someone didn’t want the crew disarming it once it had been set. I think that’s why they just let it sit out like it is. The crew must have known that tampering with it would detonate the bombs.”

“How much time is left?”

“Ah, twelve minutes nine seconds. From the sound of the flooding in the bilge, I don’t think it’ll matter.”

Foch addressed Harry and Mercer. “Twelve minutes remain. Rabidoux thinks the ship will sink before he can deactivate the timer.”

Mercer nodded. “Will that prevent the explosives from going off or will it short out and set them off prematurely?”

The Legion commander made a balancing gesture with his hands as if to say it was fifty-fifty.

Mercer looked at Lauren. Her face shone with the adrenaline rush of their ride through the locks and her smile touched deep inside his soul. He knew they would never be able to explore their growing feelings for each other. If they evacuated now, there was no hope of getting far enough away to avoid the worst of the blast. They were all as good as dead.

They’d saved most of the canal by wrecking part of it, and saved countless lives by moving the ship into a relatively deserted area. It was the best any of them could hope for.

The left bank of the canal was overgrown jungle interspersed with a few ramshackle houses. Around a curve up ahead lay the town of Balboa and the sprawling Hatcherly container port nestled in the shadow of Quarry Heights. Here was as good a place as any to stop the ship and let her blow. Collateral damage would be minimal once they moved a little farther from the locks.

“Tell Munz if he wants to knock off he and Rabidoux can come up to the bridge,” Mercer said slowly. “Harry, take us up to where that open field runs down to the canal. Doesn’t look like anyone lives close by. If anyone wants, I guess now would be a good time to abandon ship. Maybe you can make it.”

As he suspected there were no takers. They knew the odds. They’d lived together, fought together, and now they would die together.

To cover his surprise, Liu Yousheng snapped to attention. “General Yu. What brings—?”

“Shut up, Liu,” the general snapped. “Captain Wong, get out here, please.” Wong emerged from his cabin with Sergeant Huai and Mr. Sun. “Captain, get to the bridge and make ready to leave port. Inform the dockworkers that the rocket-launcher trucks should be brought aboard immediately. I fear that Liu’s operation hasn’t gone as planned.”

“Yes, sir.” Wong skirted past Liu in the cramped passageway.

Yu continued to address Liu. “You aren’t the only one receiving reports from the locks. I already know about the Englander Rose being hijacked. I assume by the same commandos who rescued Philip Mercer from the mine, attacked your installation near the River of Ruin, and a number of other acts that you assured me were merely annoyances.”

Yu’s anger suddenly exploded. “Your arrogance led to this disaster. You’ve reached far beyond your limits and now you are about to fall.”

Liu swallowed. “We can still recover. We can get the second ship back into the Gaillard Cut. I have men—”

“It’s over. Operation Red Island was a foolish risk to begin with. I tried to tell the premier that you couldn’t do it, but he thought you deserved a chance.”

“You told the premier I couldn’t ...” Liu wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “It was you who recommended that I propose this operation to him.” And then he understood just how well he’d been set up by the man he considered his mentor. “There aren’t any missiles on this ship, are there?”

Yu smiled as if to say of course not. “Only the small circle of workers who assembled them know they are mock-ups. Partially for your benefit, had you chosen to inspect them, but also because several of the more militaristic members of the politburo wanted to be on the docks in Shanghai to see them loaded. Captain Wong doesn’t even know they are dummies. The Korvald’s true reason for being here is to return the launcher/erectors, which, I might add, are genuine.”

“You did all of this just to get me out of Hatcherly.”

“Oh, it’s much more than that. It’s also to teach your generation that you only have power because we decide you can. There are thousands of companies under the COSTIND umbrella, each headed by men such as yourself, men who sometimes forget their place. China is going through dynamic changes, sweeping economic shifts that sometimes threaten to spill over into full-blown capitalism. Which we both know fosters thoughts of democracy. These thoughts must be crushed.

“Tiananmen taught us that punishing the people just gives our enemies more reason to denounce us. However, targeting men like you, men whose overreaching ambition makes them vulnerable, is just as effective at reducing capitalistic, and thus democratic, aspirations. The people don’t care about men like you. They resent that your grand lifestyle is a result of their labor. They love to hear about a corrupt executive being executed for misappropriation of state funds. They see your downfall as the state protecting their interests.”

“While we both know it’s just the state clamping down harder on their rights.”

Yu smiled. “It’s like Ronald Reagan’s trickle-down theory. Executives, factory managers, and many others will know by what happened to you that they aren’t as free as they believe. Your defeat will keep their dreams of autonomy dormant for another ten years at least. And with them subdued, the people who work for them will remain compliant.”

“What if I had succeeded?” Liu asked.

“I would have reaped the rewards, but the risk of failure was too great to back you completely. I chose to give you just enough to encourage you but not enough to embolden you. That you did on your own.”

“How much has this cost you? The gold, the mining equipment, all the ships. Was this power play worth all that?”

“To maintain absolute control of China for another ten years? Of course. Besides, the ships are all tired rust buckets destined to be broken up. The remainder of the gold you didn’t turn over for Quintero’s televised photo opportunity has already been recovered from your vaults by Mr. Sun here. Certainly there were costs, but it seems enough damage has been done to the canal to ensure they will be recovered by Hatcherly. Freight still has to move across the isthmus and our railroad and oil pipeline are the only way.”

“So there are explosives on the ships?”

“More than enough for even one detonation to choke off the Gaillard Cut for at least a year,” Yu said. “Don’t you see, I took the best of your operation and discarded the rest. We don’t need to threaten America with nuclear weapons to take Taiwan. Eventually China will be rich enough that they will want to return to the fold on their own. I needed you as an example to the men who will make China rich that they do it for the good of the party, not themselves. A lesson you forgot long ago, I’m afraid.”

So thoroughly outmaneuvered, Liu was speechless. General Yu had manipulated him perfectly, pushing him ever onward toward his own downfall. He felt the deck vibration change slightly as the engine RPMs were increased. The eight large trucks could be loaded in fifteen minutes or so since the dry dock was serviced by two overhead cranes and there was no need to be as delicate as if they were unloading the volatile strategic missiles.

“Will I be going back with you?” he finally asked the general.

Yu shook his head as if he was actually saddened by this. “I’m sorry, my young friend. Someone needs to remain behind and take the blame for this attempt at a corporate takeover of an entire country. I brought a briefcase full of documentation that shows this operation was entirely your doing. President Quintero and the canal director, Felix Silvera-Arias, were told this morning that it is in their best interest to keep quiet about their involvement.”

“My family?”

“Won’t share your fate. I promise you that.”

“That is very generous of you.” Liu was serious. Usually wives, parents, children and other family members would be purged because of the mistakes of one man. That fear was one more way the government maintained its iron grip. “What happens now?”

“We have a little time.” Yu reached into his jacket for his cigarettes. He offered one to Liu. “I know you quit, but considering the circumstances ...” The general lit his own cigarette first and held his lighter for Liu. “Sergeant Huai, would you care for one?”

“Thank you, General.” Huai was left to light his own and stepped back into the shadows to wait for his orders.

The three smoked in silence.

“What about the treasure, General?” Liu asked, dropping the spent butt to the deck and grinding it with his heel. “Will you try to recover it?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. I guess if it really is there, then in a month or a year we will find it for the Panamanians and turn it over to them as a gesture of goodwill. Learning about a billion dollars in gold, even if it’s already yours, is a powerful diplomatic tool.”

An officer approached and saluted General Yu. “With Captain Wong’s compliments. The cargo is aboard. He reports that the Englander Rose has cleared the Miraflores Locks and believes it might be heading toward us.”

“Damn. Tell the captain we can cast off in a moment. Wait, I’ll come to the bridge with you. Sergeant Huai, your sidearm, please. Give it to Mr. Liu.”

“Sir?”

“Your sidearm. The least we can do is let him do this honorably. But keep him covered just in case.” Yu grabbed a large briefcase from the first officer’s cabin and locked it to Liu’s wrist with a pair of handcuffs. “When it is done, take his body to his office, give some explanation to his staff and get your men out of Panama as quickly as possible.”

“I understand, sir.” The veteran eyed Liu then turned back to the general. “May I ask one thing?”

“What is it, man?” Yu snapped, irritated that Huai saw any ambiguities in his orders.

“When you mentioned the costs incurred in this operation, you didn’t mention the men I’ve lost.”

Something in the sergeant’s tone made the general pay more attention. “It’s a soldier’s duty to do as ordered, Sergeant. It is the price of war.”

“That’s what I thought, sir.”

General Yu turned to follow the first officer up to the bridge.

“The price of war,” Huai repeated and slid his pistol from its holster.

Lauren had moved next to Mercer and slipped her arm around his waist, snuggling her head against his shoulder to wait for the inevitable. The Frenchmen spoke quietly among themselves, offering prayers perhaps or recounting the bravery of how past Legionnaires had faced death. Harry smoked through another cigarette and guzzled the last of the Jack Daniel’s. Mercer refused his offer of a hit knowing his old friend would enjoy it more.

A nagging voice, tinny and remote, tickled Mercer’s hearing. He tried to ignore it, but it was insistent. The uncomfortable radio earpiece dangled down his chest on its slender wire. He realized that was the source of the voice and he pressed the speaker back in place. “Angel Two, this is Heaven. Over.”

He had forgotten the guided-missile destroyer. “Heaven, this is Angel Two. Go ahead. Over.”

“We’ve got a rescue helo in the air. ETA is seven minutes.”

With a shout Mercer repeated what he’d just heard. The laughs and cries returned even louder than before. “Roger that, Heaven. We’ll be standing by. Make sure the pilot knows he’ll only have two minutes to pick us up and get clear again.”

“I’ll make sure she knows,” the female comm officer replied, emphasizing the inbound pilot’s gender.

Foch got back on the radio with Rabidoux. “Helo extraction in seven minutes.”

“I’ve got even better news. Munz has almost got the bomb disarmed. Once into the timing device, there were no more booby traps. It’s a straightforward job from here on out.”

“How long?”

“A minute, maybe less. The wiring will be disabled before the water can cause a short. Tell Mercer to let the ship sink in deep water. If we can stay afloat long enough, sail her right under the Bridge of the Americas and let her go in the Bay of Panama.”

“Will do. Good job.”

“Munz almost has it.” Foch’s report was met by a stunned silence. “The timer. He almost has it deactivated. The ship’s not going to explode.”

“He’s sure?”

“Bomb disposal men aren’t known to boast when their butts are on the line.” Foch grinned. “He says that if the ship can make it to try to let her sink in deep water.”

“Never happen,” Harry said. “We’ll be lucky to make it out of the canal. I can’t tell how fast we’re shipping water, but I can’t see us getting more than another couple of miles out of her.”

“Okay,” said Mercer. “What’s out there in the next couple of miles?”

Lauren thought about it. “Balboa and the abandoned navy fueling depot at Rodman are on the right side of the canal. On the left is all Hatcherly facilities.”

As soon as she said it, Mercer, Harry, and she exchanged a look. “What about it, Harry?” Mercer asked.

He chuckled. “I can’t imagine a more fitting burial for this old girl than right up Liu Yousheng’s asset.”

Mercer waited for confirmation that Munz had succeeded before calling the USS McCampbell. Two minutes later, the German and his French partner ambled onto the bridge. Their uniforms were soaked from the flooding holds, but nothing could diminish their sense of accomplishment. “I don’t care where you two are on the promotion lists,” Foch gushed and kissed his men on both cheeks. “You’re each getting bumped a grade.”

“Angel Two to Heaven,” Mercer called after adding his congratulations.

“Go ahead, Angel.”

“Slight change of plans. The bomb’s been deactivated. We’re going to try to reach the Hatcherly container port. We can’t see it yet. Can you give me an idea of shipping around it?”

“One moment, Angel. Ah, are you sure about the bomb?”

“We’d be screaming for that chopper if we weren’t.”

“Roger, Angel. There’s only one ship at the facility at this time. It’s just now emerging from an enclosed dry dock.”

Mercer had a sneaking suspicion he knew what ship that was. “Heaven, any chance you can read its name?”

“We can read the magazine stuffed into the back pocket of a deckhand by her jackstaff. She’s the MV Korvald, registered in Liberia.”

“Korvald’s coming out of the dry dock,” Mercer told Harry.

He goosed the throttles a little farther “Say no more.” Harry looked up to speak to his ship. “Okay, baby, you hold together for old Captain Harry and he’ll give you a send-off befitting a dreadnought.”

“Are you going to ram the Korvald?” Rene asked.

“If the Rose’ll let me.” Harry smiled and patted the wheel.

“Are you insane? We’re loaded with thousands of tons of explosives and the Korvald’s carrying eight intercontinental ballistic missiles. You are going to kill us all and level five square kilometers.”

“Don’t worry, Rene.” Mercer interceded before Bruneseau completely lost it again. “Harry’s making another of his bad jokes. He’s not gonna hit her. What we’ll do is box her in and keep her from escaping. Those missiles are the perfect evidence against Liu Yousheng.”

The French spy seemed satisfied, but the scowl didn’t leave his face. It was clear that he would never trust Harry White.

Mercer moved close to his friend so Bruneseau couldn’t overhear. “You really weren’t planning on ramming the Korvald , were you?”

“Oh, I’m still planning on it.” Harry cackled. They were a half mile from the Hatcherly port. Against the backdrop of the storm, the tall Hyundai gantry cranes stood like colossal scaffolds. Behind them was a maze of shipping containers. Immediately next to the cranes was the dry dock. The tail of a ship was slowly backing from the cavernous entrance. “Take the wheel.”

“What?”

Harry stepped away from the ship’s controls. “I said take the wheel. We’ve got a couple minutes and I wasn’t kidding that I have to take a leak. Just keep her on course for the dry dock.”

By the time Harry returned from the head, the Englander Rose had started to list to port at an angle that deepened remarkably fast. They were separated from the dry dock by a quarter mile of choppy water and the Korvald was almost free from the enclosure. With the load of water filling her bilge and starting to swamp her lower cargo decks, the Rose became more sluggish. Her speed fell away to the point that Harry didn’t think they were going to make it. He eased back on the throttles.

“Okay, folks, this is what I want to do,” he said. “If we go, we’re going to roll to port. She won’t flip completely because the water here isn’t deep enough. She’ll just settle in the mud on her side. All of you go out on the starboard wing bridge and wait for it to happen.”

“What about you?” Foch asked.

“I’ve got to hold her on course as long as I can.”

“Someone find some rope,” Lauren ordered. “We can tie a loop around your waist and haul you up when the ship capsizes.”

Gathering the weapons, the group moved outside while Mercer jury-rigged a climber’s harness out of some rope and secured Harry to the wing-bridge railing. “How’s that?”

“Feels like a damned straitjacket,” Harry complained.

“You’d know.”

Mercer stayed at his friend’s side as the ship moved closer to its target and slid closer to overturning. By the inclinometer screwed into a bulkhead, her angle was twenty-two degrees. The measuring device had a mark stating she could recover from a forty-degree dip, but not with her holds flooded and probably only when wave action would help to right her. Harry leaned into his harness while Mercer was forced to hold the console.

They could see the Korvald clearly. She was newer than the Rose; larger too. Her cargo wasn’t heavy enough to hide the bright line of antifouling paint along her waterline. Men stood at the fantail, and others were visible on her wing bridge. Three were in dark naval-like uniforms while two others wore suits. Both civilians were shorter than average, although one had a thick build. Something nagged at Mercer about the thinner of the pair. He groped for the binoculars, swinging them up one-handed, and spreading his feet farther as the ship’s list deepened past thirty degrees.

He dialed in the focus, zeroing in on the men guiding the refrigerator ship from under a tarp protecting the exposed bridge from the rain. Facial features became clear. All were staring at the tired tramp steamer limping toward them. Mercer recognized none of the crew, nor the heavy-set civilian, but he knew the frail figure.

His hand tightened on the binoculars and began to tremble. “Sun’s on that ship.”

“Who? The torturer?”

“Yes.”

“Well, goddamn.”

“Harry, we can’t let them get away.”

“I’m working on it, pal, I’m working on it.”

Although she was barely moving under her own power, the current rushing down the canal was enough to keep the Rose charging at the Korvald. The range dropped to a hundred yards, then eighty. Armed men suddenly appeared at the rail of the Chinese ship. They opened fire, sporadically at first, and then more sustained and concentrated. For the third time, bullets ricocheted around the bridge. Harry and Mercer dropped to the deck to find cover.

“Shit!”

“What is it?” Mercer asked over the din, fearing Harry had been hit.

“I need to see which way the Korvald’s going to turn. She could back around and head straight for open water or she could cut inside us and circle the harbor to get out behind us.”

“How can you tell which way she’ll go?” A round blew the stuffing out of the chair Lauren had been using.

“I need to see the wash from her bow thruster and how her rudder’s cocked.”

Lauren shouted from the protection of the offside wing. “Get out here, you two. You’re going to get yourselves killed.”

“It isn’t worth it,” Foch added.

Mercer ignored them and tried his radio. “Heaven, come in. This is Angel Two. Where’s that chopper?”

No sooner had he asked than the beating rotors of an SH- 60 Seahawk filled the bridge with noise as it thundered twenty feet over their heads. The downblast whipped a brutal wind through the shattered windows. The chopper had come in low, using the drifting hulk of the Englander Rose as cover, popping into view at the last moment. It pirouetted to get an angle for a door gunner to rake the missile ship with his M-60.

Hitting only two of the Chinese soldiers, he still managed to clear the railing as the others dove for cover.

Mercer helped Harry to his feet. There was a frothing patch of water near the Korvald’s bow. Using the powerful athwartship thruster she was beginning her turn, hoping to beat the Rose by swinging herself to shoot directly down the canal.

Harry spotted it immediately. “We’ve got them.” He cranked the wheel toward the big reefer ship.

Maneuvering her bow so that it was perpendicular to the dry dock but still pointed toward shore, Captain Wong had hoped to beat the derelict by dancing inside her. Had he known what Harry White knew, he would have spun out the other way and easily outflanked the sinking ship.

With twenty yards separating the ships, and both directed more or less downstream, Harry cranked the throttles one last time. Ever so slightly she built up headway, forcing more water into her holds. She started to capsize.

Mercer scrambled up the deck to the safety of the flying bridge and helped the others draw Harry up to them. They pressed themselves to the deck, holding fast against the bulkhead that would soon become the floor.

The dynamic angle of the keel and rudder shot the ship toward the Korvald. With water pouring over her rail, the Englander Rose nosed into the refrigerator ship just hard enough to tear a large gash in her hull. With her momentum expended, the Rose settled over even more, fountains of air and water exploding from ventilators and leaky hatch covers as her interior spaces were drowned.

When her bow struck the bottom her keel bent in an agonized scream of wrenching metal. She settled deeper, rolling ever so slowly. Her forward cranes were smashed like matchsticks when they slammed the Korvald’s deck. The upper edge of the superstructure crashed into the other ship’s wheelhouse in an explosion of broken glass and men too slow to get out of the way. The funnel snapped off when it struck, and rolled like an enormous pipe onto the deck. It caught two gunmen and crushed them flat.

Wave action from the collision separated the two vessels for a moment before they struck again, harder, opening another hole in the Korvald’s hull. As the Rose continued to settle on the shallow bottom, torn plates, tangles of rope and other debris locked the two vessels together. The Chinese ship was pulled downward by the Rose’s dead weight. She ended up with a ten-degree list when at last the tramp freighter stopped sinking. But with water rushing through her torn hull, the Korvald also began to go down.

The Rose lay as though dead, with more than half of her bulk underwater and waves lapping just five feet below where her crew huddled.

Rabidoux was the first to recover. “I think they are going to come after us for what Harry did to their ship.”

Lauren disentangled her legs from under Foch, struggling to find her orientation on this world turned sideways. Looking down through the bridge door she saw nothing but water. She grabbed her weapon. “He’s right. We can’t stay here. They’re going to cut us down.”

Mercer fingered the knot on the back of his head. He’d hit it against the wall during the final plunge. “Let’s give it a minute.”

“What?” they all shouted at once.

Mercer twisted his wrist so they could see his borrowed watch. It was 11:00. “We’ll make our move when the Change lights off. The chopper can provide cover.” He radioed his plan to the McCampbell, who would pass it on to the pilot of the Seahawk, swirling out of reach of small-arms fire from the Korvald.

“According to my watch,” Lauren said, her free hand gripping her M-16, “it should come in four, three, two, one ...”

Nothing.

“It’s that Rolex you wear,” Foch teased. “Too accurate. They’re using a cheap Chinese knockoff.”

Harry was about to crack a joke when a dazzling flash arced across the underside of the low-lying clouds, a blinding display that left his jaw slack and his eyes stinging.

Twelve miles up the canal, seven thousand tons of explosives detonated. It wasn’t so much an explosion as a hurricane of fire that shredded the sky as it bloomed and billowed into a towering column of flame. The Robert T. Change ceased to exist, wiped from the earth in the first milliseconds of the blast. Slapped as if by a giant fist, the Mario diCastorelli was lifted from the water and tossed nearly a half mile, while chunks of her hull sailed even farther. The billion gallons of vaporized water added to the overpressure that hammered the surrounding rock. In an instant, the soil below the canal turned into a slurry no stiffer than Jell-O and the fractured mountains began to collapse, tumbling and grinding and filling the crater gouged by the explosion. Clouds of dust rose around the blast scene like the banks of ash that pour from a volcanic eruption.

The shock wave traveling through the earth made the surface of the canal near the Rose come alive. They could see the growing fireball climbing over the horizon but could hear nothing yet as jittering waves topped ten feet and washed over their tight group. The pressure wave hit a second later, and then came the rumbling thunder of the detonation, a roar like a thousand jet aircraft.

In the cut, tens of thousands of cubic yards of rock and debris tumbled from the mountainside in an endless cascade. On the opposite bank was a gently sloping field nearly four acres square. The structural shifts in topography caused the top ten feet of dirt covering the field to slide like a conveyor belt into the canal. The avalanches fell unabated for several minutes, and slides would continue for days as the landscape resettled itself.

For the first time since October 10, 1913, when a telegraphed signal from Woodrow Wilson in the White House detonated the dike separating the Gaillard Cut from Lake Gatun, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans were no longer joined. The most vital sealane in the history of maritime commerce had been severed. Below the churning dust and dissipating flames, angry water lapped at both sides of an earthen plug that stretched from bank to bank.

Mercer roused his people as soon as the sound hit them. They couldn’t waste the precious seconds of distraction the explosion gave them. The Seahawk pilot understood her orders and didn’t bother staring at the awful destruction taking place up the canal. She swung her chopper in a tight circle, lowering her altitude so the door gunner could open fire directly into the Korvald’s bridge. Glass and blood flew.

The Legion soldiers led the group around the wing bridge and across what had once been the side of the superstructure. The steel was slick with rain and the footing treacherous. There was no cover. Had it not been for the chopper keeping the Chinese pinned, their charge could have been cut down before it ever really got going.

Munz and Foch reached the edge of the superstructure first, dropping flat to peer over the lip to see who or what was below them. Mercer and Lauren watched where the Korvald’s wing bridge jutted out ten feet over their heads. So far no one on the Chinese ship presented themselves as a target.

“Clear,” Foch called and disappeared from view over the edge.

The others rushed forward. The Korvald’s rail was only a foot below them and was less than a yard away. The water between the two ships continued to bubble as air escaped from the capsized freighter.

Foch waited in the shadow of a ventilator to help steady the others as they leapt over. Above them and forty feet aft, the ship’s mangled wheelhouse continued to take automatic fire from the Seahawk. A short way off two pairs of legs shown grotesquely from under the Rose’s decapitated funnel.

“What’s your plan?” Mercer asked the Legion officer.

He shrugged. “Je ne sais pas. I thought you’d have an idea.”

Looking toward the bow, Mercer saw movement. A Chinese soldier was working his way along the raised hatch covers to find a way to shoot down the helicopter gunship with his type 87. Mercer swung his M-16, but Rabidoux was quicker and triggered off a three-round burst that threw the soldier flat.

Two more Chinese rose from their hiding places to counterfire and were cut down by Lauren and Foch.

“The chopper’s keeping everyone on the bridge occupied,” Mercer said, his breathing growing ragged as adrenaline once again electrified his body. “Foch, take two men and mop up the forward deck so no one can sneak up behind us.”

“D’accord.” He grabbed Munz and the Legion trooper whose name Mercer didn’t know and vanished around the funnel.

Mercer and the rest shuffled over to the superstructure, mindful of glass still falling from the bridge. Reaching a sealed hatchway, Bruneseau took up a covering position while Rabidoux spun open the dogs. No one was waiting inside.

“Haven’t we already done this once today?” Harry remarked as they stepped out of the storm.

“Quit your complaining and help us find a place to hole up until Foch gets back.”

They made their way down a dim passage, turning left toward the interior of the ship, and found an unlocked cabin. Mercer went in first, his M-16 held tight to his shoulder. It was clear. Harry went straight to the desk and sat down. “Ah, that feels better. Damned peg leg is starting to bother me.”

A minute later, they heard movement outside the cabin. Rene peeked out the door then opened it wide for Foch and the others. “Is the deck clear?”

He nodded. “There were three others. What do we do now, hunt down the rest?”

Mercer thought about it. “No. Just one of them.”

“Sun?” Harry asked, understanding.

“I’ve got to do it,” Mercer said. “I can’t explain why, but I’ve got to.”

“It’s not worth it,” Lauren said, stunned that Mercer would suggest it. “We can all wait right here. No one’s going to find us and the Panamanian coast guard is going to be here in a few minutes.”

“I do want you all to wait right here. But I’m going.” Mercer checked the ammo in his M-16 and felt for the .45-caliber pistol tucked behind his back.

“Sun isn’t going to get away,” Lauren pleaded. She’d never seen such savagery in Mercer’s eyes before and it frightened her. “You talked about being macho before. Well, listen to your own advice.”

Mercer didn’t look at her when he spoke. “If you knew how empty I feel because of what he did to me, you wouldn’t ask me to stay. I won’t be myself until I know he’s dead. It doesn’t make sense, I know. But it’s how I feel.”

Harry stood. “Let him go, Lauren. He’s right.”

“You too?” She wheeled on him, feeling betrayed because she was sure Mercer’s oldest friend would see the insanity of what he wanted to do.

“It’s for the best. Mercer, go. We’ll be right here.”

“That’s another I owe you,” Mercer said, moving to the door. Lauren’s expression was one of disgust. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed and took off down the hall.

No one moved or spoke for several long seconds. Foch finally turned to Harry. “Enough time?”

“Another few seconds.”

“What are you talking about?” Lauren blazed.

“We’re going to follow him,” Harry said. “What did you think?”

Mercer’s feet barely touched the scuffed linoleum decking as he ran. His vision felt heightened, as if nothing could hide from his gaze. Even the deepest shadows looked bright.

His hearing was more acute. Each creak and groan reverberating around the ship sounded distinctly in his ears and he could tell where each noise originated.

He climbed two decks, moving ever closer to where automatic fire from the chopper continued to slam the bridge. He passed the body of an officer who’d staggered down from the wheelhouse to die. A trail of blood from the large-caliber holes in his chest led up a third flight of stairs. Over the staccato beat of machine-gun fire, Mercer heard voices shouting in Chinese. He started up the stairs, keeping low and to one side.

At the upper landing he guessed that the bridge had been evacuated because the door separating it from the rest of the superstructure was closed. To his left was a short hallway that doubled back aft. It was where the ship’s officers had their quarters. To the right, he could just see into another large cabin, probably the captain’s. That’s where the voices came from.

He moved out of the stairwell to get a better view of what was going on inside. He recognized one of the men as the captain and the other as the stocky civilian. Unfortunately the third man wasn’t Sun. It was a soldier. The more Mercer looked at him the more he was convinced it was the same guy who’d captured him following the chase on the car carrier.

Mercer couldn’t understand what they were saying but it appeared the veteran soldier wasn’t happy about something. In fact it looked like he was holding a pistol on the civilian and the captain.

“For the last time, Huai,” General Yu said, trying to keep his anger in check. “Put that damned gun away.”

“I can’t do that, General. Not until you tell me exactly why you felt it necessary to sacrifice my men.”

“I told you that soldiers dying is the price of war.”

“That’s what confuses me. Who was this war against? Panama? America? Who?”

Yu snapped his mouth closed, suddenly understanding what the sergeant was going on about. He had lost men in a conflict he didn’t understand. He wanted answers and Yu could see that some pat response wouldn’t satisfy him. “Sergeant, this operation was about defending our way of life. Not all our enemies come with white skin and round eyes. Some are within our own ranks.”

“Liu Yousheng might have been a bastard, but I never saw him as my enemy.”

Yu seized on his statement. “Might have been? You killed him?”

Huai seized on the general’s desperation. “Maybe. Or maybe let him go and he is right now making arrangements to return to China.”

In truth, Liu was unconscious in a cabin, shackled to the plumbing behind a toilet. Huai wasn’t sure yet if he would tell anyone or let him drown as the Korvald continued to fill with water from the holes in her hull. In just the few minutes since he’d burst into the cabin to find Yu hiding from the helicopter gunship, Huai could feel the deck was tilting more.

“You let him go!” Yu thundered.

Huai readjusted his pistol to remind the general who was in charge. “Who decided that Liu was our enemy?”

“Your government.”

“So my government denounced him as a traitor and yet they let a dozen of my men die working with him just to make a political statement about his treason. I see that as a greater violation than whatever Liu did.”

“What do you plan to do about it?” Yu scoffed, his lip twisting with derision. He’d been pushed as far as he’d go. “Are you going to shoot me? Then you’d have to shoot the captain here and everyone else on this ship to keep them from killing you.”

“That’s what you don’t understand,” Huai said calmly. “That is the kind of sacrifice a soldier is willing to make for his men. I don’t mind dying to kill you. You’ve betrayed my men, you’ve betrayed me and you’ve betrayed the People’s Liberation Army.” He raised his pistol. “For the crime of treason against his troops, General Yu Kwan, I sentence you to death.”

The shot rang out, crisp and sharp.

Sergeant Huai staggered back a step, his left hand reaching for his chest where blood oozed from the wound. Mr. Sun had watched the whole exchange from a hiding place in the adjoining bathroom. He’d enjoyed the play of emotion between the combat soldier and the political one, feeding off their fear and hatred. But he knew where his loyalties lay and judged precisely when the sergeant would shoot. He’d fired his own pistol an instant before Huai and was pleased the bullet had hit within a few inches of where he’d aimed. He’d never been good with guns.

The second shot had been delayed by a fraction of a second. The aim was perfect. The bullet had been fired even as Huai absorbed a shot to the chest and still blew most of General Yu’s brains out the back of his head. The gore exploded against the cabin wall and oozed like slime to the floor.

Mercer watched as the two fell to the deck. He didn’t have the proper angle to see if the civilian had used a hidden gun to kill the soldier, but it stood to reason that anyone involved in this plot would be armed. All he was sure of was that this incident had nothing to do with him. His fight was with Sun, not the Chinese Army and its civilian controllers. The ship’s captain walked over the soldier’s body to close and lock the cabin door.

Mercer lifted himself from where he’d hidden behind a cabinet. He put out of his mind what he’d just seen and continued his hunt for Sun, guessing that he would be cowering as far from the bridge as he could. He moved down the hallway, checking cabins. Most were unlocked and took just a moment to examine. Those doors that were locked he kicked in as quietly as he could, although the cacophony from outside and the alarms screaming on the bridge effectively masked any noise he made.

Each time he returned to the hall, he eyed the captain’s cabin to make sure no one had emerged. Reaching the last door, he felt the handle. It was locked. He kicked once and the puny lock shattered. He had the M-16 ready and swept the cabin in one movement. No one. He moved to check the bathroom. There was a body chained to the toilet.

What the hell? The bathroom was tiny so he shouldered the M-16 and pulled the .45. He called out softly. No response. He approached slowly and tapped the body with his foot. The man was facedown and didn’t move. A briefcase was handcuffed to his wrist. He kicked again, angling so he could roll the man over. He recognized Liu Yousheng immediately and had to fight not to pull the trigger.

“Well, well, well.” He looked closer. A livid purple bruise covered half of Liu’s face. Mercer touched his cheek. The skin was cold and waxy. He was dead. Whoever had clocked him had hit a little too hard and caused bleeding on the brain. “Good.”

The ship creaked as she listed farther into the capsized Englander Rose. Mercer glanced over his shoulder to make sure the cabin door was clear, then bent to shoot away the handcuff on Liu’s wrist. He assumed whatever was in the briefcase would prove valuable.

Mr. Sun had seen the American enter the last cabin when he went in search of a means to escape. Encouraged by his earlier shot, he decided to do away with Mercer himself. It was fitting that the only man to escape before the acupuncture needles could break him was just a few feet away and unaware he was being hunted.

He moved down the hall with ghostlike steps. Reaching the cabin he lowered himself to peer in, his old knees popping. Mercer was in the bathroom, bent over what Sun believed to be the body of Liu Yousheng. He’d seen so much death he could recognize it at any distance.

The range was shorter than the shot he’d just taken, but Sun took his time bringing up the heavy pistol. Mercer’s back was still to him. The pip on the front sight came level with the V notch of the rear sight. A round was in the chamber and the trigger started coming back. Sun’s hand trembled. He eased off the trigger, took a breath that rattled in his stringy lungs and refocused his aim.

This time he had his man.

Some sixth sense made Mercer turn at the last instant. He saw Sun crouched at the cabin door, an automatic in his hand. Mercer’s weapon was down by his side. He was fast, but not that fast.

Sun had time to smile.

And then he screamed as a gleaming shaft of tempered steel sprang from his chest and pinned him to the deck. A gush of arterial blood spilled from his mouth; his eyes went wide and lifeless. The blade was withdrawn and Harry stepped into the cabin. The top two feet of his sword were covered in crimson.

“That’s three you owe now.” He reached down and un-snapped the watch on Sun’s skeletal wrist. “TAG Heuer. H’mm. Looks like yours.” He tossed it to Mercer. “I think this proves that whatever this prick took from you is yours to take back.”

Mercer looked at the watch and at his friend, stunned, grateful, overwhelmed. He could barely speak. “Harry, I’m going to tell you something that if you repeat I will deny until the day I die.”

“I’ve known all along.” Harry’s voice was thick as his sudden bravado failed him. His eyes filled. “And I love you too, boy.”