Shadow of the Dragon

44

Fu Bohai took five men on Admiral Zheng’s “company” Cessna Citation CJ3 from Tirana, Albania, to Burqin/Kanas Airport. With a maximum cruise speed of over seven hundred kilometers per hour, the pilots made the trip in just over eight hours, including a lightning-fast fuel stop in Baku, Azerbaijan, that would have put a Le Mans pit crew to shame. It did not hurt that everyone on board had seen Fu Bohai at work and endeavored to do everything in their power to be certain they never had cause to see him take out his knife with them in mind.

Pretty Leigh Murphy, the CIA officer with the fierce eyes, had proven more difficult to break than he’d imagined. Oh, he knew from the outset that she would be tough. Women customarily held out much longer than their male counterparts. One of his men once suggested that their resilience under torture was because of their threshold for pain. Fu suspected it had more to do with the sheer stubbornness it took to push a child from one’s body. Pain had little to do with the process, in any case. Anticipation of pain was what turned the tide, caused people to give him the information he needed to know.

Fu had not even opened his blade, let alone cut the other CIA officer, before he started blubbering. Joey was his name. He didn’t know much anyway, which had proven fortunate for him. A quick death was in his cards, not torture and questioning. According to the information Fu had received through the admiral from SURVEYOR, the girl was the one with the answers. Joey had simply presented himself as an opportunity. He’d been following Murphy, which put him in the right spot for Fu to take advantage of his presence. As the proverb said, sometimes it was necessary to kill a chicken to scare the monkey and make him dance.

The sight of her dead coworker had added an air of gravity to the situation that no threat could have. From that moment, Leigh Murphy had no doubt that Fu was serious. Even so, she’d held her secrets for almost four hours. Finally, the well-tested combination of drugs and anticipation of pain had broken her, as Fu had known it would.

Urkesh Beg, the Uyghur Murphy had spoken with, was wise enough to disappear into the shadows soon after her visit. Fu and his men could have located him, given time, but it no longer mattered. They had enough. Murphy admitted that she’d talked to another intelligence officer who was also after Medina Tohti. This other officer had some sort of ticket for a boat tour that mentioned a monster fish. The CIA officers believed the ticket to be for a tour operation on Kanas Lake, so Fu believed that as well. He’d never been to that part of China — almost to Russia, but the proximity to Urumqi, the prevalence of friendly Uyghurs, and the many places to melt away made it a likely spot for vermin like the Wuming — and Medina Tohti — to hide.

Interestingly, Murphy had never given up the other intelligence officer’s name. Perhaps he was her boyfriend, or even her husband, working in a different office. Fu had heard the Americans were foolish enough that spies sometimes married spies. Whatever her relationship, it did not matter where Fu cut or which drugs he shot into her veins, Murphy steadfastly refused to utter the man’s name.

Fu was certain of one thing. Whatever his name, he was either at Kanas Lake or on his way — and he was likely not alone.