The Prisoner's Gold

15

Chen Jie spat on the arid ground and cursed the foreigners who had so effortlessly halted his attack. He cursed his luck further since he had been the one to spot the intruders in the first place. He had been on his security rounds on the roof of the mine’s main building and had seen them and their four-wheel-drive vehicle in a secluded area of the desert.

He knew what was out there.

The Loulan ruins and nothing else.

His bosses were very protective of Chinese culture and history, which is why he went after the foreigners with everything at his disposal. Unfortunately, his effort had failed miserably. Now he had no choice but to report this incident to his superiors in Hong Kong.

But first he needed to assess the damage.

Two of his three tracked Vikings had been disabled by their sniper. Both of his light strike vehicles had been halted as well. One was so badly demolished in a rolling, flipping crash that he doubted it would be good for anything but scrap — and the driver had been in more pieces than the vehicle. As it was, his guards still hadn’t found the man’s head.

Chen glanced down at the second LSV. It was undamaged and had rolled to a distant stop after the driver, Chen’s best friend, Zhang Min, had taken a round from the deadly sniper. Zhang’s body was slumped forward in the restraining harness of the vehicle, as if he were taking a nap. But the dark blood that covered the lower half of his body disproved that notion.

Chen considered pulling the body upright, so he could see his friend’s face one last time, but he decided against it. He would have to live with the loss regardless, but for the time being he could lie to himself and pretend that the death had been quick and painless. If he raised Zhang’s head, he might see a grimace of eternal pain, and that would be too much to bear.

He stepped back and shook his head.

I’ll live with the lie. And I will avenge his death.

‘Goodbye, my brother. I will find them. I give you my solemn vow.’

Chen walked away from the vehicle and back to the still-functioning Viking. The treaded vehicle was packed with those men who had left the immobile transports behind. They would all need a ride back to the mine, and it would be a grim affair for those riding inside. The transport had no air conditioning. While it was chilly outdoors at this time of year, the temperature would soar with so many sweaty bodies crammed inside.

Chen would ride on the roof next to the gunner’s turret instead.

He climbed the metal grill that covered the outside of the armored vehicle and stepped onto the flat roof. The gunner stared at him, waiting for further instructions.

‘Get us back, and then come out for the wreckage and the dead,’ Chen said.

The gunner, a young man of twenty-two, turned and relayed the command into the microphone attached to his military-grade helmet. He wasn’t a soldier, though. Owned by the Righteous and Harmonious Fists, the Jiu Quan Mining Company had hired the private security guards from the local population and had trained the men themselves.

It was much cheaper than paying for mercenaries.

And they were much more loyal to the cause.

The orders transmitted, the Viking’s diesel engine growled to life, making the metal roof vibrate with restrained horsepower. With a jolt the vehicle lurched forward in a wide-arcing turn back toward the mine. One of Chen’s men followed them in the still-functional LSV, Zhang’s body carefully relocated to the passenger seat.

The entire mission was a failure, and Chen knew Lim would ask him why.

His life would depend on his answer.

It was true that the gunner on the lead Viking had opened fire ridiculously early, and he had berated the man for that. His machine gun wouldn’t have been in range for a few more minutes. But beyond that point, did his men do anything wrong?

Chen pondered the question for a few minutes but came to the same conclusion each time: there was nothing they should have done differently. They hadn’t known the foreigners would be armed, and there was no way they could have guessed the enemy sniper could shoot targets with deadly accuracy from nearly two miles away. Chen wondered if he was using a next-generation sniper rifle. Though he was far from an expert, he had never heard of such range before.

Hopefully Lim hadn’t, either.

Chen pulled out his black satellite phone and dialed Hong Kong.

Lim picked up on the second ring. ‘Chen, it has been a long time. Something interesting to report, or did you merely miss my voice?’

Chen breathed a sigh of relief. At least his boss was in a good mood.

Chen quickly reported the events of the last half-hour, stressing the stunning abilities of the foreign sniper. He finished by requesting permission to pursue the intruders out on the open road, hoping that would restore Lim’s faith in him.

‘Are you sure about the distance?’ Lim asked.

‘At least one-point-five miles. Probably less than two, but not by much.’

‘You know that Brother Feng doesn’t like foreigners. He especially frowns on foreigners who try to loot our great nation. But the sniper you described must be military, which is far worse. Yes, do chase them down. And before they die, find out what they were looking for.’

Chen smiled at the opportunity to make up for his earlier failure and the chance to claim vengeance for his fallen friend.

‘And Chen,’ Lim said, before ending the call, ‘get some video of them before the shooting starts. Just in case they get the best of you again.’