The Secret Cardinal

63

When he heard the gunshot, Peng raced back across the rocky shore in Liu’s direction. He arrived as Liu cursed a final epithet in Kilkenny’s ear before plunging his captive’s head beneath the water’s surface. Peng planted his feet, took aim with a steady, two-handed grip, and fired.

Blood and bone exploded from Liu’s left elbow, the entire joint disintegrating as two nine-millimeter rounds hammered home. Instinctively, Liu pulled his damaged arm against his chest, releasing his hold on Kilkenny’s head. He glared in the direction of the shots and saw Peng.

‘You fool! What are you doing?’ Liu howled.

‘Ending this insanity,’ Peng replied calmly.

With images of the tortured family in Chifeng seared into his memory, Peng fired until the pistol was empty. Wounds blossomed on Liu’s forehead and chest as Peng tightly clustered his shots for lethality. Liu toppled into the water, dead.

Peng holstered his pistol as he raced toward the two lifeless forms floating in the shallow water. He lifted Liu’s body off Kilkenny’s back and pushed it out into deeper water. Kilkenny remained beneath the surface. Straddling Kilkenny’s legs, Peng reached down into the water, wrapped his arms around Kilkenny’s abdomen, and quickly pulled him from the lake.

Kilkenny’s body folded across Peng’s forearms, head and shoulders dangling down at the knees but clear of the water. Leaning back with legs bent, braced to support the sodden dead weight, Peng struggled back to shore. With each careful step, he sharply tightened his grip around Kilkenny’s abdomen. Briny water drained from Kilkenny’s mouth and nose, gouts at first, then only dribbles when Peng finally wrestled Kilkenny to shore.

Peng carefully laid Kilkenny on the relatively smooth patch of the gravely shore and, recalling his training, tilted Kilkenny’s head back and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Cleared of water, Kilkenny’s chest rose. Peng pulled his mouth away to let Kilkenny’s lungs deflate and to see if natural breathing would resume.

Nothing.

Peng checked Kilkenny’s neck and found a thready pulse. He repeated the cycle of artificial breathing, and on the third round Kilkenny sputtered and coughed.

‘Easy, my friend,’ Peng said reassuringly.

He gently rolled Kilkenny onto his side, the stricken man’s breathing now coming in stolen gasps as he fought the spasms of a violent coughing jag. When his breathing finally settled into a normal rhythm, Kilkenny rolled onto his back, exhausted.

‘Open your eyes,’ Peng said.

Kilkenny tried to focus. Peng’s voice seemed distant and disconnected.

‘Can you hear me?’ Peng asked. ‘Open your eyes.’

Kilkenny’s eyelids fluttered, struggling to open. They felt gritty and raw. The light burned, too bright. He kept blinking, trying to focus.

‘That’s it. You must try to stay awake. How do you feel?’

His mouth was parched and his throat sore, and his various injuries were now reasserting themselves into his consciousness.

‘Shot?’ he croaked, his voice raspy.

Peng quickly surveyed Kilkenny and saw numerous wounds of varying severity. Kilkenny winced when Peng extracted a small ceramic shard protruding from a section of Kilkenny’s body armor.

‘Yes, you were shot. And stabbed, and apparently punctured by many tiny blades.’ Peng laughed. ‘You are like Wile E. Coyote.’

Kilkenny laughed too. It hurt. ‘If Murphy’s Laws are religion, I must be a saint.’

‘What?’

‘A line from an old Tom Smith song — it’s about Wile E.’

‘Oh, a joke. Good. I think you’ll live.’

Kilkenny’s eyes began to clear. He lifted his head a little, felt dizzy, and laid back down facing the lake. A dark form floated in the placid water, the body of a man.

‘What happened?’ Kilkenny asked.

‘There was a fight.’

‘And I lost,’ Kilkenny offered, the details hazy but growing clearer. ‘I drowned.’

‘Liu was killing you when I arrived.’

Kilkenny turned toward the man, the voice sounding familiar, and dug into his memories. ‘Peng?’

Peng nodded.

‘You saved me?’

‘My weapon simply went off,’ Peng explained with a faint smile. ‘It happened once before, on Kiritimati. You called it an accidental discharge. I guess I should have it repaired.’

‘I think it works just fine. Why did you kill him?’

‘Honor.’

‘Yours?’

Peng nodded. ‘And my country’s. Last year, you unmasked a murderer and returned to us our lost heroes. You restored honor to China. To allow you to die at the hands of that monster — that is not the China I believe in.’

‘But now I’ve broken more of your country’s laws than I care to count.’

‘Why?’

Kilkenny closed his eyes and thought about all that had happened, everything that had brought him to this moment. ‘Faith.’

‘Yours?’ Peng asked.

‘And Yin’s,’ Kilkenny said. ‘He deserved to be free.’

‘I know. My parents and grandparents also shared your faith.’

‘Not you?’

‘I was very young when my parents were taken away. Their faith did not save them. Or at least that was what I believed until now.’

‘Do you remember anything?’ Kilkenny asked

‘Bits of stories whispered at night. And baijiu.’

‘Baijiu?’

‘A potent drink that I’ve never really liked. Most rural villages brew their own. I remember a man coming to my family’s home. There would be prayers, and the man would tell some of the same stories my parents whispered to me. Then he would serve bits of bread and baijiu. I haven’t thought about this in years,’ Peng said, ‘not since my parents were arrested. Not until I became involved in this matter.’

The dull thump of helicopter blades beating the air echoed off the rocky terrain around them, and slowly the sound grew louder.

‘Don’t suppose you could drop me off somewhere on the other side of the border?’

‘If it were up to me,’ Peng replied, but didn’t finish the thought. ‘For the moment, you are my prisoner. You will receive medical attention, but what happens afterward I cannot say.’

‘Well, at least I’ll be healthy enough to be executed.’