The Sword of Fire

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Tiger turned the cards and revealed Four of a Kind. He raised his eyes to Pig to see his reaction but the older man was a veteran of poker and simply folded his hand with a weary sigh. “That’s the third hand in a row that I have won,” he said. “Perhaps you should consider retiring not only from the Ministry but also from the poker circuit.”

“Maybe you are right,” Pig said, and then looked over Tiger’s shoulder, causing the younger man to twist in his chair. He saw Monkey sitting beside Mrs Zhang. He was running the tip of his switchblade up her inner thigh, but the duct tape over her mouth kept her screams silent to the rest of the world. Mr Zhang was sitting on the floor with a bag over his head and his hands tied behind his back.

“Stop that,” Tiger said. His words were mild, but his tone was sharp and left no room for misunderstanding.

Monkey held the knife in place for a moment, staring into the eyes of his leader as if to judge the man’s mettle. Without taking his eyes off Tiger, Monkey pushed the button on the ivory handle and the blade snapped back inside with a metallic click. Mrs Zhang jump with fear.

Rat strolled back into the room with a tray full of food from the Zhangs’ kitchen cupboards. He glanced at Monkey with disgust. “She’s old enough to be your grandmother. This is not professional. Why did Zhou call you Monkey? You’re the Pig.”

Monkey leaped from the saggy sofa and flicked the knife open again. “What was that?”

“Is there a probem with your ears as well as your mind?” Rat said, lowering the tray of food onto the table and reaching into his jacket.

Tiger grabbed his arm and stopped him from pulling his weapon. He sighed heavily and pushed back from the table. “No fighting in here,” he said, and moved his eyes over to the terrified Mrs Zhang. “And no more of that.”

“I was bored,” Monkey said. A fiendish smirk crept over his lean face.

“That’s part of the job,” Pig said, collecting the cards up. “We wait.”

“And this brawling stops now.” Tiger closed his eyes and started to count to ten. “The next time I see any of you, you will be minding your own business in silence.”

He heard a sigh. A shuffle of feet. The tension eased away like sesame oil sliding off a warm spoon. When he opened his eyes, the others had obeyed him and backed down. Pig was shuffling the deck of cards, Rat had moved into the kitchen and was searching through the refrigerator, and Monkey had stripped down to his waist. He had twisted the Zhang’s anglepoise lamp around so it shone on the wall and now he was fighting his own shadow to practice a series of razor-sharp roundhouse kicks.

With this new scene unfolding around him, Tiger breathed out and took his seat once again. This was a familiar moment for the Chinese government man: the tension of a half-completed mission heavy in the air, the smell of fear floating like incense. Not for the first time he wondered if he would miss all this when he finally turned his back on it.

But he was a professional and there was work to do. He glanced at his watch: not long now until Agent Dragonfly fluttered into his trap.

The Boeing 747 rumbled along the tarmac on its way to Runway 24 and Lexi Zhang’s eyes watched the clouds gather over Schiphol Airport. Her mind was elsewhere — she couldn’t stop thinking about her father. She had always been close to him. He was the one who had made her laugh, and comforted her tears away. Memories of her childhood rose in her mind like blossoming orchids — the time they walked around the park; when he taught her to ride a bicycle; helping him in their tiny garden.

Could he really be dying? The sound of her mother’s voice told her it was true. She sounded scared, weak and alone.

As the plane roared up into the sky, she pulled the shutter a little to block the sun and cast two uncaring eyes across the Dutch landscape below. Clouds flashed past her window and the wing bent up and down as they ploughed through some turbulence. Glancing at her watch she sighed and closed her eyes. The flight from Amsterdam to Beijing was scheduled to take a little under ten hours.

She was certain it was going to feel a lot longer than that.

The last few hours had lived up to Alex Brooke’s greatest expectations and wildest fears. Travelling alongside her father, who was still riding high in the polls back home and even more popular abroad, she had been whisked from one meeting to another and met more dignitaries than she could remember. She was also totally exhausted, and missing her friends more than she thought possible.

The Presidential limo was making its way toward Downing Street now, and she was sitting in the back with her father, an advisor named Todd Williams, and two US Secret Service men, including Brandon McGee. Brooke had been on the phone since the journey began and now he ended the call and sighed.

“A problem, sir?” said Todd.

“We’re getting some chatter about a terror attack in the UK,” her father said with his usual calm tone.

“What’s the target?” Alex said.

“Unknown. Our boys and MI5 are just picking up some talk. It happens. Don’t worry about it, darling.” He tried one of his famous crooked smiles, but it didn’t help to calm her nerves.

Under heavy police escort, the Presidential motorcade cruised past the Cenotaph and turned off Whitehall into Downing Street. Up ahead she could see a crowd of international press gathering outside the famous address. “Oh, God…”

“You’re doing great,” Brooke said. “We’re going home tomorrow morning, Alex. Hang in there, kid. I’m proud of you.”

Alex said nothing. Her thoughts turned inward again, back to Hawke and the team. She hadn’t heard from them since she’d said goodbye to Hawke and Kim in the Oval Office, and now she was starting to worry something had gone wrong.

The limo pulled up right outside the world’s most famous front door, and as if by magic it swished open to reveal the British Prime Minister.

Brooke clapped his hands together and took a deep breath. “All right, everyone. It’s showtime.” He leaned over to the advisor. “And Todd, while I’m talking with the PM I want you to get more on this security threat.”

“Yes sir, Mr President.”

“We don’t want any nasty surprises,” Brooke said, and then climbed out of the limousine.

As he turned and waved to the press pool, Alex shut her eyes to dodge the thousands of high-speed sync flashes now lighting up her father as he greeted the world yet again. He made a casual joke and they all laughed, and then he turned and walked over to the British Prime Minster. When they were shaking hands, McGee leaned over to her. “Time to go, Alex. Only Westminster Hall left on the schedule and then we’re done.”

“Sure thing, Brandon,” she said.

“Problems?”

“Just thinking that I can't stand four years of this.”

Todd leaned into the car. “Of course you can. And it’s eight years, you defeatist.”

Eight years, she thought, shaking her head. “I’ve got to get back to ECHO,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said let’s get that damned wheelchair, Brandon…”

She returned his smile, but she knew now where her heart lay and that was with ECHO.

And Joe Hawke.