White Jade

Chapter Fourteen

The sound of Li's Uzi behind the house and two loud reports from a large pistol had sent Choy to the end of the porch. He'd started past the corner when another shot threw flying splinters by his face.

"Chung, go around the other side and see if you can spot the shooter. I'll keep him busy." Chung took off running.

Choy stuck the Uzi around the corner and let off a burst in the general direction of the shots he'd heard. There was no return fire. The crisp, sharp sound of Chung's Beretta came from behind the house. It was followed by two more loud shots and a scream. Choy looked around the corner and saw a man and a woman forty or fifty yards away, running toward the river. Chung and Li were nowhere in sight. He let off another burst, but the Uzi was no good at distances like that. He switched to his pistol and fired three rounds. The running pair disappeared behind a hill.

Choy ran to the back of the house and saw Chung lying in the grass, hands clasped across his bloody abdomen.

"Chung. How bad?"

Chung gasped. "Bad. In the gut. Two of them. The man has the gun."

"Where's Li?

"Don't know."

"Hold on. I'll be back."

Choy ran across the field, trying for cover from the hill. There was no sign of the man or the woman. He passed Li's body lying face down in the weeds and reached the hill. He inserted a fresh magazine into the Uzi, crouched low and moved through the dry grass until he saw where the running couple had gone.

A tunnel opened into the side of the hill, broken boards scattered on the ground in front of it. They must have gone inside. If he went up to the tunnel mouth he'd be silhouetted against the light.

Choy had had enough for one day. He reached into his pocket and took out a grenade. He pulled the pin and with an easy throw lobbed it into the tunnel opening.

The explosion buried the entrance in an avalanche of red dirt and flying rock. Choy hadn't expected that, but it served his purpose. There'd be no more trouble from the two inside.

He walked back to where Noodles was lying. Li was dead. He went to where Chung lay in the grass clutching his abdomen. Dark blood soaked his shirt and seeped through his fingers. Choy knelt beside him.

"All right, Chung. We'll get you fixed up."

That bastard American, Choy thought. Now we've got problems. And Chung didn't look too good.

"Water," Chung said.

"No water. I'm going to get you to the car. It will hurt."

He bent down and lifted and Chung cried out in pain. Choy straightened and carried the moaning man to the Mercedes. He laid him down on the ground.

Choy walked to where Li's body lay in the grass. He picked up Li's weapon and dragged the body back to the car, then placed the dead man and the Uzi in the trunk. He glanced at Chung. There wasn't much he could do for a wound like that. Chung's only hope was a hospital. Choy couldn't risk it. He'd have to go back to the Consulate, but he didn't think Chung would last that long. It was either that, or end it now and put him with Li. For a moment he considered that option. He decided to think about it.

He went back to where Chung had been hit, retrieved his weapons and took them to the car, placing them with Li's body in the trunk. Then he walked to the house and into the living room. An open wine bottle sat on the kitchen table.

Choy picked up the bottle and took a long swallow. Too bitter compared to the sweet plum wine he liked, but better than nothing. He wiped his lips and looked at scraps of tape and plastic piled on the table.

Something had been unwrapped. Choy had a bad feeling. If the wrappings had protected the book he was sent to find and it was now buried with the Americans, the Colonel would be angry.

Thinking back, Choy realized the woman had been carrying a white plastic bag. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced the book was in that tunnel, with two dead Americans. The whole mission had turned into a disaster. He took another pull from the bottle.

There had been a lot of noise. The house was in the country, and everyone knew Americans were always shooting at things in the country. Probably no one would think much about it. But the grenade had been loud.

Time to leave.

Choy made a cursory search of the house so he could tell Colonel Wu he'd looked for the book. He found a purse on the couch, opened it and scattered the contents. He took the wallet and looked at the driver's license. The Connor woman. Who was the man?

Choy took the money and license from the wallet and tossed it onto the couch. He took a last drink from the bottle, walked onto the porch and over to the truck parked in front of the building. He opened the glove box and rummaged through it. He found an insurance slip with a name and a California address. Choy pocketed the paper.

He walked back to the Mercedes and looked at Chung. What if he was stopped along the way? How would he explain the wounded man?

"Water," Chung said.

"You will have as much water as you need, my friend, very soon," Choy said, softly. He patted him on the arm. Then he took out his pistol and shot Chung in the head. He opened the trunk and lifted the body in with Li. There was just enough room for the two of them. He closed the trunk and got in the car, adjusted the seat and started the engine.

He'd be back at the Consulate in a few hours. That would give him time to compose his story for the Colonel. At least the American man and woman were finished. That thought brought a smile of satisfaction. Choy began humming tunelessly as he pulled onto the highway and headed back to San Francisco.

It was dark by the time he reached the city. Another twenty minutes, he thought. Then the flashing lights of a patrol car lit up the night behind him.

Choy signaled and pulled to the side of the road, leaving the engine running. The patrol car sat behind him as a few vehicles passed by. Choy was nervous. Why had he been pulled over? He wasn't speeding. He tried to think what it might be. Finally the patrolman emerged from his cruiser. He approached the car and tapped on the glass, hand resting on his holstered gun, signaling Choy to lower his window.

"Yes, Officer. Is there a problem?"

Choy spoke passable English. Colonel Wu had made sure of that.

"Sir, did you know that one of your taillights is out? May I see your license, proof of insurance and registration please?"

"Yes, sir. The papers are in the glove box." Choy reached over and opened the compartment, fumbled with a map and took out the registration and insurance. It was good Chung wasn't lying on the back seat. The patrolman shone his flashlight on the papers.

"License, please."

Choy handed it over.

"Wait here," the cop said, and went back to his cruiser.

The highway patrolman sat in his car and wrote something. Then he returned.

He handed the papers and license to Choy.

"I'm giving you a safety warning," he said. "You need to get that fixed and return this form to the address on the back. You have five days to get it done."

"Yes, officer. Thank you for your help." Inside, Choy was seething. Would anything go right today? At least the cop was going to let him go.

"Say, there's something leaking back here, under the trunk."

Choy watched the cop's face harden and his hand move toward his gun as he realized the fluid leaking out was blood. Choy didn't hesitate. He fired three shots through the open window. The cop stumbled and fell sprawling on the pavement. Choy floored the gas and pulled out onto the freeway.

Half an hour later he entered the consulate compound and pulled into the garage. He turned off the ignition. The engine rattled on for a moment and died with an erratic cough.

Choy sat in the silence of the parking garage, thinking about the way this day had gotten screwed up beyond anything he could imagine. It was too bad about Li and Chung, but that was the least of his worries. What was he going to tell Colonel Wu? The only person Choy feared in this world was Wu. Wu could make life miserable.

Choy was sweating in the cool darkness, a cold, greasy sweat that formed dark circles under his armpits. He smelled his own body odor. He hated it when that happened. In basic training people had made fun of him, calling him a pig and worse when he smelled like this. That stopped after he had a chance to get them alone. Soon no one commented on how he smelled.

Choy wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. If he told Wu what had really happened he'd be lucky if he was guarding camels in the Gobi desert for his next assignment. At least he had the name of the man who'd fouled everything up, but the troublemaker was already out of the picture, dead in that mine cave-in.

He got out of the car. A faint, sewer smell emanated from the trunk. It wasn't Choy's fault Li and Chung had gotten themselves killed. Who would have thought there'd be someone at that house who could shoot like that while his men were firing at him? He must have been someone well-trained, a professional. Choy had to admit to a grudging admiration.

The thought of the shooter dead in the mine made him feel better. He'd report in, give as few details as possible and hope for the best. Choy began humming to himself. Everything would be fine.