welcome this news,” she said.
“I give you this prize,” he said, sliding the folder across the desk to her.
A thought struck. Had this prize come to her because she was being merciful? Maybe she could use this news to help her escape her fate as a tired Guardian Inspector. Maybe she could maneuver herself back into a post in China. With this, she might be able to maneuver onto the Police Minister’s staff in Beijing.
Shun Li picked up the folder.
“I would also like to give you this,” he said, “The transcript of the interviews.” He opened another drawer and slapped down a thicker folder.
“Are any of the prisoners still alive?” she asked.
“Alas, no, each one perished under questioning.”
Shun Li shook her head. Often, this was the sign an interrogator had lost his touch: when his prisoners began to expire under his ministrations.
“I assure you it couldn’t be helped,” he said.
“Of course,” she said. “I will write that in my report.”
The major smiled. “May I say, Guardian Inspector, that this—”
His words failed as she drew her pistol. He looked at her openmouthed. He must be wondering what she was going to do. She was giving him mercy. Headquarters had decided he must die. There was no escaping the decision. Her mercy had been in letting him think—these last few minutes of life—that he was going to live. Her mercy was in making his last moments enjoyable by thinking he could barter with Death.
“I thought we had a bargain,” he whispered.
“We did and we do,” she said, aiming at his forehead and pulling the trigger three times.
He smashed back, with three neatly placed holes smoking in his forehead.
Shun Li waved her pistol in the air to clear the smoke. Behind her, the door flew open and the first enforcer thrust the carbine through the opening. When he saw her, he relaxed.
Picking up the two folders, Shun Li tucked them under an arm. “Take him to the incinerator,” she said.
The enforcers let her pass. Afterward, they hurried into the major’s office. She headed for the surface. Here was priceless information indeed. Yes, she must get this to Police Minister Xiao tonight.
As she increased her pace, Shun Li frowned. It was funny, but giving mercy didn’t make her feel any better. Why was that? Likely, mercy was highly overrated and this proved it.
How can I escape my fate? I must discover a way before they send someone to kill me.
-4-
The Map
DENVER, COLORADO
Master Sergeant Paul Kavanagh leaned forward in his chair, accepting an enlarged photograph of a three-star Chinese general.
“Was this him?” Captain Anderson of SOCOM asked.
Paul squinted at the photograph. The Chinese general had strong features, with his military hat tilted slightly.
“I think so,” Paul said. He slid the photograph back onto the desk. It was the fourth photo Anderson had shown him.
“Hmm,” Anderson said. He checked an e-reader on the desk. “This is General Cho Deng.” The captain tapped the screen and continued reading. “Well, look at this,” he said shortly. “It appears Deng led Fifth Corps: five pursuit hovertank brigades. They’ve played a key role in several of our worst encirclement battles.” Anderson tapped the screen again, reading further and beginning to nod. “Deng’s hovertanks have driven deep on occasion, creating chaos in our rear areas. I wonder what he was doing on the Arkansas River.”
“Probably hauling supplies,” Paul said.
Anderson looked up. The second floor room was in SOCOM HQ for Army Group West. It was spacious, with a photograph of President Sims and a large American flag hanging on the wall. Behind the captain’s desk were several computers. He was a medium-sized man with a small black mustache and a prosthetic right hand and forearm. When he moved its fingers, the fiber-mechanical hand whirred softly. Anderson had fought as a second lieutenant in Alaska, losing the hand and forearm during the Chinese drive on Anchorage.
Anderson set down the photograph and drummed his prosthetic fingers on the desk.
“You were lucky, Master Sergeant,” he finally said.
Paul remained silent. He’d been back several days since coming in from the surveillance mission. Romo was in the hospital, hooked up to fluids. It had been a tough few days after the sniper attack. His blood brother had nearly coughed out his life and given them away twice. Once, Romo had told Paul to leave him behind and report in Denver. Paul had left two people behind in his life, once on the Arctic ice and once in Northern Mexico. Both incidents still bothered him. He knew