leader hand-signaled a silent command, then whispered another on his throat mic.
Thirty seconds later, the crunch of Chinese-made boots passed by overhead. A second after that, the subsonic rush of hot lead from a sniper rifle snapped above them, thudding into the guard’s chest like a cinder block, dropping him in the butt-strewn dirt.
The team leader signaled again and his number two stood up with long-handled bolt cutters, snipping a neat hole in the fence. The leader climbed up and dashed through it in a low crouch, followed by the others.
Careful to keep low behind the steel pipes and girders stacked in the brightly lit yard, the team made its way fifty meters north to the row of single-story trailers crammed with nearly a hundred mainland Chinese steelworkers. Lights in the trailers were off.
The team leader raised his silenced pistol. The nine-millimeter slug ripped through the brainpan of the half-asleep guard, spattering blood and bone against the steel door.
The suppressed shot was the go signal for the others. They dashed forward, tossing grenades and satchel charges through the windows. They sped past the buildings at a dead run before the first explosions erupted, and headed for the north fence.
The last screams of the survivors burning alive in the flaming wreckage echoed in the warm night air as the men disappeared between the cinder-block shanties of the squalid favela in the low, barren hills above the city.
43
LUANDA, ANGOLA
He needed to pee.
Fan Min threw off the bedcovers. He was sweaty. In the other bed, knocked out cold by her sleeping pills, his fat wife snored like a ripsaw cutting through sheet metal.
The oil executive sat up and pulled on his glasses, then shuffled toward the bathroom, limping on a cramping leg. He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand, then wiped his hand on his pajama top as he pushed his way through the door and shut it behind him.
The motion-sensor light popped on but the bulb was dim. He made a mental note to get an assistant to replace it. He had a hard time breathing. He leaned over and lifted the toilet seat. It made him dizzy.
Am I catching the flu? he wondered.
He fumbled with the slit in his pajama bottoms and fished out his flaccid manhood. He pushed, waiting for the flow to begin. Sweat trickled down his back and his nose ran faster. He wiped his face again with one trembling hand as urine finally began dribbling into the bowl. His other shaking hand splattered the yellow liquid.
He farted. The squawk of air turned into a short gush of runny goo as the room began to spin—
Sharp pain stabbed his chest. Fan Min screamed, but nothing came out. He had no air. He grabbed for the over-the-toilet shelving to catch himself. It gave way. He crashed to the floor, smashing his skull on the corner of the marble sink, spraying blood from his broken scalp. Mirrors and perfume bottles shattered on the tile floor.
Clutching his dying heart, he thrashed in agony in the widening puddle of urine and blood. His narrowing pupils dimmed the light as his foaming mouth sucked for a last, gasping breath that never came.
* * *
—
Crashing glass and metal woke Fan Min’s wife from her pill-induced sleep.
She rolled out of bed, cursing her idiot husband as she hobbled to the bathroom on arthritic knees.
She called his name through the door. No answer.
She turned the knob. It was unlocked. She pushed on it. It wouldn’t budge.
She panicked, calling out his name as she shoved feebly against the door. It nudged open.
She saw Fan Min lying on the floor, his back to her. Adrenaline fueled her flabby arms. The door pushed open further. She squeezed her round belly against the crack and wedged a thick leg through the opening. Her bare foot slapped onto the tile floor, splashing urine and blood. But it was the shards of broken glass stabbing her tender sole that made her scream.
44
WARSAW, POLAND
Liliana arrived at the forecourt exactly at eight a.m., as promised, and didn’t bring Jack coffee, as he requested.
Jack was disappointed to discover that the hotel restaurant served only dinner, but TripAdvisor found him a great little place nearby with a walk-up window where locals queued for hubcap-sized pączki and steaming-hot Illy coffee in sturdy paper cups. The allergy pill had knocked him out, which was good, but he woke up in a chemical fog that took two cups of the caffeinated brew to clear away.
Jack