His assistant is stunned. “That’s too dangerous, sir. Going against Beijing’s instructions … extremely dangerous.”
“As dangerous as sitting on our fat asses, waiting for Beijing to respond?” He brings the cigarette to his lips, anticipating that first sweet inhalation of smoke and nicotine. “I can’t allow that. I’m here, I’m close by, and the American president has requested my presence. I will go and see what he wants. If we were to wait longer, he will get angrier and angrier, and if he has demands, they will increase proportionately.”
Zheng’s face goes from shock to placidness. “A brave move, sir.”
Dejiang says, “But just a few minutes ago, you said it was dangerous.”
“You’ve convinced me otherwise.”
“Fèihuà,comrade,” Dejiang says. “I’ve done no such thing. But a thought has crept into that busy mind of yours, Zheng, hasn’t it? Perhaps when I leave to see the president, you will cable Beijing, and tell them what I’m doing. Sabotage my efforts to learn the president’s mind and perhaps keep the peace. Leading to my dismissal and a trip back to Beijing.”
Zheng’s expression doesn’t change.
Dejiang takes the Harvard lighter, flicks it open, and with a steady flame, lights up the cigarette. He takes that satisfying drag and slowly lets it out.
Dejiang says, “Don’t forget, my deputy, that this SCIF is entirely secure. What is said in here stays here. And if I find out otherwise, that what I’ve said here somehow finds its way out, and if I’m going to prison, why, you’ll be joining me. Right up to the point when we’re both marched out to a courtyard, forced to our knees, and dispatched with a bullet to the back of the head.”
Another drag of the cigarette.
“Do I make myself clear, Sun Zheng?”
It seems a bit of perspiration is developing on his assistant’s forehead.
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Good,” Dejiang says. “Now make yourself useful and call the White House and tell them I’m ready to visit.”
CHAPTER 71
LIAM GREY IS sitting in a dark room, bound to a chair, his eyes still burning from whatever chemical or narcotic agent was sprayed into his eyes. He blinks a few times trying to get some tear action working to flush out what was used, which was professional and good indeed.
After the engine to his Jeep was disabled and the windows were blown in, men dressed in black tactical gear swarmed them, spraying their faces. He instantly lost consciousness—the same for Noa, he’s sure—and when he woke up, here he is.
And where is here?
He tests the bonds holding him to the chair.
Velcro straps, of course. Tight around his wrists, chest, and ankles. Not too tight but tight enough.
The air smells clean.
He can’t hear any outside noises.
His eyes are still burning but they’re beginning to adjust to the darkness.
Liam slowly rotates his head, using what astronomers call averted vision, because the human eye has more light-sensitive rods in the corners.
Something is out there in the room.
If he stares directly, there’s nothing.
But a sideways glance …
A shape.
What kind of shape?
Angular and curved.