Bob paced back and forth in the small cell. The mercenaries were being held in a military prison somewhere underneath the barracks. The agent had left to find his superiors. In his place, two bulky soldiers who did not seem to understand English were now peering down at the mercenaries' equipment strewn across a long table.
They had been led down several flights of concrete stairs, escorted by about a dozen soldiers, and a few minutes later their equipment had been hauled down as well. The special forces agent had no interest in giving his prisoners much information, but had assured them they would be released. Bob did not trust the claim. The other mercenaries seemed equally uneasy.
Sadeski replayed the death of Sun Xianli in his mind. The freelancer had gone down forward heavily, as if struck from behind. An AK-47 would not have caused that. Bob had seen enough deaths over the years to tell a shot from a sniper rifle apart from the random fire of a confused terrorist. In all likelihood, the Chinese forces behind them had kept that sniper on the wall. Under cover of night, it would be easy for a sniper to go unseen.
But why had Xianli died? He was Chinese, not a Westerner like the rest of the squad. In all likelihood, he would have been more patriotic and easier to deal with than the quartet of foreigners. He had, however, exposed himself to enemy fire without giving any reason. Could he have been trying to warn the Uighurs of something?
Sadeski's thoughts were put on hold by the arrival of the agent with the troops who had escorted them down. Gordon looked up at the approaching soldiers from the corner of the cell where he lay against the wall. A few of the soldiers stared back at him cautiously. "Well, well," he remarked. "I don't see the boss man."
"General will see you in the regular prison." The agent unlocked the cell's barred door and held it open. "Come with me. Upstairs this time."
"Sure." Bob gestured to his men, who lazily fell in behind him. The trek played out in reverse, but this time the destination was an identical room on the ground floor of the barracks. Most of the structure seemed to be underground- this floor resembled the top layer of a bomb shelter. As the mercenaries were led into the new cell, Bob suddenly remembered something.
"Rene." The Frenchman looked up from where he had seated himself- the same place as in the previous cell. "Why the hell was your phone on when the terrorists showed up?"
"Oh, uh..." Levancon seemed embarrassed more than anything else. "I guess I forgot to set it to silent."
Sadeski was dumbstruck. His voice slowly returned, rising on a sensation of rage boiling up within him. "You had it on silent when you were on patrol. We tried to call you and heard nothing. When did you set it back to ring?"
"Uh, well, I, uh, well..." Rene's face was stiffening into a deer-in-the-headlights expression. He was saved from having to answer by the arrival of a scrawny-looking man in a general's uniform which seemed to dwarf him.
"Polar Star private security contractors." The voice bore almost no accent. Bob suddenly felt a sensation of deja vu- where had he heard this voice before?
"Fate was kind in bringing you to me, Robert Sadeski." The general looked Bob straight in the eyes. Sadeski jumped back slightly as he realized that he was now face to face with Fan Xiaolong. The tourist's clothes were gone, but the information broker he had met in a Thai bar stood before him. Xiaolong acknowledged Bob's response with a faint smile. "Ah, yes. I am General Fan Xiaolong. I really am an information broker, but I'm the most powerful one in Asia. And I see I chose wisely."
Bob managed to suppress the flood of anger and confusion he felt. "What the hell's going on here? Why were we brought here?"
"Here, as in Sanya, or here, as in this jail." Xiaolong's voice was level. "I expect you want both." Bob nodded his assent. The general opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Rene Levancon's cell phone. The mercenary fumbled with his pocket. Outside the cell, the two guards stiffened and trained their weapons on the Frenchman. Xiaolong's gaze snapped to Rene. "Give me that," he demanded. He reached through the bars of the cell and accepted the phone from a frightened-looking Levancon. Xiaolong held the phone to his ear, and a faint voice could be heard. He replied in flowing Thai, waited again, then gave a slightly hissing laugh. "Rene, is it? Come here." He unlocked the cell door and held it open.
Levancon's eyes seemed to glaze over. He slowly walked out of the cell and stood before the general. Xiaolong spoke in Thai once again, and Rene stumbled over a reply. The thin general laughed a second time, handed the phone to Rene, and ordered him out of the room.
To Bob, waiting in the cell, it appeared that Levancon had either defected or been working with the Chinese all along. He needed no further proof. Rene Levancon would not last much longer. Xiaolong noticed Bob's expression, and his usual faint smile crept across his face. "What a good kid, Mr. Sadeski. He's not really cut out for the work that you do." Bob did not reply, and the general's expression soured slightly. "But yes, I believe I do owe you an explanation. We're not going to kill you, and we're not going to keep you here. We are going to release you, and as per the terms of your contract, you won't speak of anything related to this mission. It really wouldn't matter if you did."
"Well, that's good to hear." Bob growled. "So what exactly just happened?"
Xiaolong leaned against a metal desk across the small room from the cell. "Mr. Sadeski, you have killed a substantial number of Uighur recruits of the Red Army. You also shot a few troublemakers we planted among them, who were told they would be pretending to be government double agents seeking traitors in that unit. A great number of citizens of Xinjiang province died tonight by your hands."
"Why did you want us to kill your people?" Gordon Weston was now standing.
The general turned to Gordon. "Mr. Weston. I've heard stories about what you did in Somalia." Gordon's eyes narrowed. "I think you would be familiar with ethnic tension, coming from the United States. Here in China, we like to keep the Han pure. The Han are one people. The Uighurs are our ancient enemies. They have troubled us for millennia. The modern age has finally given us the upper hand- but it has focused the world's attention on us. We cannot simply exact revenge, or conquer territory held by them without the United Nations declaring us to be evil."
"Don't you already hold all the Uighur territory? It's all in Xinjiang, right?" Bob had an idea of where this was going.
"You have studied us since you spoke with my associate Mr. Kang, then. And you know what I'll say. The Uighurs still revolt against us. They are an immense drain on the army, as we need to keep them under control. It would be much easier to simply crush them." Fan smiled.
"So you had us kill all of those men so it would look like they had attacked the base." Gordon folded his arms. "But why use us? And why is Xianli dead?"
"Here's the official story." Xiaolong picked up a Chinese-print newspaper from the desk. "Uighur terrorists attack this base right about now. A unit of Uighur troops which was known to be in this area joined the attack, but all were defeated by a few heroic Red Army guards who had been left behind. They left no survivors." He tossed the paper on the desk. "Mr. Sun figured out what was going on. We couldn't let him stop that nice firefight between two misinformed and heavily armed forces."
Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Seems to me that you just used us as an excuse for a genocide."
"You're mercenaries. It happens." The general glanced at his watch. "It's almost time for you to leave. Now where is the fourth one..." As if on cue, Rene Levancon slouched back into the room, followed by five nondescript soldiers. "Excellent. Take the van back. We loaded your equipment into it already. Just remember to leave it on the beachfront road." He opened the cell door once more. "Thank you, Mr. Sadeski. This has been an outstanding success, and we may be calling you again in the future." The mercenaries silently trooped out of the room, followed by the five soldiers.
A brief inspection of the van found everything had indeed been returned, including the floodlights and machine guns which had been left outside and the steel plate. Nothing was said as the four men climbed into their seats and Gordon, now driving, eased the van into the clearing and toward the trail, avoiding bodies strewn across the sparse grass near the trees. The sky was turning pink above the trees to the east, and the dirt roads were somewhat visible in the early light. The silence continued for another five minutes or so while Weston maneuvered through the maze of trails. Once Bob was sure the Chinese base was considerably out of sight and earshot, he nodded to Zachary Taylor. Rene suddenly found himself with Taylor's knife at his throat and Bob's pistol against his temple.
"All right, you two-faced saboteur SOB. We're gonna get some answers outta you." Bob grabbed Rene by the hair with his free hand. "Who are you working for?"
"What... what... I'm working for you! What did I do?" Rene seemed more afraid than angry. "Gordon!"
"No dice, kid." Weston kept his eyes forward, wanting no part in what was taking place in the back seat. "You could've got us all killed."
Bob jerked Rene's head around to face him. The Frenchman had assumed a deer-in-the-headlights expression of fear. "Why did you turn your phone on before the terrorists showed up?"
"I didn't! I swear, I just forgot to turn it off!" Rene's eyes darted nervously down and then back up to Bob.
"It was off. It didn't ring when we tried to call you." Bob glared at Levancon. "Give me your phone." He released Rene's hair.
What little color was left drained from the Frenchman's face as he extracted the phone from his pocket. Bob put the gun away, nodding to Taylor to keep Rene in place. Sadeski pulled out his own phone, then, holding the two devices side-by-side, attempted to call Levancon's. The call did not go through. "Well, that's interesting." Bob sarcastically remarked. He then dialed his own number from the second phone. Sadeski's own phone rang, but the name displayed by his caller ID was not Levancon's. "Spare Phone #3. So you're not an idiot, you're a liar." Bob shoved his phone into his pocket, keeping Rene's on his lap. "I guess your phone really is on Ko Pha Ngan then."
"How do you know that?" Levancon's voice quavered. He seemed to be trembling uncontrollably.
"GPS. We've all got it. I knew something was up for a while, you traitor." Gordon glanced at Bob in the rear-view mirror disapprovingly, but the mercenary captain ignored him. "Let's see who you call all the time." He pressed a few buttons. "Recent outgoing calls. Rene, Rene, Rene, Rene." Bob glanced up again. "So, you clearly know who has your phone. Incoming calls. Rene, Rene, Rene, Rene again. Well, only one option." He pushed the call button and held the phone up to his ear.
"No!" Rene cried. He jerked forward slightly, stopping just short of Taylor's knife hovering at his throat. Bob ignored the Frenchman's face, now contorting with rage, and concentrated on the dial tone. The phone rang only twice.
"Rene!" A female voice with a slight Thai accent greeted him warmly. "Are you all right?"
The entire theory that had been coming together in Sadeski's head blew apart, scattering facts and observations around his skull. "Who is this?" His voice was dull, emotionless.
"Who are you? You're not Rene. Why do you have his phone? Is he all right?" This woman seemed genuinely worried about Levancon. Bob tried to think of who it would be. He tried to remember what had happened on that island the night of the full moon festival...
"Rene's fine. I'm Bob. I'm Rene's boss." Sadeski's usual tone was returning to his voice. "Do you do the fire shows on Ko Pha Ngan, by any chance?" The trail finally reached a paved road, and Gordon eased the van onto the asphalt.
"Yes! I am Sumalee. Please, may I talk to Rene? I was afraid something had happened to him!" The relief in her voice told Bob all he needed to know. Levancon was in love. Whether deliberately or accidentally, he had left his phone behind and kept up a secret relationship.
Bob felt more embarrassed than anything else. "Let him go, Zach." The knife moved away from Rene's neck. Bob passed the phone to the Frenchman, who immediately began conversing with Sumalee in an odd mix of Thai and English. Zach scowled at Bob behind Rene's back, but Bob didn't want to explain his new theory in full just yet. "Hold on."
Rene finished his conversation fairly rapidly and turned to Sadeski, an apologetic expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Bob. I didn't want to you to think I'd be slowing down missions. I see now I've done that anyway."
"Whatever." Sadeski growled. "Tell us exactly what this is about. Now."
The Frenchman fidgeted with the phone. "I met Sumalee on Ko Pha Ngan. I know what I said about that island, but I found the best thing in the world there. I found love almost at first sight. I left my phone with her. I couldn't just forget her. That's been why I've learned as much Thai as I have and spent so much time alone."
Taylor stared at Rene for a few seconds. "You are literally your sister. Are all of you French crazy when you're in love?"
"We are. It's in our culture." Rene crossed his arms. "Bob, I love her, and I'm clearly slowing down the crew. I know I'm usually the odd man out anyway. You brought me on board because of my sister, and she's gone. As per my contract, I'm requesting severance once we're officially done with this mission, at the most convenient location relative to our next mission and my intended destination, Ko Pha Ngan."
Sadeski regarded the tired, sweat-soaked, but proud Frenchman sitting next to him. "Think it over, Rene. You've got a few days. You've got two years' back pay if you leave and a steady job if you stay. We really don't think you're slowing us down." Taylor muttered something under his breath, and Bob cuffed him in the back of the head. The Frenchman remained silent as the lights of Sanya spread around them.
***
Bob and Gordon carried the steel barricade between them as a stretcher would be carried, but where a body would lie a pile of weapons and floodlights covered the metal. Rene and Zach carried the rest of the gear and weapons, bantering wheezily under their loads. The beach sand made travel slow, and Sadeski worried that an early-morning jogger might spot them.
Joggers rapidly became the least of their worries. As Gordon took his first step onto the long wooden pier, the van suddenly exploded, a fireball rising from the metal carcass. The mercenaries hustled onto the dock, trying to make the quarter-mile journey without dropping anything in record time.
"God dammit!" Sadeski huffed. "He was going to kill us!"
"Or chase us off." Gordon was hardly bothered by the weight, despite the sleepless night. "I'm fine with leaving."
"Goddamn crabs!" Taylor kicked yet another crustacean off the pier. Behind them, sirens could be heard in the distance. The mercenaries' flight was painfully slow, and the police had arrived before they reached the ship. Several shouting policemen ran after them, quickly crossing the beach and closing the gap as they barreled down the pier. Bob and Gordon heaved the gear aboard, then scrambled into the cabin, closely followed by Zach. Rene tried to shovel weapons into the cabin, but as the Northern Cross began to move, he found himself using the steel barricade both to keep the firearms from sliding off the deck and to shield himself from the policemen's bullets. He was quite surprised when a Chinese man in a pilot's uniform scrambled behind the barricade as well.
"Bob!" Rene shouted. "Something's wrong up here!"
The Chinese man picked up a gun and fired a few shots at the receding policemen. "No, you pronounced it wrong. Sun Dinghuang is up here."
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