Finding a replacement for Lily was not an easy task. Getting another operator was no problem; there were plenty of those in the U.S., some just biding their time, waiting to be activated by the likes of Kang. Some were green but willing to learn; others had been tested under fire in conflicts around the world. But locating someone who could blend his movements with Kang and Rose, that took some doing. This new man, Gao, had studied Muay Thai in Thailand, then further honed his skills with the monks of Shaolin. A year of paramilitary training with the activities arm of the Ministry of State Security added weapons skills as well as taught him the lethal side of martial arts — turning strikes meant to knock out one’s opponent into throat-crushing techniques.
Gao had an excellent reputation among the people that mattered. He had come highly recommended. Kang saw skill and commitment in the man’s eyes, and found himself glad to have him along.
It was well after midnight. Restaurants and businesses in downtown Chicago were closed. It had been a warm day, and the sour smell of trash mixed with the odor of the river that had recently been upgraded by authorities to be only slightly toxic. Still, Kang thought, it was exponentially cleaner than any waterway in Beijing. Black plastic bags were piled five and six high on the sidewalk, waiting for the legions of garbage trucks that would roll through soon to pick up the mountains of trash.
“They must be in a boat,” Kang said, gesturing at the railing that ran along Wacker Drive above the Riverwalk. The boy’s phone had pinged for a time in a neighborhood near the Indiana line, then gone dark. Things like this happened. Any number of things might have blocked the signal. It gave them time for Gao to join them and to prepare for the assault. The phone had come online again two hours earlier. A blue dot that signified its location pulsed over a map of the Chicago Riverwalk on the screen of Kang’s cell.
Both Rose and Gao nodded that they understood.
The group paused at the limestone tender house at the southeast corner of the bridge, bearing the heroic sculpture commemorating the rebuilding of the city after the Great Fire. Gao looked up and down Wacker Drive watching a marked Chicago PD patrol car roll by behind a yellow cab parallel to the river.
“Why a boat?” the new man asked. “Boats are difficult to defend.”
“A trap?” Rose asked quietly, almost as if she were speaking to herself.
“That is possible,” Kang said. “But boats can also be moved.”
Kang led the way, as a proper leader should, looking at the phone he held down by his waist while Rose and Gao walked a step behind, providing overwatch.
The normally teeming streets were quiet enough that the sound of distant coughing could be heard. Here and there a metal door rolled down, fortifying a storefront against break-in, if not vandalism with gang graffiti.
The dot hovered over the blue portion of the map, signifying it was over water. Kang moved to his right at the top of the steps leading down from the tender house, far enough to get a quick peek at the walk below. Two large boats used for architectural tours of the city were moored along the concrete pier. Forward of the tour boats, farther to the west, a forty-foot sailboat and a cabin cruiser of similar size were cleated bow to stern along the pier. They were close enough together that it was impossible to tell exactly where the phone was, but an orange cabin light glowed in the saloon of the middle cabin cruiser. The dot floated back and forth. It was difficult to tell if the phone was moving, or if the satellite was merely settling in. Kang imagined it was the latter.
“We are close,” he whispered, pausing at the top of the stairs. The concrete walk and ticket stands below looked deserted, but a croupy cough told him there were homeless people there. That was normal. A siren wailed in the distance. Also normal. Someone below hawked up a throat full of phlegm and spit. Night sounds. Nothing out of place. “They do not expect us, but be prepared to meet some resistance nonetheless. They are frightened, so they will have guards.”
Rose gave a derisive chuckle. “Surely nothing more than a few policemen.”
“Maybe,” Kang said.
He imagined what he would do to the teenagers… to the wife. He’d force Li to watch everything before he died. Perhaps they would move the boat and everyone on it out onto Lake Michigan so Kang could take all the time he wanted. Rose had tools for many kinds of mayhem.
She carried a small backpack with a Taser, some plastic bags, a roll of Gorilla Tape, and a pair of pliers. She had her blades, of course, as did Kang, though he had lost his good one fleeing out of the house with Li blasting away with his shotgun. That alone was enough to warrant serious retribution. In addition to the knives, each member of the team carried their suppressed Beretta and a can of pepper spray to get control of the teenagers prior to taping them up.
