He slipped the phone in his pocket and returned his attention to the boat’s skipper, a Uyghur man named Qassim. Qassim had proven to be more than talkative from the time they’d found him waiting alone on the boat. In fact, Fu thought, he might have to shoot the man to get him to shut up. Qassim was forty-six years old, had two children — both sons, thanks be to God, because his brother had two daughters and daughters were a curse. His wife nagged him, as he suspected all wives did, mostly about money and the creature comforts of life that she believed a wife like her deserved to have. She hardly cooked for him anymore now that his boys were grown, and the house was always a mess. She was, he pointed out, his father-in-law’s daughter, and, like all daughters, a curse…
Fu finally put a boot to the man’s shin to get him to focus. He freely admitted to being hired over the phone by a Chinese man to take a group of foreigners on a night excursion. He did not know the details, only that he was to be paid in cash when they arrived. The appointment had been made less than an hour earlier and he’d come down to the boat to get it ready. His wife had nagged him about going out again after dark and accused him of having a mistress. The old ewe would eat her words when he brought home all that money—
Fu kicked him again. “Are night excursions commonplace?”
Qassim shook his head. “Not common, but not unheard of. Crazy foreigners think they can get a better glimpse of the Kanas Lake Monster at night. We took a television crew out last fall.” He raised his brow up and down, winking at Fu. “The producer was quite attractive. My wife was certain I was…” He trailed off, at least smart enough to stop before he earned another kick.
“Where are you to take these foreigners?” Fu asked.
“I do not know,” Qassim said. “It is that way sometimes. Monster hunters bring a chart of the lake and tell me they have heard of sightings here or there or some other place. I charge by the hour, so it does not matter to me where we go.” He smiled, unable to help himself. “Plus, it lets me get away from my bothersome wife.”
“But they are coming tonight?”
“That is what the man on the phone said.”
“What time?” Fu asked.
Qassim shrugged. “I do not know. I brought tea and noodles, so I am prepared to wait. He said he would pay me for ten hours even if we were only out for two.”
Fu nodded to one of his men. “Restrain and gag him so he can’t raise an alarm. Put him up front in the V-berth, out of sight.”
“Please, sir,” Qassim said. “You do not have to tie me. I do not know these people. I have no allegiance to them. If they have done something wrong, I am happy to help you capture them.”
Fu ignored him, nodding again to his man to get on with it.
“Could I at least call my wife?” Qassim asked. “She worries.”
Fu sat on one of the bench seats and took out his knife. It had seen much use lately and needed some time on the stone. Blessedly, Qassim fell quiet at the sight of it.
“Better,” Fu said, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sound of the Uyghur’s silence. He set his hat on a small chart table beside him, and took a whetstone from his coat pocket, drawing the blade across it as he spoke. “At times, I want my bait to make noise, to draw my prey in closer with their screaming.”
The Uyghur licked his lips, swallowing hard. His eyes wide as teacups. “I… I… can scream. You do not have to cut me.”
Fu smiled. “Tonight,” he said, “I want my bait to be silent. You will be gagged, so the rats will come to you. Remain quiet and you may survive to return to the arms of your bothersome wife.”
Fu set the knife on the chart table next to his hat and tried calling Qiu again. Still nothing. Odd that he would not answer. The man knew Fu expected a report. What could possibly be taking them so long? A lone woman should pose no problem for them at all.
Ryan bailed out of the van before it skidded to a complete stop. The transmission chattered, protesting being thrown into Park while the wheels were still rolling.
Ryan had slid in sideways, putting himself directly on top of the action but forcing Adara to run around the vehicle to engage.
“Shit, Jack!” she snapped, flinging the passenger door open.
Surprised by the oncoming van, the two Chinese men had bunched together, shoulder to shoulder, throwing up their arms against the headlights, firing blindly. Bullets thwacked off the hood. Glass shattered as at least one round hit the windshield. Another took the side mirror off the door, missing Ryan by inches.
He didn’t care.
