“Listen to me!” Yao snapped. “We don’t have time if you stop and ask questions. Your sister was killed trying to save Hala. My friend killed the man that killed her. He got Hala out of China and she is safe. The men after you are with the Chinese intelligence. They believe you have information that could help them find a missing scientist, Liu Wangshu.”
Medina’s mouth fell open, astonished. “Professor Liu? What information?”
“Beijing believes you know where to find him,” Yao said. “They are using every means to find you. They know you are affiliated with Wuming.”
“What do you care?” Ma asked. “Uyghur injustice is a low priority for the United States.”
“And most Han,” Yao said, nodding at Ma. “You know too well that these are issues of humankind, not ethnicity. But, to be honest, I work for the U.S. government, and we want to find Professor Liu as well.”
“Why do you want him?” Medina asked.
“Honestly,” Yao said, “we want to find him because Beijing is interested. We believe he has something to do with a missing submarine.”
Medina lowered the pistol. “A Chinese submarine?”
“Correct,” Yao said. “Now we really need to go. My friend is in trouble—”
Chavez’s phone buzzed. Ma nodded for him to put it on speaker.
Yao nearly collapsed when Clark’s voice came across, loud and clear, as if he were in the room beside them.
“You called?”
“No time to explain, John,” Chavez said. “But I have Hala’s mother here. She wants to say hello.”
“Easy, Jack,” Adara said, cursing softly as Ryan drifted the van through a sweeping corner, chattering the rear tires.
“Sorry,” he said, stomach in his throat. He’d adjusted the rearview mirror so he could keep an eye on what was happening in the back.
Covered in blood, Adara cradled Lisanne’s shoulders in her lap, working frantically. She’d applied a SWAT-T Tourniquet first — essentially a long strip of rubber — as soon as they were in the van. It was small, always in her pocket, and handy, so it went on while Ryan was getting the bag. She’d put a windless tourniquet over that one by the time they hit the edge of town, twisting it tight enough to make Lisanne wince from the pain. People liked to argue tourniquets in the comfort of their living rooms, throwing out stats about lost limbs and less drastic alternatives. Rolling down a mountain road in the back of a van in a hostile country with blood squirting out a brachial artery — all such arguments were void. Lisanne could well lose her arm if circulation wasn’t restored in the next few hours, but Adara had seconds to stop the bleeding.
“How…” Lisanne gave a hollow cough. It was weak, little more than a gagging click. “How… bad?”
“You’re hanging on,” Adara said. “And that is amazing.”
“Don’t… sugarcoat…” Lisanne said.
Ryan wiped away a tear with his forearm.
“We’ve stopped the bleeding in your arm,” Adara said.
“Hurts like hell,” Lisanne said. “What else?”
“Two shots to the abdomen,” Adara said. “No exit wounds.”
Lisanne arched her back, grimacing, and then fell limp.
Adara patted her cheek. “Hey, kiddo! Lisanne!” She put two fingers to Lisanne’s neck, sighing in relief, sniffing back tears like she had a cold. “I have a pulse. It’s fast as a runaway train from blood loss, but it’s still there. The shots missed her lungs, but one of the bullets went in right where her spleen is.”
Ryan glanced in the rearview mirror. He swallowed, straining to get the words out of his throat. “What… can you do?”
Adara shook her head. “If the bullet hit her spleen and she’s bleeding internally… there’s nothing I can do.”
Ding’s voice came over the net. “Jack, Jack, Ding. How’s she holding up?”
“Not good,” Ryan said. “We’re coming into the village now…” He tapped his brakes, slowing to let a dark beater crew-cab pickup coming in from the west turn onto the road ahead of him.
“Tell me that’s you,” Chavez said.
Ryan flicked his brights on and off.
“Gotcha,” Chavez said.
Ryan chanced a look over his shoulder. “How we doing?”
Adara shook her head. “Same. She’s out, but still breathing on her own and I have a pulse. She’s a tough lady.”
“No kidding…”
Ahead, the little pickup truck’s headlights went dark. Still well away from the docks, it stopped in the middle of the road.
“Tell Jack to stand by,” Yao said from the front seat of the Great Wall pickup. Ma drove. Chavez sat in the middle. Medina and the two Uyghur men sat in the back. The men made no secret of the fact that if they suspected either intruder of treachery that would harm Medina, they would not hesitate to shoot.
Yao had to ask to borrow the night-vision goggles back from the young Uyghur, Perhat, who seemed particularly fascinated by it.
“Something isn’t right,” Yao said. “The skipper is supposed to be alone.” He passed the NVGs to Ma.
“Alone?” Ma said, peering through the device. “This boat is very crowded at the moment.”
Lisanne was awake again, whimpering softly, grimacing from the pain.
