“You must have struck a fuel line,” the driver said when the fugitive boat began to slow. “Shall I ram them?”
“No!” Fu said, standing beside the captain’s chair, one hand on the console, the other clutching an H&K rifle. “I do not want you to ram them. That would sink us both. Stay close. He may speed up again once he makes this turn—”
Fu glanced at the chart plotter mounted to the ceiling, surprised that the moving triangle that represented their vessel had not caught up with their actual location. Ma was clearly following Kanas Lake’s dogleg bend to the right, but the plotter showed they were still at least three miles away.
The driver cursed.
Ahead, the fugitive vessel increased its speed and virtually stood on its side as it arced sharply to the left, cutting a deep C of froth in the water and heading back the way it had come, roaring down the port rail, almost close enough to touch.
“You fool!” Fu screamed. He dropped the rifle to brace himself with both hands. “Turn! Turn the boat!”
They hit the mud at over twenty knots, slamming everyone forward. The driver flew out of his seat, impacting the windscreen with the crown of his head and breaking his neck.
Fu was thrown sideways against the metal console, snapping his left arm in at least two places. Pain and nausea brought him to his knees. One of the engines still roared, grinding the exposed propeller against the mud and gravel. Fu felt certain the otherworldly whine would shatter every piece of glass on the boat. He dragged himself up with his good arm long enough to kill the engine, before collapsing again to the floor.
The motors were off, but battery-powered lights were still operative, for the time being at least. Cold air poured through the shattered windscreen. The smell of fuel permeated everything.
Fu coughed, bringing sharp pains to life deep inside his skull. Seething fury blurred his vision. A steady flow of blood dripping off his brow said he probably had a concussion as well. Yang fared little better with a shattered leg and jaw.
Fu didn’t care how badly the man was hurt.
“Find me the phone!” The excruciating pain in his head made him gag when he shouted. He lowered his voice to a whispered hiss. “Now!”
The boat lay keeled over to port on her V-shaped hull, piling everyone and everything that wasn’t fastened down on the left. Yang found the phone under a pile of orange life vests.
Concentrating to stay awake, Fu telephoned the Burqin Airport, sixty kilometers to the south. He invoked the name of Admiral Zheng of People’s Liberation Army Naval Intelligence and demanded to speak to the XPCC 10th Division officer on duty. Fu was connected immediately and gave a hurried rundown of his urgent need to stop the escape of a valuable fugitive from the forest around Lake Kanas. The officer in charge, a youthful-sounding captain, was extremely cooperative but not especially helpful. Air assets this far north consisted of a handful of L-39 Czechoslovakian fighter jets for border patrols, and two helicopters, both of which were Harbin H425s, the civilian version of the Z-9W (or WZ-9) built in China for the PLA Air Force on a licensing agreement with Eurocopter. The colonel barked at a subordinate to get both birds in the air and then contact Xinjiang Corps Helicopter Brigade in Urumqi.
“But… the helicopters are generally used for search-and-rescue,” the captain said. “They are both equipped with infrared cameras, but no weapons.”
“That is fine,” Fu said, feeling as though he might pass out. “Just send them. These fugitives should not be difficult to find. Their boat will be visible somewhere on the north end of the lake.”
“Please excuse me.” The captain broke off the conversation to speak with someone else on his end.
“Major,” he said as he came back on the line. “A JY-14 radar station near our frontier with Kazakhstan and Russia reports numerous contacts less than ten kilometers across the border toward the Novosibirsk region of Russia. An unknown type of aircraft, but judging from the speed and varied course, they are believed to be rotary-wing.”
“The Russians…” Fu mused, too light-headed to think. “Why would the Russians be involved…?”
“Unknown, Major,” the captain said. “But considering your situation, it seemed connected. The Russian border is a mere twenty-six kilometers from Kanas Lake.”
“Yes,” Fu said. His left eye would not stay open, no matter what he did. “That makes sense.”
“Two of our L-39s will overfly you in approximately twenty minutes,” the captain said. “Perhaps they will discourage the Russian aircraft from making any incursions into China. I have already notified my superiors of your fugitives as well as the radar contacts. Very soon, you should have all the resources you need to make your capture.”
