The American CIA officer had been incredibly resilient. She’d borne much of the pain in silence, passing out much later than others to whom he’d given the same treatment. In the end, no one could hold up to drugs and pain. The mind simply let go.
The admiral grew animated on the other end of the line as Fu repeated the details of what she’d given up.
“You must go at once,” the admiral said, breathless. “Take as many men as you need. Kill the Wuming filth, kill the Americans, or do not. I do not care. But you must bring me Medina Tohti alive and intact. I cannot stress that enough. I need her coherent and talking. Now go, take the company plane. I want you at this mysterious lake as soon as humanly possible. Before that would be even better.”
“I understand,” Fu said. “But…”
“What is it?”
“Forgive me,” Fu said. “But please trust my expertise in this area. Even the most determined person will eventually talk, but the more determined one is, they are often far from coherent when they do finally break.”
Admiral Zheng scoffed. “Do not concern yourself with that. Just bring Medina Tohti to me. Your expertise is not required beyond finding her and getting her to my office. Harsh methods will not be necessary. Her daughter and sister are in Kashgar. Their safety will be all the incentive she needs to assist us.”
Clark’s eye flicked open at the sound of shuffling footsteps — too big and heavy to be a rat. The room was hazy with the muted gray light of an overcast dawn outside the tiny window. He moved slowly, feeling the familiar pops and cracks that greeted each morning even when he slept in a soft bed. A cloud of white vapor blossomed around his face when he breathed.
The sound bounced off the clay walls, making it difficult to pinpoint where it was coming from. He caught movement in the shadows, tensed, then relaxed a hair, falling back into his blanket when Hala’s silhouette came into focus, her small face framed by the white fake fur ruff of her coat.
“You okay?”
“John…”
The urgency in her voice brought him fully awake. He sat upright, throwing off his blanket.
“What is it?” he whispered, still raspy from his sleep.
Hala went to the window. She had to tiptoe to peek out. She ducked her head away as soon as she’d looked. “He’s coming!”
Clark rolled to his feet and drew the girl near so she could explain quietly. “Who’s coming?”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I had to pee. There was a man driving by on the road. I think he had stopped to pee as well. I did not think he saw me at first, but then he called out. I’m very sorry. It was an accident—”
“It’s okay,” Clark said. “Is he a policeman?”
She shook her head. “No. I do not think so.”
“Is he alone?”
She nodded. “I saw his car. There was no one else. Maybe he is—”
A wary voice called from outside the walls of the caravanserai. She was right. The man was Uyghur — and he was close.
Clark held up his hand to shush her while the man spoke, then leaned in so she could whisper in his ear to translate.
“He… He wants to know what I am doing out here all by myself.”
The man outside spoke again, louder this time, bolder, more demanding.
Hala gasped and began to shake at what she heard.
“What is it?” Clark asked.
“He knows the Bingtuan are looking for a runaway child,” she said. “He said he will not call them if I do not fight him.” She looked up at Clark. “He is a very bad man.”
“Yes, he is,” Clark said. He stood, stepping sideways inch by inch, “cutting the pie” until he brought the shadowed figure outside into view.
He was dressed like a workingman — dark trousers, white shirt, dark sport jacket under a heavier wool coat. He wore a black fur hat with the earflaps down against the morning cold. Clark estimated him to be in his early thirties, but it was difficult to tell in this part of the world. Life in western China tended to age people beyond their years. He could just as easily have been twenty-five.
Clark assessed the man quickly as an opponent. He didn’t appear to have a weapon. His hands were empty. No cell phone at the ready. He could have already called and reported his find, but Clark doubted that. Not if he wanted to be alone with his newly found young treasure. No, he’d wait until he was done — or, more likely, he’d forgo calling the police at all. He’d just do what he wanted and leave. Fugitives didn’t call the police, if he even let her live.
The man called out again, whistling as if summoning a pet.
Hala’s hand shot to her lips, covering a gasp. “He said he’s coming in. He warned me not to run…”
Clark scanned the room. There’d been nothing to use as a weapon when they’d come in, but maybe he’d missed something.
Nope.
Clark dropped to his knees in front of Hala, taking her by both shoulders. “I need you to trust me.”
She nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
