Joe fagan 04 the jade mo.., p.36
Joe Fagan 04 The Jade Mountain Queen, page 36
part #4 of Joe Fagan Series
“Is the donor?” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“She is under light sedation,” the anesthetist spoke. He had sweat on his brow despite the chill. “I was waiting for you to arrive before. . .”
“We will begin.”
“You can scrub up in the bathroom.” The heart specialist pointed to the open bathroom door.
Professor Xou looked across at Jimmy Kwok. “And you are?”
“I am taking charge of Mister Yiang’s security.”
“You and your man need to wait outside.”
“My place is here.”
“And if you infect Mister Yiang?” Professor Xou looked around. “Where is Chow?”
“He was bringing equipment from the car.” One of the nurses said.
“Well find him.” The professor looked across at the anesthetist. “I think you should begin. It is time to prepare the donor.”
“Professor, I. . .”
“You know what will happen if we fail.”
The man nodded.
“Then you know what you have to do.” The professor turned away and stepped into the bathroom.
89
Palace of the Queen of Heaven
Fagan climbed the stairs from the laundry and moved out onto a long corridor.
“You need to go to the end and turn right,” Chen’s voice spoke in his ear. “The cameras are playing a loop so no one can see you.”
“Just make sure I don’t walk into anyone.”
Fagan followed Chen’s instructions and stepped into a large, dimly lit hall dominated by a broad, sweeping staircase of solid Chinese oak. The steps were stained dark brown and covered in varnish, and the nosings were edged in gold paint. A carved banister ran down each side, painted in gold with fire-breathing dragon heads on each end newel post. The top of the staircase was in darkness.
Fagan held out the silenced SIG and began to climb. He stopped mid-step and brought up the SIG. Someone was watching him from the top of the stairs.
He could make out a short, squat figure, but whoever it was, was not moving. He took another step, still pointing the silenced SIG at the center of the body mass. The figure had still not moved.
The moon seemed to choose that moment to peek in through the window at the top of the stairs, casting a silver sheen into the room.
An ancient Chinese Bushido Warrior stood watching him from the landing of the main stair.
As his eyes adjusted, Fagan could make out an ornamental suit of armor with a blackened steel mask and helmet. An oriental saber with a wide, curved blade glinted in the moonlight, resting on an ornate gold stand in front of it.
“You need to move,” Chen spoke urgently in his ear. “Someone’s coming.”
“Which way?”
“Go down, get under the stairs. Now.”
Fagan slipped back down the steps and ducked down the side of the main staircase. He stepped into a deep doorway as a man dressed in a green surgical gown appeared at the far side of the hall. He wore a surgical mask and a matching cap and pushed a trolley, heaped with equipment. He crossed the room and disappeared down the other side of the stairs.
Fagan moved to the left. A passage ran beneath the main stairs, disappearing into the depths of the buildings. He could see the back of the man. He pushed the trolley into a recess, then stopped and reached out an arm.
Fagan looked around then quickly stepped up behind him, gripping the Glock as the door to an elevator slid open. The interior was empty. He slipped his arm around the man’s neck and squeezed. The man struggled briefly then went limp.
Fagan backed into a doorway on the opposite side. He held on to the man with one arm while he fumbled with the doorknob. The door opened on to a small room with brushes and mops and assorted cleaning equipment. He laid the man on the floor and stripped him of his surgical gown and cap, then tied and gagged him with bandages he found on the trolley. He put on the gown and cap, and a mask and gloves from the trolley. The headband of the comm set was a problem.
“I’m going silent,” he spoke to Chen.
He shoved the comm set into his pocket and put the silenced SIG on the trolley beneath a folded towel. He pushed the trolley ahead and closed the door behind him, then crossed to the elevator and pressed the button. The door slid open immediately.
There was just enough room to fit in the trolley, and himself jammed in behind. Chen had said the second floor, east wing. He pushed the button, and the door closed behind him. He had no idea what was waiting for him upstairs. But there was no going back. He had to find Nancy.
The elevator jerked to a halt, and the door slid open. He backed out into a broad passageway. A voice called out to him in Chinese. Fagan looked towards the sound. Two guards stood at a door at the end of the passage. They were both armed with automatic weapons. One of them was waving at him, still yelling in Chinese.
Fagan reached for the SIG beneath the towel on the trolley and headed towards them.
He approached the door. It opened as he got close. He recognized the man who stepped out, from photographs Lau had shown him. The Bamboo Tiger boss, Jimmy Kwok. Another man, big with a bald head, stepped out behind him. Kwok gave Fagan a hard look and said something in Chinese. Fagan kept his head down and gripped the handle of the SIG beneath the towel.
“Chow,” a voice called out.
Fagan glanced up. The door was open, and a nurse stood looking at him. He didn’t understand the rest, but he understood the wave she gave him to hurry. He pushed the trolley towards the open door and stepped inside.
Freddie Choy held a finger to the communicator in his ear, then spoke rapidly, demanding answers, then turned to Jimmy Kwok. “We have had a breach. One of the guard dogs has found a parachute hidden in the trees. We have guards and the dogs sweeping the grounds for the owner.”
Kwok shook his head. “I think we can guess who it is.” He let the anger simmer but kept it in check. He would not let that man get in his way. Not when they were this close.
He turned to the guards standing outside the door. “No one goes in or out.” He waved a hand at Choy and headed down the passage. “Let us go and find our visitor. And when we do, I will chop him into very small pieces and feed them to the dogs.”
90
Palace of the Queen of Heaven
Fagan stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. A plastic sheet hung from the ceiling, providing a small closed off area, with the bathroom on his left. The light was on, and it was empty. The nurse was still jabbering away at him. He pushed the trolley through the gap in the plastic sheet that the nurse was holding open. He stepped through and pulled out the SIG. He pointed it at the nurse. Her mouth dropped open, and she instinctively shoved her arms up.
He quickly took in the room. Henry Yiang was on one table, connected up to an array of medical paraphernalia, Nancy was on the other. A man with a mask and gown was seated at her head.
“Is she?” He could not bring himself to say the words, so he just pointed the gun.
“She’s only sedated.” the man said.
“Are you the anesthetist?”
The man nodded.
“Then wake her up.”
“No, you cannot do this.” An older man stood in the center of the room. “Do you know who this is?” he said, pointing at Henry Yiang.
“I know, and I also know who this lady is. And you call yourself a doctor. I thought you took an oath.”
The man swallowed and shook his head. “I have no choice, we have no choice.”
Nancy moaned.
Fagan looked over towards her. “Is she all right?”
“She will be fine in a few minutes.”
He pointed the SIG at the anesthetist. “You’re the knockout guy. Put them to sleep.” He waved the gun at the other occupants. “All of them.”
“You can’t do that.” The older one called out. “Our families are under threat. We have to do this.”
“And I’m supposed to stand by while you gut my friend to save this worthless piece of shit. Now down on the floor, all of you or I’ll use this.” He waved the SIG in the air. “And make it permanent.”
Nancy stirred and opened her eyes. She groaned and looked towards him as if struggling to focus. “Joe?”
“Are you all right?”
“What’s happening?”
“We need to get out of here. Our friend here is about to put these people to sleep.”
The doctors and the nurses lay on the floor, and the anesthetist injected them in turn. Within moments, they were sleeping peacefully.
“Good,” Fagan said. “Now prepare another for yourself.”
The anesthetist did as he was told and quickly joined them.
Fagan walked over to where Henry Yiang lay on the table. His face was pale, his eyes were closed. The bypass machine was patiently clicking and wheezing, the only thing sustaining his life. Fagan reached for the main power switch. “I think it’s time to switch him off.”
“No.”
Fagan looked round at Nancy. She was shaking her head.
“I took an oath, first do no harm. Whatever this man has done, whatever he planned to do to me, that does not give me an excuse to break that oath.”
“And what are you going to do? Let him live, so he can come after you again.”
Nancy looked down at the pathetic figure of Henry Yiang. “As a doctor, sometimes you have to let nature take its course.”
“Charlie always said you were stubborn.”
Fagan took the comm-set out of his pocket and pulled it onto his head.
“Chen, are you there?”
“Did you find her?”
“I found her. Now I need to get her out of here.”
“You’ve got problems. They found your parachute. Everyone’s looking for you.”
“What’s the state of play outside the door?”
“Four men with assault rifles.”
“I’m going to need a diversion.”
“I think you may need a miracle.”
“I could use one of those too.”
91
Palace of the Queen of Heaven
An alarm began to wail from a speaker hidden somewhere high up in the wall.
“Speak to me, Chen.”
“I’ve set a fire alarm in the kitchen. It won’t take long for them to work out there is no fire. I also called the guards outside the door and told them to report to Kwok in the basement. You need to go. Head down the stairs and turn back. The passage there will lead you to the back door.”
“Are we clear outside of this room?”
“There’s one man left behind.”
Fagan turned to Nancy. “You speak Chinese.”
Nancy shrugged. “Mandarin, to a point.”
“I need you to call in the guard outside the door.”
Fagan picked up a mask from the trolley he had brought in. “Here, put this on. Let’s hope he thinks you’re one of the nurses.”
Nancy slipped it on and stepped towards the split in the plastic sheet. The surgical gown she wore was like a coat on backward, split down the back. She was naked beneath it. Fagan shook his head. “Maybe you should put on some clothes first.”
“My clothes are somewhere else in this building.”
“One of the nurses is about your size. Take hers.”
Nancy selected one of the sedated nurses and pulled off her shoes, her surgical pants, and scrubs top. “Not the most hygienic.”
“Better than being dead.”
“Do you mind turning around?”
Fagan did as he was asked.
Nancy dressed quickly. The clothes and the shoes fit surprisingly well.
“Okay, are you ready?”
Nancy put a hand to her throat. She stopped and looked around.
“Are you all right?”
“There’s something I need.” Her eye fell on one of the trolleys. She reached out and picked up an item. Fagan could see it was a pendant of some kind. Nancy fastened it around her neck. She smiled at Fagan. “My Dad said it would keep me safe. Maybe it will work for the both of us.”
“We have to go.”
Nancy nodded and stepped up to the door. She cracked it open and put her head to it. “Can you help us?” she said in Mandarin.
She moved back as the man pushed open the door.
“What you want?” he said as he stepped inside.
Fagan struck him hard on the back of his skull with the butt of the SIG. He had no time for the finesse of his squeeze technique. The man collapsed to the floor, his assault rifle clattered on the floor beside him.
“We have to go.” He looked at Nancy. She was holding on to the equipment trolley. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Fagan picked up the assault rifle, then patted down the guard and found two spare magazines. He shoved them in his pocket and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He turned back to Nancy. All color had drained from her face.
“You don’t look too good.”
“It’s the after effects of the anesthetic. I’ll be fine.”
Fagan stepped back into the main room and grabbed a wheelchair he had seen earlier. He swung it around and pushed it into the outer area. “Here, get in this.”
“I said, I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t argue. Get in.” He pushed the wheelchair forward, and Nancy sat down.
Fagan opened the door and pushed the wheelchair out. The passageway in front of them was empty. “We’re on our way. Keep me posted,” he said to Chen over the comm-link.
“They’re about to work out it’s a false alarm, so move it.”
Fagan headed along the deserted passageway, pushing the wheelchair in front of him with one hand, and holding the assault rifle in the other. He reached the elevator and pressed the button. It took forever to arrive.
The doors slid open, and Fagan turned the wheelchair around and pushed Nancy in backward, then stepped in to stand in front of her. He pressed the button for the bottom floor and turned around, pointing the assault rifle towards the door.
“Joe, thank you,” Nancy said behind him.
Fagan turned his head around. “Don’t thank me yet.”
The elevator jerked to a halt, and the door opened. Fagan held up the rifle. The passageway out to the main hall looked deserted.
“Wait here while I check.” He pointed to the panel of buttons. “Press that button and hold the door open.”
He stepped out of the elevator into the passageway that ran beneath the main staircase, the assault rifle tucked up against his shoulder and extended in front of him. He let his breathing slow and felt his senses heightened.
He stepped forward and caught a glimmer of movement. Instinctively he took a half step back, swinging around the rifle. Something connected hard with the barrel, and the vibration ripped it from his grip.
He looked up as a figure in a warrior’s face mask stepped into view. Fagan recognized it from the display at the top of the stairs. The warrior was wearing the armored breastplate, and the Chinese war saber was gripped in both hands, its broad blade shining and deadly, glinting from the hall light above him.
The warrior swung in the saber from high above his head. Fagan dived to the side as the blade swept past his shoulder, slicing past his arm with enough force to remove it. The warrior seemed to pivot like a ballet dancer, sweeping in the sword for a fatal body cut. Fagan staggered back to avoid the blow. His foot caught the corner of the wall where the passage ran back to the main hall, and he fell backward, his body slamming into the marble floor. His attacker adjusted his grip and swung in the blade. Fagan rolled as the tempered steel bit hard into the marble tile where his head had just been, gouging out a lump of masonry.
Fagan glanced towards the assault rifle lying up against the far wall. A chunk had been taken out of the barrel. Its firing days were over, but it might serve as a club.
His assailant stepped in and kicked him hard in the gut. Fagan rolled with the blow, trying to block out the pain, then scrambled away from his attacker.
“You just keep getting in my way, Mister Joe,” the warrior said, as he stepped casually but confidently after him. “That is your name? We have not been formally introduced. I am Jimmy Kwok. I am Shan Chu, Dragon Head of the Bamboo Tiger, one of the oldest Triad gangs in China. You see this.” He stopped and hefted the blade above his head. “This is an ancient Dao blade. The ancient Bushido warriors would use it to hack their enemies to pieces. We have tried to carry on that tradition. We have to show our enemies that we will show them no mercy.
“You have stumbled into something more complex, far greater than you could ever imagine. Once I chop you into little pieces, the last barrier will be gone. Despite your pathetic attempts to prevent it, Mister Yiang will receive his miracle, and I will become the most powerful Shan Chu in the whole of China.”
Kwok let out a cry and rushed towards him, sweeping down with the sword. Fagan got his feet beneath him and surged forward, ducking beneath the swinging blade. His hand caught the assault rifle. He scooped it up and turned as the saber swept toward him. He held up the weapon, and the blade struck it hard. It vibrated violently in his hands, but Fagan held on. He stepped to the side and slid his hands down the barrel, swinging the butt end at Kwok’s head. Kwok swept around in a pirouette, avoiding the path of the rifle butt, and countered with a sweeping cut that struck the rifle just above Fagan’s hands. Despite his grip, the blow ripped the gun from his hands.
Kwok made another theatrical flourish, as if he was performing some ancient ritual dance, and swept in again, with the sword held in both hands. Fagan rolled to the side. The blade tugged at his arm, slicing through the surgical gown and the jumpsuit beneath it. He felt the sharp bite as it sliced on through his skin and cut into his flesh. Fagan hit the floor, but he blocked out the pain and kept on rolling. His back slammed up hard against the wall. He had nowhere to go.
Kwok adjusted for a chopping blow and stepped in for the kill.
Fagan scrabbled at the zip up pocket in his jumpsuit. Kwok let out a cry, somewhere between a screech and a scream, and swept down with the blade. Fagan’s hand wrapped around the grip of the SIG. He had no time to pull it out. He flattened and lifted his leg, then squeezed the trigger. The exploding gas from the gun seared white hot down his thigh, despite the trousers he was wearing beneath the jumpsuit. Kwok stopped mid-step, the saber still held in his hands. There was a hole in his exposed throat between the lower level of the mask and the breastplate. It began pumping blood. Fagan rolled aside as the sword clattered onto the tiled floor, and Kwok slapped down beside it.
