Black Mist (Corps Justice Book 19), page 15
Hu tilted his head and watched him. "I think it depends on the circumstances. At your father's level, I am sure he must be careful with his decisions. They could have far-reaching consequences."
Again, Prescott got the impression that the general was giving him a sly hint. Time to switch gears. "Let's talk about Dr. Lin. I think I should debrief him."
"That will not happen," Hu said.
"That won’t happen?" Prescott asked. "I brought him to you."
Hu chuckled. "Technically, Peter Lin brought himself to me. You should have seen him. Quite the mess. He looked like he had been thrown into an industrial dryer for three days. But say I allow you to debrief him. What is it you think he will tell you?"
“Who are you to ‘allow’ me anything?" Prescott snapped. "This is my job we're talking about here, dammit. You don't want me to get fired, do you? What good will that do you?"
Hu shrugged. "I'm not convinced."
"Convinced of what?"
"Your worth," Hu said. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
Jeffrey Prescott’s head swelled with rage. His worth should be obvious. He was the son of Howard Prescott, the heir apparent. He had access to the Central Intelligence Agency. He could help General Hu lock down China's claim on Costa Rica and the region beyond.
Prescott's bitterness almost got the best of him. He opened his mouth to bite back, but for perhaps the first time in his life, he thought better of it and held his tongue.
"Fair enough," he said simply, and sipped his drink.
What was his worth? Well, he'd show Hu. And it would happen in a way the Chinese man would never forget.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CAL STOKES
"You really look like shit," Wilcox said. "Seriously, Calvin, didn't I tell you the last time we were together that you should take better care of yourself?"
"You're lucky you saved my life, otherwise I'd slap that grin right off your face," Cal said through chattering teeth.
"Is that any way to talk to your guardian angel? I am shocked." Wilcox looked at Lena. "Aren't you shocked?"
"Leave him alone," Lena said, sitting down next to Cal, who was huddled beneath a blanket despite having showered and eaten. "Can I get you anything?"
Cal shook his head. "I'll be fine, I promise."
"You don't look fine," Wilcox teased.
"Shut up for two minutes?" Lena said.
Wilcox rolled his eyes as if she were the immature one.
"You have to get ahold of Daniel," Cal said.
"We will, but before that, do you have any idea who the guy was?" Lena asked.
"What guy?"
"She's talking about the guy who put you in that gerbil cage." Wilcox tilted his head. "Huh. You know, you do kind of look like a gerbil."
"Really?" Lena groaned.
"Let him show his true colors," Cal said. "He'll tire out, and then I'll give him his wubby back so he can nap."
"Oooh, feisty," Wilcox said, a sing-song lilt to his voice. "Fine, you don't want me around? Then you won't get to know who the guy was."
"You're saying you know?" Cal asked.
"Um, yeah."
"Care to enlighten us?"
"The guy in the truck told me. Before I snapped his neck, of course. Does the name Marty Hu ring a bell?"
"Wait,” Lena said, "that’s the same guy—"
Wilcox nodded. "The same one our last pervo talked about. Speaking of, Lena darling, weren’t you going to look into that?"
"I did. All I’ve found so far is one Martin Hu, a Chinese national who runs various agricultural considerations here in Costa Rica."
"Got a picture?" Cal said.
Lena pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and then held it out.
"That's him alright."
Wilcox and Lena exchanged a look.
"What are the odds?" Wilcox said. "I swear, the longer I hang out with you guys, the more fun I have. Here this guy is, telling the world that he's God's gift to the pineapple business, when really he’s going around kidnapping ornery Marines."
Cal raised a middle finger.
"Ah, there's the ornery Marine in question. Don’t worry, I love you anyway.” Wilcox blew him a kiss. "Welcome back, Marine."
"Screw you, Wilcox. Now, will you hurry up and find Daniel? Tell him to bring the others too."
"Any idea where he might be?" Lena said, already getting her coat on.
Cal recited three addresses from memory. She jotted them into her phone and slipped into a pair of Vans sneakers.
Wilcox stood over Cal.
"Can I help you?" Cal said.
"I'm glad you're alright."
Cal rolled his eyes. "Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better, Wilcox. Thanks a bunch."
Wilcox smiled, then swiveled on his heel. "Come, Lena darling, time to round up the Super Friends!"
They returned several hours later, Daniel and Liberty in tow. The dog ran over to Cal, greeting him like a mother who’d finally found a lost child.
"Alright, easy, girl," Cal said. In truth, he was as grateful to be reunited as she was.
"Good dog," Daniel said.
"Good man," Cal returned. "How are you?"
"Better than you, by the looks of it."
"I'm alright."
"Oh, he's better than alright," Wilcox said. "Aren't you, bub?"
"Except for that," Cal said, jabbing a thumb in Wilcox's direction. "Where are the others?"
"Yeah, about them," Daniel said, taking a seat on the couch's armrest. "We had a little dustup with some undercover Chinese agents. It wasn't pretty, and it was in public. Top and Gaucho were spotted. I had to send them back to the States."
"Agents?"
"Hu's men," Wilcox said. "They had to be."
"What is this guy up to?" Cal wondered out loud.
Wilcox took a seat opposite Cal and Daniel. "Lena, I think we oughta tell these gentlemen what Perv Number Twenty told us."
Lena handed Cal a bottle of water and sat down in an adjacent armchair. "Apparently, Hu has a . . . what would you call it? A replica?"
"That's what I'd call it," Wilcox said.
"Yeah, a replica of American . . . life."
Cal leaned forward. "Come again?"
"The perv described all this stuff that Hu’s built, like shopping malls, post offices . . . Anything you'd find on Main Street, USA. It's all located in this huge complex on some private island. It’s like Hu is building a mini America."
Cal shook his head. "I don't get it."
"Neither do we," Lena said.
"What does it mean?" Cal asked.
"It means that I've been right all along," Wilcox said. "The Chinese are doing something weird and screwy, and we need to figure out what that is."
Cal scratched his head in confusion. “I’d say it’s all some crazy dude’s obsession with America if I hadn’t been fed to crocs over it, but . . .” He didn’t know what else to say. Lost for words, he looked at Daniel. He expected some bit of wisdom—a theory, a hypothesis, anything at all—but Daniel’s expression stayed blank.
Wilcox rose. "I'm going to take Lena, and we're going to do a little reconnaissance on this island."
"I'm going with you," Cal said, rising. Halfway up, he lost his breath to his various aches.
"Hold your horses there, cowboy," Wilcox said. "You can barely stand. I don't need the liability."
Cal took a breath to restrain his tongue. "Maybe we should all hold our horses and take a second to think about this. We have a Chinese businessman who's built some sort of American replica on that island. Strange as it is, that doesn't really mean anything. Not yet. I think we need to learn more about who Marty Hu is before we make a move. Daniel, what do you think?"
Daniel didn’t seem to register the question. The man looked like he’d been drugged. "I don't know. Whatever you want, I guess."
Cal stared long and hard at the Marine sniper, who avoided his gaze.
What the hell is wrong with him?
"Fine. Fair," Wilcox said. "I’ll go to my resources and find out who Hu really is when he's alone in the shower. Perhaps he likes rubber duckies."
"Sounds good," Cal said, surprised Wilcox had acquiesced so easily. "I'll reach out to SSI HQ and talk to Neil. Maybe he can learn something."
"Where's the head?" Daniel said.
"Right down the hall." Lena pointed. "First door on the right." She watched him walk away, then sat down next to Cal.
"What's with him?" she whispered.
"You noticed it too?"
"How could you not?"
"Was he like this in the car?"
Lena nodded. "He didn't even hug me or anything. I mean, not that I was expecting . . . whatever. I'm just saying, he didn’t even ask how I’d been or anything. Just said hello like he was greeting the cable guy or a grocery clerk. Don't get me wrong, Cal, I know Briggs isn't exactly a chatterbox. But this is different."
Cal took a deep breath. "Solemn."
"That's the word."
"But not in a good way. Tight-lipped."
She bumped knees with him. "Right."
"I'll keep an eye on him."
"Thanks, buddy," she said.
Cal rose from the couch. "Hey, you don't happen to have a phone I can borrow by any chance, do you? Hu took mine."
Lena jumped up from her seat. "Oh my God, I almost forgot!" She ran out to the car and returned a moment later with a burner phone still in its plastic clamshell. "A little gift from Matthew."
Cal rolled his eyes. "There's nothing more annoying than a total jerk doing a decent thing. I'm gonna make a couple of calls. Thank Wilcox for me. I sure as hell don't want to do it myself."
Lena laughed and rolled her eyes.
Daniel emerged from the bathroom and entered the living room without so much as a glance at the two of them.
"Hey," Lena said.
"Hey," he returned, still avoiding her gaze. He walked right by, heading for the front door. "Just so you guys know, I'm going to take Liberty for a walk."
"Okay," Cal said.
"I'll come with you." Lena took a step toward him.
Daniel turned back, a pained look in his eyes. "I need to figure some things out. Okay?"
"Okay," she said with a slow nod.
Once Daniel had left, she turned to Cal. "What do we do?"
"For now, nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Listen, I know Daniel. Whatever he needs to work out, he needs space to do it. You have to remember that. Don't take it personally."
"If Anna were here, she would know what to do."
"Maybe."
"I can't believe you're being so callous."
"I'm not being callous, Lena. I just know Daniel. We need to leave him be for now. Don’t be a child." He shouldn't have said it. Her laser-focused attention on his jugular told him as much.
"Excuse me?" she said, her tone boring into him.
"I'm sorry."
"A child? Do you have any idea—"
Cal held up his hands. "I'm sorry, Lena. Seriously. That was totally out of line. I'm just a little tired."
Her face softened.
"Give him his space, and I promise it’ll all be okay. Whatever's up, Briggs will figure it out. He doesn’t give up that easy."
She breathed out long and slow, resignation in her eyes. "Dammit," she said.
"What?"
She looked at him, her smile sad. "Oh, nothing. It just looks like our Costa Rican vacation's over, that's all."
The weight in her words matched the heaviness on his chest.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
JUNFENG
It was near the end of the dockman's shift when the stranger appeared on the horizon.
Junfeng sighed. He hoped the incoming stranger didn’t need his services. He was so done dealing with today’s problems. Not to say his job was difficult—really, it was nothing compared to the hard work he’d done as a farmer in China—but a day of boredom always left him with an intolerance for dealing with other people. It was as if boredom made the rules for itself. Keep it going, he imagined boredom saying. Let's be antisocial for a while.
What he wouldn't give to be back home, digging his hands in the dirt by day, and relaxing on his small boat atop the beautiful Yangtze River by night. Hard as the farm life had been, he’d found it fulfilling. But Mr. Hu had come calling in need of a man who knew the water. And who could say no to Mr. Hu? It was probably for the best that he’d come here. He was getting older, and he remembered all too well the hunched back and wilted forearms farming had bestowed upon his father after years of service. It was better this way.
Still, when he’d accepted Mr. Hu’s invitation, he’d thought the majority of his time would be spent ferrying around dignitaries and other important people. Sometimes he did, but mostly he just manned the dock and captained the occasional crossing for whomever and whatever needed to make the short journey. That included guards, food deliveries, the odd visitor, and, of course, Mr. Hu himself. Despite the lack of dignitaries, Junfeng found he mostly enjoyed the days in which he made the repetitive crossing. Other days, when he had nothing in particular to do, he struggled to stay positive.
Today had been one of the nothing days. And with fifteen minutes left, all he wanted to do was call it and head to his quarters. But no, the appearance of the stranger had now laid waste to his unexciting plans to leave early.
Junfeng touched the pocket in which he usually kept his cigarettes. He'd just recently quit, but he had a feeling that his old habit of tapping at the pocket would outlast his final craving.
"Hellooo," the stranger called out.
Head to toe, the stranger was dressed in what the dockman considered fancy resort wear: an oversized straw hat, Ray-Ban sunglasses, a flashy gold watch, a colorful flowered shirt, white linen pants, and a pair of loafers. Junfeng estimated that the loafers alone had cost more than his annual wage.
"Hello," the stranger said again.
Junfeng waved. The stranger was probably lost. It wasn't uncommon. Though the dock was tucked away down a well-hidden road, wandering tourists did occasionally stumble upon it.
"Is this the way to the island?" the man said, his voice proper and a bit melodic.
"This is private property, sir," Junfeng said, careful in his pronunciation of the words. He didn’t get the opportunity to speak English often, but he studied every night. He’d heard rumors that Mr. Hu was planning to send them to America. He hoped they were true.
The stranger waved away his comment. "I'm looking for Martin Hu."
Junfeng opened his mouth to respond in the negative—this man hadn't been called for, so it was best to stay tight-lipped—but the stranger didn’t give him a chance to respond.
"I know he's here. I have friends who confirmed it." The stranger rattled off a list of names that Junfeng did not recognize. They all sounded fancy, like people who belonged on ballroom floors rather than dusty, unpaved Costa Rican roads.
"I need to see Mr. Hu,” the stranger repeated. "Immediately." There was a flamboyance to the man’s tone that made it plain he was used to getting his way.
When the dockman didn’t budge, the stranger said, "Ten thousand dollars."
"I'm sorry?" Junfeng said.
"Ten thousand American dollars if you'll take me to see Mr. Hu."
What craziness was this?
"No, sir, I cannot—"
The stranger wagged his finger. "Okay then. Twenty thousand dollars, eh? Twenty thousand to see Mr. Hu."
This was madness. It had to be a ploy. Junfeng looked all around. Maybe someone else was there. Maybe they were trying to trick him. He knew there was a man at the plantation who wanted his job. Could this be his doing?
"Why are you looking around?" the stranger said. "I'm the only one here. Twenty no good? Fine. You certainly drive a hard bargain, friend. Fifty thousand American dollars, and that's my final offer."
Junfeng blinked twice. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, and yet there was an earnestness to the man that gave him pause. But how could he offer so much money? Perhaps fifty thousand was indeed nothing to him. His clothes and his mannerism spoke of wealth.
Junfeng thought of his family back home, who could live well for many years on that kind of money. He pictured his grandmother scooting around on her behind because standing on her arthritic feet hurt too much. She could get a wheelchair, maybe someone to push her around. His mother, who'd been so skinny the last time he'd seen her, could stop sacrificing her food for others. And his withered, hunched father could retire at last.
"I'll make it easy for you," the stranger said. "Do you have a phone?"
Junfeng nodded stupidly.
"I assume you have some sort of cash app to receive money. Xoom? That's what you use down here, right?"
Again, the dockman nodded.
"Perfect. Give me your address, and I'll send it to you right now as a sign of good faith."
"Sir, I don't know if I can—"
The stranger held up a hand, then lowered his Ray-Bans to look him square in the eye. "Are you telling me that fifty thousand can't pay for a simple introduction to Mr. Hu?"
"Sir, my job."
"I promise you won't get in trouble. I’ll tell you what, we'll blame it all on me. We'll say I lied. Mr. Hu doesn't have to know about the fifty thousand." He said the number slowly, giving it time to sink in.
As if in a dream, Junfeng gave the man his Xoom details.
"Now," the man said, "what's your favorite food?"
"Sir?"
"Your favorite food. Pizza? Scungilli?"
Junfeng shook his head. "I don't know what you're asking—" He was interrupted by the chirp of his phone.
"There it is," the man said. "I was just trying to kill some time. Go have a look."
Junfeng pulled out his phone. There was a notification from Xoom on the screen. He opened the app to view his account. His balance, which had been just over one American dollar this morning, had since grown by twenty-five thousand.
"It's a deposit. I'll give you the other half when we get to the island, I promise. Here.” The man handed over his glittering watch and winked at him. “You can keep my watch in good faith. It's worth considerably more than fifty grand, I'll tell you that. Deal?"
