The Lock Box, page 19
She didn’t watch the gun barrel. Instead, Locke kept her vision locked on Huang’s eyes. As she kept advancing, they widened ever so slightly.
“Your goons had the chance in Malibu, but I don’t think they just missed. You can’t afford to shoot me.”
More steps put her within inches of Huang and the gun.
“Whoever you’re robbing that safe for won’t want to hear you killed your only chance to get inside.”
Although the barrel was pointed at her chest, she saw Huang’s index finger slip outside the trigger guard. He retreated a half step.
If she wasn’t certain before, now she knew: she had him.
Huang’s hand was shaking when she smacked it. With one open palm, she struck the inside of his wrist; her other hand hit the opposite side of the barrel. The simultaneous opposing blows jarred the gun from his grip, sending the barrel spinning back toward Huang himself.
He winced and backpedaled.
Locke didn’t blink. She plucked the moving gun from the air and absorbed it into a two-handed, high-ready grip pointed at Huang’s forehead.
“Open the safe.”
Huang’s hands rose to his shoulders, even as his knees bent beneath him. He ended up crouched in a kind of half cower. But his expression remained defiant. “I will not.”
“Then I will blow your motherfucking head all the way back to LA.”
Locke adjusted her aim, eyeing him down the sights. “Let Evan out. Now.”
“You cannot kill me any more than I could kill you. I am the only one who knows the new combinations to the safe.”
“And I’m a goddamn safecracker!”
“You’re also a bit too slow, princess.” Jack’s voice came from behind her, along with a hand on her shoulder.
Before she could look back, Huang straightened. “I’m afraid I have you outnumbered.”
Huang gestured to Locke’s left. King had a pistol trained on her.
Locke’s eyes drifted to Queen, who stood several feet to the Giant’s side. If Queen moved fast, she could knock King’s aim off.
But she slowly shook her head at Locke.
A quick glance backward showed why. Even if Queen took down King, Jack had his knife pointed at her kidney.
Huang straightened and stepped forward, palm outstretched. “The gun, please.”
Locke gritted her teeth but took her finger off the trigger. She raised the barrel skyward.
Huang snatched the gun from her grasp. After shoving it into a holster beneath his jacket, he gave her an ugly smile. “Now that you are properly motivated for our mission, I think we can depart.”
“I am going to kill you for this,” she said. “For what you’ve done to him.”
“Thank you for reminding me, Ms. Locke. Your histrionics interrupted me before I properly finished with the safe.”
Huang turned back to the Ticonderoga, squatted down, and pressed a button on the biometric sensor. When it beeped, he placed his right hand onto the scanner’s black glass. A moment later, the safe beeped again and the little green light flashed.
Huang rose and spun on his heel to face her. He raised his hand and wiggled his fingers the same way Locke had done the day before. “Now my return is guaranteed.”
* * *
Locke had expected that leaving the warehouse would provide a brief moment of joy. But the trip to the SUV might as well have been a spacewalk, it felt so foreign. One of those detached out-of-body experiences, where she could almost watch herself moving along the little path to the parking lot.
After working so hard to escape, nearly dying to determine their location, now she stood outside in broad daylight and the opportunity to look around didn’t matter in the slightest. She’d run out of chances to signal for help—she’d almost certainly be accompanied from now on. Worse, Huang’s use of the biometric lock meant that coming back without him would be fruitless.
What dominated her thoughts, though, was how long Evan could survive inside that safe.
The Ticonderoga would be airtight, no doubt about that. Locke had no idea how fast Evan would consume the oxygen inside the box or how much time the extra tank would provide.
Was he panicking? Huffing and puffing would use the oxygen faster.
Wouldn’t you panic, locked inside a pitch-black steel box?
When she reached the Mercedes, Locke was glad no one challenged her for the shotgun seat. At least she wouldn’t have to face anyone during the drive.
Her relief evaporated when Huang climbed behind the wheel and keyed the ignition. His proximity alone caused a physical reaction—her skin seemed to tighten, her muscles twitched.
“Evan will be fine, Ms. Locke,” Huang said, as if reading her thoughts. “With the bottle, he has well over four hours of oxygen. Our mission should take no more than three. So long as we all cooperate, you should be reunited with him before his bedtime.”
Locke’s eyes darted to the dashboard. The clock said 4:54.
But the small comfort of having a deadline disappeared as she started to think through it.
Three hours?
That struck her as impossibly quick. As she tried to make the math work, Huang’s Mercedes lurched into reverse and turned out of the lot.
After a few hundred yards down a sandy path, Huang steered onto a real, asphalt road. At that point, the sun shifted to sit squarely, uncomfortably, in her side mirror.
Blocking the glare with her hand, Locke watched passing warehouses and power stations gradually give way to small strip malls. Although the terrain was interminably flat, no buildings loomed as landmarks. Street signs proved equally useless—all the identifiers were numbers, as if knowing you were crossing Seventy-Fourth Street helped if you had no idea where the other seventy-three were located.
Eyeing the dashboard clock every few seconds, Locke was relieved to see an overpass approaching.
But as they drew closer, Huang made no move for the ramp. He cruised underneath without slowing, turning north a few blocks later.
Now Locke really began to fidget. Although only four minutes had elapsed, she’d thought the only thing south of Miami was Key West. Why would they be heading north?
A minute later, the SUV turned into a parking lot ringed by chain-link fencing. The lone building visible was a Quonset hut–type hangar with three private jets lined up next to it.
Locke couldn’t contain her confusion any longer. “I thought we were going to that yacht.”
“We are,” Huang said. “Our transport is there.”
Huang angled the SUV into a parking space and pointed out the windshield.
A helicopter stood waiting on the tarmac.
CHAPTER
24
LOCKE SWALLOWED HER questions about the helicopter and went along silently. They were pretending to be rich people, after all.
Besides, whatever got them to the boat faster ought to be a good thing.
When she exited the SUV, though, Locke was surprised to find King unloading suitcases from the trunk. No one had brought bags out of the warehouse, so she had no idea where the luggage had come from or what it contained.
Locke ended up with a window seat in the helo. Queen sat next to her, with Jack and Huang filling out the back row. After dealing with the bags, King sat up front, serving as a copilot.
Aside from the better-padded seats, the start of the flight reminded Locke of CH-47 Chinooks she’d flown in as a soldier. The headset helped but didn’t eliminate the deafening rotor racket. Unlike the smooth flight on a commercial jet, in the chopper you felt everything—every vibration, every little shift in momentum and position. When she closed her eyes, she could see the sunbaked hills of Iraq instead of the tropical landscape below.
Locke had never expected to hate a place more than Camp Taji, but now Miami was definitely in the running.
When she opened her eyes, the downtown skyline and bridges had already appeared. The low sun cast long shadows past the shoreline, turning the bay a deep emerald. As the chopper banked over the water, Locke felt a twinge in her gut. Consciously, she understood a water landing was better than crashing on land, but she held her breath until they reached the thin spit of Miami Beach.
Ahead she could see the glass towers Huang had shown them that first night. They gleamed in the setting sun, forcing her to squint to look for Helios among the heavily shadowed ships below.
She didn’t see the yacht at first glance, a surprise considering how large it was. Before she could check again, the black towers flashed by her window, interrupting her view.
Assuming they’d bank back toward the marina, Locke abandoned her search. But as seconds continued to tick, the chopper maintained its heading. Soon they passed out over the water again.
Locke’s muscles clenched when the land disappeared.
And that feeling worsened when the bird banked the wrong way. Instead of turning right, back toward shore, it leaned left.
Out to sea.
Below the chopper, the ocean deepened to a dark navy blue. Staring down at it and the whitecaps dotting its surface, Locke tried to swallow.
Her throat resisted.
No one had used the intercom yet, but she toggled the radio. “Where’s—”
Before she finished the question, Queen elbowed her and pointed out front.
Locke strained against her shoulder straps to see around King. But quickly the chopper banked right, leaving her a clear view of Helios.
Painted bright white, it stood out like an iceberg adrift on the indigo ocean. The vessel was monstrous—longer than navy vessels Locke had seen and much taller, its decks stacked high like a cruise ship’s. The foamy wake spilling behind the boat suggested it was steaming away from shore in a hurry.
Locke barely had time to register Helios’s speed before the helicopter cut altitude. Her eyes shut and stomach flipped as the chopper dived.
When she finally sensed the craft leveling, she forced her eyes open. Although she guessed the chopper was still fifty feet above the waves, it looked as if the skids were scraping the water’s surface. To keep from vomiting, Locke focused on Helios as the copter flew alongside.
At the rear of the ship, a swimming pool was mounted lengthwise in the lowermost deck—men and women in swimsuits played and swam in the clear water while others sunned themselves on surrounding lounge chairs. The dozen or so bathers were the biggest crowd Locke had seen in weeks.
From the tans on these people, none had missed any pool time recently.
Although the decks were tapered in length, particularly toward the rear of the ship, the yacht rose almost vertically, a five-story white wall buffed to such a shine that Locke could see the helicopter’s reflection in it. Each deck had a balcony, and additional passengers were gathered on every level, eyeing the horizon or pointing at the chopper.
After passing the yacht, the helicopter rose and banked back across the ship’s nose. This gave Locke a full view of the forward deck, which had been converted to a dance floor. Colored lights on tall stanchions flashed across a crowd of a dozen or two gyrating before a deejay and his turntables.
The helicopter sped back along the opposite side of Helios until it cleared the stern. There it made a tight U-turn and approached the uppermost deck, where a landing pad was marked with a red H.
As a soldier, Locke had never landed on an aircraft carrier or anything like that. Watching the chopper line itself up with the moving ship and descend to its skids while both were steaming forward was awfully impressive. Although she felt a flash of sweat at the maneuver, the pilot never flinched.
Once the chopper landed, flurries of activity began around the bird. Three crewmen in yellow vests and helmets began tying her down. Another group, outfitted like hotel valets but wearing face masks and gloves, slid mobile staircases to the doors before unloading the luggage King had handled before departure. Finally, a medical crew appeared. Dressed in green scrubs with gloves, masks, and face shields, this bunch wheeled carts to the edge of the helipad.
Huang’s voice came over the intercom. “Masks.”
Having not worn one for a couple of days, Locke was jarred by the concept of donning a mask again. Quickly, though, she remembered: her Jaws mask was presumably still sitting back in Val Verde. She started to ask what she should do when Queen shoved a piece of fabric into her hand.
Locke checked the mask before slipping it on. It matched her dress down to the sequins.
Once the rotors were restrained, the medical crew moved to either side of the helicopter. King hopped out first and was immediately escorted to one of the carts. Locke couldn’t see what they were doing to him before another crewman offered her a gloved hand.
She stepped down from the helo as gracefully as she could—with the skirt so short, she needed one hand to hold it in place. Like King, Locke was steered toward one of the rolling carts. There, a medical worker produced what looked like an elongated Q-tip and pointed at her face. “Nose.”
Locke glanced around, but King had already been shuffled off to the side. She gestured at her mask, like she might pull it down. The crewman nodded.
Once she lowered the fabric, the medic jabbed the swab uncomfortably far up her nose. Circular motions seemed to scrape the underside of her skull—an odd feeling that both tickled and made her eyes water. Upon withdrawing the swab, he gave her a sheepish bow, then motioned for her to re-cover her face and stand with King.
Queen, Jack, and Huang all underwent an identical procedure. After the probing was completed, Huang flipped through a folder of papers with one of the medical team. Then he joined the others.
Locke fidgeted as they waited. While the air was still warm and thick, the wind was significant. All that air rushing over so much of her skin at once left her feeling … vulnerable.
Finally, one of the medical crew motioned for the group to follow him inside.
They passed through a steel hatch one by one. Although doors at the far end of the hallway marked entrances to the bridge, they were shown into a conference room on the right. Huang lined Locke and the others up along the windows before seating himself at the table.
A minute later, a gaunt man entered the room. Dressed in a blue herringbone suit, he carried a leather portfolio under his arm. The flecks of gray in his tightly trimmed hair, the deep furrows in his brow, and his small spectacles all conveyed that he was some kind of serious official.
He sat across from Huang and, after adjusting his shirt cuffs, folded his hands on top of the unopened portfolio. He glanced over all of them, although Locke could have sworn his eyes lingered an extra moment on Queen.
Huang spoke first. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Zhilkin.”
Zhilkin’s hairline, carved into a sharp widow’s peak, left lots of room for his dark eyebrows to move, and they jumped at the words. “Have we met?”
“At the St. Petersburg economic forum. Perhaps six months ago.”
“Ah, the discussion of Chinese and Russian cooperation. Yes.” The way Zhilkin’s dark eyes twinkled behind his glasses, Locke wasn’t sure he needed to be reminded.
“A lovely evening,” Huang said. “I am very happy the cooperation between our countries has been expanding as part of the Belt and Road initiative. And, given the construction projects announced so far, I imagine Mr. Glebov is pleased as well.”
“Mr. Glebov always favors mutually beneficial business arrangements. Which raises the question, what can we do for you and your … party?”
“I have come in response to Mr. Glebov’s invitation.”
Zhilkin stared back at Huang silently.
Huang leaned back in his seat. “As you are doubtlessly aware, travel has become sharply restricted. I cannot return home, but with the politics of this disease, America has become significantly less hospitable. Weathering the storm aboard this vessel seemed a prudent choice. From what I witnessed from the air, it appears to be a most pleasant way to pass the time.”
“Our facilities are quite comprehensive.” Zhilkin gave a slight nod. “But your country’s role in the current … situation may cause some on board to question your presence here.”
Huang chuckled. “As chief of security, I understand it is your responsibility to be paranoid, Mr. Zhilkin. By all accounts, you are outstanding at your job. However, I have provided health papers for myself and my entourage. Your own men have now tested us. Have we not proven ourselves clean enough?”
Locke’s heart accelerated. She had little faith that Huang would free her and Evan if the mission was successful. But if they weren’t even allowed onto the boat …
Zhilkin smiled sheepishly, although, coming so quickly, it struck Locke again as more scripted than genuine. “You must understand, it is not Mr. Glebov himself who would object. His other guests …”
“You will recall,” Huang said, “that his invitation came with two conditions?”
“Yes.”
“I have provided all the medical documentation necessary to comply with the first condition. But I suspect Mr. Glebov will be particularly interested in how I plan to satisfy the second. The thing of value.”
“I understood that the value would come via your group’s … services.” Zhilkin flicked his wrist at Locke and the others, but again his eyes seemed to focus on Queen.
“Partially. But I also have something Mr. Glebov has expressed an interest in obtaining.”
Huang produced the wooden cube from Malibu and set it on the table in front of him.
Zhilkin reached forward. “May I—”
Huang placed his hand over the top of the box. “This gift is for Mr. Glebov. In appreciation of his hospitality. If he cannot be bothered to receive it himself …”
He glanced to the side, then focused back on Zhilkin. While Locke couldn’t see Huang’s face, she’d received enough of his sharp-eyed stares to imagine his expression.
“Perhaps I should take my entourage and depart,” Huang continued. “My country has been scorned and ridiculed for centuries. Our government understands this, even as it works with others in hopes that cooperation will lead to understanding. To better treatment abroad for businessmen such as myself. When I explain how I was refused here, my contacts in Beijing will hopefully sympathize and facilitate my return.”
