Brute Force by Marc Cameron Read Free Book Online

right-hand man. Though both men used prepaid “burner” phones, they were careful to keep from using names in their conversations.
    “And peace be unto to you,” McKeon returned the traditional greeting.
    “Our very good friend AK passed away during his recent struggle,” Ranjhani said, a faint tightness in his voice conveying the emotion at the loss. McKeon knew AK was Ali Kadir and the “recent struggle” was the prison break at Dera Ismail Khan.
    “That is unfortunate,” the Vice President said, meaning it. Kadir was a trusted friend, dedicated to their cause—pious and unafraid.
    “Indeed,” Ranjhani said. “But that is not my reason for calling. I received a message from a friend in Pakistan only moments ago. He saw a man today who resembles the American fugitive you have been looking for.”
    “In Pakistan?” McKeon sat up straighter. The fugitive Ranjhani spoke of had to be Jericho Quinn.
    “Yes, a short time ago in the mountains near Skardu,” Ranjhani said. “Gaunt, athletic, with the eyes of a killer.”
    “That would be him,” McKeon said. “And he is in custody then?”
    “Unfortunately, no.” Ranjhani drew a long, whistling breath through his nose, as he often did when he was about to divulge some new piece of great and important information. “He was last seen boarding a helicopter bound for China with my friend’s America-loving wing commander.”
    “Does this friend of yours know where the fugitive was going in China?”
    “Kashgar, he believes,” Ranjhani said. “I have a contact there who can help us put an end to this problem.”
    “That would be welcome news.” McKeon drummed long fingers on the desk, thinking. “Any word on our shipment from China?” Of all the things that occupied his mind as the Vice President, the shipment of the Black Dragon was at the very top. Apart from being the trigger in his overall plan, the weapon would also take care of an extremely bothersome nuisance once and for all.
    “Indeed,” Ranjhani said, the smile almost evident in his voice. “It is en route and on schedule. I do not anticipate any problems.”
    “Good to hear,” McKeon said. His mind was already jumping back to the nagging problem of Jericho Quinn. “I have a thought. Your man in Kashgar should go forward, but we should not rely on him alone. This particular fugitive has proven too slippery for that. I’ll get word to the Chinese that they have a dangerous killer hiding out in the Western provinces.”
    “The Chinese?” Ranjhani scoffed. “They do not trust anyone in your administration.”
    “Back channels, my friend,” McKeon said. “Back channels. We’ll nudge our friends in Pakistan to make the Chinese government aware of this trained assassin. Even now he’s certainly plotting some evil terrorist act against their sovereignty and it’s our duty to make them aware. The Chinese may believe him to be an agent of the American government, or they may think he’s working in concert with the Fengs. I don’t particularly care as long as they hunt him down and kill him.”

Chapter 5
    Pacific Ocean, 6:50 PM
     
    D ickey Ng leaned on the painted steel railing alongside the raised house of the 900-foot mega ship, watching a wispy line of black smoke twist up from among the stacked containers on the deck below. Off the bow of the huge vessel, the surface of the indigo water jumped with small, confused waves, as if Neptune held his great cup of ocean with a shaky hand. Ng stood still for a long moment, pondering his four rules, the inviolable laws that had kept him alive and in business for the last eleven years.

    Rule One: Smuggle only one item at a time.
    Rule Two: Never smuggle anything radioactive.
    Rule Three: Never smuggle anything with a heartbeat.
    Rule Four: Always accompany what he smuggled.

    Rule Four seemed all the more pertinent considering the development of this new plume of smoke. He made his way forward, padding down the metal stairs toward the rows and