Eye for an Eye by Ben Coes Read Free Book Online Page A

now aimed at his head. He nodded calmly, pondering what to say, remaining silent for several seconds. Then he cleared his throat.
    “Mr. Premier,” said Bhang, “his name was Dillman. He was an Israeli. He provided China with much information over many years.”
    “And why was his corpse sent to my granddaughter?”
    Bhang swallowed, saying nothing. He stared meekly at Li for several seconds, letting the premier vent his anger. Finally, Li waved a finger at the soldier, ordering him to put the pistol away.
    Bhang bowed.
    “I must reiterate my humblest apologies to you and your family. This afternoon, a bounty of gifts is being delivered to your granddaughter, sir, and I can assure you, because my own deputy was responsible for their purchase, their packing, and their delivery, that there will be no similar mishap. Good day to you, sir.”
    Li said nothing, looking toward the window. He waved his hand dismissively, telling Bhang to get out, then made eye contact with the soldier, letting him know he was to escort Bhang out of the residence.
    Bhang turned and walked toward the door. He walked quickly down the corridor, with the soldier trailing him. Outside, he crossed the brick walkway in front of the residence. He climbed into the back of the idling sedan.
    The soldier followed Bhang to the sedan and stood watching as Bhang shut the door quietly. After a moment, the black tinted window lowered a few inches.
    “Well done, Lieutenant,” said Bhang, quietly looking at the soldier who minutes before had aimed his sidearm at Bhang’s head. “Your performance was most convincing.”
    “Thank you, Minister Bhang.”
    Bhang raised the window and looked in the rearview mirror.
    “Drive,” he said.
    The sedan moved slowly away from the house as Bhang removed a cigarette from his suit-coat pocket and lit it. He took a long drag on the cigarette, staring at the burning ember, feeling new emotions: embarrassment, shame, and humiliation. Even the harsh burn of the nicotine could not quell the taste of bitterness in his mouth.
    “You’ll pay,” he whispered to himself.
    But he wasn’t thinking of Li. Li was a sideshow. Rather, Bhang pictured nothing but a figure, a dark, featureless face, the anonymous one who’d found Dillman. “Yes, you’ll pay, my friend, whoever you are.”

 
    7
    OVAL OFFICE
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
    As national security advisor, Jessica Tanzer had carte blanche to enter the president’s office whenever she wanted to, but on this particular morning she’d made an appointment. Jessica checked her watch, then walked to the door that led to the Oval Office.
    She knocked lightly on the door.
    “Yeah,” came the voice of J. P. Dellenbaugh from inside.
    Jessica opened the door and popped her head in.
    “Hi, Mr. President.”
    “Come in, Jess.”
    Jessica closed the door behind her. Dellenbaugh looked up from a document he was reading, returned to the document, then looked up again, scanning Jessica from head to toe.
    Her auburn hair was braided back in a thick, neat ponytail. She wore a diamond necklace, a blue sleeveless Prada dress that clung tightly to her body and came barely halfway down her thighs, and shiny brown riding boots that climbed to her knees.
    “Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Dellenbaugh, “but you could get arrested for wearing that in some places.”
    “Are you harassing me, Mr. President?” Jessica laughed. She walked across the office and took a seat on one of the chesterfield sofas at the center of the room.
    “Trust me,” said Dellenbaugh, laughing, “after I saw what your future husband is capable of doing, I’m the last person who’d harass you.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Dewey didn’t tell you what happened at the rink?”
    “No.”
    “Nothing,” said Dellenbaugh, who grinned, stood up, and walked to the sofa across from Jessica. “He got a goal and three assists. He’s good. He’s got a very graceful, almost gentle way about him out