The China Dogs by Sam Masters Read Free Book Online

an accident?”
    â€œWhat?”
    Zhang can tell the American hasn’t yet heard about it. “Look into it. You will find that this is no normal dog-related death. Then, think of these canines as though they are hidden like genetic bombs. Thousands of them lie gently on your floors, just waiting to explode.”
    â€œYou’re right; I have no knowledge of any such incident. But let me get this right, you’re saying it’s been caused by one of these weaponized dogs and there are more of them?”
    â€œThis is what I am told by our intelligence sources. Of course it might not be true. But if it is, then puppies that American children are petting today—” He sighs resignedly. “—may well turn into their killers overnight.”
    Jackson’s temper boils over. “If you have information that can save American lives—if there is so much as an iota of truth in this craziness—then I demand that you tell me right now who is behind this.”
    Zhang laughs. “You ‘demand’? The days when America ‘demanded’anything of China are over, Mr. Jackson.” He points dismissively to the door, “I think it’s about time you made your way to your colleagues and reminded President Molton of the generous offer President Xian has made him.”
    The NIA chief stands two feet from the general and stares into his eyes as only a trained interrogator can. He’s looking for bluff, bravado, and bullshit. Some human sign that explains all the nonsense he’s just seen and heard.
    There’s nothing.
    Nothing but an inscrutable coldness.
    Zhang gestures to the door. “My office will fix a follow-up call with you—I know you will need it.”
    17
    Coral Way, Miami
    T he sun of a bright new day penetrates the spare room shutters and wakes Zoe from a deep sleep.
    She squints at the window holding back the jagged heat, climbs painfully out of the hard single bed in Jude’s spare room, pulls on her only T-shirt and her damaged jeans, then pads barefoot to the kitchen.
    Jude is sitting in pink and white pajamas nursing a hangover the size of Russia. A small TV churns out news, the volume turned down low. She takes one look at Zoe and grimaces. “You look like the walking dead. Remind me to lend you some clothes.”
    â€œThanks. What I really need is water and coffee.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Jude climbs out of her seat and heads to the pot bubbling away on a worktop. “Would m’lady like anything else before I make up the beds, clean the floors, and do the laundry?”
    â€œSilence would be great. My head is collapsing.”
    â€œThat’ll be the vodka shots. You’re becoming a lightweight.” She pours a mug of black coffee and puts it down along with a glass of water. “I’ll get you some pills.”
    Zoe sits at the table and squints at the TV. Dollar crisis. More states following Detroit and going bankrupt. More unemployed. No wonder people drink so much.
    â€œHere, enjoy.” Jude places a plastic tub of Ibuprofen on the table.
    Zoe shakes out 600 mg of tablets and forces them down with the water. It’s way above the recommended dose but she has a lead-lined gut and frankly anything less won’t do the trick.
    She squints again at the TV.
    Some serial killer has been executed in Texas. Good fucking riddance. And in Miami, a schoolgirl’s been killed in a dog attack. “Hey, I know that guy.” She points at a six-inch Ghost walking the screen. Some good-looking male reporter is trudging beside him on a beach, sticking a microphone across his chest.
    Jude turns the sound up. “That’s the cop who took you for coffee?”
    â€œVery same.”
    The male reporter is just starting a new question, “Forensic scientists and a pathologist were seen out on the sands yesterday. Are their investigations finished now or will they be coming back?”
    Ghost