an accident?â
âWhat?â
Zhang can tell the American hasnât yet heard about it. âLook 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
âYouâre right; I have no knowledge of any such incident. But let me get this right, youâre saying itâs been caused by one of these weaponized dogs and there are more of them?â
âThis 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 todayââ He sighs resignedly. ââmay well turn into their killers overnight.â
Jacksonâs temper boils over. âIf you have information that can save American livesâif there is so much as an iota of truth in this crazinessâthen I demand that you tell me right now who is behind this.â
Zhang laughs. âYou âdemandâ? The days when America âdemandedâanything of China are over, Mr. Jackson.â He points dismissively to the door, âI think itâs about time you made your way to your colleagues and reminded President Molton of the generous offer President Xian has made him.â
The NIA chief stands two feet from the general and stares into his eyes as only a trained interrogator can. Heâs looking for bluff, bravado, and bullshit. Some human sign that explains all the nonsense heâs just seen and heard.
Thereâs nothing.
Nothing but an inscrutable coldness.
Zhang gestures to the door. âMy office will fix a follow-up call with youâI know you will need it.â
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 Judeâs 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. âYou look like the walking dead. Remind me to lend you some clothes.â
âThanks. What I really need is water and coffee.â
âYes, maâam.â Jude climbs out of her seat and heads to the pot bubbling away on a worktop. âWould mâlady like anything else before I make up the beds, clean the floors, and do the laundry?â
âSilence would be great. My head is collapsing.â
âThatâll be the vodka shots. Youâre becoming a lightweight.â She pours a mug of black coffee and puts it down along with a glass of water. âIâll get you some pills.â
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.
âHere, enjoy.â Jude places a plastic tub of Ibuprofen on the table.
Zoe shakes out 600 mg of tablets and forces them down with the water. Itâs way above the recommended dose but she has a lead-lined gut and frankly anything less wonât do the trick.
She squints again at the TV.
Some serial killer has been executed in Texas. Good fucking riddance. And in Miami, a schoolgirlâs been killed in a dog attack. âHey, I know that guy.â 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. âThatâs the cop who took you for coffee?â
âVery same.â
The male reporter is just starting a new question, âForensic scientists and a pathologist were seen out on the sands yesterday. Are their investigations finished now or will they be coming back?â
Ghost