The Stone Monkey by Jeffery Deaver Read Free Book Online Page B

Country.

 
     
Chapter Six   
     
    Half a kilometer out to sea the Ghost hunched over his cell phone, trying to protect it from the rain and waves as his raft plowed through the water toward the piglets.
    The reception was bad—the signal was bouncing via satellite through Fuzhou and Singapore after it left his phone—but he managed to get through to Jerry Tang, a bangshou he sometimes used in New York's Chinatown and who was now waiting somewhere on the shore nearby to pick him up.
    Breathless from the rough ride, the Ghost managed to describe to the driver more or less where he'd be landing—about three or four hundred meters east from what seemed to be a strip of stores and houses.
    "What weapons do you have?" the Ghost shouted.
    "What?" Tang shouted.
    He had to repeat the question several times. "Weapons!"
    But Tang was a debt collector—more of a businessman than an enforcer—and it turned out that he had with him only a pistol.
    "Gan," the Ghost spat out. Fuck. Armed only with his old Model 51 handgun, he'd hoped for an automatic weapon of some kind.
    "The Coast Guard," Tang told him, the transmission lost in static and the sound of the wind, "they're on ... here. I'm listening ... scanner ... have to get away. Where ..."
    The Ghost shouted, "If you see any of the piglets, kill them. Did you hear me? They're on the shore nearby you. Find them! Kill them!"
    "Kill them? You want—"
    But a wave washed over the side of the raft and drenched him. The phone went silent and the Ghost glanced at the screen. It was dead, shorted out. Disgusted, he flung it to the floor.
    A wall of rock loomed and the Ghost steered around it, making for a broad beach far to the left of the small town. It would take some time to get back to where the piglets had landed but he didn't want to risk injuring himself on the outcroppings of stone. Still, beaching the raft proved to be harrowing. As he closed in on the sand the small craft rose on the crest of a wave and nearly tipped over but the Ghost throttled back fast and the raft settled onto the water. A wave, though, caught him in the back and knocked him to the floor of the boat, drenching him and spinning the raft sideways. It slammed into the shore in an explosion of surf and tossed its occupant hard onto the beach. The propeller tipped out of the water and the motor screamed as it raced. The Ghost, afraid the sound would give him away, crawled frantically back to the engine and managed to shut it off.
    He saw Jerry Tang, in a silver four-by-four BMW, on a sandy asphalt road about twenty meters from the shore. He rose and jogged toward the vehicle. Fat, unshaven Tang caught sight of him and drove forward. The Ghost leaned down to the window on the driver's side. "Did you see the others?"
    The nervous man said, "We have to go!" He nodded at a police scanner. "The Coast Guard knows we're here. They're sending the police to search."
    "The others?" the Ghost snapped. "The piglets?"
    "I didn't see anybody else. But—"
    "I can't find my bangshou either. I don't know if he got off the ship." The Ghost scanned the shoreline.
    "I haven't seen anyone," Tang said, his voice high. "But we can't stay here."
    From the corner of his eye the Ghost saw motion near the surf: a man in gray cloth was crawling on the rocks away from the water, like an injured animal. The Ghost stepped away from the truck and pulled his gun from his belt. "Wait here."
    "What are you doing?" Tang asked desperately. "We can't stay here anymore! They're coming. They'll be here in ten minutes. Don't you understand me?"
    But the Ghost was paying no attention to the thug as he walked back across the road. The piglet looked up and saw the Ghost approaching but the man had apparently broken his leg in the landing and couldn't even stand, much less flee. He began to crawl desperately back to the water. The Ghost was curious why he was even bothering.
     
    Sonny Li opened his eyes and thanked the ten judges of hell—not for