Ballistic Read online

  Maia throttled back until their craft was idling on the swells, their view obscured by drifting smoke. A moment later, she asked Bolan, “So, what now?”

  “Head for the nearest island with an airport,” he replied. “We still have people in Jakarta that we need to see.” Then added, “If you’re up for it.”

  “Try me,” she said, and aimed the speedboat westward.

  EPILOGUE

  Intercontinental Jakarta Midplaza Hotel

  Chou Hua Tian woke well before the morning alarm, which he’d set for six-thirty. If the truth were told, he’d barely slept all night, thinking about what might be waiting for him when he got back to Beijing.

  Nothing, perhaps. Or possibly a firing squad.

  On one hand, he had felt relief on hearing news of the Brave Wind missile’s destruction. Later reports claimed that all of the terrorists involved were dead. Which, if true, should bring the international investigation to a close. And with Feng’s suicide—a simple bullet to the brain, no whining note, as Chou had verified by telephone—any suspicion of an inside job fell naturally on the commodore.

  Still, there was Maia Lee.

  Had she survived the final raid that brought the missile down? Chou had no proof that she had even been involved, though simple logic told him that she had to have been. Chou would have known if Chinese troops were on the move, or if a special strike force from his ministry had learned where the missile was hidden.

  Maybe she was dead. If not, the evidence that she had worked with an American, unsanctioned by the ministry, should be enough to put her well out of the way. An accident could always be arranged for her in custody, if she was fool enough to show her traitor’s face again. Meanwhile, as no one had been credited so far with breaking up the plot, Chou wondered whether he could turn it to his own advantage.

  Could he be the hero of the hour in Beijing? It would require collaboration from his special forces unit, strict adherence to a script already being written in his mind, but with the right incentives—heroes’ medals all around, with guaranteed promotions, extra benefits, a bonus payment to each man determined by his rank—Chou thought the soldiers would be happy to oblige him. Later, if Chou thought they might be having second thoughts, they could be shipped off to some danger zone where anything might happen.

  Chou showered, dressed and called room service with a breakfast order. He had yet to book a flight back to Beijing, but that could wait. First, he would have to speak with the commander of his handpicked team and see if they could come to some accommodation.

  Failing that, the Flying Ax Triad still owed him several favors. It could be arranged for Chou alone to come back from his covert mission. As a rule, the last man standing wrote the history of what had gone before.

  There came a rapping on his door, a female voice announcing room service. Chou marveled at their speed, opened the door and blinked in shock to find himself confronted by a tall American—and Maia Lee. Both held pistols leveled at his chest, their muzzles fat with sound suppressors. The agent Chou had tried in vain to kill spoke one more word—traitor—before the unexpected callers fired as one.

  Chou was surprised to feel no pain as he sprawled backward, gaping at the ceiling, where a vast dark hole was opening, preparing to consume him. Waiting for a glimpse of the light the old stories had promised him, he died.

  Soekarno–Hatta International Airport, Jakarta

  “YOU THINK IT’S SETTLED, THEN, at home?” Bolan asked, his voice low-pitched despite the racket of a heedless mob that bustled past them, up and down the concourse of Terminal 2.

  “I’m fairly confident,” Maia replied. “Of course, I can’t be certain until I am at the ministry.”

  “And by then, it’s too late to change your mind,” Bolan reminded her.

  “I have assurances from Chou’s successor, the new Deputy Assistant Minister for State Security,” she said.

  “Who could be lying through his teeth.”

  “I must trust someone, sometime,” she replied.

  “If you say so.” Bolan could only hope she wasn’t making a disastrous mistake. “You know, you could—”

  “No, thank you,” Maia said emphatically but with a smile. “Defection is not me, I think is how you say it.”

  “Close enough.”

  Her flight was scheduled to start boarding in nine minutes. Bolan’s was a later flight, leaving at noon, but he preferred killing time in a crowded airport to roaming the foreign streets on his own.

  Maia began to speak again. “I wish to thank you for—”

  “Enough said,” he cut her off. “I’m not much for goodbyes and fare-thee-wells.”

  “A man of action,” Maia said, “not words.”

  “Whenever possible,” he said.

  “An action, then,” she answered back. Stepped close, rising on tiptoe, for a quick kiss planted at one corner of his mouth. “In payment for my life.”

  Without another word, she turned and joined the flow of passengers en route to their departure gates. Maia didn’t turn back to wave or look at Bolan as she left.

  Smiling, the Executioner moved off to find a place where he could sit and rest, before the long flight home. Back to his neverending war.

  * * * * *

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  ISBN: 9781460301050

  Copyright © 2013 by Worldwide Library

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