Текст книги "Medusa"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER 45

CHANG WAS A CLASSIC PSYCHOPATH. HE DIDN’T HAVE A drop of human empathy or remorse in his squat, ugly body, and for him killing was as easy as crossing the street. The other Triad triplets had channeled his murderous impulses to their own ends. He displayed a real talent for organization, so they gave him responsibility for the network of gangs that operated in the world’s big cities. The job slaked his blood thirst by allowing him to participate in assassinations for commercial advantage, retribution, or just plain punishment.

The job also had restrained Chang from tumbling into the abyss of sheer madness, as long as the other two triplets provided balance. But now he was on his own, far from the familial reins that had kept his barely restrained violence in check. The voices that sometimes whispered in his head were now shouting for his attention.

After leaving the lab, Chang had delivered the vaccine cultures to the freighter lying in wait near the atoll and then waited for a report from the submarine. The failure of the explosives to detonate, to destroy the lab and staff, had finally pushed him over the edge.

When the appointed time had passed, Chang got back in the shuttle with his most cold-blooded killers, and ordered the pilot to head back into the crater. As the shuttle emerged from the tunnel, the undimmed lights at the bottom seemed to mock Chang. A vein pulsed in his forehead.

Dr. Wu, sitting at Chang’s side, had sensed his employer’s growing fury, and he tried to will himself into invisibility. Even more disconcerting was Chang’s sudden lightness of mood when he turned and said in an almost cheerful tone more frightening than his anger:

“Tell me, my friend, what would happen if someone were to fall, quite by accident, into the tank with the mutant jellyfish?”

“That person would be stung immediately.”

“Death would be instant?”

“No. The nature of the toxin is to paralyze.”

“Would it be agonizing?”

Dr. Wu shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Yes,” he said. “If the person didn’t drown, he would be aware of every sensation in his body. In time, the jellyfish would begin to absorb him.”

“Splendid!”Chang clapped Dr. Wu on the back. “Why didn’t I think of this earlier?”

He announced that, since the lab hadn’t blown up, they were going back for some “sport.” Once they were aboard, they were to round up the scientists and kill them any way they wanted. The men he brought in the shuttle were his most cold-blooded killers. They were to spare Zavala, who would be thrown into the medusa tank. Dr. Wu would record his death on video so his final moments could be transmitted to Austin.

Carrying its cargo of murderers, the shuttle descended to the transit hub. The pilot activated the shuttle’s airlock. Minutes later, Chang and his followers burst out of the airlock and almost stumbled over a box of C-4. A length of colored wires had been tied in a bow and placed on top of the carton. And resting against the bow was a white envelope with CHANG on it in big block letters.

The man who had set up the explosives picked up the cluster of wires.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said. “These wires aren’t connected to anything.”

He handed the envelope to Chang, who ripped it open. Inside was a piece of stationery with a Davy Jones’s Locker logo on it. The paper had been folded in three. Printed on the first panel was

BANG!

Chang quickly unfolded the paper. There was a smiley face on the next panel and

JUST KIDDING!

The last panel read

I’M IN THE CONTROL ROOM.

Chang crumpled the paper and ordered his men to search the complex. They came back a few minutes later and reported that the complex appeared deserted and that wires had been torn from all the C-4.

Chang stormed off to the control room, only to pause at the door. Suspecting that the room had been booby-trapped, he sent his men in first.

They scoured the room and reported back to Chang that it too was deserted and that nothing was amiss. He stepped in to see for himself. He glanced around, his scowl deepening. He wanted somebody to take his fury out on. He saw Dr. Wu filming the room.

“Not now, you fool!” Chang shouted. “Can’t you see there’s nobody here?”

A metallic voice issued from the wall speakers.

“You’re right, Chang. You and your pals are the only ones on the lab.”

Chang wheeled around, the stock of the machine pistol tight against his chest.

“Who’s that?”

“SpongeBob SquarePants,” the voice said.

“Austin!”

“Okay, I confess, Chang. You got me. It’s Kurt Austin.”

Chang’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“What happened to the scientists?” he asked.

“They are no longer on the lab, Chang. They left in the minisubs.”

“Don’t toy with me, Austin. I destroyed the subs’ power circuits.”

A different voice came on the speaker: Phelps.

“Those were backup circuits you stomped on,” he said. “The subs were fully operable, boss.”

“Phelps?”Chang exclaimed. “I thought you were dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Chang. Austin ain’t jerking you around. Dr. Mitchell and all the other scientists are long gone.”

“I’ll find them,” Chang shouted. “I’ll find you and Austin and kill you!”

“That’s not very likely,” Austin said. “By the way, the vaccine cultures they gave you are useless. The real ones are with the staff.”

THE VOICES IN CHANG’S HEAD began to rise in volume and number, reaching an evil cacophony. A white hate flowed through his bull-like body like a power surge. He ordered his men back to the shuttle. As it rose from the lab, he radioed the freighter, giving orders to start scouring the depths with sonar. A minute later, he got a reply. Sonar had picked up four shapes moving away from the atoll. Chang ordered the freighter to be on hand when the minisubs surfaced.

The shuttle went full speed toward the tunnel. Chang allowed a smile to cross his face, anticipating the looks on the scientists’ faces when they saw the freighter bearing down on them. He was savoring the scene, imagining how they would react when he rose from the deep like Neptune, when he heard the pilot call out. Chang leaned forward in his seat and stared out the cockpit window.

A huge black shadow was bearing down on the shuttle.

The pilot recognized the massive blunt bow of the Typhoon hurtling right at them and he yelped like a frightened puppy. Chang yelled at him to turn, but the pilot’s hands were frozen on the controls. Uttering a feral snarl, Chang grabbed the pilot by the shoulders, pulled him out of his chair, and took his place. He yanked the wheel hard to starboard.

The shuttle’s turbines continued to drive it forward, but after a few seconds the front came around to the right, narrowly edging the shuttle out of the way of a head-on collision with the six-hundred-foot torpedo hurtling its way. But the Typhoon was moving at twenty-five knots, and it clipped the tail end of the shuttle, demolishing its rudder and sending the shuttle into a wild spin. The violent impact caused the cargo door to fly open, and water began flowing in.

The weight of the inrushing sea dragged the shuttle’s tail down, and the front of the shuttle angled upward like a dying fish. Chang’s men grabbed onto the seats and pulled themselves up the slanting deck toward the cockpit.

Dr. Wu struggled to join the pack, but the stronger guards pushed him under the water and his flailing arms soon grew still. Chang was not about to share the pocket of air with anyone. He turned around, leaned his pistol over the back of the seat, and shot any man who tried to encroach on his space. Within seconds, he had killed all his guards and was alone in the cabin.

By then the weight of the water in the shuttle had shifted forward. Its nose leveled out, and the shuttle began to sink to the bottom of the crater. The cabin was plunged into complete darkness. Chang fought to keep his head up in the diminishing pocket of air, but the bodies swashing around in the blood-stained water made it difficult. As soon as he pushed one body out of the way, another body came along to take its place. At one point, he was eye-to-eye with dead Dr. Wu.

More water came in, diminishing the pocket of life-giving air even more. Chang pressed against the ceiling of the shuttle with only a few inches left. As water filled his mouth and nostrils, he looked up, saw the monstrous shadow of the Typhoon gliding overhead, and, with his last, soggy gasp uttered:

“Austin!”

THE OWNER OF THAT NAME sat next to the Russian helmsman in the Typhoon’s control room. Zavala was on the other side of the man, a young Ukrainian who had a natural talent for his job. The captain stood by Austin’s side, relaying orders in Russian to the helmsman.

Minutes earlier, the helmsman had backed the sub into the tunnel, facing into the crater. The sonar operator watched for the shuttle and alerted Austin when he picked up its moving blip. A monitor connected to a camera in the sub’s sail picked out the shuttle’s twin searchlights approaching. Austin gave the order for a full-speed ram. The helmsman gripped the wheel as the submarine began to move forward. The ambush was under way.

After glancing off the shuttle, the Typhoon had continued into the crater and made a wide turn. As the sub headed back toward the tunnel to finish the job, the camera picked up the shuttle once again. Austin watched with pitiless eyes as it plunged to the bottom. He felt no sense of triumph. Not yet. He was all too well aware that the Triad was a three-headed monster.

CHAPTER 46

WHEN THE CONCORD FAILED TO HEAR FROM AUSTIN, CAPTAIN Dixon had moved the Navy ships under his command in closer to surround the atoll. He stood on the foredeck with Song Lee, who had stayed by his side since Austin had set off on his mission hours before.

The captain was watching the atoll through binoculars in the dawn light, unaware of the drama that had transpired under the calm waters of the lagoon. He was pondering what his next course of action should be when Lee pointed toward a boiling patch of water. She grabbed him by the arm.

“Captain Dixon, look!”

As they were looking, the massive conning tower and high vertical rudder of the Typhoon broke the surface several hundred yards east of the atoll. After a few minutes, two figures appeared in the lofty tower and waved their arms. Dixon brought his binoculars to his eyes.

“I’ll be damned,” he said.

He handed the binoculars to Lee.

She raised them to her eyes, and blurted, “It’s Kurt! And Joe!”

Dixon laughed out loud. Only Kurt Austin could go fishing in a remote lagoon and catch the world’s biggest submarine.

After another wave, the two men disappeared from the tower and emerged moments later from a hatch in the deck. With the help of some crewmen, they pulled an inflatable boat up on deck, lowered it over the sub’s rounded hull into the water, then climbed in and came skimming over the waves toward the cruiser.

Song Lee was waiting on deck to throw her arms around Austin, then Zavala. Then Austin again. She gave him a kiss full on the lips.

Austin would have liked to prolong the pleasant experience, but he gently disentangled himself from her arms and turned to Captain Dixon.

“Have you seen any sign of the lab’s staff?” he asked. “They should have surfaced in the minisubs by now.”

Dixon shook his head. He called his first officer on the bridge and asked him to ask the other ships in the vicinity to be on the lookout for the surfacing minisubs. Moments later, a call came in from the NUMA ship. The first minisub had surfaced. Dixon issued an order to get the Concordunder way. It rounded the atoll just in time to see a second sub popping out of the water, then a third. Each had an identification number painted on its side.

Austin scanned the sea for the fourth minisub carrying Lois Mitchell and the vaccine. After a few anxious moments, it too popped out of the water.

He let out the breath he had been holding.

“We need to bring the scientists from the last sub on board immediately,” he told the captain.

Dixon ordered a boat in the water. The rescue crew pulled Lois Mitchell and the other scientists out of their minisub and brought them back to the cruiser. As the boat came close, Lois saw Austin leaning over the railing. She waved, then pointed to the cooler in her lap. When she climbed aboard, she handed the cooler off to Lee.

“Here’s our vaccine,” Mitchell said, “safe and sound.”

The joyful smile on Lee’s face dissolved. She looked crestfallen as she held the cooler, like someone just told her it was radioactive.

“It’s too late, Lois,” she said. “The epidemic will explode throughout China within twenty-four hours and spread to the rest of the world within days. There is no time to produce the vaccine in the massive quantities we need.”

Mitchell took the cooler back, set it on the deck, and pushed the top back to expose a rack with dozens of aluminum cylinders in it. She pulled one out and showed it to Lee.

“You weren’t in on the last phase of the research,” Mitchell said, “so you don’t know how far we have gone.”

“I was aware that you had integrated the antiviral molecule into microbes in an attempt to speed up the synthesis process,” Lee said.

“We decided that was too slow,” Mitchell said. “So we incorporated the toxin’s curative protein in fast-growing saltwater algae.”

Lee’s expression of dismay turned to laughter.

She picked up a cylinder and said, “This is wonderful.”

Seeing the puzzled expressions on the faces of the three men, she explained.

“Algae grow at an incredible speed,” she said. “Once we get these cultures to the production facilities, they can extract enough vaccine for hundreds of people in a short time. We can do the same for thousands, then hundreds of thousands within a few days.”

She handed the cylinder to Austin, who held it gingerly as if he expected to feel some sort of magical emanations. He carefully placed it back in the cooler and closed the lid, then turned to Dixon.

“This has to get to China as soon as possible,” he said.

The captain picked the cooler off the deck.

“It’s on its way,” he said.

Ten minutes later, the Seahawk carrying the cooler lifted off the deck and headed toward its rendezvous with a fast jet waiting at Pohnpei Airport. Within hours of landing in China, its cargo would be distributed to vaccine-production facilities that Lee had set up during her time on Bonefish Key.

Austin stood on the deck, watching the helicopter shrink to a speck. Lee had volunteered to escort the vaccine back to China. Austin was sad to see her go, but the evil smile of the Dragon Lady was already starting to overshadow his thoughts of Song’s lovely face.

THE GIANT RUSSIAN SUBMARINE led the way into Pohnpei’s harbor like a proud leviathan. Next was Chang’s freighter, now manned by a Navy crew that had taken over after a destroyer had chased her down. Without orders from Chang, his crew had surrendered to the no-nonsense Navy SEALs without a shot.

Phelps had come over from the submarine and was giving Austin and Zavala a tour of the deceptively decrepit-looking vessel, showing them the moon pool, the high-powered engine room, and the state-of-the-art communications center with its hologram-projection booth that Chang used to communicate with his other two triplets.

The last stop was the ship’s salon. Austin made himself immediately at home in the oversize room. He passed out three Havana-wrapped cigars from a humidor and lit them with a silver-plated lighter. He, Zavala, and Phelps sat in plush red-velvet chairs and puffed on their cigars.

“Chang had a good nose for smokes,” Zavala said, “but his taste in decorating stinks.”

Austin blew out a smoke ring and glanced around the spacious salon.

“I dunno,” he said, looking at the purple drapes and dark wood paneling, “the Castle Dracula look is all the rage in Transylvania.”

“Kinda reminds me more of a Nevada whorehouse,” said Phelps, who had been studying the ash on his cigar. He flicked the ash onto the maroon carpet, and added, “I stopped there one time to ask for directions.”

Austin smiled and took a few more puffs, then snuffed his cigar out in an ashtray.

“We’ve got to talk,” he said to Phelps.

“Talk away,” Phelps said.

“Joe and I are grateful for your help,” Austin said, “but we’ve got to discuss what comes next. We’ve got that issue about the scientist you killed on board the lab.”

“It was an accident,” Phelps said. “Lois will vouch for that.”

“I thought she didn’t like you,” Zavala said.

“We’ve gotten to know each other better. She’s a beautiful woman. I like them big-boned.”

Austin stared at Phelps, thinking that the man was full of surprises.

“Tell me, Phelps,” he said, “do you have a first name?”

“Don’t believe in them,” Phelps said.

“Well, here’s the problem,” Austin said with a heavy smile.

“You killed that man in the commission of a crime, the hijacking of U.S. property and the missile attack on the support ship. You’re lucky no one died on the Proud Mary.Then there’s the death of the security-company man who got your ID.”

“The missile attack was meant to distract the guards long enough to steal the lab,” Phelps said. “I’ll admit someone could have been killed, but I’m glad that didn’t happen. I had no part in the security man’s death . . . But I see what you mean.”

“Glad to hear that you understand the situation,” Austin said. “I’m going to have to turn you over to the authorities when we land. I’ll tell them the whole story, and that’s sure to mitigate your punishment.”

“Ten years in the brig instead of twenty?” Phelps grinned. “Well, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Mind if I go tell Lois what’s happening?”

Austin couldn’t help admiring the man’s calm. He nodded, then rose from his chair. They left the salon, and a few minutes later were in a pontoon boat headed back to the Concord.

Lois Mitchell was waiting there for them. Phelps peeled Lois away from the others, and they went off to talk while Austin and Zavala went to the wardroom to meet with the captain and the scientists from the lab.

Dixon brought everyone up to date on the progress of the jet flying to China. It would be close, but the vaccine would make it there in time.

Austin glanced at his watch. He excused himself and went out on the deck. He asked several crewmen if they had seen Phelps and Mitchell, and he finally got an answer when one of them pointed toward shore.

“They took the inflatable into port,” the crewman informed Austin. “They said they would be back in a couple of hours. Guy said to give this to you.”

Austin unfolded the sheet of lined notebook paper and read the short, scrawled message:

“Gotta do what you gotta do. P.”

An annoyed smile came to Austin’s lips. Phelps had outfoxed him.

Austin walked over to the railing and looked toward Pohnpei. Kolonia was small town on a small island, but the local police department wasn’t exactly Interpol. Phelps would be far away by the time local police mobilized.

Austin climbed to the bridge at a very leisurely pace, and asked a crewman to call the police, report a stolen launch, and give them a description of Mitchell and Phelps.

He took solace in the fact that Chang was dead. His attempt to spread the virus had been foiled. The vaccine would soon be made available.

One Triad triplet had been eliminated, but that still left Wen Lo and the mysterious Dragon Lady.

Austin was still pondering his course of action when his cell phone rang. It was Lieutenant Casey.

“Congratulations, Kurt,” Casey said, “the admiral just called and gave me the good news.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant, but our work isn’t done as long as the other Triad triplets are on the loose.”

“We’re well aware of that, Kurt. I have someone on the line who would like to talk to you.”

Austin told Casey to transfer him. A few seconds later, a man’s voice came on the line.

“Good day, Mr. Austin,” he said in a silken tone. “Let me introduce myself. I am Colonel Ming of the People’s Liberation Army.”

“Good day, Colonel Ming. How can I help you?”

“That is not why I called, Mr. Austin. The question is, how can I help you?”

CHAPTER 47

WEN LO EMERGED FROM HIS FAVORITE NIGHTCLUB WITH A gorgeous prostitute clinging to each arm. His walk was unsteady, but the Triad triplet wasn’t too drunk to see that something was very wrong. His guards were gone. The two SUVs that escorted his armor-plated Mercedes everywhere were gone. His Mercedes was gone, and a black Roewe sedan had taken its place at the curb.

Standing on the sidewalk next to the car was a husky, granite-faced man in a dark blue suit. He opened the Roewe’s rear door and motioned for Wen Lo to get in.

Wen Lo looked up and down the street, as if he could make his guards and car reappear through sheer willpower. No pedestrians or traffic moved in either direction. The street obviously had been cordoned off.

Wen Lo dispensed the prostitutes with a shove and a brusque word and got in the Roewe. The husky man shut the door and slid in front next to the driver. As the car pulled away from the curb, a slender man in an Army uniform sitting in the backseat, said, “Good evening, Wen Lo. My apologies for spoiling your night out on the town.”

“Good evening, Colonel Ming. No apologies necessary. It is always a pleasure to see you, my friend.”

In this case, it was more of a relief than a pleasure. Colonel Ming was the liaison between the Army and the Triad, and both organizations profited handsomely from the hundreds of brothels that they jointly operated around the country.

“The feeling is mutual, of course,” said the colonel, a soft-spoken man whose patrician air seemed more suited to the diplomatic corps than the Army.

Wen Lo always trod carefully around Ming. He was not unmindful of the fact that the colonel’s comrades had nicknamed him Colonel Cobra.

“I must say that I was concerned when I saw my men were not at their posts and my car was gone,” Wen Lo said.

“Rest assured, they are in a safe place,” Ming said. “I thought it best not to have any distractions while we talked over a serious problem that has arisen.”

“Of course,” Wen Lo said. “What sort of problem? Are you looking for a more luxurious apartment . . . or car? . . . Or is there someone that you would like removed from the scene?”

“This is not personal,” Ming said. “This is business. The problem is in Pyramid’s pharmaceutical division.”

“That puzzles me, Colonel. The contaminated drugs have been destroyed. The poisoned infant formula killed only a few hundred children.”

“Perhaps this will explain the problem better than I can,” Ming said.

Colonel Ming stretched his hand out to a DVD player built into the back of the driver’s seat and pushed the ON button.

Wen Lo’s face appeared on the screen. He watched himself taking a tour of the secret lab with Dr. Wu, whose voice was narrating, and close-ups of the subjects and their disease-ravaged faces.

“Where did you get this?” Wen Lo asked as the video came to its end.

“That is of no importance,” Ming said. “But I am puzzled as to the nature of this facility your organization is operating.”

The colonel was being disingenuous. The video was quite detailed in its presentation.

Wen Lo glanced at the men in the front seat. Speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “I am taking you into my confidence, Colonel. The secret I am about to reveal is held by me and a few of the most powerful people in the government. The laboratory has been working on a revolutionary new vaccine that will not only contain a new outbreak of SARS but will cure dozens of other diseases caused by viruses.”

Colonel Ming lightly clapped his hands.

“That is wonderfulnews, Wen Lo! Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Colonel. It has been a long, hard road, but our work will put China in the medical history books. This will be a boon to mankind. And to the Army, I might add. You and your comrades will derive great benefits from our endeavors.”

“Excellent!” The colonel paused for a moment, then said, “I am not a medical person, but, since you mentioned mankind, I wondered if it is customary to use human beings as lab animals.”

“Pardon me, sir, but they would be very upset to be described in that fashion. They are all volunteers from the slums. They faced miserable lives, in any case.”

The colonel nodded.

“Yes, I see your logic, Wen Lo. Your lab served to shorten their misery. I applaud your humanity and your genius.”

“I do nothing solely for myself, Colonel Ming. I am always thinking about the good of my country.”

“And your country would like to reward your hard work and sacrifice,” Ming said. “But this video raises some concerns. It is easily copied and transmitted. I fear that it will surface in quarters where people will not be as enlightened as you and me. You see the potential for disorder?”

Wen Lo was well aware of the government’s aversion to disorder. Through intimidation and assassination, he and his thugs often had stifled dissent when the government choose to pursue a hands-off policy.

“Yes, of course,” Wen Lo said. “But the government controls the media and the Internet. We can claim that the video is a fake. My organization can deal with those who choose to make an issue of this matter.”

“All true,” Ming said. “But we cannot control the foreign media, and the government has no wish to be associated even by implication with what the video shows. Since you are the public face of Pyramid, we feel it best if you disappear.”

“Disappear?”Wen Lo croaked.

Ming patted Wen Lo’s knee.

“Don’t be alarmed,” the colonel said. “We are old friends as well as colleagues. We have arranged for you to quietly leave China. The government is prepared to work with Pyramid while you are out of the country.”

“I suppose that may work,” Wen Lo said with reluctance.

“We will need to know where and how to reach the number one person in your company,” Ming said.

“Impossible! We never meet face-to-face. We communicate electronically through holograms.”

A sad look came to the colonel’s face.

“That is a shame,” Ming said. “I’m afraid the onus will fall entirely on your shoulders. You will be brought to trial, and the outcome is a foregone conclusion. An example will be made of you.”

Wen Lo was well aware of the consequences of being made an example of in China. He knew a number of the men who had been tried and executed for corrupt business practices.

“Very well,” Wen Lo said with a deep sigh. “We use a simple telephone number to set up our hologram meetings.”

The colonel reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a small notepad, which he gave to Wen Lo. After a few seconds of hesitation, Wen Lo jotted down a number and handed back the pad and pen.

“Thank you,” Ming said, inspecting the number to make sure it was legible. He tucked the pad and pen back in his pocket. “Now we can deal with your future. How does London sound, for a start? We can move you around, to Paris and New York, as need be. And, when it’s safe, we can bring you home again.”

Wen Lo’s mood brightened.

“London is fine. I have a town house in Soho.”

“Too public. The government will find you a less obvious place to live. Do you still play tennis?”

“Every day. It’s my passion.”

“Splendid. You will have endless time to work on your backhand.”

Ming lit a cigarette, took a drag, and tapped on the window separating the backseat from the driver. The car pulled over to the curb, and the colonel said to Wen Lo, “See you in Paris.”

The husky man got out of the front, opened the door, and escorted Ming to a second Roewe sedan that had pulled up behind the first one. As Ming got into the second car, he said to the man, “Make sure it’s neat.”

As the colonel’s car pulled away from the curb, he tapped out a number on his cell phone. After a few rings, a man’s voice answered.

“Mr. Austin?” Ming said.

“That’s right,” Austin replied.

“I have the information you are looking for.”

WHILE THE COLONEL WAS talking on the phone in his car, the husky man walked back to the first car and got in next to the driver. He tapped on the glass behind him and slid the partition open. Wen Lo looked right at him. This gave the man a perfect target when he shot Wen Lo directly in the right eye with a .22 caliber pistol.

The shooter slid the glass partition closed and grunted an order to the driver. They drove Wen Lo’s warm body to a mortuary that was waiting to embalm it. A glass eye replaced the one the bullet had vaporized. The embalmed corpse was turned over to the Bureau of Police. A tag attached to the big toe there certified that he had died while being incarcerated in a Chinese prison.

The police noted the death on records that were promptly destroyed. The body was shipped to a warehouse where the receiver complained about the quality of the merchandise. The corpse was dissected, immersed in acetone to eliminate all traces of moisture, and then given a bath of polymers. The muscles and bones were touched up with paint, and the body bent into a standing position, the arm cocked and ready to smash a tennis ball.

When the transformed corpse arrived in London to join other bodies in an exhibition that would take it to Paris and New York, a tennis racket was placed in the boney hand.

In time, Wen Lo’s skinned body would adorn T-shirts, key chains, refrigerator magnets, even the cover of the catalog sold at the traveling exhibition.

And, as Colonel Ming had promised, Wen Lo had endless time to work on his backhand.