Enemy Arsenal. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Hu Ji Han stood in his elegant office, staring down at the dark, gleaming water of Victoria Harbour that separated Chung Wan, Hong Kong’s central district, and Tsim Sha Tsui, the southernmost point of Kowloon Peninsula on the Chinese mainland. The neon glitter from the skyscrapers all around him reflected off the black seawater, turning what should have been a placid, still stretch into a riot of flashing blues and reds and yellows, signs exhorting those that saw them to buy, consume, spend—live for today in hedonistic, self-indulgent pleasure, with little thought of what the next day might bring.

      Fifty-three stories above the ground, ensconced in the Cheung Kong Center, the artfully designed skyscraper built on the grounds of the former Hilton Hotel and Beaconsfield House, Hu stared out at the monuments to capitalism and business surrounding him. He gazed down at the crowded streets of the city that existed like a cancerous growth on an otherwise healthy living being. He lived and worked deep in the pulsing, constantly beating heart of the beast every day, surrounded by its excess, its shallow, tawdry pleasures, the souls of his countrymen adrift in a sea of overindulgent products, drowning in consumption for its own sake. Hu accepted this portion of his fate, living within this cesspool, studying it, surviving it while avoiding being drawn in by its proffered pleasures.

      Even after forty years, sometimes he was surprised to find the hate still burning so strongly within him.

      To the rest of the world, he was a successful businessman, respected and admired for creating a company that filled a void in the region, that of recovery and restoration after natural disasters. From his small, one-man office twenty-three years ago, the firm of Life and Property Recovery, Incorporated, now had offices all over Southeast Asia and the world, and was branching out into urban development and infrastructure planning and construction. Hu’s cost-effective solutions to humanitarian crises had made him a lauded figure throughout the region. One entire wall of his office was covered with various awards and photos of him being feted and commemorated by various groups and people, including two sitting presidents of the United States. Those meetings had galled him most of all, bowing and smiling at the haughty Americans, all of whom still strutted around as though they were the only superpower in the world, doing what they pleased, heedless of what others thought.

      The U.S. companies, many of whom had headquarters in Hong Kong due to the relaxed business environment, were a particular affront to Hu, extending their poisonous influence farther into his country. They were so quick to take advantage of what the city had to offer, yet, when they had been truly needed decades ago, there had been no help forthcoming, not from them, nor from anywhere else in the world. It was this terrible failure on their part, and that of other countries, that kept Hu’s constant desire burning deep in his heart, carefully concealed by layers of politeness, business acumen and genial diplomacy. But always, always, there was the voice in the back of his mind, constantly exhorting him. His grandmother had selected his middle name, Ji, meaning to remember or keep in mind, and that was exactly what he had done all these long years.

      Never forget...never forgive...

      Throughout his years growing up, all through building his business over the decades, Hu had never forgotten. And now, with the first part of his plan set in motion, he was only a few days away from sending a truly divine wind down upon the complacent fools and fatuous men and women that wasted their lives in meaningless busywork—soon...it would all fall into place.

      The soft whoosh of the doors to his private elevator broke through Hu’s reverie.

      His personal secretary, Zheng Rong, walked to his side. Dressed in a tailored navy blue pinstripe business suit jacket and trousers, she had served him faithfully for the past five years without hesitation. Stopping three feet away, she bowed, a gesture he returned with respect, although he didn’t turn from his contemplation of the harbor.

      “Stage one is complete, sir. The decoy vessel is under our control.”

      “Were there any casualties?”

      There was the barest pause before her reply made his head swivel in her direction. “Regrettably, yes. The men tasked to take the ship were overzealous during the assault. One man was killed, two wounded, and a woman was violated before she and the others were set adrift as originally ordered.”

      Hu clucked his tongue. “Have the perpetrators been identified?”

      “Yes. The death came at the hands of a young boy, who was used as a distraction. I have questioned him myself, and believe him when he says it was an accident. As for the other, he is downstairs, should you wish to speak with him yourself.”

      Hu considered the offer, then turned to face her. “Take me to him. I would see this animal before he is removed from this earth.” Only the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his anger.

      Zheng turned and led him back to the elevator, which was just large enough to hold both of them comfortably. The ride down was noiseless, descending into the sublevels below the building, where Hu had paid a princely sum in order to have a private garage with twenty-four-hour street access. For a man in his position, the ability to come and go unnoticed was more important than many would think.

      At this time of night, there was only one vehicle in the private lot, a slate-gray Range Rover that barely rocked back and forth on its springs as the prisoner inside struggled to escape. From where he stood, Hu could barely hear the muffled thuds as the captive man slammed against the interior.

      “My apologies, sir, he awoke sooner than expected.”

      “No, that is all right. I would look into his eyes before you remove him.” Hu led the way, walking forward with a bare whisper of his virgin-wool trousers. He paused at the back door of the luxury SUV, waiting for Zheng to open it.

      When the door rose, the man inside froze, caught in the act of hammering his bare feet against the back window glass. Gagged and bound hand and foot, he had worked himself into a sweat, the foul odor making Hu’s nose wrinkle.

      “This will be cleaned once the cargo is removed.”

      The man tried to catch Hu’s eyes with his own panicked ones, their normal almond shape distended by fear into wide, white ovals, marred by a swelling bruise under one. His split and puffy lips writhed as he tried to speak around the gag, the muffled pleas reduced to guttural grunts and cries.

      “I would have rewarded you handsomely, enough to care for your entire family for years. Yet you let your base desires get the best of you during this first, critical operation.” Hu leaned close to the man’s blanched face. “And if I cannot trust you to carry out your orders on this simple task, then I cannot employ you any longer. But since you know too much about what I have planned for this city and the rest of the world, I regret to inform you that your termination must be permanent.”

      Hearing his doom, the captive man lashed out with his head, trying to butt Hu in the face. A blurred form rushed in and slammed the man into the backs of the third-row seats. Zheng retreated just as quickly, her open palm out, ready to defend or attack as needed.

      Hu shook his head sadly. Now, when he had spent so long preparing to put his plan into motion, he couldn’t afford any action—by himself or others—that would endanger the operation he had been planning for half his life. “It is foolish actions such as this that can

      endanger everything we have worked for. Have him

      removed as an example to the others that this sort of base behavior will not be tolerated. I trust you will come up with a suitable message for them.”

      Zheng smiled, her expression devoid of any humor or warmth. “Yes, sir. I have just the right lesson planned. They won’t forget