Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [60]
Jack checked his wristwatch. "What about Curtis?"
"Curtis hasn't reported in yet. He's ordered radio silence so I'm not supposed to contact him." Morris paused. "Can't say I'm worried yet, but I will be if I don't here from Mr. Manning soon."
"Patch Curtis through to this phone as soon as he calls in," Bauer commanded.
Jack ended the call, tucked the cell into the pocket of his leather jacket. Stretching his legs, Jack glanced again at his watch. He still had a turncoat at his casino. Someone had murdered the Midnight Cowboy Max Farrow, the guy with the Area 51 technology. And that same someone likely murdered the Cha-Cha Lounge's security guard Ray Perry too.
Though he knew it was best to wait until Bix made the first move before he took action against the traitor in his midst, Jack also realized there were several precautions he could take. He didn't want to be surprised by a premature move on the turncoat's part.
One of those precautions involved returning to the sub basement storeroom where Morris had found Ray Perry's corpse. For a long time Jack wondered why the killer had stashed the body there. Jack believed he'd finally solved that riddle. If he was right, then it was time to set a little booby trap, a simple snare that would help Jack unmask the traitor before more damage was done ...
* * *
8:21:06 p.m. PDT
Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas
Jong Lee had observed the execution, and the joy Yizi took from the act, with impassive detachment. Legs crossed, chin resting on his hand, he assessed the woman's performance while he waited for her to finish the task of moving Lev Cohen's corpse.
When Yizi appeared behind the man, the sharp sai in her hands, the demure servant who bowed obsequiously at every man, who subserviently anticipated every wish, was gone, the true Yizi revealed.
Small and lean, with her raven-black tresses pulled back into a bun. Her white skin contrasted with the form-fitting black jumpsuit that hugged her lithe body from neck to toe. Made from a super-elastic microfiber, the suit was snug enough to reveal the woman's hip bones under her taut flesh. Indeed, Jong Lee could count the woman's ribs. Her pale flesh and skeletal appearance, coupled with the way she clutched her sai — a weapon that resembled the pitchfork so common in colorful depictions of the Western devil — were the reasons Jong Lee had assigned her with the code name "Reaper."
Yizi was one of the unintended consequences of the People's Republic of China's misguided effort to control its burgeoning population. Another, far more dire consequence, was the wholesale abortion of generations of female babies. Now, over two decades after the failed policies were initiated, China was paying the price — a large majority of the nation's male population would never have a Chinese wife because of the gender imbalance.
But not all of the female babies proved useless. In time the State established a secret bureau inside the PLA. This unit was charged with the recruitment and training of young girls from a very early age. Those females who exhibited promise were selected for "special combat reeducation," a lifetime of training which included combat tactics, espionage tradecraft, techniques of terrorism, and modes of assassination. Only girls who passed dozens of rigorous intelligence and physical screening were accepted, and they could be dropped from the program at any time. Rejection meant instant execution, for the females were considered expendable. During their indoctrination and training, every aspect of these women's lives was regulated, their bodies and minds completely controlled.
Yizi had begun her training at the age of six. Now she was twenty-two, a woman, though Jong Lee knew that in almost no sense of the word was Yizi a true woman. Like her sisters in the "special program," Yizi's menstrual cycle had been curtailed — a consequence of the rigorous training, as well as the hormones and steroids she'd been injected with.