The Bone Labyrinth (38 page)

“What time is it?” Maria asked.

He shrugged. “Morning, that’s all I know.”

She licked her lips and looked to the other side of the cellblock, to the double set of doors that opened out into the rest of the subterranean facility. Though she didn’t say a word, he read the worry shining from her face. She pulled Baako more firmly to her side, as if by sheer will alone she could keep him from harm.

Baako shivered under her arm, clearly sensing her tension and fear.

She turned to Kowalski. “What are we going to do?”

“You’re going to cooperate,” Kowalski answered her bluntly, seeing no reason to sugarcoat the situation. “Any other course will only get you killed, and Baako will still end up under the knife. At least with you alive, you can be there for him—even if worse comes to worst.”

His words did nothing to dim that shine of dismay in her eyes. And he didn’t expect they would. He spoke more for the benefit of those who might be watching and eavesdropping on their cell.

Let them think we’re going to play ball.

He shifted his back to the cameras and lifted one hand. He wanted to offer Maria a measure of hope, though it was admittedly a thin one. He formed three letters with his fingers.

[
GPS
]

A deep crinkle formed between her brows as she tried to understand. He knew she must have wondered what had happened to Baako’s wristband with the GPS unit embedded in it. He had kept quiet about its fate until now, fearing any hint might expose his actions yesterday.

He glanced over to the cold pile of dung in the corner of the cell. He was glad the maid service in this place was so lax, not that the Chinese would have discovered anything in that pile except for some ground-up bits of rubber.

Yesterday, while he and Baako had eaten—or mostly pretended to—Kowalski had had the gorilla bite apart the band, enough so that Kowalski could peel out the GPS unit. The electronic device was barely the size of penny. Once it was removed, Kowalski had Baako hide the excess bits of chewed-up rubber in his dung. Afterward, Kowalski had secretly planted the device in a place where it had the best chance of being ferried up to the surface, where hopefully the unit’s signal would be detected again.

He touched the bandage still taped to his face. He pictured Baako’s faux attack, remembering his own fumbling flight from the cage, how he had bobbled into the guard who had opened the door to let him out. With the guard focused on the angry gorilla, it had been easy to slip the GPS unit into the pocket of the man’s uniform. With luck, the guard would exit this place when he got off duty, returning aboveground. If anyone was still monitoring that tracker, it would lead them to that man—and hopefully to this place.

Kowalski kept his hand shielded by his body and formed three more letters with his fingers, naming that guard.

[
GAO
]

8:23
A
.
M
.

Kat spoke rapidly, her voice rushed with excitement and urgency. “We just picked up a ping off the tracking band.”

“Where?” Monk asked.

“I’m sending you the location and real-time plotting of its path right now.”

As Monk waited, he looked out the window of the hotel, which was located less than half a mile east of the Beijing Zoo. He had requested a room on the highest floor, which afforded him a view all the way to the spire of the aquarium and the zoo’s northern gate. Over the past night, he and Kimberly had taken shifts to monitor the military presence over there, watching with binoculars for any significant change in troop movements.

Overhearing the phone conversation now, Kimberly pulled on her jacket. A moment ago, she had been speaking to her husband back in Virginia, her voice turning warmer, a soft smile playing about her lips. Monk could tell when the woman’s three-year-old daughter was put on the phone. Kimberly’s words became even sweeter, higher-pitched. Monk had two daughters of his own and easily recognized that mix of worry and love.

“You should have the information now,” Kat said.

Kimberly joined him, looking over his shoulder at the phone’s screen. A small glowing blue dot marked the first reappearance of the tracker’s signal, and a dotted line continued in a path across a map of Beijing.

“That’s odd,” Kimberly murmured.

Monk glanced to her.

“That first ping is about a mile southeast of the zoo.” She swung around and opened her laptop. Her fingers danced across the keypad, bringing up satellite maps and various data windows. Finally she made a small, disgruntled sound.

“What is it?” Monk asked.

“That location is a former restaurant. It was shuttered back in 2012 and never reopened.” She closed her laptop and pointed to the door. “Let’s grab our gear and go.”

He understood her haste as another blue dash slowly extended the trail across the city map. They had to reach that path before the signal vanished again.

Monk grabbed his pack and joined Kimberly at the door. They hurried to the elevator and dropped down to the lobby. Once in a taxi, Kimberly offered her assessment.

“For the signal to have reappeared so far away from the zoo, I wager that restaurant must be the site of one of the entrances that leads down to the Dìxià Chéng, the Underground City.”

Monk remembered her telling him about the old warren of cold-war-era bomb shelters that extended for almost a hundred square miles beneath Beijing, connecting most of the major city sites.

“So you’re thinking they’ve moved Kowalski and Maria through those tunnels?”

“It only makes sense. In the past, the Chinese army often used those tunnels to hide their troop movements. Back in 1989, the army transferred soldiers through those same passageways during the Tiananmen Square crackdown, to hide their maneuvers from the rest of the world.”

“And I imagine those same passageways could be used to transport construction equipment just as readily, allowing the Chinese to construct new underground facilities without the world growing any wiser.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to pull off. Some of those tunnels are said to be as wide as four-lane highways, large enough to accommodate tank battalions.”

As the taxi turned a corner, Monk monitored their progress. “We’re just a quarter mile away.”

Kimberly leaned forward and spoke rapidly to the taxi driver in Mandarin, pointing where they wanted to go. She then settled back to her seat.

“Looks like we’re headed toward a residential district,” she said. “One of the old
hutong
neighborhoods.”

“
Hutong
?”

“They’re neighborhoods made up of narrow streets and alleys, formed by a maze of interconnecting
siheyuan
, the traditional Chinese courtyard homes. I’ve ordered our driver to get us as close as possible. Then we’ll have to continue on foot.”

Monk frowned. “Why would they be moving Kowalski and Maria through such a residential area, especially if Baako was still with them?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a concern.” She turned and eyed Monk up and down. “As is your appearance in such a neighborhood.”

He nodded.
I won’t exactly blend in there
.

“Hang on.” Kimberly shifted around and began pulling items from her backpack. She passed him a ball cap with Chinese characters embroidered on it, a pair of dark sunglasses, and a blue paper surgical mask. “Put these on.”

Monk fingered the mask. He had seen many locals wearing them as protection against the ubiquitous air pollution in Beijing. The cap, sunglasses, and mask would do a fair job of hiding his features, especially if he kept his head down.

As he tugged the ball cap over his bald scalp, Kimberly barked again to the driver and pointed to the next intersection.

Looks like this is where we get off.

Kimberly offered Monk one last bit of advice. “Let me do all the talking from here. These neighborhoods are notoriously insular and wary of strangers, especially foreigners.”

The taxi stopped at the curb. Kimberly paid the driver in cash, and they both climbed out. Monk took in his surroundings. Across the street spread a typical commercial area of Beijing, with tall hotels surrounding a large pedestrian shopping center.

Kimberly led Monk in the opposite direction, into an alley lined by brick walls. It was so narrow the two of them could barely walk shoulder to shoulder. Within steps, it felt like he had left the modern world behind and entered a sliver of Beijing’s past. The outermost layer seemed to be made up of tiny shops, selling tobacco goods, antiques, or brightly colored candy. The next layer felt more personal, as communal teahouses took over the storefronts and the scent of burning incense rose from a small neighborhood temple.

“A little farther,” Kimberly whispered under her breath after glancing surreptitiously at his phone’s map.

As they moved into the heart of the
hutong
, Monk caught occasional glimpses into the residences’ courtyards, spotting small gardens, overloaded clotheslines, and a number of pigeon coops.

Shadowing his phone with a palm, Monk noted that the signal had rounded a corner ahead and was now coming
toward
their position. He showed the screen to Kimberly.

She searched around and tugged him into a small art shop. It was barely large enough for the two of them. They had to squeeze between racks of calligraphy brushes, stacks of paper, inkwells, and stamping stones. The proprietor—a small wizened woman who could be anywhere from sixty to a hundred years old—smiled, showing only gums.

Kimberly spoke softly to the old woman, her tone deeply respectful. With his back slightly turned from them, Monk concentrated on his phone, watching both the screen and the open doorway.

Finally, the moving blue dot reached their position—and passed. At the same time, a tall figure wearing a PLA uniform strode across the storefront and continued down the alleyway.

Monk waited several breaths, watching for any other soldiers or some sign of an armed escort covertly leading Kowalski and Maria through this neighborhood. The only others who appeared were a chattering line of small kindergarten-aged children, likely heading to school.

Monk glanced back to Kimberly and motioned for her to follow him. He exited the shop, hearing Kimberly offer parting words to the proprietor in apologetic tones. Back in the narrow street, Monk nodded toward the soldier as the man turned the next corner.

“Signal’s coming from that guy,” Monk whispered as they trailed behind the children.

Kimberly searched behind her, then back to the next corner. “What do you think?”

He knew her concern.

This could be a trap.

Someone could have found that tracking device and was using the soldier as a decoy to lure anyone who might be monitoring its signal.

Like us
.

Monk weighed the risks as he followed their target. The smart move would be to pull back and reassess the situation, but after nearly a day of wringing his hands and waiting, impatience trumped caution. He knew that the best chance of rescuing the others was during the first twenty-four hours. The dead student found in the meadow of the Yerkes Primate Center was testament to the ruthlessness of those running this operation.

For all I know, that soldier could be the one who shot the young man.

“Well?” Kimberly asked.

Monk increased his pace, knowing there was only one way of truly getting any answers.

“Let’s take him down.”

9:02
A
.
M
.

Maria tensed as the double doors at the end of the hall banged open. She gained her feet, stepping between Baako and the cage door. A forklift appeared, carrying the same crate used to transport Baako yesterday.

“Looks like our time’s run out,” Kowalski mumbled, his face dark with anger.

A four-man team of soldiers accompanied the forklift. They all carried rifles, but one held an electric cattle prod.

Baako pushed against Maria’s side, cowering at her thigh, clearly remembering that crate and the pain of those fiery shocks. He reached an arm to Kowalski, silently asking for protection.

Kowalski took Baako’s hand and faced the group that came forward.

As the forklift drew abreast of their pen, another soldier hopped out of the cab. He called an order to the driver, who lowered the crate toward the ground. Maria recognized Chang Sun, dressed in a crisp uniform, his black hair slick and wet as if freshly showered. She was surprised to see the man instead of his younger brother, Gao. From the man’s scowl and stiff back, he was clearly irritated at being assigned the menial task of fetching Baako.

He waved a guard to unlock the cage and barked to the one holding the cattle prod. Both soldiers snapped to obey. The cage door was quickly opened, while rifles bristled toward them and sparks spat from the end of the electric prod.

By now Baako was quaking all over. Kowalski winced, glancing down to his hand, which was being crushed within Baako’s frightened grip. Still, the man didn’t let go. Instead, he stepped forward and confronted Chang.

“You’re not putting him in that crate again,” Kowalski said. “He stays with us.”

Chang’s scowl deepened.

Maria stepped forward and supported Kowalski’s position. “If Baako’s undergoing surgery this morning, getting him too stressed could have adverse consequences. I’m sure Major General Lau wouldn’t—”

Chang cut her off, yanking out a large pistol holstered at his waist. Maria immediately realized her mistake. She shouldn’t have mentioned Lau, remembering the friction she’d witnessed between the two officers. She also recognized the weapon in Chang’s grip. It was a tranquilizer gun.

Kowalski lifted his free hand, ready to press their case. But before he could speak, Chang aimed his pistol—and fired.

The feathered dart shot between her and Kowalski and struck Baako in the shoulder. He yelped and swatted at it, knocking the needle free. But it had already delivered its dose. Hooting in fear, Baako let go of Kowalski’s hand and retreated toward the back of the pen.