The Portal (A Delphi Group Thriller Book 2) (8 page)

Zheng heard a buzzing behind him. Turning, he saw his mobile phone sitting on his desk, a light blinking to indicate he had a text.

Probably the driver telling me he’s early.

He grabbed the phone and stared at the screen.

It was General Kong’s secretary. Zheng was to report to the general immediately.

He frowned, unsure what to think. He didn’t report directly to Kong. The general was responsible for China’s Special Forces. So why was Zheng being asked to meet with him? Something didn’t make sense. Whatever the reason, he knew it couldn’t be good.

Zheng cursed under his breath. He’d almost made it out of this wretched place.

He glanced at his watch again. His car would be arriving any minute. He sent the driver a quick text indicating he’d been held up but would text him again when he was on his way down.

After grabbing his coat and turning out the lights, Zheng proceeded down a lengthy corridor to a row of elevators. When the car arrived, he stepped in and pressed 40, the floor of the high command.

As the car began to move, Zheng felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. It was bad enough to have to go to the fortieth floor. It was even worse to go there for a meeting with Kong. The man was known for his prickly personality and volatile temper.

The elevator dinged loudly, and the doors swished apart. Zheng stepped out and was approached by two guards whose faces were etched with permanent scowls. He’d almost forgotten the protocol for those visiting the fortieth floor. Remembering the drill, Zheng lifted his arms as one of the soldiers waved a paddle over every inch of his body. There were no threatening beeps, so the soldier grunted that he was clear.

Zheng was wondering what to do next, when he heard the click of heels. An attractive woman in her thirties strode toward him. She was dressed in a gray business suit and was speaking into a headset.

So this is where all the good-looking ones work.

“Good evening, Colonel Zheng,” said the woman after ending her other conversation. She bowed slightly. “Follow me, please.”

As they walked, Zheng asked, “Do you know what the general wants?”

The girl turned and smiled but said nothing. He doubted she even knew but figured it was worth a try.

At the end of the hall, they turned right. A few seconds later, they arrived at Kong’s door on the left.

The woman turned her head away from him and spoke into the mic of her headset. A moment later, she turned and said, “The general will see you now.”

The woman turned the knob and opened the door, motioning him in. After he entered, she bowed and closed the door behind him.

Kong’s office was like his personality, simple and no nonsense. A desk, two bookcases, and two chairs that looked like they’d been purchased at a yard sale. It was exactly as Zheng had pictured it.

“Have a seat,” grunted the portly general from behind his desk.

As Zheng sat down, he noticed the incredible view out of the window behind Kong. If not for the gathering darkness, Zheng figured he could see Chengdu from here.

Kong beat the keys of his laptop a moment longer before finally pushing it to the side. The general then sat back and crossed his arms. “Zheng, thank you for coming. Can I get you something to drink?” Zheng opened his mouth to speak, but Kong continued without waiting for an answer. “You are here because of your experience in South America.”

Zheng frowned.
What on earth could this be about?
He had worked in Peru for three years in the 1990s, but they were three of the most uneventful years of his career.

“I was only there for—”

“The Americans have found something in Brazil, north of the Amazon.” He raised his eyebrows and said, “We don’t have all of the details, but we believe it may involve alien technology.”

Zheng’s eyes widened. “Aliens? As in extraterrestrials?”

“Is there another kind?” Kong asked pointedly.

“Surely we don’t believe it’s true,” Zheng asked. “The Americans are known to chase all sorts of silly things.”

Kong drew in a deep breath and said, “Whether it’s true or not doesn’t really matter. What matters is the Chairman of the Central Military Commission thinks it’s important, and if he thinks it’s important, then we think it’s important.”

Zheng stiffened at the mention of the chairman. “I understand. But how could there be alien technology in the middle of the jungle?”

Kong shrugged. “The chairman believes a craft may have crashed there, something like that. He believes we could find some sort of new metal, new propulsion system… who knows what.”

“Interesting.”

A phone vibrated on Kong’s desk. The general picked it up and stared at the screen. “That is the chairman. He probably wants to make sure everything has been communicated.” Kong rose from his seat. “You will now go to see Lieutenant General Huang, who will brief you on the details of your operation.”

Zheng stood, a frown forming on his face. “My operation?”

Kong fixed his gaze on the colonel. “You’re leading a team to Brazil, Zheng. You’re the highest ranking officer with experience in that part of the world.”

Zheng felt a rush of panic. He hadn’t been out in the field in years, which had suited him just fine. “Do we know the dates?” he asked. “I want to make sure I’m back from my vacation in time.”

Kong frowned. “Vacation?” He gave a brief chuckle. “There will be no vacation, Zheng. You can take it when you get back. Your mission begins in two days.”

“Two days. I—”

“That will be all, Zheng.” Kong nodded toward the door.

Zheng turned slowly, scarcely able to believe the strange turn of events. It would do no good to argue. If the chairman had appointed him as team lead, then there would be no way out. He grabbed the knob and turned it.

“Oh, and Zheng,” Kong said.

Zheng turned back toward the general.

“You should feel honored to lead this operation. You’re going to have a special guest.”

Zheng’s brow furrowed. “Someone I know?”

“You’ve probably heard of him.” He paused for dramatic effect then said, “Ho Chen.”

Ho Chen.
Where had he heard that name before? Zheng searched the recesses of his mind but was unable to bring anything to the surface.

Seeing his confusion, Kong smiled. “You may know him better by his other name, Jùrén.”

Zheng’s pulse quickened.
The Giant.
So, all the whispers were true. He
did
exist. The man, if he could even be called that, was said to stand seven-and-a-half feet tall with arms the size of tree trunks. Some believed he was an anomaly of nature, while others believed he was the product of genetic manipulation. Whatever his origin, he was said to be the most powerful man on earth. Those who believed he’d been cooked up in a lab said that he was likely a forerunner to soldiers of the future, massive men who could move as quickly as a leopard. One officer had even told Zheng that Ho could lift the end of a car as easily as others could lift a coffee table.

“I guess he wasn’t just a rumor after all,” Zheng finally said.

Kong smiled. “I can assure you that Jùrén is quite real, Zheng. In fact, you’re going to meet him tomorrow morning.”

Manaus, Brazil

AMANDA HIGGS LET out a long sigh as the cab driver used his nicotine-stained fingers to count out her change for the third time. Could this get any more frustrating? The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare, and the driver’s cigarette smoking and incessant chatter during the ride over had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.

The two-stop journey from Austin to Manaus had been fraught with problems. The first round of trouble came in Houston, when the airline published the wrong terminal for her connecting flight. Then in Miami there was the unexplained hour-long wait on the tarmac. And if that weren’t enough, her five-hour flight to Brazil provided the clincher: she spent the entire flight next to a man whose snores could drown out a foghorn.

Then the hotel in Manaus proved to be only slightly better. It was clean and possessed a friendly staff, but a group of Dutch ecotourists in the suite next to hers had drunk and partied until the wee hours of the morning.

The driver gave a little grunt of satisfaction, drawing Amanda out of her thoughts. After counting for the third time, he’d finally been able to get the money right. He handed her the stack of bills with a meaty paw and said, “It has been pleasure. I always like to practice English! Thank you!”

“No, thank you,” Amanda said, handing a few of the bills back as a tip. She couldn’t help but like the man. Yes, his cab had been filled with smoke. And yes, he’d talked non-stop since she’d entered the car. But he seemed kind and had managed to get her where she was going.

He pointed toward a boardwalk a block away. “The boats are just ahead. If you want a drink before you leave, try the Café Maria. It’s my cousin’s place. Tell them Tiago sent you and they might give you discount.”

“Thank you again,” Amanda said, bending over to give him a little wave.

As the Brazilian made a quick U-turn and headed back toward the city, Amanda let out a little sigh. Her body ached from head to toe, and she felt a migraine coming on, but she was finally here. In a few short minutes, she’d be with people she knew and the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours would be over.

She pulled out the telescoping handles of her luggage and started down the boardwalk. On her right was a line of cafés and bars. Ahead and to the left was a long series of docks that stretched into the distance. She had exchanged a few texts with Zane that morning and knew that the boat would be all the way at the end.

The smell of freshly cooked food assailed her nostrils as she walked. Several men stood in front of their shops, offering wrapped pieces of fish and skewers of cooked meat. She was tempted but resisted and continued on her way.

As she neared the docks, she saw the sign for Café Maria. She hadn’t planned on stopping, but she was thirsty. Why not? It might be days before she had anything other than bottled water and MREs.

The covered but open-air restaurant was packed with humanity. There were perhaps a hundred tables, all kept cool by twirling fans that dangled from the high ceiling. Pushing through the crowd, she was surprised to find two empty stools at the bar. She promptly sat down on one then scooted her luggage up as close as possible.

One of the bartenders slid toward her, placed his hand on the bar, and asked something in Portuguese. Amanda did a double take, startled at the man’s appearance. He looked exactly like Enrique Iglesias, right down to the boyish locks combed across his forehead.

The man raised an eyebrow and patted his hand gently on the bar. Amanda blushed as she realized she’d been staring at him. “Oh, sorry. An orange juice in a to-go cup, please.”

Enrique lifted a thumb to signify he understood. As Amanda looked through her purse for some bills, a man stepped up to the other open stool and bent over the bar.

Another American,
she thought as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing a Carolina Hurricanes cap, and a pair of aviator sunglasses hid his eyes. His arms were well muscled and tan, as were the legs that stuck out of beige cargo shorts.

“You know, I’m pretty sure he saw you blushing,” the man said.

Startled, she turned toward him. “Excuse me?”

The man sported a week’s growth of beard, but his features seemed vaguely familiar.

He gave her a wry smile and said, “I just need you to know I’m a little hurt that you don’t recognize me.”

And then it hit her. Why hadn’t she recognized him immediately? “
Zane?
”

“The one and only. How are you?”

“I’m great!” she said, throwing her arms around him.

After the long hug, he pulled back and rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “Not a bad disguise, eh?”

“You had me fooled.” She noticed he didn’t have his customary long locks. “Did you cut your hair?”

Zane patted his cap. “No, just tucked away. You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

The bartender returned with Amanda’s orange juice. She fished in her pocket for money, but Zane waved her off. “This one’s on me.”

“Why thank you.”

He then turned to the bartender and ordered something in Portuguese.

“Wow, you speak the language. I’m impressed.”

“I know about fifty words, and that was probably a third of them.”

“So what did you get?”

“Some frozen pineapple concoction. It’s my second one. Figured it would put me in the mood. How was your trip?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask.”

Zane laughed. “Uh-oh. I won’t, then.”

The bartender returned with the drink. Zane thanked him and placed several bills on the counter.

Turning, he grabbed the handles of her luggage. “You ready?”

She held up her orange juice. “As I’ll ever be!”

As they walked along the docks, Amanda marveled at the number and variety of boats. Everything from kayaks and motorized canoes to a few large yachts and cruise boats sat moored to the docks. There wasn’t an inch of unused space anywhere.

“Is everyone here?” she asked.

“No, we still haven’t heard from two members of the team.”

Amanda could sense frustration in his voice. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

He paused a moment before answering. “I was supposed to speak to our two anthropologists last night and never heard from them.”

“Did you call them?”

He nodded. “No answer. I’m sure everything is fine.”

Amanda decided to change the subject. “I have to tell you I’m so looking forward to meeting Dr. Mills.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. “You know her?”

“Of course. Well, I don’t
know
her… I know of her. She’s a big name in academic circles. One of the biggest—”

“Well, well, look who’s here,” said a male voice ahead.

Amanda looked up. A man with dark hair stood on one of the docks next a large cruise boat. He held a box, and a huge grin was plastered on his face. She recognized him immediately. “Brett!”

The technology specialist leaned over and set the box down next to some others. “Glad to see you made it all safe and sound.”