White Jade (The PROJECT) Read online

  For no reason at all he remembered the time he'd broken the big ceramic bowl his mother brought out for special occasions. It was the one painted with blue herons standing in the reeds, slim and handsome, like her. He'd been what, eight years old? He'd only wanted to fill it with water and sail his toy boat. It had slipped from his small hands and shattered into a thousand pieces on the tiles of the kitchen floor.

  His mother had run into the room. When she'd seen what he had done, she'd begun shrieking and hitting him. She'd hit him again and again while he'd screamed, cursing and beating him with the heavy wooden paddle she used in the big cooking wok until it broke, until a neighbor had run in and pulled her away from him.

  He'd never forgotten the feeling of powerlessness and shame. Well, it was different now. As to his mother, she had already paid for his humiliation. Yang had seen to that.

  Yang opened a cabinet of carved teakwood on his desk. He pushed on a decorative dragon and watched the hidden compartment spring open. He took out a pipe, a lamp and a small ball of sticky opium. He went to the couch, lit the lamp and lay back on one arm. He lit the pipe and drew the blissful smoke deep into his lungs, drifting off into a pleasant dream of a vast, blue plain with endless rows of people kowtowing before him.

  Emperor.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Selena and Nick were in the basement range at the Project.

  "What the hell was that about upstairs?" she said.

  "You heard what I said. You haven't ever done anything like this, jumps or not. You sure as hell haven't jumped at high altitude."

  "You don't think I can handle it."

  He looked at her. "You want the truth? No, I don't. I don't want you to get killed. I think you could probably handle anything you're trained to do. You're not trained for this."

  "I guess you'd better start training, then."

  Carter saw it was a battle he couldn't win. First Harker, now her. Mules had nothing on women when it came to stubborn. Megan had been the same way, when she'd made up her mind about something.

  "All right." He ran two man-sized silhouette targets down range.

  "Let's start with our sidearm. What kinds of pistols are you familiar with?"

  Her voice was neutral. Truce. "A .22 revolver when I was learning. Then I went to a .357 Colt Python. After I got used to the recoil, my instructor gave me a Glock. Either automatic or a revolver, I've shot both."

  He laid two pistols on the table. He took one, ejected the empty magazine and pulled back the slide. "What's your first rule?"

  "Mmm. Make sure it's not loaded. Or is."

  "Right, and make sure it's not pointed somewhere it shouldn't be." He let the slide go forward.

  "This pistol is a little heavy but it helps with the recoil. It was developed for US Special Operations Command, SOCOM. It's a Heckler-Koch like mine, chambered in .45 ACP. A lot of stopping power and made for close quarters, although it has good accuracy up to thirty yards or so with the laser pointer. That's this unit, under the barrel."

  As he slipped into the routine of instructor he began to relax. He showed her how to turn the laser on. He pointed down range, centering the red dot on one of the targets.

  "Where the dot is, that's where the bullet goes. Always aim for a center body shot, none of that stuff you see in the movies. We'll tweak the sights as we go along, so you'll be sure to hit whatever you're shooting at. This is the de-cocker lever. The safety is ambidextrous. You can carry this pistol cocked and locked."

  "Maybe we won't have to shoot anything."

  "Maybe. Show me your stance."

  Selena took up her stance, a good hold, both hands, body crouched and turned to present a minimal target. Someone had taught her well. He made a minor adjustment to her elbow.

  "Good stance. Let's load the magazines."

  They filled four 15 round magazines and put on ear protection and goggles, niceties non-existent in the field.

  "Lock and load." He inserted a magazine and Selena did the same, then they racked the slides.

  "Aim for the center of the body, and fire when you're ready."

  She fired, then again. She squeezed off the rest of the magazine. Carter followed suit. They laid the guns down on the bench and he pulled back the targets. Her target had a neat group of holes in the center.

  They spent another hour with the H-K and he was satisfied. It was a relief. She'd said she could shoot, but he'd heard that from people who couldn't hit an elephant standing next to them.

  "Now we have another toy. You don't have any experience with these."

  He took out another H-K, the MP-5N submachine gun.

  "This is our primary weapon. They only weigh around eight pounds and they've got a lot of firepower. This is an H-K too, developed for the Navy Seals. It has a safety just like the .45, so you can carry it ready to go. Ours will be chambered for .40 Smith, which gives us more bang for the buck than the regular nine millimeter. Thirty round magazine, snaps in here, charge like this." He showed her how.

  "It has a folding retractable stock. You can carry it short or use it as an assault rifle." He pulled the stock out until it locked in place. "Let's try that first, it's easier to get used to."

  They loaded up. He showed her how the selector switch worked and had her shoot in semi-auto, then moved her to full auto fire. She got the knack of getting off a three round burst with ease. Then they tried it without the stock extended. That was harder, but Selena picked up the trick of control.

  He was impressed. She hit what she shot at. He hoped she wouldn't have to do it when someone was shooting back. That wasn't anything like this. When the adrenaline kicked in, all the fancy target shooting went out the window and you missed eight times out of ten. It wasn't the same.

  He showed her how to clear a jam, but she didn't need to know how to field strip her piece. They were only going to be in Tibet for a short time. Ronnie and he would maintain the weapons.

  "We'll also have these," he said, "but you won't be carrying them. Still, I thought you should know how they work." He opened a box of M-67 grenades.

  "This is a fragmentation grenade. We're not going to practice with them here."

  He smiled, but she didn't get the joke. The seriousness of what they were doing was sinking in. Pistols were one thing, machine guns and grenades, another.

  "This is a safety clip. You have to remove that first. It keeps the lever down if the pin is accidentally pulled."

  He mimicked removing the clip.

  "Now the grenade is ready for use, but it's not armed until you pull the pin. It has a kill radius of 50 feet and does a lot of damage beyond that. To throw it, set your feet apart, hold this lever tight with your right hand and put your index finger of the other hand through the loop on the pin."

  He showed her the arming position.

  "Then you pull the pin. As long as the lever is held down it won't go off. You can reinsert the pin if you have to. Hold it next to your gut when you arm."

  He demonstrated. "The way you pull the pin is to pull the grenade away from it, not the other way around. It requires a firm pull. Then you let fly and duck. You've got about 4 seconds before it blows. If you ever have to do this, just make sure it goes a long way away from you."

  "You really expect me to throw grenades?"

  "No. I just think you should know how it's done. Just in case."

  "You have a knife for me, too?" There was something in her voice.

  "Yes, you'll have a knife."

  "Are you going to show me how to cut someone's throat? Or stab them in the kidney or something?"

  "Selena…"

  "Maybe I should have a flame thrower. Do you have a flame thrower for me, Nick?"

  "Selena, what's the matter?"

  "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."

  "How can you not want to talk about nothing?"

  "Are we done, Nick?"

  "Yes, but…"

  Selena turned and walked out. The door to the range slammed
behind her.

  He tried to figure out why she was angry. She'd done fine with the pistol and the MP-5. She'd put fifteen rounds of .45 armor piercing right in the center of a man sized silhouette and never flinched. She'd picked up the tricks of the MP-5 in record time and had cheerfully chopped those silhouettes into confetti, so what was so different about grenades?

  He thought about it. A grenade compromises our humanity. It's a symbol of all the forces that make us turn our backs on what Abe Lincoln called the better angels of our nature. All packed up in a nice, olive green package. Selena hadn't been trained to kill, as he'd been. She hadn't learned to set civilization and conscience aside because self-preservation and accomplishing the mission demanded it.

  You threw a grenade, everything within a fifty foot radius was DOA. A grenade was indiscriminate. It wasn't like a pistol. With a pistol, there was an illusion of control, targeting a specific threat.

  Carter thought about that kid in Afghanistan, who couldn't possibly understand what he was doing. What could be more evil then grenades in the hands of children? How could anyone think God wanted that?

  The afternoon had turned into a black hole. He began stripping the weapons to clean them. Ronnie walked in.

  "What's with Selena?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "She just went by without a word, looking pissed. You have an argument or something?"

  "I wouldn't call it that."

  "How did she do with the weapons?"

  "She did well. If we get into something, I think she'd hit what she was shooting at. She didn't like grenades much."

  "You think she should come along? It could get pretty hairy out there."

  "You don't think she should go?"

  "She's a woman and she's a civilian. She's not combat trained. She could get herself or us killed if we run into opposition."

  "We need her. Without her we might not be able to figure out how to get into that complex. She's been under fire twice and she didn't lose it. Selena can take care of herself."

  "Yeah, but she's never done anything like this. If we have any trouble she could be a real liability."

  "I guess we'll have to make sure that doesn't happen."

  "You going to be able to keep your feelings for her out of this?"

  "Don't go there. You know me better than that."

  Ronnie rolled his eyes at the ceiling, took a breath. They began cleaning the guns in silence.

  After a while, Carter said, "How you coming on the logistics?"

  "All set. I've got us a vehicle and everything we need. We'll transport to Dyess from Andrews, transfer over and be on our way as soon as Harker gives the word."

  "Going to be an interesting trip."

  "Roger that, buddy. I always wanted to see Tibet."

  Carter found Selena upstairs. They walked out to the parking lot and got into her rented car. The ride back to the apartment was silent. One look at her told him he'd better not push it.

  Chapter Thirty

  Back in the apartment she disappeared into the bathroom. Carter heard her running a bath. He poured himself a double Jameson's and sat down. His land line rang.

  "It's Shelley, Nick."

  His sister only called when there was a problem or she wanted something.

  "We need to talk about Mom."

  "How's she doing?"

  "She almost set the place on fire yesterday. I went over there and she'd left the soup on the stove and forgotten about it. The pan was burned through, the kitchen was full of smoke and she was sitting in the living room watching TV. She hadn't a clue."

  "I thought those new drugs were helping."

  "Those drugs are a rip off, that's what I think. Two hundred and fifty bucks a month and you get burned soup. George says it's a crime, you can't even deduct it."

  "The soup or the drugs?"

  "Oh, that's real funny, Nick. You're not the one who has to clean up after her."

  She started in about his general anti-social tendencies and lack of family responsibility. Never mind the money he sent to help out. Never mind the times he'd flown out to be with his mother and see if there was something he could do. Never mind that he cared about his mother more than Shelley did, in spite of her self-righteous indignation. He'd heard it all before.

  He cut her off. "What do you want, Shel?"

  "Want?" She was getting angry, like most of the times they talked. "I want you to get her into a home, someplace where people will look out for her. I can't do this anymore. George says it's time you took a bigger role."

  Her husband, the accountant. Carter thought he was a pompous ass.

  "And what does George think that is?"

  "You should take some time off from that stupid job of yours and come out here and find a place for her."

  Shelley thought Nick was a paper pusher, working for some obscure government department doing meaningless, bureaucratic things she didn't want to understand. He let her believe what she wanted.

  "What does Mom want?"

  "It doesn't matter what she wants. She's not competent to decide what she wants. What she needs is for you to step up to the plate."

  Now she was into sports clichés.

  "I can't come to California right now. How about you and George look for a place?"

  That set her off. Carter held the phone away from his bandaged ear while she shouted. He walked to the counter and poured another drink. He thought about telling her where George could put his ideas.

  While his sister was busy yelling he thought about his mother. She was in the early stages of the disease, not far enough gone to forget she had a house or where she lived. Most of the time, she still knew who she was. She also knew she was losing it. It upset her, a lot. Living in her house was important to her, even if Shelley didn't think so. It wasn't time to move her out, yet.

  "Shut up for a minute, will you?"

  She stopped mid-yell. He heard a deep silence at the other end.

  "She doesn't need to be moved out. Get someone to move in with her, a live in helper."

  "We thought of that. George says it's just putting off the inevitable, why not get it over with? Her house will bring a nice price on the market. It would pay for her care."

  Now he understood the urgency. Good old George, a solution for everything, with a nice, tidy sum to go in his bank account. The whiskey won out over family harmony.

  "You tell George to go fuck himself, Shelley. You get someone to look after her, someone competent, and I'll help out with the cost. But don't even think about putting that place on the market and pushing her out of there. You and that asshole you call your husband try it and I'll make a lot of trouble."

  "You can't talk to me that way!"

  "I just did."

  He slammed the phone down on the counter. He poured another drink. He sat down, thinking about his sister.

  His father had never gone after Shelley when he was drunk. She still defended him. It was one of the reasons they didn't get along.

  He'd calmed down by the time Selena came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a soft, white robe and toweling her hair.

  "Who were you talking to?"

  "My sister. She called about our mother."

  "What did she say? You were shouting."

  "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it right now."

  "See?"

  "See what?"

  "How easy it is to not want to talk about nothing?"

  She tossed the towel, sat down on the couch and began combing out tangles in her hair.

  After a moment she said, "The grenade thing got to me. Nothing's normal anymore. Last week I was giving a guest lecture at UCLA. Now Uncle William is dead, my car is wrecked, someone tried to kill us at least twice and I was drugged and betrayed by one of my best friends. Then you show me how to throw grenades. What the hell's going on, Nick?"

  "You've landed feet first in a big pile of shit. Now you have to deal with it."

  She stopped combing and looked at him
. "You have a way with words."

  "Would it make any difference if I sugar coated it? It's different for me. I was trained to do whatever it takes to accomplish the mission. You haven't had that training. The fact is you're a key player. You've got to go along for the ride and hang on."

  He took a drink. "It helps to know you have options, skills if you need them."

  "Like what?"

  "Like knowing your weapons and knowing you can use them."

  Selena put the comb down in her lap.

  "I didn't mean to jump on you back there at the range. I didn't like the idea I might have to blow someone up."

  "Nobody in their right mind likes the idea."

  He wanted to put his arm around her. He didn't do it. He didn't want to start something she wouldn't let him finish.

  "Yang hasn't had time to get people in there. We'll get in and get out. We're not going unless we know where the formula or the emperor or whatever is hidden. We'll be gone before he knows we're there."

  "You really believe that?"

  "It's the only way to think about it."

  "At the house when those men were shooting at us, I wasn't thinking about it, I was just running for the river." She picked up her comb. "It wasn't until later I realized I could have been shot."

  She ran the comb through her hair. "I heard what you said in Harker's office. I'm afraid I'll screw something up and get someone killed."

  She was going, whether he liked it or not. Now wasn't the time to voice his doubts.

  "You already proved you can act without screwing up."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The car, when the Chinese were chasing us. California. If you'd had a gun then you could have shot back. It helps to know you can shoot back. If you couldn't handle this, you wouldn't be going, language skills or not. Harker knows it. So do I."

  "I asked to go, didn't I?"

  "Don't worry, you'll be fine. Not everybody gets to jump into the Himalayas."

  "You sound like a tour guide."

  He was keeping it light, but he knew it wasn't going to be a mountain vacation, whatever else happened.