Page 45 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
“Everything okay?” Linlin asked.
“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his glass. So did she. They toasted carefully.
“Old times,” Murph said.
“Good times.” She offered a winsome smile.
Murph’s heart skipped a beat. They both took a sip.
“So, what’s the story?”
“The Chinese government thinks I’m a traitor, and they’ve put me on a kill list.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ve been working for Zephyron Dynamics for the last five years. I’m a senior project manager for their AGI program.”
“I’ve heard of them. Impressive.”
“Not really. The Germans are lagging badly.”
“I take it your government doesn’t approve of you working there?”
“Just the opposite. The CCP owns a secret share of the corporation. They mask it through a shell company.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The Ministry of State Security has placed several agents in the company, and I’ve been closely scrutinized. I’ve even found bugs in my apartment.”
“With your credentials, I’m surprised the MSS never recruited you directly.”
“They tried, but I resisted until they threatened to pull my passport. So I began feeding them small pieces of worthless information. They finally figured out what I was doing.”
“And they called it counterespionage or something, right?”
“Exactly. I—” Linlin’s eyes widened. She grabbed Murphy’s arm and pointed at the shoreline. “Mark—”
Murphy turned in his seat. The overhead lights beneath the thatched canopy dulled his vision, but he thought he could make out the forms of three men emerging from the surf, running in a low crouch—
Bang!
An ear-crushing explosion and flash of blinding light erupted near the couple at the far table, tossing the two of them aside like rag dolls. A woman’s scream and the frantic shouts of men added to the confusion.
Murph’s ringing ears and blurred eyesight told him a flash-bang had gone off. He could still make out the blazing rifle barrels storming up from the beach.
He snatched up his backpack and grabbed Linlin’s hand and yanked her out of her chair. “Let’s go!”
He dragged her toward the rear of the joint just as the chest of the barkeeper flowered bloody red and he toppled to the floor behind the bar.
“There!” Linlin shouted as she pulled on her pack, pointing at a Yamaha motorcycle parked in the rear.
The two of them dashed for the sporty bike as more bodies hit the floor. Murph prayed the driver had left the keys in the ignition or somewhere nearby as automatic gunfire ripped in the air behind them. He had a pistol in his pack, but even if he could draw it in time he stood no chance against a team of commandos armed with automatic rifles.
Keys!Miraculously still in the ignition.
Murph leaped onto the beast and hit the electric starter as Linlin jumped on the seat behind him. Murph cranked the throttle. The rear tire fishtailed in the sand before it finally got purchase and moments later the two of them rocketed away through the trees, Linlin holding on to Murphy’s rock-hard torso for dear life.
Murph navigated the bike with ease, his body flush with adrenaline and testosterone. The front wheel finally found the frontage road and he maneuvered onto it. He kicked the bike into high gear, the sound of gunfire fading away.
