Page 122 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
She wasn’t sure what was going on. Chang’s stoic features betrayed no emotion. There was no way the MSS operative could possibly know what she had done—or did he? This detour wasn’t part of the plan. And how could he have known she had left theOregon?
Her heart raced. The longer she sat there, the guiltier she looked. She swallowed hard. She had long ago made her peace with this moment. She knew it could come some day. Why not today?
But she wasn’t doomed yet. She had bluffed her way out of tighter spots than this one.
She flashed a big smile, shoved the door open, grabbed her pack, and stepped outside, slamming the door shut behind her. The Uber’s tires screeched as it rocketed away, filling the air with the acrid stench of burnt rubber.
Her father taught her that courage was better armor than steel, she reminded herself, as Chang’s vicious mouth bent with an oily smile.
65
Unlike his boss, Peng De, Colonel Chang had no patience for truth serums. A chemically altered mind would indeed answer specific questions, but that presupposed the interrogator knew exactly what questions to ask—like a fine needle searching for a thin vein.
In Chang’s experience, abject terror in anticipation of insufferable agony was a far more effective device for getting the whole truth, and actual pain doubly so. Just as the single slice of a surgeon’s scalpel could open up the belly, panic’s razor-sharp blade forced the victim unwittingly to “spill their guts” both literally and figuratively. Unfortunately, he wasn’t authorized to use physical force—at least not yet.
To her credit, Zhang didn’t flinch when he told her a captured Guardian had named her as a co-conspirator. Nor did she balk when he laid out the instruments of torture he would soon be using on her—even if she did cooperate.
Chang peppered her with a dozen questions over and over. Her answers were always slightly different, a possible sign she was telling the truth. Perfectly memorized answers always meant the response was rehearsed. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t get her to admit any guilt. The video camera recorded everything. He would forward the digital files to Peng in Shanghai for an advanced computer analysis, searching for micro movements in her face and eyes for any other indicators she was lying.
He was due for Peng’s conference call soon. There was no point in questioning her further.
“Peng has ordered a traitor’s death for you. How quickly and how painlessly it comes depends on you.”
“I can prove my innocence,” was all she offered, neither panicked nor pleading, knowing full well Chang’s promise of Peng’s tender mercies in exchange for her cooperation was a lie. But she was quick to add, “I know you’re only obeying orders, but I suggest you step very carefully.”
Chang considered her words, but he had heard Nighswonger’s confession with his own ears. He was certain Linlin was a traitor. And yet, she had planted a seed of doubt, or at the very least, caution. Had the Guardian managed to lie even under the influence of Zhenqing-7?
Chang was surprised a highly trained operative like Zhang had been so careless. He was certain the appearance of only a single Uber car would have alerted her that something was amiss, though his technician assured him the ruse would work. GPS spoofing made sure that only Chang’s compromised Uber would appear on Linlin’s Uber app. A connection error attack blocked all other Uber drivers nearby from seeing Zhang’s ride request, and a geofence around the private-jet terminal guaranteed the La Liga Uber driver Chang had hired would be the only car assigned to her.
Of course, what Linlin also didn’t realize was Peng had fitted her covert cyberdeck computer with his own secret tracking device. Nor could she be aware of the confession he had milked out of the redheaded Guardian in Taiwan.
Linlin Zhang’s arms and legs were zip-tied to the chair. Her pouty lower lip had stopped bleeding after Chang had slapped away the arrogant smile from her pretty doll’s face.
Most victims would have offered him a generous bribe by now, and women, the treasures of their pearly flesh. He considered harming the traitor more severely, and taking advantage of her lithe and compliant body. But Chang knew she was the object of Peng’s lust and vengeance, so he would indulge neither.
Chang checked his watch. Twenty minutes until the Peng call. He nodded to his tech in the far corner working on Zhang’s computer.
“Any luck?”
“Not yet.”
?
Linlin Zhang felt the fool. A still, small voice had told her the single Uber car on her ride request was problematic. She should have listened to it. Too late for regrets, and ridiculous to think she would ever get the chance to take advantage of the lesson learned. She took a small satisfaction in the momentary fear she saw in Chang’s eyes when she threatened him though bound to the chair. Men were so weak, the violent ones especially.
Her only concern now was surviving this ordeal without betraying the Guardians or the message she had sent.
All she could see were two options. Lie convincingly about her innocence or lie about the information Peng so desperately wanted.
Neither might work.
She considered confessing her role as a Guardian and accepting her fate. But the sight of the torture instruments Chang had gleefully revealed on the surgical tray had robbed her of her father’s courage. She strained every sinew of her soul to keep from crying out and begging for mercy. Only the sure knowledge that no mercy would come kept her mouth tightly shut.
Linlin also worried that Chang’s tech would crack into her computer, but that was highly unlikely. She had designed the security system herself. Still, there was a chance he would figure it out. There was only one way to prevent that. She considered her options.
Chang’s fear was the key. Or at least a thread she could tug on, however carefully.
“I must relieve myself, comrade,” she said to Chang.
