Enemy Arsenal. Don Pendleton
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aboard, when he had tossed and turned on the soft mattress, unused to such comfort, until he had wrapped himself in the topsheet and slept on the floor, which had still been more comfortable than any other bed he’d ever been in. Over the next few days, he had moved to the bed, and his rest had never been so peaceful—except for the damn dreams.
He crossed to the private bathroom, marveling again at how his bare, callused feet sank into the soft, ivory-colored carpet. Sliding open the narrow door, he gazed at the object of his desire—the small, tiled shower stall. When Xiang had first found it, he had stayed under the fresh, clean spray for fifteen minutes, using up almost all of the water on the boat. The other pirates had wanted to beat him for his mistake, but their leader, Lee Ming, had instead made him responsible for maintaining the desalinization system for the yacht as long as they were on board, which he had done scrupulously ever since. Xiang had overheard a conversation between Lee and another pirate, and learned that they might remain onboard for as long as a week, maybe ten days. It wasn’t their normal operating procedure, but was to be followed until the next phase of their plan was to be put into motion. He didn’t mind; this was the best he’d ever had it in all of his twelve years.
At least he thought he was about twelve years old; the truth was, he had no idea of his birthday, or where he had been born, or who his parents were. The pirate life was all he’d ever known, and he did what he had to do to survive among this band of criminals.
In the shower, he had just gotten the water adjusted to his comfort when a heavy fist pounded on the door. “Xiang! Where’s breakfast?” a familiar voice demanded in guttural Cantonese.
“Shit!” The boy turned the water off and grabbed the nearest towel, wiping himself down and leaping for his clothes. Scrambling into them, he reached for the door just as the fist hammered on it again, making the entire frame shake.
“Coming!” He slid the door open to see the leering face of Guong Ho staring down at him, making Xiang’s buttocks clench involuntarily. “I’d better get up there, otherwise the others will be mad at me, too.” He tried to slip by the stocky, muscular man, but was stopped by a thick arm blocking his way.
“Why the rush, Po?” The man’s stubby fingers combed through the boy’s wet hair. “You look so much better cleaned up.”
Xiang ducked under his arm. “You asked where breakfast was. I need to get to the galley to make it.”
The large man hip-checked him into the wall with surprising agility. His thick fingers grabbed Xiang’s neck as he leaned close to the boy. “You’d better get back into that bed if you know what’s good for you—”
“Po? Ho? What’s going on down there? Where’s our meal?” A strong voice carried down the hallway. Guong immediately straightened and shoved Xiang ahead of him.
“I’m rousting this lazybones right now. Get moving, you!” His hand thudded between Xiang’s shoulder blades, staggering the boy and almost sending him to the marble floor. “This isn’t over, little one,” he hissed under his breath as he followed Xiang to the galley entrance.
“Easy, Ho, you don’t want to injure our cook. Let’s go, Po, everyone is hungry and waiting.” Although their leader’s voice was pleasant enough, his face was all hard, lean planes, with a hooked beak of a nose under glittering black eyes. Xiang knew firsthand that his tone was the only soft thing about him. Lee Ming had killed their previous leader a year ago, and since then had mercilessly trained the small band of pirates to take on larger ships and cargo. He was the one who had come up with the decoy idea, which had worked perfectly for several hijackings—at least, until this last time.
Xiang slid past the pirate leader, shoulders tensed in expectation of a blow, but the man let him pass without interference. Once immaculate and gleaming, the kitchen and its appliances were filthy from the rest of the men coming and going at all hours of the day, leaving rotting food scraps and dirty dishes and bowls everywhere in their wake. The fetid smell made him gag, and he opened the small porthole window to get some fresh air in, then turned on the oven fan to try to clear the stench. With a sigh, Xiang realized he’d let things go unattended here for too long. He’d have to clean the whole area from top to bottom, before it could get any worse.
He checked the walk-in refrigerator, which contained supplies for twice the number of people currently on board, and grabbed a dozen and a half eggs, four pounds of peeled shrimp, crisp bean sprouts, fish sauce and everything else he needed for a giant batch of spicy egg foo yung with shrimp, a quick yet filling meal that would satisfy the chorus of growling stomachs outside.
For the next ten minutes, Xiang lost himself in the ritual of cooking, one of the few things he truly enjoyed, having picked it up from the last leader of their group. The soothing cadence of cracking, chopping and whisking was almost able to distract him from the shocked look of wide-eyed pain on the American’s face when the bullet had hit him, the man’s face still haunting his sleep. Soon the savory smell of cooking egg and shrimp filled the galley, overlying the stink of spoiled food. Xiang also heated plenty of water for tea, finding the last of the leaves in a container underneath the small galley table.
When it was finished, Xiang scooped them into two large bowls—the last clean ones he could find, and reheated the last of the scallion pancakes he’d made the previous night, which had somehow escaped the ravenous men’s notice. Piling everything on a large tray, along with bowls, cups and chopsticks, he carefully carried it out to the rear sundeck, where the men had gathered to eat. The tray was so heavy it made his arms shake, but Xiang didn’t complain or stop moving for a moment, knowing that his only option was to make it to the table with his burden intact.
He emerged from the hallway into a bright morning, with a canopy covering the rear area to ward off the already blazing sun. Out here, the smell of the savory breakfast was overpowered by the salt tang of the ocean. Xiang didn’t look around, but kept his eyes on his goal—the table. He was only concerned once, when Guong Ho feinted as if he was going to rise and come after him. His movement was noticed by Lee, who frowned.
“Don’t make the boy drop our breakfast, Ho, otherwise we’ll have to make you cook, and everyone knows what a lousy chef you are!”
The rest of the pirates roared with laughter while Guong hunkered down in his chair, flushed and glowering. Xiang set the platter down, and the men swarmed over the food like starving sharks, scooping out large portions with their bowls and eating with the chopsticks, or just their fingers. After glaring at Xiang with a dark stare that promised revenge for the perceived insult, Guong Ho dug in, as well.
Xiang stood away from the table, waiting for the men to finish. He noticed that almost all of them had raided the closets of the former occupants. Since the clothes were American, they had been modified, with khaki and linen pant legs rolled up, and many sleeves shortened by a knife blade. Only Lee Ming wore clothes that could even be considered appropriate, having modified the captain’s uniform to fit his slender frame. Xiang frowned. The makeshift outfits could fool a passing ship, but anyone coming onboard would see through the poor disguises in an instant. Normally they sold a ship after stripping it of anything valuable in a few days, but since they were staying this time, the danger increased with every day they remained onboard. Xiang knew he couldn’t say anything about it, since Lee would take that as an affront to his leadership. He’d just have to be vigilant about having an escape route open in case they were caught.
The men had just about finished their breakfasts, leaning back and belching in satisfaction, exchanging smiles and jibes about how much each other had eaten. Xiang waited for Lee to finish, knowing the harsh penalty for attempting to clear the table before their leader was done, when one of the men assigned to monitor the radio walked out of the communications room.
“The demon woman has contacted us—she is coming in for a meeting.”
Xiang was secretly pleased at seeing Lee stiffen slightly upon hearing the message. So, there were people even he feared, the boy thought. It was easy to see why, however. A visit from the demon woman was always fraught with peril. The last time, she’d taken Lee aside for a whispered conversation, then he had pointed out Gouhou Cheng and Xiang. She had sternly interrogated