Lethal Risk. Don Pendleton

she could have possibly known. He was most likely the real target, but the United States was securing his family so the Chinese couldn’t get to them and use them as leverage. “Are you ready to go?”

      She nodded then turned to check her children. “Zhou, put that away. I need you to pay attention to me now.” To Carstairs’s surprise, the girl tucked her game into her backpack and regarded her mother and him steadily.

      “All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” Turning to the portal, Carstairs cracked it open enough to see up and down the block. His car, idling at the curb, was still the only one outside. “I’ll go out first. You give me three steps, then take the children’s hands and follow me. If anything happens, get them inside the car. The driver will take you to the embassy. Understand?” She nodded tightly. “All right, let’s go.”

      Slipping his right hand into his pocket as he opened the door, Carstairs swept his practiced gaze left then right as he strode confidently outside and down the walk. Even while sending a brief, coded text to the embassy telling them he’d made the pickup, every sense was on overwatch, searching their surroundings for the slightest hint of a threat. Carstairs was aware of the woman and her children two steps behind him as they walked toward the idling car. Five steps away, four, three—

      Headlights bloomed down the street as a large sedan with government plates rounded the corner and headed toward them.

      “Keep moving,” he said as he stood at the rear of the car, shielding her and the kids with his body. “Get inside.”

      Mrs. Liao did exactly that, efficiently shuttling her two children into the backseat, then sliding in after them. The sedan pulled to a stop in front of Carstairs’s vehicle, and a man got out of the passenger’s side. He was dressed in a simple black suit with a white shirt and black tie, and screamed government intelligence to the American. Not local police—probably someone from the Ministry of State Security.

      Carstairs casually slipped his hand out of his pocket and held it at his side, fingers loosely curled to conceal what he was holding.

      The man had no doubt spotted the diplomatic plates on the embassy car—and Carstairs knew that if they wanted Liao’s family that badly, the plates wouldn’t mean dick. Even so, he tried feigning innocence; it was possible, although improbable, that these guys had spotted the diplomatic plates and were just out for an evening shakedown.

      “Can I help you?” he asked as the man walked up to him.

      The man didn’t answer for long seconds, his gaze raking the sedan as a tendril of smoke curled up from his crooked butt. Carstairs waited patiently, already aware that the men knew who he was and why he was there. “You are from the US Embassy.” He didn’t even try to make it a question.

      “Yes.”

      “What are you doing in this neighborhood at this hour?”

      Carstairs had had more than enough time to come up with a plausible cover story for this trip—as long as his accuser didn’t know what was really going on. The problem was that in China, even one wrong word could be misconstrued as an insult, or even worse, evidence of something improper or illegal occurring. “I’m helping a friend of mine—Mr. Liao. He asked me to look in on his family while he’s away. We’re going to dinner.” It was about as simple as he could make it, and reasonably plausible. The fact that he was an American might raise an eyebrow or two, but usually the weight of his being with the embassy silenced any questions.

      Not, however, this time.

      The man shook his head curtly. “These three are wanted for questioning by the Ministry of State Security. They will have to come with us.” He turned to the car door even as Carstairs interposed himself between the man and the vehicle.

      “I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to do that, sir. These people are now in a United States Embassy vehicle, and as such, are under the protection of my country.”

      It was a major gamble Carstairs was trying, and he knew it. He’d seen the “diplomatic protection” gambit used in a movie when he was a child, and he knew that US Navy ships were considered sovereign territory, but he wasn’t aware of any official laws rendering a car to be defined as sovereign US territory. However, he was determined to play as many cards as he could before resorting to any kind of violence.

      His words actually stopped the man for a moment and he regarded Carstairs with a quizzical expression. “Do not make this into trouble for yourself and your country. Surrender the three people inside to me and go home.” He pushed back his rumpled coat to reveal a matte-black pistol Carstairs didn’t recognize on his hip.

      The novice diplomat sighed and turned to the car door. “Very well. However, I want your name and identification number, as my superiors—” Instead of reaching for the door, however, he whirled and sprayed the man in the face with his pocket pepper spray canister. The man stumbled away, coughing and clutching his face with both hands, unable to even think about drawing his gun.

      Carstairs yanked open the front passenger door and got in as the driver’s side door of the MSS car opened.

      “Go! Get us out of here!” He turned to the woman and children in the backseat. “Get down and stay down!”

      The driver put his car in Reverse and backed down the street as Carstairs turned back in time to see the MSS driver with his pistol out and aimed at them. He hunched in his seat as the flat cracks of the firing pistol were heard over the racing car engine. The front windshield starred as a bullet hit it, but it didn’t penetrate, ricocheting off into the night.

      Carstairs’s driver backed onto a side street and slammed the car to a stop, then put it into gear and rocketed them forward as he turned toward the highway. Carstairs glanced behind them to see the headlights of the MSS sedan in the distance, gaining rapidly.

      If we can just make the highway, we can probably lose them… But even as the thought materialized, the sedan caught up with them, looming even larger in their rear windshield. Underneath it huddled Mrs. Liao and her children, all staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Carstairs noted that they all had their seat belts on, which was good, since the possibility of an accident was high now.

      The sedan rammed them from behind, making the embassy car shake and lurch forward. The Chinese sedan accelerated, pulling alongside the car on Carstairs’s side. Now, unfortunately, the driver could shoot at them if he wished, but instead he jerked his steering wheel sharply, slamming his car into theirs and making his driver fight for control.

      “Ram him back!” Carstairs ordered. His driver slowed a bit, allowing the MSS car to pull ahead. But just when Carstairs thought the enemy car was going to cut them off, his driver flicked the wheel, sending their car into the other’s rear quarter panel. The expertly executed pit maneuver made the MSS car skid and swerve wildly out of control. It crossed in front of Carstairs’s car, close enough that he could see the driver’s furious face as he struggled to avoid crashing. Then they were past, and his car was accelerating up the entrance ramp to merge with the busy but flowing evening traffic.

      Still breathing hard, Carstairs checked behind them for any signs of pursuit, but no battered black sedan came flying up from an off-ramp after them. He took a deep breath, aware that his pounding heartbeat was starting to slow, and checked on Mrs. Liao and her children. They all seemed to be all right, although the boy had tears running down his face, even though he had never made a sound.

      “It’s all right. We’re taking you back to the US Embassy, where you’ll be safe—” Even as he said that, Edward felt the car swerve suddenly. He turned to find them taking an unfamiliar off-ramp.

      “Where are we going?” he asked.

      “Accident ahead. Taking detour,” his driver answered.

      Carstairs blinked at that answer, even as he pulled out his smartphone. A hand covering it made him look up in surprise.

      “Do not use. Ministry agents track you through it,” the driver said.

      “Oh.