Читать книгу The Big Burn - Terry Watkins - Страница 8

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Jason Quick pulled the laptop from the bloody hand of the dead Malaysian, then rifled through the man’s pockets until he found the keys. They were in the right-hand pocket of his jacket. The key ring held the JumpDrive memory stick Jason was hoping for. A backup for the laptop. He quickly yanked it off the ring and started down the alley where a car waited.

The nervous-looking Malaysian standing beside the car yelled at him in Malay, urging him to hurry. Another man, sitting behind the wheel, also insisted that he hurry.

Jason was about ten yards away from the car when he heard shouts behind him. He turned just as a man came after him, firing his weapon.

Jason felt the searing pain of the bullet as it went through the inside of his left thigh.

He spun, dropped to one knee and fired three rounds.

His pursuer went down—only to be replaced at the mouth of the alley by two more men trying to stop him.

More gunfire erupted.

The Malaysian waiting for him at the car returned the gunfire, while Jason rose and limped toward him. Bullets screamed both ways, pieces of stucco flew from the walls, men yelled obscenities in Manglish, the Malay’s version of English, and a perfect description of the mangled combination.

The passenger car door opened and Jason dived inside.

His Malaysian partner, now hunkered down on the ground beside the passenger door, was hit twice. As Jason tried to get him inside, the car lurched forward and the man slipped from his grip.

He had no choice but to leave him.

“Get the hell out of here! Go! Go! Move it!” Jason yelled while turning to look behind them as their car blasted out of the alley and then swerved through the clogged streets of Kuala Lumpur. He could see the great towers behind him, tallest buildings in the world. And he could see a black car, a Mercedes, battling traffic to catch up.

He had to get to the dock. The speedboat was waiting. There was no chance of making contact now, of delivering the laptop to the right people. He’d have to get to the island and wait there until someone could manage to extract him.

Every terrorist in Jemaah Islamiyah would be after him. And every pirate looking to cash in. And the vast, well-organized crime syndicates working the Strait of Malacca, with its seventeen thousand islands in the waters of this, the most important oil and goods shipping route on earth, would be looking for him.

He held the coveted laptop against his chest with the protectiveness of a man who thought he was holding the living heart of Western civilization.

“We need to find my daughter,” Jason said as the driver swerved to avoid crashing into an oncoming car, then straightened out and raced down the street.