What readers are saying about China Gate - Amazon Simple Storage ...
What readers are saying about China Gate
Gripping. Engaging. A political and espionage thriller. Fast-moving. Crisp writing. A high-stakes thriller. Interesting characters. Galt knows his subject. Intriguing. I learned a lot. A moving story. The characters stick with you. Very enjoyable!
Also by Fritz Galt Mick Pierce Spy Thrillers Double Cross Thunder in Formosa The Geneva Seduction Fatal Sting International Thrillers The Trap China Gate The Accidental Assassin Comoros Moon (short stories) Brad West Spy Thrillers Destiny of the Dragon Mind Control The Shangri-la Code International Mysteries The Maltese Cross The Canton Connection Chasing the Tiger Other Novels Summerville The Lost Cutlass
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China Gate An International Thriller Copyright © 2010 by Fritz Galt All rights reserved. Published by Lulu.com ISBN 978-0-557-15497-5 Sigma Books is an imprint of Sigma-Books.com
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Chapter 1 Carolyn Flowers knew that giving birth to her third child would be fraught with danger. But, what could she do about it? Isolated in a remote Chinese prison with her two young children, she had no maternity or neonatal options. She would have to rely on the prison’s well-meaning but doddering doctor in a medical examination room that had no heat, heart monitoring equipment or anesthetic, not to mention an incubator. She felt her first labor pains shortly after dawn on a frigid winter day when the prison’s cinderblock walls were unable to keep out the blunt cold of a north wind. She interrupted Jane and Sammy’s entertainment for the day, folding and refolding a page from a Chinese newspaper, and sat them down on the cell’s lone bed for a lecture. They would have to remain in the cell by themselves, but Mommy would be right down the hall. If they heard her being loud, they would just have to cover their ears until she came back. When she came back, she would bring them a new baby. She searched their puzzled eyes. “Do you understand?” They nodded. “And where do you put your hands?” “Over our ears,” Sammy, at five the younger of the two siblings, responded and demonstrated for her. “That’s right.” She turned to her seven-year-old daughter. “And what will I bring back?” “A baby sister,” Jane said. “No, a brother.” She let the argument proceed until it ran its course. She had no choice as the pains were coming more frequently and lasted longer. Jane finally terminated the quarrel by turning to her with a seemingly unrelated question. “Does Daddy know if it’s a boy or girl?” Carolyn thought back to her sudden forced separation from 4
Raymond O. Flowers at the Beijing International Airport that fateful day the previous spring. She shook her head. “No, Daddy probably doesn’t even know that we’re having a baby.” “But Daddy knows that we’re here, doesn’t he?” Sammy said, in need of reassurance. What could she tell her children? For all their father knew, they had died of SARS as had thousands of others that spring in Beijing. “And Daddy will come and save us, won’t he?” Jane asked. Another painful contraction gripped Carolyn’s lower abdomen. The baby was definitely knocking at the door. Through a grimace, she made a promise she was sure she would come to regret. “Of course Daddy will come to get us.” It gave them all a small measure of comfort as she fell to her knees on the cement floor and shook the metal cage. “Doctor! Doctor!” she screamed repeatedly. Raymond O. Flowers sat bolt upright in a large, soft bed. Then instantly regretted the sudden movement. He clutched his head that swam and throbbed from too much alcohol the night before. But his instincts were alert. What had woken him up? He wiped the night’s sleep from his eyes. Early dawn crept under his hotel curtains. The central air conditioning hummed as loudly as the buzz in his head. Then he remembered where he was. He was staying at a resort on China’s tropical Hainan Island, the plump mango that hung from China’s southern shore. Hainan was a playground for wealthy Chinese, Russians and expatriates, a large island with all the curiosities of ethnic minorities and mountain villages combined with brand-name hotels, SCUBA diving and pristine beaches. The northern rim of the island was all industry and the mountains of the interior were forbidding, so like most foreigners, Raymond had landed on the sunny southern coast. He felt across the bed sheets and found no one there. Little by little, he reconstructed the events of the previous night. The resort had thrown an elaborate bash in celebration of the upcoming Academy Awards. The party had consisted of free champagne, balloons, fireworks, an emcee and a very loud band. He had met up with the gorgeous, leggy Sandi DiMartino on a balcony overlooking the freeform pool. Her sleek, bare arms had grazed his sleeve as she leaned over the railing, sighed, and surveyed the milling crowd in the distance. They had run into each other with increasing frequency over the course of the week, and their casual 5
acquaintance had developed into a cozy intimacy. He moved his feet to explore the far reaches of the king-sized bed. The covers were still tightly tucked in. He had not slept with her, although it was a strong possibility, given their attraction and all the booze downed the night before. So, if nobody else was in the bed, what had disrupted his sleep? He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to stop the room from spinning. Another of his nightmares could have awoken him. In previous dreams, Secret Service agents from the White House had tracked him down. They had fired at him with pistols. His country had branded him a traitor. But why should they hound him? It was the President who had profited, not him. Even the press knew that the money had gone into the President’s personal account. So Raymond had transferred the money. His oil company had made him send the Chinese bribe to the Caymans, or his family would face the rest of the year in SARSridden China. Still, the public wouldn’t hear it from Raymond, not as long as the entire Administration pinned the Chinagate scandal on him. He opened his eyes and took a brief accounting of his condition. His head felt as if a dull mallet was pounding on his skull, but he had not woken up in a sweat. He seldom did anymore. He had grown used to such nerve-wracking dreams. He knew how to recognize and dismiss them. A revolving cast of bad guys took turns chasing him— some were from the White House, others from a Congressional subcommittee, the corporate security office of his former employer, and from China’s feared Public Security Bureau. In the end, though, he would outrun them all with his in-shape, middle-aged body, or elude them using his familiarity with the Chinese street. Something more immediate and real had caused him to jump up in bed. Then he made out a bright speck on the carpet by the hotel door. He reached for his glasses and drew the wire arms over his ears. He tried to focus on the object, but winced at the effort. He pulled his covers off and stood up to investigate. That turned out to be a mistake. He reached for the desk to steady himself. Easy does it. He didn’t want to toss his fortune cookies. Step by step, he lurched stiffly toward the note. What kind of champagne did that to a guy? At last, he stood over the paper that shone in the morning light. It was a torn fragment of stationery. He didn’t recognize it, so it hadn’t 6
fallen out of his pocket. Someone must have shoved it under the hotel door. Careful not to bend over, he crouched down and picked it up. Rising, he flipped on the overhead light and squinted to read the words. It read: “Your family lives.” What? He closed his eyes in the brilliant light. Then he slowly reopened them. He read the note aloud to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. “Your family lives,” he said, his throat dry and his voice thick. How could the message be meant for him? His family had died over eight months earlier in a SARS ward in Beijing. Who else might the message be meant for? Summoning up his strength, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. It was empty, too early even for housekeeping to be making their rounds. He looked down at his rumpled boxer shorts and tank top and then at the note in his hand. In the dim light of the hallway, the note still read the same, but this time it seemed to be speaking directly to him. In a strong, masculine handwriting it said, “Your family lives, you dummy.” Suddenly, the clouds parted and he knew without a doubt that the note was meant for him. He knew exactly what he had to do. He hustled back into his room and bolted the door. Then, without bothering to shave or shower, he pulled on the first travel clothes he could find. He had to check out of the hotel, leave Hainan Island and head back north in search of his family. He grabbed the desk phone and rang the front desk. “I need a bellboy right away,” he slurred. “I’m checking out.” He dumped his neatly hung wardrobe into his twin suitcases and threw his travel kit, trash novels and travel brochures into his carryon bag. The doorbell rang. It was the bellboy. His clothes still askew, Raymond opened the door and slid out the travel bags. “I’ll be right down,” he told the obliging bellhop. “And I’ll need a taxi to the airport.” He closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing hard. He needed a moment to catch his breath, to quiet the kettledrums banging in his head, stop the churning in his stomach, and collect his thoughts. Normally a meticulous man, he wasn’t used to rushing into decisions, packing hastily and heading off without a plan. 7
He found himself clutching the scrap of paper tightly. He smoothed it out and studied the three words that had suddenly brought his family back to life. It was incredible! Was it true? End of Excerpt
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About the Author
Fritz Galt is an American novelist who has lived in the diplomatic community for over twenty years. He has lived abroad in Cuba, Switzerland, Yugoslavia, Taiwan, India, China, Belgium and Mongolia. He lives with his family in Asia. His bestsellers include Double Cross, The Trap and The Canton Connection. For an indepth look at Galt’s work, visit sigma-books.com.
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Gripping. Engaging. A political and espionage thriller. Fast-moving. Crisp writing. A high-stakes thriller. Interesting characters. Galt knows his subject. Intriguing. I learned a lot. A moving story. The characters stick with you. Very enjoyable!
Also by Fritz Galt Mick Pierce Spy Thrillers Double Cross Thunder in Formosa The Geneva Seduction Fatal Sting International Thrillers The Trap China Gate The Accidental Assassin Comoros Moon (short stories) Brad West Spy Thrillers Destiny of the Dragon Mind Control The Shangri-la Code International Mysteries The Maltese Cross The Canton Connection Chasing the Tiger Other Novels Summerville The Lost Cutlass
2
China Gate An International Thriller Copyright © 2010 by Fritz Galt All rights reserved. Published by Lulu.com ISBN 978-0-557-15497-5 Sigma Books is an imprint of Sigma-Books.com
.
3
Chapter 1 Carolyn Flowers knew that giving birth to her third child would be fraught with danger. But, what could she do about it? Isolated in a remote Chinese prison with her two young children, she had no maternity or neonatal options. She would have to rely on the prison’s well-meaning but doddering doctor in a medical examination room that had no heat, heart monitoring equipment or anesthetic, not to mention an incubator. She felt her first labor pains shortly after dawn on a frigid winter day when the prison’s cinderblock walls were unable to keep out the blunt cold of a north wind. She interrupted Jane and Sammy’s entertainment for the day, folding and refolding a page from a Chinese newspaper, and sat them down on the cell’s lone bed for a lecture. They would have to remain in the cell by themselves, but Mommy would be right down the hall. If they heard her being loud, they would just have to cover their ears until she came back. When she came back, she would bring them a new baby. She searched their puzzled eyes. “Do you understand?” They nodded. “And where do you put your hands?” “Over our ears,” Sammy, at five the younger of the two siblings, responded and demonstrated for her. “That’s right.” She turned to her seven-year-old daughter. “And what will I bring back?” “A baby sister,” Jane said. “No, a brother.” She let the argument proceed until it ran its course. She had no choice as the pains were coming more frequently and lasted longer. Jane finally terminated the quarrel by turning to her with a seemingly unrelated question. “Does Daddy know if it’s a boy or girl?” Carolyn thought back to her sudden forced separation from 4
Raymond O. Flowers at the Beijing International Airport that fateful day the previous spring. She shook her head. “No, Daddy probably doesn’t even know that we’re having a baby.” “But Daddy knows that we’re here, doesn’t he?” Sammy said, in need of reassurance. What could she tell her children? For all their father knew, they had died of SARS as had thousands of others that spring in Beijing. “And Daddy will come and save us, won’t he?” Jane asked. Another painful contraction gripped Carolyn’s lower abdomen. The baby was definitely knocking at the door. Through a grimace, she made a promise she was sure she would come to regret. “Of course Daddy will come to get us.” It gave them all a small measure of comfort as she fell to her knees on the cement floor and shook the metal cage. “Doctor! Doctor!” she screamed repeatedly. Raymond O. Flowers sat bolt upright in a large, soft bed. Then instantly regretted the sudden movement. He clutched his head that swam and throbbed from too much alcohol the night before. But his instincts were alert. What had woken him up? He wiped the night’s sleep from his eyes. Early dawn crept under his hotel curtains. The central air conditioning hummed as loudly as the buzz in his head. Then he remembered where he was. He was staying at a resort on China’s tropical Hainan Island, the plump mango that hung from China’s southern shore. Hainan was a playground for wealthy Chinese, Russians and expatriates, a large island with all the curiosities of ethnic minorities and mountain villages combined with brand-name hotels, SCUBA diving and pristine beaches. The northern rim of the island was all industry and the mountains of the interior were forbidding, so like most foreigners, Raymond had landed on the sunny southern coast. He felt across the bed sheets and found no one there. Little by little, he reconstructed the events of the previous night. The resort had thrown an elaborate bash in celebration of the upcoming Academy Awards. The party had consisted of free champagne, balloons, fireworks, an emcee and a very loud band. He had met up with the gorgeous, leggy Sandi DiMartino on a balcony overlooking the freeform pool. Her sleek, bare arms had grazed his sleeve as she leaned over the railing, sighed, and surveyed the milling crowd in the distance. They had run into each other with increasing frequency over the course of the week, and their casual 5
acquaintance had developed into a cozy intimacy. He moved his feet to explore the far reaches of the king-sized bed. The covers were still tightly tucked in. He had not slept with her, although it was a strong possibility, given their attraction and all the booze downed the night before. So, if nobody else was in the bed, what had disrupted his sleep? He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to stop the room from spinning. Another of his nightmares could have awoken him. In previous dreams, Secret Service agents from the White House had tracked him down. They had fired at him with pistols. His country had branded him a traitor. But why should they hound him? It was the President who had profited, not him. Even the press knew that the money had gone into the President’s personal account. So Raymond had transferred the money. His oil company had made him send the Chinese bribe to the Caymans, or his family would face the rest of the year in SARSridden China. Still, the public wouldn’t hear it from Raymond, not as long as the entire Administration pinned the Chinagate scandal on him. He opened his eyes and took a brief accounting of his condition. His head felt as if a dull mallet was pounding on his skull, but he had not woken up in a sweat. He seldom did anymore. He had grown used to such nerve-wracking dreams. He knew how to recognize and dismiss them. A revolving cast of bad guys took turns chasing him— some were from the White House, others from a Congressional subcommittee, the corporate security office of his former employer, and from China’s feared Public Security Bureau. In the end, though, he would outrun them all with his in-shape, middle-aged body, or elude them using his familiarity with the Chinese street. Something more immediate and real had caused him to jump up in bed. Then he made out a bright speck on the carpet by the hotel door. He reached for his glasses and drew the wire arms over his ears. He tried to focus on the object, but winced at the effort. He pulled his covers off and stood up to investigate. That turned out to be a mistake. He reached for the desk to steady himself. Easy does it. He didn’t want to toss his fortune cookies. Step by step, he lurched stiffly toward the note. What kind of champagne did that to a guy? At last, he stood over the paper that shone in the morning light. It was a torn fragment of stationery. He didn’t recognize it, so it hadn’t 6
fallen out of his pocket. Someone must have shoved it under the hotel door. Careful not to bend over, he crouched down and picked it up. Rising, he flipped on the overhead light and squinted to read the words. It read: “Your family lives.” What? He closed his eyes in the brilliant light. Then he slowly reopened them. He read the note aloud to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. “Your family lives,” he said, his throat dry and his voice thick. How could the message be meant for him? His family had died over eight months earlier in a SARS ward in Beijing. Who else might the message be meant for? Summoning up his strength, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. It was empty, too early even for housekeeping to be making their rounds. He looked down at his rumpled boxer shorts and tank top and then at the note in his hand. In the dim light of the hallway, the note still read the same, but this time it seemed to be speaking directly to him. In a strong, masculine handwriting it said, “Your family lives, you dummy.” Suddenly, the clouds parted and he knew without a doubt that the note was meant for him. He knew exactly what he had to do. He hustled back into his room and bolted the door. Then, without bothering to shave or shower, he pulled on the first travel clothes he could find. He had to check out of the hotel, leave Hainan Island and head back north in search of his family. He grabbed the desk phone and rang the front desk. “I need a bellboy right away,” he slurred. “I’m checking out.” He dumped his neatly hung wardrobe into his twin suitcases and threw his travel kit, trash novels and travel brochures into his carryon bag. The doorbell rang. It was the bellboy. His clothes still askew, Raymond opened the door and slid out the travel bags. “I’ll be right down,” he told the obliging bellhop. “And I’ll need a taxi to the airport.” He closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing hard. He needed a moment to catch his breath, to quiet the kettledrums banging in his head, stop the churning in his stomach, and collect his thoughts. Normally a meticulous man, he wasn’t used to rushing into decisions, packing hastily and heading off without a plan. 7
He found himself clutching the scrap of paper tightly. He smoothed it out and studied the three words that had suddenly brought his family back to life. It was incredible! Was it true? End of Excerpt
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About the Author
Fritz Galt is an American novelist who has lived in the diplomatic community for over twenty years. He has lived abroad in Cuba, Switzerland, Yugoslavia, Taiwan, India, China, Belgium and Mongolia. He lives with his family in Asia. His bestsellers include Double Cross, The Trap and The Canton Connection. For an indepth look at Galt’s work, visit sigma-books.com.
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