Positive Match - Softcover

Chiu, Tony

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0553575465 ISBN 13: 9780553575460

Verlag: Bantam Books, 1998

Inhaltsangabe

Dr. Nguyen-Anh Dupree and Maggie Sepulveda, an investment banker, are drawn together while running for their lives as they expose the shocking truth behind Caduceus 21, the future of health care with a balance sheet fueled by a hidden trade in human organs. Reprint.

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is the future of health care. Few people know its balance sheet is fueled by a hidden trade in human organs. Only one person suspects where the organs are coming from.<br><br>But Dr. Nguyen-Anh Dupree can't prove his dark suspicions without help. Enter Maggie Sepulveda, a hard-charging investment banker at Marx Dillon & Neil. She is about to land the deal of her career, financing the expansion of Caduceus 21; but the more she learns about her new client, the more her elation turns to fear. Soon Dupree and Maggie are drawn together, running for their lives as they try to expose the shocking truth Caduceus 21 had hoped to keep secret forever--a secret nothing short of global murder....

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Bending aside the microphone of his headset, a man wearing a Lone Star Beer T-shirt, faded jeans, and lug-soled trailboots popped a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.  He hated the wait, especially on nights like this, when the wind blew toward Mexico and he couldn't smoke because it might betray his presence.  It was bad enough just worrying about the Border Patrol.  If those bastards stumbled across him they would demand to know what he was doing out here at this hour in an electric golf cart with a shitload of exotic equipment.  What could he say--that he was a NationalGeographic photographer like the guy Clint Eastwood played a few years ago, the one who chased around Iowa after that broad from the rafting movie?

The man checked his watch again.  It was finally 2230 hours.

Another day, another dollar, he thought, reaching for a cylindrical unit that looked like a radar gun.  He climbed up on the seat of his golf cart, anchored his left elbow in a cleft in therocks, and readjusted his headset into a more comfortable position.  As he powered up the Starlight nightscope and squinted into the eyepiece, his lips tightened into a mirthless smile.

Right on schedule, the first runner was working his way down a ridge toward the river.  The slim, barefooted figure was clad in black and would have been impossible to spot with ordinary binoculars.  But through the scope, the large X on the front of the runner's nylon shell--made with an ink visible only through an infrared lens--shimmered like a pale-green neon sign.

He tilted the scope up a few degrees and locked on a cluster of figures standing atop the ridge.  They were out to bag three runners tonight, the ones who had tested out as the healthiest and strongest.  Confirming that two other shirts were also inked with Xs, he returned his attention to the river.

The first runner was just now wading out of the water and moving up to dry land.  He knelt to kiss the Texas soil, then sat, opened his gym bag, and took out a pair of shoes.  They look brand-new, thought the man; enjoy 'em while you can, my little wetback.

The runner knotted the laces and stood.  He glanced around for a few moments, then started for the northernmost arroyo.

The man in the Lone Star T-shirt swung the headset microphone close to his mouth and keyed the unit.  "Eagle One here," he whispered.  "Our pal's done his usual outstanding job painting the targets."

"Amen," replied Eagle Two.  "Whoever he is, we ought to hire him to prep our next turkey shoot."

Now Eagle Three keyed into the loop: "Looks like the firstcholo's coming your way, Eagle One.  Good hunting."

"I roger that.  Eagle One out."

The man powered down the scope and lowered himself onto the seat of the golf cart.  He had forty-five minutes to kill.  Damn, he could use a cigarette.  Instead, he popped another stick of gum, released the vehicle's brake, and stepped on the accelerator.  The cart glided away with a whine too faint to carry on the wind.


Once past the steep climb at river's edge, Guillermo found the trail less difficult than El Zopilote had described.  The arroyo was indeed strewn with obstacles, but he could easily pick a path with the thin beam of his Mag flashlight.  The young Mexican was sweating heavily.  It was no longer nerves; the nylon jogging suit was simply too heavy for this hot, clammy night.  Yet he didn't mind,because ten minutes earlier his ears had picked up the first faint drone of traffic on Texas State Highway 170.

How far had he come?  Far enough for a drink of water.  He dug out the bottle and treated himself to a long tug.  Then he pulled the directional receiver from his back pocket.  El Zopilote had warned them the devices might not work until they were clear of the arroyos, but Guillermo couldn't resist.  The light-gray screen glowed to life to reveal a pulsing black triangle--just like in the practice sessions back in Nueva Cuenca.

Confidence renewed, Guillermo stowed his gear and resumed his trek.  He allowed his mind to wander to the things he had to do in the days ahead.  As soon as he arrived in Denver, he must find the post office.  El Zopilote had asked to be sent a postcard.  Then there was the letter of thanks to Don Joaquin, accompanied by a bag of sweets or several packs of Marlboros.  Finally, he would write Dr. Dupree of how he had outwitted the liver-eaters.  Or might that offend the norteamericano, who had meant well no matter how scary the stories he told?  Perhaps the note to Dr. Dupree needed more thought.

Up ahead, the arroyo veered off to the left.  Forty minutes earlier Guillermo would have anxiously probed the darkness with the flashlight before proceeding; now he did not even hesitate.

He was ten paces past the bend when he heard a soft click behind him, like a pebble bouncing off a rock.

He snapped off the flashlight and froze.

Guillermo had never been as numb with fear, not even when Luisa's father had caught them together, naked, in the grove beyond the fields.  Be brave, he thought, struggling to control his bladder.  Eight...nine...ten.  If it was an animal, or la migra, surely something would have happened by now.  He permitted himself a shallow breath.

There was the noise again.

Guillermo wanted to flee.  Instead, moving with agonizing slowness to keep his nylon outfit from rustling, he turned and pointed the flashlight in the direction of the sounds.

He mouthed a prayer and flicked on the beam.

A split-second glimpse of a shiny metal pole tucked behind an outcrop of rock and then his eyes were assaulted by a flash of pure white energy that exploded not with the sharp crack of lightning but the soft pop of a soda bottle being uncapped.  The young Mexican staggered backward and caught his left heel in a rut and then he was falling and thudding to the ground with enough force to drive the wind from his lungs.

Though blinded and dazed, Guillermo was dimly aware of a new sound: footsteps crunching ever nearer.  Suddenly a strong arm was encircling his chest from behind and pulling him upward.  A brief whiff of stale tobacco, cologne, and chewing gum but before he could scream his face was smothered by a cloth that carried a stench as vile as the devil's breath.  No matter which way Guillermo twisted there was no escaping the pungent fumes that made him light-headed and sick to his stomach.

The man in the Lone Star T-shirt felt his prey surrender to the chloroform.  He lowered the limp body to the ground and waited for his high to subside before raising one of the runner's lids and beaming a penlight onto the pupil.  It remained dilated.  Out cold, so there was no need to duct-tape the kid's mouth.  Good.  Gags had been discouraged ever since one runner reacted badly to the chloroform and choked to death on his own vomit.

Hoisting the young Mexican into a fireman's carry, he labored up a steep path to the rim of the arroyo, where he had parked the golf cart.

The cart's passenger seat featured several unusual custom accessories: a lap belt with two wrist cuffs and, anchored to the floorboard, a pair of ankle cuffs.  The restraints were made of rip-resistant 400-denier Cordura fabric and fastened by...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Bantam Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 1998
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0553575465
• ISBN 13: 9780553575460
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 560
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar