Dark Zone by Stephen Coonts

shed him and finally managed to get him off him and to the ground. But as he staggered back a fourth thug emerged from around the corner.
    “Tommy, where are you?” said Dean out loud.
    “Just hold it,” said the man. He took a step forward—then flew to the sidewalk as Karr answered Dean’s question in person. One of the men who’d been on the ground threw himself at Karr and was sent flying into the wall headfirst. As another started to get up, Karr grabbed the back of his shirt and threw him clear across to the other curb.
    There were sirens in the distance, and blue lights were flashing up the street.
    “Police!” yelled one of the men on the ground.
    “You have nerve yelling for the police,” said Dean.
    “No, Charlie, they are the police,” said Karr, holding up an ID that had fallen in the fight.

13

    By the time the aircraft landed, Lia felt more like herself. Not well, not normal, but more the person she was.
    That person had been worked over fairly hard. Her head pounded and her arms and legs were so sore they felt as if they’d been put in a compactor and compressed. Her right cheek and eye felt swollen.
    The two men in the airplane said nothing as the aircraft turned and came to a stop. One of them opened the door to the cabin and went down. The other looked at her expectantly. Lia steeled herself, taking a long breath before rising. She reminded herself that she must speak Putonghua; she reminded herself that she worked for a newspaper owned by a rich businessman and a military official; she reminded herself that she was Lia DeFrancesca and she would get through this.
    It was dark outside, and if there was a building nearby it was unlit. Lia’s feet were bare, and the steel treads felt cold on her feet. The muscles in her legs began to cramp. Lia forced herself down onto the blacktop. She took a step and remembered her bag of clothes.
    She needed the clothes—the belt that would activate her com system was in it.
    I should have put the belt on.
    I’m losing it.
    Lia turned and started back up the steps. The attendant appeared in the lit doorway; he had her bag in his hand. She walked up and took it. As she did, the look on his face told her something was wrong.
    Run!
    There was nowhere to go. When Lia turned back around she found the other attendant waiting at the bottom of the steps.
    “This way, miss,” he said in English.
    She stared at him, confused—honestly confused at first, then realizing that she should play it that way.
    “This way,” he repeated, still using English.
    Lia bowed her head slightly, then in Chinese told him that she begged his pardon, but she could not understand.
    He said nothing for a moment, then pointed to the left.
    I am Chinese, she reminded herself.
    What would she do if, not having been adopted, she’d been born in China and grown up there? What would she say? How would she act?
    “Excuse me,” she said, still using Chinese, “but where am I going?”
    The man pointed and started to speak, telling her in Russian that she was to walk around the aircraft as he asked.
    Russian?
    You’re in Russia. Of course. Russia. Just over the border probably.
    Safe?
    Lia walked in the direction the man pointed. There was a car there, its motor running. Two tall men in uniforms flanked the doors, snapping to attention as she approached. The car door was already open, but the interior light was not on. After she got in, the two men did so as well, one climbing in next to her.
    Lia felt her pulse thumping in her neck. The man told the driver something. She thought he was speaking Russian—she knew he was speaking Russian—but she couldn’t decipher the words.
    I speak Russian, she reminded herself. She’d begun studying Russian as a sophomore in high school, but for some reason the meaning of the words wouldn’t come.
    Sand and grit covered the carpet on the floor. The throb in her skull increased. She wanted to do something to relieve it, but she was paralyzed.
    She