The China Dogs by Sam Masters Page B

home.
    Out of their sight. Out of their clutches.
    But only for now.
    21
    Beijing
    T he world’s most famous Boeing 747 roars down the runway at Capital International and rises into the yellow, smoggy sky.
    Only when Air Force One levels out and the pilot’s voice says “Seat belts can be unbuckled” does Don Jackson get a chance to talk openly to President Molton and Vice President Cornwell.
    They gather in the “office,” a working area fashioned from the same woods and leathers as the White House’s Situation Room.
    Molton cuts to the chase. “You said Zhang threatened us?”
    â€œCleverly and indirectly, but yes, sir, that’s what it amounted to.” The whole scene is indelibly etched in Jackson’s memory. “It was just before we left—we were in his hotel suite and he was charming enough to start with. Then he said he wanted to show me some video footage. The lights went down, and up came this reel of guys in the desert. They looked like cons. Anyway, they were running. Next thing you know, you can see why they were on their toes. These dogs, maybe a dozen of them, appear from nowhere and rip them to shreds. It was barbaric.”
    The VP is skeptical. “You sure this was fact not fiction?”
    â€œIt looked real. Footage was virtually unedited and appeared to be military quality—not TV or movie standard. Certainly there was no use of green screen or special effects.”
    The President is eager to hear more. “Go on.”
    â€œWhen the clip finishes, Zhang tells me what I’d been looking at was weaponized animals, a new form of genetic terrorism that China believes is about to be unleashed—no pun intended—on the U.S.”
    Cornwell can’t believe what he’s hearing. “The fucking Chinese are going to turn dogs on us?” He laughs mockingly. “I thought the fuckers had eaten them all.”
    Molton scowls at him.
    â€œ Not the Chinese,” Jackson stresses. “Zhang clearly said a ‘third party’—a terror group—had already introduced genetically modified dogs into the U.S. But hey, China could come to our rescue and prevent people being killed—if China wanted.”
    â€œI see a less than subtle connection,” says Molton. “This is linked to Xian’s crazy demands re debt repayment. He’s basically saying if we don’t give in and pay a slice of taxation to China, they’ll encourage some terrorists to set these weaponized canines on us.” He looks directly at Jackson. “It all sounds ridiculous, but it is what it is. Did he give you any idea how many of these dogs there are and where and when all this is supposed to happen?”
    The NIA director shakes his head. “He said it already was happening. Apparently there was some dog-related death in Miami yesterday. Zhang pointed it out to me—said we should look into it.”
    â€œPha!” Cornwell dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “Little bastard will have seen it on CNN. Don’t attach too much credibility to this horseshit.”
    Molton isn’t so flip. “Anything in it?”
    â€œToo soon to say.” Jackson looks as uncomfortable as he feels. “I could only get a brief outline over the phone. Big dog went mad on a teenage girl over at a beach in Key Biscayne, then a Ranger shot it. Sad but not unheard of. Could be the heat, could be a disease, could be a lot of things.”
    â€œFind out which.” Molton stares out into the clouds. “I hope to Christ this is as crazy as it sounds.”
    22
    Coral Way, Miami
    T he sun-shaped clock on Jude’s kitchen wall strikes 8:00 P.M. almost at the same moment the downstairs’ doorbell rings.
    Zoe is listening to the weather guy on the radio telling her tonight is going to stay way too hot to go out in the black maxi dress she’s just put on. Now that her date has turned up, she has no time to change