The White Vixen Read Online Free PDF Page A

whipping the end of the broom handle around with her body in a 360-degree turn, then thrusting the blunt end of the handle deeply into the guard’s abdomen. The air whooshed out of him with a guttural gasp as he bent over nearly double. Now she brought the broom up with both hands, cracking the wood solidly into his chin and snapping his head back, where it thudded against the cement wall with a crack that sounded like the world’s biggest eggshell being broken open. He slumped to the floor, unconscious, bleeding from the nose and mouth.
    She hadn’t intended to kill him, and indeed he might survive with at least a concussion and perhaps a skull fracture, but he was out. Jo pulled out the sergeant’s sidearm and reached for the guard’s keys, but another movement from down the hall caught her eye and she brought the gun up quickly.
    It was the corporal from the front desk, drawn by the commotion. “What is this?”
    “Don’t move,” she said. The pistol was pointed directly at his face, and even ten feet away the business end of the weapon must’ve looked very large to him. “Cooperate and you live. Make one sound and you die.”
    Panting, the soldier nodded a yes. “Over here,” Jo said, motioning with the pistol. The corporal obediently stood next to the downed guard. Jo had already taken the rifle; the guard had no sidearm. She tossed the key ring to the private. “Open the cellblock door,” she said. Stepping back, she gestured again with the gun just to add a little incentive. “No, the one on the other end,” she said as the corporal fumbled with the keys. “Be quick about it.”
    The soldier found the right key and unlocked the door. “You first,” Jo said. Keeping t he pistol trained on him, she tucked the rifle under her other arm and picked up the bucket.
    The Chinese prisoners looked at them wide-eyed as they entered the cellblock. A stern look from Jo convinced them to keep quiet, but she knew they’d have to be bound and gagged before they left. That would take up more valuable time, but it couldn’t be helped.
    They reached the end of the block. Jamison was ready, standing near the door. “Good show,” he said in English.
    Jo tossed him the sergeant’s keys and told him which one to use. Reaching through the bars, Jamison struggled a bit but managed to unlock his cell door. “There’s a uniform in the bucket,” she said in English. “Probably a bit small but it’ll have to do.”
    Twenty agonizingly long seconds later, Jamison was pulling down Lu’s coat, barely reaching his waist. The shoes were way too small. “I’d prefer not to go barefoot,” he said. He looked at the corporal. “You have some big dogs, there, son,” he said in Chinese. “Off with them.”
    Sitting on the floor of Jamison’s cell, the private pulled off his shoes and handed them over. “Stockings, too.” The plain gray socks went on easily, but Jamison had a hard time fitting the shoes. “I can put up with a little foot discomfort,” he said finally.
    “We don’t have much time,” Jo said in English. “I saw a helicopter coming in with some officers.”
    “Probably from their Central Investigative Department,” Jamison said. That was one possibility, Jo Ann knew, but they might also be from the PLA’s Second Department, which handled military intelligence. Jamison took the sergeant’s sidearm from Jo and put it in the holster. “Or perhaps from the Central Security Regiment,” he added.
    “The 8341 Unit?” Jo asked. She’d been told that particularly notorious branch, which had served as Mao Tse-tung’s personal security service and thus as China’s secret police, had been disbanded following Mao’s death five years ago.
    “Still around, yes,” Jamison said, hefting the guard’s rifle. “Nasty blokes. Let’s get moving.”
    “We have to secure the prisoners,” she said.
    “Right. I’ll take care of this fellow.” The MI-6 agent began stripping his prisoner’s tunic apart. Jo