Chapter 11
Bu Manchu was not pleased. He peered through his high-powered binoculars, his smooth-faced smile replaced with a glowering scowl.
"You're sure they haven't run off for the village?" he grunted, lowering the binoculars and sitting down in the boat.
"We'd have spotted them if they had," reported his second in command bodyguard recently assuming first place now that Sam was lying in the bottom of the boat with a knife wound in his heart. "And there's only one man?"
"Only one man. . ."
"Who happens to sleep with an M-16 under his pillow. .."
Ti Manchu sat in the back of the boat silent as a cat, taking in the conversation with one ear while his brain buzzed with his own escape plans and he said a little prayer over Sam's dead body.
"We'll get 'em, Manchu, don't you worry," encouraged the black belt.
Irritability and nervousness went hand in hand with Bu, and right now he had something to be nervous about: If the blonde haired girl succeeded in eluding him, his empire would crumble and he and Kim would have to go into hiding or flee the country like a couple of shamed ex-patriots. He shrugged his shoulders, chiding himself for his softness. He should have killed the girl right off. Manchu's lip curled in a snarl and glancing down at Sam's bleeding body, he kicked at the corpse.
"Get his body out of here . . . it's making me nervous."