The title of the thriller GIFT FROM CHINA refers to the spread of the coronavirus from Wuhan in China. In early 2018, the Secret Service learned about the SARS-CoV-2 virus. A group of billionaires and a faction of the Freemasons are entering the best business of all time: controlling and circulating vaccines against the coronavirus. Lord Wellington, the financial director of the mighty financial giant of the City of London, wants to keep the situation in his hands. He invites ex-CIA agent Maximilian Umari (the main character), a martial arts master for whom Bushido guides life and all actions.
The murders of scientists in St. Petersburg, London, China, and elsewhere were hidden from the public. There are many collateral victims. Maximilian engages in brutal confrontations “samurai-style” but uses micro drones and war robots with artificial intelligence. With the help of an IT company, CCC, he reveals an even more significant threat from the coronavirus epidemic. The beautiful Chinese agent Romina has information about nanodevices that can be injected into the body with a vaccine. People become zombies.
Clashes with the Proqatars, a faction of the Grand Lodge of Freemasons, end with a showdown and destruction of the big nanodevice factory. The great danger has been removed. In 2019, SARS-CoV-2 claimed the first victims outside of China.
The message of this thriller is that the coronavirus pandemic was an opportunity and a gift for the authorities of all non-democratic countries to strengthen their power by introducing repressive measures and bans on the population.
They assessed me as they approached me. We were similar in stature and movement. My elegant suit, shaved head, and long knife scar on the right side of my face were recognizable signs for them. Danger!
Another guard moved closer and firmly grabbed my right hand.
“Come with us, sir,” he said.
In such moments, thinking or planning is not good because it slows down the action. At the moment of attack, the samurai turns off his thoughts, pulls out his katana in a flash, and cuts.
I curled my left thumb and hit the tall guy in the temple with a roundhouse blow (mawashi zuki). If the fighting stance is correct, it is a death blow because it breaks the thinnest bone on the skull above the ear, and the thumb enters the brain. But I was not in a fighting stance, and my right hand was blocked. I did feel a thin bone snap, but not enough force to be fatal.
The man let go of my right hand, broke in his belt, and slowly fell to the ground like in a slow-motion movie. The second attacker did not use the split second of my action to attack. And then it was too late. I turned on my heel and hit the other attacker above the ear with a circular kick (ushiro mawashi geri). He tried to block, but he wasn’t fast enough. He collapsed unconscious next to his partner. I turned on my heel and slowly walked towards the mansion’s front door.
The loud bang of the pumper echoed through the yard. A third guard exited the cabin holding the routine’s best melee weapon: Mossberg 590 Tactical Pump Action Shotgun 12. He fired towards the sea and loaded the next cartridge (hunting round) into the barrel.
The Mossberg 590 magazine holds five high-powered cartridges. The smooth, unthreaded tube is about half an inch in diameter. The caliber of hunting rifles, including shotguns, is measured differently than all other weapons.
He came slowly to within seven or eight yards of me.
“Raise your hands above your head,” I heard his sharp voice.
Shotgun Mossberg 590 has devastating power. Cartridges with nine lead balls are most often used. Each ball is 0.38 inches in diameter. It’s virtually impossible to miss out on 80 yards. And, with eight yards, that’s not much.
I raised my left hand to distract the boy’s gaze and lowered my right hand to my waist. A shuriken fell from the sleeve onto my palm. Then I raised my right hand.
“Okay, boy,” I said. “They attacked first, and it’s not my fault.”
I wanted to talk to ease the situation, but he didn’t answer. I noticed he hesitated, but he still had the shotgun pointed at me. I didn’t want to risk disappearing in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean or being buried forever in the yellow sand of Europe’s largest beach.
I jerked my hand barely perceptibly, and a small metal star flashed eight yards to the young guard’s face. The speed of a shuriken thrown by a trained hand is over 100 mph. For eight yards, that’s less than five-hundredths of a second. Reactions of an attacker holding a weapon in his hands are significantly longer. He must realize he is under attack and pull the trigger, which takes about two-tenths of a second. It’s much slower.
The guy with the shotgun had no chance. One point of the shuriken went deep into the eye and the other into the cheekbone. He screamed and threw the weapon away. The part of the skull that covers the brain remained undamaged, which meant that the guy would survive.
For hours, I practiced that one move, that skill of the old Japanese ninjas. I can hit a shuriken playing card at ten yards, but I’ve never put it into practice until now.
The front door opened before I reached the mansion. A girl in a short red dress with sneakers on her feet rushed at me. She jumped on me, hugged me, and wrapped her legs around my waist.