Authors: J. Robert Kennedy
“Inspector,
you know I’m innocent. I don’t deserve to die for trying to do the right thing.”
Li
looked at the professor, then slowly nodded.
He’s
right. He doesn’t deserve to die. And I’m a coward if I let it happen without
at least speaking up.
Li
sucked in a breath and stood slightly taller, a decision made.
“I was
serious when I said you won’t get out of here. At least not that way,” he said,
jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the door they had all come through. “If
you release me, I’ll show you how to get out of here.”
Mr.
Brown waved off the other two men, dressed exactly like PLA soldiers, and he
found himself once again a free man.
“Follow
me,” he said, stepping forward and past Mr. Brown and the professor. He broke
out into a jog toward the end of the corridor, then turned right, continuing
toward the far end. In less than a minute they were at an outer door, sealed,
but unguarded.
“This is
a special transfer area for dangerous or, shall we say, secret, offenders. It
is never guarded as it is rarely used. Through here, you will be at the rear of
the building. Fifty meters straight, and you are in the parking lot, where I’m
sure you can find a vehicle. But you must hurry, the security computers will
finish rebooting at any moment and the cameras will become active.”
Li
removed the pass that was clipped to his shirt, then slid it through the card
reader. It beeped, displaying a green light, and the door lock clicked. He
pulled the door open and urged them through. The two men who had guarded him
went through first, then the professor extended his hand.
“Thank
you, Inspector.”
Li shook
Acton’s hand as Mr. Brown approached.
“Tell
them you saw several suspicious looking people, came to investigate, we forced
you at gunpoint here, stole your pass, and knocked you out. That way you should
be okay.”
“But—”
started Li, about to ask about the knocking out part, when Mr. Brown’s hand
raised above his head, then came down hard, the pistol grip impacting his
skull, immediately sending him to the ground in a rapidly darkening world.
Sleeping Quarters, Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China
Laura’s head whipped to the left and it took a moment to comprehend
what she was seeing. Dawson, thought to be out cold, was anything but. He was
already on his feet, and had the closest guard in a choke hold with his left
arm, his right hand reaching for the man’s weapon.
And
Laura reacted.
She pushed
from her cot, sweeping her right leg along the floor, kicking out the legs from
under the second guard. As he fell to the ground, she heard a shot ring out,
and the third man jerked backward, toward the door as another shot rang out,
her own man jerking from the impact. She looked up and saw the liberated
handgun pressed against the only surviving guard’s temple.
“How do
we get out of here?” demanded Dawson.
The
guard was terrified, and kept looking at his dead comrades. Laura meanwhile
took the opportunity to strip the two dead men of their weapons, sticking a
semi-automatic pistol in her belt, and slinging a Type 80 machine pistol over
her shoulder, pocketing several clips. She tossed the other handgun to the cop,
who still seemed in shock, then turned to the Ambassador, holding up the other Type
80.
“Do you
know how to use this?”
“Three
tours in ’Nam.”
Laura
smiled and tossed him the weapon and threw a few clips on the cot beside him.
She grabbed the man who had brought the box of supplies and pulled his body
inside, it blocking the door open. Taking up position at the door, she closed
it over, leaving a slight gap she could look through.
“One
target, twenty feet, coming this way, cautiously. He’s got his weapon out.”
“Ask him
how we get out of here.”
Laura
glanced over her shoulder and saw Dawson push the prisoner toward Ping, the gun
still pressed against the man’s head, and the Ambassador going through the
supplies that had just been delivered.
He looked
up at her. “Don’t mind me, Professor,” he said as he filled his pockets with
the military rations. “We don’t know when we’ll get a chance at supplies
again.”
“Good
thinking,” she said. She motioned with her chin at the cot. “Take a pillow
cover, get some of the water and the med kit.”
“Better
thinking,” said the Ambassador with a smile as he quickly complied.
“Five
feet,” she announced.
“Take
him out,” said Dawson.
“Taking
him out,” announced Laura, squeezing the trigger. There was a loud crack, and
the man dropped. There was shouting, but not as much as she had expected.
It’s
as if there’s hardly anybody here.
Ping
asked something in Chinese, and the man quickly blurted out a reply.
“End of
the hallway, there’s a door, it leads outside,” translated Ping.
“Where
to then?” asked Dawson. Another exchange in Chinese.
“He
doesn’t know where we are, we’re apparently in a mobile HQ.”
Dawson
coldcocked the man and he dropped in a heap. He stripped him of weapons as Laura
threw the door open and exited, covering their escape. Dawson took point, the Ambassador
and Ping following. Laura quickly backed her way toward the end of the hall as
she heard several single shots ring out, each followed either by a cry or merely
the thump of a body hitting the floor.
She
walked by a room and felt her heart slam into her chest as the door suddenly
jerked open. A man in his sixties, the uniform crisp, the insignia marking him
as somebody high ranking, gaped at her, then jumped aside as she aimed at him
and fired. She missed, his reaction time too quick, and the door was kicked
closed from the inside, but not before she caught a glimpse of a Qing Dynasty
flag mounted on the rear wall.
Odd.
She
heard a door open behind her, and an engine roar to life. The entire building
jerked, and it took a moment to connect what was happening with what had been
said earlier.
Mobile
HQ.
“We’re
in a truck!” she exclaimed.
“Let’s
go!” yelled Dawson. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him push Ping out the
door, then the Ambassador, as the view from outside began to move. He grabbed
her by the back of the shirt and she spun around, jumping out the back and
rolling as she hit the ground, immediately regaining her balance and aiming her
weapon directly in front of her as she surveyed their surroundings.
Ping
spoke up.
“I
recognize this area, follow me.”
Shouts
began to fill the alley they appeared to be in as they all followed Ping at a
sprint. Gunfire erupted behind them, and the pounding of booted feet sent her
pulse racing.
Somebody
cried out in front of her, and she saw the Ambassador stumble. She rushed
forward and ducked down, pulling his arm over her shoulder as she took some of
the weight off of what was an apparently wounded leg.
“Let’s
keep moving, Ambassador,” she said as she helped him around the corner and out
of their pursuers’ line of fire.
Ping was
way out in front of them now, the Ambassador moving much slower.
“Ping!”
called Laura. Ping looked back and stopped, then suddenly jumped out in front
of a car as it turned the corner onto the small street they were on. She aimed
her weapon at the windshield and the car skidded to a halt. Without hesitating,
she opened the driver side door and yanked the terrified man out, tossing him
on the ground as Dawson grabbed the Ambassador.
“Cover
us,” he ordered, as he hauled the ailing man toward their commandeered vehicle.
Laura
spun around and backed toward the car, her machine pistol aimed at the opening
of the alley they had just come from. The muffled boots continued to pound, and
the shouts got louder, until they finally exploded into crystal clear clarity
as several men erupted from the alleyway.
She
squeezed the trigger, spraying the area with lead, two of the men falling prey
to her well-aimed shots, the others scattering.
“Let’s
go!” she heard Dawson yell.
Tires
squealed and she glanced over her shoulder as she fired several more rounds.
The car was in the midst of a 180, repositioning itself for their escape.
The rear
door was pushed open and she ran toward the car, emptying the last of her clip
toward the alleyway blindly as she jumped into the back seat, and on top of a
groaning ambassador.
The car
jerked forward, sending her tumbling behind the seats. She heard several pistol
rounds fire nearby, and saw through the confusion Dawson squeezing off rounds
out the passenger side window to cover their escape. The rear window exploded
as they were hit by return fire, and Dawson ducked back into the vehicle.
She
forced herself to her knees and reloaded her Type 80 as the car suddenly jerked
to the left, sending her hard against the door. It flew open and she found
herself falling toward the pavement, both hands occupied by the task at hand.
An iron
grip grabbed her by the shoulder, and pulled her back inside.
“We’re
clear!” yelled Ping.
As soon
as the words were out of her mouth a car to their left exploded in a fireball
that shot thirty feet into the air.
“Holy
shit!” exclaimed Dawson as he reached over and jerked the wheel, sending them
into another alleyway.
“What
the hell was that?” asked Laura as she climbed into position to cover them
through the now non-existent rear window.
But she
didn’t need to wait for the answer as she gasped at what came around the corner
after them.
A diesel
belching tank, its treads chewing up the pavement as it rapidly turned the
corner, its turret swinging directly toward them as it lined up for a second
shot.
“Get us
out of here!” she screamed.
Sleeping Quarters, Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China
Bo Yang surveyed the carnage. His trusted Captain was dead, only
moments after having spoken to him, and two of his guards were also killed. The
HQ jerked to a halt and he reached for a wall to steady himself. The rear door
burst opened and he glanced down the hall to see several of his staff jump
aboard, led by guards from one of several support vehicles.
He took
one final look at the bodies, then strode quickly to his office as the officers
followed him inside.
“Status!”
he yelled.
“We’ve
relocated here,” said General Liang, pointing at a map on the wall. “One of our
staging areas. Our men are in pursuit of the escaped prisoners.”
A
thunderous sound was heard that caused the entire room to shake.
“What
the hell was that?”
But he
knew what it was. It was a tank firing; he recognized the sound from his visits
to various military installations over the decades, fostering goodwill for this
very day.
“Who the
hell ordered a tank to open fire?” he demanded.
No one
in the room dared answer, so he fixed his glare on his armored commander, whose
eyes darted to the floor. “I will look into it at once, sir!” he said, jumping
up on the balls of his feet then running out the door.
An
orderly rushed into the room, handing General Liang a dispatch. Liang smiled as
he read it.
“Sir,
martial law has been declared until the perpetrators of the sniper attacks, and
the kidnapping of the American Ambassador, are in custody. Apparently somebody
just effected the escape of Professor James Acton and they’re in a panic!” Liang
smiled, waving the page. “This is what we’ve been waiting for! We’ve been given
orders to send our troops into the city to restore order.”
Bo
dropped into his chair, leaning an arm behind him and absentmindedly running
his fingers along the silk of the flag he honored.
And
smiled.
He
looked from man to man in the room, realizing the order he was about to give
would change China forever. Leaning forward, elbows on the arms of his chair,
hands clasped firmly in front of him, he took in a deep, slow breath, the
rehearsed speech he had planned for this moment gone in the excitement.
“It’s
time to take China into the future, gentlemen. Commence the operation.”
They all
snapped to attention, saluting, then rushed from his office. The door closed,
he spun around and stared at the dragon, its seemingly futile attempt to climb
the pole about to succeed.
The coup
d'état had begun.
Approaching Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China
Laura Palmer gripped the back of the seat, trying to keep her
balance as Ping maneuvered the car in a zigzag pattern up and down alleyways
and side streets, trying to keep ahead of the tank by at least one corner, but
several dead ends and alleyways blocked with delivery vehicles had caused them
to double-back several times, leaving the tank always just out of sight.
“Stop!”
yelled Dawson. “Reverse!”
Ping
complied, slamming the car in reverse and driving like a maniac in the
direction they had just come, but not nearly as straight. Several garbage cans
fell prey to her swerves, and Laura desperately wished she were behind the
wheel, her driving skills apparently far superior to the young police
officer’s.
Laura
ducked as the contents of a bin flew up and over the car, some of it pelting
her through the rear window. She looked down the alley where they had been
heading, and saw the tank roll up, its turret rotating into position.
“We’ve
got about five seconds!” she yelled when she felt the car screech to a halt.