As a result, despite his misgivings about things, he wanted the team to succeed.
But how could he assist them if he didn’t even know where they were?
His secure telephone rang, and he snatched it off the desk, pressed it to his ear.
‘Talk to me,’ he said, then listened as one of his local agents reported. Dietrich Hoffmeyer was on his way up to his room in the Grand Hyatt Beijing.
Anderson exhaled slowly.
Okay; at least now he knew where one of the team members was. Hoffmeyer was the identity that the CIA had set up for the operator who would be working alone, and who was supposed to be meeting with General Wu that afternoon.
If the man showed up; it was still unknown at the moment if he would even be in Beijing at all.
Anderson shook his head slowly; there were so many things that could go wrong.
He looked at the clock on his wall. Just before eight o’clock in the morning.
He started to go through his own escape plans in his mind, wondering quite seriously if it was too early to start drinking.
Cole dropped his leather bag onto the opulent king-size bed in his Club Suite, wandering over to the huge window with its view of Chang An Avenue below.
As he turned back to the room, he couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty; here he was in the lap of luxury, while his team mates were stuck down in the stinking sewers for the next few hours.
But as Dietrich Hoffmeyer, lead negotiator for TransNat Drilling, it was expected of him to stay in the finest accommodations. The company itself was real, a German-Dutch combine which was making a name for itself in offshore oil exploration and drilling operations. He was here to see General Wu ostensibly in order to offer to undercut the current company which Wu had agreed to use in the waters of the Senkaku/Diaoyu Islands. His psychological profile hinted that the man was led by greed to a large extent, and Cole aimed to capitalize on this.
The real Hoffmeyer had been in the city for weeks, trapped in the paradise of the Beijing Grand Hyatt due to Wu’s directive that nobody be allowed to leave until things were ‘returned to normal’.
The meeting between General Wu and Dietrich Hoffmeyer had been made by the CIA entirely without Hoffmeyer’s knowledge. The ruse had been Cole’s suggestion; the oil business in the Senkakus was hardly public knowledge yet, and Wu would want to keep any negotiations to himself, for fear of his monetary greed coming to light just at the time he was trying to win over the Chinese people. They had to believe it was a patriotic, political act, and not one which benefitted him financially. But Wu was highly driven by wealth, and the offer of cheaper exploitation costs would certainly appeal to him.
During Cole’s planning, he had discovered the identities of foreigners working — and now trapped — in Beijing, and had quickly spotted Hoffmeyer and his company as being of interest. And so Cole had instructed the CIA to arrange a meeting between Wu and the sales negotiator. It didn’t matter where it was; any meeting would get Cole close enough to administer the death strikes.
It had been Wu’s idea to meet at the Dragon Boat festival, clearly wanting to get things moving quickly, and the CIA had agreed. There were both benefits and pitfalls to the location, but overall Cole had been pleased with it, and had planned the mission around the timings given.
But Cole had realized that things might not work out, and had a contingency plan of sorts; if the meeting was cancelled, he would still attend the Dragon Boat festival at Beihai Park. He had learned that Wu wanted to get out among his people, and Cole would try and get close to him as part of the crowd. And if that failed, then he would remain in Beijing and look for another chance.
The rescue of the Politburo members would go ahead anyway, to at least give the country some chance of reestablishing itself once Wu was finally gone.
To help the operation along, last night the real Hoffmeyer had been invited to a meeting at which the situation had been explained to him by the CIA. He had willingly agreed to go into their custody, allowing Cole to slip right into his identity; a good move by Hoffmeyer, as if he’d refused, he would have been kidnapped anyway.
Earlier that morning, Cole had maneuvered his way through the subterranean sewers until he’d reached a point where they linked up with the Beijing subway rail network. Within the sewer, a waterproof bag had been placed by the CIA with a washing kit, dry clothes, and a full set of identity papers for Dietrich Hoffmeyer, alongside a rudimentary but effective disguise.
He’d cleaned himself as best he could, then slipped into the clothes, identity and persona of Dietrich Hoffmeyer before leaving the sewers through an access hatch that led to the Beijing subway.
He had left his combat gear behind in the sewers, not willing to take the risk of getting stopped with it on the streets of Beijing, but had kept his personal secure communications gear so that he could continue to stay in contact with his team.
His weapons and equipment would still be there if he ever needed them — placed back inside the waterproof bag and hidden underneath the filthy water.
Cole stripped off the clothes he’d used to travel from the subway to his hotel, his body still dirty from the garbage truck and the sewers, and put them to one side.
A shower was the first thing he needed if he was going to make his meeting with General Wu later that day; well-paid international sales executives weren’t known for their lack of attention to personal hygiene, and he had to look the part.
And as Cole strode into the marble-shrouded, walk-in shower, turning the powerful, beautifully warm water onto his naked, aching body, he knew all too well to appreciate the glorious feeling while it lasted.
Things were only going to get worse from here.
‘I bet the commander’s enjoying a hot shower right now,’ Davis griped, stretching out his huge body on the equipment pack which he’d placed between him and the wet concrete of the sewer tunnel. ‘Yeah, or maybe a bubble bath with a glass of champagne.’
‘Maybe,’ Navarone agreed. ‘I know I would be.’
‘You’re damn straight,’ Davis said. ‘I’d be sending out for room service and a Thai massage.’
‘You’d probably get charged twice as much as a normal human being,’ Barrington said, looking at his massive frame.
‘Hey, I’m worth every cent, believe me,’ Davis replied with a grin.
Navarone smiled too, glad that everyone was relaxed. The truth was that they didn’t know where Mark Cole was headed; there was mention of a hotel, but that was all. They didn’t even know which one, and they had no idea what identity he was operating under, or what his plan was.
That was the way it had to be; if they were caught, they couldn’t tell the enemy what they didn’t even know.
But if Cole was in a hotel, then good for him; there would be a good reason, and the fact was that Cole’s own mission was even more dangerous than theirs. He had no weapons, and was going right into the very heart of the military regime, in the middle of the security iron circle. Navarone had no idea how he was going to do it. But if anyone could accomplish this incredible task, it would be Cole. Even before they’d met, Navarone had heard rumors of an elite government assassin known as the ‘Asset’, a man whose reputation and status were legendary. Navarone had now seen the man work first-hand, and could confirm that the rumors were no myth. He fully expected to see Cole at the extraction RV that night, mission completed.