He was the sort of man who always got the job done.
5
Everyone was geared up now, the fire was out, equipment was stowed. Force One was ready.
Navarone checked his watch — 1403 hours. Just twenty-seven minutes until Cole’s meeting with Wu, and he’d received nothing from his boss, or from Liu, to suggest it wasn’t going to go ahead as planned.
The Forbidden City above them was surrounded by a moat, six meters deep by fifty-two meters wide. A wall provided further protection, ten meters high and nearly three and a half kilometers long. To prevent tunneling, the paving was fifteen layers thick.
But the wall — and the moat — only went so far underground.
The original, isolated sewer network underneath the city was deemed insufficient by the communist government, who dictated that it should connect to the more modern system of Beijing, beyond the walls. They therefore authorized tunneling under those walls, providing access from the outside into the Forbidden City.
Navarone could understand why — it was the Zhongnonhai that was now the seat of government, not the Forbidden City; the old walled palace compound was now just a tourist attraction — albeit one that had been closed to the public since Wu’s coup. It was now simply a prison.
The compound held not just the Politburo, but any number of government and political groups which had not immediately acquiesced to Wu’s demands to assume control.
But they were not Force One’s concern; it was the Politburo it was concerned with, or — at the very least — those members of the Politburo steering committee that would provide a nucleus for a replacement government after the military regime had been deposed.
Julie Barrington was waiting in an elevated position on top of the ladders near their point of entry into the city — underneath the vast courtyard complex of the Hall of Imperial Supremacy.
The intelligence Force One had received from Liu Yingchau explained that — although the Politburo was moved regularly — they were always held within one of the self-contained palace compounds. This way the outer walls could be guarded, and the courtyards gave the prisoners some space to walk and get some fresh air, while still being physically contained.
Liu had let them know that the Politburo was currently being held within the northeast sector of the Forbidden City, known as the Outer Eastern Palace. This area — surrounded by lofty, red perimeter walls — was further split into three sections.
There were western and eastern compounds, and then there was the central compound where the Hall of Imperial Supremacy was located; and it was within those walls that the Politburo was currently being held.
There was no direct access from the sewers into this compound, which complicated matters somewhat; but if there wasn’t already a way in, Force One was just going to have to make one.
Barrington was perched near the curved, rough stone ceiling of the sewer tunnel, at the point where the holes had been drilled and filled four hours earlier. At this particular section, there was only two meters of earth and stone between the sewer and the interior of the hall.
Barrington was now monitoring the location of the people above through a combination of X-Ray and thermal sensors, along with specialist radar, and a Wi-Fi device that relied on radio waves and other portions of the electromagnetic system, and operated in a similar fashion to radar and sonar but with enhanced imagery capabilities. Two meters was thick, but the combination of the different instruments meant that she was able to create an overall picture that would be quite accurate.
The rest of the team was taking notes of the location of the people above, figuring out movement patterns, establishing who was who, and running through their actions on contact, time and time again.
When they got the word, they would be ready.
Duanwujie, Cole had discovered, was the correct term for what the rest of the world knew as the Dragon Boat Festival. In China, it was known as Duanwujie — the Double Fifth Festival — due to its falling on the fifth day of the fifth traditional lunar month.
He had also learnt that three major things happened during the celebrations — sticky rice wrapped in bamboo leaves, known as zongzi, was eaten in large quantities; xionghuang wine — made with realgar, an arsenic sulfide — was drunk to excess; and the famous dragon boats would race against each other in any waterway long enough to hold them.
Established over two thousand years ago, the festival commemorated the death of the beloved Chu Kingdom poet and statesman Qu Yuan, who committed suicide by throwing himself into a river after Chu had been invaded and overrun by the forces of the Chin State on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month.
Local people threw lumps of rice in the river to make sure the fish did not eat his body — the origin of zongzi — while at the same time other locals took their boats out in order to retrieve the dead poet, which resulted in the subsequent tradition of dragon boat racing. And at the same time they were doing that, an old doctor poured realgar wine into the river in order to kill the river monsters and protect Qu Yuan’s spirit, which was why the same wine was still imbibed today.
Understanding such a tradition might not have added anything to Cole’s tactical decision-making, but — perhaps due to the influence of Asami, he now considered — he always tried to learn all he could about the cultures and customs of the countries he operated in, especially if he was going to end up right in the middle of such a cultural celebration.
And now was exactly such a time, Cole reflected as he entered Beihai Park through the teeming South Gate Entrance. Everywhere he looked, people in colorful clothes were parading happily through the gate into the park, security only partially visible. It was clear that Wu didn’t want the whole thing to be a military operation just because he would be there today; he wanted ‘his’ people to go on as normal, celebrate the festival as they always did, and engage with them on equal ground, show them that he was one of them, that everything he did was for the Chinese nation. It made sense, and Cole admired the man’s psychological acumen.
Cole could tell from the attitude of the people around him that they were not at all unhappy to be under Wu’s rule. Despite a crippled US aircraft carrier off their coastline, and their nation’s military being involved in two recent invasions — or perhaps because of it, Cole realized — the mood was buoyant. And it was only partially caused by the quantities of xionghuang wine that had already been consumed.
The people who streamed through the gate with Cole were of all ages, from babies to the elderly and infirm. Families entered with picnics, teenagers with friends and open bottles, couples holding hands; all with smiles and laughter.
It was a far cry indeed from the last time Cole had been in Beijing, confronted with the cold, grey granite face of communism — both in its architecture and its people. He wondered how far the change could be attributed to the leadership of General Wu and his promises of a new and more powerful Chinese empire.
There weren’t many foreigners in the crowd, Cole had noticed instantly, and as he passed through the South Gate he was stopped immediately by a pair of armed guards. From their uniforms, Cole could see they were members of the elite Macau Guard Unit, brought in by Wu to help protect the area alongside the Hong Kong Special Operations Unit. Despite the security presence being subtle, Cole could see they were still taking no chances.
‘Identification?’ one of the soldiers asked in good English. His manner was polite and professional, and Cole noted that they were not aiming their weapons at him — yet.