‘You take the two on the left, I’ll take the two on the right.’
‘Yes sir,’ Davis agreed, knowing it would be a race to see which of them could take out the fifth guard first.
‘Now,’ Navarone said, and again, five heads exploded within two seconds, the fifth man hit by two bullets almost simultaneously.
‘That was me,’ Davis said as they opened the doors, racing to the politicians who stood there open-mouthed.
‘I don’t think so,’ Navarone replied, grabbing two of the men by their suited arms and pulling them back inside the hall while Davis manhandled the other two. ‘I’m pretty sure it was me.’
Despite the stress and pressure of the situation, Davis chuckled.
By the time they made it inside, Barrington had cleared the hall and Collins had followed the politicians back down below to help Grayson handle them.
Navarone pushed the remaining six members over to her, then started moving quickly around the complex with his bag of tricks, Davis doing the same on the opposite side with his own.
With every second counting — they had no way of knowing when the courtyard doors would open and their activity would be discovered — they rushed outside, connecting their devices to the walls of the palace compound.
And then finally, everything in its place as planned, they dragged the dead soldiers back inside the Hall of Imperial Supremacy and sealed the doors behind them.
Navarone looked down at his watch, noting the time with satisfaction; from the collapse of the tunnel ceiling to making it back to the ladders, just four minutes had elapsed. Perfect.
‘Come on,’ Barrington called impatiently from the hole, ‘hurry up you two, we don’t have all day!’
Navarone smiled; trust Barrington to rain on their parade.
But she was right too; they could always go a little faster, and Navarone tried to do as she suggested and hurried up some more.
‘What the hell is going on?’ hissed Vice Premier Chang Wubei, careful not to catch the eyes of the commandos who watched them with fearsome guns scanning continually.
‘It is a rescue,’ Kang Xing explained patiently, wondering how Chang hadn’t realized.
‘A rescue?’ Chang said excitedly, and Kang understood that his protégé must have thought they were to be assassinated. Chang really was weaker in the head than he’d ever thought. But that was also the beauty of the man; it meant he was easy to manipulate.
‘Yes, a rescue,’ Kang said, looking around him as the other members of the Politburo started to shift around, some beginning to argue loudly, demanding answers from the commandos — who Kang was sure must be Americans. Others shouted at them to be quiet, and then two rose to their feet, swinging punches at one another.
They were jerked back down by one of the soldiers and quickly lost their spirit, but tempers continued to flare throughout the chamber.
What’s going on? Who are these people? Let’s get out of here! Do what? Are you crazy, they’ll kill us!
‘Sit down!’ the female commando shouted at them in Mandarin. ‘Right now! If you haven’t figured it out yet, we’re here to rescue you, and if you don’t stop messing around you’re going to get us all killed!’ She scanned the crowd with her assault rifle, face stern. ‘And I am not going to let that happen, do you understand me?’
There were murmurs of acquiescence, but Kang could feel the mood was sour; so many days cooped up within the Forbidden City, rubbing each other up the wrong way, cliques developing and friendships deteriorating, had made them less than they once were. At once more fearful, and yet at the same time perversely more confrontational.
Kang leaned into Chang’s ear. ‘This is it,’ he said quietly. ‘Look at them.’ He paused, allowing Chang to take in the sight of the fragmented communist leadership, rudderless and broken into factions. ‘They need a leader, now more than ever. I suggest that you step up and get everyone organized. This is the start of your big chance, right here.’
Kang watched the greedy ambition flash across the man’s face, flare brightly in his eyes, and he knew that Chang was ready.
Without another word to his mentor, Chang merely nodded and stood; the uncertainty gone now, all his inner fears replaced by an entirely convincing façade of iron leadership.
All eyes turned to him, including those of the American commandos, whose guns tracked instantly towards him. ‘Please,’ he said to the soldiers in English, ‘let me talk to them. I think I can help.’
The female soldier nodded, and Chang turned to his colleagues.
‘My brothers and sisters,’ he began, ‘this is hardly the time for fighting among ourselves. These people are here to rescue us, and I for one intend to go with them. What have we managed to achieve trapped up there?’ He pointed to the hole above them, and shook his head sadly. ‘Nothing — we’ve achieved nothing. But out there, back in the real world, we can really do something, work — together — to take back this country for the people. So let’s stop fighting and arguing, and help them’ — he pointed to the commandos — ‘to help us get the hell out of here.’
Kang was impressed; not so much with the man’s words, as with his manner and delivery — truly the performance of a future world leader. The other members of the Politburo merely sat there and observed him, perhaps finally seeing the man in a new light; the light that Kang had designed for him.
Two more men dropped down into the tunnel from the chamber above, one of them huge and strong, the other lighter, more agile.
The lighter one nodded his head, and the woman spoke to them again in their native language. ‘Okay,’ she said, glad that they had been placated by Chang, ‘let’s move. It’s time to go, come on.’
And with that, the entire Politburo of the Chinese communist party were marched off down the sewer tunnels in stony silence.
Kang was pleased with Chang, and more than pleased to be finally leaving; but in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly how they were going to get out of Beijing.
2
The thought of death was in Cole’s mind for only an instant, and then it was gone — all thought gone now, his body instead reacting and responding instinctively, as it had been trained and honed to do over the years, the decades; a lifetime of violence.
His right hand pulled away from General Wu’s fleshy palm, coming across his own body to chop down hard on the forearm of the terrifying monk beside him.
The blow was hard and the man’s grip wavered — it didn’t break, the man was too strong for that — but it weakened momentarily, giving Cole the chance to pull it free, kicking out as he fell back and catching Zhou across the knee with his hardened shin.
The kick just bounced off the big man’s leg and then Cole sensed him moving in, hands outstretched to grab him. Cole knew if the man got his hands on him, he was as good as dead.
There were eight armed men in the room, but Cole knew they wouldn’t fire with General Wu so close to them. But as Zhou tried to grab Cole, two of the guards raced forward to pull Wu back, drag him to safety.
Cole kicked out again at Zhou, but again the blow just bounced off the man’s incredibly hard body, the external fat a mere curtain for its iron core.
But Cole had used the kick not to attack, but to help propel himself to the side, and as he bounced off Zhou’s body, he followed the momentum, turning to grab a gilded trestle table.
In the blink of an eye he was moving back in, his circle taking him back towards Wu, and he connected hard to the man’s head with the table, making him fall to his knees.
Zhou forgot about Cole for an instant, checking on the man he was sworn to protect, and Cole used the opportunity to leap-frog the general’s wide back, lashing out at the two guards behind with his feet.