Liang tried to hold Navarone’s stare for a moment, but soon looked away, embarrassed not only by the commando’s words, but because several of his own colleagues were laughing at them.
Navarone watched as another Vice Premier — Chang Wubei, wasn’t it? — put a friendly hand on Liang’s shoulder.
‘Come on,’ Chang said in his native tongue, a smile on his handsome face, ‘lighten up. It’s not as if you’ve not worn these things before — I remember that party in Shanghai three years ago, even if you don’t!’
That comment — translated quickly for Navarone by Julie Barrington — elicited even more laughter from the politicians, and Navarone made a mental note to report back on Chang’s leadership potential when they returned home. Cole had told him that part of the mission was to monitor the behavior of the men and women of the Politburo during the stress of their escape; see who was weak, who was strong, who could be useful to the US, and who was a liability.
Chang was obviously ahead on points at this stage — still smiling as he encouraged everyone to get changed as the American commandos had asked — but Navarone wondered which category he would eventually fit into.
A useful ally, or a future liability.
Cole eased off on the throttles as he rounded the northeast corner of the lake, but only enough to identify his target. He was too close to the banks now, the northern perimeter of the lake lined by trees which separated the park from the busy Di’anmen West Street beyond; and even through the heavy rain, Cole could see soldiers lined up in the trees, weapons aimed at him across the lake.
He knew that the longer he ran, the more likely it was that the order would go from ‘capture’ to ‘kill’, and he didn’t want to find out firsthand what the current status of those orders was.
He spotted what he had hoped would be there and felt the relief momentarily come in before he consciously stopped it, knowing it could interfere with his performance. He opened up the throttles again, accelerating towards the opening that led underneath a wide concrete overpass to a smaller pool beyond.
It was part of the network of linked waterways in this area that Cole had researched when making his plans, and he piloted the fast vessel through the small gap at high speed, just in case the soldiers opened fire.
He didn’t hear gunfire behind him, but wasn’t sure if he’d just missed it due to the combined sounds of the high-power engine and the raging storm. But he hadn’t been hit, and came out from underneath the overpass into the circular pool.
He knew orders would be being given to track him, to follow him, and fully expected other boats to enter the pool soon after, soldiers to run over and surround it, guns all around him, demands for his surrender shouted from the four winds.
But as he circled the pool, examining the northern side, he knew he wouldn’t be there for long; the pool linked further north, running into a narrow water-filled tunnel that led underneath the bridged road networks to Qianhai Lake beyond.
As he maneuvered the craft round in a circle, he took in the entrance to the tunnel, analyzing his approach. It was only ten feet wide, compared to the approximate eight-foot width of the speedboat; a tiny margin of error, but one which Cole had to risk.
What was more disturbing was the sudden dip, the waters cascading down a sharp drop into the rapids of the tunnel, swollen now with rainwater.
He didn’t know how deep it was, if the drop would cause the speedboat to hit the bottom and break apart, leaving him stranded there, ready for capture.
But at the same time, he knew he had to take the risk; he could hear other boats approaching, the sounds of soldiers as they chased across from the tree line.
He moved the speedboat to the southernmost extreme of the pool, gunned the engine and sped north as fast as he could go, attacking the tunnel entrance, hoping his momentum would carry him forwards and negate the gravitational effect of the drop.
He was picking up speed, traveling faster, faster, faster, the narrow entrance coming up now, even smaller than he’d thought at this speed; but he kept the craft steady, not looking even as he heard another speedboat enter the pool from the west, gunfire echoing around the enclosed area.
In his subconscious, he immediately understood that the shots weren’t meant to kill him; instead, they were designed to disable his boat, hit the engine or the fuel tank and bring his break for freedom to a decisive end.
But he was traveling too fast, and the bullets all hit the wake he left behind him, and then he was there, blasting through the concrete pillars of the tunnel, the speedboat almost soaring in midair off the ledge, still accelerating as it jumped; then crashing down but still moving forward, the hull avoiding the bottom of the rainwater-swelled tunnel.
Cole aimed the boat in a straight line, passing directly under Di’anmen West Street, feeling the weight of concrete and traffic above him.
Spotting dull, grey daylight ahead of him, he kept his boat pointed towards this target and risked a glance behind, alerted by the loud, echoing sounds of a second engine entering the tunnel.
But as he looked, he saw how the pilot of the second speedboat hadn’t entered straight, had clipped the base of the ledge and then the right-hand wall, the momentum and impact trying to spin the craft around, its passage stopped by the narrow confines of the tunnel; instead it hit back and forth, battered from one wall to the other before rearing upwards, its long bow hitting the concrete tunnel ceiling and slamming back down, spinning again. But this time it was too much and the speedboat started to break apart, smashed to pieces, engine destroyed, sparking onto the leaking fuel.
Cole turned back to the front, not needing to see more, and opened the throttles even further, the entrance to Qianhai so close now, so tantalizingly close as he heard the blast behind him, the raging inferno from the exploding speedboat racing through the tunnel towards him, flames shooting through the enclosed concrete space at phenomenal speed.
He could feel the heat on his back, started to worry that his own fuel lines might catch and blow up.
But then he was out, out in the blessed open and the life-giving rain, propelled out of the tunnel into Qianhai Lake by a column of red-hot flame.
Cole breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that no more boats would be following from Beihai Park.
But it wasn’t over yet, not by a longshot. There were still the soldiers, the guards, the police; hundreds, perhaps thousands of people searching for him. And he also knew it wouldn’t be long before the helicopters were put up to help with the search effort.
He knew he didn’t have long, and determined to put what little time he did have to good use, he accelerated north up the near-empty expanse of Qianhai Lake.
6
Twenty minutes had passed, what seemed like a lifetime to Cole.
He had raced the speedboat on a direct line north, past the marina to the west and the small island to the east, finally abandoning the craft on the northern shore of Qianhai Lake.
He had jammed the throttles wide open and sent the boat further on into the lake, probably to run out of fuel or to crash into the shoreline at some random point, and had jumped into the lake, swimming with powerful strokes to the woods which lined the northern banks.
He knew that — given the cloud cover and lack of sunlight — any witnesses would have had their attention drawn to the rapidly moving speedboat rather than the much smaller, slower body which had propelled itself into the lake.