But on second thoughts, he decided, perhaps he was better off not knowing.
There had been discussions about breaking up the members of the Politburo into smaller, more discrete groups — less of an obvious target, pairs and threesomes would draw a lot less attention. But there had been the issue of security to consider — Navarone couldn’t be sure of each member’s loyalty, or how they would react in such circumstances. If they were too broken up, it was inevitable that the five members of Force One would lose track of some of them, and then who knew what they might do. It was possible they would try and escape on their own, and then — if captured — everyone else would be put at risk.
By keeping everyone together as a single group, it allowed Force One to keep an eye on them, group pressure also helping to make sure they followed the plan.
Posing as women helped too — it was clear that nobody wanted to stop a league of presumably high-powered businesswomen; it just wasn’t worth the trouble.
As they broke through onto the subway platform, Navarone instantly took in all of the security, noticing that it had been increased from previous CIA reports. But he remained cool and relaxed, just one of hundreds of people boarding the subway train west to Xianwumen.
He watched as Barrington boarded with the ‘women’s league’, entirely unmolested by security — noticed that the armed guards even moved respectfully to one side as they passed — and then he was there at the train doors too.
He saw how the guards moved their eyes left and right, scanning the crowds, felt himself tensing, willed himself to relax; and then he too was onboard, just seconds before the train moved off silently to the next destination on their journey home.
8
The helicopter — a Harbin Z-9 utility chopper, a Chinese-licensed version of the French Eurocopter Dauphin — hovered close by Cole, the pilot getting it down low near the rooftops.
The helicopter itself wasn’t armed, but the soldier hanging out of the open side doorway certainly was — the man aimed an automatic shotgun at Cole, its spread of pellets almost guaranteed to hit him at this range.
Cole calculated his options. Down below, he knew the streets were crawling with police. There had been the initial surge from the whistle blasts, and then surely more from subsequent radio communications. There would be soldiers there soon too, he was sure — he still wasn’t far from Beihai Park, and the whole complement of security forces would soon be on him.
It struck him as lucky in a way — at least his escape was diverting attention from the Forbidden City and the escaping Politburo.
Descending to the streets directly below was obviously out of the question; but as he looked across the roofs, he wondered if he could make it further across, lose both the helicopter and the security forces, and then make his way down to the streets in relative safety?
But as soon as he’d had the thought, he discounted it; two more helicopters were sweeping in, rotors spinning loudly against the continued background noise of the storm. If he moved across the rooftops, he would only be followed — and either shot, or monitored until the police and military could finally move in.
He could see the man with the shotgun shouting toward him, but the rain was too loud, the rotors almost deafening, and he couldn’t hear a word. But, straining to hear the man, he began to pick up sounds from behind him — the police had started moving up the walls. They would be on him soon, and then he would be completely without options.
As it was, there was only one left available to him, and he took it before he lost the opportunity forever.
He stood on desperately shaky legs, the leather-soles shoes of a successful businessman woefully inadequate for balancing on an angled roof in the middle of a blinding storm, and put his hands in the air.
The man with the shotgun beckoned him forward, no doubt wanting to be the one to perform the arrest, hoping it would garner him the gratitude of the entire military government, and Cole complied, edging steadily closer to the hovering helicopter — and further away from the approaching police as they scaled the walls behind him.
Cole was in arms’ reach of the soldier now, his body language designed to put the man at ease, relax him into making a mistake — just a fraction of a second was all Cole needed.
It happened just moments later, a slight relaxation in the man’s shoulders which indicated a shift in mental readiness, the sense that he’d already won, and Cole capitalized on it instantaneously, his hand shooting out to deflect the barrel of the shotgun.
But Cole could never have anticipated the sudden updraft, which came out of nowhere and bumped the helicopter upwards, the soldier recoiling back inside the aircraft as the pilot struggled to control the bucking chopper.
Cole had already committed, and his leather soles lost their grip, causing him to fall forward. He teetered on the edge of the roof, his balance gone, but instinct took over and he reached suddenly upwards, his iron-like grip taking hold of the lower part of the open door, the helicopter taking him clear of the roof as it rose higher and higher into the air, the pilot not wanting to risk hitting the rooftop in the turbulent air.
The conventional door flapped about wildly in the stormy air, and as he was pulled off the rooftop, Cole was convinced he would lose his fingers when the door slammed finally shut.
But he felt the door stiffen and set into place, and when Cole looked up, he saw one soldier wedging it open while the other came back into the doorway with his shotgun, aiming it down at the helpless Cole.
In his peripheral vision, Cole saw men pulling themselves up onto the rooftop, behind and below him, and knew their own weapons would also be tracking towards him, although they would be reluctant to open fire for fear of hitting the helicopter crew.
Still fighting the winds, the pilot peeled away from the rooftop completely, Cole dangling below, both hands now clenched tight around the bottom of the metal door, gripping harder than he’d ever gripped before, until he felt that his knuckles were going to break through his skin.
But in the maelstrom of the storm, in the fear and confusion of the helicopter’s violent maneuvers, Cole knew he still had one chance.
And — in the blink of an eye, before anyone could have predicted what he would do — he pulled even harder on the bottom of the door, swinging his legs high towards the open doorway beyond.
His legs met the barrel of the automatic shotgun, wrapped tight around it, and pulled down with all his remaining strength.
The shotgun jerked forwards with the force of Cole’s pull and — unable to let go in time — the soldier was pulled right along with it, straight out of the aircraft. Cole let go instantly and — with a horrifying scream — the man plummeted to the rain-slicked alleyways below, the shotgun still in his hands.
In what he assumed was a fit of sudden, fear-induced panic, Cole felt the chopper lurch downwards, the pilot trying to smash him into the nearest building.
The second soldier also tried to solve the problem by slamming the door shut, obviously hoping to sever Cole’s fingers and send him falling to the streets below, just like the man before him.
But Cole acted even quicker, swinging up a leg into the cabin and blocking the door with his tucked-in body.
The pilot turned the chopper on its side, tilting over violently, and the door swung open again, Cole flying out with it, only just managing to keep his grip. The second solider wasn’t so lucky though, preoccupied with trying to get Cole and not having any warning of the pilot’s intentions, and Cole watched as he lost his balance and smashed his head off the metal airframe. His unconscious body collapsed into the doorway, held in position by the strap around his waist, and Cole recognized the gift for what it was — with the body in the way, the door could no longer close on his fingers.