“I think so.”
“Good. Stay close to me.”
Not far away, Qin’s helicopter finally rose into the air once the pilot had wrapped his bloody hand in a thick bandage. He listened through his headphones to the exchange between the other two helicopters searching the ground for Li Na and the American.
“If you see them,” Qin broke in, “stop them! Even if you have to shoot. They must not escape!”
Once above the trees, Qin could see the aircraft lights from the other two choppers. One to the southeast and the other to the northeast. The rest of the soldiers were on the ground, sweeping forward in the same directions.
Even in his panic-induced rage, Qin knew he was lucky. These men were some of the best in the Chinese Army, and he couldn’t have hoped for a better group to provide aid. But it was more than coincidence. More than luck. It was fate. The message was clear. Destiny was on Qin’s side.
Now the girl and the American were in the middle of nowhere. Headed in the worst possible direction. And all they could do was run.
58
That was exactly what Clay and Li Na were doing. Together they weaved in and around the dark tree trunks, stopping frequently to remain hidden. The bright curtains of light pierced the canopies overhead and bathed the ground, passing ominously back and forth.
After another pass, Clay dropped his bag and pulled out a dark thermal blanket. He wrapped it around Li Na to cover her lighter clothing. It would make it easier to blend with the ground beneath them, as long as they were not moving when spotted. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was better than nothing.
If Qin had any experience, or brains, he already had men on the ground following them. Having to stop when the light approached meant they had to move even faster in the darkness. The men on the ground would be gaining. Their shrinking lead and the house ahead of them were now all that was separating them from Qin.
The sound of the helicopter’s thundering blades passed over once more and had just begun to fade when they darted out together again, running for all they were worth.
It felt a hell of a lot longer than a mile and a half.
When Clay found the small house, he was expecting something more… recognizable. Instead, what Borger had spotted from the air was little more than an old shack. More than that, it looked as though it was barely standing, positioned in a small clearing and surrounded by tall tallow trees, their canopies fighting for the open sky overhead.
On the ground, near the structure, were tools and a wooden cart, its wheels appearing ready to fall off. On the ground was a pile of something Clay couldn’t quite make out. But what caught his eye was the soft glow of light visible through a very old, but surprisingly clear window.
He stepped forward and looked through it. There was little to see. The view was blocked by a cloth curtain.
Without the slightest hesitation, he moved to what looked like a front door and tried the rusted knob.
Locked.
He stepped back and stared at it. All at once he raised his leg, and with a powerful kick, focused his boot against the door, just inches from the knob. In an earsplitting crack, the door exploded inward and slammed against an interior wall.
Inside, in a small room, sat a Chinese family. Ragged and sitting around a wooden table with fear in their eyes. The shock of having their front door kicked in had left them motionless, holding food to their mouths in mid bite.
The small family was composed of two school-age boys and a younger sister sitting next to their parents, with a stove fire burning behind them. On the table, flames from several homemade candles danced in the sudden burst of outside air.
The family’s faces didn’t change. They remained fixed at the table, unmoving. After an awkward silence, the father’s eyes blinked past them, out through the door at one of the searchlights as it passed overhead.
Still heaving in the doorway, Clay turned to Li Na.
“Tell them we need help.”
59
The man at the table listened to Li Na and looked up again as the second helicopter roared past.
His eyes moved to the tall man standing in the doorway, with one hand firmly grasping a rifle. He was clearly an American soldier, breathing heavily and with a face like stone.
The father carefully put down his wooden bowl, not taking his eyes off either one of them. Eventually, he motioned to the boy on his right — the taller of the two — and spoke softly. Nearest to the stove, the mother remained completely still.
Struggling to remain patient, Clay turned and peered back through the door. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Wait,” Li Na whispered back.
The boy, not more than thirteen, rose nervously from the table. He stepped away and moved to the door where he turned, staring directly at his father.
His father nodded firmly. Even to Clay, the message was clear: move!
They followed the boy as he ran, zigzagging through the forest as though he had every tree memorized, and every step.
Clay was surprised to see the teenager instinctively stop when the light returned, waiting for it to pass before resuming.
They reached a worn path, barely as wide as a single footprint, and followed the boy up a steep incline, winding their way around a small, heavily covered hill. When they reached the far side, they stopped in front of a rock face protruding from the underbrush. Carved into the rock was a large dark hole, almost as tall as Clay and just as wide.
The boy spoke in a hushed tone to Li Na, who translated to Clay.
“It’s a mine. An old one. He says there’s another entrance at the other end, about a kilometer and a half.”
She paused, listening to the boy again.
“From there, an old road leads out through a small valley where it meets the railroad tracks.”
Clay stared at the opening in the rock. “Tell us about the mine.”
In Chinese, she repeated what Clay had said and the boy explained.
“He says it was abandoned a long time ago. No one knows about it anymore. There are several tunnels. We need to keep to our left.”
Clay didn’t respond. Instead he stepped forward, examining the opening with a grim expression. Most caverns and mines were not the adventure, nor salvation, most people considered them to be. Long and winding underground tunnels were very dangerous, especially mines with multiple adits. More people lost their way, and their lives, than the public knew. And it was always in the same order. They lost their light, then their way, and finally fresh air.
This was not a good option.
Overhead, a searchlight approached. Somehow they had deduced Clay’s direction, and unfortunately, the trees were not dense enough to hide them forever. The mine, even as a bad option, was better than none.
He shook his head and slid the bag off his back. He’d have to carry it in by hand. In its place, he slung the rifle. Clay placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and thanked him using one of the few Chinese words he knew.
“Xie xie.”
The boy responded with something he didn’t understand. Nevertheless, the look in his eyes reinforced John Clay’s long-held belief. A belief that ultimately, no matter where they lived, regular people were all the same. More than anything else, they wanted to grow old. To raise healthy children and to help one another. In the end, most people simply wanted to leave the world a better place. Distant enemies, he was convinced, were simply the product of political brainwashing.
Clay smiled at him before nodding to Li Na. He then bent over, ducking his head low, and stepped into pitch blackness.