He dropped flat to the ground, thinking he had heard a sound, then resumed at a much slower pace. When he heard it again — a clicking sound — he dropped again. Far ahead, where the fallen railroad bridge that paralleled the Highway 301 bridge descended into the water, a pinprick of red flared in his infrared goggles. Hart got the range—150 meters — when he raised his rifle scope to his eye.
The cold tide of air carried the same clicking sound to him again. He was downwind. The noise surfed the breeze in his face. In his crosshairs, there appeared the glowing face of a Chinese soldier. He used a balky cigarette lighter to try to light a long pipe. Two buddies who had joined him in the one-man fighting hole used their gloves to shield the flame.
Hart rose and trotted into and down the dry streambed. When he got to the pipe, he lowered his goggles and peered inside. He could see — unobstructed — the glowing red circle at the far end. The pipe looked clear. There was laughter from the three upwind Chinese soldiers. They were all alone or they wouldn’t be getting high. Shit duty in the middle of nowhere.
Hart considered killing them before he left. He could do it — quietly — but when they laughed again, he headed into the pipe. There was no grate at the opposite end.
Wu entered his hotel suite like a burglar. Shen Shen was humming a popular American tune from the bedroom. Her matching, five-piece designer set of luggage lay on the made, king-sized bed beside his green duffle bag.
She appeared through the doors wearing panties but no bra, fresh from the shower. She folded and packed a sheer white camisole and zipped her bag up. When she turned, she saw Wu and came running, breasts bouncing, into his arms. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his face and mouth while pressing herself flat against him.
Wu pried her arms loose, and she was alert to the danger.
“I’m glad you killed that old bastard!” she blurted out. “And Li! I’ve dreamt of doing the same thing! I can’t count how many times that filthy bastard…!” Wu couldn’t look her in the eye. “It was brilliant!” she said, trying to flash her smile. “You’re a hero! You should see the press! I talked to my mother! They’re replaying what happened this afternoon at the bridge and then broadcasting footage of Sheng’s atrocities! It’s all falling into place!”
Wu headed for his bag. He could feel her standing there, watching him. “Wu?” she called out. He threw the thick strap over his shoulder. “Wu?” she repeated, the rest of her question implicit in her frightened tone and wide eyes. She covered her breasts with her arm, the first hint of modesty Wu had ever seen her exhibit.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
“What is it?” Shen Shen asked, not budging from the doorway.
“I know who you work for,” Wu replied.
Shen Shen bounded toward Wu, but restrained herself, pulling up just short. She placed her palms on his chest to hold him there. “Did your father tell you that I work for the prime minister? But it’s not true!” she said as if the clarification made everything all right. “He only thinks that! But the truth is,” she looked around and whispered, “I really work for the defense minister!” Her breath was warm against his neck.
“I know,” Wu replied coolly.
Shen Shen was shocked. She took a step back. “How?”
“The defense minister told me,” Wu answered.
She now seemed totally disoriented. Her eyes darted about so rapidly that she appeared to experience motion sickness. “You…? You talked to him? To the defense minister?”
“I’ve got to go,” Wu said, trying to get around her.
She stepped in front of him and grabbed his arms. “Wu? Are you going back? To Beijing?” He didn’t answer. “Tell me! What’s going to happen?”
The left corner of his upper lip curled. “Tell the defense minister that I said, ‘Yes.’ ”
She waited for more, but that was it. “ ‘Yes’ what?” she asked. Wu pushed past her. “ ‘Yes’ what, Wu? ‘Yes’ what?” she cried.
“Tell him!” was all that Wu said.
His last sight of her was as she lay crumpled on her knees on the carpet. He closed the door. His armada of black-suited security troops filled the hallway.
Wu nodded, and the commander of his security detail gave the orders. They headed for the elevator with a purposeful stride.
Han’s top aides were clueless. No one had known in advance about Wu’s murderous, mutinous plans, and no one now knew anything more. They sat around a conference table in what had been the seat of power but was now just a dilapidated office building. “The rumor is,” his female head of intelligence suggested, “that Sheng was organizing a coup attempt against the defense minister.”
Han rolled his eyes. “There is no coup!” he snapped. “That was planted disinformation!”
His outburst did little to foster a more open discussion, which remained muted until one of his bolder aides said, “We need to do something. We’re just sitting here! We’ve got to exercise power, if only to prove that it still exists. If we can display strength, people will rally to it. The people aren’t behind the military. They will back us if we exercise power. They will defer to it. Acknowledge it.”
And thereby make it reappear, Han thought. They’re almost there.
“Administrator Han, sir, have you tried the prime minister?” Han had gotten no answer from his uncle, so he ignored the aide’s question. “The minister of trade? The security minister?”
No one in Beijing would take Han’s calls, not even his father and uncle. He could feel the power draining away by the hour. The general commanding the division of security ministry troops newly arrived in Richmond didn’t return any of Han’s numerous telephone calls. Wu had checked out of his hotel, Shen Shen had tearfully reported. Some of Han’s senior staffers had even abruptly disappeared. They had returned home on previously unscheduled leaves at this critical moment, surely understanding there would be no place for them upon their return. If they return, Han thought in despair.
“What are we going to do?” a female aide finally asked in defeat.
Still, Han thought in frustration, they’re missing the obvious. He sighed and shook his head. There was silence as all stared at him. Waiting for him to speak.
He finally gave up on them. “All right,” he informed the group, “here’s what we’re going to do. We are going to launch a coup.” There were stunned looks on faces. “Not in Beijing!” he shouted. “In Washington! Send out the code.” There was inaction. “The code! The code! Send out the code!” He switched to English. “ ‘Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party!’ ”
Bill waited outside Stephie’s bedroom in a wood-backed armchair. His only company in the ornate hallway were silent, stone-faced Secret Service agents wearing black body armor and carrying long rifles. When the door opened, Bill rose. Rachel Roberts and her husband exited Stephie’s room. Rachel came up to Bill but kept her eyes on the Oriental runner that spanned the length of the corridor. “The doctor said she needed her rest,” as if to suggest that he couldn’t see his daughter. She then brushed past him and headed into the bedroom next door, where she and her husband were spending the night.