Beijing Red: A Thriller (A Nick Foley Thriller)

by Alex Ryan

  Nick looked at Dash, who raised her eyebrows. What Jin described was analogous to how big government intelligence collection programs functioned. Beside her, Lankford looked equally as impressed. Nick thought perhaps Dash was wondering if she was in Jin’s database.

  The shorter man from the kiosk joined them and spoke to Jin in clipped Chinese. The man nodded, sat at the workstation, and began keying in data. A moment later, Qing’s face popped up on the screen. A few more taps and a picture resembling a government ID photo filled a monitor on the center wall. Nick wondered how deep Jin’s cybernetwork penetrated the government networks above ground. Jin turned and addressed the room in Chinese while a series of red dots and lines began to flash across the picture on the screen, the computer mapping out key elements of Qing’s facial structure to form a template for the facial recognition.

  The man seated beside him said something softly to Jin, who nodded.

  “Our records indicate that Qing was at Club Pink in the last few hours and left not long ago. We show no official entry into the city.”

  “Official entry?” Lankford said, and Nick noted he was unable to keep both the sarcasm and the admiration from his voice.

  “Yes,” Jin said. “We have checkpoints restricting access to the Underground City.”

  “Like customs and immigration?” Nick blurted out.

  “Yes,” Jin said patiently. “Much like customs and immigration. However, many of our regular citizens have other entry points into the city. We discourage this, but we also understand their need for privacy and discretion and make little effort to prevent it for those who are properly vetted and well known. In any case, they will be keeping their entry secret from other citizens—not from us.”

  “How do they get in and out?”

  “The portion of the Underground City I control is only a small portion of the original project. An extensive tunnel system exists outside of the areas we monitor. Very few people know of the many entrances scattered about the city, primarily in older businesses. You entered from such an entry point, yes?”

  “I suppose we did,” Nick said.

  Jin nodded. “We detected you as you approached the city center—and we happen to know about the entry Qing likes to use from the restaurant—but we don’t monitor it. There are many such entries, and in any case, monitoring them is pointless. We see everyone who gets to our business district before they arrive and—like you three—if guests are unknown or blacklisted, we greet them.”

  “So you will have a recording of my husb . . .” Dash stopped herself and then continued, “. . . of Qing entering the city?”

  “Yes,” Jin said. “He entered a few hours ago—not from your tunnel, but from one to the east.”

  Dash looked at Nick.

  “We know he entered through the restaurant as we did,” he said to Jin. “We don’t know when.”

  “Then he went somewhere in the time between,” Jin said.

  All eight screens began to flash with various views of small groups of people throughout the Underground City, pausing as the red lines and dots flashed across the faces on the screens before moving to the next images. Jin spoke to the man at the console beside him, who nodded.

  “We will reconstruct his activity and route as best we can, but I must warn you, it will be difficult to pinpoint his current location if he left the surveillance zone.”

  “You mean the areas covered by cameras?” Lankford asked.

  “Yes, but that is only part of it. Technology has strengths but also weaknesses, which is why I employ considerable manpower. I have roving security patrols throughout the area, and we just sent them a screenshot of Qing. We will do our best, but it will take time. We will also review the DVR data to see if we can reconstruct his movements.”

  “How long?” Dash asked urgently.

  Jin smiled and placed a sympathetic, almost fatherly, hand on her shoulder.

  “Not long, my dear,” he said softly. “We will find him.”

  “And then?” Lankford asked.

  “He is a traitor to China,” Jin said. “We will help you track him down and then you may do with him what you will—kill him, I assume. It would be best if you do this and not my people—I would not want our involvement to be misconstrued by our clients.”

  A technician suddenly shouted in Chinese from a workstation across the room, and Jin rushed to his side. “This is Qing only twenty-four minutes ago,” Jin said, excitement in his voice.

  “Where is that?” Lankford asked.

  “The tunnel comes from the north,” Jin said. “From there it would have numerous points of entry within the central business district and the China World Trade Center.”

  “Where did he go next?” Dash asked.

  The lower far-left screen froze and flashed red for a moment. A man was starting up a ladder, flanked by a team of men armed with assault rifles.

  “There,” Jin said. “This was fifteen minutes later. That ladder leads to a complex of four office buildings three-quarters of a kilometer south of the World Trade Center.”

  “That footage was taken only ten minutes ago?”

  “Yes,” Jin said and snapped his fingers. Another, taller man hustled toward them.

  “How long to get us there?”

  “Fifteen minutes in vehicles,” Jin said. “We will get you close and then you will proceed on your own. But don’t worry; if you fail to stop him, he will not be permitted admittance into my city.”

  “You should stay as far back as possible,” Dash said, looking at Nick. “If he is armed with weaponized aerosol canisters, a single release would be rapidly redistributed by the closed ventilation system and could kill every soul in the Underground City.”

  “In that case, I advise you to shoot him quickly,” Jin said, grim faced. “I will provide you with rifles so you can engage Qing’s security detail at a distance.”

  A man handed a silver case to Jin and then nodded and moved away. Jin clicked it open and pulled our four small boxes, each with a wire leading to an earpiece and boom mic. “This will give you access to our communication network. We will guide you and monitor for any other threats.”

  “That is very generous,” Nick said. “Thank you.”

  “I do this for China,” Jin said, and then he smiled at Dash. “And for the lovely Chen Dazhong,” he added.

  “We need to go,” Lankford said. The CIA agent seemed all in now, any lingering doubts about the plan apparently long gone.

  “Agreed,” Jin said. “Follow me. I will provide you with Kevlar vests and rifles from the armory before you go to the vehicles.”

  “Just a moment,” Dash said, removing a silver pendant of a rat from her neck. She extended her arms, fastened the chain around Gang Jin’s neck, and kissed him on the cheek. “From one rat to another,” she said with a coy smile.

  “You honor me, Chen Dazhong,” Jin said with a gracious smile. “But now we must hurry. I fear your opportunity to catch him may be slipping away.”

  Chapter 39

  Northwest-bound tunnel, Underground City

  Nick felt like a SEAL for the first time in years, and he was surprised at how much he liked it. The sway of the Sig Sauer 516 rifle slung across his shoulders, the snugness of the Kevlar vest around his chest, and the crackle of radio static in his ear from his integrated earpiece and boom mic—these were the poignant, familiar sensations of being all kitted up that he missed, and it struck a nerve. He was a warrior; that part of him would never die. But this morning, he was leading the least qualified assault team he had ever been associated with—a jumpy CIA case officer and a female epidemiologist who had never held a weapon before.

  Face it—you’re a team of one.

  Nick and Lankford knelt in the back of the Argo six-by-six all-terrain vehicle while Dash rode in the front passenger seat next to Gang Jin’s appointed driver as they tore at breakneck speed through the tunnel. A second ATV cruised along beside them, this one a four-by-four trail-riding model.
>
  “You are two minutes out. We still hold five armed men at the stairwell, but Qing has not returned,” said Jin’s voice in Nick’s earpiece, and it was strange to have the heavily Chinese-accented voice acting as his guide.

  “Roger. We need stealth on the approach,” Nick said into his voice-activated mic. “We should stop soon and walk in. If we spook Qing, we may not get another chance.”

  “I agree,” Lankford said.

  “Yes,” Jin answered. Then Jin said something in Chinese over the same comms channel that must have been meant for the driver, because the man behind the wheel backed off the accelerator and pulled over along the side of the tunnel.

  “We’ll go in from here,” Nick said, jumping out of the Argo. It was not lost on him that once they had kitted up, Lankford was quick to pass on operational control to Nick. The CIA man was an experienced covert operator, but Nick was, after all, a SEAL.

  And this is what SEALs do.

  Dash and Lankford disembarked from the vehicle and huddled together.

  “Here’s the plan. Lankford and I will advance on and secure the target. Dash, you stay here with Jin’s men. They’ll protect you and provide emergency egress if things go wrong.”

  “Agreed,” said Lankford.

  “I concur,” Jin said over the radio.

  “Absolutely not.” It was the first thing Dash had said since he had given her a forty-second in-service on her weapon before they boarded the ATV. “I have to come. Qing is unpredictable. You will need me with you if something goes wrong.” Dash looked at him pleadingly but then also tapped her right vest pocket and raised her eyebrows.

  Nick hesitated. He knew she was right. Dash was the most qualified to assess Qing’s state of mind and the biotactical situation. Besides, she possessed the only protection from Qing’s WMD. Well, possible protection. Her vaccine was untested and unproven. Despite what she witnessed in the microscope lab, Nick put the odds of the harvested nanobots actually saving their lives at about 10 percent.

  “Okay, Dash is coming with us,” he announced. “She is the only one qualified to assess the threat from Qing’s tech.”

  Lankford pushed his boom mic aside and covered it with his hand. “Assess the threat from the tech? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Nick clicked the radio on his vest to mute it.

  “She’s coming with us,” Nick said softly. “It’s not up for debate.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Nick looked at the CIA officer. He was starting to trust the guy, but they didn’t have time to get into the backstory of the possible cure that Dash had developed.

  “You’ve gotta trust me on this,” Nick said and clapped a hand on Lankford’s shoulder while looking him in the eye.

  Lankford pursed his lips but nodded and clicked his own radio off of mute. Nick did the same and then announced, “I’m point, Dash and Lankford two by two in a spread behind me. How’s the video feed, Jin?”

  “You are in between cameras at your current location,” came Jin’s reply over the wireless. “But I still hold the armed men at the bottom of the stairwell. They are perhaps five hundred meters farther down the tunnel. The stairwell camera is the last one on the perimeter we monitor. I have no way to tell you who or what lies beyond.”

  “Check,” Nick answered. “Just watch our backs.”

  “There is nothing to your rear but my men and the two vehicles. One other thing you should know, Nick: beyond this point there are many branches and other exits. If Qing and his men flee to the north, I will not be able to guide or assist you.”

  “Roger that,” Nick said, and he looked at Dash and Lankford. “From here on in, no talking. Complete silence. Understood?” They both nodded. He could see the uncertainty in Dash’s face, but he was surprised by her lack of fear. Even team guys had fear—you simply learned to harness its energy. Dash looked determined and anxious, but not afraid. Her awkward holding of the small rifle and her oversized Kevlar vest made her look like a little girl dressed up for Halloween. He smiled at her and she tried to smile back. “Let’s go,” he said. “On me.”

  He turned and began to lead his team down the tunnel. Nick had his rifle up and moved in a tactical crouch, advancing as he had done countless times in his former life. Muscle memory drove his movements. He covered the distance quickly and quietly. The same could not be said for his companions. Every squeak and shoe scuff from Lankford or Dash made him cringe.

  But this was his team, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

  Fifty meters past the last of Gang Jin’s tunnel lights, the tunnel began to grow dim. He slowed their pace to give everyone’s eyes time to adjust as they headed into darkness. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of night vision goggles and a PEQ-2 IR target designator. With just those two items, we would make quick work of Qing’s three bodyguards. He glanced over his shoulder and was pleased to see Lankford in a reasonable combat crouch to his left. To his right, Dash was making a rather childlike, but still impressive, impersonation of the same.

  A sound made him stop, and he raised a closed fist with his left hand.

  A loud shoe squeak from Dash made his pulse jump.

  He took a knee and peered over his iron sights into the darkness.

  “I think they heard you,” Jin’s voice said in his ear. “The guards are talking and one of them is shining a flashlight in your direction. How far out are you?”

  Nick didn’t answer but scanned ahead. Jin’s report was spot on, as he saw the dancing flicker of white LED light ahead.

  “One of them is on the move, heading your way,” Jin added, his voice reflecting anxiety for the first time.

  Nick gestured for his team to press their backs against the walls. He intentionally positioned himself in the lead, between Dash and the approaching gunman.

  “I lost him now. He is out of our camera range,” Jin said. “Nick, can you hear me?”

  Nick clicked his microphone in acknowledgement and raised a hand slowly, a gesture of silence he hoped the others understood. The flashlight beam suddenly went dark. Nick wasn’t sure if that meant the advancing gunman had given up and turned around or if he was astute enough to continue his reconnaissance in the dark. Nick strained his eyes, willing the darkness away as he searched for movement in the shadows.

  There!

  The gunman was creeping down the center of the tunnel—an amateur mistake. Quietly, Nick moved his right hand off his rifle grip and into his cargo pocket. His fingers found his folding knife, which he opened quietly in the dark with his thumb. The blade was only three inches long, but used correctly, it would be enough. The gunman was only five meters away now, and still he had not seen or heard them.

  Four meters . . .

  Nick raised the blade to the ready position.

  Three meters . . .

  He could hear Dash’s nervous breathing and prayed quietly that the approaching gunman could not. Nick stepped away from the wall, advancing silently into position to intercept the gunman just as he passed abreast of their position. Nick planned the killing sequence in his head: he would clasp his left forearm around the man’s throat, constrict the airway to silence any attempt to shout, and plunge his knife into the base of the man’s skull, severing the spinal cord at the brainstem and silencing him forever.

  Nick moved a pace to the left.

  Gang Jin’s voice crackled in his ear and sent Nick’s pulse racing: “I see shoes climbing down the ladder . . . It may be Qing returning . . . Confirmed. I have a visual on Qing.”

  One meter . . .

  A voice barked something in Chinese from the tunnel ahead. The advancing gunman looked over his shoulder and hollered back. Nick hesitated. This was the moment to make the kill, but to do it now would alert Qing to their presence. He needed Qing in the tunnel. If the bastard scurried back up the stairs, they would lose him. Nick stayed frozen in place. Dash’s raspy breathing sounded like a freight train to him, but the gunm
an still did not seem to hear it. The man shouted again in Chinese, spun around, and hurried back down the tunnel.

  “Qing is carrying something,” said Jin over the comms circuit. “Looks like a leather messenger bag. He’s transferring something from a duffle bag into the messenger bag. It looks like a coffee thermos.”

  Nick held his left hand up with a closed fist and prayed no one would make a sound. They were predators now, and any noise would send the gazelles scattering. Their best chance was catching them in a tight group.

  “Qing is talking with his bodyguards . . . Now they are walking to their motorcycles. If you’re going to engage, you need to do it now, before they leave,” Jin reported on the radio.

  The decision to engage wasn’t that simple. If Qing and his men planned to go south, then they would be easy targets as they passed. Whack, whack, whack, game over, Qing loses. But if Qing’s orders were to drive north, then the window of opportunity was lost. The odds of catching Qing outside Gang Jin’s camera perimeter were virtually nil. Nick knew he needed to move now, before they egressed. He slipped the knife back into his cargo pocket and slinked back to the wall. He gave the “advance” command with his left hand, brought his rifle up to the ready, and rested his right index finger on the trigger guard. He advanced the team quickly, too quickly apparently, because the rattle from Dash’s loose-fitting kit was like thunder echoing in the tunnel.