Jake settled into the copilot’s seat of the Bell and the pilot immediately lifted it into a hover. When he was above the power lines, the pilot eased the nose over and let the machine fly between the buildings toward the harbor.
They stayed low, the skids almost in the dark water, as they worked their way northwest up the Kowloon docks. Scanning the ships with binoculars, Jake fought down the sense of panic that welled up within him as the sun dipped below the horizon. Time was running out.
Coasters, tankers, container ships, tramps, fiber-optic cable layers … ships of every kind and description. They were Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Greek, American, and flag-of-convenience ships from all over the globe. Grafton hunted through them as the light faded slowly, inexorably.
Lin Pe worked her way along the nearly deserted streets of Kowloon. She was very tired and her feet dragged.
Unable to go farther, she sat on the sidewalk against a building, her bag clutched in her hand.
She had never seen the streets this empty. Those people who were out walked purposefully, determined, with quick glances up and down the street.
There were soldiers, of course. PLA trucks drove along the streets with soldiers sitting on the fenders, rifles in hand. At street corners soldiers directed traffic, waving civilian cars off the streets to make way for trucks.
And tanks.
Three tanks rumbled by Lin Pe, huge beasts with long, clumsy barrels protruding from their turrets. Their treads chewed up the pavement.
She got up and followed them, walking as quickly as she could. The tanks were faster than she was, but they didn’t disappear from sight.
The three of them came to a halt at the intersection of Nathan and Waterloo roads. The intersection was about a mile north of the southern tip of the peninsula. One tank went through the intersection, then turned in the street. Gingerly the drivers maneuvered. One tank came to rest in the intersection, its nose and the cannon pointed south. One tank was parked on each side of the intersection, slightly back. The tankers on each flank pushed the barrels of their cannons through the glass windows of the corner buildings so they could also command the street and remain half hidden by the buildings. Two trucks stopped to discharge soldiers, who took up positions behind the tanks and the parked cars that lined the side streets.
Owners of parked cars came pouring from adjacent buildings. They scrambled to move their vehicles, some of which were already blocked in by the tanks. Shouting and pleading with the soldiers did no good. One officer pointed his rifle at several civilians and ordered them to leave. In seconds the last car that could be moved was gone, and the sidewalks were empty.
Lin Pe walked another block and found a store whose owner had yet to lock the door. He protested as she entered, but she insisted, talking loudly, refusing to leave. When the owner went back in the store to summon his wife, Lin Pe took out her WB cell phone and dialed the number she had memorized. It took her but thirty seconds to report the location of the tanks.
“Climb,” Jake said to the helicopter pilot. He was desperate. There was little light left, and the China Rose was eluding him.
“If we climb the PLA may knock us out of the sky.”
“Climb,” Jake repeated, his voice hard and urgent.
The pilot hoisted the collective and the helo bounced upward; Jake fought against the downward G-force to hold the binoculars steady. The pilot leveled at a thousand feet above the water. “Fly the whole waterfront again,” Jake Grafton ordered, “especially the area by the amusement park.”
But China Rose wasn’t there. The haystack contained no needle.
Just when he was ready to admit defeat, he saw it.
“There!” He pointed. “Closer. Go closer.”
The pilot turned the Bell and closed the distance.
Yes. There was just enough light to see the red trim, the small bridge, and the windows of the salon. A small boat hung on davits behind the stack. The yacht’s name … he couldn’t make it out. It must be China Rose!
The yacht—actually a small ship—was moored to a pier, the last of three large yachts on the north side. Three more were moored against the south side of the pier, which was at least two hundred yards long.
At the head of the pier stood a wire fence with a closed gate. On the quay itself were pallets of boxes, some Dumpsters, stacks of fifty-five-gallon drums, forklifts, trucks, some people walking … Ocean-going general cargo ships were berthed at piers to the north and south.
“Over the quay.” Grafton pointed out the direction he wanted to the pilot. He had to see how he was going to get onto the quay from the street.
In the last of the light he got his landmarks.
It was completely dark when he tapped the pilot on the shoulder and jerked a thumb toward Victoria. The helo turned and dropped the nose and accelerated out over the harbor. The pilot didn’t turn on the exterior lights until he was approaching the shoreline of Hong Kong Island.
“Where did you see China Rose!” Jake Grafton asked Tiger Cole as they hunted through the clothes littering the floor of the truck for a pair of pants that might fit him.
“At a pier in Kowloon. Across from the yacht of a friend of mine, the Barbary Coast”
“For Christ’s sake, why didn’t you say so two hours ago? I damned near didn’t find it before the light faded.”
“It just slipped my mind, until you asked. I saw it but paid little attention.”
“Well, it’s still there, on the end of a pier. If we had the time we could get a delivery truck, fake up some invoices, drive through the gate at the head of the pier and motor right up to Wong’s gangway. No time, though. We gotta go as fast as we can get there.”
“Why don’t you land on my friend’s yacht? Nikko Schoenauer. He’s right across the pier. Has a helo pad on top of the salon.”
“This guy German?”
“American as a hot dog.”
“It must be nice having all these filthy rich friends.”
“Nikko Schoenauer flew A-4s in Vietnam. He told me that he decided to get into a business that would always be popular, didn’t pollute or use up scarce resources, with a product that people paid for with discretionary income, something nice to have but not necessary. His yacht’s a whorehouse. He fills it with Japanese businessmen and sails off for week-long parties and writes a fat check to a bank on the first of every month.”
Jake glanced at Cole, who looked absolutely serious. “Whores ‘n’ More, eh? Tiger, you never cease to surprise me.
Jake pulled the shoulder holster containing the Colt on over the black shirt. Tommy Carmellini was waiting outside the truck with two silenced submachine guns and five magazines of ammo for each. He also produced a couple of marine fighting knives, one for each of them, and two sets of night-vision goggles. “First-class stuff,” Jake said to Cole after he gave them a quick brief on the goggles.
Jake and Tommy put on the goggles, turned on the power. Idly Jake asked Tiger, “So you were visiting Schoenauer last week?”
“Yeah. The girls are kinda cute.”
“I thought you were dating China Bob’s sister?”
“Naw! China Bob was a snob. He wanted his sister married off to a decent husband. I was just another dude he was doing business with.”
“Schoenauer’s got a floating whorehouse, huh?” Carmellini asked. He had been standing outside the truck listening to Grafton and Cole.
“California girls mostly,” Cole said. “They come and go. Refugees from suburbia and bad marriages. When they’ve gotten their batteries recharged, off they go back across the pond.”
“Live in a yacht at the side of the road and be a friend of man.”
“Something like that.”
“We’ll land on his boat and troop across the pier,” Jake said, “if you don’t think we’ll be interrupting anything.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind,” Tiger rejoined. “He can’t get underway until he gets another load of clients, which won’t happen until the airport reopens. Tell
him I sent you.”
Jake Grafton looked at his watch. “You ready?” he asked Tommy Carmellini.
“Yes, sir. Let’s do it.”
They stowed the weapons, ammo, and night-vision goggles in a drawstring bag, which they slung over their shoulders.
“When does the war start?” Jake asked Cole.
“In about two hours,” Tiger replied, “unless the PLA kicks off the ball sooner.”
“We’ll be back by then,” Jake muttered.
“Or dead,” Carmellini added.
“You still got a handle on the electrical grid?”
“Yep.”
“How about killing all power to that pier, or that area, in twenty minutes?”
“Sure. Hang tough, shipmate.” Cole shook both their hands, then went back into the museum exhibit trailer.
“You scared?” Carmellini asked Jake as they walked to the helicopter, which was sitting in the street with the engine off.
“Hell, yes, I’m scared,” Jake shot back. “That’s a fool question. Why’d you ask it?”
“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t the only one.”
The helo pilot made sure both men were strapped in, then he pushed the starter, and the Bell’s engine wound up with a whine.
Jake lied to Carmellini; he wasn’t scared. He had been too busy worrying about Callie to be scared.
“Rip, Mother isn’t here.”
Rip Buckingham looked up from his PC. He was doing an in-depth piece on the revolution for the Buckingham Sunday editions.
“The maid said she left this morning and hasn’t come back,” Sue Lin said.
“Maybe she’s at the cookie company.”
“I called there. No one answers.”
“Well …”
“Rip! She could be killed out there. If the government finds out she is Wu’s mother, they’ll throw her in prison. She’d die there. Rip!”
“For God’s sake, Sue Lin, she’s a grown woman, this is her town. She can take care of herself.”
“But she can’t!” Sue Lin sagged into a sitting position and began weeping. First her brother, now her mother. She was trying to be brave, but she just couldn’t.
Rip cradled her head in his hands. “Sue Lin, your mother wanted to help. She wanted to be a part of what was happening.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say no?”
“What right did I have to tell her no? She’s Chinese—this is her country. These are her people.”
“I’m your wife.” She struck his hands away.
“Indeed. And it’s time you realized that the future of China is more important than we are.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean it’s time you realized that your happiness is not the most important thing in your mother’s or brother’s life.”
“Is it the most important thing in your life, Rip? Answer me that.”
“Don’t ask me a foolish question, woman. You may not like the answer.”
She rose from the floor and walked to the window. With her back to Rip she said, “You had no right to let her go without telling me.”
“You would have said no. She wanted to go. What would you have me do?”
“If you love me, you will find my mother and bring her home.”
He turned off the computer and stood. “You don’t understand what love is. You think it is possessive, and it isn’t. Sometimes you have to let go of the things you love the most.”
He took a few steps toward her, then changed his mind. “I will try to find Lin Pe and help her do the job she volunteered to do. When it’s over, if we’re alive I’ll bring her here.”
Sue Lin didn’t turn around.
He walked from the room and headed for the stairs.
This, Governor Sun Siu Ki thought, was without a doubt the worst afternoon of his life. His friends in Beijing had shouted, sworn, second-guessed, cajoled, and threatened him. He had been accused of being a dupe, a fool, a liar, and an incompetent imbecile. He tried to explain that the afternoon debacle was the fault of General Tang, now dead, and General Moon Hok, now a prisoner, but to no avail. The truth was that if those two soldiers had obeyed his orders to vigorously enforce the law and lay the wood to the outlaws, these riots would not have gotten out of control. They were afraid to use the military power the nation gave them. They were cowards.
Then the television showed the mob beating government officials to death. If that wasn’t bad enough, the ministry in Beijing said that treasonous criminal spectacle had been seen by a large percentage of the urban population of China. It had even run on a television station in Beijing, the outraged minister told him, as if the failure of the media officials was Sun’s fault.
So when his aide passed him a note saying Sonny Wong was on the phone, Sun Siu Ki was in a savage mood.
“Carrion-eater. Double-crosser. Traitor.” He used all three of these phrases on Sonny when he picked up the telephone.
“Whoa, Governor. I know you’re having a bad day, but there is a way out. I’ve told you that. I couldn’t single handedly stop these criminal combinations, but I can save the day.”
“For money?”
“Of course, for money. I have a large organization that I support at my own expense, and we have done what the government could not—we have penetrated the rebel organization. Pay me the money and I will give you their heads.”
“Beijing has not authorized the payment,” Sun protested.
“I find their attitude beyond understanding. They are faced with a genuine rebellion that is getting worldwide press and inciting treason throughout China. The rebels are waging cyberwar against the nation. Government officials are being beaten to death by mobs, a spectacle played on every television on the planet”—this was only a small exaggeration—“and the government dithers over whether or not to pay me one hundred million American dollars to put a stop to all this. What are you people thinking?”
“Beijing has faith in the PLA,” Sun explained. “Beijing is a long way from Hong Kong; from there they see the backs of ten million soldiers. Ten million soldiers are ten million soldiers. These traitors are causing huge problems, of course, but no ragtag mob is going to crush the PLA.”
“You saw the robots on television today. Those robots are not a ragtag mob.”
“Beijing was not impressed. You cannot extort money from them with movie props.”
“Sun, you are as stupid as a snail. Wait until tonight. Tonight the robots will be in action. Tonight is the Battle of Hong Kong. When the PLA is losing, think of me. You know the telephone number.” And Sonny hung up.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Callie Grafton awoke with a start. She had been dozing, lost in despair, and suddenly she knew. The knowledge brought her wide awake. She sat up in her bunk.
“He’s coming for me,” she said to Wu, who was also awake. She said it first in English, then had to translate.
“Who is?” Wu asked.
“My husband. He is coming. I know it.”
Wu didn’t believe her, of course, but he had grown to like this strange American woman and her delicious accent.
“Us. He’s coming for us.” The faux pas of excluding Wu occurred to her now, and automatically she spoke again, correcting her error.
“How do you know he is coming?”
“I just know.” She searched for words. “I can feel it. I can feel his presence, the fact that he is thinking of me, the fact that he is coming.”
“Soon?”
“I do not know.”
“Tell me of your husband,” Wu said, to humor her.
Callie looked at him sharply. “You don’t believe me and I don’t expect you to, because I wouldn’t if I were you. But Jake is coming. Perhaps I know it because I know the man.”
She wrapped her arms around her legs. “All this time I have been worried because I didn’t have an escape plan. Ha! I’ve got Jake Grafton.”
“The knight in shining armor,” Wu
said.
“Laugh if you like. He’ll come.”
She was still sitting like that when they heard someone outside the door, then a key in the lock. Two men entered with weapons drawn.
“Come with us, Wu. Time to do some more work on your confession.”
They handcuffed his hands behind him and took him away.
Two minutes later the key turned again.
The Russian, Yuri Daniel, stood in the open doorway looking at her. “You too, Mrs. Grafton. Your statement is ready to sign.”
“I gave no statement.”
“That wasn’t a problem. I wrote it for you. Come.”
Since he knew where he was going this time, the helicopter pilot kept the Bell JetRanger low, just above the water. He weaved around several junks and a fishing boat, then flew parallel to the coast for several miles. When he was on the extended centerline of the pier that held the China Rose and Barbary Coast, he turned for it.
“Wind’s out of the north, a bit east,” the pilot told Jake. “I’ll land into the wind on the helo pad on the Coast.”
“Yeah.”
“Guns in or out?” Carmellini wanted to know.
“In the bags, I think. Don’t want to scare ‘em to death. But be ready, just in case.”
The pilot kept the chopper so low that he actually had to climb to land on the Barbary Coast. A night landing on a tiny platform on a small ship, even one tied to a pier, was certainly not routine. The pilot’s expertise was obvious.
As the helicopter settled onto its skids, Jake was looking across the pier at the China Rose. A few lights were on: on the bridge, over the gangway, and in a few of the portholes. The main salon aft was dark.
Safely on deck, the helicopter pilot shut down his engine. Jake and Carmellini got out, bags in hand.
Just in time to meet a man coming out the hatch from the bridge. He was about Jake’s age, tan and graying.
“My name is Jake Grafton. Virgil Cole said you wouldn’t mind if we landed on your boat.”
When he heard Cole’s name, the man extended his hand. “Name’s Schoenauer. How long you going to be with us, Mr. Grafton?”
“Not long, I hope. Let’s get off this weather deck and I’ll explain.”
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