Catalyst (Breakthrough Book 3)

by Michael C. Grumley

  Clay stared back for a moment before dropping his head. There was a small pool of blood on the floor beneath him. Drops farther out that indicated he had been bleeding from his head somewhere.

  Qin crossed his arms and smiled at Clay. His injured hand had now been professionally dressed. “Finally, you’re awake.”

  Two more soldiers appeared and stood quietly behind Qin.

  “I was afraid at first that they’d killed you.”

  Clay opened his mouth to speak and immediately felt a jolt of pain in his jaw. “Lucky me.”

  “I guess Navy SEALs come with a certain amount of durability.”

  Clay didn’t answer. Instead he simply watched, weakly, as Qin stepped closer, examining him.

  “And a sense of humor. Mister John Clay.”

  “Where’s Li Na?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll get to her. As you can see,” Qin said, stepping to the side and turning to view the body. “We’ve already gotten to your friend, Tang. Unfortunately, he was not as durable. Or as helpful.”

  Qin motioned to another soldier who appeared and handed Li Na’s metal case to him. He took it and cracked it open, looking inside. “You’ve come a long way for something so small. But now, as you can see, it’s mine.” He closed the case again. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re upset you lost it. It’s understandable. But you should be happy. Because this case is now your relief. Your salvation.”

  Clay’s voice was low. “Yippee.”

  Qin placed it on the floor and put his hands behind his back. “Tell me what it is inside, and I’ll make the ending for you…comfortable. If not, we’ll all make this the worst exit you can possibly imagine.”

  Clay struggled to focus on Qin through the pain. He tried to raise one of his knees to stand but groaned and slumped back to the floor. His leg was broken.

  “I wouldn’t try standing if I were you.” He watched Clay drop his head again. “You have to know that this will be your last day alive. There’s no way back. And if your own death isn’t enough of an incentive for you, let’s not forget our young Li Na.”

  Clay closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow as he tried to think through the pain. The man was right. There was no way out. Even if there were, he could barely move. Tang was dead. And Clay had no link back to Borger. Whatever help he might provide Li Na would have to be through his cooperation.

  If Qin didn’t understand what was inside the case, he would soon. They would analyze it and figure it out. Unless Qin didn’t want to. Analyzing meant relinquishing the case and its contents to someone else. Which meant they too would find out.

  Qin clearly wanted to know what was inside, but Clay doubted Qin would even let these two soldiers remain in the room. A secret like that would be hard to keep. If anyone understood that, Clay did. And the best secrets were best kept only when everyone else was dead.

  Qin would find out, one way or another. But did the man know that some of it was already in Li Na? It was possible he still hadn’t made the connection with Li Na yet. Which would leave him only what was left in the case.

  Clay wasn’t sure how much Qin knew, but he suspected the man didn’t understand exactly what he had stumbled onto. Wei’s discovery was one thing. What was still in South America was another.

  But some secrets were too important to give up. Some were even worth dying for. What General Wei had sent from South America was something everyone would eventually go after. Something millions would kill for, whether they believed in its effects or not. And now, there in the warehouse, the only person standing in the way of all of it…was Clay.

  With his eyes closed, he never saw the anger suddenly swell in Qin’s eyes nor his step forward driving a boot into Clay’s midsection. He only felt the impact when two of his ribs broke.

  Clay’s eyes shot open and rolled back as he gasped in agony.

  “Tell me!” Qin yelled, just inches from his face. “Tell me, or I promise you, this is just the beginning.”

  Clay fought again to focus through the pain. To focus on Qin and his cold dark eyes. He had to stop it here. It was bigger than Clay. Bigger than Li Na. This was about the future of the human race and a potential level of greed unmatched throughout all of history.

  He continued staring at Qin, trying to come to peace with the inevitability of his own death. And the hope that it would serve a bigger purpose. He thought first of Caesare, then Borger and Admiral Langford. They would have to keep the secret safe now.

  Finally, as the pain once again began to overwhelm his concentration, Clay’s thoughts focused on Alison. A girl unlike any other he’d met.

  And the woman he was sure he would have spent the rest of his life with.

  80

  There was no other way to describe Admiral Langford’s face than “frightening.” With eyes ablaze and teeth clenched, he stormed down the wide hallway with a look that made several people jump out of his way. His feet marched deliberately over the carpeted floor, heading for a large office with closed doors.

  The secretary outside leaped to her feet but was too late. When he reached the double doors, Langford forced them open, slamming them hard against the inside walls.

  In the middle of the room, standing next to a large window, CIA Director Andrew Hayes barely looked back over his shoulder.

  “You’re wasting your time, Langford.”

  “The hell I am!”

  Behind them, Hayes’ secretary nervously grabbed both doors and pulled them closed.

  The director turned around. “It’s not going to happen. You don’t have authority over me or this agency and you know it. Besides, you’re not the first one to storm in here and start making demands. It didn’t work for them and it sure as hell isn’t going to work for you. I suggest you turn around and leave with whatever credibility you have left.”

  “I don’t give a damn about credibility! But mark my words, you are going to do this.”

  Hayes smirked. “Is that so?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and smugly returned to his desk, which he circled before sitting down. “According to who? You? You barely have the authority to get inside this building. We’re everywhere, Admiral. We know everything. Including all about the disappearance of your man Clay. And I’m not about to compromise the power of this entire agency, of the entire country, to save your boy scout.” He picked up a mug from his desk and took a sip. “It’s too late anyway.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Neither do you. But we’re not going to give everything up for someone who’s probably already dead.”

  Langford leaned angrily onto the desk. “Now you listen and you listen good-”

  “No!” interrupted Hayes. He bolted out of his chair and stared icily at Langford. “In case you’re not aware, this is a big goddamn deal! I told you it’s NOT going to happen, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!”

  They both stood, staring at each other in silence, when the phone on Hayes’ desk beeped. The voice of his secretary spoke over the intercom.

  “Sir, I have an important call for you.”

  Hayes kept his eyes on Langford. “Take a message.”

  “Um, I can’t, sir.”

  The director peered down at his phone. “What the hell does that mean?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she simply said, “I’m putting it through.”

  The next voice was deep and immediately recognizable. “Hayes, it’s Carr. Is Langford already there?”

  The look on the man’s face froze. It took him several seconds to reply and he did so while glaring across his desk at Langford. “Yes, Mr. President…he’s here.”

  “Good. Listen to me very carefully…”

  81

  In 1993, the Department of Defense established a set of directives and reporting protocols designed to allow rapid response to national incidents and emergencies. Three of these directives established a list of emergency flag words capable of activating the highest level of command stru
cture within both the Department of Defense and National Command Authority.

  One such flag word, Pinnacle, was designed to launch the highest level of military command to immediately preserve the security and national interests of the United States. Another accompanying code known by many was called Broken Arrow.

  However, unlike the rest of the major military commands, the CIA was not bound by the Department of Defense directives. Instead, the agency maintained a set of its own protocols, designed as emergency responses within its international intelligence network.

  Over the years, several such protocols had been activated though limited in scope.

  But one had not.

  One protocol, known only by the cryptonym of CLOWER was the international equivalent of the DoD’s “Pinnacle.”

  And Andrew Hayes would be the first Director in CIA history to invoke it.

  Once authorized, CLOWER took less than fifteen minutes to activate. The signals were sent in a fraction of a second, but the logistics were immense. Every warden, ambassador, and CIA agent in the world was on their phone or computer, arranging for the immediate evacuation of thousands of CIA operatives. Agents who had infiltrated nearly every branch of foreign government throughout Central Asia, along with their spouses and children, had less than one hundred and twenty minutes. A mere two hours to make it to an airport or an American embassy where passports and travel documents would be waiting.

  Two hours…because once their covers were blown, the ripple effect would be unstoppable.

  82

  John Clay looked wearily at Qin and finally nodded his head. Immediately, Qin dismissed his soldiers and waited impatiently for them to leave the room.

  Through the beatings, he’d watched with satisfaction the precise moment when Clay finally broke. Every man had his limit. Something Qin knew through experience in the MSS. No one could last forever.

  He knelt down in front of Clay and pulled his head up by his thick dark hair. “I will show you mercy,” he whispered. “You have my word.”

  He watched as Clay tried to nod again. His lips trembled and his eyes rolled back from the pain. He tried once more but still couldn’t respond. The American simply couldn’t concentrate through the agony.

  Qin exhaled and retrieved a knife from his belt. He then grabbed one of the ropes suspending Clay and began cutting through it. When he severed the last strand, Clay’s right side collapsed, swinging sideways. His body now dangled by a single rope.

  “Better?”

  Clay came to a stop and hung there motionlessly. Only his chest moved while he breathed.

  “Now tell me,” Qin said, squatting down again. “What is in this case?”

  Clay whispered. “A microorganism…stops aging.”

  Qin’s eyes widened. “It stops aging?”

  Clay nodded weakly.

  The MSS agent stared at Clay in disbelief. That’s what Xinzhen was after? An organism that would stop him from aging? That’s what it was all about? He looked back to Clay. “This organism is from the plants in South America?”

  “Yes.”

  An astounded Qin shook his head and stood up. It was more than he had dreamed. And yet it all made sense –– why Xinzhen wanted it so badly, why he told him so little about what General Wei was doing, and why Wei tried to hide it after destroying the cargo ship on its way home from Guyana. Xinzhen and Wei had hidden their discovery from nearly everyone, and even murdered the soldiers they forced to excavate it. God, it all made sense.

  Qin shook himself from his trance and watched Clay’s nearly lifeless body as it hung from one arm. His still eyes staring at the floor. He was practically dead already.

  Qin withdrew his gun and gripped it carefully in his opposite hand. He was surprised at the man before him. One of the U.S. Navy’s legendary SEALs. He was tough, but not as tough as Qin had expected. The man simply did not live up to the reputation. Where was the American arrogance now?

  He’d known men, lesser men, who had lasted longer than this American. It was truly emblematic of the waning might of a once great nation. The might of the United States was fading. And the rise of China was just beginning.

  He stepped closer to Clay and shook his head in pity. “I gave you my word.” With that, he raised his left hand up and pointed the gun.

  Hanging by one arm, Clay remained still. The pain was overwhelming, making it hard to think.

  His situation was nearly hopeless. Which meant this was no time for bravado. Instead, he had to outwit Qin.

  The first priority had been to find a reason for them to be alone. The second was to get Qin as close as possible. And then to get an arm free. What came next was the last thing Qin ever expected.

  Almost every part of his body screamed in pain. But Clay was not motionless because he couldn’t move. He was motionless for a very different reason. He had been quietly testing each muscle to determine just how much strength he had left.

  He didn’t have enough to get out alive, but he might have enough left in the very last of his reserves for one last effort.

  To take Qin with him.

  83

  What Qin didn’t know as he pointed the gun at Clay was that the American was waiting. For the right moment. Because when Clay finally moved, it came as a complete surprise.

  In one motion, Clay slapped the gun from Qin’s hand and suddenly leaped forward on his broken leg. In a blur, his arm rocketed up, gripped the man’s throat like a vice and squeezed.

  Qin’s gun rattled across the concrete floor and his eyes bulged in shock, still trying to comprehend what had happened. But not before he got out the beginning of a scream.

  It was a sound that Qin’s men heard from the other side of the door.

  An already sinking Clay watched them emerge while the last of his energy began to fade. With clenched teeth, he squeezed harder, giving every last ounce of strength he had left. He ignored the soldier sprinting toward him with the butt of his gun raised. Instead, he tried to tighten one last time before his arm was knocked away and he fell back to the floor.

  Qin stumbled back, gasping for air. His frantic eyes searched the floor. When he couldn’t find his gun, he pointed at Clay and wheezed.

  “Shoot him!”

  Several feet away, the squad’s leader frowned, and kept his eyes fixed on Clay. “We should keep him alive.”

  “I said shoot him!”

  “That doesn’t seem wise,” retorted the soldier, defiantly.

  At that moment a sharp tone sounded. All eyes turned to the squad leader who ripped open a secret pocket, pulling out a small electronic pager.

  He stared at the code on the tiny screen in stunned disbelief. He read it again carefully before raising his eyes back to Qin.

  “What the hell is that?”

  The man stared down at Clay for a long moment. Without a word, he raised his gun and pointed it. Not at Clay, or even Qin, but at his own men. He then made a motion with his head. “Guns down.”

  All six men stared at him in confusion.

  “I said guns down!”

  They blinked at him, still stunned. But one by one each man dropped his rifle loudly onto the floor.

  Qin was just as confused. “What are you doing?”

  The squad leader reached out, grabbing Qin by the collar. He threw him, stumbling, into his own men.

  “Now back up!”

  They each took several steps backward.

  It was then that the leader moved closer to Clay, with his barrel still trained on the others. When he spoke, it was in perfect English.

  “You, my friend, are one lucky son of a bitch.”

  They were the last words Clay heard before the blackness took him.

  84

  Far over the Pacific, the drogue basket detached from the second plane. Aboard the giant Chinese bomber, the Hose Drum Unit began the slow process of reeling it back in.

  The Xian H-6U was a modified version of China’s powerful H-6 bomber. The plane was first detected
by U.S. spy satellites in 1971, forcing China to reveal that they had already built three dozen of the aircraft, and stunning the world.

  Almost fifty years later, several of the aged bombers had been converted from flying fortresses to flying tankers.

  Once the drogue basket had fully detached, the much larger and now fully fueled Y-20 cargo plane began its fateful climb.

  After several thousand feet, the monstrous Y-20 adjusted its flight path and headed for Venezuelan airspace — the only country left standing between the aircraft and its final target.

  85

  Caesare finally reached Anderson and knelt down beside his body –– positioned lifelessly on his side with one hand still clutching his rifle. He’d fought right to the end, judging from the numerous bodies of Brazilian soldiers littering the area. Caesare checked his pulse, and finding nothing, gently rolled him back over. He peered up at Corso as Tiewater approached behind them.

  “They’ve got Juan.”

  Caesare sighed heavily. They could still hear occasional shouts in the distance. The fight hadn’t lasted long as the Brazilians were clearly not expecting a SEAL team on the other side. But it wasn’t enough to reach Anderson or Juan in time.

  “Now what?”

  Caesare stood. He took a deep breath and listened to the sounds of Otero’s men fortifying their positions. His answer felt unnatural. “We do our job and leave.”

  Corso frowned in the darkness. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. As bad as we want to, our mission is not to take these bastards out. Our mission is still to find that monkey and get the hell out of here.”

  Tiewater’s voice was low and angry. “I say we take them out and then go.”