Beyond all Limits (25 page)

2

The thought of death was in Cole’s mind for only an instant, and then it was gone – all thought gone now, his body instead reacting and responding instinctively, as it had been trained and honed to do over the years, the decades; a lifetime of violence.

His right hand pulled away from General Wu’s fleshy palm, coming across his own body to chop down hard on the forearm of the terrifying monk beside him.

The blow was hard and the man’s grip wavered – it didn’t break, the man was too strong for that – but it weakened momentarily, giving Cole the chance to pull it free, kicking out as he fell back and catching Zhou across the knee with his hardened shin.

The kick just bounced off the big man’s leg and then Cole sensed him moving in, hands outstretched to grab him. Cole knew if the man got his hands on him, he was as good as dead.

There were eight armed men in the room, but Cole knew they wouldn’t fire with General Wu so close to them. But as Zhou tried to grab Cole, two of the guards raced forward to pull Wu back, drag him to safety.

Cole kicked out again at Zhou, but again the blow just bounced off the man’s incredibly hard body, the external fat a mere curtain for its iron core.

But Cole had used the kick not to attack, but to help propel himself to the side, and as he bounced off Zhou’s body, he followed the momentum, turning to grab a gilded trestle table.

In the blink of an eye he was moving back in, his circle taking him back towards Wu, and he connected hard to the man’s head with the table, making him fall to his knees.

Zhou forgot about Cole for an instant, checking on the man he was sworn to protect, and Cole used the opportunity to leap-frog the general’s wide back, lashing out at the two guards behind with his feet.

He caught both men in the chest and landed, grabbing the first man’s rifle from his hands as he fell back, spinning the gun around into the right position and firing off three-round bursts around the room while using Wu as a barricade.

Four armed guards were down before Zhou grabbed the barrel of the weapon and wrenched it out of Cole’s hands, but – the purpose of his mission still uppermost in his mind – he used the distraction to launch himself for another attempt at Wu, his hand firing out towards the fallen general, the man’s neck wide open.

But he was too slow, or Zhou was too fast; for before his hand could connect with the general’s neck, the butt end of the rifle came crashing down, batting Cole’s arm out of the way. Cole tried to move, but couldn’t make it in time – the Shaolin monk’s foot came at him so fast he never had a chance, the kick landing heavy in his gut, propelling him backwards towards the balcony.

Zhou grabbed the fallen general, pulling him across the room, towards the door at the other side, in the opposite direction to Cole.

Cole knew from Zhou’s face that the man wanted desperately to kill him, but – to his credit – he knew his job was to protect the general. ‘Kill him!’ Zhou called over his shoulder in Mandarin as he led the general from the room at top speed. ‘Now!’

Cole didn’t have to see the two remaining men of the Hong Kong Special Operations Unit to know that – with a free target now Wu was safe – their guns would be tracking his way. He also knew that more security from the balcony would undoubtedly be making its way inside the pavilion at any second.

And so Cole did the only thing he could possibly do at that moment, and sprinted as fast as he could towards the exterior balcony and the generals beyond.

Again, the SOU soldiers became unable to fire, professional enough to realize that their shots might well penetrate the pavilion wall and kill the other high-ranking members of the military government who sat beyond.

It took Cole only seconds to reach the pavilion entrance, but the door was already opening as he arrived, more security guards entering to see what the noise was, to answer the calls of their colleagues inside. And Cole knew that it was only the start; within the next minute, every member of the onsite security force would be after him.

The men entering the pavilion were too slow to react to the charging form of Cole, and he knocked them aside before they could shoot, blasting outside onto the balcony, leaping over Wu’s golden throne to looks of absolute bewilderment from the generals and their guards, and carrying on forwards to the balcony’s railings.

He vaulted them in one smooth action, barely noticing how dark it was now, the sun obscured by storm clouds, and landed on the lower roof of the corridor below, soaking wet in the torrential summer downpour; but rather than stop to assess his position, he carried on, using his momentum, compressing his legs into a deep squat before exploding forwards in a flying leap.

Cole heard gasps of surprise, screams from the far side of the lake, shots fired at him as he jumped, his body sailing across the concrete dock steps below him, heading for the waters of Beihai Lake.

And then he hit the water in a perfect dive, hands leading the way, body slipping underneath the lake.

Even underwater, he could hear the sounds of gunfire as the soldiers opened up from the balcony, peppering the lake on full-auto.

His legs pumped, taking him deeper and deeper, bullets passing by his body in slow motion, stopped from achieving killing velocity by the density of the water around him.

His legs pumped harder, his heart beating fast as he swam further and further into the lake, looking up towards the surface, looking for what he needed.

He spotted it soon after, having known in which direction to head from his brief glance from the roof of the lower corridor, and started to swim upwards, angling his body toward the boat whose hull was casting the shadow above him.

He burst out of the water, up into the thundering rain, reaching up to grab the rear of the wooden racing craft, pulling himself clear of the water.

In the same action, he reached out and grabbed the life jacket of the steersman, pulling him off his seat and into the lake, Cole taking his place at the back of the boat.

The steersman, also known as the sweep, sat at the very back of the boat, opposite the drummer at the stern who kept the rhythm for the two dozen paddlers who sat down the length of the boat. His job was to steer the dragon boat by using the sweep oar, rigged to the left-hand side of the craft’s rear.

‘Paddle!’ yelled Cole when the race team stopped moving, fear and confusion in their eyes. ‘Paddle!’ he yelled again, this time in Mandarin. ‘I have a gun!’

However untrue, his last comment did the job, and suddenly galvanized the crew into action. The drummer started beating faster, and the oarsmen responded by pulling harder. Soon the dragon boat was going at quite a speed, and Cole used the sweep oar to direct the craft away from the Jade Flower Islet, heading northeast across the stormy surface of Beihai Lake.

General Wu pulled free from Zhou’s grasp, unable to believe what had happened.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, surrounded now by an entire entourage of soldiers. ‘What was he doing?’

‘Death touch,’ Zhou responded. ‘If he had touched your arm again, you would have been killed.’ The look in Zhou’s eyes left Wu in no doubt that he was serious.

‘Death touch?’ Wu said in disbelief. ‘But what manner of man was this?’

‘An assassin, General. A very highly skilled one.’

An assassin?
Wu could scarcely believe it. And yet when Zhou had interrupted, the man had fought back like a caged tiger.

‘Sent by who?’ he asked, mostly to himself.

Zhou shrugged, and Wu realized that his bodyguard neither knew nor cared; it was irrelevant to the present circumstances.

‘Well, we’ll know when we check his body,’ Wu said, striding back towards the pavilion. But then he saw the soldiers’ hands going to their ear, listening to the messages coming in through their earpieces.

Zhou had no earpiece, despite being in charge of security; he despised technology, and let those under his command worry about such things. Wu never mentioned it; Zhou was good at his job without the need of such things, so why interfere? And he had proven it again today; all the technology in the world hadn’t helped identify Dietrich Hoffmeyer for what he was, or helped to stop him. Zhou Shihuang had done it with his bare hands.

‘What is it?’ Zhou asked Major Wang Lijun, his chief aide, who looked like he didn’t want to give an answer.

‘Our men failed to kill him in the pavilion,’ Wang said.

Wu’s eyes opened wide. ‘What? So where is he now?’

‘He jumped from the balcony into Beihai Lake, he’s now on a dragon boat heading away from the island.’

Wu and Zhou were already running for the pavilion, bursting through the door, through the gilt-edged room and out the other side onto the rain-soaked balcony, straining their eyes to see the escaped assassin.

The soldiers were firing out across the lake, but Wu could see they were wasting their time; wherever he was, he was too far gone to hit now, and visibility in the storm was nearly zero.

‘There!’ one of the generals said to Wu, pointing out across the dark waters. He followed the man’s outstretched finger and located the escaping dragon boat, amazed at how far it had gone.

‘Give the order for the rooftop sharpshooters,’ Wu heard Zhou informing Wang. ‘Make sure that man is dead.’

Wu nodded his agreement, then stopped. If they killed the man, they might never learn who he was, who had sent him. And how, Wu considered thoughtfully, would he then know who to take his revenge against?

‘No,’ Wu said to Major Wang. ‘Rescind that order. The man is not to be killed. Harmed, yes, but killed, no. Not if we can help it. I want to question him.’

Zhou nodded in agreement, half a smile on his scarred face, and Wu knew why; it would be Zhou doing the questioning, a job he never grew tired of and one which was eminently suited to his sadistic personality.

‘Very good,’ Zhou said. ‘But now, if I may say so, I think we should return to the security of the Zhongnonhai. You are too exposed here, and the races will be cancelled now anyway. Look,’ he said, pointing to the lake, boats all across the water; dragon boats heading away from the one with the assassin onboard, security craft heading out at top speed towards it, weapons at the ready.

And if the waterways were in chaos, that was nothing compared to the park itself; at the sound of gunshots, the sedate and happy festivalgoers had degenerated into panicked anarchy. The security forces were struggling to contain the escalating unrest, even at the same time as they tried to track the dragon boat as it sped across the lake.

And all about them, the rain fell heavily, clouds darkening the sky.

Wu frowned; this was supposed to be a chance to show himself as one of the people, a man the crowds could get behind; it would have made great propaganda, both here and abroad. He considered forcing the people to stay, for the races to go ahead, but realized that it was already too far gone for that to happen.

No, he eventually accepted, the event was ruined. And all because of that bastard Dietrich Hoffmeyer, or whoever the hell he really was.

Well, Wu thought, that man was going to be sorry when he was brought into the bowels of the Zhongnonhai, strung up naked and helpless in those dark, bloody basements.

Yes, that scum was going to be sorry he’d ever been born by the time Zhou Shihuang was through with him.

‘Okay,’ Wu said, conceding temporary defeat. ‘Cancel the races, evacuate the park, and bring that man to me.’ There were nods all around the room. ‘And be alert – we don’t know who else is out there.’

And that was quite true, Wu realized – there might well be other forces out there, aligned against him. Other attempts on his life.

Wu sighed, not used to having to accept any kind of defeat; but then as he was led from the pavilion towards a secret corridor which would enable him to leave the island unmolested, he suddenly realized he could turn the situation to his advantage.

He’d had to arrange the sinking of one of his own navy’s ships in order to create a pretext for the invasion of Taiwan.

Now he considered what he could do with a real, genuine assassination attempt, and smiled as the possibilities played out across his vivid imagination.

3

Lieutenant Sun Shen was unsure what to do; there was some sort of trouble at the park, and he’d been instructed to check on the prisoners being held in the central compound of the Outer Eastern Palace.

He’d tried radioing through to the guards there, but had received no answer. It wasn’t a surprise though, chaos running all through Beihai, the Zhongnonhai and the Forbidden City, the radio channels all jammed from too much traffic.

But now, accompanied by four men, he entered the compound itself and found himself even more confused.

It was empty; no sign of life anywhere.

His eyes saw it then – not a sign of life, but one of death.

Blood stains across the polished stone of the courtyard.

He tried to radio through for backup, but the lines were still blocked. He considered using his cell phone, but didn’t want to be accused of cowardice, and so gestured with hand, ordering his men to carry on.

They reached the door to the Hall of Imperial Supremacy and his men spread out down the wall trying to peer into the building from the outside. The reports all came back the same; it was empty.

Summoning up all his courage, he ordered his men to move in close to him, weapons at the ready.

His hand moved to the ceremonial brass door handle slowly, carefully.

They were going in.

Captain Liu Yingchau wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.

The rain was coming down in full fury now, thunderclaps echoing through the park, across the wide lake. And all around him, chaos had broken out.

Families were running screaming from the park, pushing past the armed soldiers who raced the other way, towards the lakeside.

Liu had seen the man leaping from the roof of the Long Corridor, the guards racing out after him, churning up the waters with automatic gunfire.

Even with his binoculars, Liu could hardly make out the man through the driving rain; but he knew it was the leader of the US commando group, he could recognize him by the smooth, fluid way he moved. Like a jungle cat, Liu thought.

And now the orders were coming through his earpiece, one after the other in rapid-fire staccato.
Kill him! Shoot him! Cancel that last! Bring him in alive! He is not to be killed! Capture him alive!

Liu watched as the man steered the dragon boat northeast across the lake, heading . . . where?

In his mind’s eye, Liu conjured up an aerial image of Beihai Park, assessing what the commando’s plan might possibly be. He had failed to kill General Wu, that much was certain – Liu had seen the paramount leader, still alive and well, on the balcony after the man had jumped into the lake. Liu knew that it was only escape that was now on the American’s mind.

But how could Liu help him?

The irony, which was certainly not lost on him, was that it was his official responsibility to protect the general, and now to capture his attacker, whereas his moral duty was to help that same man escape.

But whatever happened to the America, the sad fact was that General Wu was still alive; and if he was still alive, then the threat was still in place. Desperate, he knew he had to do
something
before Wu performed an act that would jeopardize his country and his people for the rest of time.

He sighed, pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number of his superior. The phone was answered immediately, and Liu wasted no time in making his request.

‘Lieutenant Colonel Chen,’ he said quickly, ‘the situation here is deteriorating fast, we’ve been told to get anyone we can to Beijing to help out, in case anything else happens.’

‘And?’ the crusty old officer asked on the other end of the line.

‘And I would like to formally request my Hunting Leopards troop to be recalled from their home base in Chengdu and posted to me here.’

There was a pause on the other end of the line as Chen weighed his options, and Liu knew he was balancing his mistrust of special operations teams against his need to fully secure the city.

‘Okay,’ came the answer at last. ‘I will clear the paperwork immediately.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Liu said, before hanging up and dialing a number in Chengdu. ‘Lieutenant Fang,’ he said in greeting, ‘it’s Captain Liu. How fast can you and the men get to Beijing?’

‘How much further?’ moaned Liang Huanjia, First Vice Premier and the only person left still ranked above Chang Wubei in the Politburo. ‘These sewers are making me sick .The stench is foul, I’m covered in water, and –’

Kang Xing was pleased to see that he didn’t even have to prompt Chang into challenging this weakness on Liang’s part; he intercepted the ball immediately on his own.

‘We are all in the same situation as you,’ Chang said calmly, politely. ‘So what do you suggest? Perhaps that we all just sit down here and wait to be
beamed up?
’

Kang was pleased that the comment elicited some smiles, and even a couple of chuckles, from the marching politicians. Chang was increasing in stature in their eyes with every passing moment.

Liang was about to respond, but Chang beat him to the punch. ‘We have been rescued, we are being taken to safety, and we should all be damned thankful for that. What good could we do our beloved republic while held under lock and key? None at all. So I suggest we all just put our heads down and let them get us to wherever it is we are going. And then when we get there, I think we should cooperate in any way we can.’ Chang looked around the group, trudging through the slimy, noxious waters of Beijing’s sewer system. ‘Are we agreed?’

Twenty people nodded their heads and murmured acquiescence; even Liang Huanjia, to Kang’s surprise and delight, a man who seemed to no longer have the energy to protest.

Kang also noted the American woman listening in as they marched along, the way she looked at Chang with gratitude, perhaps even admiration. He was pleased; the reports would be going back to the US government that here was a man to watch, perhaps even suitable material for China’s next paramount leader. He smiled, seeing his plans coming to fruition, and started to wonder what –

The explosion stopped Kang’s thoughts in their tracks, a colossal blast from way behind them, back down the tunnel from where they’d traveled, a soul-shuddering
boom
which shook the very foundations of the tunnel.

The politicians around him went to their knees, hands over their ears; Chang was halfway down too, before Kang stopped him, shook his head almost imperceptibly at the younger man, his meaning clear –
this is not the time to show weakness.

Kang saw how the American commandos were not disturbed in the slightest; they had been expecting it, a booby-trap left behind in the Hall of Imperial Supremacy, no doubt.

As the staggered, shocked members of the PRC jabbered among themselves helplessly, Kang overheard the big American soldier say something to the leader –
I guess that means they opened the door
, Kang thought it might have been, confirming his suspicions about it being a trap left behind by the commandos.

He saw that Chang had heard it too, and he nodded at the man, urging him to capitalize on the information.

Chang nodded back, and spoke. ‘It is okay, it is okay,’ he said, silencing the others, encouraging them to get back steadily to their feet. ‘It was a trap left by the Americans for the soldiers. It cannot hurt us.’

The woman shouted across to them in Mandarin, nodding her head. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed, validating Chang completely, ‘he is right. It was just a booby trap; now the tunnel will be blocked, and they won’t even be able to follow us. With any luck, they may even think you’re all dead, for a while at least.’

There were hushed whisperings, but everyone was okay, mollified by the explanation.

And, to Kang Xing’s great delight, Chang Wubei’s stock had just risen yet again, both with the other members of the Politburo, and with the Americans.

It was perfect.

The C4 plastic explosive had been rigged all around the Hall of Imperial Supremacy, with extra quantities at key structural points, all linked to triggers on the doors.

When Lieutenant Sun Shen had opened the front door, it had sent an electrical charge along the detonating wires which caused every explosive charge in the building to go off simultaneously.

The result was immediate, and utterly devastating.

The two thousand year old edifice, one which had seen so much, survived for so long despite the wars which had raged around it, was wiped off the face of the earth in seconds.

First the stone work imploded, structural joins ruptured and mangled, and then – when the building could no longer support itself, only moments later – the ancient hall collapsed in on itself, reduced to nothing more than rubble, debris and clouds of thick, dense dust.

Lieutenant Sun Shen and his colleagues were killed instantly, their bodies vaporized by the blast, and the shockwave rippled across the courtyard until it impacted the high walls around it. They shook and cracked, and the easternmost wall then collapsed completely.

The shockwaves also spread to the smaller buildings to the north and south, rocking them to their very foundations. Stonework was damaged, roofing tiles fell, shattering to the displaced courtyard floor below, but the buildings themselves carried on standing – for the time being, at least.

The scene was one of total devastation, as if the few acres of the Outer Eastern Palace had been singled out for a brutal, targeted earthquake.

And furthermore, within the ruins of the Hall of Imperial Supremacy, the hole leading to the escape route through the sewer tunnels was gone altogether, along with all evidence of the Politburo’s rescue at the hands of Force One.

Jake Navarone breathed a silent sigh of relief.

He’d been worried that the hall would be visited before they’d had a chance to get far enough away down the tunnel. To ensure that they didn’t all die in the blast, he’d set a contingency timer on the devices to ensure they wouldn’t blow too early. If anyone had entered earlier than the timer had been set for, the explosives wouldn’t have gone off, and the escape route would have been discovered. That would have been bad, but not as bad as being taken out by his own booby trap.

The good news, however, was that everything had gone as planned; the door had been opened, the C4 had gone off, and the Hall of Imperial Supremacy – hell, maybe even the entire Outer Eastern Palace – was no more.

For the time being, the authorities would have no idea what had caused it; their first thought would probably be that it was the result of some sort of precision-guided munition, perhaps dropped by a stealth aircraft.

Without any evidence to suggest otherwise, they would assume that the entire membership of the Politburo had been killed by the blast too.

It would take days – weeks, probably more likely – to sort through the rubble and debris, even longer to account for the bodies and figure out what must have really happened.

And by then, Navarone hoped, they would be far, far away.

Now the only thing he had to do was make sure that the next part of the plan worked out just as well.