Beyond all Limits (8 page)

After a few enquiries about the event itself, Cole changed the subject. ‘What can you tell me about the girl?’

‘The girl?’ Sergeant Lautner said. ‘How’d you hear about her?’

‘You’ll be pleased to hear that I never reveal my sources.’

Lautner grunted, a noise Cole took to be his version of laughter. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. Better nobody knows, huh?’ He paused, breathed deeply, and Cole imagined he was smoking; on a cordless extension, hiding in a storeroom, smoking and selling secrets.

‘Japanese national,’ Lautner said finally. ‘Seventeen years old, found unconscious with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Beaten badly too, cigarette burns on her body – tortured, looks like. A coupla days or more.’

‘How is she?’ Cole asked, feeling the first – unnecessary? – pangs of parental concern.

‘Oh, she’s fine,’ Lautner said. ‘Bullet wound’s not much more than a scratch really. We’re not getting much out of her though, she’s clammed up tight as a drum. Refuses to say what she was doing there, we figure she was brought in to entertain the boys, you know? A pro, maybe even imported specially from Japan.’ Lautner chuckled. ‘Despite their ideals of racial purity, they want all the colors of the rainbow when it comes to boom-boom time, you know?’

Cole held his tongue; he had to keep the police officer happy. ‘Ain’t that the truth?’ he said, chuckling himself despite his disgust. ‘Do you have a name?’

‘Sure we do – got it right off her passport, which we found in the ranch house. Let me think now, I’m not so good with these foreign names. Really confused us at first, they have their names the other way around to us, you know?’

Cole did know; it was common practice in the orient, with its strong sense of family and its patriarchal cultures, for the surname to come before the given name. In the more individualist west, given names always came first.

Cole didn’t doubt that Lautner had been confused. He was a man who felt he should be higher than he was – passed over for promotion time and time again, and Cole knew he wouldn’t be able to understand why. It wouldn’t be his fault, oh no – he had everything the department needed, he was just being stiffed because they didn’t like him. And now he would show them, by selling stories to the press. Cole had seen it before, too many times – such people were perfect recruits for men like Cole. Jilted, jealous, and desperate to get their own back.

Cole also knew that the real reason Lautner would have been passed over was because he wasn’t half as bright as he liked to think he was.

‘Yeah, those Jap names are weird, huh?’ Cole offered.

‘You’re damn straight there,’ the sergeant said with another grunting laugh.

‘Her name?’ Cole reminded him.

‘Yeah, right. First name is Michi something . . . ’

‘Michiko?’ Cole  prompted.

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ Lautner said gratefully. ‘Michiko. Surname – I don’t know if I’m pronouncing this right – Aoki.’

Aoki Michiko.

Cole’s blood ran cold at the name, and hearing it said aloud finally confirmed his secret thoughts, his private fears.

He
did
know the girl’s mother.

Aoki Asami.

Asami meant ‘morning beauty’, and she had been just that – a stunning woman.

They had met in Thailand, starting a romance which had ended in tragedy.

Violence.

Horror.

Aoki Michiko
could
be his daughter, and Cole suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to see her, to hold her, to hear what she had to say.

But there was China. Beijing. General Wu.

He calculated quickly. His men would all be in DC by tomorrow morning, there would be the initial briefings in Forest Hills, then they would move immediately to the SEAL facility at Coronado on the west coast to draw weapons and equipment before continuing on to a rendezvous in Guam the next day.

He would have to be here tomorrow morning. Could he get to Tucson and back before then?

‘Where’s the girl being held?’ Cole asked.

‘We’re not holding her anymore,’ Lautner answered to Cole’s surprise. ‘She was here on a tourist visa, which has expired. She’s an illegal alien, and ICE has taken custody, they’ve got her on a flight back to Tokyo.’

Cole felt his heart falling. ‘When does it leave?’ he asked breathlessly.

‘Leave?’ came the reply. ‘It’s already left, my friend. Doc cleared her as ready to fly this afternoon, they got her on the first flight out of here.’ There was a pause, and Cole thought the man might be checking his watch. ‘Must be halfway over the Pacific by now. And a good job too, if you ask me. Last thing Tucson needs is another whore running around, am I right?’

Cole clenched the receiver hard, enraged. ‘Your check will be in the post,’ he said through gritted teeth, and hung up on the man before he said something he would regret.

His daughter.

Gone.

If only he’d called Tucson PD before, he could have used his connections, had someone in the White House call ICE, get them to let her stay.

But he hadn’t, and now she was gone.

Cole downed the Scotch, mind clarifying.

In a way, it was a good thing; he needed his thoughts focused on the job at hand. Memories of Thailand, of Aoki Asami, would just hinder him. Meeting his daughter would cloud his judgment.

No, he decided, he had to forget about her for now. He had to perform his mission, do what he had to do.

When Wu was dead, the government rescued and ready to take back control of China, Cole could deal with personal issues then – and only then.

At least Michiko would be safe in Japan until he got there to search for her – her home was surely better than a prison cell in Arizona.

Cole could only hope that she was still there when he was finished with General Wu.

Because, after all he had been through, there was no way in hell he could face losing another daughter.

PART TWO

1

The accommodations could have been worse, thought Kang Xing, National Minister of Defense, as he stretched out on the carved wooden bench in the Wuyingdian, the Hall of Martial Valor.

Located to the west of the Forbidden City’s Gate of Prosperous Harmony and opposite the Hall of Literary Glory, the ancient building was just one of many similar mini-palaces he and the other ministers had occupied since their arrest three days earlier. They were being kept on the move, and Kang knew it was less due to Wu’s fear of a rescue attempt as it was an effort to keep them constantly on edge. If they were allowed to relax, they could start to think about making plans of their own, and that would be the last thing that Wu would want.

Most of the generals from the Central Military Commission were behind Wu, and had stayed to support him. Kang, meanwhile, was quite happy where he was; he had no wish to be associated with General Wu – in public, at least – and had suggested to the man that it made sense for him keep an ‘insider’ among the gathered prisoners – the remaining members of the Central Politburo of the Communist Party of China, the men and women who had essentially ruled the nation, until very recently at least.

The two Vice Chairmen of the Central Military Commission who also served on the Politburo, both generals in the People’s Liberation Army, were right by Wu’s side back in the Zhongnonhai compound, the modern seat of China’s government which rested next door to the Forbidden City. They were helping constitute the new military regime which would rule the nation, loyal aides to General Wu.

As the sole military officer remaining with the Politburo, Kang Xing would perhaps be treated with suspicion, but he explained to Wu that his insights would be invaluable, and the new paramount leader had finally agreed.

He would only tell General Wu what he wanted him to know, of course; in fact, he had recently given the general a snippet of information that he really hoped the man would act upon. But the main reason for his wanting to stay behind with the rest of the group was because he didn’t want his protégé, Vice Premier Chang Wubei, to be without his influence.

Indeed, Kang’s guidance of Chang was about to reach a time of critical importance. If Wu didn’t want the men and women in this room to make plans, then he was too late already – Kang had enough for all of them.

They were being informed of nothing outside the walls of the Forbidden City – all the better to keep them psychologically off-balance – but Kang knew exactly what Wu would be doing. After all, he had subtly suggested a large part of it himself. But even if he hadn’t, it wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out – even before the coup, the general had used his influence to position naval forces in a prime position to attack the Diaoyu Islands. He had been surprised that Tsang Feng hadn’t seen it himself; but then again, he reminded himself, this was the exact reason why the man had been removed in the first place. No eye for military maneuvers; no stomach for war.

Taiwan would be next, of course; oil profits notwithstanding, the Diaoyus were a mere stepping stone towards China’s rightful reclamation of the important island of Taiwan, illegally taken by the treacherous forces of Chiang Kai-Shek and his diabolical Kuomintang, along with half of China’s gold reserves over half a century before.

Wu would waste no time in taking it back, Kang was sure.

Good for him.

Kang smiled lazily as he reclined back further on the bench.

‘Xing?’ a furtive voice whispered, destroying his attempt at relaxation. It had to be Chang; nobody else would dare disturb him.

Suppressing his annoyance, Kang sat up on the bench and looked at the man before him through his hooded eyes. Chang was sweating, Kang was disgusted to see, and it had nothing to do with the early June heat that was just starting to bring the stifling humidity of summer to their great city. The man was scared and – what was worse – he was showing it.

This, Kang decided, would not do at all; it did not fit with any of his plans.

‘Wubei,’ Kang cautioned sternly, ‘get a grip on yourself. Have you gone mad? You cannot let the others see that you are afraid. Remember what we talked about – this is your great chance, and I am not about to see you make a mess of it.’

‘My great chance?’ Chang whispered, amazed. ‘How can you say that? How can you sit there and be so calm? Are you not worried?’

Kang shook his head slowly, disappointed that the young man did not have more faith. If Kang trusted him to know more, he would be truly amazed, Kang knew; indeed, Chang wouldn’t have been able to believe Kang’s foresight, his courage, his absolute determination.

He wouldn’t have been able to believe it, which was exactly why Kang hadn’t told him everything; his volatile, precious personality wouldn’t have been able to tolerate it.

But Chang Wubei was Kang’s man for a reason – and a large part of that reason was his openness to manipulation. Kang really shouldn’t have been surprised that Chang was finding it hard to cope. But the bottom line was that he had to learn to control himself better.

‘One of the skills you need to master,’ Kang advised him quietly, ‘is how to mask your emotions. You say how can I not worry. What makes you think I am not worried? I know that at any moment the doors here may burst open, and we may all suffer the same fate as President Tsang. My heart is beating hard in my chest, just the same as yours. The art is in not showing it.’

Kang swept his eyes around the room at the members of China’s Politburo, scattered about the hall in small groups – some shouting boisterously, others whispering nervously.

‘Look at them,’ Kang said with disdain. ‘Lost without someone to lead them. They are all thinking the same thing – those who can see past the possibility of being shot, that is. They’re thinking if Wu fails, and we are reinstated, who among us will assume the role of Paramount Leader? They think it, but they daren’t do anything about it. This is your time, Wubei – time to impress people, time to take charge.’

‘But what about Hua?’ Chang asked. Hua Peng was the Premier, the prime minister of Tsang’s regime and the logical choice to replace Wu if things were to suddenly change.

Kang smiled. ‘You let me worry about Hua, you just do what I tell you. Do you understand?’

Chang nodded his head uncertainly. ‘Yes . . . Yes, I do.’

Kang pointed across the hall to a small bronze of a duck in flight. ‘The duck,’ he said. ‘You’ve seen them sitting calmly on the water, yes? Sitting calmly, peacefully, although under the water its little feet are kicking a hundred beats a minute, all the time scrabbling for survival. That is me, Wubei. That is you.’ He turned back to Chang, hooded eyes staring straight at him. ‘If you are to become leader when this is all over, you cannot let anyone see what is going on under the surface.’

General Wu De, Paramount Leader of the People’s Republic of China, strode into the Hall of Martial Virtue, a wide smile breaking underneath his thick, oiled mustache.

‘My friends,’ he said, arms open, ‘my friends. How are you?’

He laughed heartily then, watching as all eyes turned to him, to the armed soldiers who entered with him, to the black-robed man who stood right by his side, the glass eye in his scarred, shaven head enough to make everyone just a little nervous. That was the joy of Zhou Shihuang, Wu’s three-hundred pound personal enforcer; his ability to make people nervous.

Wu had received reports that – although he had given order for the members of the Politburo to be constantly moved around in order to confuse and disorient them, they were still gathering in groups to chat and to organize plans against him. His source had highlighted one individual in particular that was a distinct threat to him.

But Wu didn’t want to confine the entire Politburo to cells, and he had no desire to kill them – such a move would be a public relations disaster with the people he wanted to lead, as well as a dangerously volatile challenge to international diplomacy. Besides which, they were useful as hostages, and might even decide to join him after being given some time to consider their options.

But he
did
want them to consider such options in the correct light; one in which Wu De was their leader, and they obeyed without question.

To make sure this situation occurred, Wu was about to play one of his favorite games; kill a chicken to train a monkey.

‘It has come to my attention,’ he began as he strolled through the hall, passing the cowering politicians, ‘that some of you are already thinking about what will happen if I am gone. Who will lead, now Tsang is dead? Well,’ he said with a smile as he stopped next to Hua Peng, ‘the answer is simple. Hua Peng is your Premier, is he not? Logically then, he will replace me. Unless . . .’

In the blink of an eye, Zhou Shihuang swept past his master, with a speed that belied his immense bulk. In one fluid move, the huge man seized the arm of Hua Peng, wrenching the wrist back towards his hand, breaking it like a twig. In the next instant, with Hua’s child-like screams still filling the air of the hall, a crushing side kick came stamping down, destroying Hua’s kneecap with a sickening crack.

And then – even before Hua’s body could collapse to the floor – Zhou reached out to take hold of the Premier’s head, twisting it savagely between his hands, snapping the neck cleanly and silencing the screams forever.

General Wu watched the body fall to the floor with great satisfaction, before turning back to the other Politburo members.

‘Let there be no more talk of what
might
happen, yes?’ he asked. ‘I suggest you all accept that things have changed, and agree to follow my leadership.’

But Wu knew something else altogether would result from Hua’s sudden death – with the Premier out of the way, division and segregation would spread throughout the Politburo as each one of them vied for a chance at the top slot. There were four Vice Premiers who would be keen for advancement, just for starters.

The group would be hard pressed to organize a resistance of any kind now, too consumed with political in-fighting and ambitious back-stabbing to unite against Wu. They would therefore be weakened and broken, and much easier to subjugate in the long term.

Everyone in the hall was silent, and Wu surveyed them slowly, eyes meeting each one in turn – careful not to smile when he met the hooded, knowing eyes of his old friend Kang Xing – and then, satisfied that the lesson had been learned, he nodded once.

‘That was unfortunate,’ Wu said, ‘but I do have good news. Today our forces will attack the traitors of Taiwan. We will reclaim it as our own, one more step on our journey towards a new Chinese Empire.’

He looked down at the body of Hua, gestured toward it with his hand. ‘This was regrettably unavoidable,’ he said, ‘but I will not let it despoil this special day. I trust you will not let it do so either.’

The threat clear, his work done, Wu turned on his heel and left the Hall of Martial Valor, the dead chicken left on the floor behind him, a clear sign for the monkey.

Class was over.