Beyond All Limits

1

Clark Mason strolled past the White House metal detectors, smiling at everyone as he went.

This morning’s meeting of the National Security Council sure was going to be fun. Maybe not as much fun as he’d had with Sarah Lansing last night, but fun nevertheless.

He cast his mind back for a moment to the delicious games that Lansing had introduced him to, and felt a shudder of pleasure from the mere memory. Yes, she was a keeper, that one. Well, at least until something better came along, anyway.

She had already left the house by the time he’d woken that morning, but he wasn’t surprised; the earlier she left the better really, they both knew that.

He had awoken to disturbing news — General Wu had been on state television, accusing the United States of trying to assassinate him. He cited the efforts of a single man to kill him personally — and had film of the purported assassin’s escape attempt across Beijing — and also talked in pained tones about a supposed bomb attack which had destroyed part of the Forbidden City, with the entire remaining members of the Politburo along with it. There was footage of the smoking ruins of one of the palace complexes within the Forbidden City, and Mason had to admit that it didn’t look good.

He knew that General Wu wasn’t above staging events for his own benefit — the sinking of the Chinese frigate, the Huangshan, by the Taiwanese submarine was a case in point. Wu had obviously orchestrated the whole event to excuse the invasion of that country.

But the man caught on film — the man apparently now in Chinese custody — was definitely Western, and Mason was tempted to believe Wu’s interpretation of events this time. It certainly smacked of a US covert op gone wrong.

Mason knew that the Paradigm Group was a front for a covert action cell, and he also knew that Vinson had something going on right now. Mason’s contacts in the Special Operations Command had been slow getting back to him, but there was some talk of a SEAL Delivery Vehicle being routed — along with a special release team — to somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. It wasn’t proof, but it was suspicious by any stretch of the imagination.

And that wasn’t to mention the missing ‘Dr. Alan Sandbourne’, a man who Mason was convinced was actually Mark Cole, a shadowy assassin codenamed the ‘Asset’. Definitely the sort of man to be sent on such a mission, and someone whose appearance wasn’t a million miles away from the person racing across Beijing on the television news. Mason wondered why they had not shown a close-up of the man, but suspected it was because Wu couldn’t be sure that the assassin was an American, and didn’t want his tirade against the United States being spoiled by such details.

General Wu had been stern with his televised statements, warning President Abrams that she was playing with fire.

‘You may have heard,’ he’d said with a knowing smile, ‘of something known as ‘the Great Wall Project’. Well, I would like to confirm to you that what you have heard is true. We have a capability in this particular area that goes far beyond that of any other nation on earth, including that of the United States. And let me be clearer still — I have the will to use that capability if any nation tries to stop the ascendance of the Chinese people. I would advise you to remember that in the days to come.’

The news had been full of detailed explanations of the Great Wall Project ever since — five thousand miles of reinforced tunnels under an impenetrable mountain range, a stockpile of thousands of warheads and no way to target them, no way to stop General Wu if he decided to go through with such threats.

Mason knew that panic would start to spread through America as the morning wore on, as more and more people switched on the breakfast news, listened to the radio on the way to work, read the papers, spoke to colleagues.

By midday, the country would be in full crisis mode.

For Mason, he was still wondering how he could make the most out of this situation. Did he have enough evidence to push for Abrams’ impeachment?

It was possible, given what he knew about Vinson, Sandbourne and the Paradigm group. Given what Wu had just presented to the world, even the mere hint of US action without congressional approval — or even discussion at the NSC — would be enough to warrant a full investigation into the think tank and its staff.

And if the investigation showed that Abrams had knowledge of the group’s ‘extracurricular’ activities, or was in any way involved with it at all, then Mason wouldn’t even have to push for impeachment himself; the American public would demand it.

And with the president impeached and gone, who would step into her shoes and help the United States out of this mess?

Yours truly, Mason thought with a little smile as he entered the White House Situation Room, ready to do battle.

Cole shook his head, trying to get some feeling back into his bare, naked body; but then, deciding this might not be a good thing, he stopped.

Every muscle in his body hurt, every bone, every sinew; and the huge man-mountain that was Zhou Shihuang hadn’t even started with him yet.

The renegade monk just sat on a chair opposite him, watching him. He hadn’t moved a muscle for what seemed like hours; he’d just sat there watching, his single working eye not blinking once.

Cole knew what the man was doing; it was purely psychological. The soldiers had already beaten him, he was already in a whole world of pain, but Zhou knew of his own reputation, knew the man in front of him would be scared, off-balance, frightened of what was about to happen to him. And the way Zhou just sat and observed him was designed to make him even more afraid, make him think that Zhou was insane, a man willing to do anything to another human being.

But another side of Cole considered the fact that it wasn’t a trick at all; there was always the possibility that Zhou was insane, that he was truly capable of anything, and — despite his years of training, his decades of experience, Cole felt his skin crawling with a deep, almost supernatural fear.

He tried to take his mind elsewhere, think about what was happening to the Force One team and the Politburo. What time was it now? Where would they be now? In Shanghai? Or even further?

He remembered General Wu’s anger at the state he had been in when brought to the cold, dank Zhongnonhai basements. The soldiers had beaten him black and blue, and Wu had been enraged — the general had probably wanted him paraded in front of the television cameras for propaganda purposes, something that could be forgotten now that he looked like a torture victim. Bruises and cuts covered his swollen eyes and cheeks, his lips distorted and puffy. There was no make-up in the world that could make him look any better.

He wondered what Wu had done to the soldiers who’d beaten him and lost Wu his public relations prize, and decided that it certainly wouldn’t be anything good.

Wu had watched Cole get strung up in the cold, dank basement room, and had then come so close that Cole could smell his sweet, oily breath. There had been no questions, just an examination, perhaps to check the resolve in the prisoner’s eyes.

He had turned away and spoken to Zhou, who had merely nodded his head and sat down to watch him.

Cole couldn’t even fall asleep, forced to balance on his tiptoes to help keep the weight off his arms and chest; he was strung up in a crucifix position, arms outstretched, and knew if he let his body collapse then he could well die of asphyxiation, the hyper-expansion of his chest muscles and lungs leading to increased difficulty of inhalation. He had been placed at such a height that the only way to keep the weight off was to stretch his feet down, touch his toes to the cold floor below.

And so he kept balanced there, the tips of his toes red raw, his body wracked with pain as Zhou Shihuang looked on.

‘What is your name?’ Zhou asked finally, his words in heavily accented English, his mouth barely moving.

‘Dietrich Hoffmeyer,’ Cole spluttered, knowing he had to at least try and put up the pretense.

Zhou just laughed humorlessly, looked Cole’s naked body up and down. ‘Dietrich Hoffmeyer is Jewish,’ he said, lips still barely moving. ‘According to records, circumcised at birth.’ He looked again at Cole, his meaning clear.

‘It grew back?’ Cole managed to respond, gasping through the pain.

‘You are a funny man,’ Zhou said, standing finally, his massive bulk causing a shadow to fall across the entire room.

And then he was there in front of Cole, inches from his face, his meaty, callused hand grasping Cole’s testicles and pinching them tightly between his vice-like fingertips.

The pain was immediate and intense, like a thousand fireworks going off in his groin, in his head, everywhere, and he thought he was going to pass out; and still the man was squeezing, harder and harder, and then Cole was sick, vomit trickling down his chin, his chest, and he choked on it, his feet slipping, his weight taken on his arms, across his chest and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, and still the man squeezed his testicles harder, and Cole was seeing stars now, his mind trying to black out, and he wanted to let it, why wouldn’t he let it? He could hear a noise, high and piercing, and realized it was his own screams, ringing and reverberating around the cold concrete cell; and then Zhou let go, but the pain stayed with him, leaving him weak, dizzy, confused.

‘If it can grow back,’ Zhou said with a smile, a razor blade coming up in front of Cole’s eyes, sweeping back and forth before him to leave him in no doubts as to what it was, ‘then you won’t mind if I cut it off again, no?’

He must be joking, Cole told himself, he’s got to be joking.

But then the razor was gone from his eye line, and the next thing Cole felt was a hot, burning sensation below, and the warm trickle of fresh blood dripping down his bare legs, and he screamed again like he never had before.

2

The meeting was in full swing, accusations being bandied about back and forth, and Clark Mason was enjoying himself tremendously. Whatever the truth of Wu’s accusations, they were being taken very seriously by the men and women in the Situation Room, people who were all too aware of the possible ramifications of unlicensed covert US action — the Bay of Pigs disaster, the Iran-Contra scandal, Project MK Ultra, the unfortunate list went on and on.

Foremost on everyone’s minds was the question of Wu’s response. If he felt the US had attacked him, what was his next move going to be? He already had over four thousand US servicemen and women in his sights, and plenty more American citizens trapped within the Chinese mainland itself. Would he kill them in retaliation? And if he did, what would the US government do then? How would it respond? Because if it did anything, Wu had made it abundantly clear that he had thousands of well-hidden nuclear warheads that he wouldn’t mind using.

To Abrams’ credit, she rolled with the punches well, betraying no weakness, admitting nothing. She was adamant that the US had no involvement, and urged the meeting to push on to consider contingency plans.

Just when it looked like it might be doing just that, Mason recognized the time to strike. ‘Just before we move on,’ he said in his charming manner, pleasant yet authoritative, ‘I would just like to add my comments, further to a visit I made yesterday afternoon. I—’

‘Let me stop you there, Clark,’ Abrams said, looking at her watch, keeping completely cool. ‘I say we have a ten minute break, then meet back here. Everyone’s a little hot under the collar, and I understand, so let’s back off a little and come back to things fresh.’ She looked around the table, then back to Mason. ‘That okay with you, Clark?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Damn her. What else could he say? She was still the president, for now at least.

The NSC members started to stand up, stretch their legs and filter out of the room, and Mason watched as Abrams approached him, hand on his arm. ‘I need to have a word with you,’ she breathed. ‘In private.’

‘Okay,’ he said, allowing her to guide him to a secondary conference room.

They entered the room and Mason saw Abrams lock the door behind them, noticed that all the blinds were drawn. He turned, surprised to see Bruce Vinson seated in a corner chair, his hand cradling a remote control.

‘What is this?’ Mason asked, worry starting to creep up on him. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘Take it easy,’ Vinson said calmly. ‘Really. All it is, is a little private viewing. That’s all. Really. Relax. Take a seat.’

Despite his reservations, his distrust of Vinson, the man’s tone was so soothing, so reasonable, he couldn’t help but do what was asked of him. He took a seat across from Vinson, noticed that Abrams was already seated. He looked at the large screen on the wall, blank for now, and wondered what they were going to show him. Evidence of the US operation? Were they going to try and win him over, get him on the inside, make him an accomplice?

Well, they’d have another thing coming, he decided. He had his own plans, and he was going to stick to them.

The president was going down.

‘So what do you have to show me?’ Mason said, his confidence returning. ‘What’s this private viewing all about?’

‘Well,’ Vinson said easily, ‘let’s just show you, okay? You can make comments after if you want to.’

With that, he clicked his remote control and the screen fired up.

Mason, expecting to see military training footage, or else live feeds from in-zone helmet cams, was shocked to instead find himself staring at footage from his own house, Number One Observatory Circle.

From his bedroom.

The camera was directed at the bed, and Mason watched in horror as he saw himself stride out of the bathroom dressed in the white hood and robes of a Ku Klux Klansman, the semi-naked, ebony-skinned form of Sarah Lansing recoiling from him in mock horror.

He watched as he pulled her violently onto the bed and took her in pseudo-rape, watched the way she pulled his mask off, the way his face looked on the camera as he mounted and dominated the young black woman beneath him, face contorted in ecstasy.

The bag. She’d had a camera in the bag. She’d left it on the dresser, and he’d never given it a second thought.

He waved his hand in front of him. ‘Enough,’ he managed to say through dry lips. ‘Enough.’

‘That is your house, isn’t it?’ Vinson asked softly.

‘Don’t,’ Mason said, broken, a man seeing his political career, his marriage, his life, flashing before his eyes. He shook his head sadly. ‘Don’t.’

‘Your wife is a very understanding woman,’ Vinson said. ‘But I doubt she would understand this, any more than would the American people if this video were to be somehow leaked to the press.’

Mason continued shaking his head, seeing no way out, understanding how clever, how ruthless, Vinson truly was.

He wondered how Sarah had been turned. Had she been an agent of Vinson all along?

‘The girl?’ he asked, weakly.

Vinson shrugged. ‘Not a long-term deal, if that’s what you’re wondering. We got in touch with her after our meeting yesterday. Didn’t take long to convince her really, we offered her a lot of money. What do you think she was after with you in the first place? Power and money are what that girl’s interested in, and I guess at the end of the day, our money outgunned your power.’

Mason nodded his head, knowing how clever Vinson had been. A mistress was nothing, especially with a forgiving wife and a jaded American public. But dressing up as a Klansman to perform a mock rape of a black ‘slave-girl’? He’d thought the idea was kinky, knew some women had rape fantasies, just thought this was a simple step further along that route. More detailed, but essentially harmless. But he knew how it would be perceived by anyone else watching it, just as Vinson did. It would ruin Mason in every single way there was to ruin a man.

Abrams turned to him, watching him carefully. ‘So Clark,’ she said. ‘Given what we have just seen here, can I count on your support?’

Mason shrugged his shoulders, a pained, defeated look on his face as he spoke to his president. ‘Yes ma’am,’ he said miserably. ‘Yes ma’am, I guess you can.’

Cole looked with bleary eyes at the man standing in front of him, the pain between his legs intense; but the psychological effect was even worse.

Zhou grinned, holding up Cole’s bloody foreskin between his fingers. ‘Do not worry,’ he said, scarred face inches from Cole’s, ‘you can grow it back, right?’

He laughed again, throwing his head back, his body heaving with fits of deep, gruesome laughter.

The strange thing was, Cole was momentarily relieved; a part of him had thought that Zhou was going to cut the entire thing off at the root. And no matter how tough Cole was, there was no amount of training that could have prepared him for that.

But then fear and worry clouded his mind again, as he realized that this was just the start of what Zhou had in store for him; and if the man was willing to do this as his first move in the game, what depths of hell would he willing to visit at a later stage?

The man still held Cole’s severed foreskin in his hand, and he looked at it for a moment, studying it intently before he returned his gaze to Cole. ‘I like you, Dietrich,’ he said, up close to Cole’s face, so close that Cole could see his battered, bloody reflection in the monster’s pale glass eye. ‘You are a handsome man, I find you… attractive.’ He breathed in, sniffing Cole’s skin, his hair, with delicate appreciation. ‘Ah yes, I like you.’

Zhou backed away, holding the bloody piece of Cole’s body up again, making sure that he saw it. ‘I will go now, leave you to consider what my plans might be for you.’ He smiled again, strolled gently around the hanging man. ‘But I will give you a hint,’ he said as he went behind Cole. ‘It will involve this,’ he whispered, stroking the cleft between Cole’s naked buttocks, before coming back round to the front. ‘It will involve this,’ he continued, pointing to his own groin and smiling, ‘and it will involve this,’ he concluded, holding up the bloody razor in front of Cole’s eyes. ‘I will let your imagination do the rest. But believe me, by the time I finish with you, you will have told me everything and will be begging me to kill you.’

Zhou strolled casually to the cell door, turning back at the last second and winking at Cole with his good eye. ‘Until we meet again,’ he said, and strode through the door, locking it behind him and laughing to himself as he padded off down the corridor.

Left alone in the dark with just his pain and his imagination for company, Cole’s head hung down on his vomit-slicked chest and — despite himself — he started to sob bitter tears as he thought about what was going to happen to him when Zhou returned.

It was nearly eleven o’clock at night now, and the waters of the East China Sea off the coast of Shanghai were as black as ink, any natural light from the moon and stars completely covered by dense cloud.

Force One and the Politburo were aboard a pleasure cruiser which — having arrived in Shanghai that evening — they had caught from the Bund, the city’s famous waterfront thoroughfare which ran alongside the vast Huangpu River.

It was a CIA-chartered boat, run by members of the Shanghai station, and it had headed north up the river until the Huangpu emptied out into the East China Sea, at which point it had slipped unseen into the open waters.

It was now on the blind side of the small islet of Sheshan, waiting for their rendezvous.

They didn’t have to wait long, and the pleasure cruiser rocked up and down with the bow waves as the dark, menacing conning tower of the USS Texas breached the surface just fifty feet away.

It took just a minute more for the huge submarine to come fully up and settle, another minute for the hatches to open, and Navarone watched in pleasure as the Navy SEAL dive team who had helped release the SDV spread out along the deck, weapons at the ready.

Then he saw Captain Hank Sherman come on deck, nodding his head for the pleasure boat to come alongside.

Navarone’s boat did just that, moored against the titanic hull of the US submarine, and then — as the SEALs stood guard — a chain of sailors helped ferry the members of the Politburo across and onto the deck, feeding them onwards towards the hatches and the welcoming safety of the submarine’s interior.

The politicians had finally and mercifully discarded their disguises within the cabins of the pleasure cruiser, and were dressed in smart, casual clothes; relaxed, comfortable and — more importantly for many of them — made for the correct gender.

Once the Politburo members were gone, the sailors gestured for Navarone and the commandos to follow, but he shook his head.

Sherman came forwards immediately. ‘Hey,’ he barked quietly, ‘quit messing around, get in the sub. We don’t have time for games, damn it.’

Navarone knew he was right — the Texas must have been running around in these waters unmolested for days now, but their luck might not hold out forever. There was the entire Chinese navy out there somewhere, after all.

But Navarone wasn’t playing games.

‘We’re not coming back,’ he said evenly, having made his decision with the team on the boat ride over.

They had seen the footage on television in Shanghai, knew that Cole had been captured, and were damned if they were going to leave him there.

Navarone had already been in touch with Liu Yingchau, who had an idea of where they might be keeping him, and it was definitely worth a shot.

‘Our chief’s been captured,’ he explained to Sherman, ‘so we’re going back.’

The old navy captain looked at Navarone, saw the determination in the man’s eyes; looked behind him at the rest of the team, saw that they shared his feelings, and nodded his head.

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘okay. You’re one bunch of crazy sonsofbitches, that’s for damn sure.’ He straightened, smiled at them in admiration for their courage. ‘Good luck,’ he said simply, before turning his back on them and marching towards the submarine hatch.

‘Yes sir,’ Navarone whispered in return as he turned back to his own boat, the one that would take them back to the Bund, where they would then proceed onto the Maglev station that would take them straight back into the dark, dangerous heart of Beijing.

Yes, he thought with trepidation, we’re going to need all the help we can get.

3

The pain in Cole’s toes, his chest and his shoulders had now all but eradicated the burning pain in his groin. The crucifixion position he was in had done its work perfectly, leaving him a mess both physically and psychologically.

And it didn’t help, knowing that he was waiting for Zhou’s return, anticipating what it was Zhou was going to do to him.

But it was just pain, he tried to remind himself, it was only pain. He had to try and put his mind elsewhere, just as he’d been trained to do, as he’d done during those hellish months in that stinking prison in the mountains of Pakistan all those years before.

He wasn’t embarrassed for letting go after Zhou’s last visit and crying; it had been necessary, a grieving process which had enabled him to move forward, get his mind back on track, where it had to be.

It was only pain.

Even when the monster forcefully violated him, he would put his mind elsewhere, disconnect himself from the pain, the psychological damage of such an attack.

He assumed Zhou was going to sever his manhood in its entirety too, his promise to use the razor again hinting at such, and again Cole told himself that he could — he would — handle it, if it came to that.

But whatever Zhou was planning on doing to him, Cole had decided that this time he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

During his last visit, the man had put his face so close to Cole’s, so close that Cole had felt his rotten, stinking breath on his cheek.

He knew the man would do so again, would remove the gag so he could hear Cole beg for mercy; and when he did, Cole would bury his teeth in the man’s face, take hold of his nose and whip his head back and forth like a dog, rip the entire thing off. Or maybe an ear, or the cheek — anything he could sink his teeth into, anything that presented itself.

He should have done it the first time, was angry with himself that he hadn’t.

But he was going to fight this time; hell yes, he was going to put up a fight. He would make that bastard bleed, and then he’d take anything the man gave him in return, his mind made up that he could handle anything the monster threw his way.

Yes, Cole told himself, you can do this. You can do this. You can do this.

And then the metal door creaked open slowly, painfully, the noise deafening him after so much silence, the corridor lights blinding him after so much darkness.

But in the doorway, he could make out the huge, monstrous mass of Zhou Shihuang; watched as the man’s hand crept up the wall, hit a light switch.

The entire cell was bathed in stark, harsh light for the first time since Cole had arrived there, and the first thing he saw was the knowing, lecherous smile on Zhou’s face, a look full of anticipation for the joys to come.

And then he saw the concrete floor, the walls, all stained with dried blood that had been scrubbed but had obviously proved impossible to get out, and Cole wondered how many people had met their lonely, pain-filled deaths here in this horrendous room.

‘Hello,’ said Zhou softly, edging into the cell and closing the door behind him. ‘I couldn’t sleep, thinking about you. I was going to wait until morning, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t wait to make you my… how do you Americans call it? My bitch.’ He smiled his savage, terrible smile again, and Cole knew the man was far from normal, far from sane.

His heart leapt in his chest, his mind screaming at him in raw panic at what the man was planning on doing to him, but he cut it off with an iron will, concentrating on the only thing he could control — the passage of his teeth towards the big man’s face.

Zhou approached, sizing up Cole’s naked body once more, and then his thick fingers went to the gag, pulling it down to rest around his neck.

‘I’m not American,’ Cole whispered quietly, pretending to be even weaker than he actually was.

‘What was that?’ Zhou asked with interest, unable to hear him. ‘You are what?’

‘I’m Dutch,’ Cole whispered again. ‘I’m not an American.’

Zhou laughed, moving in closer. ‘Say that again, my friend? You are what?’

Yes, you sonofabitch, Cole said to himself, watching as the man’s massive head moved closer towards him, just come a little bit closer, just a little more, a little more…

Cole’s mouth opened, pretending to whisper again as Zhou’s face came in that last fatal inch, his wide, fleshy nose so close now, and Cole primed himself like a rattlesnake for the attack.

‘Sir!’ a voice shouted from the doorway, and Zhou’s head snapped up, immediately out of range.

‘What is it?’ Zhou asked the soldier stood in the open doorway. ‘I gave orders I was not to be disturbed.’

‘It is General Wu, sir. He needs you in the control room immediately.’

Zhou stood stock still, regarding the soldier in front of him, before turning back to his prisoner, casting his eyes once more over Cole’s bleeding, naked body.

He nodded his head in resignation, and looked into Cole’s eyes. ‘I am sorry, but it looks like we will have to delay our little game a while longer. But don’t worry,’ he said with a wink, ‘I will let you have another go at biting me when I return.’

And with that, the big man was gone, striding off out of the cell toward the control room, leaving Cole to ponder the unsettling fact that Zhou had known his plan all along.

‘Is he talking?’ Wu asked Zhou Shihuang, back in the Zhongnonhai control room, two subterranean levels above the prison block.

‘Not yet,’ Zhou said moodily, ‘I was just in the middle of my interrogation. But he will. They all do in the end.’

Wu nodded his head, knowing the man was right. It was impossible to resist forever, for any human being. The question was, how long it would take — it was a simple truth that some took longer to break than others. Still, Zhou always made them crack quickly. He didn’t know how the man did it — and nor did he want to — but Zhou was definitely effective in his work, and that was all there was to it.

Answers would be good, Wu knew, but he had managed to get some political capital out of recent events anyway; the entire world media was fired up about what had happened, many blaming US intelligence for the attacks, all of them wondering why the Politburo had been targeted.

There had been plenty of commentary about the Taihang Mountains and the Great Wall Project too, Wu had been pleased — but not surprised — to see, all of it fearful and panic-inducing. By the time his fleet arrived at the Japanese coast, not one country in the world would have the political will to stop him. The fears of their citizenry would put paid to all notions of helping allies, and it would be every man for himself, America included.

He had wondered, idly, about sending another DF-26 ‘carrier killer’ to finish the USS Ford off for good, in retaliation for the US attack. Two things had stayed his hand in the end — he could still not be one hundred percent sure that it had been an American attack, and he really didn’t want to risk US reprisals as a result. He was willing to nuke the United States off the face of the planet, but really didn’t want to let it get to that stage. After all, America was a huge market for Chinese and Japanese goods, and her continued existence made sound financial sense.

‘How can I serve you, my master?’ Zhou said, and Wu couldn’t quite tell if he was being made fun of; Zhou had a peculiar sense of humor. Wu didn’t like Zhou’s tone, but was hardly going to tell the man; despite his own elevated rank and position, he didn’t dare offend the ex-monk. The man was unbalanced in more ways than one and — while it made him an incredibly effective enforcer — it also made him a shade too unpredictable to argue with over such trivialities.

‘We are leaving,’ Wu said simply.

‘Leaving?’ Zhou asked in surprise. ‘Where are we going?’

Wu smiled. ‘To lead the fleet into Japanese waters,’ he said proudly. ‘Our helicopter leaves in twenty minutes, we should land on the Liaoning within four hours.’ The smile spread underneath his well-oiled mustache. ‘Just in time for our appearance on the radar screens of the Japanese dogs.’

Zhou shook his head. ‘Surely it is too dangerous for you to be there?’

Wu shook his own head. Did the man not understand?

General Wu De was not like those other world leaders, those cowardly and idle politicians who sent others into battle while they stayed at home and drank tea.

No, Wu was a military man, and combat was in his blood. It was his dream to lead the forces in against his enemies, to lead the Chinese in their quest to expand the empire.

He had deeply regretted getting to Taiwan so late, had always wondered what it would have been like to lead the attack himself.

He wanted to be seen as a vibrant, active, courageous man by his people, a man who could lead by example, to motivate and inspire the Chinese people into following him towards their true destiny.

He was the Genghis Khan of his times, and he knew he had to be seen as such.

He had lost his opportunity in Taiwan, and the chance to impress the public at the Dragon Boat races had also been lost the day before; he would be damned if he was going to lose such an opportunity again.

Common sense — and the direct advice of his many aides — warned against his actions, but Wu knew what he wanted, and he was going to do it.

And Japan of all places — how could he miss watching the invasion of Japan, that most hated of nations, first hand? He had dreamt of conquering that nation, of crushing it, since boyhood.

He had fought with himself, the sensible side of his personality warning against it, telling him that as the paramount leader of China he should remain where he was, all the better to monitor all of the things that had to be monitored within a country as vast as China.

But the day-to-day trivialities of running a nation held no interest for him — they were merely hindrances which stood in the way of the expansionist war-mongering that he desired, that he loved, so much.

The actual, mostly mundane running of the country was why he had so many aides and assistants, why he had kept so much of the communist bureaucracy in place after the coup.

His purpose in life was to lead the nation into war, and he was damn well going to do it.

4

‘Welcome aboard the USS John C. Stennis,’ the naval captain said with a broad smile. ‘My name is Captain Dan DeLuca, and we’re all happy to have you here.’

The captain gestured to one of his officers, who saluted smartly. ‘Lieutenant Henning will escort you to your quarters, and then we’ll need the Vice Premiers to come back up to the flag bridge to liaise with Admiral Charleston, the commander of the Stennis battle group. Then we’ll see about getting a link up to the White House.’

There were mumbled assents from the exhausted Politburo members, Kang Xing among them.

It was truly a relief to be aboard the Stennis, one of the older Nimitz-class aircraft carriers but a formidable weapons platform all the same.

It was sailing just outside the range of the DF-26 anti-ship ballistic missiles of the Second Artillery Regiment, about sixteen hundred kilometers from the Chinese coast, in the western Pacific Ocean to east of the Ryukyu Islands, and it was accompanied by its full carrier battle group, ready to go into action at a moment’s notice.

Kang accepted that it was a good place to take them, and recognized the slick, professional job done by the submarine captain on getting them here in the first place. He’d had to slip the Texas through several bodies of Chinese-controlled water before reaching the relative safety of the Pacific, and he’d done so quite expertly.

They would be quite safe here, Kang was sure; and it would also provide them with direct communication with President Abrams and the White House, the next best thing to being in DC themselves.

And this way, still close to the action, they could be seen by the people to be courageous, not running all the way to America; they were still in-theatre, able to return home at any moment.

Kang wondered if General Wu had launched his attack on Japan yet; for that was surely the man’s next major move. And what would the Stennis carrier battle group do then?

Kang smiled as he wondered if the Stennis was indeed the safest place for them; they might well be pulled into the war with Japan, to see it with their own eyes first hand.

Kang wouldn’t mind that at all.

But first things first, he decided; he had to speak to Chang Wubei, make him understand the opportunity he had to impress Admiral Charleston, and then the Americans at the White House. If it could be decided that Chang would take the lead in negotiations over the First Vice Premier, Liang Huanjia, then his protégé would definitely be on his way to claim the leadership upon the Politburo’s return to the People’s Republic.

And that, at the end of the day, was a large part of what this had been about all along.

‘You’ve found the Liaoning?’ Ellen Abrams asked with trepidation.

The president was in the Oval Office in a meeting with her National Security Adviser when the call had arrived from Bud Shaw, the director of the NSA.

Eckhart looked across the polished wood desk at her with interest and alarm in equal measure.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Shaw said as Abrams clicked him onto speakerphone. ‘The Japanese have just tracked her passing out of the East China Sea around the southern tip of Kyushu. The Liaoning, with an entire carrier battle group.’ He paused, took a breath. ‘In fact, it seems that most of China’s East Sea Fleet has passed into Japanese waters. Some elements are already stationing themselves off around the lower areas of Japan, the carrier group is still headed north.’

‘To Tokyo?’ Abrams asked.

‘We have to assume so, yes,’ Shaw confirmed. ‘And it will be sitting outside the Japanese capital within the next few hours. But that’s a purely psychological gesture — it’s already close enough to launch its planes.’

‘Do they have landing ships en route?’ Eckhart asked.

‘They do,’ Shaw replied gravely. ‘It looks like they are planning on a full invasion.’

Abrams looked down at her desk, aghast at the news. What was she going to do now?

Japan was her ally, and she had pledged the protection of the United States; but Wu was alive, in control of three thousand nuclear warheads. What could she possibly do?

The good news was that Force One had succeeded in rescuing the entire Chinese Politburo from Beijing, and they were now ensconced on the USS John C. Stennis. Admiral Charleston had confirmed their arrival and she was due to speak to the Vice Premiers shortly. The only advantage she had was that she would have contact with the Politburo, while the rest of the world assumed they were dead, and she wondered what she could so with that.

But what was going to make matters worse was the fact that pretty soon — within the hour, she guessed — the news media of the entire world would have picked up on the entry of the Chinese fleet into Japanese waters, and a panicked public would be demanding answers.

Another telephone rang on the desk, and she looked at the ID. Not surprisingly, it was Prime Minister Toshikatsu.

‘I’ll have to call you back, Bud,’ Abrams said. ‘Thanks for the heads-up.’

She put the first telephone down and picked up the second, wondering what she was going to tell him.

The helicopter wasn’t far out from the Fleet now, Zhou could see. Soon, General Wu could take the lead position on the flagship and give the order to invade.

He began to consider the American prisoner back at the Zhongnonhai; it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to play his games with the man for some time. Who knew how long Wu would keep them on the battlefield?

But there were certainly attractions that came with going in with the troops — the spoils of war, just as there had been in Taiwan. Women, men, boys, girls — all for the taking. He smiled; perhaps he could indeed forget about the American for a while.

But he did still want to question the man, and would be angered if the prisoner died before his return.

He looked at one of the officers who traveled with them. ‘Contact the Zhongnonhai prisons,’ he ordered, unsurprised as the man recoiled from him slightly; it was the story of his life.

Although nobody would have believed him now, Zhou had been a weak and frail boy, a target for bullies for many sad, unhappy years. His own father had been the worst, cursing his small size and physical weakness and beating him continually in the hopes that he could make a ‘man’ out of his pathetic son.

His boyhood had been unpleasant and unhappy, but one year he had finally started growing, and at unprecedented speed; within a single year he had changed beyond all measure.

And with the change in size came a change in attitude, a change in spirit; no longer would he be the weak and feeble one, picked on and bullied. No, now he would be the bully; and he had decided to start with his father.

It happened when he had started to insult his son’s clumsiness instead of his size, finding something else to pick on and seizing on the fact that Zhou’s coordination had not kept step with his growing body. In a fit of rage, Zhou had picked up his father’s hammer and had brandished it in his face, threatened to hit him with it. But his father had just laughed, and that was when Zhou had had enough; when his mother came down to investigate the noise, she’d found her son slumped over his father’s body, exhausted, the head completely caved in.

Zhou had escaped from the house before the police could arrest him, and had been surprised to read in the papers that the dead man had been struck in the head sixty-eight times with the ball hammer. Zhou could remember no more than one or two.

On the run, Zhou had started to run with the local street gangs, his increased size and strength combined with his newly-discovered ruthlessness standing him in good stead within the community of Guangzhou’s criminal youth.

But he had killed again, and again, and soon the danger of being killed himself by rival gang members was too great and he had fled Guangzhou forever, finally ending up — at the age of fifteen, his coordination now finally matching his colossal size — at the door of the Shaolin Temple in Hunan.

He had been taken in, and a new chapter in his life had begun; and people had never ceased to be afraid of him.

‘What shall I tell them?’ asked the officer nervously.

‘Tell them to take the prisoner in cell H-28 down from the crucifix position,’ he said. ‘And I don’t want him harmed any more than he already has been. Keep him naked, do not tend to his wounds unless he shows signs of infection, but make sure he’s given enough food and water to survive until I return.’

‘Yes sir,’ the officer said, repeating the instructions into his satellite radio link back to the command center in Beijing.

Zhou nodded. Who said he couldn’t be merciful? And with that, he turned his mind back to Japan, and the delicate prizes that awaited him there.

5

Cole had been counting, in an effort to chart the course of time as well as being a way of keeping his mind off the depravities that Zhou had in store for him, and knew it must now be the morning after his capture. He couldn’t be sure about the time after so many hours, inaccuracy in his counting was bound to have crept in — but guessed it wasn’t long after dawn.

He wondered what General Wu had wanted with Zhou, but knew there was no sense in thinking too deeply about it; his mind was better off concentrating on finding a way out.

While he’d been counting, forcing the images of Zhou from his troubled mind, he’d also been scouring the room with his eyes, looking for any possible way out, anything he could use to aid his escape. If he could escape, there might still be a chance to end this thing.

The room was dark, but his eyes had adjusted after so many hours of captivity and he could now see everything quite clearly. But what he saw didn’t provide him with much hope; it was just a plain concrete cell with hooks and metal D-rings in the ceiling and walls for securing ropes or other devices.

And then there was the door — what looked like steel, with only a narrow slat to see through. But the slat was covered by a metal cover on the other side.

But even if the door had been easy to breach, he still had to work out how to get down from the incredibly painful, debilitating position he had been forced into. The problem was, he couldn’t get any purchase on the floor, and his arms were too taut to be of any use to him. He could barely move.

But as he counted the time, his mind raced through scenario after scenario, trying desperately to come up with some manner of escape.

And then he heard the locks turning in the door, and he steeled himself for another visit by Zhou, still horrified that the man had seen through his attempts to bite him. What chance would he have now?

But it wasn’t Zhou at all — instead, three armed guards walked into the room, one covering him with an automatic rifle while the other two marched past him on either side, hands reaching up to the walls that the chains were secured to, unhooking his bindings from the D-rings.

They were getting him down!

His mind reeled at the possibilities. Were they taking him somewhere else? Were they going to give him food? Water? Medical attention?

As the chains were detached from their moorings, they slipped quickly through the D-rings and Cole dropped heavily to the floor, his legs unable to carry him.

The blood rushed suddenly back into his arms, his chest, and he was overcome by pain, blinding pins and needles shooting through his upper body as sensation returned to the tortured area.

The soldiers approached him from either side to loosen the tight metal bracelets from his wrists, and his mind instantly clarified, everything at once perfectly clear, so clear.

Despite the pain that clogged every inch of his naked body, the perfect clarity of the moment suddenly overtook everything, delivering him at once from the pain and the agony.

He saw the cell in perfect focus, the position of the armed guard ahead of him, the angle of the gun, the distance between his crumpled body and the men on either side of him, even the presence of the two more armed soldiers who stood sentry outside his cell.

And in that moment of perfect clarity, he acted; an animal operating on pure, unbridled instinct.

Yanking inwards on his chains, he pulled the two soldiers together, hands snaking up between them, grasping their heads and smashing them together with a heavy, sickening crack.

And already he was moving again, before the man with the gun had a chance to react; before he’d even had a chance to breath.

The heavy chain shot out, still attached to Cole’s wrist, and then he snapped it taut and the metal links jerked powerfully across the guard’s head, knocking him out instantly.

Cole was on his feet before the guard hit the floor, weak legs nevertheless imbued with the pure energy of adrenalin, and he jumped over the soldier’s unconscious, slumping body, racing for the doorway.

The two men were turning into the empty space, guns rising towards him as if in slow motion, as if they were in a swimming pool and had to drag the guns through the heavy resistance of the water.

Cole was there before they could fire, before they could call out for help, the hardened fingertips of one hand firing out into the first soldier’s unprotected throat; and as the man’s eyes bulged wide, his hands dropping the gun and going to his neck in a pitiful attempt to rescue the damaged tissue, the broken cartilage, Cole pivoted to the other side and chopped the edge of his callused hand across the side of the second soldier’s neck, the force of the blow snapping the vertebrae and severing the spinal cord in one ferocious movement. The man fell to the floor, paralyzed, with no knowledge of what had happened to him.

Cole looked around the cell, breathing hard. Five men down all around him, taken out in as many seconds.

He paused; perhaps he wasn’t as injured as he’d suspected? But he knew that it was just the hormonal supercharging of adrenalin that was making his body perform, and knew just as well that when it emptied from his system, he would be left a useless, quivering wreck.

And so he carried right on going, determined to keep up the pace, keep the adrenalin driving through his body, letting it perform its magic.

He knelt down by the first two men, struck them on the sides of their heads with the metal bracelets to make sure they were definitely out of it, and retrieved the key for the cuffs, unlocking them and letting the chains fall to the floor.

He went to the bodies, stripped one of them and put on the clothes, careful not to look at the damage to his penis; he could worry about that later.

He took two pistols, a radio, one of the automatic rifles; pulled one of the soldier’s hats down low over his head and exited the cell, looking cautiously up and down the corridor.

Empty.

He quickly returned to the cell, turned the other radios off, and gagged the men; and then, taking the keys, he left the cell once and for all, locking it behind him.

Keep on going, he ordered himself as he rushed down the corridor. Keep on going.

Pushing forwards is your only chance.

The man in front of President Abrams on the video screen wasn’t the one she had been expecting.

As First Vice Premier, she had thought it would be Liang Huanjia who she would be dealing with, given the deaths of Tsang, Fang and Hua.

But instead it was — and aide quickly informed her — the Second Vice Premier, Chang Wubei.

‘Mr. Chang,’ Abrams said kindly, ‘I hope you are not finding things too hard after your terrible ordeal.’

Chang smiled. ‘Not at all, Madam President. On the contrary, we are all in good health, and owe a debt of gratitude to you and the United States.’

‘And will it be you with whom I will be dealing?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Chang said. ‘I am afraid Mr. Liang has… how shall I put it? He has… lost the confidence of the Politburo, and it was decided that I should take over until things return to some sense of normality.’

‘Okay,’ Abrams said, assessing the man before her and liking what she saw. Charismatic, urbane, and confident; he would be a good man to deal with. ‘Tell me everything you can about Wu and the regime there,’ she said, ‘anything you know about his plans, and the workings inside the Zhongnonhai. Anything you can tell us that will help us avoid a catastrophe in Japan.’

Chang nodded his head, eager to help. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I will tell you everything.’

‘Good,’ Abrams said. ‘Let’s start with—’

A buzzer sounded next to her, and her head snapped round. ‘Excuse me one moment,’ she said to Chang, answering the emergency call. A voice on the other end spoke, and her eyes opened in amazement.

‘Really?’ she said, excited. ‘Can you patch them through?… Excellent.’

She nodded her head, turned back to look at Chang. ‘Mr. Chang,’ she said, ‘you’re not going to believe what’s just happened.’

6

Cole poked his head slowly around the corner of the corridor, saw that it too was empty, and headed down the hall towards the elevator banks at the end.

Two men turned into the corridor from a connecting hallway then, and Cole fired towards them as he ran, taking them both down before they could react.

But his shots hadn’t been suppressed, and now anyone on this subbasement level would know that something was going on, and would be rushing to investigate.

A door opened to his left and he span and fired as he saw the target, kicking the door open and bursting inside before whatever other occupants who might be inside could react; there were two more soldiers reaching for their guns, but Cole beat them to it, hitting them both in center mass.

He pulled back into the corridor, stalking steadily towards the turn-off where he’d shot the first two soldiers; he could hear booted feet running down the hall, coming his way.

He couldn’t be sure, but he could have also sworn he could hear gunfire echoing from above him. Why would that be happening?

He shook his head, recognizing that it was probably just his tired, edgy mind playing tricks on him.

But then he heard noises coming down the stairwell too, saw the elevator lights ahead of him come on as a car started to descend to this level.

He was about to be surrounded.

He gathered himself, checked his rifle, swapped the magazine for a fresh one, and pulled back along the corridor.

He would wait here for them, let them channel themselves towards him down one single entryway, and then he would fire his weapons until he had nothing left to fire with; and then he would charge them with his bare hands.

He pulled the corpses out of the office, stacking the bodies to act as a makeshift barricade, and stockpiled the weapons next to him.

He prepared himself as the boots reached the bottom of the stairwell, the elevator car pinged its arrival, the first soldiers from the adjacent hallway finally reached the turn into the corridor.

He rested the barrel of the Chinese QBZ-95 bullpup assault rifle on top of the dead body in front of him, targeting the far end of the corridor through the weapon’s iron sights.

His finger rested on the trigger, and as the first man turned the corner from the side hallway, he opened fire, shooting him in the head, the man who followed him in the chest.

The others leapt back to safety, but then the stairwell doors opened, and the elevator doors, and Cole aimed again, but … what the hell?

Jake Navarone and Julie Barrington came bursting out of the elevator, the other three members of the Force One team crashing through the stairwell doors at the other side, and Cole watched in amazement as they opened fire down the hallway in front of them where the Chinese soldiers had retreated.

Cole was on his feet in moments, racing down the corridor to fight by the team’s side, their superior skills quickly overcoming the token resistance of the basement guards.

Ten seconds later it was all over, gun smoke pouring through the hallway and the unpleasant, though familiar, smell of coppery blood hanging in the air.

‘Secure that corridor,’ Navarone ordered Grayson and Collins, who raced off down the hallway to make sure there were no others soldiers.

‘What the hell are you guys doing here?’ Cole asked Navarone in amazement.

Davis answered before Navarone had the chance. ‘We saw you on the news, Mr. Secret Agent Man. We came back here to save your ass.’

Cole smiled. ‘Well, don’t think I don’t appreciate it,’ he said, ‘but how did you guys manage to break in here?’

‘We had a bit of help,’ Barrington explained as she checked her rifle, quickly changing magazines.

Navarone nodded. ‘She’s right,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s get this level secure, and then we’ll go back upstairs. You’re gonna love it.’

Navarone was right; Cole did love it.

The entire command center on the basement’s upper level had been taken over by Captain Liu and a contingent of ‘Hunting Leopards’ special operations soldiers.

Brought into the Zhongnonhai on official duty, they had quickly overpowered the ill-prepared guards, using the element of surprise to huge advantage.

Apparently, Liu had not known whether they would go along with his plan, or whether they would want to remain loyal to the military regime; but it turned out that they had been waiting for such an opportunity, as disgusted with Wu’s behavior as Liu had been.

And when the Hunting Leopards had raided the Zhongnonhai and captured most of the senior officers of the Central Military Commission and the de facto military regime, other local special operations units had also re-pledged their loyalty to the People’s Republic and the leadership of the Politburo, and had joined them in securing the government compound.

The Force One members had liaised with Liu upon their brave return to Beijing, and Liu had guided them inside and sent them down to secure the lower basement levels.

‘So what’s the current status?’ Cole asked, ignoring the pain that was starting to creep back across his body. He already knew that the Politburo had been successfully rescued, and had also learned the details of the proposed Chinese invasion of Japan.

His mind had flickered again to images of Michiko, trapped there, but he had cut them off at once. There was nothing he could do about that now; in fact, the best thing he could do was try and stop the invasion from happening at all.

‘This is the main control center for our military forces,’ Liu explained, coming over to them. ‘We have control over air defenses, missile systems, radar and satellite surveillance.’

‘So we can shut down the invasion from here?’ Cole asked.

Liu shook his head. ‘At the minute, no. Only the generals can access the systems and — although they’ve surrendered — they’re not talking.’

‘Would the Politburo members also have access?’ Cole asked.

‘Yes,’ Liu said, ‘I believe so.’

‘Good,’ Cole said. ‘Can you get me President Abrams on the line?’

Navarone smiled. ‘We’ve just called her.’

7

‘What?’ General Wu cried out, furious. ‘Tell me that again! What did you say?’

‘The Politburo members are alive and well,’ came the voice from Captain Ling Sushan, the commander of the Liaoning which had already appeared on the helicopter’s radar screen. ‘They are in contact with the American government, and have ordered the invasion to be called off.’

‘But surely nobody is listening to them?’ Wu asked, unable to believe what he was hearing, a feeling of terrible impotence coming over him.

‘The Zhongnonhai has been captured,’ Ling continued, ‘and most of our leadership has been arrested.’

‘This is preposterous!’ Wu screamed. ‘When I land there, have no fear — the operation will be going ahead as planned.’

‘I am afraid the Politburo has passed the command codes to the people now in control of the Zhongnonhai central command center, they have shut down satellite surveillance, and the air defenses over the Chinese mainland.’

‘No!’ Wu cried out, almost as if in physical pain, all of his hopes and dreams shattering to dust before him.

‘Can you give the order from there to hit the USS Ford?’ he asked, desperate to gain some measure of satisfaction.

‘No,’ Ling responded, ‘I am afraid not; the location of all our ballistic missile launchers has been transmitted to the Americans, and they’re under threat of destruction if used. US forces are flying over the area again, and building up a full surveillance picture.’

Wu shook his head to himself. When he got aboard the Liaoning, he could get things back on track — he would lead the battle himself, with Zhou beside him.

The helicopter navigator gestured to his screen — two small blips had detached from the aircraft carrier and were headed towards him.

‘Gunships,’ the man said.

‘What is the meaning of this, Captain Ling?’ Wu asked, although he was afraid he already knew. ‘And where is Admiral Meng Linxian? Let me speak to him!’

‘Admiral Meng is under arrest,’ Ling said evenly, ‘and we have received orders from the Politburo to arrest you too, general,’ Ling said evenly. ‘Those aircraft will just accompany you safely down to the carrier.’

‘You little son of a bitch!’ Wu screamed, all his worst fears confirmed. He spun back to the pilot, pulling him round, eyes fierce. ‘Take us back to the mainland! Immediately!’

He calculated times in his head, working things through; with the distance between them, the gunships wouldn’t reach him in time.

And if the mainland’s air defenses had been disabled to allow the Americans safe passage, then there would be nothing to stop him either.

‘Where are we going?’ Zhou asked.

‘The Taihang Mountains,’ Wu spat bitterly. ‘The Great Wall.’

It was the only thing left to do.

8

‘He’s done what?’ Cole asked in sudden concern.

Several hours had passed now, and the situation had looked as if it was coming together nicely; with the generals of the Central Military Commission safely in the custody of the US-backed special operations teams, the rest of the military had ultimately surrendered too, accepting the rule of the Politburo’s government-in-exile. And it wouldn’t be in exile for long either — when the situation had calmed down some more, they would be repatriated to Beijing, flown in on aircraft from the USS John C. Stennis.

The invasion of Japan had been halted in its tracks, the East Sea Fleet just a few short kilometers from Japan’s front gates.

General Wu — flying out to meet the Chinese carrier battle group — was supposed to have been arrested upon landing, and that would essentially have been the end of it.

Except that General Wu hadn’t been arrested.

‘He avoided the escort from the carrier group,’ Liu explained, translating the messages he was receiving from Beijing’s air surveillance batteries, ‘and he’s flown straight back over the mainland. We’ve lowered our defenses to open us up to military counterstrikes from the US if the invasion went ahead, but he used that window, flew straight through those open defenses.’

‘When did he pass through?’ Cole asked, and Liu relayed the question.

‘An hour ago,’ Liu translated. ‘With all the chaos, everything that’s going on, his chopper was missed, the information wasn’t relayed to us directly.’

‘And where was he headed?’ Cole asked, scared that he already knew.

When the answer came, Cole was already moving.

9

The Chinese military transport helicopters travelled fast, taking a combined assault force of Cole’s men and Liu’s special operations soldiers across the rugged countryside beyond Beijing.

It wasn’t long before they were in the foothills of the Taihang Mountains, following dips, crests and valleys towards one of the Great Wall Project’s concealed entrances.

They had used US satellite photography to check the route taken by Wu’s own helicopter, and the coordinates of the landing point had been transmitted back to the incoming pilots.

Back on the USS Stennis, Minister of National Defense Kang Xing — the only general to have remained loyal to the Politburo — confirmed the location of a hidden entrance into the Great Wall Project near the helicopter’s landing point, and this was where Cole and the assault team were headed.

The fear everyone was experiencing was all too real — if Wu had enough time, he would be able to fuel and ready the missiles for flight. He had the codes, and he had the knowledge of how the entire base worked; after all, he had helped build it in the first place.

And if he released the missiles, that would be it for whichever country he’d decided to target — utter annihilation, complete destruction.

Millions dead, tens of millions to die in the years to come from the results of radiation.

Wu had to be stopped, and they had tried contacting the secret base — again, Kang Xing providing the details — but it was apparent that communications links had been severed at the location itself, and nobody could be raised.

So it was down to the assault team and — as they landed — Cole said a prayer.

They were going to need it.

10

They interior of the subterranean missile base was incredible — an engineering marvel that defied the imagination.

It was gigantic, and Cole was left speechless by the size of the cavernous tunnels, the sheer ingenuity and will, the thousands of years of individual manpower which had been necessary to carve the incredible structure out of the mountains.

Although it was true that the tunnel network had been built at a length of some five thousand kilometers, there was a main control room, with several minor substations along its length. The tunnels themselves were just meant to hide the weapons, to keep China’s enemies from guessing where they would be launched from — there were hundreds of platforms along the underground route, and it would be impossible for a foreign power to take out all of them.

But Kang Xing, on Chang Wubei’s initiative, had informed them of the location of the main control center, the place where — if communications were ceased with Beijing — the order for the launch would have to be given, the center which housed the terminals for the secret codes to be inputted.

The gunships flew down, loudspeakers demanding that the soldiers inside the compound lay down their weapons and give themselves up, that the orders being given by General Wu were illegal and not to be followed.

By the time they landed, there was a large group of soldiers gathered in the narrow valley between two steep, rising mountains, having emerged from their hidden command center to give themselves up as demanded.

While some of Liu’s men stayed behind to secure them, Cole and the rest of the team swept through the covert entrance — a raised concrete platform hidden within a stand of tall pines — and worked their way steadily through to the command center.

Resistance was weak, the only soldiers who remained putting up a token effort before surrendering like their colleagues before them; and then Cole was there, breaching the door to the main control room, assault rifle at the ready.

There were computers and monitors everywhere, technicians hard at work, and Cole let go a burst of automatic fire at the ceiling, getting everyone’s attention immediately.

Liu followed him, screaming in Mandarin at the technicians as the other troops spread out through the command center.

Cole scanned the room, looking for Wu, for Zhou, not seeing either one of them. Were they hiding?

A man with major’s rank slides barked out orders to the technicians, obviously exhorting them to carry on, and then a single shot rang out — Liu had shot the major in the leg.

He moaned and screamed, and the technicians held their hands in the air, terrified.

Liu spoke to them again, and they returned to work.

‘What’s happening?’ Cole asked.

‘They were fuelling the birds, entering target coordinates.’

‘Where to?’

Liu looked scared. ‘Everywhere — Japan, South Korea, the US, Britain, you name it, Wu was going to hit it.’ Liu wiped his brow. ‘He was going for total Armageddon.’

‘You’ve rescinded the orders?’

‘Of course. I’ve explained the situation, they’re spinning everything back down. I think they’re as terrified as us. But they’re soldiers, and they do as they’re told.’

Cole nodded, then pointed at the major, screaming on the floor. ‘Him?’ Cole asked, as Liu’s men spread out through the hi-tech chamber, making sure everyone was doing what they said they were doing, and shutting things down.

‘Major Wang Lijun,’ Liu said. ‘A lackey of General Wu and Zhou Shihuang.’

At the mention of those two men, Cole shouted across to his colleagues, who were checking the room for potential hiding places. ‘Any luck?’

They shook their heads in unison.

‘Nowhere to hide in here,’ Navarone said. ‘Who knows where the hell they’ve gone.’

Cole looked at Liu, then down to the injured, screaming figure of Major Wang.

‘I bet he knows,’ Cole said. ‘You need to get him to talk.’

Liu nodded, smiling. ‘No problem,’ he said as he knelt down to get to work.

11

General Wu smiled at Zhou as they parked the truck in the clearing, the engineer jumping down to quickly check the ground for its suitability.

Wu was operating with a skeleton crew, but the mobile launcher he had stolen from the Great Wall had a fully-prepared and mission-capable DF31 long range ballistic missile tipped with a nuclear warhead.

It was quite capable of reaching the west coast of America and taking out, say, Los Angeles, or perhaps San Francisco; and Wu had genuinely considered these targets, a way to take his revenge on those meddling American bastards.

But there was only one target Wu was interested in, and he knew there was no point in denying it.

As the engineer checked the ground and the missile crew readied the weapon, Wu told the head technician to input the coordinates for Tokyo.

He would wipe that damned, hateful Japanese city off the face of world maps forever. He owed it to his family, and it would be his last gesture; even if he was captured, even if he was killed, he would go down in the annals of history as the man who finally destroyed the Japanese nation.

The one-megaton nuclear warhead yielded a destructive force of one million tons of conventional TNT explosive, fifty times more powerful than the Fat Man atomic bomb that had fallen on Nagasaki back in 1945, and over sixty times more powerful than the Little Boy which had laid waste to Hiroshima.

Japan, Wu considered, hadn’t had a lot of luck with nuclear weapons over the years; and it was only going to get worse.

One of the most densely populated metropolises in the world, an average of more than six thousand people lived in every square kilometer of the city; and Wu knew that the downtown area was even more densely packed, with up to twenty thousand citizens per square kilometer.

A one-megaton warhead set to explode two and an half thousand meters above the city in order to maximize blast effects would have a lethality rate of nearly one hundred percent out to a radius of three kilometers — over half a million people would die instantly.

Out to eight kilometers, lethality would be fifty percent, leaving another million and half dead.

So within only a small area, just over two hundred square kilometers of central Tokyo, fatalities would be over two million, and that was purely from the blast. How many more people would perish from the burns, the collapsing buildings, the traffic accidents, the inevitable panicked stampede as people fled the city, the hurricane-force winds, the firestorms, the radiation?

Wu could only hazard a guess, but it would be many millions more, he was sure; and all from the little Dong Feng missile that sat behind him, launch tube ratcheting into position, elevated to point skywards.

Such a small weapon — almost the same as the medium-range missile which had hit the USS Ford and started this whole thing in the first place — but capable of creating so much death.

He couldn’t wait.

Like the missile which had hit the Ford, this variant was equipped with the WU-14 hypersonic glide vehicle; even with prior warning, at a speed of Mach Ten, there would be no chance of anyone stopping it.

Yes, he thought happily, I will have my revenge.

12

Cole saw it first, the olive-green metal launch tube standing tall of the pines which surrounded the small clearing.

‘There,’ he said, pointing through the windshield of the attack helicopter, and the Chinese team picked up on it, the pilot acknowledging it immediately, swinging the aircraft down towards the missile truck.

Cole prayed he wasn’t too late, knowing that Wu would be targeting Japan, almost certainly Tokyo, his fears for his estranged daughter pulsing through his heart.

Before Cole could say another word, the helicopter started taking gunfire, soldiers down below firing up at them through the trees.

Cole and the team fired back out of the open doorways, laying down a stream of fire into the tree line; and then the chopper was directly above the clearing and the pilot opened up with the wing-mounted cannon, 23mm high-velocity rounds showering the small clearing, tearing the truck and the two other cars that had accompanied it to pieces.

Men ran for cover, scattering like flies.

The damage to the launcher looked severe, but Cole had to be sure; they could take no chances.

‘Take us down,’ Cole ordered the pilot.

13

The son of a bitch!

Where had that chopper come from?

Damn them all to hell!

And where had his men run off to? Some were laid on the grassy clearing, bodies torn apart by the cannon fire, but others were nowhere to be seen, having run away into the woods.

Cowards!

Wu spat with disgust, even as he took over the controls of the Dong Feng.

It was ready, absolutely ready, fuelled and ready to go, all the data inputted, all he had to do was just reach in and enter the codes; enter the codes and press the launch button, that was all.

As he started furiously typing in the code, his mind filled only with the thoughts of his revenge, of Tokyo’s annihilation, General Wu never heard the helicopter coming in behind him.

Zhou Shihuang, on the other hand, did hear it; saw it, too, through the sights of his Hongying-5, the Chinese version of the venerable Russian SA-7 Grail shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile launcher.

And as soon as he saw it, he fired, the 1.15kg direct-energy blast fragmentation warhead streaking through the clean mountain air towards the incoming helicopter.

14

‘Incoming! Incoming!’ yelled the pilot as he saw the heat signature on his monitors, and then everyone could hear it, the high-pitched shriek as the missile honed in on their aircraft.

Cole clung tight to the sides as the pilot banked heavily, thought he would slide right out but stopped inches from the edge; two others weren’t so lucky, falling out to the plain below.

Cole’s hand shot out to catch a third soldier sliding past, helping him back inside as the helicopter leveled again, and then dipped savagely to the other side.

Cole saw the exhaust fumes of the missile as it shot past below them, relaxed for a moment, then felt the sudden, shocking, heart-wrenching impact as it hit the chopper; understood in an instant that it must have pulled back round and hit from the other side.

‘We’re hit!’ screamed the pilot as the cabin exploded in sparks, then flames, the whole of one side gone now, three more soldiers pulled out into the clear air behind them.

Cole hunkered down as the pilot struggled to control the bird, its tail rotors gone now as it entered into a terrible spin.

Cole looked out the open door at the ground below, coming up toward him faster and faster, turned to look at the flames heading across the cabin, already setting men alight, and did the only thing he could.

He jumped.

15

Zhou watched with satisfaction as the helicopter shuddered through the air, flames licking all the way through its interior, until the vehicle was out of sight, lost behind the trees.

But Zhou heard the crash as it landed hard, the explosion as the fuel tanks finally went, and saw the flames licking high up into the sky.

Portable rocket launchers like the one he had used were standard equipment on the mobile missile launchers, kept for last-minute area defense. If the crew had managed to keep from panicking, they would have thought to use it themselves.

But, like so many people, they had lost their courage and fled.

But Zhou had remembered, and had done what needed to be done.

He personally couldn’t care less about striking back at the Japanese; what use would it do them now? But he also didn’t begrudge General Wu his revenge, and knew he owed the man; without his timely intervention, Zhou would be in jail right now for killing the son of that governor.

So he would wait for Wu, let him launch the missile, and then help him get out of there.

He was walking casually back over the clearing towards the missile command truck when he saw him, and despite himself, he allowed the shock to register across his face.

The American was here.

16

When Cole had thrown himself clear of the helicopter, it had been just ten feet from the treetops; and although he’d hit them hard, the thick, supple branches had absorbed the energy of his fall.

He had tumbled through the branches, the big trees around him shielding him from the explosion as the chopper finally crashed, and he even as he fell painfully to the ground, skin cut, ripped and blistered, he immediately found himself hoping that he wasn’t the only one to survive.

Liu and most of Force One had remained behind to secure the bulk of the missiles, but Chad Davis had been there, on the far side of the chopper. He hadn’t seen him during the chaos of the attack, and prayed for his safety even as he rolled around on the needle-covered floor, agonized by the fall.

But in the end, he’d managed to struggle to his feet, his ribs aching so hard he knew they must be broken, and had started heading back toward the clearing.

The cannon had hit the launcher, but he had to be sure; for Michiko’s sake, for the sake of millions of others, he had to be sure.

The massive form of Zhou, a look of utter surprise across his face, was the first thing he saw as he left the tree line.

And then there was the launch module, missile tube still held aloft, pointed toward the sky. And inside the command car, at the launch controls, was General Wu.

He looked around; there was just the three of them left.

This was it.

Determined, despite his pain, despite his injuries, he strode out into the clearing to confront them.

17

Wu couldn’t believe it; here it was, fully fuelled and ready to go, but the damned launcher had been blasted out of position by the chopper’s cannon.

All the instruments had said the same when he’d tried to launch; two more degrees of elevation were needed.

Damn it!

He’d tried to sort the problem electronically, but it was clear that the problem was mechanical; and so, knowing exactly what he was doing and hoping he just had enough time to do it, he grabbed the huge toolkit from the cabin and went to work.

Zhou was impressed; the American was even more formidable than he’d thought.

Beaten, tortured, mutilated, the man had still followed them here; and must have thrown himself out of the chopper when it was hit, survived the fall — had he hit the trees? — and now he was walking into the clearing completely unarmed, obviously willing to take Zhou on single-handed.

Zhou had to hand it to him — there weren’t many men who would have the courage to do such a thing.

He must have been someone of substance to know those moves he’d used back in the pavilion at Beihai Park; only a handful of people in all the world were capable of using the delayed death touch.

But unfortunately for the assassin, Zhou was one of them. Still, he had seldom seen the operation of those skills used so smoothly, so effortlessly; the attack had been so good, Zhou had almost missed it.

Almost.

He’d been looking forward to getting answers from the man back in the Zhongnonhai basement cells, and not just from the obvious questions about who he was, and who had sent him; no, Zhou was far more interested personally in who had trained him, where he had learned those special skills he possessed.

But he accepted now that he would never know, because the man was about to die.

For despite Zhou’s admiration for the American’s bravery, nothing in the world was going to stop him from destroying the man completely.

18

Cole saw General Wu race around the missile truck, toolbox in hand, and he knew he still had a chance; all he had to do was get rid of Zhou.

The trouble was, Zhou was three hundred pounds of highly trained, psychopathic Shaolin monk, and Cole was exhausted, beaten, and at the very ends of his endurance.

He was also suffering from suspected broken ribs, and was completely unarmed, his weapons lost and destroyed in the helicopter crash.

But still, what had to be done, had to be done, and on he strode across the clearing, the challenge to Zhou clear.

A fight.

One on one.

To the death.

The thought of Michiko, of those millions of unsuspecting, innocent people, drove him onwards, gave him strength.

And as Zhou strode forward across the clearing to meet him, Cole knew he was going to need it.

‘You have my respect,’ Cole heard Zhou say to him as they faced each other, just six feet apart.

Cole could only think of the razor blade, the diabolical look in the man’s eye as he’d used it on him.

‘Well, you definitely don’t have mine, you sick son of a bitch.’

The comment — as well as being completely true — was also designed to anger the man, make him slip up somehow; he had to use all the leverage he could get.

Zhou’s face remained impassive though, and the men began to circle each other, assessing weaknesses, gaps, openings.

Zhou only had one functioning eye, and Cole knew that it might affect the man’s depth perception; although from what he’d seen already, that didn’t seem to be the case. He’d probably had such faults trained out of him.

He was heavy also, perhaps too heavy; although it didn’t seem to interfere with his movement, it must have restricted him in some way, Cole believed.

Well, he supposed he was about to find out.

Cole accelerated in towards Zhou — one step, two steps, covering the six feet in a sudden blur, and then his booted leg was lashing out in a vicious Thai round kick aimed at Zhou’s knee.

The big man barely moved, took the full force of the blow and just smiled.

Cole could barely believe it; the muscle around the man’s knee must have been tremendously strong, and he felt his will lessen for a moment.

But then he silenced his doubts and attacked again, ignoring the pain that shot through his ribs as he did so.

He threw out a powerful straight right towards the man’s jaw, not as fast as he could have gone, allowing Zhou the time to move his head to the side to avoid it and then he followed through with the real punch, a short-cocked left hook that came out of nowhere.

But instead of connecting with Zhou’s temple, Cole’s fist was instead stopped by one of the man’s giant hands.

In a blur of movement, Zhou grasped Cole’s wrist and bent at the waist, his other arm firing through underneath Cole’s legs, hoisting him onto his shoulders.

Just an instant later, Zhou offloaded the body by flipping it over in front of him, kneeling with one knee bent, pulling Cole powerfully downwards.

Cole knew the impact would fracture his spine and managed to turn out at the last minute, body twisting through the air, his groin terribly sore from where Zhou’s forearm had pulled up into it during the lift.

Coe landed on his feet to one side, but Zhou still had hold of his fist and pulled him forwards, the bunched fingers of his other hand lashing out towards Cole’s heart.

Knowing he would be dead if the spear-hand hit him, Cole turned quickly, the iron-like fingertips hitting him in shoulder instead, spinning him around to the side.

But still the giant had hold of his fist, and this time Cole moved in, hitting the inside of Zhou’s wrists at a nerve juncture that made the man’s hand spring open, finally releasing the captured fist.

His elbow flashed across Zhou’s body, hoping to connect with a point just below the navel, a follow-up blow after the strike to the arm which would leave Zhou paralyzed, unable to breathe.

But Zhou had anticipated the movement and dropped his weight, taking the elbow strike to the pectoral muscle instead; painful, but far from fatal.

The men broke apart, circling each other once more.

Cole could see that Zhou was surprised; he had probably expected the encounter to be over almost as soon as it had begun; he wasn’t used to a challenge.

And perhaps, Cole thought, that was Zhou’s weakness — fitness. He had never been forced to go longer than a few seconds, and he was already showing signs of fatigue.

But then Cole saw the hurried movements of General Wu out of the corner of his eye, and he knew he might not have enough time to wear Zhou down.

Sensing Cole’s preoccupation, Zhou lashed out quickly, his huge foot sailing up towards Cole’s face, his flexibility uncanny for a man his size.

Cole barely got out the way in time, arching his head back; but that was just what Zhou wanted, and he landed a long, thrusting straight punch to Cole’s exposed gut that sent him staggering back across the clearing.

Unable to breathe, gasping for air helplessly, Cole fell to his knees.

Zhou moved quickly towards him, ready to deliver the killing blow, the coup de grâce.

Cole saw Wu moving back towards the command truck, knew he was running out of time.

And then time itself seemed to stand still as Cole’s eyes moved back to Zhou, taking in everything around him as the man-mountain rushed in toward him — he saw the man’s chest heaving, and he knew the man’s fitness was an issue; saw a wobble in one leg, knew immediately that his earlier kick to the man’s knee had done some damage; saw the pines, the leaves, the twigs that littered the grassy clearing; knew in a heartbeat exactly what he had to do.

Cole could breathe now, but carried on pretending he couldn’t; and then Zhou was upon him, huge fists reaching out for Cole’s head.

In the blink of an eye, Cole moved, ducking forward, head low as he struck out with one fist in a hugely powerful hook, knuckles impacting Zhou’s knee on exactly the same point as before; but this time, the knee buckled and then Cole burst upwards, pulling the broken stick he’d seen on the floor up with him.

In the next moment, in a flash of incredible speed, Cole had whipped the stick up past Zhou’s huge, sagging body, and embedded it in the man’s one good eye.

Jellied liquid burst out of the eyeball around the hard stick, covering Cole’s face, and the man screamed — a feral sound, inhuman, that chilled Cole to his very core.

Cole pulled away as the big man started to thrash about, arms and legs hitting out at the air around him, determined to hit anything, anything at all.

Zhou was entirely blind now, both eyes useless; but then Zhou stopped his thrashing and calmed down, seeming to center himself, attune his other senses to make up for his missing eyes.

And Cole knew he couldn’t give the man the opportunity, didn’t have the time — Wu was back at the truck, right now, inputting the codes, trying to launch — and Cole flew forward, striking the man on the arm, the leg, the shoulder, one nerve cluster after another; never letting the man rest, keeping the pressure on, hitting a multitude of points rather than just one or two, purely due to the man’s immense strength, the density of his body.

Just two more points to go and Zhou would surely die — nobody could live through such an assault — but then the big man’s instincts took over and he seized Cole with both of his enormous hands, pulled him in towards him, arms crushing him, and Cole couldn’t breathe, the pain in his broken ribs on fire as they rubbed and grated together.

Cole’s teeth lashed out, catching hold of Zhou’s lower lip, and he whipped his head around, back and forth, side to side, until the pain became too much for Zhou to bear and he loosened his hold, only a little, but enough for Cole to slip out an arm.

Cole knew he only had one chance, he would be back in Zhou’s enormously strong grip in the next couple of seconds, and he used what little time he had to lash out towards Zhou’s unprotected throat, the flesh weakened by his exhaustion, the multiple nerve strikes he’d already been hit with.

Cole fingers, incredibly strong and vice-like, clamped down firmly around the thick flesh, digging through the layers of skin and fat until they found the windpipe; and then they constricted with an unbelievable strength born of sheer desperation, until the skin itself was torn under the pressure, and the fingers wrapped around the windpipe and wrenched it outwards in one savage, powerful jerk.

Blood sprayed over Cole’s face as Zhou’s throat was torn out from his neck, flesh and blood and thick, hot tissue covering his hand.

The man released his grip as blood pumped wildly out of the opening in his neck, and his life drained out of him with a sickening, thick, gargling noise, hands going to his torn throat as he fell to his knees, then to the ground, the impact felt all around the clearing.

Cole took a single breath, at once appalled by what he had done but at the same time glad beyond measure that the man was dead, and turned immediately towards the missile command truck.

19

He was close, so close!

Wu had fixed the mechanical problem, had gained his extra few degrees of elevation, and was inputting the codes again, the excitement rising within him.

And then the codes were accepted and the terminal asked him if he wanted to launch, and he pressed the confirmation button, then hit the launch switch.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

He saw the rocket thrusters ignite, the force of the glorious, fiery explosion hitting the reinforced launch platform –

But then he felt something touching him, pushing him, shoving him –

And then he was even closer to his beloved missile, in among the beautiful flames, the incredible force enveloping him until it was all he knew, all he would ever know.

And then it all went blank, and General Wu saw and felt nothing more.

Cole had got to the launch module just in time, had pushed the general over the guard railing into the downdraft of the rocket as it fired up, ready to set off into the atmosphere.

General Wu De had been incinerated immediately and — as Cole had hoped — the intrusion of a foreign body into the launch zone had caused an automatic abort of the missile launch.

Cole watched in pained horror for several moments as the rocket continued to flare, threatened to launch, and then relief flooded him as the fire went out, gases leaking into the atmosphere as the big missile settled back down onto its guide rails, completely inoperable.

Cole looked at the Dong Feng as it sat there right in front of him, a missile with enough destructive force to lay waste to a city, wielded by a madman — a madman who now lay incinerated underneath his own weapon, destroyed by his own dreams.

And then the pain and exhaustion finally overcame Cole once and for all, and he collapsed, unconscious, to the ground below him.