Hong Kong

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jake and Callie Grafton went to bed in the consul general’s suite in the U.S. consulate while the rebels were fighting the PLA in Kowloon. After the television chopper brought them back to the consulate from the Barbary Coast, Jake merely nodded at the marines at the gate, who snapped him smart salutes, and walked through. He informed the consulate duty officer that he was expecting a call from Washington, which was an untruth of a low order of magnitude.

The duty officer was juggling telephones as he tried to coordinate the efforts of the staff, which was trying desperately to keep Washington informed of the progress of the battle in Kowloon as they learned of it. The duty officer muttered “Yessir” at Jake, who wandered off with Callie in hand. When the duty officer was out of sight, Jake made a beeline for Cole’s bedroom.

They were under the covers with glasses of champagne on the nightstand ten minutes after they locked the door.

“I have a serious question to ask and I want a serious answer,” Callie said.

Jake sipped champagne and wriggled his toes under the silk sheets. Silk sheets! God, how these billionaires lived! “Sure,” he said, to humor her.

“Okay, here goes: If you were asked, would you accept an appointment as an officer in the Free Chinese Navy?”

“Have you been mulling that for the last two days?”

“I just wondered. What’s your answer?”

“Hell, no. They might not make me an admiral. I’m not going to join anybody’s navy unless they make me an admiral.”

“What if they offer to make you an admiral?”

“I’d have to think about it.”

“Really?”

“No. I’m pulling your leg. Turn out the lights and let’s snuggle.”

“I’m too sore to make love,” she said.

“And I’m too tired. Turn out the lights, lover, and let’s pretend until we collapse.”

She reached and got the lights. “Do you mean it? If Wu Tai Kwong asks, you’ll say no?”

“He won’t ask, but if he does, I’ll say what an honor it is to be asked, blah blah blah, but unfortunately blah blah blah.”

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“You and I are hitting the road the first chance we get. We are going back to the land of Coke and hot dogs as fast as we can get there.”

“Level with me, Jake.”

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

He thought about how he should say it. “If you hadn’t been kidnapped, I wouldn’t have had to kill those guys tonight. I’m not blaming you; I just don’t want to have to fight this fight. This is a Chinese civil war — it’s their problem. I’m willing to fight for my country and my family, and that’s it. Sure, those guys tonight got what they had coming, but I’m not God, don’t want His job. If we go home we’re out of it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She did understand, and she felt relieved.

“I was damned worried about you, Callie. Staring at the spectre of life without you was not pleasant. Maybe it’s posttraumatic shock — I don’t want you out of my sight, not for the foreseeable future.”

“I was pretty worried, too,” she whispered. “I kept thinking there was something I should be doing to get out, and I finally calmed down when I realized you’d come for me if you could. Jake Grafton was my ticket out.”

“You’re one tough broad, Callie Grafton.”

“It’s crazy to tell you this: I knew you’d come. I could feel your presence.” She was going to say more, but he lowered his mouth on hers and the thought got lost somewhere.

It turned out he wasn’t too tired and she wasn’t too sore.

Afterward, as they lay back-to-back, she remarked, “That’s the first time I ever took a bath in a whorehouse,” but her husband didn’t respond. He was already asleep.

An hour later the telephone rang. After he grappled with the thing, Jake managed to get it up to his ear.

“Grafton.”

“That call you were expecting from the states is on line two, sir. Before you answer it… we just received a flash message appointing you the American chargé d’affaires in Hong Kong. Orders are coming via satellite now — tomorrow afternoon the American and British navies are bringing a half dozen ships to evacuate non-Chinese citizens who wish to leave.”

Jake took a few seconds to digest all that, then said, “Who is on line two?”

“The Secretary of State, sir.”

“Thanks.” Jake sat up in bed, turned on the light, then pushed the button for line two.

He gave Callie the news while he dressed.

“Oh, Jake, I wanted to go home, too.”

“It’ll be a few weeks, at least, the Secretary said. The main thing is to get out the non-Chinese people who want to leave.”

“Will that be many people?”

“Who knows?” he said as he strapped on the ankle holster. “The real question is what the Communists will do. I assume the rebels will leave Hong Kong soon. Maybe the Communists will try to retake the city. Maybe they’ll sail their navy down here and assault the place. I don’t know and neither does anyone in Washington. On the other hand, if the Chinese try something big the recon satellites will pick it up and Washington will give us a warning — a few hours, anyway — for whatever that’s worth.” He reached for the shoulder holster, decided he didn’t want to wear the heavy Colt, then changed his mind and put it on.

“Some of the Americans won’t leave,” Callie said. “And you know that a lot of the British and Australians will refuse to go. This is their home.”

“They stay at their own risk. They’re betting Wu Tai Kwong and Tiger Cole can protect them. In my opinion, that isn’t a very good bet.”

He bent over and kissed her. “Get some sleep. If I’m going to be responsible for the way the consulate staff performs, I’d better find out what they’re up to.”

“I’m not leaving this city without you,” she told him as he started out the door.

Jake grinned at her. “I didn’t figure you would.”

Callie didn’t think she could get back to sleep, but she was so exhausted she soon drifted off.

The sun was up and Jake Grafton was drinking coffee at Tiger Cole’s desk in the consul general’s office when the rebels walked into the army base. He was on the satellite telephone to the State Department when the television showed Governor Sun Siu Ki being torn to pieces by the mob.

The power was on throughout the city, so everyone in Hong Kong who wasn’t in the streets got to watch the rebels’ final victory.

When the conversation with Washington was over, Jake Grafton went to the window and pulled back the drapes so that the morning sun shone full in the office. He was standing at the window looking out when he heard a voice at the door. Tommy Carmellini, sporting a bandage on his head.

“Just the man I wanted to see. Come in and drink a cup of coffee.”

“I hear you’re now the head hoo-ha around here.”

“Yep. You’re still working for me.”

“I dunno, Admiral, if I’m up to it. Another night like the last one and I’ll be a hospital case.”

“Thanks, Tommy, for everything. You saved my wife’s life when you figured out that Kent was up to her eyeballs in this mess.”

Carmellini was still there when Callie came in.

“Did you get some sleep?” she asked her husband.

“No.”

He kissed her and held her awhile before he told her that the rebels had won in Hong Kong. The city was theirs. “At least for a little while,” he added under his breath.

The three of them were eating breakfast when the secretary buzzed and announced Cole.

He breezed in, dirty and tired and elated.

“We’ve won the first campaign,” he told them.

“Congratulations.”

“And congratulations to you,” he said to Jake. “The secretary said you are now the charge d’affaires.”

“I’m moving right up the ladder. Who knows how high I’ll go? How about some breakfast?”

“I’m starved. Order me some while I tell you all about it.”

Jake picked up the telephone and dialed the kitchen. When he hung up, he waited for Cole to finish his summation of the night’s adventures, then told him, “A federal grand jury in Washington has issued a warrant for your arrest. Washington announced it an hour ago. You are officially a fugitive.”

Cole shrugged. “I volunteered. I’ll live with it.”

“So where do you guys go from here?”

“Shenzhen, which is a special economic zone right across the border. It’s actually sort of a suburb of Hong Kong. We’ll cross the bridge this evening and try to take the town. If all goes well, we’ll head for Canton in a day or so.”

“How are you going to get there?”

“The old-fashioned way — we’re walking. We’ll move the York units and our heavy weapons and ammo by truck, but the people will have to hoof it. We’ve got ten thousand men and women under arms, about half of them former soldiers who volunteered. With the trains out of commission, walking is our only viable option.”

“Can you win?” Callie asked. “Can you really topple the Communists?”

“If we can convince the people that the Communists have lost the mandate of heaven, the right to rule, then, Yes. Mao Tse Tung always said political power grows from the barrel of a gun, and he couldn’t have been more wrong. Every dictator who ever lived believed that fallacy. The truth is that power comes from the consent of the governed. So far the public reaction to the rebellion, at least in Hong Kong, has been better than anyone hoped. Wu always argued that the people were ready — events seem to be proving him correct.”

“You’ve bet your life that he was correct,” suggested Tommy Carmellini.

“Life is meant to be lived,” Cole replied and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

He grinned — a rarity for Tiger Cole — then offered a coffee toast, “To life and good friends, wherever they are.”

They were finishing their breakfast at the conference table by the window, enjoying the morning sun and their last hour together, when the secretary burst through the door. “Admiral, I’m sorry, but—”

He was knocked out of the way by Charlie York. The one-armed robot limped into the room and took up a position near the window, facing the three people around the breakfast table. A few wires hung from the robot’s shoulder where its arm had been attached, and the minigun turret was visibly damaged. The skin was spattered with a dark substance, probably a mixture of blood and mud.

Behind the robot came Sonny Wong and Kerry Kent. Kent’s nose was taped in position on her face. A portable York control unit hung from a strap around her neck.

Sonny Wong had a pistol in his hand, a nasty-looking automatic. He pointed it at Cole, then at Grafton, as he said, “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, my friends, but we owed you a social call.”

“The marines let them in, sir,” the secretary squeaked, “because they thought they were with Mr. Cole.”

Sonny pointed the pistol at the secretary. “If anybody comes through that door I’m going to shoot these people and turn loose the York. Tell that to the marines. Now get out!”

The man went, pulling the door closed behind him.

Kerry Kent sat in the consul general’s desk chair and put the control unit on the desk. Jake saw that she was stirring the cursor around while Wong talked.

“We have both won, Mr. Cole. You have conquered Hong Kong and I have relieved the Chinese government of a great deal of money.” Sonny parked his rump on the edge of the desk, one leg dangling, the pistol negligently pointed in their direction.

“What do you want?”

“I owe this man here”—he gestured with the pistol at Grafton—”some serious pain. He killed more than a dozen of my associates and destroyed several major assets of mine, a floating restaurant and a large yacht. Capital assets worth twelve million American dollars burned or went to the bottom, Admiral, thanks to you. You are a real pain in the ass.”

“You should have left my wife alone,” Jake said calmly.

“Nothing personal, but I was trying for a lever to pry some money from Mr. Cole, who has more than is good for any man. He couldn’t spend it in five lifetimes. I merely wished to help him with that chore.”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Jake said, still speaking in a conversational tone.

Sonny Wong grinned. The truth was he felt damned good. “Too late now, Grafton. Too late, too late.”

“Where did you get the York?” Cole asked Sonny.

“It was being repaired. Miss Kent had to shoot several of the technicians when they proved uncooperative, but the York seemed glad to see her.”

Cole finished the last bite of his breakfast and put the knife and fork on the plate. Carmellini moved his feet back under his chair.

He truly is evil, Callie thought, staring at Sonny. She had never seen him in the flesh; he wasn’t anything like she had imagined. Short, pudgy, a round, youthful-looking face — he didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a career criminal. He was, though.

“I’m ready,” Kerry Kent announced triumphantly. She smiled at Carmellini. It wasn’t a nice smile. “After Charlie does the admiral, he’s going to do you, Carmellini, you sneaky bastard.”

The coffeepot, creamer, and sugar bowl sat on a highly polished silver tray. Jake reached for the edge of the tray with his left hand, pulled it a little closer so he could reach the coffeepot better. The York unit was about fifteen feet away, staring at him.

Jake poured himself a cup of coffee and set the pot on the table, away from the tray. He then looked again at Wong, who was saying, “Tell you what, Cole. I will give you a chance to save yourself and your friends. Use the satellite telephone. Call your banker in California. Tell him to wire the fifty million to my Swiss account. There’s been enough violence in Hong Kong. Pay me the money and get on with your quest.”

“I don’t have that kind of cash available at a moment’s notice,” Cole remarked evenly.

“Perhaps your banker can be persuaded to find some lying around somewhere. Miss Kent has programmed the York. I am out of patience and time. We have played the game and you have lost. Step over here and pick up the phone.”

Callie was staring at her husband. He’s going to kill that man, she thought, and regret it for the rest of his life.

“We just want to go home,” Callie said, causing Wong to look at her.

Jake reached for his coffee cup with his left hand and knocked the cup over. As he started to rise to avoid the coffee splashing across the table, he drew the Colt .45 from its shoulder holster with his right hand. He thumbed off the safety as he swung the barrel and shot at Sonny Wong.

Sonny was looking the wrong way when Jake drew and he wasn’t ready, so he was a second behind, which was just enough. His shot missed Jake’s head by three inches and smacked into the wall behind him.

Jake Grafton didn’t miss. His shot hit Sonny in the middle of the chest. His second hit him high in the throat, snapping his head back, and his third went through Sonny’s heart.

When the first bullet hit Sonny, Kerry Kent screamed and lifted the York control unit up in front of her face.

She was still screaming when Jake Grafton put his fourth shot through the control unit and hit her in the forehead, tearing off the top of her head and spraying a blood mist.

The York unit lurched forward as Kent’s corpse toppled to the floor.

Jake tilted the edge of the silver tray with his left hand. The creamer and sugar bowl fell over. Jake turned the tray to catch the sun, then shined the brilliant reflection into the sensors of Charlie York. The robot froze, blinded.

Jake concentrated on keeping the reflected sunbeam in the lenses of the York’s visual and infrared sensors.

“Oh, Jake,” Callie murmured.

“Now what?” Jake said to Cole as he slowly holstered the pistol.

“Jesus, man, you shouldn’t have shot a hole in the damned control unit.”

Cole scrambled for it, picked it up, and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it.

“Oh, boy!” said Tommy Carmellini, who had dashed around the table and was checking Wong’s pulse. “I don’t think Mr. Wong expected that.”

“Ruined the bastard’s day,” Jake muttered.

“Is he dead?” Callie asked.

“Pretty much,” Carmellini replied, and went to take a squint at Kent. A glance was enough.

“Ruined,” Cole said disgustedly, and tossed the control unit on the desk.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Dr. Frankenstein,” Jake said, his voice tightly controlled. “Turn the son of a bitch off.”

“That’s just it, Jake. Without the control unit, I can’t.”

“Isn’t there an on-off switch or something?”

“Ah, no. The thinking was that the enemy could flip a switch as well as we could. The control unit is the only way to communicate with a York.”

“Go get another one.”

“Okay, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. Kent probably slaved the York to this unit so no one else could give it extraneous commands.”

The sun was moving. In a couple of minutes Jake was going to lose it. As the beam wavered on Charlie York’s face, he steadied the tray with both hands.

“Start thinking!” he said to Cole. “Gimme a plan!”

“Maybe you’d better get the hell out of here!”

“What if the damn thing then kills you people?”

“Kent said—”

“She lied to everyone — her whole life was a lie.” He stared at Charlie York, trying to think. “What are the York’s shortcomings, its vulnerabilities?”

“We just started the testing process when we had to stop. We ran out of time.”

“No shit!” Jake took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Okay, everyone out of the room. All you people clear out, now! Go down the hall and get in one of the offices and close the door.”

One by one they went around behind him and out. Callie was last.

“Jake…”

“Go on, Callie. I want to know you’re safe.”

“Jake!”

“Go! Let me think for a minute.”

There it stood, a big, massive mechanical monster with one arm and a damaged minigun, blinded by the sun.

It was going to kill him.

Perhaps he should just sit still, refuse to be a threat.

But Kent said she had told the York to kill him! As the York was looking at his face, she probably designated him as a target, bypassing the threat recognition program. Or was she merely using a figure of speech? Or just flat lying?

He was about to find out. In a few seconds the sunbeam would be gone and…

Holding the tray as steady as he could with his left hand, he drew the Colt .45 again. The distance to the York was about ten or twelve feet. God, the thing was intimidating!

With his elbow on the table, he aimed at the York’s visual light sensor behind the lens turret. Got the sights lined up, held them as still as humanly possible, and squeezed the trigger.

The gun bucked in his hand.

The York’s head snapped back from the impact of the heavy .45 slug, but the sensor lens appeared intact. So did the lens in the turret.

Bulletproof glass! Of course!

He had two more rounds left, so he aimed at the left sensor, the infrared one.

The York jerked again from the impact of the bullet, yet when its head came erect the lens still appeared to be okay.

The last shell.

Another hit. Again to no apparent effect.

He gently laid the empty Colt on the table, trying not to disturb the beam of light reflected from the tray.

On the table was a squeeze bottle of ketchup. Jake picked it up with his right hand. Still pretty full.

Now!

He flipped the tray at the York and ran for the door.

The York was right behind him.

As he went through the outer office, he grabbed a chair and hurled it at the York’s feet.

Like a champion hurdler, Charlie York launched itself up and over. And lost its balance on landing and fell in a crash.

Inertia caused the unit to do a somersault.

And it rolled forward onto its feet and kept coming!

Jake dashed along the hallway as fast as he could go. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The York was twenty feet back, lurching along, touching the wall occasionally with its left hand to steady itself.

Callie opened a door, pushing a chair on rollers. “In here,” she urged Jake as she sent the chair flying along the corridor toward the York, who again attempted to hurdle it. This time the chair caught one foot while it was in the air, and the York landed in a thunderous crash on its head and good shoulder.

Jake slammed the door closed. Carmellini, Cole, and Callie were there along with five or six consulate personnel. “I told you people to get outta here,” Jake protested.

“In line, quick,” Cole said. “It’ll look through the wall.”

A half dozen of the quickest thinkers got into a tight knot, then they separated.

The door shook from the impact of Charlie York’s fist.

“Where’s the nearest swimming pool?” Jake demanded of Cole.

“The hotel, three doors down the street.”

“Meet me there,” he shouted as the York’s left fist smashed through the door. “Bring extension cords.”

He jerked open the door to the adjacent room and dashed through it just as the York ripped the door to the room he had left completely off its hinges.

The robot charged into the room, then examined the features of each person there. Clearly it was unsure which of the humans was the designated target.

Grafton was not there. With its UWB radar the York had seen one person leave, so after no more than a four-second delay, it turned and charged after Grafton, lurching as it went, slightly off balance.

As he left the adjacent office Jake had locked the door behind him. He ran down the corridor as the York smashed at the wall, punching holes in the dry wall with its fist, ramming it, making dust come out in clouds.

Jake was going for the stairs when he reconsidered. He pushed the button for the elevator and stood there waiting while the York tore at the wall behind him. A leg came through, the head, now the arm.

He could hear an elevator coming, a high-pitched whine. There were two elevators, so he looked at the floor numbers over the doors. The elevator on the left was a floor away… stopping on this floor… the doors opened as the York crashed completely through the wall into the corridor.

Jake wormed his way between the opening doors and jabbed the down button as the York came tearing down the hall, each leg driving hard.

The elevator door took its own sweet time closing.

If it gets its claws in the door, the door won’t close!

The elevator closed in the York’s face, with the hand reaching…

The York slammed its fist into the exterior door, making the whole elevator shake.

Jake’s eyes went to the floor indicator. The elevator had been going up, so the up arrow was there. Before his eyes the arrow flipped to a down indication, and the elevator doors began opening.

Jake pulled out the emergency stop button. An alarm rang somewhere.

The door opened about two inches and stopped.

The York got its two claws into the opening and began tugging.

The door creaked.

If Charlie York had had two hands, the door would probably have failed. With only one hand, the robot could get insufficient leverage.

The ringing alarm bell only added to Jake’s adrenaline level.

The York was right there in front of him, its head only inches away.

He pointed the plastic bottle of ketchup at the York’s face and squeezed with all his strength. The ketchup squirted out, covering the York’s sensor lenses.

When its vision clouded, the York withdrew its claws from the crack in the elevator door and brought its hand in front of its face. Fluid squirted from an opening in its wrist onto the sensor lenses. The doors remained frozen open about two inches, so Jake could still see the York.

With the alarm ringing steadily, Jake opened the emergency escape door on top of the elevator car and grabbed it with both hands. He swung his feet, wriggled wildly, and got one shoulder through.

The York tore at the door again. It got its hand through and used the middle joint of its arm for leverage.

It’s learning, he thought. The damn thing is learning!

Jake got both shoulders through the opening, now his chest, then he was sitting on the side of the hole. The York had the doors open a foot now.

He swung his feet up just as the York lunged for him.

His sports coat was torn and inhibiting his movements. He jerked it off. He was about to throw it away when the stalk on the top of the York’s head came up through the hole.

He tossed the coat over the stalk, forcing the York to lower itself down and use its hand to pull the coat away.

Meanwhile Jake was climbing the ladder in the elevator shaft.

He pushed the emergency exit button by the door two floors above. The door slowly opened. Jake dashed through the door, paused and looked back, just in time to see the stalk on top of the York’s head disappear into the exit hole.

The York is coming!

The York will undoubtedly use the stairs, the door to which was twenty feet away.

Jake pushed the button for the elevator. He went over to the stair door, opened it a crack, and listened.

The damn elevator alarm was still going off, masking the sound of the climbing York.

Jake heard the other elevator arrive and the door open.

He turned…

And found himself staring at the York, which was charging him as fast as its legs would churn.

He tore open the stair door and dashed downward, taking the stairs three at a time. Charlie York was right behind.

Goddamn Cole! This fucking machine is too smart by half.

Even crippled, the agility of the York was awe-inspiring.

Jake vaulted a rail to gain a little distance, then did it again.

He slammed open the door at the bottom of the stairwell and charged through, right past two marines with assault rifles.

They turned and knelt.

As the York blasted through the door the marines opened fire in full-automatic mode.

The impact of the bullets staggered the York and gave Jake another second of lead, but that was all.

Fortunately the York didn’t attack the marines. It ignored them and ran by, limping slightly, using its hand on whatever was handy to help stay balanced.

Jake ran through the metal detector at the main entrance, blasted through a group of American tourists waiting to talk to consulate personnel about leaving Hong Kong, and on out the front door.

The York was four seconds behind him.

“Jesus!” one tourist exclaimed to a marine guard. “What in hell was that?”

“A York unit,” the sergeant replied.

“Who was it chasing?” the tourist’s wife asked.

“That is our new charge d’affaires.”

“Oh, Lord,” the woman moaned. “Why in the world did we ever leave Moline?”

There wasn’t much traffic, so Jake sprinted across the street without breaking stride and ran into the next building, a huge office tower. The entire first floor consisted of a variety of shops, the interior walls of which were floor-to-ceiling glass. The effect was stunning.

Jake Grafton glanced over his shoulder, checking that the York wasn’t too close, then dashed into a shop that had an exterior exit.

Sure enough, the York attempted to cut the corner and smashed into the glass, which literally exploded from the impact.

Shards of glass flew everywhere as screaming shop girls dove for cover. The York stumbled, went to its knees. Jake hit the bar for the outside door, triggering an alarm, and blasted on through.

In the center of the reception area of the next building was a large pool filled with giant Japanese goldfish. Water trickled in from a slime-covered waterfall. The whole thing was ringed with a variety of stunning tropical flowers.

Jake leaped to a small rock in the center of the pool, then leaped on across to the other side.

Charlie York tried to make the same leap… and fell into the pool.

With legs and arm churning, it rose, slime dripping from the barrels of its minigun, and splashed wildly after Grafton, who gained three or four seconds on the York.

The next building was the hotel. The doorman shouted at Jake as he ran toward him, but the uniformed man cleared out of the way when he saw the York coming, still decorated with green pond slime.

People in the hotel lobby ran for cover, screaming, shouting, getting behind whatever was handy as Jake ran by, looking for a sign or symbol that might indicate the pool’s location.

He slowed as he went by the front desk. “Where’s the pool?” he roared at the little squad of clerks in their bright red blazers.

One of them pointed toward the rear of the hotel.

Jake ran that way.

He saw a short stairs, then a double door. Aha! A sign.

Two turns, one more door, and he found himself on the edge of a large swimming pool. He went around one side, slowed to a walk. His chest was heaving. Fortunately there was no one in the pool.

The York blasted through the door, slamming it open.

It saw Jake, started for him, then slowed, its head turning back and forth, scanning.

It came to a halt two yards past the shallow end, on the side opposite Grafton.

“Smart,” Jake muttered. “The damned thing is too smart.”

Obviously the York appreciated the dilemma. Regardless of which way it chose to approach Grafton, he could escape by going in the other direction. He could even escape by jumping in the water.

Unless the York could swim.

Naw! Four hundred-plus pounds of titanium and hydraulic fluid, Kevlar and computer chips?

The York began moving forward, toward the deep end of the pool. It removed a pole the maintenance personnel used to vacuum the bottom of the pole from its hook on the wall.

The pole was far too short to reach. Apparently the York realized that fact, for it cocked its arm to throw the pole like a javelin. The butt end of the pole hit the wall behind the York.

Charlie York moved toward the shallow end, where there was more room to throw the thing.

Jake retreated toward the deep end. He suspected the York could heave that light pole with excellent velocity, and he wanted all the distance he could get.

He was right. The pole came like a Zulu spear and nearly got him.

When it realized the pole had missed, the York bent down and began breaking off tile with its claws. Then it backhanded the pieces the length of the pool at Jake.

He misjudged the first one, which almost got him on the arm.

The odds were with the York. It had him trapped.

How long would it keep this up? How much of a charge was on its battery?

Enough, apparently.

Jake dodged piece after piece of tile.

Then the door flew open and Tommy Carmellini and Tiger Cole came blasting through. They had power cords in their arms.

Callie was right behind them.

The two men stopped dead, sized up the situation, then began looking around for a place to plug in the cords.

The York half turned, watched them, waiting — probably — for threatening behavior, which didn’t seem to be coming.

As it turned its head to check Jake’s location, Callie charged the thing. She hit it in the side with her shoulder, her legs driving as if she were an all-pro tackle taking out a nose guard. She heard Jake’s shout, then the force of her charge carried her and the York into the pool, where they hit with a mighty splash.

Foam welled up, obscuring the water.

Jake ran around the pool toward them. If the York got hold of her…

He hit the water in a running dive.

He was stroking toward them when he saw Callie’s head break water.

The York had used its hand to get itself erect, its feet on the bottom.

As it stood it saw Jake swimming toward it.

And went for him.

“Get out of the damn pool,” Cole shouted.

Grafton managed to turn, to stroke toward the deep end. Over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of Callie climbing from the water.

The York followed Jake, walking on the bottom.

It went deeper and deeper, reaching for the man, who couldn’t see how far behind the York was.

Terror flooded him. He was so tired.

“Get out of the damn pool!” It was Cole, shouting again.

Jake got to the end, reached up for the edge with both hands, and heaved himself up, out of the water.

The York was only ten feet behind. Its stalk was the only part that protruded above the water.

As Grafton got his feet out of the water, Cole threw one end of a plugged-in extension cord into the pool.

The York kept coming. There was just too much water and too little current.

It reached the end of the pool, turned, and started for the ladder in the corner.

“The damned thing is going to climb outta there,” Jake shouted. “Get that cord out of the water and bring me a female end.”

Carmellini ran down the side, meeting Jake halfway. The hundred-foot cord was plugged into a socket near the door to the room and appeared to be long enough.

Jake ran back toward the York, which was slowly and laboriously trying to climb the ladder with one hand.

It slipped and fell back in.

Jake slowed, walked the rest of the way.

The York grasped the top of the ladder railing with its only hand and climbed the first two steps. Now it needed to release its hold on the top of the railing while it balanced itself and get a new hold farther back so it could complete its climb. This was where it fell the last time.

This time it slid its hand along the railing…

The damn thing had an uncanny ability to learn.

It was going to get up the ladder, onto the concrete…

Jake leaned in from the right side, the side with the missing arm, and jabbed the female end of the extension cord into the receptacle on its back.

The York froze, half in, half out of the water.

It had gone into its rest cycle.

Callie ran toward him. Jake turned and caught her as she threw herself into his arms.