Empire Rising (45 page)

“I agree,” Harrison replied. “What's the best stairwell to take?”

Christine selected the main floor again, noting a staircase in the farthest northeast corner of the building. “How about this one?”

Harrison nodded. “Looks good.” He turned to O'Hara, who was alternately watching both ends of the corridor. “That way, Chief.” Harrison pointed past O'Hara, down the long corridor.

O'Hara turned without a word and headed down the hallway at a slow jog. Christine followed, with Harrison a few yards behind. As O'Hara approached the first intersection, he stopped and shrugged his backpack from his shoulder, extracting a device with a small display and a thin, flexible snakelike cord. O'Hara pressed a button on the top of the display, turning it on, then with his back against the wall, fed the tip of the snakelike cord around the corner.

A camera on the end of the cord fed an image to the display in O'Hara's hand. The adjacent corridor was empty. It was still early, only 6
A.M
. Without another word, O'Hara retrieved the backpack and crossed the hallway. After stopping at two additional intersections, examining each one in the same manner, O'Hara turned right, and after a few hundred feet, reached a staircase. O'Hara was about to begin the ascent when he froze. Christine heard footsteps echoing from the stairwell opening.

Harrison grabbed Christine's arm, pulling her away from the staircase as O'Hara slowly backed up as well. By the sound of the approaching footsteps, the individual would reach their level any second. O'Hara halted his retreat and raised his MP7 to the firing position.

A second later a man wearing a charcoal suit and red tie emerged from the stairwell, stepping onto the main floor of the Great Hall. O'Hara fired immediately and the man crumpled to the floor, blood flowing from a hole in the center of his forehead. The MP7, with the attached suppressor, barely made a whisper. Harrison checked the hallway for unlocked doors, locating one a few feet behind them. Finding the room vacant, Harrison helped O'Hara drag the dead man into the empty office, wiping up the trail of blood with the man's jacket.

After closing the office door, O'Hara returned to the lead, proceeding cautiously up the stairwell. Christine and the two SEALs soon emerged onto the third floor. It was thankfully unoccupied. From the length of the corridor, Christine could tell it extended across the central section of the Great Hall. O'Hara returned to a jog, with Christine and Harrison following him down the empty hallway.

The corridor turned to the right after a few hundred feet, and O'Hara pulled to a stop, extending the camera probe around the corner as he had done earlier. This time, O'Hara made a quick hand signal. Without a word, Harrison moved next to O'Hara, examining the display as Christine looked past Harrison's shoulder.

Around the corner and thirty feet down the hallway was a security checkpoint. The corridor was blocked by a metal detector and a baggage X-ray machine, manned by two armed guards. One man was standing on their side of the detector, chatting with the second guard, who was on the other side of the checkpoint, seated behind the X-ray machine. The first guard was standing in the open and would be easy to take out. However, the second guard was partially protected by the X-ray machine.

Harrison tapped his chest and then touched the display, pointing to the guard partially hidden behind the X-ray machine, then pointed across the corridor. O'Hara nodded; Harrison would
go long
, stepping out to the middle of the hallway to take out the guard behind the X-ray machine, while O'Hara wheeled around the corner simultaneously, taking out the other man.

O'Hara placed the camera on the floor by his feet, gripping his MP7 while Harrison moved in front of him. Harrison held his left hand up with four fingers extended, retracting one finger, then another, counting down. There were only two fingers remaining when a shout echoed down the corridor behind them.

Christine and the two SEALs turned toward the noise. Two armed security guards had turned the corner thirty feet behind them. Both men were dressed identically to the men at the security checkpoint, and were reaching for their pistols. It was just their luck. They had reached the security checkpoint at the end of a shift, and the two replacement guards had caught Christine and the SEALs by surprise.

O'Hara responded immediately, turning and firing four times, hitting both men twice in the center of the chest just as they drew their pistols from their holsters. Both men crumpled to the floor.

One of the security guards around the corner called out, the challenge unmistakable in the tone of his voice. Although O'Hara's MP7 had barely made a sound, the security guard had heard the shout from the other guard.

Harrison picked up the camera and poked the probe around the corner again, his eyes fixed on the display. One of the guards was walking down the hallway toward them and was less than fifteen feet away now. His pistol was drawn and ready, and the second guard had shifted his position, his body completely blocked by the metal detector.

“New plan,” Harrison whispered to O'Hara. “You take out the lead while I go long, then we both advance until one of us gets a clear shot on the second.”

O'Hara nodded, then turned to Christine. “Stay here until we call for you.”

Christine was about to respond but never got the chance. O'Hara's eyes widened as he looked past her, then he shoved her against the wall with his left arm. Before she could figure out what was going on, a gunshot echoed down the corridor and O'Hara's head jolted backward. The SEAL dropped to his knees, then collapsed onto the ground, blood flowing from the right side of his forehead. Christine turned and looked down the corridor.

One of the two guards was still alive, lying prone on his stomach with his pistol in his hand, pointed toward them. From the corner of Christine's eye, she saw Harrison's hand swing up and he fired a single round, which hit the top of the guard's head in a red puff. The guard's face dropped to the floor, blood spreading across the terrazzo. Christine's eyes went back to O'Hara. Blood was pooling beneath his head and his eyes were frozen open.

Things quickly went from bad to worse. The guard advancing from the security checkpoint turned the corner, and it took only a second for him to assess the situation. As Harrison turned back around, the guard fired at point-blank range. Harrison seemed unaffected though, ducking and twisting around, firing up toward the man twice with his MP7. The guard's face went slack and the gun fell from his hand as he collapsed onto the floor.

A second later, a loud wailing alarm filled Christine's ears, and she could hear shouting from around the corner. She looked toward Harrison, only then seeing the pain in his eyes. His left shoulder slumped downward, arm dangling by his side, and a red stain was spreading over the shoulder of his shirt and down his sleeve.

Harrison glanced at O'Hara, then turned to Christine. “Follow me.” He sprinted back down the corridor. Following closely behind, Christine could see the bullet hole in Harrison's shirt, behind his left shoulder. He turned left at the first intersection, and as Christine followed him down the maze of corridors, she realized he was working his way toward the perimeter of the building. A moment later, they reached the end of the hallway.

The wailing alarm suddenly ceased, and behind them, Christine heard men shouting. Harrison checked the last door on the left. It was unlocked and he stepped inside, closing and locking the door after Christine joined him inside what appeared to be someone's office. An oak desk was decorated with the usual assortment of paraphernalia—photos, in-box, penholder, and computer display, with a matching oak bookcase against one wall. Based on the quality of the furniture, it clearly wasn't a Politburo-level office, but the owner of the small office was high enough in the pecking order to warrant an office with a view; dark green curtains framed a closed, two-paned window.

Harrison stopped by the window and twisted the latch, swinging the two panes inward. Poking his head out the window, he looked to his left a moment before turning back toward Christine. His face was pale and beads of sweat were collecting on his brow, and he winced each time he drew in a breath.

“We're going to part ways here, Chris.” His clipped his words short as he spoke, and Christine could hear the pain bleeding through his voice. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved the flash drive. He grabbed Christine's right hand, placing it into her palm. “They know we're here, and it's unlikely we'll make it past the security checkpoints. But there's a small ledge that runs the perimeter of the building. You can work your way past the security checkpoints and into the Politburo section of the building, then make your way to the communications center. I'll do my best to keep them occupied in the meantime.”

Christine closed her fingers around the flash drive, absorbing Harrison's request. The success of the mission had literally been placed in her hand. She was at a loss for words as she slipped the drive into her pants pocket.

“The ledge is wider than a balance beam,” Harrison added, “so I know you can do it. Work your way left until you get to the South Wing, then break into an empty office.”

Christine was standing close to him and could smell the pungent scent of fresh blood. She glanced at his left shoulder, which was bleeding heavily. If it didn't abate, he wouldn't last long. “Let me take a look.”

“I'll be fine,” he said curtly.

She was about to argue when he suddenly stepped toward her, pulling her against his body with his good arm. As she looked up, his lips met hers, crushing against them as he pulled her even closer, his MP7 pressing into the small of her back.

The kiss was short but passionate. He stepped back, his eyes holding hers for a moment before he spoke. “Good luck, Chris. It's up to you now.”

It was another few seconds before she broke from his gaze, then leaned out to examine the ledge. It was barely six inches wide, disappearing into the darkness after a few feet in each direction. Forty feet below her, perimeter lights illuminated the grounds surrounding the Great Hall. The ledge was two inches wider than the balance beams she had spent almost twenty years training on. She could easily work her way along the outside of the building. However, there was no padded mat four feet below. If she slipped off the ledge, she wouldn't survive the forty-foot drop.

It was the only viable option. Christine's pulse raced as she steadied herself with a hand on each side of the window, then lifted her right foot over the sill and onto the ledge. After a deep, shaky breath, she glanced one final time in Harrison's direction, then stepped out into the cool night air.

 

67

BEIJING

Christine leaned against the exterior wall of the Great Hall of the People, her toes hanging over the edge of the six-inch-wide ledge. Shuffling along one step at a time, she worked her way toward the South Wing. Another twenty feet and she would reach the first office in the Politburo section of the building. Thus far, the ledge had proved sturdy and her travel unremarkable. However, as she took another step, voices reached out to her in the darkness.

To Christine's left and below, there was the faint sound of men talking. Four men were approaching, each man wielding a flashlight, the white beams of light scouring the grounds outside the Great Hall. Christine froze, pressing her back against the building, hoping their attention remained focused on the ground below and not the ledge she was perched on. The men's voices became more distinct as they approached, and to her dismay, the men stopped almost directly below her as another four men approached from her right.

The eight men gathered beneath her, their conversations drifting into the air, their flashlight beams pointing toward the ground or into the ringlet of trees farther out. Christine prayed the men would move on, her anxiety increasing with each additional second they remained below. Finally, Christine sensed their conversation drawing to a close and she was about to let out a sigh of relief when the ledge under her right foot suddenly gave way, crumbling under the weight of her body.

She shifted her weight quickly onto her left foot, retaining her balance as several chunks of stone rained down toward the men beneath her, bouncing off the ground near the building in an impossibly loud crescendo of falling debris.

Flashlight beams shot toward the Great Hall, scouring the ground beneath her. A moment later, one of the shafts of light began working its way up the building's facade, examining the windows on the first floor, then the second. As the beam of light reached the third floor, Christine began to panic. To her right, she watched the light examine one window, then the next, moving methodically toward her, cutting from one window to the next.

Christine searched frantically for a solution. Glancing to her left, she spotted a window only six feet away. Perhaps, if she moved fast enough, she could hide inside the edge of the windowsill, where the ledge deepened to about a foot and a half. The flashlight beam shifted to the window on Christine's right. She had to move now.

She shuffled left in three large steps, ducking into the recessed window ledge as the flashlight cut across the building, pausing to examine the window where Christine stood. She plastered herself against the cold stone, hoping her body was concealed in the darkness. The light illuminated the window for what seemed like an eternity, then moved on, continuing its trek across the building's facade. As the beam of light reached the next window, a pair of pigeons took flight. A few seconds later, the light dropped to the ground and the two groups of men continued in opposite directions, continuing their search along the building's perimeter, their bright shafts of light fading into the distance.

Christine let out a deep breath—her pulse was racing and her body was trembling. She waited a few seconds, letting her heartbeat slow down as she collected her thoughts. It was only going to get tougher, she told herself. Her resolve solidified and she began moving again, working her way left toward the South Wing without further incident until a step with her left foot found nothing but air. After pulling her foot back onto the ledge, she looked down. The ledge ended.