Invasion: Colorado (15 page)

Hmm. She could see why the major wanted to be the one to show this to Xiao. This was incredible news. Still, how true was it?

“What proof do you have?” she asked.

“May I open my drawer?”

“Do so,” she said, although she dropped a gloved hand onto the butt of her holstered pistol. If the major brought up a weapon, he would die.

Slowly and carefully, the major opened a drawer, taking out a folder. He opened it, turning the papers to face her, and he began to explain how he had stumbled onto the information.

Shun Li craned for a look. Soon, she nodded in appreciation. This was incredibly vital news. The Behemoth tanks had gone a long way toward defeating the Californian invasion earlier this spring. She knew Army High Command dearly wanted to know where the Behemoths were hiding. If China could knock out the sole manufacturing plant—

“The Police Minister will welcome this news,” she said.

“I give you this prize,” he said, sliding the folder across the desk to her.

A thought struck. Had this prize come to her because she was being merciful? Maybe she could use this news to help her escape her fate as a tired Guardian Inspector. Maybe she could maneuver herself back into a post in China. With this, she might be able to maneuver onto the Police Minister’s staff in Beijing.

Shun Li picked up the folder.

“I would also like to give you this,” he said, “The transcript of the interviews.” He opened another drawer and slapped down a thicker folder.

“Are any of the prisoners still alive?” she asked.

“Alas, no, each one perished under questioning.”

Shun Li shook her head. Often, this was the sign an interrogator had lost his touch: when his prisoners began to expire under his ministrations.

“I assure you it couldn’t be helped,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. “I will write that in my report.”

The major smiled. “May I say, Guardian Inspector, that this—”

His words failed as she drew her pistol. He looked at her openmouthed. He must be wondering what she was going to do. She was giving him mercy. Headquarters had decided he must die. There was no escaping the decision. Her mercy had been in letting him think—these last few minutes of life—that he was going to live. Her mercy was in making his last moments enjoyable by thinking he could barter with Death.

“I thought we had a bargain,” he whispered.

“We did and we do,” she said, aiming at his forehead and pulling the trigger three times.

He smashed back, with three neatly placed holes smoking in his forehead.

Shun Li waved her pistol in the air to clear the smoke. Behind her, the door flew open and the first enforcer thrust the carbine through the opening. When he saw her, he relaxed.

Picking up the two folders, Shun Li tucked them under an arm. “Take him to the incinerator,” she said.

The enforcers let her pass. Afterward, they hurried into the major’s office. She headed for the surface. Here was priceless information indeed. Yes, she must get this to Police Minister Xiao tonight.

As she increased her pace, Shun Li frowned. It was funny, but giving mercy didn’t make her feel any better. Why was that? Likely, mercy was highly overrated and this proved it.

How can I escape my fate? I must discover a way before they send someone to kill me
.

-4-

The Map

DENVER, COLORADO

Master Sergeant Paul Kavanagh leaned forward in his chair, accepting an enlarged photograph of a three-star Chinese general.

“Was this him?” Captain Anderson of SOCOM asked.

Paul squinted at the photograph. The Chinese general had strong features, with his military hat tilted slightly.

“I think so,” Paul said. He slid the photograph back onto the desk. It was the fourth photo Anderson had shown him.

“Hmm,” Anderson said. He checked an e-reader on the desk. “This is General Cho Deng.” The captain tapped the screen and continued reading. “Well, look at this,” he said shortly. “It appears Deng led Fifth Corps: five pursuit hovertank brigades. They’ve played a key role in several of our worst encirclement battles.” Anderson tapped the screen again, reading further and beginning to nod. “Deng’s hovertanks have driven deep on occasion, creating chaos in our rear areas. I wonder what he was doing on the Arkansas River.”

“Probably hauling supplies,” Paul said.

Anderson looked up. The second floor room was in SOCOM HQ for Army Group West. It was spacious, with a photograph of President Sims and a large American flag hanging on the wall. Behind the captain’s desk were several computers. He was a medium-sized man with a small black mustache and a prosthetic right hand and forearm. When he moved its fingers, the fiber-mechanical hand whirred softly. Anderson had fought as a second lieutenant in Alaska, losing the hand and forearm during the Chinese drive on Anchorage.

Anderson set down the photograph and drummed his prosthetic fingers on the desk.

“You were lucky, Master Sergeant,” he finally said.

Paul remained silent. He’d been back several days since coming in from the surveillance mission. Romo was in the hospital, hooked up to fluids. It had been a tough few days after the sniper attack. His blood brother had nearly coughed out his life and given them away twice. Once, Romo had told Paul to leave him behind and report in Denver. Paul had left two people behind in his life, once on the Arctic ice and once in Northern Mexico. Both incidents still bothered him. He knew his conscience couldn’t bear any more abandoned comrades and he’d told Romo so. There had been no more talk about that.

“We don’t send you behind enemy lines so you can indulge your fancy and kill enemy generals when you feel like it,” Anderson was telling him. “You’re not a lone wolf, but an integral part of a vast team effort.”

Paul knew better than to talk back to officers or even to try to explain himself. As a young man in Northern Quebec, he hadn’t always known that. It had gotten him kicked out of the Marines the first time. Maybe wisdom came with age. He sat and listened to the lecture, but he didn’t nod or give the captain assurances that he’d learned his lesson. He sat like a rock. He almost did it too much and forced himself to blink, as he’d been staring like an idol.

“I’m not sure you’re hearing me, Master Sergeant,” Anderson said.

“Oh. I hear you, sir. Loud and clear.”

“But do you understand?”

“Your words? Yes sir, absolutely.”

The finger drumming increased, making the prosthetic whirring noises more noticeable. “I can understand your frustration. I mean the lack of the smart bombs. And it’s good you took out this general. That’s not the point.”

“Of course not, sir,” Paul said.

Captain Anderson stared at him before sitting back. An infectious grin spread across his face. It dropped years off his appearance, making him seem too young.

“There, I’ve given you the sermon General Ochoa suggested you hear. This is a hell of a war, Master Sergeant. The enemy is stretching us thin and he doesn’t stop pounding. There should be four of you out there on a long-range surveillance mission. Instead, we send you and the Mexican hit man.”

“Romo is one of the best, sir.”

“Of course he is. That’s not the point. Look. I need you alive, Kavanagh. I appreciate your valor and your love of country. But the truth is you went cowboy on me and you got lucky. This is going to be a long war, and one of these days, your luck is going to run out.”

“I hope you’re wrong, sir.”

“So do I. Now that we’re clear about that, I have…”

The prosthetic hand stopped moving as the captain laid the palm flat on the desk. Anderson glanced away and he pursed his lips.

“We all have our orders, Master Sergeant. I know you appreciate that. General Ochoa has given me orders concerning you. I don’t think you’re going to like them.”

“What now, sir?”

“There’s someone who wants to meet you. He’s very insistent about it, too. At first, he demanded the general send you to him, alone preferably.”

“Are you talking about Colonel Valdez?” Paul asked.

“Yes,” Anderson said. He faced Paul, and the captain was frowning.

“General Ochoa hasn’t changed his mind about sacrificing me to Valdez, has he?” Paul asked.

Anderson gave an insincere shake of the head.

“It sounds like there’s more to this story, sir.”

“There always is,” Anderson said. He let out a sigh. “The Mexican Home Army has been through the grinder like the rest of us. They were stationed in Texas and have been through hell. You’re probably aware that the American Government hopes to use the Home Army as much politically as militarily. We’ve been helping Colonel Valdez to foment rebellions in Mexico. The expectation is that he’ll become our Charles De Gaulle, as it were.”

“Who?” Paul asked.

The trace of the former grin appeared on the captain’s lips. “It’s old history, Master Sergeant. General Charles De Gaulle led the Free French during World War II. He commanded battle units in the early part of the war, but he also helped the war effort by coordinating French Resistance against the Nazis. After the war, De Gaulle became the President of France. We’re hoping Cesar Valdez does something similar in Mexico. By fighting with us, we’re hoping the Home Army shows the rest of Mexico that it doesn’t have to lie supine under the Chinese occupation.”

“Got it,” Paul said.

“As I said earlier, the Home Army has taken a terrible beating just as we have. They were a little over sixty thousand strong before the summer invasion.”

“And now?” Paul asked.

“More like twenty-five thousand,” Anderson said. “Not all of the missing are dead, mind you. Some deserted and others are wounded.”

“Where are those twenty-five thousand?”

“The majority are holding out in Centennial,” Anderson said. “That’s to the south of here in Greater Denver. They’re tough soldiers, some of the best we have. Colonel Valdez has started wondering, though. What happens when the war’s over and he doesn’t have anyone left? He’s been talking about leaving, letting his soldiers rest and refit, which likely means sitting out the war. We can’t afford that just now as we’re stretched thin enough as it is.”

“Got it,” Paul said. One man versus twenty-five thousand, yeah, he got it all right. One man like him didn’t count much stacked against all those thousands of badly needed soldiers.

“Colonel Valdez has highly placed contacts,” Anderson said, “powerful people that want to keep him happy. Some of them have put pressure on General Ochoa.”

Here it comes
, Paul thought. “Yeah?” he asked.

“I can understand your cynicism, but you have nothing to worry about.”

“Who’s worried?” Paul asked.

“I wouldn’t be party to handing over an American soldier in my command to anyone. I give you my word on that.”

Paul sensed something in Anderson. And he recalled how the captain had lost his hand. Back in Alaska, he’d held the rearguard for an outfit pulling out from the advancing Chinese. Second Lieutenant Anderson had been one of the soldiers staying behind, firing a heavy machine gun to give the rest of the unit cover. The Chinese attacked swarm-style. Anderson had remained at his post, firing until an enemy bullet destroyed his hand and the machine gun. Another bullet had ricocheted around in his helmet, knocking him unconscious.

The Chinese advance reached his position and passed the unconscious officer by. Later, with a bleeding head and ruined hand, Anderson had begun a long, long journey back to American lines. The captain had guts, and he didn’t quit. No, he didn’t seem like the kind of officer to hand over one of his men.

Paul Kavanagh sat up and nodded. “I believe you, sir.”

“Good. I don’t like my men thinking I’m a turncoat or a sellout. Like our country, you’ve been through a lot. Personally, I’d like to see this problem taken care of. General Ochoa agrees with me. To that end, I’ve arranged a meeting between you and Valdez.”

Paul had to work not to swivel his head to look behind him. He could imagine MPs waiting outside for him. Despite the captain’s words just now—

“When and where would the meeting take place?” Paul asked.

Flicking his wrist and pulling back the cuff, Anderson checked his gold-rimmed watch. “In three minutes. He’s coming here, alone with his driver. Are you armed, Master Sergeant?”

Paul felt a prickle along his neck. Despite everything, was this a sellout? He couldn’t believe it. “Yes sir, you probably see I’m wearing a gun. Do you want my sidearm?”

“General Ochoa told me to take it from you,” Anderson said, staring Paul in the eyes.

Paul’s chest tightened.

“But I’m not going to do that,” Anderson said.

Paul’s nostrils flared, and he nodded in the manner of one elite warrior to another.

There came a knock at the door.

“Ah, it appears Colonel Valdez is a little early,” Anderson said. “Are you ready, Master Sergeant?”

“Let’s get this over with,” Paul said.

“Enter,” Anderson said.

A sergeant opened the door. As he did, Paul stood and turned around. He didn’t like having his back to Valdez. A hard-faced man entered. It must be the driver. The man was big, in uniform, and he stared at Paul with cold eyes.

This one means to kill me
.

Colonel Valdez strode in next. He was shorter than the driver and an inch taller than Captain Anderson. He had darker, pitted skin. He must have had chicken pox as a kid. A cigar smoldered between his lips. He had a sharp nose and a fierce presence radiating from him. His eyes burned black like coals as they focused on Paul.

Kavanagh’s neck hairs prickled and his right hand instinctively dropped onto his hostler. With a twitch of his fingers, he unsnapped it.

Valdez shot an accusing glance at Captain Anderson. “Ochoa promised me he would be—”

“Colonel Valdez!” Anderson said at parade-ground volume.

It seemed to take an effort of will, but Valdez tore his gaze from Paul to look at Anderson.

“I’d like to show your driver into the other room,” Anderson said.