What he hadn’t been expecting was a five-man team coming down the hallway. Bolan had opened fire first, but they had been ready, scattering for cover as his fusillade was buried in the back wall. Fortunately this entire floor was empty, making injuries to bystanders all but impossible.
Retreating to the apartment door, he slipped inside and informed them of the complication. As he did so, he heard a thump from the living room, and glanced over to see the head and shoulders of one of the agents sticking out past the wall as he aimed a small pistol down the hall. He’d had a backup.
Snapping his arm out, Bolan pushed Baozhai into the dining room and shielded her daughter with his body as he fired three shots. At least one hit the other agent, making him jerk and drop the pistol even as he fired. The bullet blurred past Bolan’s head to core through the door, and the wounded man was pulled back into the living room.
“What are we going to do now?” Baozhai asked, still holding her son.
“You’re going to cover the living room entrance,” Bolan replied as he took her son and placed him on the dining room floor. He stared curiously at the sleeping child for a moment, then shook his head. He pulled one of the QSZ-92 pistols from the bag and yanked the slide back.
“Hold out your hand.”
Baozhai extended her left hand and he placed the butt into it, wrapping her other hand around her fingers. “Push forward with your left hand, pull back with your right. It will steady your aim.”
Leading to her to the edge of the doorway, he positioned her to cover the entire hallway. Bolan wasn’t concerned about the door at her back—Tokaido had gotten him inside and he was confident t the hacker would lock out the Chinese agents for as long as possible. “Anything moves down there, you fire two shots, okay?”
She nodded, her face pale. Bolan noticed she was breathing shallowly. “Take a deep breath.”
She did so.
“Now let it out.”
Baozhai complied and began breathing normally.
“All right, you’ll do fine,” Bolan said. “All you have to do is watch the living room doorway. Anything moves—”
“Two shots.”
He nodded as he took the submachine gun out of the bag, extended the stock and flicked off the safety.
“What about me?” Zhou asked.
“Stay behind your mother. When she moves, so do you.”
“What are you going to do?” Baozhai asked.
“Find another way out of here. I’ll be back.”
Before she could reply, he poked his head out into the hallway. When no fire came his way, he ran across into the kitchen. Stopping inside the entrance, he put a short burst through the front door, then turned and put another burst through the living room wall, high enough to avoid hitting the agents on the other side—unless any of them had been standing. There were no cries of pain, so he guessed not.
He walked to the middle of the room and put two longer bursts into the wall next to the refrigerator in a X pattern, blowing off large chunks of shattered wallboard and exposing the metal studs beneath. Bolan put his boot through where the two lines of bullet holes met, kicking out a narrow, three-foot-high opening. Checking the space between the steel framework, he found just enough room for him to squeeze through.
He went back to the opening to the hall in time to see Baozhai squeeze off two shots, flinching each time the hammer fell. She didn’t drop the pistol, however, and kept aiming down the hallway.
“Good work.” Bolan checked the living room opening but saw no one there. He crossed over and picked up the boy. “We’re leaving through the kitchen. I’m going first, then you bring your daughter.”
“What? How—”
“No questions. Come on!” He turned and ran into the kitchen, then stopped by the doorway and waved her in with the submachine gun. Taking her daughter’s hand, Baozhai ran across the short space.
Bolan held her boy out. “Take him and get through the hole. Go, go, go!” As they left, he put another short burst into the entrance door, then a second one near the living room entrance.
Spotting the gas stove, he opened the valve. Removing his gun’s magazine, he stripped out three bullets, tossed them in the microwave above the stove and set it for ten minutes. Running to the hole, he squeezed through it, coming out in a reversed version of the same kitchen on the other side, where Baozhai and her children waited for him. She had set her son down next to Zhou and taken up a position where she could cover the front door. Bolan’s eyebrows rose in admiration.
“What now?” she asked when she glanced at him.
“First, keep moving into the hallway,” he replied, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s going to be a big bang in there any second. Then we try to get the drop on them. Come on.”
He led them to the door of the empty apartment, conscious of the sudden silence. Bolan looked through the peephole and found his view blocked by something. Putting his finger to his lips, Bolan pointed at the door, then held up one finger.
Just then, there was a small bang and then a giant whump from the other apartment, and a tongue of flame rolled out into their kitchen, making Baozhai and Zhou press closer to Bolan.
He looked out the peephole to find the man who had been using the doorway for cover had left, apparently to investigate the explosion.
“Okay, here we go. Stay here and watch the hole until I tell you to come out.”
Opening the door, he slipped out and checked left, seeing a man there raising his pistol at him. With no choice, Bolan fired his submachine gun from the hip. The short burst chewed into the shooter’s stomach, dropping him to the floor with a groan.
Bolan immediately turned and rushed for the door of the agents’ apartment. Getting there just as a man holding a pistol was rushing out, he stuck his gun in the man’s face. “Stop.”
The man stared at the gun and raised his hands. “Drop it,” Bolan ordered, nodding at the pistol.
The agent let the gun slip from his fingers. Bolan turned him around and stuck the muzzle of his gun into the back of the man’s neck. He glanced backward but was careful to keep the man between him and the open door. “You understand English?”
The man nodded.
“Okay, walk backward with me.” Bolan tugged on his arm and pulled the man back as two more men burst out of the room, pistols raised.
For a moment everyone in the hallway froze. The only sound was the moaning of the gut-shot man on the floor.
“Tell them to drop their guns and kick them away, or you’re dead,” Bolan said.
The man rattled off a string of Cantonese. When the other two agents hesitated, he barked, “Xianzai!”
Both men set down their pistols. At the same time two shots sounded from inside the apartment where Baozhai and her children were standing. The three men all twitched, but no one went for their guns again.
“You okay in there?” Bolan asked, now seeing smoke starting to drift out of both doorways.
“Yes! Are we going now?”
“We’re leaving now. Come into the hallway,” Bolan said, shielding Baozhai and her children with his body and that of the MSS agent.
“You won’t escape, you know,” the agent said in impeccable English. “Reinforcements are on the way. You don’t have a chance.”
“We’ve been doing pretty good so far. Also, you forget—we have you,” Bolan replied. Taking Baozhai’s pistol hand, he stuck her gun into the man’s neck. “Don’t move.”
He dropped his submachine gun into the nylon bag and drew the Beretta, curling an arm around the man’s neck and putting the pistol to his temple. “Cover the—” he said to Baozhai, but she was already watching the door she had just come out of, with Zhou between her and Bolan.
“Okay, we’re all leaving now. If everyone stays calm and doesn’t try to make a move, you’ll all stay alive,” Bolan said. “Come on. Baozhai, watch behind us. I’ll cover the door.”
As he started backing toward the T-intersection, the f
ire alarm went off, its piercing Klaxons blasting through the hallway. Bolan half walked, half dragged his hostage around the corner, then kept backing up to the elevators.
Come on, Akira, come on…
“Why are we stopping here?” Baozhai asked. “We can take the stairs!”
“Because that’s exactly what this guy wants us to do,” Bolan replied. Just then the elevator car—the one without the two guards—dinged, and he pulled everyone to one side, just in case it was carrying more reinforcements. It should be empty. Once the op had started, Bolan was fairly sure the young hacker had locked down the entire bank, but he couldn’t be sure the MSS didn’t have its own version of the young genius working on their side.
The doors opened to reveal an empty car and Bolan hustled everyone inside and hit the button for the first floor.
“I can still smell the sewer on you,” their hostage said. “You are an incredibly skilled man.”
“On your knees,” Bolan ordered the agent after taking his handcuffs. “Who’s downstairs?”
“At least ten more men are in the lobby,” the agent replied as he knelt. “As I told you, there’s no way out. If you surrender, I can at least try to help you.”
“Really?” Bolan replied as they passed the twentieth floor. “Face the corner and place your hands behind your back.” Once the man had complied, Bolan looped the handcuffs through the railing and cuffed him, finishing as they passed the fifteenth floor.
Bolan turned to face the dome light set into the corner of the ceiling. “Override the elevator lights and take us to Parking Level One.”
“Who are you talking to?” the man asked. “This isn’t Japan. We don’t have voice-activated elevators.”
Bolan didn’t answer as they continued descending past the tenth floor. “You three stay on this side,” he said, moving them to the front corner diagonally across from the captive MSS agent. He swapped weapons again, trading the Beretta for the submachine gun.
“Even if you do manage to escape the building, you will never get out of the city,” he said. “Every police officer, every army soldier, every civilian will be on the lookout for you.”
Bolan checked the ammo load in Baozhai’s pistol, then gave her a new, fully loaded one. “Good luck finding me among everyone out there.”
The agent snorted. “A one-point-nine-meter Caucasian man among twenty-one million who are a dozen centimeters shorter? It won’t be hard.”
“Yeah, that’s what your boys up north thought, too.”
The elevator reached the first floor and the floor light stopped there, as if the door was going to open. But the car kept going, descending into the parking level as Bolan took up a position across from Baozhai and the kids. Amazingly, the boy was still fast asleep in her arms.
“Hackers…” the agent seethed. “American hackers who infiltrated the building network.”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Bolan covered the immediate outside, then stuck his head out fast enough to check left and right. The parking level appeared empty.
“Keep the door open and wait here.” Steeling himself, Bolan stepped out, scanning the huge concrete room in a 180-degree arc as he tried to spot any hidden gunmen before they opened fire. When none came, he took two more steps out and then waved the woman and her children forward.
“Follow me.” Keeping an eye on the stairwell door, Bolan made sure the elevator door closed, confident that Tokaido would strand the agent between floors. He got Baozhai and her kids to cover between a row of cars and used that to hide them as he herded them toward the white truck.
They reached it unmolested, with the scuff of their shoes on the concrete and their panting breathing the only sounds. At one point, Bolan thought he heard a sound near the elevators, but couldn’t see anything when he looked back, so he kept them all moving.
When they reached the truck, he put her and the kids in the passenger seats, then slid in behind the wheel. He put the submachine gun away and tucked the Beretta on the seat between his legs.
“If I say get down, you get down,” he said as he started the truck.
“Something smells in here…smells bad,” Zhou said.
“Yes, what is that?” Baozhai asked.
“A long story,” Bolan answered.
“How are we getting out of here?” she asked.
“Same way I came in,” he replied, putting the truck into gear and heading toward the exit ramp.
“But what if—” Her question was interrupted by the crack of a small-caliber pistol and the rear window starring and shattering.
“Down!” Bolan stomped on the gas and the truck shot toward the ramp. He glanced back to see the same MSS agent he’d left in the elevator running after them, firing a small pistol.
“What, does everybody carry a holdout here?” he muttered as they hit the ramp. “Get that gate open, Akira—”
It was half open when they were about twenty yards away and closing fast. “Hang on!” Bolan said as more bullets hit the truck’s cargo bed.
The speeding vehicle rocked as the front windshield slammed into the metal gate, shoving it out as they scraped underneath. The truck shuddered as it passed, then they burst out into the night—and right past two police sedans pulling into the entrance to the parking level.
Bolan didn’t even have time to try to shoot one of the cars’ engines, they were moving so fast. Instead he just cranked the wheel and guided the truck into a sliding turn onto the road. Glancing back, he saw one car turning to pursue them and the other being stopped by the Ministry of State Security agent.
“Damn,” he said. “Looks like we aren’t in the clear just yet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Deshi Fang now knew exactly how Warden Wen felt—he’d never been so humiliated in his entire life.
To have his secured, reinforced position cut through like tissue paper and his men outwitted and outmaneuvered at every turn was bad enough. But the fact that it had all been done by one man—that was the part that really stuck in his throat.
Making matters worse, he had also been taken hostage by this lone, heavily armed intruder. He was using Chinese weapons and had nonchalantly escorted the ministry’s prize witness to Zhang Liao’s treason and her children down to the parking garage and out the elevators, leaving him handcuffed and fuming.
But not finished.
Even while they had been heading down to the garage, Fang had gotten his hands on the spare handcuff key he always attached underneath his belt—an old policeman’s trick. The moment the doors had closed, he had lunged for the door open button, but pushing it had done nothing. Then he slammed the emergency stop button, and that, being a mechanical system that couldn’t be overridden, had brought the car to a shuddering stop.
Prying the interior doors open, he saw that there might be just enough room for him to slip out to the parking level. Drawing his backup 9 mm police revolver from its ankle holster, he wedged a hand into the exterior doors and forced them open, as well. Sticking his head out, he made sure the American wasn’t waiting to ambush him before sliding out to the ground.
Landing in a crouch on the stained concrete, he listened intently, trying to hear anything in the large space. Some kind of noise reached his ears, but he couldn’t be sure what it was, or where it was coming from. The clunk of a car door closing, however, was much clearer, and he headed toward where he thought it had come from.
A few seconds later he heard an engine start up and Fang quickened his pace. A white utility truck pulled out of a space several cars ahead, and he raised his pistol and fired as he broke into a run after the escaping vehicle.
The rear window burst into fragments from his shot, and the truck leaped forward as if he had just goosed it. He put on a burst of speed, firing all the while, but the truck pulled away, heading up the exit ramp and colliding with the half-raised gate in a burst of sparks and a screech of metal on metal.
Fang didn’t stop, pounding onto the ramp and sprinting
forward with everything he had. He saw the truck shoot past two Beijing city police cruisers, both of which skidded to a stop. Lungs burning, legs aching, Fang ran toward the first one, shouting and waving his arms.
“Stop! Stop…the car!” He reached the driver’s side and pulled out his identification. “Ministry of State Security! I need you to follow that truck!”
“Of course, get in!” the female police officer replied.
Fang ran around the front and jumped into the passenger seat. He hadn’t even pulled the door closed when the driver threw the car into Reverse and backed up, then cranked the wheel and slammed on the brakes, executing a perfect 180-degree turn. Shoving the car into drive, she pressed the accelerator, pushing the cruiser to catch up with the other pursuing police car.
“Thank you for the assistance. I’m Agent Fang,” he said after jamming his seat belt on and taking a moment to catch his breath.
“You’re welcome. Patrolwoman Cai, pleased to assist,” she said, never taking her eyes off the road. “Who’s in the white truck?”
“People who must be recaptured due to their importance to our nation’s security,” he said. “They are armed and extremely dangerous. Please radio for all available units in the area to assist.”
“Yes, sir.” She grabbed her radio microphone and began talking into it while Fang watched the truck attempt to fend off the police car ahead of them, which had turned on its light bar and siren. It was trying to get close enough to use a pit maneuver on the back of the truck, but the fleeing driver was good enough to cut off the cop every time he tried to pull up alongside. Swerving back and forth, he played cat and mouse with the chasing cruiser, always just managing to cut him off before he could get into the proper position.
Near the apartment building, they were following a fairly deserted road, but as they headed into the city, the traffic became heavier, slowing the pursuit. Fang thought they were going to lose the truck when it squirted through an intersection right before a large tractor-trailer was about to cross, but the lead car didn’t hesitate, plowing right through, as well. The semi slammed on its brakes and skidded to a stop, leaving just enough space for them to shoot through the gap.
Lethal Risk Page 13