“Now what?” Melanie asked. “I can’t see shit.”
“I guess we go back to Metro Center,” he said. “Try again to contact some security people.”
“Ours or theirs?” she asked. Then they both heard something coming from behind them. They searched frantically for cover, but this section of the tunnel had no alcoves or other places to get back from the tracks. A glow of headlights rose behind them, but without the sudden burst of wind that one of the trains would produce. They flattened against the nearest wall as the machine came into view.
It wasn’t a train, but something smaller and going much slower. The driver’s station was a boxy cab up front, fully lit inside, and they could see the driver looking down at his instruments as the car approached. Greenish light reflected from his face, as if he was staring at computer screens. On the body of the vehicle they could see what looked like maintenance men, wearing jumpsuits, safety glasses, hard hats with helmet lights, and large gloves, hanging on to the railing of a platform on the back. Pulses of greenish lights came from underneath the vehicle as the vehicle drew abreast of them, but it was obvious the driver hadn’t seen them drawn up against the concrete wall as the vehicle rumbled by. In another moment, it was just a set of red taillights headed up the tunnel toward Metro Center.
Allender realized he’d been holding his breath the whole time, and now exhaled as he eased off the cold concrete.
“I don’t think they saw us at all,” Melanie said, trying to brush the dust and dirt off her clothes.
Allender looked up the tunnel. “I think you’re wrong about that,” he said.
Melanie looked. Four figures were walking back down the tunnel toward them, spread out two to a side of the main-line tracks. Instead of tools they appeared to be carrying submachine guns, held flat against their chests.
She didn’t hesitate. She drew her weapon and then went down on one knee and assumed a two-handed shooting position, but Allender stepped in front of her and put his left hand down in front of her weapon.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said, quietly. “There’s four of them with automatic weapons. Put that away.”
The men had stopped when they saw her kneel, but now they continued to walk toward them, still holding their weapons at port arms. Melanie lowered her weapon but didn’t put it back in her waistband. The man on the far right pushed his safety glasses off his face and stepped forward. Melanie gasped when she saw he was Chinese.
“Doctor Allender,” the man said in Mandarin. “You must come with us.”
“Who are you?” Allender asked.
“We are from the embassy of the People’s Republic of China,” the man replied. The two men on the other side of the tracks had now moved to get behind the two Americans. “We have been sent by your agency, actually, to bring you to Langley.”
“That is absurd,” Allender said. Then he heard the bolts on the two submachine guns behind him being retracted to the firing position.
“It might be absurd, but that is why we are here in this tunnel. Why you are here in this tunnel is a mystery, but you have two choices. Come with us or die here and let the morning commute grind your bodies into a red paste.”
“What’s he saying?” Melanie asked.
“Nothing you want to hear,” Allender replied. “We have to go with them. He says they’re taking us to Langley.”
“Oh, bullshit,” she growled. “I’m ready to shoot it out.”
“Please, Doctor Allender?” the man said. “Put your weapons down on the concrete and just come with us? You know that is what you are going to do, yes?”
Allender nodded. “Put your gun down on the floor and then keep your hands in sight,” he told Melanie. He fished his own weapon out and did the same.
“Ah, very wise,” the man said. He barked out some rapid-fire orders and then they were all walking toward Metro Center, the leader in front and the other three behind them, still spread out in firing positions. Allender saw the leader speaking into a tiny radio as they walked.
“We get to Metro Center, I’m going to start screaming,” Melanie said. “And I have a hideout strapped to my left leg.”
“Just stay alert for now, okay?” Allender said. “If there’s a crowd of Metro people at Center, then we might have a chance. But it’s after midnight and the whole system is shut down except for maintenance people, and they’re going to be in the tunnels. That driver probably didn’t even know he had ‘passengers.’”
If the leader of the grab team had overheard them, he gave no notice of it. The glow of the lights of Metro Center were in view now, and they could sense that the three guards behind them had closed it up. All three were on their side of the tracks now, and walking close enough behind their prisoners that Allender could feel their presence. Their footsteps were almost in unison as they crunched their way through the gravel. They saw the leader pull his safety glasses back down over his face and then slide a yellow fabric sleeve over the front half of his submachine gun. A casual observer could no longer tell what he was carrying, but Allender knew that gun could still do its job if it came to it. Now that there was more light they could see the words METRO TRACK MAINTENANCE embroidered across the back of his jumpsuit.
“I’m not getting into any car with these fucking guys,” Melanie muttered, as the glow grew more apparent. “I’ll take the three behind us. You’ve got the fearless leader ahead of us.”
“Mel—” Allender started, but it was too late. Melanie gave an earsplitting shriek, whirled around, and lunged at the three guards walking close behind them. She managed to knock two of them sideways. As they tripped over the outside rail and then went sprawling onto the power rail, both of them began to literally cook as six hundred volts split them open like overfired sausages. The third guard recovered himself after bouncing off the wall, but was so shocked by what he was seeing that Melanie had time to kick him in the groin and then smash his head against the tunnel wall. He collapsed in a bloody-faced heap.
The leader hadn’t hesitated, either. When he saw what was happening, he swung the bagged submachine gun’s barrel in Allender’s direction and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, so he snatched at the slide to cock it, but the slide got caught in the fabric and his second attempt failed as well. Before Allender could do anything, he heard three cracks from a pistol behind him and the leader doubled over, dropping his weapon, then subsided into mortal stillness over a rapidly spreading pool of blood. Behind them the horror show on the rails had progressed to the blazing-barbecue phase. Melanie flew past Allender and grabbed up the leader’s weapon, shucking off the fabric sleeve. The slide closed with an authoritative click. She handed him a snub-nosed hammerless .38 as she went by.
“Okay,” she said, breathlessly. “Now we go to Metro Center. You okay?”
Allender had trouble finding his voice and could only nod. One of the bodies behind them began to spatter flaming bits onto the tunnel ceiling. That scene shook him out of his momentary paralysis and into motion to catch up with Melanie, who was already striding determinedly up the tunnel. He jammed the pistol into his coat pocket and hurried to catch up, glad to get away from the horrible smell that was filling the tunnel behind them. In the distance, way behind them, he thought he heard a siren.
Melanie stopped fifty feet short of the tunnel’s threshold into Metro Center Station, the submachine gun at the ready and carefully sweeping the cavernous station. Only some of the overhead lights were on, and the platforms on either side were empty. The up-and-over escalators had been shut down, and the glass-walled safety-officer booths on either side were dark. They were now deep in the station, with two more lines joining the maze, one running above them and yet another below. They went to the end of the platform on their side of the tracks and clambered around the locked gate to reach the platform. Allender expected police officers to come trotting down from the station above at any moment, but the silence remained unbroken save for the soft whoosh of the ventilation systems. He could see seve
ral cameras around the station, but none of them seemed to be panning in their direction.
“We need to go up one level,” Allender said. “Back to the Red Line platform. That can get us to the street.”
“How did those guys know we’d be down on this level?” she asked. “The last sighting would have been from those ‘businessmen’ on our train.”
“I can only assume they’ve got the entire system covered,” he replied. “Those businessmen could have gone on to the next stop beyond Metro Center, gotten off and into the tunnels, and simply walked back to Center. You go first—you’ve got the weapon that counts. I’ll be behind you. Wa-a-y behind you.”
She grinned like a pirate and then they went to the motionless up-and-over escalator and from there on up into the next level. Jesus, he thought. She’s enjoying this. He thought about pulling the hideout gun she’d given him, but in a dispute featuring submachine guns there wasn’t much point, so he kept it in his pocket. When they reached the top of the second escalator they stopped to look around. To their surprise, there was a four-car train parked down toward the end of the platforms. Its windows were all dark except for the destination banner on the end car, which read OUT OF SERVICE. Allender had expected a night-shift workforce—cleaners, machinery maintenance, fare-card-money collection teams—but there wasn’t a soul in sight and only half the overhead lights were on. None of the escalators were running, up or down.
They searched for a way to make a phone call, checking their cell phones and then looking for emergency telephone boxes. Allender saw a door that looked like the security office he’d been in at Union Station. He walked over and tried it. Locked. Melanie checked the Red Line tunnel in both directions, but nothing seemed to be stirring. A cool breeze came down from the extended escalators leading up to street level, but Allender knew there were large expanding metal gates at the entrance to all the Metro stations. It was after one in the morning. They were stuck here until the morning-commute personnel came to work. He realized he was tired and thirsty.
“Now what?” Melanie said, leaning the gun against one of the concrete benches and then sitting down.
“No point in walking to another station,” he said. “Strange, though. I really expected a night shift.”
“I expected some ‘businessmen,’” she said. “Something’s wrong.”
At that moment they were both startled by the sound of one of those big metal gates being rolled back up on the street level. The sound echoed in the escalator channel, which sloped nearly seventy feet. Melanie picked the gun back up and laid it across her lap. Allender stared hopefully up the escalators, expecting the night crew. Instead, two men appeared at the top of the down escalator and began to walk down. The slanting tunnel containing the escalators was not lit, so they were halfway down before their faces appeared. He was surprised to recognize the first one: none other than J. Leverett Hingham, the director, looking impeccable even at this hour of the morning.
“Good Lord,” Melanie muttered. “What’s he doing here?”
But by then Allender was trying to wrap his mind around the identity of the stocky figure descending behind Hingham, because it was none other than General Chiang, or, if not him, his twin brother.
TWENTY-SIX
“Okay, what the fuck?” exclaimed Melanie, cradling the submachine gun and standing up. Allender was too surprised to do or say anything. Chiang? Alive?
Hingham reached the bottom of the escalator, taking baby steps as the motionless steel panels flattened out into the floor. Chiang was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat right behind him.
“Doctor Allender,” Hingham said, warmly. “Fancy meeting you here. Recognize this fella?”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Allender said in Mandarin.
“Appearances can be deceiving, Doctor,” the man replied.
“You two must stop talking in Chinese,” Hingham said. “It’s rude, if nothing else.”
He’d stopped about ten feet from Allender but he was eyeing Melanie, who had turned her body so that the gun covered their two visitors, even though it wasn’t raised right at them. “Young lady, there’s no need for that,” he continued. “I sent some messengers to bring you two in for a chat at Langley. Something must have gone wrong, because my friend here called and said we’d probably have to go ourselves if we wanted to get this done.”
“Your ‘friend’?” Allender said. “The Chinese MSS station chief in Washington is your friend?”
Hingham waved his hand elegantly. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, the dominance of China is a foregone conclusion. I’ve expounded on that thesis to anybody and everybody who’d listen and even some who wouldn’t for damned near ever as you well know. I even told the president that when I took the job, and, frankly, I think he tacitly agrees with me.”
“I believe that’s called treason, Mister Hingham,” Allender said.
“Not really, Doctor,” Hingham replied. “All I’ve ever done is facilitate the inevitable congruence of national interests between us and China. The only area I focus on personally is mitigating the unnecessary tussle going on between the Agency and the MSS.”
“That is also treason,” Allender said. “And don’t your responsibilities extend a little farther than China?”
“Not in my view,” Hingham replied, appearing to enjoy their discussion. “I’ve not shared any sources and methods or given them reams of top-secret material. As to all those Middle Eastern conflicts, ISIS, al-Qaeda, the Iranians—they are of little interest to me. I know the rest of the Agency has its hands full with those problems, but, since, in my view, those are all problems which we created, I choose to concentrate on the future.”
“What do you mean by ‘mitigating,’ then?”
“‘Neutralizing’ might be a better word,” Hingham said, proudly. “Whenever that aging dinosaur, Henry Wallace, dreamed up yet another fanciful operation against the MSS here in the United States, a little bird would fly, and that would be that. Nothing more. Which is why your little black-swan gambit provoked such a harsh reaction, because no one had had the courtesy to inform me.”
“Harsh reaction?” Allender said. “Wait until people find out who you’ve been playing footsie with, Hingham. ‘Harsh reaction’ won’t begin to cover it.”
“Who’s going to find out, Doctor Allender?” Hingham said, his voice colder now, as if he was finally getting down to the real business at hand. “You going to tell them? I think not. But in case you still don’t get it, I need you to go with Chiang, here. He wants to share his thinking with you, apparently. For the moment, however, please sit down.”
Chiang was standing back from this discussion, his hands in his suit-coat pockets like an Oriental version of Churchill, a barely controlled smile distorting his face, which died away when Melanie quietly raised the submachine gun and pointed it directly at Hingham.
“Hey, now, boys and girls,” she announced. “I’ve got an idea for a harsh reaction.”
“Oh, please,” Hingham said, rolling his eyes, and then he raised his head and looked behind her. Allender looked to his left, down the platform toward the tunnel. Standing there were four Chinese men dressed in the same Metro Track Maintenance jumpsuits as the previous crew, complete with hard hats. They had workbags draped across their hips which obviously contained some kind of a tool that had a pointed end. Like a submachine gun. He’d never heard them approach. He checked the other end of the station. Four more standing there, too, like white ghosts against the darkness in the tunnel behind them. They weren’t posturing in a threatening manner, but the tops of those bags were open. They all had the look of soldiers about them.
“Melanie?” Allender said.
“Sir?” she replied, her voice sounding a little unsteady.
“Put the gun down, Melanie. On the floor. Now, please.”
“They can’t shoot without hitting each other,” she pointed out, ever the tactician.
“Well, you k
now what?” he said, sitting down on the bench. “I don’t think there’s going to be any shooting tonight. Just put it down, please.”
Melanie stared hard at Hingham, and then at Allender. Then she put the gun down and joined him on the cement bench.
“Because you’ve decided to just go with us peacefully into the capital night, correct?” Hingham asked, obviously relieved. Chiang positively gloated.
Allender, still watching Melanie, didn’t answer. He sensed that she was itching for another fight, like the one she’d won so conclusively earlier.
Hingham shrugged and turned away to talk to Chiang, who started calling out orders to his people in the station. The two teams came forward, while Chiang got busy on a radiophone. Two of the Chinese went trotting up the escalator. Hingham just stood there, looking entirely satisfied, if not proud.
“I can pick that thing up and grease the first group before anybody could react,” Melanie muttered to Allender. “Their weapons are still in those bags.”
Allender put a hand on her knee and shook his head again.
“These people aren’t here to talk to us,” she protested.
Allender leaned toward her. “No, they’re not, but I think that everything that’s happened tonight has been staged. It’s just too neat. Too pat. We’re warned that something’s really wrong at Langley. Told to go home and wait. One moment we have Secret Service protection, then we don’t. We make a run for it, but we have no wheels. So we run for the Metro. We go one stop and then a Chinese squad gets onto the train. We bail out at the next stop, Metro Center, but they keep going. We go into one of the tunnels and run into a bunch of guards who force us to go back. We encounter yet another team. We get by that little problem, come back to Metro Center, and find it completely empty. No security reaction to people being down in the tunnels. No reaction to an unscheduled dim sum on the third rail, which should have at least set off smoke alarms. I know it’s one-something in the morning, but there should be people here. This doesn’t read.”
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