Another reach into the backpack retrieved a handheld initiator and a detonator clamp. Martin unscrewed the bottom of the small, cylindrical initiator, pulling out the detonator—a thin metal tube three inches long, connected to the initiator by shock tube, even thinner, hollow plastic tubing only three millimeters in diameter containing an explosive charge. Martin pulled out ten feet of shock tube, then slid the detonator into one opening of the clamp and the det cord into the adjacent opening. Martin squeezed the clamp shut, ensuring the det cord and detonator were held firmly in place. All in all, it had taken Martin just over a minute to assemble their Get Out of Jail Free card.
“This should do it.” Martin wheezed the words out.
Harrison took the explosive assembly from Martin while O’Hara pulled the MP7 from Martin’s sling, handing it to him grip first.
Martin nodded as he wrapped his fingers around the weapon, but then he placed the MP7 on the floor. “I have a better idea. Leave one of the backpacks with me.” His breathing was already turning shallow and the color had drained from his face, leaving it a pasty white, dotted with perspiration.
After another glance between Harrison and O’Hara, Harrison began transferring items from one backpack to another, handing Martin a half-full backpack. Martin emptied the backpack onto the floor, creating a pile of additional blocks of C-4, det cord, and initiators. The injured SEAL began pressing eight more blocks of the plastic explosive together.
The steady stream of bullets piercing the front of the town house stopped, leaving behind an eerie silence. “Get going,” Martin said.
Harrison took the laptop from Christine and placed it in his backpack, then stood and slung the backpack over his shoulder. He and O’Hara pulled their MP7s, taking up stations on either side of the door. Harrison turned to Christine. “Up against the wall, between the door and O’Hara.” Christine complied, pressing her back against the wall. Harrison added, “I’ll go first, then you, then Chief. Understand?”
Christine nodded, then Harrison pulled the safety clip from the initiator. He cracked the door open and tossed the block of C4 into the alley against the far wall. The doorframe splintered from another round of bullets, and Harrison stepped away from the door, flicking up a lever at the top of the initiator with his thumb.
An explosion rocked the alley, shattering the door as it blew back into the town house, the pieces flying down the hallway. Debris was still ricocheting inside the town house when Harrison jumped through the doorway, and Christine felt O’Hara’s strong hand on her shoulder, pushing her forward. Christine stepped into the doorway, then bolted into the alley.
The alley was clouded with debris and the men guarding it must have been stunned, because there was no sound of gunfire as Christine followed Harrison into a dark opening across the alley. Harrison pulled to a stop a few feet into the adjacent building and Christine almost ran into him. A second later, O’Hara was at her side, the two SEALs assessing the situation.
They were in an old warehouse filled with stacks of crates about thirty feet high, illuminated by a string of lights along the perimeter of the building. The stacks of towering crates formed passageways down the length of the building, and Harrison took off in a sprint into the nearest aisle. Christine and O’Hara followed as Harrison turned right at the first intersection, then left after two more, resuming their original direction.
Christine and O’Hara caught up to Harrison at the other end of the building, where he had stopped in front of a locked door. Harrison fired twice into the lock mechanism, then kicked the door open. After a cautious glance outside in either direction, he disappeared through the doorway.
Christine followed, emerging into a deserted street, faintly lit by street lamps spaced every fifty feet. It was raining and a cold drizzle drifted down from an overcast sky, blocking out the moon and stars. Harrison sprinted toward a door in the building opposite them, firing into the lock mechanism as he approached, knocking the door open with his shoulder. But then he sprinted back toward the center of the street. Christine headed toward him, wondering what he was planning as they pulled to a halt beside a circular, three-foot-diameter manhole cover in the road.
After letting his MP7 fall to his side on its sling, Harrison lifted the heavy cover with both hands, sliding it aside, revealing a rusted metal ladder that disappeared into the darkness. Harrison descended, followed by Christine as the sound of voices and footsteps raced toward them from inside the warehouse. O’Hara dropped down into the hole after Christine, pausing at the top of the ladder, his chest still above street level. He took aim on the nearest two street lamps, one in each direction, squeezing off two quick rounds, dropping their section of the street into near darkness. He then pulled the manhole cover back into place. A low metallic grinding sound reverberated in Christine’s ears until the plate dropped into its recessed location with a metallic clank, enveloping the two SEALs and Christine in pitch black.
Harrison’s voice reached out to her in the darkness. “Sit tight.”
Christine froze where she was, gripping the metal ladder.
A few seconds after Harrison’s order, Christine heard a commotion above them; men shouting, accompanied by the sound of heavy boots. As she waited in the darkness, clutching the rusted metal ladder rungs, the ground trembled, followed by the rumbling sound of a distant explosion. Martin had detonated his C-4.
There was a burst of commotion from the men above them, but the sounds soon faded, eventually ceasing altogether. There was no sign of movement from the two SEALs, until the darkness surrounding Christine was dispelled by a beam of red light. Glancing down, she spotted a flashlight in Harrison’s hand, which he shined around them, then down. They were in a concrete access shaft about five feet in diameter, descending another twenty feet into a tunnel. The light reflected off the tunnel floor, and Christine heard the sound of running water. She wondered if they were about to wade through a sewer pipe, but there was no offensive smell, only the ferrous tang of rusted metal.
“Let’s go,” Harrison whispered as he began descending the ladder.
Christine followed, glancing up occasionally at O’Hara and the manhole cover above him, which thankfully remained in place. As she worked her way down the ladder, she took the opportunity to catch her breath—she was winded from the sprint through the warehouse. Harrison and O’Hara, however, weren’t even breathing hard, a testament to their conditioning. Christine made a mental note—if she survived this ordeal, she’d hit the treadmill more often. You never know when you’ll have to flee for your life.
Shortly after resuming their descent, Christine reached the end of the ladder. Harrison was already standing on the tunnel floor, his boots immersed in a six-inch-deep stream of water. Christine stepped off the ladder into the cold water, rushing past the top of her ankles, and was joined by O’Hara a second later.
Harrison shined his flashlight down the tunnel, first one way, then the other. They were in a ten-foot-diameter concrete tunnel, containing nothing but a relatively clean stream of water flowing along the bottom.
“Looks like we’re in a storm drain,” Harrison commented quietly as he turned to O’Hara. “Which way?”
O’Hara glanced down at their feet. “I’d follow the water.”
Harrison nodded his agreement, then began jogging down the tunnel, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness ahead. Christine fell in behind Harrison, with O’Hara behind her.
* * *
Christine followed Harrison through the underwater maze, frequently reaching intersections where a decision was required. Each time they chose to follow the stream of water, which gained in volume at each intersection until it was now up to her knees, slowing down their pace. As they sloshed through the dark water, Harrison pulled to a stop, turning off his flashlight. In the distance, a faint white light penetrated the darkness.
“Stay here, Chris,” Harrison ordered.
Harrison and O’Hara moved cautiously forward. She could barely hear
them as they waded through the water toward the faint disc of light ahead. The two men disappeared, and it wasn’t until then that she realized how cold she was again. She rubbed both arms with her hands, hoping to increase her circulation, but it made her shiver instead. Her hands were ice cold, sucking what heat remained in her arms through the thin satin shirt.
Christine had no idea how long she waited for the SEALs to return, finally spotting a red beam of light in the distance. Her eyes followed the swaying beam as it approached until Harrison materialized out of the darkness only a few feet away, the flashlight in his hand.
“We’ve reached the exit to the storm drain,” he said. “It’s safe.”
He turned and Christine followed him a few hundred feet, pausing at the end of the storm drain, the stream of water continuing into a canal. Although it was still dark outside, the rain had ceased and the clouds had departed, leaving behind an array of stars shining down from a clear night sky. On Christine’s right, the storm drain opening was illuminated by a street lamp atop a steep embankment crowned with a guardrail, and she heard an occasional car passing by.
Christine suddenly realized Harrison was no longer wearing his backpack or black jacket, and there was no sign of Chief O’Hara.
Harrison seemed to read her mind. “He’s gone to figure out where we are.”
The Lieutenant retreated twenty feet inside the storm drain, toward a four-foot-wide concrete ledge about waist high jutting from the side of the tunnel, where the backpack was sitting. He slid onto the ledge, his feet hanging over, then rummaged through the backpack until he pulled out what looked like a ruggedized BlackBerry. Christine joined him on the ledge as Harrison punched a number into the PDA, bringing it to his ear. After a moment, he frowned, tossing the PDA back into the backpack.
“Nothing,” he said. “Satellite communications are still down.”
Chief O’Hara appeared at the entrance to the storm drain. The older SEAL shrugged Harrison’s jacket off, revealing his MP7 hanging from its sling around his shoulder. He tossed the jacket to Harrison.
“We’re on the west side of a canal beneath Jiaosha Road,” O’Hara said.
“Thanks, Chief, but it doesn’t look like that info will help. Comms are down. I can’t get ahold of anyone to let them know where we are. Looks like we’ll have to make it back to the coast on our own.”
“We’re not heading to the coast,” O’Hara replied. His voice was determined, and as the street lamp illuminated the silhouette of his face, Christine could see his jaw muscles working. “We lost Drew and the girls, and I’m not about to turn tail and call it a day without payback.”
Harrison nodded almost imperceptibly. “What do you recommend?”
“We continue the mission. If we don’t insert the virus, the Reagan Task Force is toast.”
“You don’t think the objective has been compromised?” Harrison asked.
“I don’t,” O’Hara answered. “Only the six of us knew our destination.” He looked away for a moment before turning back. “I should have seen it coming. Tian was prying for information. Once he realized he was outta luck, he let his friends move in.”
Like O’Hara, Christine figured she should have seen it coming. Her trip from the safe house to the coast two weeks ago hadn’t gone as planned. Only now did she see the obvious signs. Chinese officials somehow knew she was headed to Tanggu, and they were checking the trains and watching the subway exits. Tian was the man who had held the car door open for her as she left the safe house, and although he hadn’t known the details, he was aware of the basic plan to smuggle Christine to the coast. Her resolve crystalized. If she made it out alive, she’d see to it that Tian was tracked down and killed. What she would do between then and now, however, was up to Harrison.
Harrison considered the Chief’s words at length, finally nodding his agreement. “We’re behind schedule, but there’s still time. As long as we get the virus loaded by 0700, there’ll be time for our submarines to download the new torpedo software. We’re low on ammo though. The extra magazines were in the third backpack. Transportation is going to be a problem too. I can’t get ahold of anyone, and I don’t like the prospect of stealing a car and driving into the city. Public transportation is out—we’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”
“Transportation won’t be a problem,” O’Hara replied.
Harrison raised an eyebrow. “How’s that?”
O’Hara gestured toward Harrison’s jacket, lying on the ledge beside the Lieutenant. “Check the left pocket.” Harrison shot O’Hara a questioning look as he reached into his coat pocket, retrieving an iPhone. O’Hara added, “There’s going to be one pissed-off dude when he wakes up from his five-knuckle nap.”
Harrison cracked a wry smile as he turned on the iPhone. “Great job, Chief.”
Christine watched as Harrison launched the Apple App store, her curiosity growing as he searched for and then downloaded a free app. Harrison noticed Christine’s keen interest as he launched the application. “Don’t ask,” he said, the smile spreading across his face.
The application launched and the screen turned black except for a password entry, which Harrison typed in. The app accepted the password and a numeric keypad appeared on the screen. He punched in an eleven-digit number, then placed the phone against his ear.
After a moment, he spoke. “Harrison, Jake Edward.” There was a short pause, then he followed with an eight digit alphanumeric code before continuing. “The team was ambushed in the safe house. Three down. O’Hara and Christine O’Connor also remain. Mission objective is still confidential and remains a go. Require transportation.” There was another pause, then Harrison spoke again. “I need a large, loose-fitting jacket and four MP7 forty-round magazines.” Harrison nodded thoughtfully, then added, “We’re in a culvert emptying into the west side of a canal beneath Jiaosha Road.” There was silence again before Harrison ended the call with, “Understand. Standing by.”
He pulled the phone from his ear—the screen had already gone blank—placing it on the ledge next to him.
“How long?” O’Hara asked.
Harrison shrugged. “Not sure. They’ll call back once arrangements have been made.”
“I’ll take the first watch,” O’Hara said. He looked at Christine as she sat on the ledge, his eyes surveying her from top to bottom. “You’re soaked. We’re going to need to warm you up.”
The Chief’s comment reminded Christine how cold she was. She was chilled to the bone and was shivering uncontrollably.
“You happen to be in luck,” Harrison added. “You’re in the company of highly trained SEALs, experts in thermal rewarming.”
O’Hara grinned as he turned and headed toward the storm drain entrance, taking the first watch as Harrison slid next to Christine. He draped his jacket over her shoulders, then put his arm around her, pulling her close against his warm body. She rested her cheek against his muscular chest, instinctively wrapping her arm around his waist. Even though it’d been twenty-four years since he’d held her in his arms, it seemed natural. His fingers brushed a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and that simple gesture brought back strong memories of chilly winter nights in the back of his Ford Escort, fogging up the windows, Jake holding her close afterward in his strong arms.
“You should get some sleep,” he said softly. “This might be your last chance for a while.”
Christine murmured her agreement as she closed her eyes. She could feel the fatigue seeping in. The sound of the water gurgling past her into the canal, combined with the heat radiating from Harrison’s body, helped ease the tension from her muscles, and sleep began to wash over her like a warm sea. She had almost dozed off when the iPhone next to Harrison vibrated. Her eyes opened as Harrison picked up the phone. He typed his password again, then placed the phone against his ear.
After a short wait, Harrison replied with a single word. “Understand.”
Christine closed her eyes again as Harrison
placed the iPhone back on the ledge.
“Morning,” was all he said.
63
BEIJING
It was still dark when Christine woke, her arm still around Harrison’s waist, her cheek pressed against his chest. She pulled him closer as the cobwebs slowly cleared.
“Miss O’Connor,” she heard him say, only his voice was different somehow.
She wrapped her arm tighter around his waist and snuggled deeper under his arm.
“Miss O’Connor,” he said again in a strange voice.
She opened her eyes and looked up, confused when she saw the face of Chief O’Hara in the dim light. His arm was draped around her shoulders and she had her arm tight around his waist. Christine sat bolt upright, coming to her senses.
O’Hara seemed unfazed by her reaction. “It’s almost time, Miss O’Connor,” he said. “Transportation will be here soon.”
Christine examined her surroundings—she was sitting where she had snuggled next to Harrison. The two SEALs must have switched places during the night for Harrison’s turn on watch. She searched the storm drain, spotting the Lieutenant sitting near the opening where the water gushed into the culvert, staring into the distance. She glanced at her watch but couldn’t determine what time it was in the faint light coming from the street lamp atop the embankment.
She turned to O’Hara. “What time is it?”
“Five A.M.”
O’Hara stood, slinging the backpack over his shoulder with one hand while extending the other to Christine, helping her to her feet. She followed him to the storm drain opening where they sat next to Harrison without a word.
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