Empire Rising

by Rick Campbell

  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 Harr
ison’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.

  Perfect.

  She contemplated breaking into one of the offices she had passed, but that would put her on the wrong side of the security checkpoints. She needed to break into an office in the South Wing, not the Central Wing. And she needed to do it soon. The approaching day was an orange glow on the horizon—it wouldn’t be long before she’d be easily seen on the ledge outside the building, and she was running out of time. The virus had to be inserted into the Chinese command and control network by 7 A.M. or the Reagan Task Force would be forced to abandon their mission to land the Marine Expeditionary Forces on Japan.

  Christine’s eyes went back to the ledge, noticing it began again after a four-foot gap, marking the transition between the Central and South wings. The only way to continue was to jump the four-foot gap.

  Under normal circumstances the jump would be a piece of cake—she had spent eighteen years training and had become an Elite gymnast. Unfortunately, she would have to jump from an awkward stance, and when she landed, her left shoulder and hip would hit the building. She’d almost certainly lose her balance and fall off the ledge. She didn’t have any choice though. Searching through her repertoire of beam jumps, she decided a half-turn leap might work—she would twist her body ninety degrees while in the air and land facing the wall, which solved the issue of her shoulder and hip hitting the building. But if her leap was off and she didn’t land squarely on the ledge …

  She’d come too far to turn back now: four dead SEALs, with Harrison injured and unlikely to make it back out alive. A four-foot jump was a risk she had to take. Turning to her left, she bent her knees carefully, lowering her body into a crouch, doing her best to maintain her balance. After a deep breath, she sprang toward the ledge four feet away.

  At the apex of her leap, Christine twisted toward the building, her feet searching for the ledge as she fell. It seemed like she fell downward much longer than the one second it should have taken, but just when she was convinced she had missed the ledge, both feet landed on hard stone. Unfortunately, her jump was slightly off and only the balls of her feet hit the ledge. She was unable to flex her ankles quickly enough to maintain her balance, and she began tilting backward. She clawed at the building but there was nothing to grab on to. There was no way to stop it—she was falling off the ledge.

  As her body tilted backward, she tried the only maneuver that gave her a chance. Instead of waiting until she completely lost her balance, she cut to the chase—she jumped off the ledge.

  It was only a small jump backward, but it allowed her to fall from the building while her hands were still within reach of the ledge. As she fell, she swung her arms forward, hands outstretched, searching for the narrow ledge. Her palms hit the cold stone and her grip held as her body swung toward the building and smacked against the hard granite wall. The impact almost knocked the breath out of her, but her grip held.

  Hanging from the stone ledge, Christine realized the six-inch ledge wasn’t wide enough to pull herself onto it. She looked to her right, noticing another window a few feet away. Beneath the window, the ledge widened to a foot and a half again, giving her enough room to pull herself back onto the ledge. But to work her way to the window, she’d have to let go with one hand, supporting her weight with the other as she shuttled down the ledge. She tested the grip of her left hand—the ledge was still damp from the evening’s rain, but her grip seemed firm.

  After another deep breath, Christine shifted her weight onto her left hand as she slid her right down the ledge. Her left hand held and her body swung back to the right, shifting weight back onto both hands. She repeated the process until she was directly below the four-by-four-foot window. The curtains were drawn, a sliver of yellow light leaking though a vertical seam where they met. Christine pulled herself onto her elbows, then swung her right foot up onto the ledge. Here’s where it got tricky. With a final heave, she lifted her body up and twisted inward, rolling onto the ledge, her back coming to rest against the window.

  Climbing to her feet, she placed her eye against the window where the sliver of light leaked through. Inside was a well-appointed office. On the far wall, a built-in bookcase filled with leather-bound books overlooked a red upholstered sofa and two matching chairs arranged in a semicircle. The center of the dark wood floor was covered with a thick, pale blue rug with a five-foot-diameter ruby-red star embroidered in its center. She heard the murmuring of people talking, and as she shifted her eye first to the left, then right, she spotted two men in the room. The chairman
of China’s Central Military Commission, Huan Zhixin, was facing her, seated at a desk. Standing in front of the desk, with his back to Christine, was another man.

  The two men were engaged in a heated conversation. Based on Huan’s facial expression and animated gestures, he was upset about something. The discussion ended when Huan slammed his fist on his desk. He picked up a red folder, shoving it toward the man across from him, then stood abruptly and headed toward a door in the back of his office. The other man turned as Huan passed by, a malevolent glare in his eyes as they bored a hole in Huan’s back, offering Christine a clear look at his face.

  Tian, from the CIA safe house.

  Her suspicions were confirmed. Tian had betrayed the United States, first during her transit to the coast two weeks earlier, then last night. She fingered the Glock, still stuck into the waistband of her pants. She needed to break into one of the offices in the South Wing of the Great Hall. This one was as good as any, and if she could slip into the office unnoticed, she could pay Tian back for his treachery.

  The door to the office closed as Huan left, and Tian turned back around, placing the folder on Huan’s desk. His back was to Christine as he opened the folder and studied the first page of the document inside. Christine pushed gently against the middle of the window and the two sides swung inward an inch. The window was unlocked.

  Christine kept her eye on Tian as she pushed the window open a few more inches, wide enough to slide her hand through. She reached in, carefully pushing the right-side curtain out of the way, listening closely to ensure the movement created no sound. Christine froze as Tian reached down toward the desk, but he simply flipped the first page of the document over. Christine exhaled slowly, then pushed the other side of the curtain back, providing enough clearance to open the window wide enough for her to slip through. She glanced down through the glass panes—there was nothing beneath the windowsill inside the office, just a four-foot drop onto the wood floor.