Empire Rising

by Rick Campbell

  Christine slowly pushed the two sides of the window open, then pulled the Glock from the waistband of her pants, disengaging the safety with her thumb. Kneeling down and supporting her weight with her left hand, she slid her left leg through the window, resting her thigh on the windowsill as she pulled the other leg through into a sitting position on the windowsill, her legs dangling over. She looked up at Tian, still studying the document. With a firm push off the windowsill, Christine landed on the wooden floor with a soft thud.

  Tian turned around as Christine raised the Glock to a firing position. There was a shocked expression on his face as he slowly raised his hands. “What are you doing here?”

  She should have pulled the trigger immediately and continued on. But there was one question she wanted to ask. She moved closer to Tian, keeping the Glock pointed at his chest. “Why did you betray us?”

  Tian’s surprised expression faded, his eyes turning cold, calculating. “I did not betray you. My colleagues were the traitors and they deserved their fate. As far as your SEAL friends go, they are enemy combatants and they paid the price.” Tian’s eyes went to the pistol in Christine’s hand, then back to her face. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

  Christine ignored his question again, suddenly curious why Huan was upset with him, considering the aid Tian had given. “Why was Huan angry with you?”

  Tian frowned as he dropped his hands, folding his arms across his chest. “Because I failed to determine the objective of your mission. I called in our special forces too early.”

  Early enough.

  Her curiosity satisfied, Christine decided it was time to move on. She’d already spent more time here than she should have. It was time for Tian to meet his fate.

  Tian sensed her decision. “Kill me and your friend will also die.”

  Christine hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “One of your SEAL friends is in custody and is being interrogated. You can ensure his safety if you surrender and reveal the objective of your mission.”

  Had Harrison been captured? Or was Tian lying, buying time?

  Christine searched Tian’s eyes again and examined his expression, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. His face was an impassive mask, offering no clue. But after mulling his proposition, Christine decided it didn’t matter.

  “No deal,” Christine replied.

  It looked like Tian was about to plead his case again when there was a sound of a door opening behind Christine. Tian’s eyes flicked over her left shoulder.

  Huan had returned to his office. Christine squeezed the trigger, putting a bullet into the center of Tian’s chest, then turned toward the door. But Huan had already closed the distance, blocking her right arm as she swung the Glock toward him. A second later, the air was knocked from her lungs as Huan punched her in the stomach. Christine doubled over as one of Huan’s hands clamped firmly around her right wrist, and she could sense his other hand going for the pistol.

  She felt Huan’s grip on the Glock, twisting it from her hand. In desperation, Christine tried the only move she could think of. She lunged forward and tackled Huan, clamping her left arm behind his knees as she buried her shoulder into his waist. As Huan fell backward, he instinctively reached out with his right hand in an attempt to brace his fall, temporarily abandoning his attempt to wrest the Glock from her hand. But his left hand was still firmly clamped around her right wrist.

  Huan landed on his back and Christine fell on top of him. She clambered to a sitting position with her legs straddling his waist and tried to aim the gun toward his head. But Huan had his arm extended, and she couldn’t bend her wrist far enough. As she tried to determine what her next move should be, Huan’s right hand swung up, his fist connecting solidly with the left side of her jaw.

  Huan’s punch almost knocked her off him, but she was able to maintain her balance as pain coursed through the side of her face. Huan’s right hand reached toward the pistol.

  Two can play this game.

  One of the fundamental principles Christine learned during her self-defense course was to hit the perpetrator where it hurt. She pulled her left hand back and slammed her fist down into Huan’s nose with all the force she could muster. Huan cried out in pain as blood spurted from his nostrils. His grip on her wrist loosened, and with a twist of her arm, she wrenched her hand free from his grasp.

  She bent her arm toward Huan, hoping to get a clear shot at him, but Huan blocked her again with his left arm, then chopped across and down on her wrist with his right. The impact knocked the Glock from her hand and it slid across the smooth wooden floor, coming to rest under the sofa.

  Without the gun, the encounter would turn into a physical battle she was sure to lose. Her only hope was to retrieve the Glock.

  She pushed down on Huan’s chest with both hands, springing to her feet, then dove toward the sofa. But Huan grabbed her left ankle as she leapt, and she fell onto her stomach, her outstretched hands at the edge of the sofa, only a foot away from the Glock. A second later, the distance to the pistol began to grow as she slid backward across the floor. Huan had scrambled to his feet and was pulling her away from the sofa by her ankle.

  Christine twisted onto her back, kicking at his hands with her other foot, but her shoes were flat-soled and had little effect. After Huan dragged her to the center of his office, he released her leg and stomped down on her stomach. Christine doubled over from the pain, turning onto her right side, away from Huan. He circled around so he faced her, wiping the blood from his face with his sleeve.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Christine looked up at the man towering over her. “I thought I’d stop by for tea.”

  Huan kicked her in the stomach.

  The kick caught her at the bottom of her rib cage, and she felt the bones crack. The pain was intense, magnified with each inward breath. Trying to protect herself from another kick, she curled into a ball, covering her face with her forearms, pulling her knees up to her elbows. Huan’s kick had sapped the strength from her, and she needed a moment to recover.

  “Tell me why you’re here,” he said, “and I will let you live.”

  Tilting her head up slightly, she peered between her forearms at Huan. As the pain coursed through her body, she realized there was a silver lining to her beating. As long as Huan interrogated her by himself, there was a chance she could escape. Once security guards arrived, it would all be over. She had to keep him engaged. As she looked up at him, she noticed the anger glowering in his eyes. She needed to keep him angry.

  “Go screw yourself.”

  Huan kicked her again, but this time his foot glanced off her shins. Realizing his kick had little effect, he reached down, grabbing Christine by her hair and left arm, pulling her to her feet. White-hot pain shot through her ribs as she stood erect. Christine dropped her arms, protecting her ribs as best as possible. As soon as she dropped her arms, Huan pummeled her with another punch to her face.

  Pain sliced through Christine’s mouth as she reeled backward, tripping over Tian’s body, her back smacking against Huan’s desk as she landed on the floor. Blood trickled down her chin from a split lip as she tried to pull herself to her feet, her arms reaching out on top of Huan’s desk. But before she could stand, Huan closed the distance, clamping his right hand around her neck. She tried to pry his hand away, but Huan grabbed her right wrist, pinning it on top of the desk. She continued prying with her left hand, but Huan was too strong.

  Huan tightened his grip, pushing her head back against his desk at such a sharp angle it felt like her neck would snap any second. Pain shot through her chest as she arched back, trying to ease the angle. The tangy taste of blood seeped into her mouth between clenched teeth as Huan spoke again.

  “I’ll ask you one more time. Why did you come here?”

  His hand squeezed her neck so tightly she doubted she could speak—she could barely breathe. Her plan to distract Huan from calling security had
bought some time, but her situation hadn’t improved. It was time for Plan B.

  Whatever that was.

  Out of the corner of her left eye, she noticed a lamp on top of Huan’s desk. An emerald-colored glass lampshade, supported by a round column of one-inch-thick green marble, attached to an ornately carved metal base. It looked nice and heavy. And it was just within reach.

  Plan B.

  But she needed to distract him while she grabbed the lamp. Huan was standing over her, his feet straddling her thighs. Christine pulled her right knee up against her chest, ignoring the pain shooting through her ribs, then kicked up as hard as she could. Huan winced, but his grip around her neck held firm. He glanced down as Christine prepared for another kick, and that was all the distraction she needed. She stopped trying to pry Huan’s hand from her neck and reached for the lamp. Her palm hit the marble and she closed her fingers around the smooth stone.

  Huan noticed her movement, but it was too late. Christine’s arm was already swinging upward. The base of the lamp hit Huan squarely on the side of the head, impacting his skull with a solid thud. Huan’s hand around her neck went limp, and he collapsed onto the floor next to Tian, blood oozing from a four-inch gash in his scalp.

  Christine dropped the lamp, then pulled herself to her feet, assessing the situation. Huan was either dead or unconscious—that was the good news. The bad news was that she couldn’t stand straight without pain shooting through her chest. Pushing the pain from her mind as much as possible, she bent down, dragging Huan, then Tian behind the desk.

  After pulling Tian on top of Huan, Christine stopped by the sofa, kneeling down to retrieve the Glock. With the pistol back in her hand, she paused at the door to Huan’s office, glancing back to assess her work. Both men were hidden behind the desk, and by the time someone discovered the bodies, Christine would have uploaded the virus. The communications center was only a short distance away.

  Turning the knob, she slowly pulled the door open, peeking out into the hallway. No one was there. Opening the door wider, she stepped into the corridor and turned right.

  * * *

  Christine hurried down the hallway, pausing briefly at two intersections to peer around the corner. Thankfully, the hallways were empty. Turning left at the second intersection, she stepped into a long corridor lined with doors along the right side. The entrance to the communications center was easy to identify. It was the only one with a security panel.

  Stopping beside the door, Christine shifted the gun to her left hand, then placed her right on the center of the display. The bright red line appeared again, scanning her palm. A few seconds later, the door unlocked with an audible click. After returning the Glock to her right hand, Christine pushed against the door.

  The door opened, revealing a dimly lit room containing computer consoles lining the far wall. There were four terminals, each one containing a keyboard and two displays, one above the other. Two of the consoles were occupied—one on the far left and the other on the far right, each by a man seated with his back to Christine. During her transit down the corridors, she had thought ahead, planning to coerce whatever information was required from whoever was in the communications center, tying them up or locking them in a closet afterward. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her as both men turned in her direction. Their eyes widened when they spotted the pistol in her hand.

  “Freeze! Do as I say and I won’t harm you!” Christine hoped they understood English.

  Apparently not.

  The man on her left lunged forward, his outstretched hand reaching toward a red button protected beneath a hinged, plastic cover.

  Christine aimed the pistol at his shoulder. She didn’t want to kill him—one or both of the men might be instrumental in figuring out how to upload the virus. But there was little time to aim carefully before she squeezed the trigger.

  The Glock recoiled in her hand with a whisper. Christine’s aim was off and the bullet hit the man in the side of his neck. An unbelievably large gush of blood began spurting from the bullet hole. Christine stared in horror as the man clamped his hands around his neck, but blood continued to pulse from between his fingers. It was only a few seconds before the man slumped onto his console. Blood continued to ooze from the man’s neck, coating his console and running onto the white tile floor in thin rivulets.

  There was a flash of movement to Christine’s right. The second man had bolted from his chair, headed to a side exit door only six feet away. Christine fired quickly, aiming for the center of the man’s back. This time her aim was perfect and the bullet hit him right between the shoulder blades. The man collapsed against the door, then fell onto his stomach, his face turned to the side. His eyes were open and moving, but he was otherwise immobile. So much for the humane approach; her plan hadn’t worked out too well.

  After a final glance at the man by the door, Christine slid the pistol into her waistband and retrieved the flash drive from her pocket. Her eyes scanned the communications center, spotting two USB ports on the vertical portion of the first man’s console. Christine stopped by his chair, pausing to examine him. The blood had stopped flowing from his neck; he was clearly dead. Christine shoved him onto the floor and took his seat, doing her best to avoid the blood coating the workstation. She inserted the flash drive into one of the ports, turning her attention to the two displays. On the bottom screen, various icons were loaded on what appeared to be a desktop, and Christine waited impatiently for the computer to recognize the flash drive.

  A few seconds later, a new icon appeared. The name of the icon was written beneath it in Chinese characters she couldn’t read, but she was certain it was her drive. Noticing a flat metal touchpad on the right side of the keyboard, she slid her finger across it and the arrow on the screen moved. After positioning the cursor over the icon, Christine tapped the pad twice and the icon opened into a window containing a single file. She repositioned the cursor and tapped twice again.

  A horizontal status bar appeared on the display, with the color of the bar changing from left to right, turning from gray to bright blue. Beneath the bar, a digital timer appeared, starting at two minutes, counting down the time remaining until the process was complete. Christine watched the timer tick down, and when the time reached zero, the status bar turned green.

  The status bar disappeared a few seconds later, leaving the desktop blank except for its icons. Christine waited for something to happen. She had no idea what to expect, and couldn’t tell if the virus had accomplished its intended effect. She waited a minute, listening for approaching personnel as she examined the various displays in the communications center.

  Nothing.

  There was no indication that a lethal cyber virus had been injected into the Chinese command and control system. Deciding that waiting any longer would do no good, she pulled the flash drive from the USB port, sliding it into her pocket as she stood, turning her thoughts to escape from the Great Hall of the People for the first time.

  The SEALs were supposed to get her out of the Great Hall, but she was on her own now. She needed a plan. She was inside the Politburo security perimeter, and successfully shooting her way out was iffy at best. She could head back out the way she came in, shuffling along the ledge outside the building, but it was daylight by now and she would be clearly visible, even to a casual observer. She needed a better exit plan, and the communications center wasn’t the place to sort through the possibilities.

  And then there was Harrison. Where was he? Had Tian told her the truth and Harrison had been captured, or was he hiding in an office somewhere, leaning against the wall as he bled to death?

  Either way, she had to take care of herself now. She turned and headed toward the exit, stopping at the door. After listening for sounds, she cracked the door open and peered into the hallway. There was no one present. She stepped into the corridor, then turned around toward the plasma display beside the security door and pulled up the schematics of the Great Hall of the People.
As she searched for an escape route from the building, an idea began to take hold.

  ENDGAME

  68

  NINGBO, CHINA

  Inside the East Sea Fleet’s Command Center, Admiral Tsou stood at the back of the facility, his eyes skimming across six rows of consoles before coming to rest on the main screens at the front of the Command Center. The PLA was on the verge of capturing the last beachhead on Japan’s main island, and only an injection of American airpower could stave off the advancing PLA forces. America’s last aircraft carrier in the Pacific had launched its air wing, and China’s new Hongqi surface-to-air missile batteries had locked on to the first wave, the aircraft almost within range. China was about to deliver the fatal blow.

  Scattered across Japan in PLA-controlled territory, red icons marked the location of over one hundred mobile missile batteries, while three waves of blue symbols over the Pacific Ocean speeding west represented Ronald Reagan’s air wing. The aircraft were accompanied by twice the usual number of radar-jamming EA-18G Growlers for protection. But China’s Hongqi missiles, far surpassing the capability of the Russian S-400 they had copied, would overwhelm them. In less than a minute, the lead missile batteries would begin firing, and America would be forced to accept defeat as the last remnant of their airpower in the Pacific was destroyed.

  Tsou glanced at the timer on the main display as it counted down toward zero, when the first of their missiles would begin launching.

  Only ten seconds remaining.

  The consoles on the left side of the Command Center suddenly flickered off. In a cascade of darkening displays flowing left to right, console after console dropped off-line, their displays going black. The disciplined communications between console operators and their supervisors deteriorated into chaos as supervisors rushed to assist the nearest operators, directing them to reboot their consoles. One by one, the console screens turned blue, with white characters scrolling across the displays. After a few seconds, each screen went dark again. Operators frantically rebooted their consoles again, obtaining the same result; the displays went dark at the same point in the start-up process each time. Tsou looked toward the front of the Command Center. The main screens were frozen, no longer being updated. The entire Command Center was paralyzed.