The Six Sacred Stones jw-2

by Matthew Reilly

And they did, together, the three of them base-jumping off the burning building, plummeting through the shimmering sky, the building beside them blurring with speed—

  —a bare instant before the whole top third of the Burj al Arab Tower came free from the rest of the building and toppled off it!

  The building’s great spire, its helipad, and its top thirty floors all tipped as one, falling sideways like a slow-falling tree, folding at the point where the plane had hit it, before tearing free of the main structure and falling off it, chasing the three tiny figures that only an instant before had leaped off the helipad.

  But then abruptly three parachutes blossomed to life above the three figures and they sailed clear of the peak of the tower. They flew away to landward as the now upside-down spire of the building came crashing down into the sea with a momentous earsplitting smash.

  The incredible sight would appear in newspapers around the world the following day, images of the half-standing tower.

  The culprit: an angry American loner, Earl McShane, seething for revenge for 9/11. Hell, he’d even written to his local paper after September 11 calling for vengeance.

  And so he’d decided to exact his own form of revenge on an Islamic country in exactly the same way the Islamist terrorists had attacked America: by flying a plane into their biggest, most well-known tower.

  Thankfully, all the papers reported, owing to the professionalism of the hotel staff, their flawless evacuation procedures, and their rapid—almost forewarned—response to the news of the incoming cargo plane, not a single person was killed in the fiendish attack.

  In the end, the only life McShane took was his own.

  Naturally, in the hours following the event, all air traffic in the region was grounded pending further notice.

  The skies above the Emirates remained eerily empty for the entire next day, all flights canceled.

  Except for one.

  One plane that was given permission to take off from a high-security military air base on the outskirts of Dubai.

  A black 747, heading east, for China.

  The first plane out the following day was a private Learjet belonging to Sheik Anzar al Abbas, carrying three passengers—Zoe, Lily, and Alby.

  After a quick exchange between West and Alby on the tarmac of the military base the previous day, it was decided that the team would split here, with Zoe and the two children heading in the opposite direction: for England.

  AIRSPACE OVER SOUTHWESTERN CHINA

  DECEMBER 5, 2007

  The Halicarnassus soared over the Himalayas and entered Chinese airspace.

  Its black radar-absorbent paint and irregular multiangled flanks would ensure that it did not show up on any local radar systems. These features, however, would not protect it from being spotted by other, more advanced, satellite-based systems.

  Not long after their takeoff from Dubai, Jack had turned to his two newest team members, the American Marine, Astro, and the Saudi spy, Vulture: “OK, gentlemen. Time to show me what you know. The subject is Xintan Prison.”

  The young American lieutenant replied with a question of his own. “Are you sure this is a wise course of action? You seem to work just fine without this Wizard guy. Why not go straight for the Stones and the Pillars? Going after Wizard will only serve to antagonize the Chinese.”

  Jack said, “I only know what Wizard has told me or written down. The vast stores of knowledge in his brain on this subject are the only thing that’ll successfully get us through this. That alone is worth antagonizing China for. There’s also another reason.”

  “And that is…?”

  “Wizard is my friend,” Jack said flatly.Just as Fuzzy was my friend, and look at what happened to him. Jesus.

  “And you’d risk our lives and our nations’ reputations just to save your friend—”

  “Yes.” Jack didn’t even blink. The image of Fuzzy’s head in that box flashed through his mind, a friend he hadn’t been able to save.

  “That’s some loyalty you have there,” Astro said. “Will you risk all that for me if I get into trouble?”

  “I don’t know you that well yet,” Jack said. “I’ll let you know later, if you survive. Now. The prison.”

  Vulture unfolded some maps and satellite photos he’d brought from Saudi Intelligence. “The Chinese are keeping Professors Epper and Tanaka at the Xintan Hard Labor Penal Facility, a Grade-4 penitentiary in the remote western region of Sichuan Province.

  “Xintan is a special facility reserved for political prisoners and maximum-security inmates. Its prisoners are used to dig the tunnels and high passes for China’s high-altitude train lines, like the Qinghai-Tibet Railway, the so-called Roof of the World railway. The Chinese are the best railroad builders on Earth—they’ve built tracks over, under, and through the most mountainous terrain on the planet, many of them connecting the mainland provinces to Tibet.”

  At this point, Pooh Bear’s brother, Scimitar, joined in. “They’re using the new railways to flood Tibet with Chinese workers. Trying to wipe out the local population by sheer weight of numbers. It’s a new form of genocide. Genocide by overwhelming immigration.”

  Jack assessed Scimitar. He could not have been more unlike his younger brother. Where Pooh Bear was rotund, bearded, and earthy, Scimitar was lean, clean-shaven, and cultured. He had pale blue eyes, olive skin, and an Oxford accent. The classic modern Arabian prince. Jack noticed that he had put China’s railway-building into a political context.

  “In any case,” Vulture said, “building the railways is very dangerous work. Many prisoners die doing it and they’re just buried in the concrete. Epper, however, was taken to Xintan because it features an interrogation and debriefing wing.”

  “Torture chambers?” West asked.

  “Torture chambers,” Vulture said.

  “Xintan is notorious for its torture wing,” Astro said. “Fulin Gong devotees, student protesters, Tibetan monks. All have been ‘reeducated,’ as the Chinese put it, at Xintan. The thing is, by virtue of its unusual terrain, Xintan is uniquely positioned to be a perfect interrogation facility. You see, Xintan is built on top of not one but two adjacent mountain peaks known as ‘The Devil’s Horns.’

  “Xintan One, the main prison, is located on the primary peak and is entered via a high-altitude railway line that passes directly into the prison via a huge iron gate.”

  “Sounds like Auschwitz,” Stretch said.

  “Similar, but not entirely,” Astro said. “After dropping off its cargo of new prisoners at the main prison, the railway line continuesall the way through Xintan One, emerging from another gate at the far end. There the railway line crosses a long bridge and arrives at Xintan Two, the smaller wing, the torture wing, situated atop its own peak. The railway enters Xintan Two via a third massive gate and there it ends. Apart from that gate, there is no exit from Xintan Two.”

  “Like Auschwitz,” Stretch said again.

  “In this respect, yes it is, Jew,” Vulture said.

  Sitting nearby, Pooh Bear looked up sharply. “Vulture. I honor you as my brother’s friend. I would ask then that you honor my friend. He is known as Cohen, Archer, or Stretch. You will not call him Jew again.”

  Vulture bowed low in apology, again in his slow, calculating way—which bespoke insult as much as it did regret. “I humbly beg your pardon.”

  Astro broke the awkward silence with more information: “According to our intelligence, the Chinese also have a chase copter at Xintan in the event someone does escape.”

  “What kind of chase copter?” Jack asked, cocking his head.

  “A big motherfucking Hind gunship,” Astro said, “the kind of helicopter you don’t mess around with. Captain West, it’s said that the prisoners in Xintan One can hear the screams from the torture victims across the valley in Xintan Two. If there’s one complex in China you don’t want to be in, it’s Xintan Two. No one has ever escaped from it alive.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever,” Astro sai
d.

  That had been several hours ago.

  Now as they entered Chinese airspace, Scimitar charged into West’s office and said: “Huntsman! We just got something from the Americans. NSA intercept. The Chinese are moving your friend Wizard today. In one hour.”

  West leaped out of his chair.

  The news was bad. Very bad.

  Wizard and Tank were being transferred from Xintan Two to Xintan One. From there, they were to be taken by train under armed guard to Wushan. Their presence had been demanded by Colonel Mao Gongli himself.

  “What time?” West said, entering the main cabin.

  “The train leaves Xintan Two at noon!” Astro called from his seat at a wall console.

  “Could they know we’re coming?” Scimitar asked.

  West was thinking exactly the same thing.

  “It’s certainly possible,” Vulture said. “After Captain West’s rather noisy escape from Australia three days ago and yesterday’s plane crash in Dubai, they could well believe we’re up to something.”

  Scimitar said, “But surely the Chinese can’t believe anyone would seriously consider storming Xintan.”

  “Sky Monster!” West called to the ceiling. “ETA on Xintan?”

  Sky Monster’s voice came back over the intercom:“It’ll be close, but I think I can get you there by noon.”

  “Do it,” West called.

  This was happening a lot faster than he’d anticipated. He’d expected to have more time to create a plan.

  He stepped over to the central table, stared at Astro’s maps of the mountaintop Xintan complex. “The internal transfer is the weak point. The bridge between Xintan One and Xintan Two. That’s where we can get them.”

  “The bridge?” Astro said, coming over. “Maybe you didn’t hear us right, Captain. That bridge is inside the complex. Wouldn’t it be better to try to grab Epper and Tanaka later, when they’re traveling on the train outside the prison perimeter?”

  West was gazing at the maps, formulating a plan. “No. They’ll assign extra guards for the external leg, probably Army troops, but for the internal transfer, they’ll only use prison guards, regular prison guards.”

  Jack bit his lip. “It won’t be pretty—in fact, it’ll be downright ugly if it works at all—but that’s our opening, that’s where we can snatch them.”

  XINTAN HARD LABOR PENAL FACILITY

  SICHUAN PROVINCE, SOUTHWESTERN CHINA

  1159 HOURS

  THE TWO GRAY concrete structures sat atop their adjoining mountain peaks like twin castles in a fantasy world, gazing out over the mountain wilderness, high above the cloud layer.

  The larger structure, Xintan One, was five stories tall, bulky, and fat. It sat lazily on its peak, bulging over the precipices, as if some god had just dropped a slab of plasticine onto the summit from a great height. Built almost entirely of dirty gray concrete—Communism’s contribution to architecture—it possessed four high towers soaring into the sky.

  The smaller structure, Xintan Two, lay to the south of its big brother. It was only three stories tall and had just one tower. But its compact size only seemed to make it harsher, more confident in its authority. It didn’t need to be big to be feared.

  Connecting the two wings was a long arched railway bridge, about half a mile in length and spanning a jagged valley gorge hundreds of feet deep. Today, that gorge was obscured by a layer of low clouds that wound its way between the mountains like a river.

  High and isolated, and silent save for the whistling of the mountain wind, the scene might have been beautiful if it weren’t for the stench of death and despair that surrounded the place.

  At precisely twelve noon, the great iron gates of Xintan Two rumbled open to reveal the prison train.

  With black iron flanks and reinforced grilles on every window except for those on the engine cars at either end of the five-carriage-long train, it looked like a ferocious armored beast. Held back at the threshold of the gate, it snorted like a bull, expelling steam, its forward engine growling.

  The two prisoners were loaded into the middle car of the train.

  They were dressed in rags and blindfolds, and they shuffled rather than walked, their arms and legs bound in chains. There were only the two of them—Wizard and Tank.

  Stony-faced prison guards surrounded them, twelve in total, the standard number for an internal transfer. All the guards were aware that two entire platoons of Chinese Army troops were waiting at Xintan One to accompany the prisoners on their external journey.

  Wizard and Tank were placed in the third carriage where their leg irons were padlocked to ringbolts in the floor.

  Then the sliding door to their carriage clanged shut and a whistle blew and the armored train moved out, expelling more steam, so that as it emerged from the gates, it looked like a great evil thing emerging from the depths of Hell itself.

  The train commenced its short journey across the long arched bridge, looking tiny against the wild mountains of China, just as two birdlike objects appeared in the sky above it, descending fast, objects that as they came closer lost their birdlike appearance and took on the appearance of men…two men dressed in black with wings on their backs.

  Jack West Jr. shot down through the air at bullet speed, a high-altitude facemask covering his face, a pair of ultrahigh-tech carbon-fiber wings, called Gullwings, attached to his back.

  The Gullwings were an FID—a fast-insertion device—developed by Wizard for the US Air Force many years ago. Fast, silent, and stealthy, they were essentially one-man gliders that also possessed small compressed-air thrusters to enable gliding for sustained periods. In the end, the USAF had decided against using them, but Wizard had retained several prototypes, which West kept on the Hali for situations like this.

  Zooming down through the sky alongside West, similarly garbed, was Stretch.

  Both men were armed to the teeth, with many holsters packed with pistols, submachine guns, and grenades and, in Stretch’s case, one compact Predator antitank rocket launcher.

  The prison train thundered across the long, high bridge.

  Half a mile away, the great behemoth of Xintan One loomed before it, the railway tracks ending at a solid hundred-foot-high concrete wall fitted with not a single aperture except for the imposing iron gate.

  But as the train whipped across the long bridge, closing in on Xintan One, the two winged figures swooped in low over it, traveling horizontally above the five armored carriages, moving gradually forward till they flew only a few feet above the frontmost carriage, the engine car.

  Their arrival went unseen by anyone, the guards at Xintan One having long grown complacent with the internal leg of the journey. After all, there had never been an escape in the prison’s history. As such, no one was actually assigned to watch the train during the bridge crossing.

  Once the two flying figures had reached the engine car, gliding low over it, West and Stretch retracted their wings and dropped to the roof of the engine, landing perfectly on their feet.

  They had to move fast. The train had covered almost two-thirds of its short journey and the gates of the main facility rose large before them.

  West drew his two Desert Eagle pistols and leaped down onto the nose of the engine car and proceeded to blow out its two drivers’ windows.

  The windows shattered and he swung in through one, landing inside the driver’s compartment.

  Both drivers—Chinese Army men—shouted and reached for their guns. They never got to them.

  Stretch swung inside the driver’s compartment to find the drivers dead and West taking the controls of the train.

  “Predator,” West called above the wind now screaming in through the shattered windshield.

  Stretch loaded his antitank rocket launcher, then shouldered it, aiming it out the broken front windows.

  “Ready!” he called.

  Then, right on cue, the iron gates of Xintan One cracked open, ready to receive the transfer train.

  At w
hich point, West jammed forward on the throttle.

  AS THE GATES rumbled open, the two platoons of Chinese Army troops waiting on the receiving platform of Xintan One turned, expecting to see the armored train engaging its brakes, disgorging steam, and generally slowing.

  What they saw was the exact opposite.

  The armored train burst in through the great gateway at full speed, accelerating through the tight confines of the archway and blasting past the siding.

  Then a finger of smoke shoomed out from the shattered forward windshield of the engine car—the smoke trail of a Predator antitank missile, a missile that cut a beeline for…

  …the other gate of Xintan One.