Fugitive

by Chris Bradford

  Connor clung desperately to the edge, powerless to stop her. He saw Charley trembling in her chair as she battled against the impulse to kick him to his death.

  ‘You will NOT control me!’ she screamed, and, with a super-human effort of willpower, she forced her leg back on to her chair.

  Mr Grey stabbed at the controller, but Charley’s limbs refused to obey its command. Somehow Charley had overridden the neuro-controller’s signals.

  ‘Well, if I can’t control you, I’ll just have to torture you,’ he snarled, pressing another button on the screen.

  All at once Charley began to convulse. Her knuckles went white as she fought against the crippling pain to keep a grip on the handle of the armrest.

  ‘I … can’t … hold … any … longer …’ she gasped with a look of despair at Connor.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Connor as her body jerked violently and she was forced to let go.

  No longer supported, Connor plummeted back through the hole. Grabbing for anything he could, his fingers clasped around a carbon-fibre spoke of Charley’s wheelchair. With the last of his strength he began to pull himself up again. But his weight was dragging the wheelchair towards the edge, its rubber tyres squeaking across the glass floor.

  ‘Now that’s a real catch-22,’ said Mr Grey with a cruel laugh. ‘Save yourself … or Charley?’

  The chair slid another fraction of a centimetre closer to the edge.

  ‘I wouldn’t judge you for saving your own skin, Con–’ Suddenly Mr Grey went into spasm. The assassin let go of the neuro-controller and collapsed to the floor. Behind him stood Amir, bruised and bloody, iStun in hand.

  ‘AMIR!’ shouted Connor as the wheelchair shifted to the very lip of the hole.

  His friend dived for him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to safety. Then he dragged Charley’s wheelchair away from the edge. Connor lay panting at Charley’s feet, unable to quite believe his near-death experience was finally over. ‘Are you OK, Charley?’

  Charley nodded. Her face grey and washed-out, she looked utterly drained, as if the plug had been pulled on her. ‘Sorry … for kicking you,’ she murmured.

  Dragging himself to his feet, he kissed her on the cheek. ‘Forget about it. It wasn’t you. I’m just amazed you managed to override the commands.’

  ‘It was like having a fight with myself,’ Charley explained weakly. ‘Two voices battling in my head.’

  ‘Well, let’s get rid of that other voice,’ said Amir. Picking up the neuro-controller from the floor, he prised open the back and, after cursory examination, tore out the electronics. ‘That’s the end of that,’ he declared, tossing the remnants down the hole.

  The three of them watched the pieces twirl away into the night.

  ‘So what did you do to him?’ asked Connor, nodding at the final guard flopped against a window, his mouth open and drooling.

  Amir raised an enigmatic eyebrow. ‘While you were hanging around, Connor, we were dealing with the bad guys!’

  They both laughed, but Connor’s laughter was cut short when he saw Mr Grey looming over his friend. ‘Behind you!’ he cried.

  Spinning round, Amir drew his iStun and jabbed the metal prongs into the assassin’s side again. But Mr Grey didn’t even flinch.

  ‘Run out of charge?’ asked the assassin, glancing at the red light blinking on its display. With brutal efficiency, he knife-handed Amir in the neck, striking his carotid artery and instantly blacking him out. Amir slumped to the ground.

  With Amir out cold and Charley weakened to the point of infirmity, only Connor and Mr Grey were left standing.

  ‘Whatever you did to me, Connor, it appears your friend’s stun-phone has recharged me!’ The assassin bent down and reclaimed his gun. But, rather than taking aim, he holstered the weapon, strolled over to a comatose guard and picked up a baton instead. ‘I’ve decided I’m not going to shoot you after all, Connor … I’m going to beat you to death.’

  The assassin advanced on him, tapping the stick in his open palm.

  ‘So much for a simple execution!’ said Connor, looking for something to defend himself with. He spotted Charley’s other armrest lying on the floor. He darted for it –

  But Mr Grey lashed out. Connor dived to one side and made a desperate grab for the armrest. Almost at once the baton came back, smashing down on to the floor and catching his outstretched hand. A rocket of pain shooting up his arm, Connor was forced to roll away. He’d barely got to his feet when Mr Grey brought the weapon round towards his head. Connor ducked and the baton struck the window behind him with such force that it smashed the pane, glass showering down.

  ‘You can’t dodge me forever!’ said Mr Grey.

  The assassin drove Connor back with a series of brutal swipes until he was trapped against the windows on the opposite side of the Sky Walk. Connor realized the assassin was right and braced himself for the inevitable blow. Mr Grey feigned an attack to the left before swinging in hard to the midriff.

  Connor took the impact full force – a bone-sickening crack reverberating through the Sky Walk. But it wasn’t Connor’s ribs that had snapped. It was the baton! Mr Grey stared at the broken stick in his hand, then at Connor, who still stood before him, unbowed and unbeaten.

  A flicker of incomprehension passed across his ice-grey eyes.

  Connor simply smiled. Just as Lăolao had taught him, he’d locked in his qi, fusing his life force with his body and turning himself into a human shield … Iron Shirt.

  Before Mr Grey could overcome his astonishment, Connor concentrated all that qi into his fist and punched the assassin in the solar plexus with the devastating power of Iron Hand. A sharp crack of ribs now did echo through the Sky Walk. The assassin exhaled in open-mouthed shock, his eyes wide in both pain and disbelief that a mere boy had the skill and speed to defeat him in combat. Unable to recover his breath, he staggered, then stumbled over the body of a guard and fell …

  ‘Watch out!’ cried Connor, instinctively trying to save the man as he tumbled through the hole in the floor. But it was too late. The assassin dropped three storeys straight down to crash into the skylights of the lower observation deck where he sprawled lifeless on the cracked glass.

  ‘Is it over?’ asked a timid voice from the end of the Sky Walk.

  Connor turned to see Zhen peeking nervously through the lift’s open doors. He nodded. It certainly was over. The Sky Walk was littered with broken glass, weapons and comatose bodies. Chill night air and the sounds of far-off traffic leaked in through the hole in the floor. And Mr Grey, the ruthless and cold-blooded assassin, was finally dead. Connor slid to the floor, his legs no longer able to support his weight. A combination of relief, injuries and exhaustion had rendered him weak and battle-worn. He had no fight left in him.

  ‘My ears are still ringing,’ said Zhen, putting a finger in her ear and waggling it.

  ‘Don’t worry – that’ll fade,’ said Charley, her strength having recovered enough to wheel herself over to Connor. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

  Connor gave her a thumbs up. Charley smiled and everything seemed to be all right with the world again. He glanced over at Zhen. ‘You certainly saved us with that flash-bang!’

  ‘That was Amir’s back-up back-up plan!’ explained their guide, working her way through the debris of bodies to check on their friend. ‘He told me to hide in the basement. If I heard the trigger phrase “final prayer” over the comms, I was to send up the stun grenade.’ Kneeling down, she brushed the hair out of his eyes.

  Amir groaned, slowly coming round. ‘Am I … dead?’ he murmured.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Zhen, resting his head gently in her lap.

  Amir smiled dreamily. ‘Then why am I seeing an angel?’

  ‘Forget the chat-up lines, Amir – we have to go!’ said Connor as the guards began to come round too. Struggling to his feet with Charley’s help, he headed for the lift. In the streets below, a column of flashing blue-and-red lights could be seen
making a beeline for the Shanghai World Financial Center. The distant sound of sirens grew steadily louder.

  ‘Come on,’ Connor urged as one of the guards feebly reached for his gun.

  Charley purposefully ran over the guard’s outstretched hand with her wheelchair as she passed. ‘Oops, mind your fingers!’ she said.

  Supported by Zhen, Amir followed Connor and Charley into the lift. In less than a minute the elevator took them down all one hundred floors to the ground floor. Since no one was expecting them to appear, there were no guards waiting for them. And, with the tourist entrance closed under the Director’s command, the lobby was empty so they were able to reach the nearest fire exit unchallenged. Outside, the four fugitives rushed across the road and down a side street, mere seconds before the police convoy screeched to a halt in the front of the building.

  The embassy official scratched at his beard, peering at the four slightly dishevelled teenagers over the top of his glasses. When the nightwatchman at the front gate had radioed that an odd bunch of kids were seeking sanctuary, the man hadn’t been wrong. Sitting before him in the air-conditioned interview room of the US Consulate were a young blonde girl in a wheelchair, one of its armrests missing, a skinny Asian boy with bruises to his face and blood on his shirt, a Chinese girl in a black-and-orange Sherpa delivery jacket, and a tall muscular lad with a shock of brown hair and a distinct military bearing.

  The official leant forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk. ‘So, you want consular protection?’

  All four of them nodded.

  ‘Who exactly are you wanting protection from?’ asked the official. ‘The local police?’

  ‘No, not the police,’ replied Connor, although he knew this was a half-truth since the police and national security forces were after them too.

  The official tapped his pen on top of his notepad. ‘Then from whom?’

  Connor exchanged a hesitant look with Charley and Amir. They had to take a risk. They had no other option but to put their faith and fate in the hands of this man. ‘Equilibrium.’

  The official frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘It’s a multinational criminal organization with its central cell in China,’ explained Amir.

  ‘Oh, right,’ said the official, making a note on his paper pad. ‘And why are they after you?’

  ‘We know about their organization,’ replied Connor. ‘Know of its existence, what they’ve done and who’s involved in it. They’ve infiltrated numerous governments, stolen billions of dollars and are responsible for terrorist attacks worldwide.’

  ‘Really?’ said the official, taking off his glasses and giving them a polish.

  Amir nodded earnestly. ‘They just tried to kill us at the top of the Shanghai World Financial Center!’

  The official put his glasses back on and gave them a hard stare. ‘I heard about that PR stunt for a new TV crime show being beamed out live over the Bund. I suppose you kids thought it would be funny to play along and waste my time.’

  He began to put away his pen and notepad.

  ‘It wasn’t a TV show. It was real,’ insisted Connor. ‘The police arrived just as we escaped.’

  ‘Did they?’ The official began to examine the three passports and one Chinese identity card laid out on the desk before him. He came to Connor’s and shot him a probing look. ‘You have a US passport? But you sound British.’

  ‘I am,’ replied Connor. ‘The President personally gave me that passport.’

  The official snorted. ‘Our President?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Connor earnestly. He leant forward, hands clasped and expression sincere. ‘Listen, there’s some urgency. Equilibrium is holding our friends hostage in a shipping container out at sea. The cargo ship’s name is the MV Halcyon, and this is the container number.’ He pushed a scrap of paper across the desk towards the official. ‘They don’t have long to live.’

  Eyeing the piece of paper dubiously, the official nonetheless made a note of the name and serial number, then stood. ‘This all sounds very serious. I need to speak to my superior. I won’t be long.’ Gathering up the passports and identity card, he left the room. They heard the door lock behind him.

  ‘Do you think he believed us?’ asked Amir hesitantly.

  ‘We can only hope,’ replied Connor. ‘If he checks out our story of the World Financial Center with the police, he might.’

  Charley turned to him. ‘You don’t think he’s connected to Equilibrium, do you?’

  Connor shrugged. ‘Well, he didn’t react when I said the name.’

  ‘But would he?’ asked Zhen. ‘If he’s an undercover agent for them?’

  Connor sighed. ‘Good point.’

  Amir frowned deeply. ‘I can’t recall how badly the American consulate in Shanghai had been compromised. I’d barely managed to skim the surface of what was on that drive.’

  ‘Even if he isn’t with Equilibrium,’ said Connor, ‘he’ll soon discover we’re terrorist suspects wanted by the Chinese government. Then he’ll probably hand us straight over to the authorities … aka Equilibrium!’

  ‘He can’t!’ cried Charley. ‘The American Embassy has to provide assistance.’

  ‘You may be an American citizen, but I’m not,’ reminded Amir. He glanced at their guide, who sat anxiously between them, her eyes darting like a sparrow’s as she followed their conversation. ‘And neither is Zhen.’

  The four of them waited in silence, the clock on the wall ticking loudly with each passing minute. The air-conditioning unit in the room strained with a monotonous whirr, whirr, whirr.

  ‘He’s been gone a long time,’ said Amir, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘Maybe that’s a good sign,’ replied Charley. ‘Maybe he’s tracking down the ship or –’

  Suddenly the door burst open and two men in dark suits strode in, their expressions grim and their heavyset physiques defying anyone to challenge them.

  ‘Come with us,’ ordered the lead man. Bald-headed and with a hammer jaw, he wouldn’t have looked out of place in a cage-fight. Only his shirt and tie lent him a veneer of respectability.

  ‘Who are you?’ Connor demanded. ‘Where’s the other guy?’

  ‘Move!’ snapped the cage-fighter, pulling Connor roughly from his chair.

  They were escorted out of the room, along a corridor and into a lift. Descending two levels, they entered an underground car park and were bundled into the back of a blacked-out minivan. The rear doors were slammed shut and a moment later the vehicle roared away.

  ‘What the hell’s happening?’ exclaimed Amir as the vehicle cornered and he was thrown against the compartment’s side. Zhen clung to him nervously.

  ‘I guess Equilibrium has infiltrated the US Embassy,’ Connor replied grimly, clinging on to Charley’s wheelchair.

  Charley tried the rear door’s handle. ‘Locked!’ She cursed.

  With the windows blacked out and the rear compartment blocked off from the driver’s cab, there was nothing any of them could do. They huddled in the gloom of the muted overhead light as the minivan tore through Shanghai city. Connor felt a growing sense of panic. Once caught, there seemed to be no escaping Equilibrium’s web.

  After about thirty minutes, the minivan came to a sudden halt and the rear doors were flung open. Cage-fighter and his companion beckoned them out. A roar of jet engines assaulted Connor’s ears as he stepped on to an airport runway.

  ‘Apologies for the rushed departure,’ said the cage-fighter as his companion helped Amir and Zhen lower Charley and her chair to the tarmac. ‘We didn’t have much time to extract you. The Chinese government had started to ask tricky questions and Equilibrium’s people were closing in.’

  He handed Connor back his American passport, saluted, then gestured to the awaiting private jet.

  ‘President Mendez sends his regards. So too does his daughter. Have a safe flight home.’

  Connor’s jaw dropped. He stared a moment at the US secret agent. His second passpor
t had come in handy after all. As he was hustled aboard the jet along with Amir and Charley, Connor glanced back at Zhen, who was still on the tarmac. He raised a hesitant hand in farewell.

  ‘Don’t worry about Zhen,’ called the US agent. ‘We’ll take care of her.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a story,’ said Stella Sinclair. The Deputy Director of MI6 laced her long black fingers together and subjected Connor to a piercing look. ‘Do you have any proof?’

  Connor sat between Amir and Charley in the top-floor office of the SIS building. Through the floor-to-ceiling bulletproof windows the majestic vista of the Thames could be seen winding past, the familiar London skyline offering a reassuring yet awe-inspiring backdrop to their meeting. The office itself was slick and modern, much like the Deputy Director herself, who wore a tailored charcoal-black jacket with a mauve silk shirt, her hair cut short and her choice of jewellery – a single silver chain and a slim stainless-steel fitness tracker – as minimal and effective as her manner.

  Connor shook his head. ‘We had to trade the flash drive for our lives.’

  ‘That’s understandable … yet regrettable,’ acknowledged Stella. ‘Without proof, though, this remains nothing but a story.’

  Connor’s shoulders slumped. They might have escaped China with their lives, but ultimately Equilibrium had won. The organization would remain in the shadows, unseen and unstoppable. And the three of them would remain targets for assassination. ‘You don’t believe us then?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. Colonel Black’s word goes a long way with me.’ The Deputy Director gazed out of the window at the clouded sky, appearing to focus on something far off in the distance. Connor sensed there’d been more to their relationship than merely professional respect. ‘News of his death greatly saddens me. He was a fine soldier and a good man.’

  Connor felt a sharp pang in his own heart, a twist of regret and loss – regret that the colonel hadn’t been the honest and principled man that Connor had believed him to be, and the loss of a friend and mentor, a man of true courage and conviction. But Colonel Black’s sacrifice had saved them when he’d exchanged his life for theirs. And in that single act of true selflessness he’d redeemed himself in Connor’s eyes. He’d been the ultimate bodyguard.