Empire Rising (43 page)

“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.

A few minutes later, a car stopped on the road atop the embankment. She could only see the top of a white sedan, its red hazard lights blinking in the darkness. An elderly Chinese man, with creased face and silver hair, appeared next to the guardrail, hands in his pockets.

Christine followed the two SEALs as they emerged from the storm drain and headed up the embankment. She stepped over the guardrail as Harrison and O'Hara stopped beside the man. There was a quick exchange of words and the three men headed toward the car.

“In back with Chief, “Harrison said as he opened the front passenger door. Christine followed Harrison's instructions and slid into the rear seat behind the driver. The four doors closed with solid thuds, and the elderly man turned to Christine.

“I am Yuan Gui,” he said. He reached down toward Harrison's feet and pulled up a small canvas bag, retrieving three bottles of water he passed to Christine and the two SEALs. Christine eyed the bottled water in her hand suspiciously. After everything they'd been through, she wondered whether she could trust Yuan. However, Harrison and O'Hara broke the bottle cap seals and quenched their thirst, and Christine did the same as Yuan reached into the canvas bag again, retrieving a pistol.

“I have no extra magazines for your MP7s. However, I have two SIG P226s, with four magazines each. Will they do?”

Harrison and O'Hara exchanged glances, with O'Hara shaking his head. “We'll go with our MP7s,” Harrison answered.

“Then how about this for the lady?” Yuan reached into the bag again, pulling out a small semiautomatic pistol with a silencer screwed into the end of the barrel. “A Glock 26.”

“No thanks,” Harrison answered, but Christine leaned forward quickly, taking the small subcompact pistol from Yuan's hand. “That'll be just fine,” she said.

Harrison turned toward her. “Put the gun back.”

Christine ignored him as she verified the safety was on, then dropped the magazine into her hand—ten rounds—then pulled back the slide valve, verifying the chamber was empty. She reinserted the magazine, then released the slide, chambering a round, then slid the subcompact pistol into the waistband of her pants. She looked up, and Harrison was staring at her with the same stern eyes he'd had when he tried to talk her out of joining them on their mission. She stared back at him with a dispassionate glare.