Razing Beijing: A Thriller (99 page)

High overhead, the two imposing laser modules bore down on
him. Each was accessible by a catwalk that bridged the ceiling space three
stories above the floor. Of course, whoever might have dropped the tool was
nowhere in sight. Stuart remembered being able to enter the suspended walkway
through either the electrical breaker room or at the opposite side, through an
access door atop a short flight of stairs above the observation deck. He craned
his neck and squinted; it looked as though somebody had left the cowling
propped open on one of the lasers. Perry had told him that the ordered closure
of the Project facility was abruptly enacted. He still found it hard to believe
the wrench had fallen of its own accord.

Despite an abundance of caution it took only a minute to
climb the stairs to the breaker room. Stuart slowly opened the door leading out
onto the elevated catwalk. Never one for heights, particularly open mesh
walkways, his eyes continuously scanned the vast cavern below as he approached
the laser with its cowling propped open. On the walkway nearby he found a large
mechanic’s box, and scattered beside it, an assortment of tools. A cursory
check beneath the open cowling indicated that none of the components appeared
to be missing or disturbed...

His eye dipped below the catwalk toward the source of
diffuse light. Somebody had left a door open inside the observation deck.

MCBURNEY DROPPED
to
one knee and assessed Agent Hildebrandt’s enormous loss of blood. Ten feet
away, the apparent aggressor in the grisly dual had fared even worse—Hildebrandt
had blown away a chunk of the man’s cranium.

McBurney shook his head. It was sadly evident that his FBI
friend had not died quickly. He picked up the handgun from the floor beside
Hildebrandt’s open hand. After checking to see that he could operate it, he
gathered himself off the floor. He was tempted now to go back inside; he had
left the door ajar with his shoe in order to preserve that option. On the other
hand, Stuart wasn’t exactly defenseless, and so the question was whether to
continue upstairs in order to summon help.

McBurney stepped over to read the display monitor beside
the security door. He frowned—it showed a tally of six people inside the
facility. There was no way to know if he had succeeded in his attempt to lure
anyone away from the others simply by what the monitor read.
Six...but with
Brophy dead, that leaves three total friendlies...Hildebrandt must’ve been
outnumbered.

Without warning, somebody slammed the security door shut.

“Hey!” McBurney hammered the door with his fist. “Open this
damn DOOR!” He looked at the security console. Blasting it with Hildebrandt’s
gun would accomplish little if anything. He had stupidly allowed somebody else
to narrow his options. McBurney kicked the door and swore.

It was then that he heard a peculiar sound. He turned from
the door and knelt beside Hildebrandt. Studying the blood-soaked clothing
covering the man’s shoulder, he placed a finger on the agent’s jugular...he was
surprised to discover a faint pulse. Placing his head next to the floor he
could see the rise and fall of Hildebrandt’s chest. A faint gurgling sound
accompanied each breath.

“Hang on, Ed.” He reached over and gently moved the FBI
agent’s bad arm to place it over his chest—Hildebrandt groaned. “Just hang on,
we’re going to get you out of here.” McBurney stood and dropped the pistol into
his pants pocket. “Maybe your friends aren’t as smart as they think.” He bent
over and, carefully gripping Hildebrandt beneath each of his armpits, began
dragging him toward the elevator.

STUART STARED AT THE LIGHT
SPILLING
out from the half-open door. He was uncertain whether to
proceed or simply turn and retrace his steps. Wandering into the observation
deck was maybe not so bright given the limited avenues for retreat. It struck
him with stark clarity that his occasional plinking didn’t qualify him as any
kind of a marksman.

To his immediate left was the wall of Lexan overlooking the
well; empty theatre-style seating to his right. Extending the muzzle of the
handgun in front of him, he hauled open the heavy door to the capacitor room
and rushed inside. He swept his eyes around the broad belly of the massive
device, and also up over his head into the cavern where it extended into the
darkness. He lowered his arms. There appeared to be no one inside.

Stuart returned to the observation deck feeling foolish,
realizing he could have found more space to hide in a clothes closet. Glancing
at his watch, he also realized that he had completely lost track of the time.

KA-BOOM!
The loud whipcrack drove Stuart to the
floor. The expected shower of glass never came and he removed his arms from
covering his head. He looked up to find the flattened projectile embedded in a
starburst of blast-proof glass. Stuart poked his head up over the bottom of the
window frame. On the opposite side of the well, he glimpsed a shadowed head and
arm just as someone withdrew behind the closing door of the electrical breaker
room.

Stuart’s fear turned to outrage. He climbed to his feet and
rushed to the steps leading back up to the catwalk. Whoever fired the shot would
now be descending from the breaker room to the well, and would then have to
expose himself to Stuart outside the door leading to Emily and Thackeray. Stuart
bounded up the steps and burst out onto the catwalk. But would Devinn expose
himself with somebody poised to fire down from above? No—he would make his way
back through other corridors leading to...where?
SHIT—I don’t know my way
around this fucking place.
He thought he remembered that the corridor
behind the breaker room led away from the supercomputer...

Stuart stopped, chest heaving, and he thought:
Wait—that
can’t
be Devinn. I’m being led away
. His decision made, Stuart
turned and ran back to the observation deck.

HAVING HEARD THE DISTANT
SHOT,
Paul Devinn waited to see that the unprotected entrance remained
that way. A minute later he stood with his ear to the door, listening to the
debate underway inside.

Satisfied, he backed away and leveled his gun, placing
the end of the silencer a yard from the magnetic bolt mechanism by which the
security cipher locked the door. Then he carefully triggered three rounds into
it.

WRITING SOFTWARE
was
one thing, but seizing control of billions of dollars worth of hardware was
entirely another. Both of the software experts realized that their application
of theory was not transmuting physically as smoothly as they had hoped.

Thackeray pried worried eyes away from the timer. “You do
realize there’s bound to be inaccuracy in that orbit calculation of mine.”

“I heard you the first time,” Emily snapped. “I’m going as
fast as I can. Are
you
sure we got that file past the Hughes?”
How
can either of us be sure of anything now?

Thackeray double-checked the confirmation protocol. He
shook his head. “I still can’t find the problem.”

“Keep checking. We only have one shot at this.”

“You don’t say!”

“Time?”

“Fifty-five seconds!”

Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
We can do
this.
She opened her eyes and scanned the lines of text filling her screen.
“Thack, is that—”

“I see it—good catch. I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it...”

BANG—BANG—BANG.
The repeated hammer blows behind
them sprayed clinking metal debris onto the floor.

STUART TRIED THE DOOR
he
thought would lead beyond the well’s clean air zone—it was locked. Confused, he
stood back and leveled the muzzle of the gun at the doorknob. A sliver of light
on the floor nearby caught his eye and he realized he was about to blast his
way into a storage closet.

Stuart cursed the precious seconds wasted. He slammed open
the proper door, rounded the corner, and ran flat-out twenty-five yards toward
the revolving doors that demarcated the clean zone. Sliding on the soles of his
shoes to a stop, he eased himself through the doors as quietly as possible. Ten
feet further, chest heaving, Stuart briskly rounded the final bend in the
corridor.

His sudden appearance clearly startled another man, who
also wielded a gun. Stuart was nearly thrown by the thick crop of reddish blond
hair but it was definitely Devinn, and he had somehow opened the door to the
supercomputer facility. From his left hand, Devinn’s silenced gun pointed up at
the ceiling; with his right he gripped the doorjamb, his foot at the ready to
push open the door.

“Stuart,” said Devinn.

Stuart’s outstretched arms gripped the dead agent’s Glock. His
focus was Paul Devinn’s eyes. “Don’t.”

Devinn held his stare.

He’s going to shoot Emily—he wants to do it—he’s going
to do it.
Stuart gritted his teeth. He felt the trigger harden against his
finger. Devinn’s legs appeared to become ever slightly more taut, the muscles
in his forearm twitched, the fist gripping the gun lowered a fraction—

Stuart squeezed against the trigger and the gun jumped in
his hand. The slug went wide, striking the doorjamb inches above Devinn’s hand.
Devinn’s legs began the drive that would launch him forward and Stuart’s second
round struck him in the arm—Devinn howled in pain. Stuart moved toward him,
restoring the target zone, his third round plowing into Devinn’s shoulder. Devinn
sagged toward the door while firing wide past Stuart’s ear. A final
phutt
as he disappeared through the doorway caused a burning sensation in Stuart’s
thigh.

Stuart fired again and again, finally realizing he was
pulling the trigger without firing a shot.

Emily’s shriek penetrated the ringing in his ears.

*     *     *

RONG DROPPED THE CIGARETTE
butt to the floor beside the other two and snubbed it beneath his toe. The
situation demanded he at least appear in charge of the process, such as it was.
He strolled toward the computer consoles and the nearest technician. This
happened to be the same young woman wearing a headphone and mic set who
assisted Deng with his demonstration, now dutifully engrossed in her work. She
glanced up only as Rong stood close beside her.

Rong caught the annoyance before it fled from her eyes. Perhaps
she would enjoy not being able to sit for awhile, a prospect Rong found
appealing. “Forgive my interruption.” He gestured toward the video screen. “Is
the satellite malfunctioning?”

“No, Vice-Chairman Rong,” she replied in a courteous tone. “To
conserve power the satellite transmits imagery only in the final stages of
target acquisition.”

Rong nodded his understanding—he already knew this, of
course. He noted she had addressed him by name, respectfully so. Rong examined
the fine, smooth skin at the base of her throat. “A bit earlier we noticed the
possibility that weather in the vicinity of the target might be overcast. Will
that not affect things?”

“To a certain extent,” the young woman acknowledged.

“Oh?”

“It is my understanding that the orbiting computer adjusts
parameters, or in extreme conditions it aborts the attack. So far as the
ability to transmit an image, if the attack takes place at night, or even in
mild overcast, then the images we see will be radar-enhanced infra-red. These
wavelengths are relatively unimpeded by cloud layer. But we understand the
morning overcast in the target area has diminished.”

The woman had managed to allay his worries in a manner not
to portray him as stupid in front of the others. Rong was impressed suitably
enough to inquire her name...

The video monitor suddenly flickered to life. Snowy static
on the screen slowly receded and sharp, geometric features normally associated
with those of a city appeared, receded into snow again, then returned. After
several seconds the image began holding steady. Superimposed across the bottom
quarter of the image—Rong presumed this to be infrared—were vertical
black-and-white lines that appeared to march left to right.

The technicians, already on edge, recognized the imagery as
anything but normal. One by one, they rose from their respective terminals to
consult with their colleagues, or to examine another instrument, all the while
with no attempt whatsoever to conceal their confusion—this created for Rong the
disturbing impression that his recruits were inadequately skilled. The
escalating pace of their movement about the control room, and the speed
exhibited by some as they repeatedly entered keyboard commands, created the appearance
of frantic improvisation. By now the commotion had attracted the attention of
other members of the committee.

“Certainly look’s like an image to me,” Rong said to
his own curious colleagues while tossing a nonchalant wave.
But—what are the
lines?

*     *     *

STUART CHARGED INTO THE
ROOM
to find Emily’s hands clapped over her mouth.

“Where’s Devinn?”

“That way!” Emily pointed toward the stairs leading down
into the well. They heard the sound of a slamming door.

“He pointed his gun at us but I think it was empty,”
Thackeray said.

Stuart realized how badly his hands were shaking while he
noted the open breech of his own semiautomatic. Relief swept over him that
neither Emily nor Thack appeared to have any serious wounds.

“Stu, you’re bleeding!”

Stuart glanced from the smear of Devinn’s blood on the
floor to his own bloody pant leg. He looked at Emily. “Devinn wasn’t acting
alone.”

“But we’re in!”

“What...you’re in control?”