Hong Kong (35 page)

"Tomorrow night is the earliest I could set up the wire transfer. We have to do it while the Swiss bank is open; they don't stay late for

anybody."

The two-way radio had been busy all morning. Now the man monitoring it signaled to Cole. "The convoy has cleared the harbor tunnel."

"Cleared the tunnel, aye," Cole acknowledged.

He keyed the intercom mike on his headset. "The convoy has cleared the harbor tunnel. All units check in."

The operator at each monitor sang out, "Alvin ready," "Bob ready," and so on, in order.

Kerry Kent took control. "We are ready, Mr. Cole."

Since Kerry Kent was going to be fighting a revolution this morning and her boyfriend was a guest of Sonny Wong's, this should be a good time to search Kent's apartment, Tommy Carmellini thought. He used the stairs for this visit—the elevator was out of service—and picked the lock to get in.

He checked the small bathroom and closet to ensure that he was the only person there, then strolled slowly through the place taking inventory.

He had no idea what he was looking for. Kerry Kent, SIS double agent, revolutionary, anti-Communist warrior ... maybe she had Mao's little red book under her pillow. He picked up the pillow and looked.

wen, iiu uuok, duc a DUSinessiiKe little automatic. He picked it up, checked the caliber. .380. She didn't use this on China Bob Chan.

The bed was as good a place as any to start. He put the pistol on the dresser, began stripping sheets. He examined the mattress inch by inch to see if it had a compartment for documents or the like. Apparently not. Nothing under the mattress, in the box springs, in the frame of the bed.

He piled the mess in the center of the bed and worked around it. Kerry's dresser was next.

The sea breeze and swells running in the strait this morning distracted Jake Grafton for a moment and made him smile. The salty wind cooled the perspiration on his forehead and filled his nostrils with the pungent scent of the Pearl River, flowing from deep in China. The pitching, bucking little tour boat was a handful and forced him to think about how he was going to bring the boat into the pier on Hong Kong Island.

Just which pier he should use was a problem. Who were the men on the sidewalk? Who hired them? Whom did the man call on the cell phone? They were undoubtedly watching him now, waiting to see where he landed.

He wanted to go back to the consulate, avoid the disaster that was about to happen in the Central District. When the shooting started the crowd might stampede, killing hundreds of people, perhaps thousands. Cole, you damned fool, getting smack in the middle of someone else's war!

The engine of the tour boat hummed sweetly. That was a lucky break. Thinking about possible observers, Jake took the boat in close to the shore and turned east. He motored along for five minutes before he found what he wanted, a low pier with empty cleats. Someone used this boat to make a living; Jake Grafton didn't want to deprive him of it.

He brought the boat in smartly toward the pier. Although he didn't own a boat, he had watched sailors handle small boats for years. With the prop engaged and the engine idling, he leaped onto the pier with a rope in his hand and dropped it over a cleat. Back onto the bucking boat as it kissed the tire hanging at the waterline, reverse the prop, let

the bowline spring the Doat in . .. wnen ne nao tne Doat ucu up iurc and aft, he killed the engine.

The rock-solid pier felt good under his feet. He walked off the pier thinking about the thugs in Kowloon, wondering if they had been working for Sonny Wong.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sergeant Loo Ping was told to search the Bank of the Orient tower, which stood on the north side of the square. He picked four men and went to the front door, which was locked. With his face against the glass, shielding his eyes with both hands, he could see that the bank lobby was empty.

He fired his rifle into the door lock. After three shots he pushed experimentally on the door. It gave, but a piece of the deadbolt still held it. He had two of the men put their shoulders against the door and push. The glass cracked, the broken lock gave way, and the door opened.

Sergeant Loo led his men inside. Of course the major hadn't told him what to look for. "Search the building," was all the major said, as if the object of the search was self-evident.

"People," Loo Ping told his squad now. "Look for people. If we find anyone, we will take him outside to the command vehicle for interrogation."

The soldiers moved off. One went to the basement, the others went to the elevators and pushed the button. Nothing.

Loo Ping led them to the staircase and they started up.

"What if we find money?" the youngest soldier asked, which amused the others.

"You think they leave money lying around
f"
"This is a bank, isn't it? Perhaps there is money. They must keep it somewhere."

Loo Ping was a rice farmer's son himself and had never had a bank account. Of course there was money in a bank, even a failed one. Perhaps the major really wanted the soldiers to search for money.

"Money would be locked away in safes," one of the soldiers remarked now, which made sense to Loo Ping. The bankers certainly wouldn't leave money lying around.

The second floor was a huge open room, carpeted, full of desks, with a computer on each of them. The lights were off, so the only illumination came through the windows on the sides of the grand room. The soldiers stood at the door, marveling. Imagine what the room must be like when the lights were on and people were seated at every desk, counting money!

This morning there were no people, so after a bit the soldiers let the door close—amazing how the door silently closed by itself—and climbed another flight of stairs.

The third floor was like the second, a vast office full of desks and computers and wonderful white machines that did God knows what, and ...

Something was standing in the center of the room, near the window overlooking the square. It looked like a big man.

Loo led the way, the other three behind. All had their rifles in their hands so that anyone could see they were men with authority who must be obeyed.

The man at the window was huge! He turned to watch the soldiers walk between the rows of desks toward him. He had dark skin and was completely naked. Loo Ping's steps slowed. It wasn't a man. No.

A machine? Nearly seven feet tall, the neck consisted of three flexible stalks. The head was narrow at the chin and top, widest at the eyes, with a stalk or flexible tube coming out the top. The legs reminded Loo Ping of the hind legs of a dog; he thought the feet looked like

those of a chicken, with three prominent toes. And that tail! Something from a movie?

No!

A
robot!
That is what it must be!

One of the men whispered to Loo, tugged at his sleeve. "It has a weapon," the man said.

"Hey!" Loo Ping called, still walking forward, but slower.

He halted ten feet from the thing and looked it over. The letter C was visible high on its shoulders. Its hands were claws, and they held a launch tube for a wire-guided antitank missile. Another launch tube lay on the floor.

Now Loo realized the head was lowered a few degrees, so the eyes— they were really some kind of lenses—were looking right at him. One of them had a circular lens turret in front of it, and now the turret rotated, stopped with a click, then rotated again.

Nervous, Loo took a few steps sideways.

The head followed.

For the first time Loo Ping noticed that a multibarreled weapon of some kind was mounted on the right side of the robot's torso. Now the barrels began spinning, emitting a high-pitched whine, barely audible in this quiet room.

Loo Ping tightened the grip on his rifle, glanced at his three troops. They were still there, although they looked like they were going to run.

"Hey!" Loo Ping said again, facing the robot and moving the barrel of his rifle a little, so it pointed more at the robot. He searched for the safety with his right thumb.

"The gun is pointed right at you," the closest soldier whispered to Loo Ping. He was right. The spinning barrels of the weapon were pointed at Loo Ping's chest. He took another step to the right. The barrels followed.

"Ooooo..." he began, but he never completed the sound.

The robot's weapon fired, and Loo Ping felt the impact of the bullet as it hit him dead center in the heart. His blood pressure dropped to zero, and he was dead seconds after he hit the floor.

The robot swung its weapon and fired one bullet at the nearest soldier, then the next, and the next. Four individual aimed shots in less than a second.

The tour empty cartridges ejected from the minigun s breecn rattled like hail against the window glass, then fell to the carpeted office floor while the barrels of the minigun freewheeled to a stop.

The soldier Loo Ping had sent to search the basement walked through the door just as the minigun fired. As the reports echoed through the room, he dove back through the door and scrambled down the staircase.

"Someone is escaping," Kerry Kent said. She was watching the monitor intently, listening to Charlie York's audio in her headset.

"Let him go," Cole said. "He's no threat." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Four uneducated kids dead in a heartbeat. His mouth was watering badly, like he was going to puke.

Charlie York turned back to the window. The turret on his right camera clicked to another lens, bringing the video of the plaza below into focus on Kent's monitor.

She checked with the other units. All okay, all ready.

Jimmy Lee, the King of Cool, was still babbling incoherently about Wu Tai Kwong and treason and not wanting to be executed. Lee's producer and the government censor stood wringing their hands.

Governor Sun hadn't called and in truth the producer doubted if he would. Still, Jimmy Lee was a celebrity of sorts, so he might.

The censor tried to place a call to Beijing but the operator said the lines were down. "This is a government emergency," the censor shouted, then wished he hadn't. The possibility that Jimmy Lee had gone off his nut and was babbling nonsense crossed his mind for the first time. He wondered just how hard he should press to get though to someone important.

He didn't have to worry. The operator told him that government business or not, the telephone lines out of Hong Kong were still out of order.

"Call army headquarters," the producer suggested.

"Why don t we just broadcast the news?" the censor replied. "Everyone will hear. What better way is there to warn the authorities of the plot?"

"What if Jimmy is crazy? Huh? Have you considered that? Maybe he's on drugs. The fool has used them before, remember?"

"All the telephone lines out of Hong Kong are down," the censor retorted. "The banks are closed, the subway isn't running, the airport is closed.... Jimmy says the rebels are attacking the computers. There is going to be an attack on the troops in the Bank of the Orient square. That sounds like truth to me."

"Okay, okay," the producer said. He eyed Jimmy, tried to decide if he was up to talking coherently. No.

He went into the studio and sat on the stool in front of Jimmy's mike. As he waited for the current song to end, he thought about what he was going to say. Tell it straight, he decided. Don't try to jazz it up like Jimmy would. Just act like a man with all his marbles.

Don't panic, people, but this is a rumor that may have some truth to it. Authorities, take action. You heard it first, folks, right here on the Jimmy Lee show.

The song came to an end. The producer flipped the switch to make his microphone hot and began speaking.

The people in the mobile museum trailer parked three blocks from the Bank of the Orient had a radio tuned to the Jimmy Lee show and a television showing the only station left on the air. Popular music had been coming from the radio and a Chinese soap opera from the television.

Someone called Kerry Kent's attention to the voice that came over the radio. A male voice, talking about the revolution that was just beginning, a revolution to overthrow the People's Republic. Troops were going to be attacked this morning in the Central District by armed rebels, who were trying to cause a major riot, a riot that was supposed to engulf City Hall and lead to the arrest of the authorities there.

"That isn't Jimmy Lee's voice," the man told Kerry ominously.

She looked at her watch. This wasn't supposed to be happening now.

"Have the people who are to guard the radio and television stations reached there yet?" These people could not be armed until the weapons came through the Cross-Harbor Tunnel.

"They are on their way. They haven't called in."

"What is going on at the radio station?"

No one could answer that.

Virgil Cole was watching now. Kerry Kent called Hu Chiang, who was still circling over the Central District in a helicopter. The feed from the chopper's television camera was displayed on a monitor in the trailer.

"You're over the bank square?" Kerry asked.