Wall of Night (40 page)

Laogi
179

Lying on his belly in the crawl space, Tanner worked steadily into the night, assembling half a dozen crude flash-fire bombs from Hsiao's supplies.

Similar to the device he'd used to cripple Solon Trulau's yacht in Jakarta, each bomb consisted of two sets of ingredients: a base and a catalyst. Alone, each was stable, but combined they were volatile. In this case, he was using a mixture of petroleum products he'd found in the garage along with some chlorine-based cleanser used to clean the inside of the tanker truck.

Once certain the chemicals were correctly blended, it was time for a test.

A few feet down the crawl space he dug a small hole in the earth and then, arm outstretched, spooned into it a couple drops of the base, followed by a drop of catalyst. With a small
poof,
a blue white flame filled the hole. Tanner quickly covered it with dirt and the flame died.

Now for the vessels.

He lit the sterno can, then placed on top of it the small sauce pot Hsiao had stolen from the kitchen. Into this he dumped the half a dozen candles and the contents of four tins of shoe polish.

Once the mixture was completely melted, but not yet boiling, he removed the pot and began the molding process. It took an hour, most of the mix, and a lot of kneading, but in the end he'd created twelve golf ball-size shells.

Careful to keep them separated, he filled half of them with the base, the other half with the catalyst, then, using the last of the wax, he sealed each shell. He let them fully harden and then duct taped them together in pairs, one base and one catalyst.

In theory, upon impact each shell would shatter, mixing the chemicals together. The resulting flash fire would be brief, but strong enough to ignite almost anything it touched.

Tanner scrutinized his handiwork. As long as he placed them well and timed his movements right, they would do the job, he decided. Even so, the biggest variable was out of his control. He could only hope the guards responded like the well-trained professionals they were.

An hour later he heard the garage door open above him, then close. Footsteps clicked on the floorboards above. “Everything is awful,” a voice called.

Hsiao.
“That makes two of us,” Tanner called back.

The hatch opened and light poured into the crawl space. Tanner shimmied-over to the opening to find Hsiao squatting beside it. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Tanner nodded. “What did you find out about Soong and his daughter?”

“The general is in his regular cell. Two of Xiang's paratroopers have been posted outside his door, though.”

“I'll handle them.”

“Soong's daughter is being kept in a bunk room in the same building as the control center.”

Tanner nodded. “When do you go on duty again?”

“I managed to change places with another guard. I have the roving patrol starting at midnight.”

“That didn't raise any suspicion?”

Hsiao shook his head. “A group of us play mah-jongg every evening; I told him I didn't want to miss the game.”

“Good. Can you stop by here?”

“Yes, but only for a moment. If I miss a checkpoint by even a few minutes, the alarm sounds.”

“I'll only need you for a minute,” Tanner said, then explained what he had in mind. “I assume the control center has an incoming phone line? You know the number?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You might want to practice your acting skills. What're the chances they'll buy it?”

Hsiao smiled, shrugged. “I know the guard manning the control center tonight. His name is Wujan. He's … how do you say it?
Er bai wu.
”

Tanner smiled back; he knew the phrase.
Er bai wu
literally meant 250—on an intelligence scale of 1000, Wujan was three-quarters stupid. “If you can fluster him a bit, it would help.”

“I'll try.” Hsiao took a deep breath and let it out. “I'm a little scared, Briggs.”

“Just a little? Then you're doing better than me,” Tanner replied, only half joking.

After all the hardship he'd endured to get here, his success or failure would soon come down to a period of a few minutes. If he succeeded, they would be a step closer to freedom; if he failed, Soong and Lian would spend the rest of their lives here and he and Hsiao would be executed.

He gripped Hsiao's forearm and gave it a squeeze. “It's almost over. Hang in there.”

“Okay. See you a little after midnight.”

Tanner dozed intermittently until he again heard the garage door open and footsteps entering. He checked his watch: 12:40. He felt his heart rate shoot up. Almost time.

The hatch opened and Tanner crawled over.

Hsiao said, “Ready?”

“Yeah, you?”

“I think so. Tell me again what you want me to say.”

Tanner went over the wording once more. “Keep it short. Act excited as if you're on the run.”

“Okay, okay. I'm ready.”

Tanner pulled out the Motorola and dialed the number. Once it began ringing, he handed it to Hsiao. They pressed their heads together so Tanner could hear.

“Administration, Corporal Wujan speaking.”

“Wujan, this is Sergeant Jong.”

“Uh … pardon? Who's this?”

“I'm one of Director Xiang's men, dammit! We've found the missing truck in a ravine about three miles east of Beiyinhe. We think we've found the American's trail, but we need help.”

“Uh … okay … ” Wujan replied. “Where are you?”

“On the outskirts of Beiyinhe. We have a witness who thinks they saw the American.”

“What was your name—”

“Hurry! We need help. Three miles east of Beiyinhe! The American can't have gotten far!”

“Okay, but what—”

Hsiao handed the phone back to Tanner, who disconnected. “Perfect.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“It'll get a reaction, that's certain,” Tanner replied. “Whether it's the kind we want, we'll know shortly. Go back to your rounds. When the fireworks start, sound the alarm, wait for the commotion to start, then meet me in the hangar.”

“Right.” Hsiao closed the hatch and left.

One more miscue,
Tanner thought. Success now hinged on one thing: Whether upon receiving the news Xiang would ask, or fail to ask, that one critical question.

Inside the control center, Corporal Wujan was torn between confusion and terror. Though he missed part of the message, the gist of it had been clear:
Someone had found the American
!
Where had the man said
?
Beiyinhe
?
This was important … had to remember that part. With someone as important as Director Xiang involved … Perhaps there was a commendation in it for him.

Wujan picked up the phone.

Two minutes later Xiang and Eng barged into the control center. The base commander was already there. Xiang asked, “When did it come in?”

“Minutes ago,” replied the base commander. “One of Shen's men called in and reported finding the truck near Beiyinhe.”

“Three miles to the east of Beiyinhe,” Wujan added nervously. “He was very clear about that. He said they may have found the American—or, no, his trail. They found his trail.”

“How far away is that?” Xiang asked the base commander.

“Ten miles to the southwest.”

“Contact the patrols outside the camp and tell them to move in closer.”

“Why?”

“If this is a ruse, Tanner will use it to try to slip into the camp. Eng, go get Shen. Have him gather ten men and meet me at the helicopter pad.”

Tanner crouched beneath the crawl space hatch in his yellow coveralls and matching flash hood, waiting and listening. The backpack and AK were slung over his shoulder. In his right hand he carried his ghillie blanket, rolled into a tube with the revolver stuffed inside; in his left hand, a gas mask.

As Hsiao had explained, the coveralls, flash hood, and gas mask were standard attire for the camp's fire-fighting squad, which consisted of a handful of guards specially trained to respond to fires and general minor disasters that came with living year-round in the wild's of northeastern China. Aside from the camp commander himself, members of the fire squad outranked everyone during emergencies.

Tanner was about to find out if that was true.

Five minutes after Hsiao placed his call, Tanner heard the electrical whine of the Hind's turbo-shaft engine being powered up, followed moments later by voices shouting to one another:

“No packs, just weapons!”

“Move, move, move!”

Briggs popped open the hatch, boosted himself up onto the floor, and stood up. He raced to the garage doors and peeked through a crack. Shrugging on their coats and packs, paratroopers were racing out of the barracks toward the landing pad. Xiang and another man—the leader of the paratroopers, Tanner assumed—stood beside the Hind's door until the last man was aboard, then climbed in and slid shut the door.

The Hind's rotors spun to full speed. The pilot lifted off, rotated in place to clear the hangar roof, then banked right and disappeared over the treetops.

Briggs started his mental clock.
Five minutes for them to reach the false dump spot,
another five to realize it's a ruse,
another five back to the camp
… He could count on fifteen minutes, no more.

He pulled the first flash bomb out of his pack and hurled it across the garage, where it hit the wall and ignited in a flash of blue flame. Within seconds, smoke began to drift across the garage.

Tanner jogged to the rear of the garage, pried open the window, leaned, and heaved a second flash bomb against the wall of the adjoining storage shed. It ignited, sending a splash of flames up into the eaves. He turned right and threw another bomb against the shed closest to the hangar.

Around him the garage was thick with smoke, the far wall half engulfed in flame.

He pushed his backpack through the window, followed it, then dashed along the rear of the sheds until he was kitty-corner to the hangar. He removed the last three bombs, gingerly tucked them inside his coveralls, then strapped the AK to his pack and tossed the bundle overhand toward the hangar wall, where it bounced into the shadows.

Suddenly the
whoop,
whoop,
whoop
of an alarm began blaring. Voices started shouting. Smoke was wafting across the compound. He could see the first tendrils of flames beneath the garage's eaves.

He donned his mask, tucked his ghillie blanket under his arm, and ran into the compound.

He headed straight for Soong's barracks. A dozen guards, many still in their long underwear, were stumbling out of bunkroom barracks, staring at the smoke and flames.

“
Huo zai
!”
someone shouted. Fire!
“Huo zai
!”

“The hangar's in danger!” another voice called. “Someone get the pilot, hurry!”

Tanner strode up to the group and gestured wildly. “Move it! Move, move!”

The men hesitated for a moment, then scrambled in different directions.

Tanner kept jogging, mounted the barracks steps, and pushed through the door. A pair of men rushed past him into the compound. Mentally following Hsiao's map, Tanner turned left down the hallway, then right, then left again. Before him lay a door labeled with Mandarin characters. He could only decipher one word, but it was enough: “sublevel.”

He backed up a few feet, threw a flash bomb down the hallway, then pushed through the door and trotted down the steps to the sublevel.

It was quiet here, the earthen walls absorbing all but a few shouts from above. He took a moment to get his bearings, then started jogging.
Right
…
left
…
another left
…

He turned the corner and skidded to a halt. He was standing in a short hallway at the end of which was a lone wooden door. On each side of the jamb stood a paratrooper, an AK-47 across each body. They eyed Tanner with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

“
Ni shi shei
?”
one of them asked.
Who are you
?
State your business.

“The camp's on fire!” Tanner shouted through his mask. “Get the general!”

He started toward the door, but one of the paratroopers moved to block him. “No one enters, but the camp commander, you know that!”

Out of choices,
Briggs thought. He threw up his hands.
“Er bei wu
!”
I'll find him
!

He turned, jogged down the hall and around the corner. He stopped, jammed his hand inside the blanket, and gripped the revolver.
Gotta be quick
…
can't miss
…
four shots,
two apiece
…

He took a breath, spun around the corner. He took two bounding steps, dropped to one knee.

Muffled by the blanket, the revolver's report was barely audible. He fired twice into the nearest paratrooper's chest, then adjusted his aim and put two more into the second man. They both crumpled.

Tanner tossed away the revolver and snatched up one of their AKs. He fired a three-round burst into the door's top hinge, then the bottom. With a crash, the door dropped off its hinges and swung inward, ripping the knob and lock out of the jamb as it fell.

Tanner stepped through the door.

Curled into a ball in the corner was General Han Soong. He stared wide-eyed at Tanner. “What?” he cried. “What is it?”

Seeing his friend, this once proud man, huddled like a frightened child, filled Briggs's chest with emotion.
My God,
what had they done to him
?
He ripped off his gas mask. “Hello, Han.”

Soong blinked once, then again. “Briggs? My God, Briggs …”

Tanner walked over and knelt beside him. “Good to see you again.”

“And you!”

“Feel up to a little traveling?”

“Yes, of course. My God, yes!”

“Then we better move; we haven't got much time.”

“What about Lian? I have no idea where they're keeping her! Briggs, I can't leave without—”

“You won't have to. She's here.”

“Here? What do you mean? I don't—”

“Later, Han. We have to go—
now.
”

“Of course. What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Play dead.”

With Soong dangling over his shoulder and covered by the ghillie blanket, Tanner climbed the stairwell to the main floor, retraced his steps to the entrance, and charged into the compound.

The garage and the storage sheds were fully engulfed. Despite the coveralls, he could feel the heat of the flames on his skin. Black smoke roiled across the compound, so thick he could see little past the few feet before him. The guard towers had turned their spotlights onto the garage and burning embers and ash swirled in the beams. Bodies rushed by on all sides, fading in and out of the smoke. Someone jostled him from behind, then was gone. Disembodied voices called out to one another.

From across the compound he heard another turbo-shaft engine grinding to a start.
The Hoplite.
Following procedure, the camp's pilot and ground team were moving the helicopter from the imperiled hangar and warming up the engines should it need to be evacuated.

Using the sound as his guide, Tanner pushed on through the smoke. As he passed the garage, a man in red coveralls and a gas mask—the leader of the fire team, Tanner assumed—grabbed his arm. “You! Where are you going?”

Tanner shouted a garbled response, then jerked his thumb at Soong's limp body and kept going.

“Wait! Come back here!”

After ten more paces he felt his feet hit concrete.
The landing pad.
He adjusted course and a few seconds later the hangar doors materialized out of the smoke.

The nose and most of the cockpit of the Hoplite were halfway out the doors. Two soldiers—one of them Hsiao—were bent over the nose wheel's tow bar, struggling to pull the Hoplite onto the pad. Tanner ran around to the already open cabin door.

The pilot jerked around in his seat. “Hey!”

“Injured!” Tanner shouted, and waved him back to the controls. He lay Soong on the cabin floor and tucked the AK beneath him. Briggs lifted the corner of his mask and pressed his mouth to Soong's ear, “Stay on your belly. Keep your face hidden. I'll be back.”

He followed the fence away from the garage until he saw a wooden wall off to his right. He turned toward it.
The control center.
He mounted the steps, pushed through the door, and started down the hall.
Radio room,
first door on the left
…

“You!” came a voice from behind. “I asked you, what are you doing?”

Tanner turned. The fire-team leader stood in the open door. Briggs again shouted nonsense and turned to go. The man chased after him. “Stop right there! Who are you? Show me your face!”

Tanner turned, took a quick step toward the man, and kicked. The top of his foot slammed into the man's knee, shattering the joint. As he screamed and fell forward, Tanner met him, slamming his knee into the center of his forehead. He toppled over sideways and went limp.

“Hey!
Hey
!”

Briggs turned. Standing outside the radio-room door was a guard. In his left hand he held a Makarov 9 mm pistol. “Stop right there! Don't move!”

Ten miles to the southwest, Xiang's hind was landing on the road beside the ravine. As soon as the skids touched the dirt, Shen and his men jumped to the ground and scrambled down the bank and into the ravine.

Barely aware of his surroundings, Xiang remained sitting in the cabin.
Something's not right about this
…
what is it
?
Think
!
What had Corporal Wujan said?
“One of Shen's men had called
…” Not radioed—
called
!
Was it a slip of the tongue?

Xiang got up and walked into the cockpit. “Contact the camp, get a status report!”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot replied. Ten seconds later. “Sir, there's no answer.”

No,
no,
no
…

Panting, Shen appeared in the Hind's doorway. “There's nothing down there!”

“I know,” Xiang growled. “That bastard! Damn him! Get your men—”

“What the hell is that?” the pilot cried, pointing out the window.

To the northeast, an orange glow hung over the treetops.

“Get your men aboard!” Xiang shouted. “He's set the damned camp on fire!”

Tanner gauged the distance between himself and the man.
Too far.
He'd be dead before he made it halfway. Briggs noticed the corporal's patch on the man's sleeve.
Wujan
…

“Wujan, help me!” Tanner cried. Pointing a finger at the fire chiefs body, he pressed his back against the wall and began sliding toward Wujan. “That's … that's the American!”

“What? He's—”

From the corner of his eye, Briggs saw Wujan's gun hand droop ever so slightly. He snapped his hand forward, grabbed Wujan's wrist in an overhand grip, and wrenched. As Wujan stumbled forward, Tanner hit him, driving his fist into the point where his jaw met his ear. Wujan slumped forward, unconscious.

Tanner took the gun, stuffed it into his pocket, and stepped into the radio room. He pulled out his next-to-last flash bomb and threw it against the wall above the radio set. Liquid fire splashed, over the set and ignited the wooden table. Briggs ran back into the hall.

There were two remaining doors, both on the right side.

Briggs pushed open the first one: mops, buckets brooms … He moved to the next door and turned the knob. It was locked. He backed against the wall and slammed his heel against the knob plate. The wood splintered, but held. He kicked again, then a third time. The jamb tore loose. The door swung open.

Heart in his throat, Tanner rushed inside.

Lian Soong sat in a wooden, hardback chair in the center of the room with her hands clasped in her lap. Though it had been twelve years since Tanner had last seen her, she seemed to have changed very little: petite, smooth, white skin, silken black hair … My
God,
Lian
…

She stared up at him with an expression Tanner could only describe as apathetic.
She no longer cared,
he thought. Broken and obedient, she was resigned to the course her life had taken.
What had they done to her
?
To both of them
?

Briggs took off his mask. “Lian, it's me. It's Briggs.”

Her eyes went wide for a moment, then she cocked her head. “Briggs.”

Not a question, but a statement.

“Yes, Lian. I have your father outside. We're getting out of here. All of us.”

“Briggs,” Lian repeated, as though reconnecting memories in her mind. “It's you.”

Tanner stepped forward and knelt before her. He took her hands in his own. “It's me.”

Lian looked into his eyes, then smiled tentatively. “He told me you were coming back for us.”

As with her father, Tanner draped Lian over his shoulder, then ran into the hall. Gray smoke poured from the radio-room door. One wall and part of the ceiling was aflame. He ran out the door, down the steps, and into the compound. He sprinted through the smoke, dodging bodies, until he reached the landing pad. The Hoplite was there, rotors turning at idle. Busy checking gauges, the pilot never saw him climb into the cabin. He laid Lian on the cabin floor next to her father.