Don Pendleton - Stealth Sweep

With a ping the elevator opened, revealing a big sign in the hallway that stated there was a hundred dollar fine for loud talking. More doors lined this corridor, but these were different from the working rooms downstairs. These doors had locks and peepholes.

“How many on staff these days?” Bolan asked, looking down the long corridor.

“Thirty,” Tsai replied, pulling a key out of her cleavage and unlocking a door. “Well, twenty-nine, actually. My roommate, Lu-Ann, is out with the flu.”

“The nine-month flu?”

“No, just the plain flu.” Tsai laughed and she opened the door. “Sneezing and sniffling and such.”

“Send her my best.” Stepping inside, Bolan relaxed his stance slightly when he saw the room was empty. Bookcases full of paperbacks and CD jewel cases lined the walls, and off to the side, a big-screen TV was set before a curved sofa. The screen was dark, but the DVR underneath steadily counted down as if recording something unseen. There were two beds, at opposite ends of the room, and an open door showed a small bathroom decorated with light blue tiles.

“Welcome to the inner sanctum,” Tsai said, closing the door and locking it. “No customers allowed.”

“Just friends?”

“Just friends, and damn few of those.”

“I’m honored.”

Although quite small, the room was very clean, and clearly not designed to entertain clients. There was an easy chair by the window, and a laptop was humming. In the corner was a dresser piled high with folded laundry.

“Okay, who’s trying to kill you?” Tsai asked, going to the liquor cabinet and starting to make drinks.

“Best not to ask,” Bolan stated, sliding of his jacket. “None for me, thanks.”

“No?”

“Working.”

Glancing in a mirror, Tsai arched an eyebrow at the weapons on display, but said nothing.

“I need some guns.”

“More than those?” the madam asked.

“Better ones, if possible.”

“Well, I have a fairly decent armory in the office,” she said, thoughtfully biting a lip. “But I know where you can get more. Military stuff, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, thought so. Well, the Tong hasn’t given me any problems for years, but I like to stay prepared.”

“Very wise.”

“I’ll send a girl to bring a map.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“A boat, small, fast, disposable.”

Turning to the left, Tsai saw the electric glow of China in the far distance and opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind.

“When do you want it?” she asked softly.

“As soon as possible.”

“Then I had better get moving.”

Yangtze River Valley, Red China

“No! Please!” Colonel Weng Pei pleaded. “I had to act. Choi Lei at the CIA station said that a specialist was coming from America to deal with something big. He had to be eliminated.”

“Shut up,” Major Shen-wa Fen muttered, slashing his knife along the man’s throat.

As a torrent of hot blood gushed forth, the major pushed his gurgling commander out of the hovering Z-8 transport helicopter.

“You contemptible fool,” Shen-wa said in annoyance, cleaning the blade on a rag as he watched the hurtling body vanish into the thick forest below. “Who told him to move on the intel provided by our insider and lay a trap for the CIA agent? I want the Americans stonewalled, learning nothing as they rush about Hong Kong from one false lead to another until they meet the Lucky Lady!”

“Mice in a maze,” Sergeant Ming Bohai rumbled from the cockpit, angling the military helicopter away from the rolling forest and back toward home base.

Sheathing the blade, Shen-wa nodded. “Exactly! But now…”

Annoyed, he looked out the window, lost in his private thoughts. Was the plan compromised? He didn’t think so, which was lucky, because at this point it would be nearly impossible to stop. After five long years of planning, everything was dovetailing into place, and he wouldn’t allow anything to get in his way. Certainly not some hot-snot nephew of a politician, a fat fool who had never fired a weapon in combat, and earned his rank by throwing elaborate parties and kissing ass.

No wonder the world hates China, Shen-wa noted, leaning back in the jump seat. We’re a joke. As corrupt as the Americans and as decadent as the Russians.

Pulling a small ironwood pipe from the breast pocket of his uniform, Shen-wa tucked it contentedly into his mouth. Sadly, he couldn’t light the pipe, as smoking was strictly forbidden on board the helicopter. Something about the smoke bothering the advanced electronics. Still, having the stem between his teeth gave him no small measure of comfort, and it was an aid to clear thinking. How had a CIA agent been dispatched to Hong Kong so fast? What did the spy agency know?

Unlike most of the executive operatives in Red Star, the major was a tall, handsome man with perfectly combed hair, and the smile of a Beijing movie star. He always spoke softly, rarely above a whisper, yet combat veterans jumped as if he were cracking a whip. Nobody in the Central Military Command really understood how the major achieved the effect, not even the president, and every attempt to duplicate it had failed miserably. The aura of command radiating from Shen-wa was a natural talent, and had caused quite a lot of resentment in the regular army. His transfer from counterintelligence into the covert division of the Red Star had been as expected as rain in the spring—normal, natural and to everyone’s benefit.

“Sir, can the damage be repaired?” Ming asked, swinging away from the new high-tension powerline towers jutting up from the forest like the skeleton hands of dead robots.

“Most certainly, old friend,” Shen-wa replied, smiling around the pipe. “We’re fine. For the moment, at least. Your prompt action in telling me about this saved us all. It has helped save China itself.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” Ming demurred, leveling the helicopter so as not to draw unwanted attention from the workers below.

Childhood hadn’t been kind to the sergeant in many ways. It gave him a face from hell, and had started him on the twisted path to his present employment. Unusual for a race known for its rather compact stature, Ming was a hulking giant, well over seven feet tall and with shoulders as broad as a Tibetan ox. His fingers were so large he had to remove the trigger guard from his service pistol to operate the weapon, yet he flew helicopters with smooth precision.

“We’re all just doing our jobs,” Shen-wa said, lost in thought. The CIA…the CIA…why did that keep echoing in his mind?

Lost in contemplation, he made no further comments as the sergeant expertly piloted the helicopter over the small town of Sandooping, and then proceed up the river toward the gigantic Three Gorges Dam.

Finished only a few years earlier, the Three Gorges facility was the largest dam in the world, with twenty-seven hydroelectric generators fully capable of supplying power to half of China. Once, he had read the exact figures of how much voltage it generated, but then promptly forgot the number. He wasn’t overly interested in statistics, only results. The dam had cost thirteen billion euros to build, and so it had been relatively easy for him to siphon off a decent chunk of the funds for Project Keyhome.

The Three Gorges Dam was so huge that it had a series of locks alongside, elevators for cargo ships, and could lift entire oceangoing vessels from the lower runoff located at the bottom, to the vast lake on top. No other dam in the world could do that, and the fact was a constant source of pride for the major. The Chinese had always been creators, inventing black powder, rockets, the compass, and a host of other items that made modern life possible.