Invasion: Colorado (21 page)

“The mountain city?” Hong asked.

“Yes, Chairman Hong,” Shun Li said. “The Americans refer to it as the Mile High City. I read reports that made me suspicious, and I began to hunt down this secret, working from the slenderest of threads.”

“Do not puff yourself up in my presence,” Hong said.

Shun Li’s knees almost gave way so the fabric of her pants moved, but she didn’t sway. She found it difficult to speak.

“Continue,” Hong said. “Quit wasting our time.”

“Yes, Chairman Hong. I’m sorry.”

“Enough!” Hong complained to Xiao Yang. “Why doesn’t she get to the point?”

“Guardian Inspector,” Xiao Yang said in a stern voice. “You are embarrassing East Lightning by this crude performance and you waste the Leader’s valuable time. That is not permitted.”

Shun Li held herself rigid. It felt as if she was floating, a specimen before these dangerous old men. She needed to speak so she could leave this awful room and the hateful Ruling Committee.

“The Americans have built a massive Behemoth tank construction site in Denver, Colorado,” she said briskly. “With it, they churn out ten or more Behemoths a month. The American command is building several regiments to unleash upon us in mass and during the depth of winter.”

Shun Li could hardly breathe after blurting out the news, and she wished she could close her eyes. Slowly, it dawned on her that the chamber was silent. Without turning her head, she realized those in her line of sight stared at her in…shock.

“This is true?” Hong whispered.

Shun Li almost didn’t answer. She almost nodded. Instead, in a firm voice and while staring at the unseen point, she said, “It is true, Chairman Hong. I have the verification information.”

“Produce it at once,” Hong said.

Shun Li reached into a pocket and removed the memory-stick with the information.

“Well, begin,” Chairman Hong said in irritation.

Covertly, Xiao Yang tapped a slot at his spot on the table.

Shun Li slid the stick into the slot and wondered what to do next.

Xiao Yang indicated his screen.

While standing, Shun Li tapped the screen and began to show her forged information. Everyone in the chamber watched in silence. The data appeared on the large wall screens. Finally, she quit talking and once again stood at attention.

Slowly, Hong shook his head as if shaking off sleep. “Give me the data chip,” he said.

The Police Minister popped out the memory-stick and slid across the table.

Hong picked it up, staring at the stick as if it was a plague item. He pocketed it and glared at Shun Li, as if she was personally responsible for building the hated super tanks.

She felt worse than ever.
Can’t I win in this chamber?
Was she fated to leave it feet-first?

“You have performed well, Guardian Inspector,” Hong said.

The words amazed her. She felt giddy with relief. Maybe she would survive this nightmare.

“Even more,” Hong said, “you willingly brought this to my attention. You cannot conceive how much I hate these grotesque tanks. I wonder if we should use nuclear weapons and wipe this city from the face of the Earth.

“What do you say, Marshal Wu?” Hong asked.

“I think it is too dangerous to use nuclear weapons on inland American cities, Leader. Let us send in bombers and obliterate it the conventional way.”

“No,” Hong said. “This is too important. The Behemoth tanks are a critical American weapon system. I want this giant factory destroyed. No! Wait. Doesn’t Liang’s Third Front press against Denver?”

“Elements of the Third Front are near the city, yes,” Wu said.

“Then we must capture this plant and use the Behemoth tanks for ourselves,” Hong said. “If we can storm this city in a day or two, completed tanks might actually fall into our hands. Then, when the Americans use these vile tanks against us, we shall send our own Behemoths against them.”

“A noble plan, Leader,” Wu said.

Chairman Hong slapped the table. “Tell Liang he is to cease all forward movement. He must concentrate everything toward taking Denver.”

The Marshal looked stricken. “But Leader…” Wu cleared his throat and spoke in a level voice. “May I point out a salient feature of that order?”

Hong stared at the old man. “If you must,” he said at last.

“Denver is too small a front,” Wu said. “Perhaps if we use rear echelon troops to take it—”

“We must storm Denver
now
,” Hong said, slapping the table a second time. “I want those tanks!”

“But the entire Front…?” Wu asked. “The key to the campaign is a swift assault all the way to the northern border with Canada. We must split the United States in two.”

“Storming Denver should only take a day or so, maybe three or four,” Hong said. “That will not upset our northern assault.”

“Denver is a fortress city,” Wu said. “Liang and I have spoken about it on several occasions. He desires to mask the city with troops as it’s too heavily defended to assault with any hope of quick success.”

“Yes, now we know why the Americans have turned it into a fortress,” Hong said. “They defend this huge Behemoth plant. We must take it from them and turn it to our own advantage.”

Old Marshal Wu rubbed his hands, and he appeared nervous.

“What now?” Hong asked. “You seem displeased with my idea.”

“Leader, I know you are correct about the importance of the Behemoth plant. Yet the Americans are desperate to halt our swift advance north. They have been going to great lengths to blunt us.”

“Describe what ‘great lengths’ means,” Hong said. “Or are these just words to try to get me to change my mind?”

Wu beckoned to his aide, a major. The major marched to the table and stood stiffly at it as Shun Li had done.

“Chairman Hong,” the major said, “the Americans have begun a desperation assassination campaign against our best commanders. Due to their inability to face us head-to-head on the battlefield, the Americans have sent many assassination teams behind our lines. They hunt for our most aggressive commanders.”

“What proof do you have of this?” Hong asked.

The major inserted a memory-stick into the Marshal’s slot. He brought up a picture of a Chinese general. “This is General Cho Deng,” the major said. “Marshal Liang considers him the best pursuit commander in his Front. While inspecting his troops, an American-Mexican assassination team murdered him. It was their best team, Leader, Colonel Valdez’s most successful hit man together with an American legend from the Alaskan and Hawaiian campaigns.”

“We send commandos behind American lines,” Hong told Wu. “Why is this any different?”

“Yes, Leader, but this is much more serious,” Wu said. “The Americans must have spent weeks preparing for this hit. Worse, they have infiltrated our ranks with spies, just as we have done with theirs. The successful strike against Cho Deng proves it.”

“Bah,” Hong said.

“Leader,” Wu said. “I believe the importance lies in the American desperation. Because they chose Cho Deng, it shows they fear the deep drives more than any other maneuver. It seems as if the Americans are actually telling us what works best against them. In this case, we must spare no effort to continue a swift, brutal and intense drive to the north.”

“You will do just that,” Hong said, “after taking Denver.”

“I fear the fight against Denver might be long and protracted. As much as you want those Behemoths, surely the Americans will defend them just as hard.”

Chairman Hong looked away. He appeared thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. “There is wisdom in your words, Marshal. It likely will be a hard slog into Denver. And this sniper attack against Cho Deng…yes, there is wisdom in your words. Therefore, as of this moment, instruct Marshal Liang that he has a dual assignment. He must invest and take Denver and he must continue to drive north to the Canadian border. We will do both at once.”

Marshal Wu licked his lips.

To Shun Li it was an obscene performance, as the tip of his tongue appeared whitish and diseased. It seemed to her as if the old man wished to debate the Leader’s decision.

Chairman Hong scowled, and there seemed something different about it this time. “What is it
now
, Marshal?”

Maybe Marshal Wu noted the difference. His own mannerisms changed instantly as he nodded enthusiastically. “It is a brilliant idea, Leader. I would have simply driven north and expected Denver to fall to us because the Americans would retreat west from it. No, your idea is better than mine. I was taught the old tried and true strategies that will bring inevitable victory. Your way will—”

“Enough praise, Marshal Wu,” Hong said. “I am not a tyrant who demands my Ruling Committee colleagues to bow down and scrape to me. We have now decided what to do with Marshal Liang’s Third Front.” He rubbed his stomach. “I’m getting hungry and this meeting is taking too long. Therefore, let us move on to other matters, other Fronts.”

“Yes, Leader,” Wu said.

“To the east of Liang’s Front are the South Americans,” Hong said. “Firstly, let us agree…”

DENVER, COLORADO

Paul slept in the dark on a small sofa in Romo’s hospital room. The fever had finally broken and the man’s wounds were healing properly now. The doctor said he could leave tomorrow.

Romo snored softly. That’s how Paul knew his blood brother wasn’t quite one hundred percent. He had never snored in the field.

Paul tried to get comfortable. The cushions were okay; it was the sofa’s size that caused the problem, being too small for him. He had to curl his legs to lay on it. He liked to stretch his legs. Paul was almost ready to do that, letting them hang over the end, when the door to the room opened slowly.

Paul was groggy, but something about the person’s entrance alerted him. He opened his eyes wide, waiting for the lights to come on. They didn’t. Instead, the person moved in the darkness toward the softly snoring Romo.

Is this a hit? Is Colonel Valdez really that crazy and vengeful?

The person’s shoes creaked. Whoever it was stopped, waiting. Then, maybe even slower than before, the person stepped toward Romo. Paul heard the person’s clothes swish. They must be wearing hospital scrubs.

Paul decided being quiet was stupid. If this were Valdez’s assassin, the man would be ready and tense. Would he have a knife, a gun, a rope—Paul had no idea.

From on the sofa, Paul Kavanagh shouted. Then he rolled and hit the floor.

The distinctive sound of a suppressed bullet preceded that of a slug tearing into cushions. Paul didn’t hesitate, even though he flinched. He crawled on his hands and knees, rushing the assassin.

Two more suppressed shots sounded. One hit the sofa, while another struck the tiled floor beside Paul. Bits of debris stung him.

Paul
lunged
, straining to reach the assassin before he turned the gun on Romo. His shoulder crashed against metal.

Romo stopped snoring. The assassin cursed softly in Spanish.

Then Paul Kavanagh reached the assassin’s legs. Paul wrapped his arms around the man’s ankles and surged forward. Now the assassin shouted, while two more suppressed shots sounded. One bullet grazed Kavanagh’s back, then the assassin struck the floor. Paul crawled up, reaching forward with a hand. His left touched metal. He wrapped his fingers around a gun barrel and twisted it to the side. Three suppressed shots
phutted
, two of them ricocheting.

“Paul?” Romo asked from above him.

One of the assassin’s knees slammed upward—the man lay on his back, with Paul crawling over him. The knee caught Paul in the gut. Kavanagh’s responses became instinctive then—this was a fight to the death. He was hardly aware of the knife in his hand, that he’d pulled it out of its belt sheath. He twisted the muzzle away from him and thrust the blade forward. The tip hit resistance.

Paul shouted, driving the blade deeper. He felt the edge grind against bone. Twisting savagely, he heard a gurgle in the darkness. The man he struggled with began to thrash wildly as blood jetted onto Kavanagh.

The door opened again. Someone must have heard the commotion. The lights came on and a nurse screamed. She kept on screaming as Paul scrambled off the dying assassin.

His blade was sheathed in flesh. It had sunk under the man’s jaw and gone straight up, likely hitting the brainpan from underneath. It was a gruesome sight. So was Paul with the assassin’s blood dripping from him.

“Santiago?” Romo said. He peered down at the floor from his hospital bed.

“You know him?” Paul asked.

Romo switched his gaze, looking up at Paul. “Si, it is my friend, Santiago. He is the one who called to warn me. We used to…”

“He’s one of Valdez’s assassins?”

Romo nodded.

Two other nurses had entered. They each held the screamer, trying to calm her. With wide eyes, they looked at Paul.

“We’re moving the patient,” Paul told them. “That man tried to murder him and I just saved his life.” Paul pointed his thumb at Romo.

“It is true,” Romo said.

The way the nurses looked at them, none seemed to believe either man, but it didn’t seem as if they wanted to argue either.

OTTAWA, CANADA

Anna knew she was the wrong person for this. She couldn’t cow foreign dignitaries and certainly not their only ally, Prime Minister Roland of Canada. Nor did she feel herself as overly persuasive. So why had David insisted she be the one to go?

Prime Minster Roland of Canada massaged his forehead, with his elbows on his maple-wood desk. His hair receded, the dome of skull shiny up there, and he wore a black suit with a plaid bowtie. The man had worried eyes like the harried bureaucrat he was. His Liberal Party barely had enough seats in Parliament to give him his office. Maybe he felt this request would destroy his party’s hold on power.

It was snowing outside with thick, heavy flakes. In here, the heaters blew hot air. The chamber was rather small, made even cozier by the dark wood paneling and the rows upon rows of old books. The place had a musty odor, like Harvard’s oldest library used to have. Anna recalled the smell fondly, as she’d done much of her research there for her national bestseller,
Socialist-Nationalist China
. She’d learned that the Prime Minister was once a university professor. Maybe that’s why David had chosen her for the task, but she doubted that was the main reason.