Page 134

The man falls flat in the concrete corridor, his pistol skittering out beyond his hand, and Liam moves Benjamin so he’s facing the original position.
He heads to the stairwell, opens the door, starts thumping his way up the stairs, breathing hard through the air mask, the mask fogging up, obscuring his view but also hiding him from others who might take a close look at this particular fire brigade member.
One more flight.
Just a handful of stairs.
His chest feels like it’s going to burst.
Every step seems like Benjamin is gaining another pound.
He slams the door open. The first floor and reception are empty, but it’s hazy with the smoke, and Liam thinks that’s one hell of a barbecue Lin must have set.
Outside in the sunshine, he resists the strong temptation to tear off his air mask. He’s got to keep up the appearances and, above all, keep moving. There are small groups of consulate officials gathered, talking, pointing, some even smoking. Two large dark-red vans with flashing red lights on top are parked, and fire brigade members from the consulate—the real ones—are gearing up, pulling out air tanks and rolled-up hoses. He keeps on moving.
A childish thought but a real one:If I don’t look at them, they won’t look back at me. I’m invisible.
Now.
Around the small garage, Lin is standing there, her hands come up to her face, and, even covered, Liam sees the thankful smile.
She opens the rear door to the Mercedes and helps Liam roll off Benjamin and put him in the rear seat. Liam tugs off the helmet, rips off his face mask, loosens the straps, and shrugs off the air pack. He tosses it all onto the rear floorboard and gets the gloves off.
“Lin, give me the fob,” he says. “I’m driving. You sit back with Benjamin and see how badly hurt he is.”
He expects her to hesitate or object, so he’s surprised when the fob is tossed his way. Liam catches it and within seconds, she’s in the rear seat and he’s in the driver’s seat. The Mercedes starts up.
Liam lowers his head, drives out through the small area, past the groups of Chinese intelligence staff looking at him, and the two consulate fire brigade vans.
The open gate is ahead.
He clenches his hands on the steering wheel.
Just a few seconds more.
Close.
Two Chinese consulate workers come in from the outside sidewalk, dressed in gray business suits, both wearing eyeglasses,looking like standard-issue Chinese government bureaucrats, but these two are carrying QBZ-95 bullpup assault rifles slung over their shoulders.
Both hold up their hands and yell and bring up their respective rifles.
Liam stops. “Benjamin, hide your face, best as you can.”
Shit.
He could run them down but there was a good chance one of them would be able to fire off a burst from a thirty-round magazine and ventilate this Mercedes-Benz and its passengers.
The two men come closer, yelling louder. From behind him, Lin says, “Lower your window, Liam.”
He’s not sure why she’s made the request but he does so. Lin lowers her window as well, and starts yelling back at the two armed Chinese men.
Liam doesn’t know what they’re saying to each other, but it doesn’t look good.
Lin seems to focus on the armed man to the right. She’s pointing at him, raising her voice, and he matches her tone, syllable to syllable.
Then the second man moves around the front of the Mercedes, stepping closer, and Liam realizes both shooters are now on the same side of the car, and in a split second, knows what’s going to happen next.
Lin propels herself across the seat back, buries her hand in his coat pocket, comes out with his 10mm Glock, shoots the near man in the face, and fires off two more rounds that hit the second armed man in the chest.