One thing was almost certain among the crews: The DF-31 East Wind ballistic missiles would be targeted at American soil.
"Drop your weapon," Zheng Yen-Tsung shouted, flipping on the light switch. "Drop it!"
Scott immediately recognized the man from his photograph. "Drop your weapon!" Zheng said. "Drop it now!"
Silently cursing his bad luck, Dalton allowed the Sig Sauer to fall to the floor as he swept the tiny radio from his left ear.
Zheng glanced at the armed guards accompanying him, allowing Scott a second to surreptitiously drop the radio behind him.
Smiling with mischief in his eyes, Zheng searched Scott's face. "You're a very predictable man, Mr. Dalton."
Scott remained quiet and dropped his flashlight.
"Very predictable indeed," ZhengYen-Tsung repeated with great satisfaction in his voice.
Scott was surprised that Zheng spoke English so fluently. He noticed the deep, reddish scar on the man's right hand. Part of his thumb and forefinger were missing. The wound was obviously the result of their close encounter in Pensacola.
"Put your hands on top of your head," Zheng ordered. "Now, before I blow your head off!"
Without any visible sign of emotion or fear, Scott complied while Dr. Cheung slowly backed away from the mud-caked American.
"I knew you would show up here," the ever-smiling Zheng said with a smug look. "You couldn't resist, could you?"
Scott kept his mouth shut.
"We've had you under surveillance — most of the time — from the moment you left the States. Now this building is being surrounded." He quietly laughed. "No place to go."
Scott glanced at the two uniformed guards standing in the doorway. The men were armed with AK-47s. Dalton had to get closer to Zheng. I wonder if there are any more guards in the building.
"That's why Dr. Cheung is still alive," Zheng crowed. "He's been our most potent bait."
The physicist blanched from mind-numbing panic, his brain racing for a solution, a formula to solve the equation of escape and evasion — survival at its basic foundation.
"Now I can get rid of the bait and the fish."
Although Scott didn't appear to be coiling for a strike, his adrenaline was flowing and his muscles were tense.
"There's just one other detail."
Scott looked him in the eye. "Catching the other fish."
"That's right." Zheng chuckled. "My people should have her in custody as we speak."
"I think you're dead wrong," Scott said in an even voice "In fact, I know you're wrong."
There was a moment of doubt in Zheng's eyes — a flash of uncertainty on his face.
"Check with your men," Scott taunted.
Zheng's veneer was beginning to crack as his face twisted into a cautious half-smile. "She'll be here shortly and you may not be alive to greet her before she dies."
Scott was waiting for the right moment to act, a flickering moment of inattention from the man with the mangled right hand. It had to be soon or the opportunities for escape would rapidly dwindle in the seconds, or perhaps minutes, he had left.
Zheng's smile turned into a crooked smirk. "Although you exposed our secret — our laser weapons program — you and Ms. Sullivan won't be causing us any more problems."
"She is about to cause you a major problem," Scott said in a confrontational tone of voice. It was just the right mix of bravado and smartass talk to provoke his quarry.
Switching his 9mm Beretta to his left hand, Zheng stepped toward Dalton and started to backhand him. Scott lunged forward so hard that he slammed the Chinese gangster straight through the door and knocked the guards down. Zheng stumbled backward and fell over the shocked men. Scott wrestled the Beretta from him and shot the three men in the legs, immobilizing them. He grabbed an AK-47, kicked the other weapon down the hallway, and then stuck the Beretta in the pocket of Cheung's raincoat. "Let's go!"
He scooped his Sig Sauer and the small radio off the floor and then picked up the satchel containing the hard drives. He slid the radio into a pocket in his fatigues and stuffed the satchel inside his body armor.
"Is there a way to get on the roof?" Scott asked Dr. Cheung. "Yes, follow me."
"Run!"
Cheung hurried up the stairs to the second floor and went into an office. "There's a fire escape next to this window," he said, yanking the sash open. "It's anchored on the roof."
"Start climbing," Dalton ordered. He retrieved the small radio from his fatigues and plugged it into his ear. He adjusted the short, thin microphone and tried to calm himself as he crawled out the window to follow Cheung.
"Eggbeater, Nighthawk."
"Nighthawk," came the instant reply. "Request a sitrep!"
"I have Cheung with me." Scott grabbed the rickety fire escape and looked up. "We're climbing onto the roof of the building adjacent to the apartments — know which one?"
"Yes — what the hell happened? I thought I heard gunfire."
"We had a surprise visitor."
A high-pitched alarm suddenly went off.
"This place is going to be crawling with—"
A burst of automatic gunfire ripped into the building and Dr. Cheung. Scott almost lost his grip on the AK-47 when Cheung plummeted into him and fell to the ground.
"Jackie," Scott said as he raced to the top of the roof in a hail of gunfire, "you gotta get here as fast as possible."
She turned toward Mianyang and accelerated. "I'm about seven miles northeast — use your flashlight to guide me in."
"I don't have it," Scott said, catching his breath. "I'll talk you down and give you covering fire."
"How many clips do you have?"
"Plenty, and I have an AK-47 with a hundred-shot magazine."
"I'm on my way."
"Copy."
She keyed her radio again. "Hang on."
"I'll do my best."
Soaked to the skin, Scott cringed when a staccato sound broke the endless wailing of the alarm. Rounds from several AK-47s began impacting the side of the building. The guards were firing at him from the roof of another two-story structure about eighty meters away.
Dalton heard another loud sound and peeked over the lip of the roof. A hook-and-ladder fire truck was pulling up to the building. "Eggbeater, say your posit."
"I'm about two minutes away."
"Hurry every chance you get." Scott reached for a grenade and placed it next to him.
"From what direction should I make my approach?"
Scott paused and looked around the area. "I'd say come in from the northeast and stay low."
Jackie checked the GPS. "Is there enough room to land on top of the roof, or do I need to hover?"
"You can land and I'll dive in."
There was a slight pause. "You have Dr. Cheung with you, right?"
"He's dead, but I have the info we need."
"I'll be there shortly."
"Keep your lights off."
"They're off."
Scott fired three clips from the Sig Sauer at the men on the other building and then retrieved the Heckler & Koch 9mm. He thought he heard the Agusta approaching at high speed.
"Come left a few degrees," Scott radioed.
The sky opened up and poured rain as if it were coming over a spillway.
"You're lookin' good — keep it coming."
"I've lost ground contact," Jackie said, feeling the first insidious effects of vertigo. Her instruments were telling her that she was flying straight and level while her senses were telling her she was in a slow turn.
"Scott, I'm going to have to use the searchlight."
"Okay, but keep moving forward."