“I was pretty worried, too,” she whispered. “I kept thinking there was something I should be doing to get out, and I finally calmed down when I realized you’d come for me if you could. Jake Grafton was my ticket out.”
“You’re one tough broad, Callie Grafton.”
“It’s crazy to tell you this: I knew you’d come. I could feel your presence.” She was going to say more, but he lowered his mouth on hers and the thought got lost somewhere.
It turned out he wasn’t too tired and she wasn’t too sore.
Afterward, as they lay back-to-back, she remarked, “That’s the first time I ever took a bath in a whorehouse,” but her husband didn’t respond. He was already asleep.
An hour later the telephone rang. After he grappled with the thing, Jake managed to get it up to his ear.
“Grafton.”
“That call you were expecting from the states is on line two, sir. Before you answer it… we just received a flash message appointing you the American chargé d’affaires in Hong Kong. Orders are coming via satellite now — tomorrow afternoon the American and British navies are bringing a half dozen ships to evacuate non-Chinese citizens who wish to leave.”
Jake took a few seconds to digest all that, then said, “Who is on line two?”
“The Secretary of State, sir.”
“Thanks.” Jake sat up in bed, turned on the light, then pushed the button for line two.
He gave Callie the news while he dressed.
“Oh, Jake, I wanted to go home, too.”
“It’ll be a few weeks, at least, the Secretary said. The main thing is to get out the non-Chinese people who want to leave.”
“Will that be many people?”
“Who knows?” he said as he strapped on the ankle holster. “The real question is what the Communists will do. I assume the rebels will leave Hong Kong soon. Maybe the Communists will try to retake the city. Maybe they’ll sail their navy down here and assault the place. I don’t know and neither does anyone in Washington. On the other hand, if the Chinese try something big the recon satellites will pick it up and Washington will give us a warning — a few hours, anyway — for whatever that’s worth.” He reached for the shoulder holster, decided he didn’t want to wear the heavy Colt, then changed his mind and put it on.
“Some of the Americans won’t leave,” Callie said. “And you know that a lot of the British and Australians will refuse to go. This is their home.”
“They stay at their own risk. They’re betting Wu Tai Kwong and Tiger Cole can protect them. In my opinion, that isn’t a very good bet.”
He bent over and kissed her. “Get some sleep. If I’m going to be responsible for the way the consulate staff performs, I’d better find out what they’re up to.”
“I’m not leaving this city without you,” she told him as he started out the door.
Jake grinned at her. “I didn’t figure you would.”
Callie didn’t think she could get back to sleep, but she was so exhausted she soon drifted off.
The sun was up and Jake Grafton was drinking coffee at Tiger Cole’s desk in the consul general’s office when the rebels walked into the army base. He was on the satellite telephone to the State Department when the television showed Governor Sun Siu Ki being torn to pieces by the mob.
The power was on throughout the city, so everyone in Hong Kong who wasn’t in the streets got to watch the rebels’ final victory.
When the conversation with Washington was over, Jake Grafton went to the window and pulled back the drapes so that the morning sun shone full in the office. He was standing at the window looking out when he heard a voice at the door. Tommy Carmellini, sporting a bandage on his head.
“Just the man I wanted to see. Come in and drink a cup of coffee.”
“I hear you’re now the head hoo-ha around here.”
“Yep. You’re still working for me.”
“I dunno, Admiral, if I’m up to it. Another night like the last one and I’ll be a hospital case.”
“Thanks, Tommy, for everything. You saved my wife’s life when you figured out that Kent was up to her eyeballs in this mess.”
Carmellini was still there when Callie came in.
“Did you get some sleep?” she asked her husband.
“No.”
He kissed her and held her awhile before he told her that the rebels had won in Hong Kong. The city was theirs. “At least for a little while,” he added under his breath.
The three of them were eating breakfast when the secretary buzzed and announced Cole.
He breezed in, dirty and tired and elated.
“We’ve won the first campaign,” he told them.
“Congratulations.”
“And congratulations to you,” he said to Jake. “The secretary said you are now the charge d’affaires.”
“I’m moving right up the ladder. Who knows how high I’ll go? How about some breakfast?”
“I’m starved. Order me some while I tell you all about it.”
Jake picked up the telephone and dialed the kitchen. When he hung up, he waited for Cole to finish his summation of the night’s adventures, then told him, “A federal grand jury in Washington has issued a warrant for your arrest. Washington announced it an hour ago. You are officially a fugitive.”
Cole shrugged. “I volunteered. I’ll live with it.”
“So where do you guys go from here?”
“Shenzhen, which is a special economic zone right across the border. It’s actually sort of a suburb of Hong Kong. We’ll cross the bridge this evening and try to take the town. If all goes well, we’ll head for Canton in a day or so.”
“How are you going to get there?”
“The old-fashioned way — we’re walking. We’ll move the York units and our heavy weapons and ammo by truck, but the people will have to hoof it. We’ve got ten thousand men and women under arms, about half of them former soldiers who volunteered. With the trains out of commission, walking is our only viable option.”
“Can you win?” Callie asked. “Can you really topple the Communists?”
“If we can convince the people that the Communists have lost the mandate of heaven, the right to rule, then, Yes. Mao Tse Tung always said political power grows from the barrel of a gun, and he couldn’t have been more wrong. Every dictator who ever lived believed that fallacy. The truth is that power comes from the consent of the governed. So far the public reaction to the rebellion, at least in Hong Kong, has been better than anyone hoped. Wu always argued that the people were ready — events seem to be proving him correct.”
“You’ve bet your life that he was correct,” suggested Tommy Carmellini.
“Life is meant to be lived,” Cole replied and helped himself to a cup of coffee.
He grinned — a rarity for Tiger Cole — then offered a coffee toast, “To life and good friends, wherever they are.”
They were finishing their breakfast at the conference table by the window, enjoying the morning sun and their last hour together, when the secretary burst through the door. “Admiral, I’m sorry, but—”
He was knocked out of the way by Charlie York. The one-armed robot limped into the room and took up a position near the window, facing the three people around the breakfast table. A few wires hung from the robot’s shoulder where its arm had been attached, and the minigun turret was visibly damaged. The skin was spattered with a dark substance, probably a mixture of blood and mud.
Behind the robot came Sonny Wong and Kerry Kent. Kent’s nose was taped in position on her face. A portable York control unit hung from a strap around her neck.
Sonny Wong had a pistol in his hand, a nasty-looking automatic. He pointed it at Cole, then at Grafton, as he said, “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, my friends, but we owed you a social call.”