Fortunately the York didn’t attack the marines. It ignored them and ran by, limping slightly, using its hand on whatever was handy to help stay balanced.
Jake ran through the metal detector at the main entrance, blasted through a group of American tourists waiting to talk to consulate personnel about leaving Hong Kong, and on out the front door.
The York was four seconds behind him.
“Jesus!” one tourist exclaimed to a marine guard. “What in hell was that?”
“A York unit,” the sergeant replied.
“Who was it chasing?” the tourist’s wife asked.
“That is our new charge d’affaires.”
“Oh, Lord,” the woman moaned. “Why in the world did we ever leave Moline?”
There wasn’t much traffic, so Jake sprinted across the street without breaking stride and ran into the next building, a huge office tower. The entire first floor consisted of a variety of shops, the interior walls of which were floor-to-ceiling glass. The effect was stunning.
Jake Grafton glanced over his shoulder, checking that the York wasn’t too close, then dashed into a shop that had an exterior exit.
Sure enough, the York attempted to cut the corner and smashed into the glass, which literally exploded from the impact.
Shards of glass flew everywhere as screaming shop girls dove for cover. The York stumbled, went to its knees. Jake hit the bar for the outside door, triggering an alarm, and blasted on through.
In the center of the reception area of the next building was a large pool filled with giant Japanese goldfish. Water trickled in from a slime-covered waterfall. The whole thing was ringed with a variety of stunning tropical flowers.
Jake leaped to a small rock in the center of the pool, then leaped on across to the other side.
Charlie York tried to make the same leap… and fell into the pool.
With legs and arm churning, it rose, slime dripping from the barrels of its minigun, and splashed wildly after Grafton, who gained three or four seconds on the York.
The next building was the hotel. The doorman shouted at Jake as he ran toward him, but the uniformed man cleared out of the way when he saw the York coming, still decorated with green pond slime.
People in the hotel lobby ran for cover, screaming, shouting, getting behind whatever was handy as Jake ran by, looking for a sign or symbol that might indicate the pool’s location.
He slowed as he went by the front desk. “Where’s the pool?” he roared at the little squad of clerks in their bright red blazers.
One of them pointed toward the rear of the hotel.
Jake ran that way.
He saw a short stairs, then a double door. Aha! A sign.
Two turns, one more door, and he found himself on the edge of a large swimming pool. He went around one side, slowed to a walk. His chest was heaving. Fortunately there was no one in the pool.
The York blasted through the door, slamming it open.
It saw Jake, started for him, then slowed, its head turning back and forth, scanning.
It came to a halt two yards past the shallow end, on the side opposite Grafton.
“Smart,” Jake muttered. “The damned thing is too smart.”
Obviously the York appreciated the dilemma. Regardless of which way it chose to approach Grafton, he could escape by going in the other direction. He could even escape by jumping in the water.
Unless the York could swim.
Naw! Four hundred-plus pounds of titanium and hydraulic fluid, Kevlar and computer chips?
The York began moving forward, toward the deep end of the pool. It removed a pole the maintenance personnel used to vacuum the bottom of the pole from its hook on the wall.
The pole was far too short to reach. Apparently the York realized that fact, for it cocked its arm to throw the pole like a javelin. The butt end of the pole hit the wall behind the York.
Charlie York moved toward the shallow end, where there was more room to throw the thing.
Jake retreated toward the deep end. He suspected the York could heave that light pole with excellent velocity, and he wanted all the distance he could get.
He was right. The pole came like a Zulu spear and nearly got him.
When it realized the pole had missed, the York bent down and began breaking off tile with its claws. Then it backhanded the pieces the length of the pool at Jake.
He misjudged the first one, which almost got him on the arm.
The odds were with the York. It had him trapped.
How long would it keep this up? How much of a charge was on its battery?
Enough, apparently.
Jake dodged piece after piece of tile.
Then the door flew open and Tommy Carmellini and Tiger Cole came blasting through. They had power cords in their arms.
Callie was right behind them.
The two men stopped dead, sized up the situation, then began looking around for a place to plug in the cords.
The York half turned, watched them, waiting — probably — for threatening behavior, which didn’t seem to be coming.
As it turned its head to check Jake’s location, Callie charged the thing. She hit it in the side with her shoulder, her legs driving as if she were an all-pro tackle taking out a nose guard. She heard Jake’s shout, then the force of her charge carried her and the York into the pool, where they hit with a mighty splash.
Foam welled up, obscuring the water.
Jake ran around the pool toward them. If the York got hold of her…
He hit the water in a running dive.
He was stroking toward them when he saw Callie’s head break water.
The York had used its hand to get itself erect, its feet on the bottom.
As it stood it saw Jake swimming toward it.
And went for him.
“Get out of the damn pool,” Cole shouted.
Grafton managed to turn, to stroke toward the deep end. Over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of Callie climbing from the water.
The York followed Jake, walking on the bottom.
It went deeper and deeper, reaching for the man, who couldn’t see how far behind the York was.
Terror flooded him. He was so tired.
“Get out of the damn pool!” It was Cole, shouting again.
Jake got to the end, reached up for the edge with both hands, and heaved himself up, out of the water.
The York was only ten feet behind. Its stalk was the only part that protruded above the water.
As Grafton got his feet out of the water, Cole threw one end of a plugged-in extension cord into the pool.
The York kept coming. There was just too much water and too little current.
It reached the end of the pool, turned, and started for the ladder in the corner.
“The damned thing is going to climb outta there,” Jake shouted. “Get that cord out of the water and bring me a female end.”
Carmellini ran down the side, meeting Jake halfway. The hundred-foot cord was plugged into a socket near the door to the room and appeared to be long enough.
Jake ran back toward the York, which was slowly and laboriously trying to climb the ladder with one hand.
It slipped and fell back in.
Jake slowed, walked the rest of the way.
The York grasped the top of the ladder railing with its only hand and climbed the first two steps. Now it needed to release its hold on the top of the railing while it balanced itself and get a new hold farther back so it could complete its climb. This was where it fell the last time.
This time it slid its hand along the railing…
The damn thing had an uncanny ability to learn.
It was going to get up the ladder, onto the concrete…
Jake leaned in from the right side, the side with the missing arm, and jabbed the female end of the extension cord into the receptacle on its back.
The York froze, half in, half out of the water.
It had gone into its rest cycle.
Callie ran toward him. Jake turned and caught her as she threw herself into his arms.