Jian laughed grimly. “So be it. I cannot wait for Deng to strike at me. Because he has political power, do I let him plot and execute his assassinations with impunity? No! They made their play. Now, I am about to make mine. Take Marshal Kao into police custody and shoot him in the deepest basement you can find.”
“Yes, Leader,” Xiao said.
“Once you have Deng Fong…use your best doctor. Inject the Foreign Minister with something to bring about a heart attack. We will say you learned of a death plot and hurried to his quarters to warn him. Alas, you were too late and found him beyond recovery.”
“I doubt anyone will believe our story.”
“Perhaps not,” Jian said, “but it will give them a way to save face. People believe Marshal Kao is my man. I thought he was too, until this commando raid left his protégée in control of the First Front. The Japanese leaders and our Southeast Asian allies will not link these two deaths together. Who knows what Germans think? They are a mystery to me.”
“Leader, these… deaths will damage our war effort at a critical time.”
“Not necessarily,” Jian said. “These undercurrents have no doubt sapped Army morale all along and we weren’t even aware of it. Unity of effort is a critical component of successfully waged war. With Deng gone and Kao out of the way, we can prosecute the rest of the North American conquest with singleness of purpose.”
Xiao nodded, albeit with seeming reluctance.
“You have your orders, Police Minister. Now go, eliminate these saboteurs for the good of Greater China.”
“I need the code word, Leader.”
Jian Hong gave it to him.
Xiao turned smartly and marched out of the study.
As the door closed, Jian felt the restlessness surge in him. Yet he sat down, as he was weary. This was a grave risk, and it could cause unforeseen political turmoil. But he had to strike. Otherwise, he would be a fool, waiting for his enemies to finish him. Once in the highest office, one was never completely secure. The death of the Old Chairman proved that.
Jian flexed his hands. He had shot the old man himself while visiting him in the deepest bunker. It had been the hardest thing he had ever done.
What should we do in California?
Jian massaged his forehead. Nung was dead and Kao soon would be. Yes, to confound his enemies, he would let them have Marshal Gang in the First Front. But he would strip the marshal of power by ending the great assault. Jian smiled cruelly. He would remove one of the reserve armies, sending it back to the Second Front. Yes, he would let Marshal Gang employ the old method of heavy artillery bombardments combined with a creeping infantry assault. That would necessitate time for reorganization, which would mean an end to Nung’s strategy.
Jian breathed deeply. His enemies had slaughtered poor Marshal Nung. He been a great fighter, a worthy soldier and officer. China would mourn him. Yes, he would give Marshal Nung a splendid State funeral and would deliver the oration himself. Through Nung, China had pulverized the Americans and destroyed masses of air power. Now it was time to look elsewhere on the continent for ultimate victory.
Nung was gone. Gang could wither on the vine and therefore be taken out of play. His enemies thought they could outmaneuver him. No. He was too cunning for them, able to see through their subterfuge and more than willing to act decisively.
By first light today, Deng and Kao would be dead. He would need replacements for them on the Ruling Committee. He would have to give his enemies a place at the table. Yes, it was wise to give them a spokesman. Now he would have to redouble his Lion Guardsman, as many of his secret enemies would yearn even more to assassinate him.
Am I acting wisely? The restlessness stirred in his heart. They burned Marshal Nung. If they hadn’t burned him, I might have missed the clue.
“Your hatred foiled you, Kao. You should have kept to your charts and battle maps.”
Paul Kavanagh helped Romo sit on a large rock. The assassin’s left arm was in a sling. A bullet had torn muscle and put the man into a state of shock.
Neither of them wore body armor anymore, having shed it long ago. Both were battered, Romo more so.
Paul grunted as he sat on the ground, putting his back against the rock. He unclipped a canteen, unscrewed the cap and took two swallows of water. He held it out to his blood brother.
Romo gripped the canteen and drank greedily. The assassin gasped and handed the empty canteen back.
“What…” Romo licked his lips. “Where are the others?”
Paul closed his eyes. The others were dead, including Donovan. Getting out of the bunker and then the compound…Donovan had remained behind with a heavy machine gun, covering their escape. The Green Beret had been shot in the leg and he’d realized he had been as good as dead.
“I’m too old for this,” Paul said.
“Si.”
Paul checked his watch. They didn’t have much time left. He forced himself up and gripped Romo’s good arm.
“Leave me,” the assassin said. “I’m too tired.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Paul dragged Romo to his feet.
They walked until nightfall, and they reached the rendezvous area. Paul clicked the communicator, and it guided him to a hidden drone.
“Do you believe that?” Paul asked, staring at the tiny aircraft.
Romo was feverish, and although he had his eyes open, he likely didn’t see anything.
Paul guided Romo inside, buckled in and the portal snapped shut. Ten second later, the ultra-stealth drone buzzed into life and lifted.
“Looks like we’re going home,” Paul said.
Romo muttered, shaking his head.
“What did you say?” Paul asked.
“I have no home. I am a man adrift.”
“You’re my blood brother, amigo. I’m going to introduce you to my wife and son. You’re always going to be welcome in my home.”
Juan Romo let his head slump back as he closed his eyes.
Feeling his pulse—it was beating strong—Paul decided not to worry about the assassin right now. Against all odds, he was alive. He was going home and he would go AWOL if they didn’t let him see his wife. Had this stunt slowed the Chinese advance? He didn’t know. He’d find out soon enough.
Paul Kavanagh made himself comfortable, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Several days later it ended where it had begun, with Colonel Peng of the Fifth Transport Division. He was tired from endless weeks of work. There was a lull right now with the change of command, so he had taken the opportunity to use his special pass.
The lovely Donna Cruz had sent him a written message. It was just like her to pen this little love note. She was a romantic girl, and her ass was so delicious. Peng had been thinking about it ever since the last time they had made love.
It was true it had been a crudely written note, at least in terms of penmanship. She had also written it in Spanish. It would have been too much to expect her to write with Chinese characters. This was a land of barbarians, after all, even if very beautiful and sexual barbarians.
Peng turned the wheel of his jeep and entered the Coco Hotel parking lot. Vines snaked up the posts at the head of each parking space. A few of the vines displayed beautiful purple flowers.
She had mailed him the card-key and said she would be ready for him at 11:00 AM sharp. Smiling, Peng eased his jeep into a slot, shut off the engine and picked up his box of chocolates. Inside was a thousand pesos. He knew she still suffered from the abortion. Maybe he shouldn’t have forced it on her. Guilt had driven him. If Donna had a child, Peng knew he would feel compelled to help raise it. He could barely afford Donna and continue to send his own mother enough money. If he also had to support a child—no, it would be too much.