While Driver phoned Shu Li, Bogner crossed Haifu Road to the people's market and headed for a cluster of cars parked near the playground. A group of young people were listening to a Chinese rock band on a small portable cassette player and discussing politics. From their mixed bag of mostly Western attire and stacks of books, Bogner guessed they were from the nearby university.
He located the Simca, opened the door, and saw the movement in the shadows from the streetlights all at the same time. There was no time to react. Kusava swung and the first blow caught him on the side of the head. Bogner slumped forward and the Russian's knee caught him flush in the face. There was an instantaneous taste of blood in his mouth as he reeled backward against the Simca. Even while he was going down, he could see Kusava's short, squat figure cock his arm for the encore. Bogner, spitting blood, hit the ground, rolled over, and managed to pivot most of his body under the Simca before he scissored his legs. He caught the Russian by surprise, cut his legs out from under him, and sent him sprawling.
By the time Bogner got to his feet, the Russian was already up but off balance, staggering, gasping for air. In the half-yellow light of the streetlamps, Bogner could see the small, snubnosed revolver. Kusava was gripping it with both hands, and dropping to his knee to steady his aim. He squeezed off two rounds, both tearing into the door of the Simca, before Bogner lunged and buried his shoulder in the Russian's soft midsection. The impact sent both men rolling toward the fountain.
Kusava was surprisingly quick. He managed to get off one more shot before Bogner rolled away, scrambled to his feet, and threw his best cross-body check on the Russian. Kusava grunted, staggered momentarily, and fell backward into the fountain. Bogner went after him, but this time the Russian was quicker. He heard the metallic click of the pin on an empty clip, and saw the Russian swing wildly with the barrel of the revolver. The intent was noted, but it was too late to get out of the way. Unlike the first one, this was no glancing blow; Kusava nailed him right on the side of the head.
Bogner doubled up in pain. The lights flickered, the world started spinning, and the darkness got darker. Bogner staggered, dropped to his knees, and felt the ground move. There was no air to breathe, and he felt himself pitching forward, out of control, into the rust-colored water of the fountain.
All of a sudden, the pain-filled world of Tobias Carrington Bogner made no sense to him. There was a discordant symphony of surreal sounds, a disturbing display of pyrotechnics, and a whole lot of confusion. He could see the young people running and the Russian bending over him. He could feel the blunt barrel of the revolver pressed against his forehead as Kusava pulled the trigger again and again. Each time there was a hollow click. The Russian's face slowly twisted into a mask of rage as he realized the clip was empty.
The only sound to get through to Bogner was a dull thud, a thick, muffled soundlike a hammer hitting meat. The Russian's eyes rolled back in his head and his body swayed momentarily before he crumpled forward on top of Bogner, pushing him down beneath the surface of the water. It was all deadweight, and Bogner, still dazed, struggled to get his head above water. Finally he broke through to the surface, sputtered, and saw Driver standing in the water beside him. For several seconds there was an uneven, almost childlike thrashing in the water, and Bogner finally realized that the struggling sounds were those of a man taking his last breaths. Driver was pressing his foot down on the dazed Russian's neck.
Finally, Kusava's struggle ended. All that was left were the sounds of Driver's labored breathing, the water cascading down from the top of the fountain, and the discordant sounds of a Chinese rock band.
Bogner sat up and tried to clear his head.
''Two times is one time too many," Driver said. "Leave the bastard there. Let the local gendarmes try to figure it out."
The gardens of Su Dongpo, named after the great Song Dynasty poet, had charmed Han Ki Po since the earliest days of his childhood. And it was ordained, Han believed, that following his days at the four academies in the north, he would return to his beloved homeland to do his writing, explicate his philosophy, and establish his long-cherished dream of a Fifth Academy.
Long at odds with the views of many of his country's leaders since the People's Revolution, Han Ki Po had in recent years become an outspoken critic of the economic policies of Chairman Mao, and now the more moderate views of the aging Kong Ho.
At eighty-two, he was still beguiled by the intoxicating scent of gardenias and chiwan blossoms in his rose garden. Sitting by the flickering gaslight next to the small statue of Ding Wei, his beloved mid-eleventh-century poet, Han Ki Po idly thumbed through the tattered copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War and allowed his thoughts to float on the fragrance-filled breezes.
The compound where Han had chosen to spend his declining years in Huangliu was situated high on a ridge overlooking a quiet inlet on Chuwan Bay. There, surrounded by a twelve-foot-high security fence, the Chairman of the Fifth Academy was protected by a thirty-five-man garrison under the command of Han Ki Po's eldest son, Han Xihui. The elder Han was under constant scrutiny because of his advanced years and failing health, and it was only in the late hours of the evening that he was permitted the pleasurable solitude of his garden.
Weary from his round of meetings earlier in the day and his return flight from Danjia, Han had permitted his trusted confidant Dung Lei Hong to retire early. He could maneuver his wheelchair himself for a while. Alone for the first time in days, he reflected on his thoughts.
Tang Ro Ji had arranged to arrive in the village of Huangliu in a small private plane. He landed at a private landing strip near Wunia, a fishing village north of Huangliu. From there a Wunia fisherman, under cover of darkness, took him to the Plei inlet at the base of the forty-foot cliffs reaching down from Han Ki Po's Fifth Academy compound.
Tang Ro Ji constantly checked the time; timing was critical. Quan had informed him that the Chairman usually retired at 2200 hours. It was now 2037. If the ever-present Dung Lei Hong was with Han, his task would be more difficult… and he would need the extra time. If he was in luck, and Han was being checked on hourly by one of the garrison guards, the task would be considerably easier.
Tang wasted little time thinking about the third possibility: the fact that the aging Chairman might be too weary after his long day to visit his beloved gardens before retiring.
The cliffs overlooking the inlet were steep, and Tang Ro Ji double-checked his equipment before he began his climb. Carefully trained by Quan's own guard garrison for just such a mission, he used the outcroppings and tangled vegetation to secure his holds and methodically work his way to the top. From the photographs Quan had shown him, he knew that there was a small ridge, just big enough to survey the gardens from, shielded by a dense growth of evergreens and shale bushes. From there, Tang Ro Ji knew he would be able to see the Su Dongpo fountain and the rosebushes near the place where the Chairman prayed. Since the fountain was lighted only by gas lanterns, Han would probably be close by.
He shimmied over the rim onto the ledge, and paused when he heard voices. Then he inched his way into the shale bushes and peered into the garden. He was in luck. Dung Lei Hong was nowhere in sight and he could see only one guard, a young soldier in full uniform. The guard stood a respectful distance from Han, and as far as Tang Ro Ji could see, the man was unarmed.