Seeing his chance, the man had simply vanished.
6
Wong Xiang breathed hard as he rode the elevator to the National Monument’s viewing platform.
Who the hell were these people? The white guy had been protecting him, but why? It was obvious that the Asians weren’t so friendly, but Wong knew one thing for sure — he was better off without any of them.
At first, the viewing platform had seemed like a good idea; it was far away from all the trouble on the ground. But what if he’d been seen riding it up? Wouldn’t he be followed? But it looked like the police were on the scene back in the square, so maybe they’d all been arrested; maybe even killed each other.
But Wong didn’t believe it; none of the men back in the square looked like the type to let themselves get arrested, and he knew that at least one of them would survive and come for him.
So what were his options? If he waited at the top, someone would find him sooner or later. But if he simply rode the car back down, it was equally likely that there would be someone waiting for him there.
The emergency stairs? If someone followed him up, he could run down while they were taking the elevator. Unless they were coming up the stairs the other way, of course.
He pulled his cellphone out, realizing that he could call some friends to come to the rescue; well-armed bad-asses that would sort out these guys no problem. Except that by the time they got here, he could already be dead. He looked down at his phone. There was no signal in the elevator car anyway.
There was only one option left.
He looked up at the roof and sighed.
Cole raced up the stairs two at a time, determined to intercept Wong Xiang at the top.
He knew he might soon have company — the last thing he’d seen of Park was a blur of movement from the crowd behind him as he went for the surrounding police officers. Gunshots were ringing out by the time Cole had hit the stairwell, and he hoped that it was the policemen who’d been firing; from what he’d seen of Park already, however, he had to accept that the policemen could all be dead.
Cole burst out of the stairwell into the viewing platform, knocking an overweight security guard to one side as he raced to the elevator.
Yes. He’d made it in time; the elevator had just arrived, the door opening to reveal a group of tourists. And yet they didn’t pour out of the car with the excitement they would have ordinarily displayed; instead, their eyes were all staring upwards, and Cole poked his head through and looked up too.
The access hatch was open.
And Wong was gone.
Although it was still warm at four hundred feet, the wind whipped at Wong, threatening to rip him off the top of the enormous structure.
It had been crazy, but what else could he do? He was being chased by the most relentless people he had ever met, and he still didn’t know why. He’d be able to buy some time up here, stay here until things quietened down.
He checked his cellphone again, hoping to place that call to his friends. They’d be able to secure the square, escort him back down. Hell, he was in tight with half the local government.
But there was still no signal.
He threw the phone on the floor in disgust. What fucking use was it?
A noise to one side caught his attention and he turned, horrified to see the American hauling himself up onto the roof.
‘Damn,’ he said in resignation, ‘you one persistent motherfucker, you know? What the hell do you want?’
Cole approached, hands raised in placation. ‘I’m not here to hurt you,’ he began. ‘I was sent here to protect you. I’m a friend.’
‘Friend? Friend of who? Who sent you?’ Wong was backing away, but Cole noticed his body language relaxing slightly. The fact was, Cole had demonstrated his desire — and his ability — to protect the man, and had therefore built some measure of trust. Would it be enough?
But then the roof access hatch next to Cole burst open and an enraged Park launched himself towards him, unarmed but deadly. Cole was unhappy to see that he’d been right about him taking out the police officers back in the square.
Cole absorbed the man’s energy and turned him over by grabbing the arms and dropping his bodyweight, using a throw common to both judo and aikido.
Park rolled across the rooftop and regained his feet instantly, rising up into a fighting stance.
Definitely taekwondo, Cole thought as the two men circled each other, Wong forgotten for the moment. At the top of the four hundred foot National Monument, the city of Jakarta spread out far and wide below them and no barriers to protect them, Wong wasn’t going anywhere.
Cole himself had trained in the martial arts since boyhood; first in boxing and wrestling, and then in the oriental martial arts of karate and judo. He’d carried on his training in the military, becoming an expert in the Israeli defense system of krav maga and the grappling art of Brazilian jiu-jitsu, as well as excelling at the host of specialist unarmed and close quarter combatives courses he had been sent on while training as a covert operative. And then there was the ancient art of Kalaripayattu and the death strikes of marma adi he had been taught while imprisoned in Pakistan, the supposed mother of all martial arts.
It was a rare occasion when Cole faced somebody as adept as he was, but Cole could see that Park was such a man; his body honed to perfection, his mind razor-sharp.
The two men continued to circle each other, searching their opposite number for an opening of any kind, any opportunity they could capitalize on. In each man’s mind’s eye, a hundred scenarios were thought through and discarded in fractions of a second; moves and counter-moves, actions and reactions.
But taekwondo was an aggressive, attacking art, and Cole could tell from the slight tension in the man’s muscles, the tightness of his jaw, that he wanted to attack; it was in his nature, and Cole knew that if he was patient, the man’s attack would be launched as surely as night following day.
The stand-off seemed to last an eternity, but finally — inevitably — Park’s face contorted into a seething rage and he let out a piercing kihap shout to attune his energies as he leapt at Cole with a powerful jumping front kick.
Anticipating the surge, Cole sidestepping and scooped his forearm in and up, hitting the leg from underneath and turning Park over in the air.
Miraculously, the man performed a full somersault and landed on his feet; but Cole seized his own opportunity and skipped in, punching out at Park’s face with his thumb, pushed in tightly and extended from his fist. The thumb found its mark, jabbing deep into Park’s left eye, half-blinding him instantly.
Enraged, Park instinctively reached out and took hold of Cole, hands clenching around his neck and jerking forwards violently with his head.
The dense bone of Park’s skull crashed into Cole’s face; he felt the cartilage in his nose give way, and Park reared back to do the same again, his grip still tight around Cole’s neck.
As his battered face rushed towards Park’s head, the bunched-up fingertips of Cole’s right hand ripped suddenly upwards, catching Park in the soft tissue between his throat and his chin.
Park’s grip released instantly as he staggered back, gasping for breath, and Cole rushed forwards, throwing a straight right to Park’s temple.