Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (12 page)

"Two?"

"Don't ask."

They looked up as a new burst of firing sounded much closer. The Chinese had at last realized the attack at the rear could be a ruse and were returning. He shouted at the men on the ground, "In the truck, and keep shooting as we roll out. We have to hold them off a little longer. I'll take the wheel. This is going to be hairy. Guy, contact the men at the rear and tell them to start working their way around to the south side of the prison. We'll pick them up from there. Grace, in the cab with me. Move, people!"

He jumped behind the wheel. The engine was still ticking over, and Grace climbed to the passenger side. In a single motion, he jammed the truck into gear and stamped down on the gas. They surged forward just in time. The enemy had tumbled to the stolen truck and had an automatic weapon on the flank to prevent its escape. A burst of gunfire ripped past the place they'd just left. He didn't need to give the order. He heard Guy in back shouting at them to take out the machine gun.

Several of the assault rifles spat out short bursts, but still the gun kept firing. He ignored it and stopped at the gate to allow Virgil and Kaz to clamber aboard. Then he roared out through the gates. For a few seconds, the gates screened them from the machine gun, and it stopped firing, but as he drove past the wire, they were in full view.

The machine gun started again, and a line of 7.62mm rounds stitched their way through the cab. Grace screamed as one of the bullets smashed through her left forearm, but he had to ignore it until they were clear. The wound wouldn't kill her, but the enemy was recovering fast. If they got a chance to kill them, they'd be breaking out the champagne in Beijing. Or whatever they drank in that capital of corruption, brutal repression, and cheap consumer goods made by slave labor.

He heard her whimper in pain, and he shouted across to her, "You have to hang in there. I'm picking up the rest of the men. As soon as they're aboard, we'll get someone to patch you up."

Her eyes were screwed up in agony, but she nodded. "I can manage."

The three men stood up to mark their position as the truck roared toward them. He jammed on the brakes and skidded to a sliding halt on the icy surface. As the rear of the truck came past them, they jumped aboard and willing hands pulled the men inside.

Talley's earpiece came to life, "This is Rovere. They're all in the truck. It's time to get out of here."

It was good news, but the Italian's voice was unusually tense. And then he looked further ahead and saw the reason why.

* * *

When the explosions started, Major Xilong hadn't been sure where the attack came from, but the reports came in of an attack at the rear of the prison compound. He led his men in that direction; concerned the prisoners may have somehow obtained weapons. After they'd shot at the unknown attackers for several minutes, it dawned on him there were no breaches in the perimeter wire. It meant the attack was coming from outside.

But who is it?

The last report suggested the foreign troops were northwest of the prison, several kilometers away. Then he had a dawning realization. He didn't know how they'd done it, but that was immaterial.

Somehow, they
slipped through the
cordon, and they’re here!

Failure to deal with this attack would blight his career. Or worse. General Chang, in command of the Ministry of State Security division based in Lhasa, did not suffer fools gladly. More than one senior officer had received the ultimate sanction, a 7.62mm bullet in the back of the head. The only notification the family received was when the invoice for the price of one bullet arrived in their mailbox. Justice was brutal, yet swift. And the system worked. Provided you weren't the man at the wrong end of the barrel.

He went from position to position, making sure his soldiers were not shirking from their duties. The incoming fire was heavy, grenades, possibly even mortar shells, were landing around them and causing serious casualties. Machine gunfire slashed through the night, and several men went down. Whoever was behind that gun was a good marksman, and they could only move around by crawling through the snow. There was also incoming sniper fire, and those who were foolish enough to put their heads up were now dead.

Xilong used his radio to call the front gate. It was essential to check there were no attackers attempting to break through from the front.

No reply!

He called again, and again, still nothing. He heard the truck engine roar as it began to leave the compound, and it all clicked into place. They'd fooled him!

Somehow, the foreigners came through the front while I was engaged in the rear, and now they’re leaving with the prisoner. The American, it could only be him. Tenzin Davaika.

One of his men was crouched behind a Type 80 light machine gun, and he crawled over to him.

"The enemies are trying to drive out through the main gate. Reposition your weapon to cover the front of the compound. Open fire as soon as you have a target. "

The man looked at him, his eyes wide with terror and panic. "Yes, Sir, immediately."

He started to crawl, but Xilong aimed his pistol at the man.

"Get up and run, otherwise you'll miss them. They'll probably be wearing white Arctic camos like our own, so as soon as you see them, open fire."

"Sir," the man stuttered, probably to gain time before he had to face the deadly sniper, "How will I know who to shoot at, that it is not our men?"

"Shoot anything that moves, you fool. I don't give a damn who you hit, as long as you stop those bandits from escaping."

The man nodded and jumped to his feet. By a miracle, the sniper was engaged with other targets, and he reached the side of a hut unscathed, then disappeared around the side. Xilong considered his best move to retrieve the situation. He had no idea of the size of the attacking force, only that they were heavily armed and extremely clever. He needed help.

He took out his cellphone and checked the signal. One bar, it may be enough. He punched in the number of State Security headquarters in Lhasa. It took several minutes for the man to answer; he'd probably been rutting with a local prostitute.

"This is Major Xilong! Connect me with the duty officer, at once! This is an emergency!"

"Yes, Sir!"

The line went dead, and Xilong smiled. He'd given the man a shock. Probably he'd have to send the girl home unsatisfied.

That'll teach him to
keep his penis in his
pants when he’s on duty.

The phone came to life.

"Captain Lao, Sir. What can I do for you?"

"Turn out the guard. I want a company of troops with full arms and equipment. Send them to Prison Number 529."

"A company of troops? When for, Sir?"

"Now, you idiot. At the double! Get moving, or you'll be a private soldier by morning."

He was about to hang up when something occurred to him. These foreigners had to have help.

Who would be stupid enough to give them aid, knowing the severe penalties? The Buddhists of course, who else?

"Captain, which monasteries do we have under surveillance?"

"All of them, Sir. Since that monk escaped, we've staked them all out."

"All of them? Every Buddhist community in and around Lhasa?"

A pause. "Not exactly, not every community, no Sir. Only the monasteries."

"What else is there? Surely there are only monasteries?"

"Not quite. There is the nunnery outside of the city. You remember; we sent troops to search it last night. We've had suspicions about that place for many months, ever since those Buddhist protesters disappeared in the area."

"Buddhist bandits, Captain. Are our men still there?"

"No, Sir, they found nothing, so they moved on to another search area."

"So it's not under any surveillance?"

"No, Sir."

Damn! Why am I surrounded by fools?

"Get a second company of troops out to that nunnery. You can lead it yourself."

"Another company? Impossible, all our troops are slated for other duties at dawn. We have forty or fifty men available in the barracks, no more. A half company at most."

"Then get them out of bed and on the road to that nunnery. Search everywhere, and more thoroughly this time. You will stay there until further orders. No, wait. Arrest the nuns. We'll close that nest of traitors. Put them all in preventive detention, and we can ship them out to our re-education camp in Jagdaqi. That should keep them quiet."

"Jagdaqi! That's..."

"Two thousand kilometers, yes, I know."

Far enough to put them out of my hair.

He thought of the Jagdaqi camp of harsh regime. Many of the nuns were old. Some wouldn't last long in that frozen hell. Best of all, they'd be out of Tibet, a long way away. He realized the Captain was speaking.

"What was that?"

"The travel arrangements, Sir. I'll book them on the train that leaves tomorrow."

"No! Send them by road. They don't deserve the luxury of a railway carriage. Use open trucks."

"In the middle of winter?" The Captain sounded astonished, "Sir, they won't survive, not that kind of a journey. They'll freeze to death."

"Do you wish to give aid to enemies of the People's Republic, supply them with luxuries?"

"No, of course not, Sir."

He heard the tremor in the man's voice. Aiding China's enemies inside Tibet was a crime that carried a single punishment. Death.

"Good. See to it."

He slammed the phone down. It was time to show these people the price of invading sovereign Chinese soil. Then he had another thought. Could he trust Lao to do the job properly? He'd sounded as if he was unhappy about moving the nuns across country on open trucks. Besides, the men who'd spirited Tenzin Davaika out of the prison were on the run, and they were well armed and resourceful. What if they ran into Lao? The foreigners were too skilled and resourceful. They'd decimate his slovenly, half-trained troops. He couldn't take that chance. He'd round up every available man and go himself. He searched for his senior NCO.

"Sergeant! Find every man who isn't on guard duty, and get them loaded onto trucks. We're heading out."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

Ed Garrick slammed down the phone. He'd taken yet another frantic call from the Deputy Head of Station, and his claim of being sick was starting to wear thin. He'd have to think of something else.

He'd been against the Tibetan operation from the start, for a very personal reason. His career had seen him rise from junior deskman to CIA Head of Station, Kabul. He'd carefully crafted every step of the way, using his network of family connections to push him up each rung of the promotion ladder. As a result, he’d reached his current position with barely a single intelligence success in his jacket. Yet his rapid promotion brought its own problems.

Because of his higher profile inside the Agency, people were starting to ask questions. Everyone said Ed Garrick was a mover and shaker, sure. Someone that could make things happen, a man to rely on, a man with an enviable track record. Except… exactly what had he done? It all came to a head two years ago, when the DDI, the Deputy Director of Intelligence, James Elliott, asked him that precise question. It was during one of the regular personnel reviews. Garrick thought back to that conversation, and as usual, it filled him with an equal mix of anger and dread.

The DDI had given him a cheerful smile.

"This is just routine, Ed. Something for the records. Tell me, if someone asked you exactly what you'd contributed to CIA during your career in intelligence, what would you tell them?"

He started to waffle, but Elliott seemed to have a built-in filter that sifted through the bullshit. The temperature in the office had turned chilly.

"Hold it right there, Ed. This is the Deputy Director you're talking to, not some airhead bimbo. Tell me about your successes. I want names, places, and dates."

In the end, he'd walked away on legs that felt like rubber, carrying the warning that if he didn't come up with something soon, clear and unequivocal evidence, he'd be top of the list when the next round of budget cuts came up. He'd gone home and swallowed almost a bottle of single malt Scotch before he came up with the idea. He needed to place an agent inside Lhasa. Someone to feed intel on the Chinese military, gold-plated stuff they couldn't get from anyone else.

In the end, he found such a person, a low-level clerk, a woman in the People's Liberation Army main administration office. She didn't have access to anything earth shattering, but he persuaded her to 'gild the lily', to exaggerate and make her stuff look high-level. In return, he paid her well.

The difficulty was her intel was still too low-level, in spite of all her efforts. To make himself look good, he’d inflated her material with higher-level stuff that came in from Campbell, gleaned from his fellow Buddhists, contacts in the monastic community across Tibet. But Campbell was not his agent, so he gained no kudos from the value of the intel to CIA. He got around the problem by simply ‘sexing up’ the data the Chinese woman sent him, by using Campbell's stuff to enhance it.