He stepped closer to Clay and shook his head in pity. “I gave you my word.” With that, he raised his left hand up and pointed the gun.
Hanging by one arm, Clay remained still. The pain was overwhelming, making it hard to think.
His situation was nearly hopeless. Which meant this was no time for bravado. Instead, he had to outwit Qin.
The first priority had been to find a reason for them to be alone. The second was to get Qin as close as possible. And then to get an arm free. What came next was the last thing Qin ever expected.
Almost every part of his body screamed in pain. But Clay was not motionless because he couldn’t move. He was motionless for a very different reason. He had been quietly testing each muscle to determine just how much strength he had left.
He didn’t have enough to get out alive, but he might have enough left in the very last of his reserves for one last effort.
To take Qin with him.
83
What Qin didn’t know as he pointed the gun at Clay was that the American was waiting. For the right moment. Because when Clay finally moved, it came as a complete surprise.
In one motion, Clay slapped the gun from Qin’s hand and suddenly leaped forward on his broken leg. In a blur, his arm rocketed up, gripped the man’s throat like a vice and squeezed.
Qin’s gun rattled across the concrete floor and his eyes bulged in shock, still trying to comprehend what had happened. But not before he got out the beginning of a scream.
It was a sound that Qin’s men heard from the other side of the door.
An already sinking Clay watched them emerge while the last of his energy began to fade. With clenched teeth, he squeezed harder, giving every last ounce of strength he had left. He ignored the soldier sprinting toward him with the butt of his gun raised. Instead, he tried to tighten one last time before his arm was knocked away and he fell back to the floor.
Qin stumbled back, gasping for air. His frantic eyes searched the floor. When he couldn’t find his gun, he pointed at Clay and wheezed.
“Shoot him!”
Several feet away, the squad’s leader frowned, and kept his eyes fixed on Clay. “We should keep him alive.”
“I said shoot him!”
“That doesn’t seem wise,” retorted the soldier, defiantly.
At that moment a sharp tone sounded. All eyes turned to the squad leader who ripped open a secret pocket, pulling out a small electronic pager.
He stared at the code on the tiny screen in stunned disbelief. He read it again carefully before raising his eyes back to Qin.
“What the hell is that?”
The man stared down at Clay for a long moment. Without a word, he raised his gun and pointed it. Not at Clay, or even Qin, but at his own men. He then made a motion with his head. “Guns down.”
All six men stared at him in confusion.
“I said guns down!”
They blinked at him, still stunned. But one by one each man dropped his rifle loudly onto the floor.
Qin was just as confused. “What are you doing?”
The squad leader reached out, grabbing Qin by the collar. He threw him, stumbling, into his own men.
“Now back up!”
They each took several steps backward.
It was then that the leader moved closer to Clay, with his barrel still trained on the others. When he spoke, it was in perfect English.
“You, my friend, are one lucky son of a bitch.”
They were the last words Clay heard before the blackness took him.
84
Far over the Pacific, the drogue basket detached from the second plane. Aboard the giant Chinese bomber, the Hose Drum Unit began the slow process of reeling it back in.
The Xian H-6U was a modified version of China’s powerful H-6 bomber. The plane was first detected by U.S. spy satellites in 1971, forcing China to reveal that they had already built three dozen of the aircraft, and stunning the world.
Almost fifty years later, several of the aged bombers had been converted from flying fortresses to flying tankers.
Once the drogue basket had fully detached, the much larger and now fully fueled Y-20 cargo plane began its fateful climb.
After several thousand feet, the monstrous Y-20 adjusted its flight path and headed for Venezuelan airspace — the only country left standing between the aircraft and its final target.
85
Caesare finally reached Anderson and knelt down beside his body –– positioned lifelessly on his side with one hand still clutching his rifle. He’d fought right to the end, judging from the numerous bodies of Brazilian soldiers littering the area. Caesare checked his pulse, and finding nothing, gently rolled him back over. He peered up at Corso as Tiewater approached behind them.
“They’ve got Juan.”
Caesare sighed heavily. They could still hear occasional shouts in the distance. The fight hadn’t lasted long as the Brazilians were clearly not expecting a SEAL team on the other side. But it wasn’t enough to reach Anderson or Juan in time.