First Strike

First Strike

Jack Higgins with Justin Richards

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

About the Author

Other Books By

Copyright

About the Publisher

Prologue

Rich watched the tanks rolling down the main street. Civilians leaped aside. Children watched wide-eyed from shadowy doorways. Soldiers marched behind the tanks, grim-faced and determined.

These images were repeated on television screens all round the restaurant. The grim news reports they showed were a stark contrast to the upbeat 1980s dance track that was throbbing through the place. A teenage waitress on roller skates with a red and white striped uniform and braces on her teeth spun to a perfect stop beside Jade and Rich. She smiled at their dad.

“Can I get you guys some drinks?”

In the US-themed restaurant, its walls adorned with road signs and music posters from the 1950s, her West Country accent was out of place. Up till then, Rich could have forgotten that he was in England.

“You’re driving,” Jade warned her dad before he could order. “I’ll have a sparkling mineral water.”

“Milkshake,” Rich decided. “Chocolate fudge.”

“That is so bad for you,” Jade told him.

But Rich just grinned. His twin sister could be such a health freak. “I know.”

“What draught beer do you have?” John Chance asked.

The waitress started to list American beers.

Jade glared at her dad. “I said, you’re driving.”

“Just curious. I’ll have a pineapple juice,” he said. “With ice. If I’m allowed.”

“Ice is OK,” Jade confirmed.

“Made from frozen vodka if you can manage it,” Chance added. He grinned. “Kidding,” he assured the waitress.

“Right. I’ll be straight back with your drinks, and I’ll take your food order then. OK?” She didn’t wait for a reply.

On the TV screens a reporter was talking, though the sound was muted. Text flashed up underneath him: Chinese Peacekeepers enter Wiengwei province…No sign of missing US air crew…Chinese deny airmen have been arrested…

“I don’t know why they do that,” said Jade.

“They’re worried the rebels are getting more support,” said Rich.

“The Chinese have had trouble in Wiengwei ever since they invaded back in 1950,” Chance added. “At the time the western world was more concerned about Tibet. They hardly noticed what was happening at the same time down the road.”

“I meant,” said Jade, “why do they show the news channel with the sound turned down and music blaring out? I mean—what’s the point? You have to guess what’s happening. It’s just like visual noise and a confusing tickertape.”

…White House accused of abandoning airmen…President refuses to condemn Chinese…

“You can sort of see what’s going on,” said Rich.

The scrolling caption across the bottom of the screen now read: Still no sign of rebel leader Marshal Wieng.

“Only because we saw the news before we came out this evening,” Jade told him. The 6 o’clock broadcast had been almost entirely devoted to the developing story: an American military plane appeared to have gone down over Chinese airspace, but the Americans were refusing to confirm that their men had even been there, and the Chinese were denying having captured them. “And because we’ve got Mr Global Trouble-Shooter here to help.” She turned to her dad. “I bet you were there in Wiengwei in 1950 when China invaded or annexed it or whatever, weren’t you?”

Chance laughed. “How old do you think I am?” He leafed through the large glossy menu. “I have been to Wiengwei, actually” he admitted. “But rather more recently.”

“Official visit?” Rich wondered.

“Sort of. Well, no, not exactly. The ribs look good. What are you two having?”

“I’ll have a burger,” Rich decided.

“Jade?” Chance asked.

But she wasn’t listening. Jade was watching the waitress roller-skating across the restaurant carrying a tray with a large bottle of champagne balanced on it.

“Who does that?” she said. “Who comes out on a Friday night to a diner like this and orders champagne? At least you were asking about beer,” she told Chance. “If you ordered champagne to go with a burger or ribs, I’d be seriously worried.”

“I’d be seriously impressed,” said Rich, “if you could get champagne while Jade’s on the case.”

The waitress spun to a halt right next to their table.

“Your champagne, sir,” she said.

Jade’s eyes widened.

Rich’s mouth dropped open in awe. “How did you do that?”

Chance seemed every bit as surprised as his children. “I didn’t order champagne. I asked for pineapple juice.”

The waitress continued to smile, unperturbed. “Your friend ordered it for you.” She put the bottle down on the table, together with a glass. Then she handed Chance a folded slip of paper. “He seems a nice man.” She leaned closer. “Must be very wealthy!”

Chance took a quick look at the paper. “Appearances can be deceptive.” He swung round in his chair, scanning the restaurant.

“Who is it? Who’s it from?” Jade asked.

Chance handed her the paper, and she unfolded it. Rich leaned across to read what was written on it. Scrawled in block letters, the message said:

Urgent I speak with you now.

I am in danger, and things are going nuclear!

Only you can stop it.

“But who is it from?” said Rich.

Chance pointed across the restaurant. On the other side of the bar, close to the far window, a man was getting slowly to his feet. He was wearing a smart, pale linen suit. His face was weathered like old stone. He had dark, thinning hair and a neatly-trimmed moustache. The man raised a hand in greeting.

“Ralph!” said Jade.

That wasn’t his real name. But it was the name they all knew him by. Ralph was a villain, who ran an organised crime syndicate in Eastern Europe. He had no loyalty except to himself, and Rich knew that he could have them all killed just as soon as buy them champagne, if it suited his purposes.

“What does he want?” Rich wondered.

“I don’t know,” Chance grimaced. “But I doubt if he’s really in as much danger as he’d like us to think.”

On the other side of the room, Ralph was smiling. He spread his arms in a generous, welcoming gesture. At that moment the window behind him exploded into fragments as the sound of a gunshot rang out.

A red stain appeared on the front of Ralph’s pale jacket. He looked down at it, surprised. Then he fell forwards, crashing down on the table, sending glasses and crockery flying.

Instinctively, Rich and Jade ducked.

Chance was already running. Before the sound of the second shot, he was sprinting towards Ralph’s motionless body—colliding with a roller-skating waiter and sending him spinning away. People were scrambling to their feet or throwing themselves to the floor in confusion as the second shot hammered through a table and into the floor.

“Get an ambulance!” Chance shouted as he reached Ralph. He grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the nearest table and balled them into a wad, which he pressed to the red stain on Ralph’s shirt. “Ambulance!” he yelled again. “Now.”

The waitress who’d brought the champagne kneeled beside Chance and Ralph. Her face was pale.

“Is he…?”

“He’s still breathing. But it’s not looking good.”

Chance grabbed the girl’s hand and pushed it down on top of the wad of napkins. “Hold that there, tight as you can, till the paramedics get here.”

“Where are you going?”

But Chance was already gone.

Jade kneeled down beside the waitress. “He’ll be after the gunman,” she explained.

The waitress stared at her, mouth open.

“How’s Ralph doing?” Rich asked, joining them. There were people standing round watching now.

“How…” Ralph gasped. His breathing was ragged and noisy. A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth. “How…do you think…I’m doing?” he gasped. “Is my suit OK?”

His eyelids fluttered, then closed. Ralph sank back into Jade’s arms.

The assassin had made a mistake firing twice. The target—Ralph—was already down. The chances were that no one would have seen where the first shot had come from.

But Chance had seen the muzzle flash from the second. It had come from a small, raised wooded area that screened the restaurant car park from the main road beyond. The road was a busy dual-carriageway, so the assassin’s only realistic escape route was through the car park. He probably had a car ready.

Chance looked round as he sprinted from the restaurant. There was no sign of a car conveniently waiting. But there was movement in the shrubs along the car-park fence. The vaguest of dark silhouettes fluttered against the evening sky.

Zig-zagging to make himself a harder target, Chance ran for the silhouette. As he moved, he reached inside his jacket. Not because he had a gun, but because he wanted the assassin to think he did.

Ahead of him, a figure in nondescript dark clothing broke cover and pushed its way out of the trees and bushes. The figure was wearing a baseball cap pulled down low, but a long plait of black hair hung down its back.

It was a woman.

The would-be assassin was carrying a rifle with a telescopic sight attached. It looked like an LR153—accurate up to 600 metres. It was not the ideal weapon to defend herself with, though she swung it up in an arc and loosed off a shot at Chance.

He ignored it. The bullet was travelling faster than sound, and he’d heard the shot without feeling an impact, which meant he hadn’t been hit. He was close enough to the woman that she didn’t have time to stop and take proper aim. He kept running—in a straight line now, on a course to intercept her as she sprinted down the grassy bank and into the car park.

There was a car in the way, double-parked behind a large people carrier. Chance leaped over the car, sliding across the bonnet and back on his feet in an instant.

But there was no sign of her. The assassin was gone.

Chance kept moving, turning all the time, looking for any movement.

Then he spotted her. She was behind the people carrier, trying to use the large vehicle for cover, but he could make out her vague reflection in the side windows of another car. He smiled. If he couldn’t see her properly, then she couldn’t see him. He moved stealthily towards the people carrier.

Then suddenly, he was running towards the back of the vehicle. Round the people carrier, and increasing his speed. The woman had her back to him, peering round the front of the vehicle. Chance dropped his shoulder and slammed into the dark-clad shape on the other side, sending her flying.

The rifle skidded away, under another car and out of reach. The woman rolled as she fell and was immediately back on her feet, her hands raised and tensed in a classic karate stance. Her cap had come off, and Chance could see now that she was oriental..

She leaped at him, hands moving rapidly, chopping through the air.

Chance parried the blows and managed to get in a punch of his own. It connected with the assassin’s stomach and she doubled up, staggering away. Chance moved forward.

She looked up at him, still bent over in pain. Her face was contorted with hatred and anger. Her eyes, he saw, were different colours—one green and the other blue. He stepped towards her.

The sudden sound of the siren made them both glance away. A police car was turning across the oncoming traffic outside as it sped into the car park, headlights flashing in time with the blue lights on top. An ambulance was close behind it.

In that moment, there was another noise. An engine roared into life and a red Toyota shot out of a parking space nearby. It reversed rapidly, tyres screeching, right at John Chance. As it reversed, the back door swung open.

Chance leaped out of the way as the car skidded to a halt right where he had been standing. Seconds later it was moving again. It swerved round the approaching police car and accelerated past the ambulance out on to the main road.

Inside the car, Chance could clearly see an oriental woman with a long plaited pigtail of black hair.

Jade felt helpless. She stood back to allow the two paramedics to tend to Ralph. One of them replaced the wad of napkins, with gauze and bandages. The other readied a wheeled stretcher and set up a drip.

“This your dad?” one of the paramedics asked.

“No, my dad’s chasing the gunman.”

The paramedic raised an eyebrow.

Police were moving people back and starting to take statements. Chance pushed his way to the front and spoke quietly but urgently with the policeman in charge. Jade and Rich hurried across to join him.

“And put a guard on the wounded man’s hospital room.” Chance was saying. “I’ll have someone call your superiors with authorisation.” He turned to call across to the paramedics: “How is he?”

“Not good,” came the reply. “Right, everyone stand back please, stretcher coming through.”

“Did you get him?” Rich asked as they watched Ralph being loaded into the ambulance.

Chance shook his head. “Her, actually. I got the number of the getaway car, and called it in to Ardman, but they’ve probably dumped it already.”

Ardman was Chance’s boss. He ran a secret group of agents that handled missions deemed too sensitive for the main security services. Chance was one of Ardman’s senior operatives.

“I hope Ralph’s going to be OK,” said Jade.

“So do I,” Chance agreed. “He wanted to tell us something important. Important enough for someone else to try to kill him. But what was it?”

“And who was the assassin?” said Rich.

His father was staring past him, his attention suddenly fixed on one of the many TV screens. The music had stopped, and above the muted hubbub of conversation, the newsreader’s voice was just audible.

“As well as Marshal Wieng, there is also no sign of his second in command, Colonel Shu—who has already been indicted by the international courts for war crimes and crimes against humanity.”

The picture on the screen was of an oriental woman with long, jet black hair. One of her eyes was emerald green. The other was sky blue.

1

They sat in the corner of the hospital caf? Visiting time was over for the evening and the place was quiet. Even so, John Chance and Hilary Ardman’s conversation was barely louder than a whisper.

Rich and Jade listened, but said nothing. Rich was eating biscuits. Jade had an unopened carton of orange juice in front of her. Chance was on his third black coffee and Ardman had a stainless-steel pot of tea that he seemed unimpressed with.

Ardman was holding the note Ralph had sent over to Chance with the champagne. “I’ll get this to the forensics people; they might be able to tell us something. Where the paper was made, how long ago it was written, if it’s actually Ralph’s handwriting. Something.”

“We can find all that out, but I’m not sure it will help. What we really need to know what is it means,” Chance pointed out.

“Yes.” Ardman sniffed. “He could have been more helpful.”

“He was expecting to speak to me,” said Chance.

“So why send the note?” Jade asked. “Why not just come over and chat?”

“Perhaps he felt guilty about what happened last time we met,” said Rich.

“Guilty—Ralph?” Chance shook his head. “Yes, I know he set us up against the Mafia, and planted a bomb on you, Rich. But he won’t have any regrets about that. His overriding concern is always for himself and how he can turn a profit. So it’s more likely the champagne was a peace offering. He wanted to make sure I’d hear him out, not punch him out.”

“It was a risk,” Ardman said. He opened the lid of his teapot and poked at the teabag inside with a spoon. “He’s a wanted man in this country, remember. Oh, he can slip in and out on a false passport easily enough, but making contact with someone who’d recognise him is a big risk. He has no reason to think you’d be friendly towards him. Yet he wanted to tell you something. And not over the phone, but in person.”

“And he got shot,” Rich added.

“Which suggests whatever he had to say was important.” Ardman gave up on the teapot and read the note again. “I don’t care for his choice of the word nuclear.”

“He might not mean it literally,” said Chance.

“It’s a shame we can’t ask him yet.”

“How’s he doing?” Rich asked. The doctors had been vague when they had spoken to them, but he thought they might have been more open with Ardman.

“Not good,” Ardman said. “They’ve operated, as you know, and removed the bullet from his lung, but he’s still in a coma. He may come out of it in the next day or two. Or the next month or so. Or never.”

“So the note really is all we have,” said Jade.

“Well, we do have a good idea of who the sniper was,” Chance pointed out.

“I’d almost rather we didn’t.” Ardman leaned back in his chair as he considered. “Another false passport job, I suspect. I really must talk to the borders and immigration people about how she got here undetected. But a more pressing question is, why does Colonel Shu, one of the most wanted war criminals in the world, go to the trouble and expense of coming to an out-of-town diner in deepest, darkest Gloucestershire to kill a gentleman—I use the term loosely—who runs one of the most successful crime syndicates in Eastern Europe?”

“And why do it just as the province she’s trying to liberate is being invaded by the Chinese?” Rich added.

Ardman frowned. “Not invaded, please. It is a Chinese province; they’re just asserting their rule.”

“Is she working for this Marshal Wieng?” Jade asked.

“Almost certainly,” her father told them. “They’ve fought together since the rebellion really got going in the 1990s. Not that Wiengwei was ever quiet. Marshal Wieng claims to be a direct descendent of the original Emperor Wieng Tso—an equally war-like man who founded the province, and gave his name to it.”

“And is he a descendent?” asked Rich.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ardman said. “The point is that the claim has focused the rebels and garnered them more support. Whether it’s true or not won’t make a difference now. After the Red Army rooted out most of the rebels in 1998, the province has been kept under tight control. But the Chinese took their eye off the ball rather; distracted by earthquakes and Olympics, among other things. That gave Marshal Wieng the opportunity to come out of hiding and start gathering new support.”

“Does this Marshal Wieng have nukes?” Rich asked. “Could that be what Ralph meant?”

“The Chinese used to have a couple of strategic missile bases in the province,” Ardman said, “but nowhere near the areas where the rebels are active. The bases are still there, but the missiles were withdrawn and decommissioned back in the eighties.”

“I guess we just have to hope that Ralph pulls through,” said Chance.

“He’s a rogue,” Ardman said thoughtfully. “But you know I do actually quite like the man.”

“Me too,” Rich agreed. “Even if he did plant a bomb on me.”

“He helped us in Krejikistan,” said Jade. “And he was being threatened by the Mafia last time we met, so he didn’t have much choice.”

They sat in silence for a while. Then Ardman said: “Oh, they found the car, by the way. Abandoned and torched. Not much hope we’ll learn anything there.” He stood up. “I’d better be getting back to the office. The doctors here know to call me immediately if there’s any change and I’ll let you know at once. But I expect you’ll be in Washington before anything happens.”

“It’ll give us something to tell the President,” Rich joked.

Rich, Jade and their father had been invited to a special reception at the White House. It was a way for the President to thank them for saving his life after some trouble in the Middle East a few weeks previously. Rich had hoped for a medal, but since the whole incident was being kept secret, a White House reception was the next best thing.

“We should be getting back too,” said Chance to the twins.

“There’s a little shop here,” said Jade. “I think I’ll take Ralph some flowers before we go.”

“He won’t see them,” Rich told her.

“He will when he wakes up. And he might smell them.”

“I’ll walk you back to your car,” Chance told Ardman. “Meet me at the main entrance,” he said to Rich and Jade.

“I’ll come with you,” Rich told his dad.

“You’ll go with Jade.”

“Oh right—you’re doing secret talk. No kids allowed, I get it.”

Chance smiled. “Don’t let your sister spend too much on the flowers.”

It seemed miles back to Ralph’s private room. Jade and Rich had been allowed only a minute in there before. Just long enough to see that Ralph appeared to be sleeping peacefully. But the constant bleep of a heart monitor and the drips and wires attached to Ralph suggested otherwise.

The plain-clothes police officer sitting outside the door had smiled sympathetically at them when they left. But now his chair was empty.

“I thought he was supposed to be on guard all the time?” said Rich.

Jade had opted for an arrangement that came in its own vase, and had to peer round the enormous bouquet to see what he meant.

“Maybe he’s checking on Ralph.”

There was a small, round window set high in the door. Rich looked through, and saw that there was someone in the room. A female doctor or nurse in her white coat was checking the monitoring equipment.

“He’s not in there.”

The flowers brushed against Rich’s cheek as Jade joined him at the window.

“He’s just nipped off to the loo or to get a coffee or something while the doctor’s here.”

Jade didn’t bother to knock. She just opened the door and walked in.

Rich was right behind her. Jade looked round for somewhere to put down the vase of flowers, but Rich was facing the doctor as she turned. He had barely registered her black hair before, but as she turned he saw the slight bulge under the back of her coat where the long plait hung down. And he saw the mismatched eyes that stared at him in anger—one green and one blue.

Without thinking, Rich grabbed the vase from Jade, and hurled it across the room.

The vase struck the woman on the chest. She staggered back, knocking into the heart monitor. The vase shattered on the floor and the flowers were strewn across the bed.

Colonel Shu advanced towards them, holding a scalpel. Jade and Rich backed away. Rich’s foot caught on something lying behind him. He looked down quickly to see what it was and saw the plain-clothes police guard—unconscious.