The woman with the dragon robes —it had to be her —rose to the platform, General Wing joining her, thousands of civilians and hundreds of troops, both regular army and Mongol mercenaries, mingling among the crowd, a solid phalanx of Mongols between the platform and the citizenry.
As he worked his way closer, he could see Michael and the Russian commander, Prokopiev, being brought forward, Michael under his own power,
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John Rourke consulted the map overlay on the instrument package. He spoke into his helmet radio. “We’ll be in sight of the Second City in another few minutes. But we’ll head up into the rocks near it shown by the German overflights. We can make plans for penetration when we arrive. Follow me,” and he made the Special veer left, toward the rocks he could already see in the distance, cutting speed and actuating the muffler constriction to further reduce noise level.
It was charging into nowhere, but he had no choice. But, perhaps, observing the entrance to the Second City from the rocks nearby would tell him something.
“Daddy— Michael’s in terrible pain. I can feel it.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered back into his radio.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Mao spoke.
The woman with the dragon robes, surrounded by her white robed ladies, smiled serenely.
Michael Rourke stood solemnly, the Russian standing but only because he was supported on either side by one of the Mongols.
Han listened as he worked his way closer to the platform.
“These Russian mercenaries led a dea|h squad from the First City. Under questioning by inquisitor Xaan-Chu — ” Han assumed Xaan-Chu was the tail, evil looking man in black pajama-like uniform with a ceremonially decorated sword handing at his left hip who stood near to the woman with the dragon robes. Han had never seen Xaan-Chu, but knew that he was supervisor of security and interrogations. Even the Mongols he had infiltrated among spoke of Xaan-Chu in hushed tones of fear, ” — they revealed their plans. A force from the First City is coming to attack us in our homes. For this reason, I declare that all men under the age of forty are to report for the taking up of arms, all women over the age of twenty who are childless are to do the
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same. We shall meet the revisionist devils and destroy them before they can come to the Second City and rape our women and slaughter our children. And the heads of these two Russian mercenaries, once their bodies have been torn into the four winds, shall ride before us as a warning of the savage justice of the Second City dispensed to all those who would attack us. I offer these weapons found on the two who are about to die to the first among you who will step forward to destroy them.” And as he spoke, he raised Michael’s still holstered guns, his knife, even his musette bag into the air over his head, as he raised each item murmurs of admiration and comments on the good fortune of the riders who were to be the executioners coming spontaneously from among the spectators, civilian and military alike.
The weapons of the Russian officer got slightly less envious comment.
“Who will first mount stout horse and ride?”
Han Lu Chen was near to the phalanx of horse guard Mongols and” he vaulted forward, jumping upward, shouting, “I will ride. My brother was killed by them! I will ride or kill the man who tries to stop me!”
A Mongol from the crowd twice Han’s size half-drew his saber and shouted a cursed challenge, Han drawing his own blade. But Mao’s voice thundered down from the platform. “The small one! Let him come forward!” There were cheers and boos and hisses and catcalls as the phalanx parted and Han flipped nimbly up onto the platform. And he stood before Mao, the old eyes dark, dancing with hatred
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and amusement. “Your name.”
Han thought of one. “I am Kang, great Mao!”
“Kang — ” He seemed to roll the name on his tongue. Mao raised his voice and addressed the multitude. “Kang will ride!” There was cheering now, shouts of encouragement. Mao looked at him sideways. “Take what you wish from among these trinkets, Kang.”
Han Lu Chen bent over the low table on which they had been replaced after Mao had raised them to the covetous crowd. He took Michael’s double shoulder holster with the Berettas, slinging it over his own shoulders. He took Michael’s pistol belt with the four-inch .44 Magnum revolver and the survival knife. He cinched it to his left side, the revolver slung behind his saber hilt, the knife beside his holstered Glock automatic. He gathered up the loose spare magazines, the leather case of magazines, then the loaders for the revolvers, putting these in the stuff sack slung from his left shoulder. He took the musette bag, slinging it to his body.
His eyes caught Michael’s eyes as he looked up to face Mao. “Great one. I leave these other fine weapons for the other riders.” He could carry no more.
“Kang leaves these other weapons for the other riders. Two rifles and a handgun of stainless steel, a stout knife, much ammunition! Who steps forward to ride?”
There were more volunteers than the phalanx of guards could hold back, Han looking again at Michael while the volunteers were selected as Mao pointed to them.
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Michael didn’t even acknowledge. Had he been drugged? Was that why the Russian seemed so lifeless.
The three volunteers were selected. Han stood at their head, the woman with the dragon robes coming forward and standing in front of him, raising her hands to the multitude who became instantly quiet. “The Maidens of The Sun will escort these valiant riders to their steeds, and pray as the evil ones are ripped to the four winds!” There was a cheer from the crowd, and the women in the white robes who served the temple came forward and the prettiest among them —but her eyes were lifeless — took Han’s hands in hers and led him across the platform, down the low steps, toward the horses. He chanced a look back. Michael Rourke was being taken forward .
John Rourke edged along the rocks, the man-shape hidden there closer now. With the dark clothing, in the poor light, he could not tell the uniform, simply assumed the worst and hoped that it was perhaps Hammerschmidt, or perhaps even his son, that somehow Annie —
He closed the gap, Natalia’s suppressor-fitted Walther PPK/S .380 in his right fist. In Russian, then quickly in English, Rourke hissed, “Move and you are dead!”
The man-shape froze.
“Herr Doctor?”
Hammerschmidt. “Otto? Otto!” Rourke moved quickly toward him, dropping down to cover, thou-
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sands of people gathered before the gates of the Second City in front of a large platform. “Where’s Michael?”
Hammerschmidt gave him the glasses in his hands. Rourke brought them to his eyes as Hammerschmidt simply said, “There, Herr Doctor.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The woman with the dead eyes and the fancy robes looked into his face, her curious English again as she spoke. “It is a pity the execution needed to be public, because the pit would have been a good challenge for someone like you. Perhaps the best fight we have seen”
“The pit?”
“Hungry dogs. You can fight them before they kill you.”
“Gee —well, maybe next time,” Michael told her, forcing a smile he didn’t feel.
“You are first. I will lead you there. But, if you touch me, the eyes of your friend will be gouged from his face before he is killed.”
“I wouldn’t touch you. I might not be able to wash my hands,” Michael responded.
She slapped his face. He stood there, saying nothing, his hands bound behind him.
She started ahead and he fell in behind her, across the platform, down the steps, Mongols on all sides of him except ahead, two Mongols flanking the woman. Her hair swayed over her back as she walked.
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He looked ahead, Han already mounted on a strapping gray mare, one of the white robed girls with the clouded eyes holding the reins of his horse. He wondered what Han had in mind. It was just as fatal to be ripped apart three ways as four, he thought soberly.
Michael Rourke kept walking.
They stopped between the four horses.
She turned to him. “You might choose to struggle against the ropes. It will please those who are watching.”
“You bet.”
His hands were unbound, but his wrists weren’t released, simply rebound, one to one rope, one to another, each of the ropes leading to one of the mounted horses, the one from his right arm leading to Han’s. He was forced down to his knees, then flat to the ground, a saber at his throat. But his arms could still move. His ankles were tethered now too, one rope leading to each of the other two horsemen and their animals.