The Chinese Agenda by Joe Poyer

cabin again but the high seat backs, obscured his view and the handcuff kept him in place. From the sound of his deep breathing, Jones was asleep, and Leycock and Stowe were both out of his line of vision and hearing. The two Chinese soldiers 'remained stolidly near the front bulkhead, swaying gently with the easy motion of the aircraft, and Gillon wondered if they were going to remain there during the entire flight. The Russian sergeant was slumped well down in the seat, his feet propped on the armrest of the seat across the aisle, asleep to all appearances. An hour after takeoff, Gillon heard laughter from the back and the rustle of what sounded like a map being unfolded. A few minutes later he looked around to see General Lin standing in the aisle beside his seat, facing Jones.
    'We are now in the People's Republic of China,' he said, smiling down in a friendly fashion at Jones. 'Shove it,' Jones murmured.
    'Come now, that is no way to talk. We all play a
    game. Unfortunately, you have selected the losing side.' 'No,' Jones said mildly, 'not the losing side . . . just a
    real loser for a teammate.'
    `How is that?' Lin inquired politely.
    `The Russians,' Jones snarled. 'It's too bad that during the kangaroo trial coming up we won't be allowed to tell the full story.'
    Lin bent over to beam at him. 'That really will not be necessary, really not necessary at all.' Gillon had to strain to hear this murmured response.
    'However, no matter how well-intentioned your motives, it will do you no good. Your government has trifled with mine long enough. Many of us have warned that the perfidious American warmongers were only disguising themselves ...'
    Lin continued in this vein and Gillon grimaced. One of the hawks, he thought. There was no hope for them at all if these people were in, or near to being in, control . . . no matter how much he was forced to admit that there might now be some justification to Lin's charge.
    'Shove it,' Jones repeated, and Lin chuckled, then suddenly cuffed him on the ear.
    .
    'You bloody . . .' Jones half rose from his seat. Gillon saw it coming but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Lin drew his pistol, reversed it in his hand and used the butt to hit Jones viciously across the temple. Jones groaned once and slumped back, blood welling out of a deep cut above his temple. Gillon found himself on his feet, swearing violently, his right arm caught against the bulkhead by the handcuff. Lin smiled thinly and turned, raising the pistol to strike again. A shot blasted through the cabin and Lin jolted forward, caught his balance and turned to the rear of the cabin. Gillon saw his look of utter astonishment as he faced the Soviet GRU colonel, now standing in the aisle. The colonel took slow aim and fired the pistol once more, striking Lin squarely in the chest. Lin's own
    pistol dropped from his nerveless fingers and he crumpled forward. Behind Gillon, the sergeant was moving like a dancer, twisting out of his seat and drawing his own revolver at the same time. The colonel fired once more, shifted his aim, slightly, pistol hand lying across his left forearm. Gillon stared for an eternity down the muzzle before it fired for the third time ... past his shoulder and struck the Chinese soldier on the left side of the cabin. At the same time the sergeant shot twice, dropping the soldier standing to the right of the door. The cockpit door was thrust open and a rifle poked out. The sergeant jumped to the left and fired twice inside as the colonel raced up the aisle. The cockpit guard crumpled to his knees and the sergeant fired once more, into the back of the neck, and he slumped face forward onto the floor in a welter of blood. The Russian officer hurdled the body and slammed into the cockpit. Three shots were fired in quick succession and the aircraft banked abruptly to the left and fell off the port wing, throwing Gillon forward and wrenching the skin-from his wrist, where the handcuff dragged at the