The Chinese Agenda by Joe Poyer Page A

flesh. The transport tipped into the slow twist that preceded a spin, then, just as abruptly as it had begun, righted itself and, a moment later, the engines were running up to full rated power, dragging the nose up, and she began to come level once more.
    Gillon untangled himself from the seat and got shakily to his feet. The three Chinese soldiers were dead. One body had rolled across the cabin in the violence of the spin and lay on its hack, sightless eves staring at the ceiling. Lin was on his hack, astonishment still evident in his staring eyes, a thin trickle of blood running idly down his cheek. The sergeant had been thrown hard to the deck by the sudden movement of the aircraft. He got to his feet, shaking his head, swayed in the aisle a moment and grabbed a seat hack to steady himself. Then he walked carefully to Lin, stooped down and went through his pockets until he found the key to the handcuffs. Without a word, he reached hack and handed the key to Gillon, then bent over Jones's unconscious figure. Gillon found the key that fit his cuffs, unlocked them,
    and tossed the set to Leycock, who released both his and Stowe's. Leycock tensed and Gillon heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. He turned to see the GRU colonel standing in the cockpit doorway, pistol still in his hand but grinning from ear to ear. The colonel laughed and snapped the magazine out to show that it was empty. As if nothing had happened, he slipped a fresh magazine into the pistol, snapped the slide back to load a cartridge into the chamber, put the safety on and shoved it back into his holster. Still wary, Leycock came up the aisle and knelt down beside Jones. The sergeant backed out of the way while Leycock undid the handcuffs and, examined his bleeding head. The sergeant walked down the aisle to the colonel and spoke to him in Russian, gesturing at Jones. Gillon caught a trace of concern on his face and hastily leaned over the seat. Stowe came up and together the three of them got Jones lifted out of the seat and onto the carpeted floor.
    His breathing was shallow, his skin almost gray and covered with a thin film of sweat. Leycock rubbed his wrists and chest and Stowe hurried back down the aisle to where the packs were piled in one of the rear seats and came back with a first-aid kit. He found an ammonia ampul, broke it and waved it under Jones's nose. Jones coughed and feebly pushed the ampul away. Ley-cock pressed him back to the floor and his color and breathing began to return to normal. After a minute or so, Leycock held up three fingers.
    'How many?'
    'Seven, dammit, let me up ..
    'Okay, but take it easy ...'
    Leycock helped him into the seat and stepped back while Stowe went to work with swab and antiseptic to clean the gash that the pistol butt had left above his temple.
    'Ye gods, take it easy,' Jones whispered between clenched teeth. Stowe grunted and finished up, dabbed an antibiotic ointment on a sterile pad and taped it in place. Then he shook two tablets out of a bottle and offered them to Jones. Leycock handed him a canteen and they both insisted that he swallow the tablets.
    `They're just aspirin. And you are going to have one hell of a headache in a few moments.'
    Jones nodded and swallowed the tablets, then leaned his head back against the seat. Stowe adjusted it until it was almost horizontal.
    'All right, Colonel, fun and game times are over,' Gillon said tightly, turning to the two Russians talking together at the front of the cabin. 'What the hell is this all about?'
    The colonel smiled easily and came down the aisle to them. 'I would not really blame you if you were angry. It is a very dirty trick to play. But we had no other choice. My name is Andre Dmietriev and this is my friend and associate Sergeant Anton Rodek. We are the two other members of this apparently ill-fated venture.'
    Gillon was surprised by the announcement. But then, he thought, nothing had made sense so far. Why should it start now?
    Stowe moved up the