CPO Meyer dumped a half-magazine into each man, sending them and their weapons tumbling into the alley as the door closed again behind them.

"Go!" Meyer shouted, and the van accelerated up the alley to the east.

- As soon as the van moved past him, Jack emerged from between the garbage cans and rushed toward the back door, desperate to check on Chavez. "Ding? Ding?" he said into his headset.

When he was still twenty-five feet from the door, a white SUV turned into the alley from the west on squealing tires. It raced closer, accelerated after the panel van holding Zha and the Americans.

Jack had no doubt this SUV would be full of 14K reinforcements. He made it to the shotgun lying by the dead Triad, picked it up off the ground, and then stepped into the center of the alleyway. He raised the weapon and fired a single shell into the street just in front of the approaching vehicle. Buckshot ricocheted off the asphalt and shredded both of the front tires, sending the SUV veering off to the left and crashing through the glass windows of an all-night market.

Jack heard a noise close on his right, turned, and saw Adam Yao running toward him. He continued on past Jack to the back door of Club Stylish. As he ran he said, "There will be more where they came from. We have to go through the club to get out of here. Throw down the gun and follow me. Keep that mask on!"

Jack did as he was told and followed Adam.

Yao opened the door and immediately saw blood streaked down the stairs. In Mandarin he shouted, "Is everybody okay?"

He made it just a few steps down before being confronted by a man pointing a pistol in his face. Instantly the gunman realized he was looking at two unarmed men in civilian dress, not geared-up shooters. "Where did they go?" he demanded.

Adam replied, "West. I think they are going to the Cross-Harbour Tunnel!"

The Triad lowered the weapon and ran past them up the stairs.

Down in the strip club, Adam and Jack were met by a scene of carnage. A total of sixteen bodies lay on the floor. Some moved in the throes of agony, and others lay still.

Seven 14K Triads lay dead or dying, with three more less gravely wounded. Six club patrons were dead or injured as well.

Adam and Jack found Chavez, who himself was heading toward the stairs up the hallway. When he saw them he held up a small handheld computer. Jack recognized it as belonging to Zha Shu Hai. Ding had picked it up off the ground where FastByte had been bound by the SEALs.

Ding slid it into the inside pocket of his sport coat.

Adam said, "We need to keep moving. Go out the front like everyone else."

The CIA officer led the way, and Ding and Jack followed him.

Ryan could not believe the inside of the nightclub. Every table and every chair was flipped on its side or upside down, broken glass was everywhere, and blood seeping out of bodies or smeared on the tile floor shimmered in the spinning light from the disco ball that, somehow, managed to stay intact and operational.

The shrill wail of sirens got louder and louder out on Jaffe Road.

Yao said, "It's going to fill up with police around here quickly. They always move in when the fighting is done over here in the Triad neighborhoods."

As they headed up the stairs, Jack said, "Whoever those guys were, I can't believe they pulled it off."

Just then the sound of gunfire erupted once again. This time it came from the east.

Ding looked at Jack. Softly he said, "They haven't pulled it off yet. Go back down and grab a gun off of one of those bodies."

Jack nodded, turned, and rushed down the stairs.

Yao asked Chavez, "What are we going to do?"

"Whatever we can."

Adam then said, "The van. My keys are in it, and it's unlocked. Maybe Biery can pick it up."

Chavez nodded and called Gavin, who was in a cab on the way to the scene. "I need you to get Adam's maroon Mitsubishi Grandis out of the alley behind Club Stylish. When you get it, give me a call, I'm sure we'll need a pickup."

"Okay."

FORTY-ONE.

Meyer and his team of shot-up SEAL Team Six operators managed to make it six blocks before the 14K closed in on them.

From the moment the first gunshots rang out at the club on Jaffe Road five minutes earlier, all across Wan Chai mobile phones chirped and text messages were received. Word spread quickly to 14K gunmen that their turf was under some sort of attack, and they were all ordered to descend on the corner of Jaffe and Marsh, the location of Club Stylish.

Coordination between the various groups of 14K was a disjointed mess, especially so in those first minutes, but the sheer number of goons on foot, on motorcycles, in cars, and even in the MTR rushing to the area ensured that Meyer and his team would be outnumbered fifteen to one. The Triads did not know Zha had been kidnapped-in fact, only a small fraction of them would know who Zha was in the first place. All they knew was that there was a shoot-out at the club and a group of heavily armed gweilos were trying to get away. Someone reported they were in a black van, and that made it just a matter of time before Meyer and his element were caught like roaches in the light on the narrow, crowded streets of Wan Chai.

They had driven east up the alley until it ended at Canal Road, then took that south until they could go east again on Jaffe. As they passed shuttered businesses and high-rise office and apartment buildings, the driver of the van, Special Warfare Operator Terry Hawley, veered left and right to avoid slow-moving and oncoming traffic.

In the back of the van, Zha was facedown and still tied and hooded, the injured men were busy wrapping quick bandages around their gunshot wounds, and Meyer was in comms with the extraction team, telling them his element was minutes away.

But things went south as soon as Meyer finished the transmission. They rolled into the intersection of Jaffe and Percival, less than a half-mile from the shoot-out and into the ultra-ritzy Causeway Bay area, when an automatic rifle was fired by a plain-clothed man in the backseat of a Ford Mustang convertible. Special Warfare Operator Hawley was hit in both arms and the chest, and he slumped forward over the steering wheel.

The twelve-passenger van swerved in the rain, skidded perpendicular to the road, and then flipped onto its side, sliding thirty yards until it crashed into the front of a light bus, a sixteen-passenger vehicle used for public transportation.

Hawley was killed by rifle fire, and another special warfare operator broke his shoulder in the crash.

Meyer was dazed, and broken glass had cut his chin, cheeks, and lips, but he kicked open the back door of the van and rallied his men. The dead and the wounded were either carried or helped along, and the prisoner was held on to, and the men shuffled into an alleyway that led toward the water, some four hundred yards to the north.

They had not been out of the street for more than a few seconds when the first of dozens of police cars raced to the scene and began pulling bewildered Hong Kongers out of the public light bus.

- Three hundred yards west of the crash, Chavez, Ryan, and Yao ran through the rain, pushing past late-night crowds and leaping out of the way of emergency vehicles of all types that either raced toward Club Stylish or headed toward the popping gunfire to the east.

Crossing the eight lanes of traffic at Canal Road, Adam caught up to Chavez and said, "Follow me! There is a pedestrian walkway between those condo towers there, we can head north of Jaffe and come up from a quieter street."

"Let's do it," Ding said.

As they ran on, Yao asked, "What's the plan when we get there?"

Domingo answered back, "We wing it." Then he clarified, "We can't do too much for those boys, but I'll bet they'll take any help we can give them."

- The seven surviving SEALs were overtaxed with responsibilities. Two men carried their dead comrade; one man kept a firm gloved hand on FastByte's collar, pulling the young hacker along, and his other hand on his SIG Sauer pistol. The two operators with serious leg wounds were helped along by the SEALs still able to walk under their own power, even though one of the ambulatory SEALs himself had a broken shoulder. He had dropped all his gear, and now all he was able to do was help the man with the wounded knee hobble along while at the same time doing his best to fight his body's urge to go into shock from the pain of the broken shoulder.

CPO Meyer helped Reynosa, who had lost a sizable chunk of meat out of the back of his left calf.

Meyer and one other operator were still able to use their small, suppressed HK PDWs as a primary weapon. Two more men had their pistols in their hands, but the other three surviving men could not even get a gun into the fight because they were fully engaged, either dragging someone or dealing with their own injuries.

Meyer's team's ability to fight had been depleted more than sixty percent in five minutes.

They struggled along as fast as they could, winding through parking lots and back alleys, doing their best to stay away from police vehicles racing through the streets, and pockets of 14K who gave their positions away by screaming and shouting, wild from the chase.

The rainfall and the late hour kept passersby to a minimum here, a few blocks from the lively restaurant and bar location of Lockhart Road, so Meyer knew that any fighting-age males grouped together were likely a threat.

As they approached a shuttered row of shops at the foot of a skyscraper under construction and cocooned in a latticework of bamboo, Bannerman called out, "Contact left!" and Meyer fixed his laser onto three young men running up a side street with rifles in their hands. One of the toughs fired a wild burst from a folding-stock AK, sending sparks and asphalt off the street and into the air near the SEAL element, but Meyer and Petty Officer Wade Lipinski each opened fire with their MP7s, killing all three combatants in a matter of seconds.

The threat was eliminated, but the gunfire from the AK and the eruption of car alarms on the street were bad news for Meyer and his team. The roving bands of Triads would be able to pinpoint them easily.

They kept moving, heading north toward the water and doing everything they could to stay under cover, as thumping jet-powered helicopters circled overhead and spotlights whipped across the high buildings all around them.

- It seemed to Jack Ryan as if every damn siren in Hong Kong was now in operation in or around Wan Chai. Even before the short barking of rifle fire echoed through the canyons of skyscrapers a few seconds ago, Jack's ears were ringing from police and fire department sirens, as well as from his firing the shotgun back in the alley behind the club.

He ran on through the pedestrian walkway, following Adam, who had taken the lead, and he felt the weight and bite of the Beretta 9-millimeter tucked inside his belt. Without Adam, Ding and Jack would have run straight into police roadblocks and racing gangs of 14K crews every few seconds. So far they had passed only one group of five or six men, whom Adam identified as probable 14K gunmen. Jack wondered if he would see these guys again when and if he made contact with the JSOC operators who had kidnapped FastByte.

From the sound of a new volley of shooting it was clear the American direct-action team was still heading north. They were just a few blocks from Victoria Harbour.

As they ran, Jack asked, "A boat? Should we get them a boat?"

Ding turned to Yao, "What's closest to us at the shoreline?"

Yao said, "There's a private marina over there, but forget about it. There will be twenty-five harbor-patrol craft with spotlights ready to stop them as soon as they go to the water, and the choppers overhead will have a perfect line of sight. Those guys aren't going to Jet Ski out of this shit."

Chavez tapped his earpiece as he jogged. A moment later, Gavin answered.

"Where are you?" Chavez asked.

"I'm approaching the rear of the club, but there are a lot of people back there. Some of them are going to be Fourteen-K."

"Gavin, we need those wheels."

"Okay, but no promises. I'm not even sure I-"

"This is life and death! Do what you have to do."

"But there are police and-"

"Figure it out and call me back!" Chavez hung up.

Suddenly all three men stopped running. Just up ahead they heard a weapon firing cyclic. It was a suppressed HK MP7; both Ding and Jack were familiar with the sound.

The JSOC operators were close.

Jack stepped into a small concrete courtyard between four identical buildings. The only light illuminating the scene was from red Chinese lamps strung across the courtyard over metal picnic tables and a small fenced-in playground. Just on the other side of the courtyard, Jack watched the group of men he saw back at the girlie bar emerge from a breezeway that passed under one of the buildings.

Ryan stepped back around the corner, knelt down, and took another peek.

The men looked like they'd just hit Omaha Beach. Every man Ryan could see was either seriously wounded or assisting someone who was. Two men carried what appeared to be a dead body.

Ding looked out quickly, and then pulled himself and Ryan back around the corner to cover. Keeping himself shielded, Chavez whistled loudly, then shouted, "Listen up! You've got friendlies over here! A three-man OGA unit! We're ready to help if you can use us!" OGA was how CIA personnel often referred to themselves in the field. It stood for Other Governmental Agency, and it was safer than saying "Agency" or "Company," common nicknames for CIA.

Chavez knew, whether these guys were JSOC or CIA or any other U.S. paramilitary unit, they would understand this term.

- Meyer looked down to Reynosa to make sure he had actually heard what he thought he heard. The wounded operator nodded distantly, then propped himself against the wall of the courtyard and raised his gun to cover the area in case it was a trap.

Meyer shouted back, "Step out, one at a time, hands high and empty!"

"Coming out," shouted Chavez, and he raised his hands and stepped into the dim light under the paper lanterns.

Jack Ryan and Adam Yao did the same, and within thirty seconds the SEALs had help from three able-bodied men.

Meyer said, "We can talk while we move."

Ryan rushed over to grab the man with the bloody bandages around his left calf, and Adam Yao relieved the ashen-faced SEAL with the broken shoulder from his responsibility, helping the man with the bullet wound in his knee.

Chavez lifted the dead SEAL off the ground in a fireman's carry, so the two men carrying his body could once again wield their HKs.

Together the ten surviving Americans and the flexi-cuffed and hooded Zha Shu Hai started again for the north. They still moved way too slow, but they were faster now than before.

Police sirens wailed all around and lights flashed in all directions; helicopters flew high overhead and spotlights reflected off windows. Fortunately for the SEALs, the two Campus operators, and Adam Yao, the high apartment buildings kept the helos from getting their spotlights near the action.

- Five minutes later they had found refuge hiding in the trees and darkness in Tung Lo Wan Garden. All around them on the street, police cars raced by in all directions, and several cars full of young tough-looking men passed by, often slowing to shine flashlights in the park.

All the men lay flat in the grass, though Petty Officer Jim Shipley kept half of his body over Zha Shu Hai to keep him still and quiet.

Chavez called Biery and was pleasantly surprised to learn that the IT director had managed to pass his first challenge in the field. He'd argued his way past a police barrier to get "his" minivan out of the parking lot, and Ding directed him to their position.

CPO Michael Meyer checked on his wounded men and then crawled over to the three new guys in his group. He did not know who these men were, really. The short Hispanic guy was oldest, he was doing all the talking; the tall younger American kept a sweat-soaked paper mask over his face; and the Asian guy looked both worn-out and freaked-out.

Meyer motioned to Yao. "We saw you behind the target location. I had Poteet bag you. Didn't know you were OGA. Sorry about that."

Yao shook his head. "No problem."

"Wish we could have hooked up with you from the beginning, but we were told you guys have a massive breach over here, so there would be no coordination."

Yao said, "Can't argue with the thinking on that. There is a breach, but it's not out of Hong Kong. Trust me, no one knows where I am or what I'm doing right now."

Meyer raised an eyebrow behind his ballistic eye protection. "Okay."

Chavez asked, "Who are you guys?"

"DEVGRU."

Chavez knew that U.S. Special Warfare Development Group, or DEVGRU, was the organization formerly known as SEAL Team Six. He wasn't surprised to learn this element was pulled from one of America's most elite special-mission units. Hell, even with all the damage they'd taken, they'd probably wasted twenty enemy in the past twenty minutes and were on the way to completing their mission objective, though Ding had been around enough to know that Meyer would remember this event only as the mission where he lost a man.

The Navy team leader reloaded his HK. "With all our injuries and all the helos in the air, our exfil is going to be a bitch. You boys know the area better than we do. You got any bright ideas about extricating ourselves from this bullshit?"