195: Chapter 195 A Gift Where Half the Hotel Was Burning

Outside the main entrance of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.

The Flying Tigers had already entered the building.

Twelve men, fully armed, were pushing their way up from the fire escape.

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin stood behind the temporary command vehicle, a blue trench coat over his bulletproof vest, clutching a radio in his hand.

"Report: the first-floor lobby is clear, no armed personnel found. We are pushing toward the second floor."

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin pressed the talk button.

"Understood. Watch the blind spots in the stairwell."

Just as he finished speaking, the roar of engines came from behind him.

Ten fire engines turned from Queen's Road into Des Voeux Road, their sirens blaring and lights flashing, stopping on the west side of the hotel.

The doors slammed open.

Over sixty Firefighters jumped out of the trucks, dragging hoses, connecting couplings, and setting up water cannons.

The leading man ran up to Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin.

He was in his early forties.

"Station Chief Chen Tao of the Luohu Fire Rescue Station, here to support under orders from the Guangdong Provincial Fire Rescue Corps."

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin nodded.

"Did you receive the brief on the way?"

"I did."

Station Chief Chen Tao looked up at the hotel.

Black smoke was still billowing from the first-floor lobby, fire was shooting out of the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows, and the heatwave was already pressing against the police line.

He didn't waste any words.

"Deputy Commissioner Li, I request to fight the fire on the first floor first."

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin paused.

"There are still terrorists upstairs."

Station Chief Chen Tao pointed inside the lobby.

"The load-bearing pillars on the first floor are already being baked by open flames. Once the steel structure exceeds six hundred degrees, its bearing capacity will drop rapidly."

He paused.

"This building has twenty-five floors. If the first floor collapses, everything above is finished."

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin only hesitated for two seconds.

"Agreed."

He turned and shouted to his men.

"Send a squad of officers in with the Firefighters to guard against armed hostiles."

Station Chief Chen Tao turned back.

"Attention everyone! Extinguish the fire on the first floor!"

"Two hose lines, three search and rescue teams, the rest on standby!"

The Firefighters began to head inside.

Cheng Songyan stood by the third truck, his bunker gear zipped to the top, a self-contained breathing apparatus strapped to his back.

He didn't move.

Station Chief Chen Tao walked over and patted him.

"Songyan, you coordinate the water source outside."

Cheng Songyan opened his mouth.

Station Chief Chen Tao had already turned away.

No explanation.

None was needed.

The whole station knew about his past.

In that fire ten years ago, he was trapped. Former Captain Meng Yancheng went in to save him, but was severely injured and retired afterwards.

Since then, Cheng Songyan had barely set foot in a fire ground again.

Qin Xiaoshan ran past him with a hose on his back, still chewing on something.

"Brother Song! I'm going in!"

Han Su rushed at the very front, his face mask already secured.

Zhong Ji followed closely behind, his left hand pressing down on the hose, his steps very steady.

Over sixty Firefighters flooded into the first floor.

The black smoke swallowed them up.

Cheng Songyan stood by the truck, his hand resting on the door, making no move forward.

— —

Upstairs.

The Flying Tigers were advancing rapidly.

The quality of the terrorists was uneven.

Some knew how to provide alternating cover.

Others couldn't even hold their guns steady.

Ten minutes.

The Flying Tigers fought their way from the tenth floor to the sixteenth floor.

Thirteen terrorists were neutralized.

Two members of the Flying Tigers suffered minor injuries.

Over the radio, the voice of the Flying Tigers' captain came through.

"Report: we have advanced to the sixteenth floor. Encountering heavy resistance."

"The opposition is using grenades and tear gas. There are at least two shooters with extremely high accuracy. Four of our men are wounded, one severely."

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin pressed the talk button.

"Describe the enemy."

"One black, one white. They coordinate very well. Not ordinary gunmen, they've been on a battlefield."

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin cursed.

"Hold on. Reinforcements are on the way."

He turned to the superintendent beside him.

"Send up all remaining mobile police forces."

The superintendent froze for a moment.

"All of them?"

"All of them."

Twenty-eight elite police officers rushed into the hotel lobby, stepping over the fire hoses as they ran toward the stairwell.

One minute later.

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin pressed the talk button again.

"Flying Tigers, take note: reinforcements have entered the stairwell and are heading up."

The radio crackled with static.

Then, another voice cut in.

It wasn't the Flying Tigers.

Nor was it the police.

It was English with a foreign accent.

"Thank you for taking this so seriously."

A shiver ran down Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin's spine.

The voice continued.

"Next, please accept my gift."

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin reacted instantly, roaring into the radio.

"All units, evacuate the hotel!"

"Evacuate immediately!"

"Hurry!"

The first-floor lobby.

A white light flashed.

The shockwave blasted outward from the center of the lobby, flipping glass, tables, chairs, hoses, and human bodies alike.

Immediately following was the second floor.

The third floor.

The fourth floor.

The explosions chased upward from bottom to top.

Stairwells, equipment rooms, corridor corners—pre-planted explosive charges detonated one after another.

Ten seconds.

Everything below the sixteenth floor was engulfed in a sea of fire.

The main entrance of the hotel was sealed shut by collapsed concrete.

Flames spewing from the side door set two police cars on fire.

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin was knocked down behind the command vehicle by the blast wave. His ears were ringing, and he couldn't get up for a long time.

Only static remained on the radio.

A few seconds later, a young voice squeezed through.

It was intermittent.

"This is... Luohu Fire... Zhong Ji..."

Coughing drowned out the channel.

"First floor... massive collapse..."

"Firefighters and police... heavy casualties..."

Another fit of coughing.

"Qin Xiaoshan... hit by a chandelier..."

"Han Su is fine..."

"Qin Xiaoshan... Qin Xiaoshan is unresponsive..."

The radio went dead.

Outside the hotel.

Cheng Songyan stood beside the fire engine.

He had heard it.

Qin Xiaoshan.

That kid who was always eating.

The kid who stuffed steamed buns into his pocket and said, "They're free, it'd be a waste not to take them."

Cheng Songyan took off his helmet.

Then put it back on.

His hands began to shake.

The images from ten years ago came rushing back.

Fire.

Smoke.

Trapped.

Former Captain Meng Yancheng's back.

He stood frozen in place, his legs unable to move.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Cheng Songyan buckled his face mask, grabbed his fire axe, and rushed toward a side wall of the hotel that hadn't completely collapsed.

Station Chief Chen Tao roared from behind.

"Cheng Songyan! Come back!"

Cheng Songyan didn't stop.

The fire axe slammed into the wall.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Brick fragments flew outward.

Fire flickered out from the cracks, licking his face mask.

A fourth time.

A fifth time.

The wall plaster crumbled away, revealing red-hot rebar inside.

Cheng Songyan changed his angle and squeezed in sideways.

His shoulder scraped against broken bricks, tearing a gash in his bunker gear.

He ignored it.

Inside was filled with smoke.

The flashlight beam was swallowed up less than two meters out.

The low-pressure warning whistle on his breathing apparatus hadn't sounded.

The cylinder was full.

There was still time.

Cheng Songyan lowered his body and felt his way inside along the base of the wall.

He stepped on a ruptured hose.

Nearby lay half a fire helmet, its cracked edge still smoking.

"Qin Xiaoshan!"

No response.

"Zhong Ji!"

"Han Su!"

Coughing came from ahead.

Very faint.

Cheng Songyan immediately crawled over.

His knees struck loose rubble; he gritted his teeth and bypassed it.

The flashlight beam swept across.

Zhong Ji was half-kneeling on the ground, his left arm hanging limp, his right hand still pressed against Qin Xiaoshan's chest.

Qin Xiaoshan lay in the pile of rubble.

A piece of the chandelier's frame was pinning his right leg.

His face was covered in ash.

There was blood at the corner of his mouth.

Han Su lay prone nearby, with half a ceiling panel pinning his back, though he was still moving.

"Brother Song!"

Zhong Ji looked up, his voice incredibly hoarse.

"Qin Xiaoshan pushed Han Su... but couldn't get out of the way himself..."

Cheng Songyan rushed over and squatted beside Qin Xiaoshan.

He pressed two fingers to the side of his neck.

There was a pulse.

Very weak.

But it was there.

"He's alive."

Hearing those words, Zhong Ji slumped slightly to the side but forced himself to stay upright.

Cheng Songyan had already begun lifting the chandelier frame.

Zhong Ji helped with his right hand.

The two of them lifted the metal frame and pushed it aside.

Qin Xiaoshan's right leg was exposed.

The shin was bent at an unnatural angle.

A fracture.

No major bleeding.

Cheng Songyan pulled out a splint strap and quickly secured the leg.

Then he turned to clear the ceiling panel off Han Su's back.

Han Su was also struggling to crawl out.

"I'm fine... Brother Song... I can move..."

Cheng Songyan flipped the ceiling panel off.

"Can you walk?"

Han Su pushed himself off the ground.

"Yes."

"Carry him. Let's get out."

Cheng Songyan hoisted Qin Xiaoshan onto his back.

A 140-pound man, plus gear, weighed nearly 200 pounds.

His legs were shaking.

Not from exhaustion.

But because ten years ago, he had been carried out just like this.

That person was now roasting mutton skewers on a street corner in Luohu.

Cheng Songyan gritted his teeth and walked toward the hole they came in through.

Zhong Ji supported Han Su, following behind.

The smoke was growing thicker.

The sound of metal snapping came from overhead.

The floor slab was warping.

"Hurry."

Cheng Songyan picked up his pace.

Qin Xiaoshan murmured from his back.

"Brother Song..."

Cheng Songyan didn't stop.

"Shut up and save your breath."

"The bun... there's still half a bun in my pocket..."

"Don't squash it..."

Cheng Songyan almost tripped over a broken brick.

This kid.

Even in this state, he was still thinking about food.

"I'll buy you a whole box when we get back."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then I want the brown sugar ones..."

His voice cut off.

He had fainted again.

Cheng Songyan squeezed out of the hole.

Outside air rushed into his face mask.

Station Chief Chen Tao rushed up with two Firefighters to take them.

Qin Xiaoshan was placed on a stretcher.

Han Su was helped over to the ambulance.

Zhong Ji sat down against the fire truck, his left arm hanging by his side, his face covered in soot.

Cheng Songyan took off his face mask, panting heavily.

The chest of his bunker gear was charred.

His gloves were torn.

Blisters had formed on the back of his hands.

He didn't look down.

He only stared at the hotel.

Everything below the sixteenth floor was a raging inferno.

Thick smoke shrouded the upper floors.

There were still people inside.

Firefighters.

Police officers.

The Flying Tigers.

And hostages who hadn't been evacuated.

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin climbed up from behind the command vehicle, his ears still ringing.

He grabbed the radio.

"All units, report casualties!"

Replies trickled in over the channel.

From the Flying Tigers' first wave of twelve men who went in, only five could currently be contacted.

The twenty-eight reinforcing police officers were out of contact.

Of the sixty-plus Firefighters who entered the first floor, fewer than twenty had evacuated so far.

Deputy Commissioner Li Wenbin slammed the radio onto the roof of the vehicle.

"Damn it."

He stared up at the upper levels of the hotel.

Above the sixteenth floor, there were still lights on.

There were hostages there.

And terrorists.

And Li Li.

Now, all paths below were cut off.

They couldn't go up.

And they couldn't come down.

That foreign-accented voice still echoed in his mind.

"Accept my gift."

— —

The twenty-fifth floor.

When the explosion reverberated up, the entire floor shook.

The hostages in the banquet hall screamed and threw themselves to the floor.

The chandeliers swayed, raining shards down onto the carpet.

Li Li steadied himself against the wall and looked down at his feet.

The floor slab was vibrating.

But it hadn't cracked.

The twenty-fifth floor was holding up for now.

Below was already a sea of fire.

The elevators were out of service.

The stairwells were sealed off by fire.

How many terrorists were still alive downstairs, no one knew.

He was trapped up here.

Along with over a hundred hostages.

And two terrorists in charge of the money transfer.

As well as that madman hiding in the private room.

Li Li leaned against the wall, ejecting the submachine gun's magazine to check it.

Seventeen rounds.

Two spare magazines for his pistol.

He slammed the magazine back in.

*Click.*

Then he looked up, staring at the door at the back of the banquet hall.

Through the crack in the door...

...the candlelight was still flickering.