The other two guards had come in from the north side entrance of the building, and one of them had begun firing at Jenkins and Hume, who were about ten meters behind Beasley, close to the wall.

"Damn it, Jenkins, he sees you!" cried Beasley. "Move up and take him out!"

Just then Lieutenant Moch got on the Cross-Com with an intel update from his Predator: the power crew was at the fence, working on the gate, and yet another truck was inbound.

The news prompted Beasley to call the captain. "Ghost Lead, this is Bravo Lead. I'll need to blow that transformer within the next couple of minutes."

When Mitchell and Smith reached the south building, only one guard had remained outside, thanks to Nolan. Smith had just tagged the other guy with an impressive shot, and the main door had split under Mitchell's foot as though it'd been made of balsa, thanks to years of martial arts training.

Now, as they headed up the staircase, en route toward Major-General Wu's quarters and the remaining guard there, Mitchell drew in a long breath and spoke evenly over the radio, responding to Beasley's call: "Hold off on the fireworks as long as you can. Looks like Chen's on the move in the north building. Change of plan. You move in and take him out."

"Roger that. On our way."

"Diaz?" Mitchell called. "Help him out."

"Roger that," she said.

Mitchell and Smith reached the fourth-floor balcony. They crouched near the wall, taking about a dozen more steps toward the major-general's door.

Suddenly, that door swung open, and one of the guards hurried out. Behind him came Major-General Wu Hui himself, wearing only boxer shorts and brandishing a pistol. Both men thundered directly toward them.

Their expressions changed as they spotted the two men crouched near the wall, but they were already too late.

Smith got off the first shot, striking the guard just as he was lifting his rifle.

Mitchell cut loose with his MR-C, hosing down the balcony with suppressed rounds and sending the muscular Wu to the wooden floor.

As Mitchell dove forward himself, Wu began squeezing off rounds and hollering obscenities in Mandarin.

Smith issued a half-strangled cry as Mitchell kept firing until Wu's pistol fell silent.

"Paul!" Mitchell rolled onto his side, sat up, where Smith was clutching his right biceps.

"Stings bad."

"I'll tie it off quick."

Mitchell reached into his pack for his medical kit. Every Ghost carried one except Nolan who, as medic, toted the full medical bag.

Within two minutes Mitchell had Smith's arm tied off and a big trauma bandage slapped in place.

"Let's go take a look," said Smith, lifting his chin at Wu's quarters.