“That was not a crash, and the information I choose to relay is not your concern. I don’t answer to you. Got it?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Nick’s anger finally boiled over. He crossed the few meters between them with rapid steps and pinned Quinn to the tree with his forearm against his neck. “Maybe you don’t understand,” he hissed. “We are not equals here. This is my operation and my responsibility. I don’t ever have to explain myself to you.” He ripped off Quinn’s goggles so that he could stare him in the eye. “I don’t want you here, and I don’t need you here. If I think for an instant that your stupidity is jeopardizing this mission, I will put a bullet between your eyes and leave you for the Chinese. Am I clear, Senior Airman Quinn?”
Quinn stared back in silence. Shock and anger filled his eyes.
Nick pulsed his arms, bouncing Quinn against the tree. “Am . . . I . . . clear?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Quinn reluctantly.
The kid’s tone was conciliatory, but Nick could still hear anger behind it. He didn’t have the time to wait for a better response. He backed up and tossed the goggles at Quinn’s chest. “Fine. Let’s move out.”
CHAPTER 42
Zheng’s missile factory was so much more than a simple production facility. Just as he had designed. With an integrated airfield, a state-of-the-art communications suite, and several other specialized resources, the compound made a perfect staging area for operations that required more secrecy and privacy than Fujian’s military bases could provide.
He arrived at the compound dressed in battle fatigues and escorted by two of his commandos. A business suit and a pair of executive assistants would have been more fitting to his new position as defense minister, but tonight’s mission began the combat stage of an odyssey two decades in the making, and he intended to act as a combat general until that stage was complete. He would not take on the trappings of a minister until he stood ready to present the Politburo with the gift of a unified China.
Zheng walked out onto the tarmac behind the main building and surveyed the small group of soldiers setting up his temporary headquarters. He found the commander of his Special Forces unit supervising a crew as they unfolded a temporary fiberglass pavilion from the back of its flatbed transport.
“Colonel Sung,” he called, raising his voice over the rumble of the flatbed’s engine. “What is your report?” He stopped short of the operation, unwilling to approach the truck while the choking exhaust still poured from its stack.
The gaunt colonel left his troops and crossed behind the truck to meet Zheng, dodging one of the hydraulic arms as it unfolded the pavilion. “Minister, the regulars are still positioned as you requested,” he said with a curt bow. “Ten men surround the cave, remaining hidden and keeping watch over the prisoner, while two conduct regular sweeps of a five-hundred-meter perimeter. Four more are watching Detention Center Twenty-six, in case the Americans go there.” He gestured toward a hangar at the other end of the flight line. “Our specialized troops are bedded down in that hangar, awaiting activation.”
Zheng nodded. Colonel Sung appeared to be executing his orders efficiently. He had chosen him well. Zheng had given him a platoon of regulars to augment his commandos. They maintained a constant watch over the prisoner, a long and exhausting mission. Once they identified the Americans’ approach, their orders were to notify Sung and then delay the intruders until his elite forces arrived to close the trap. Keeping the commandos in reserve would keep them fresh and ready for a fight with the American covert ops team.
“And what of the prison troops?” asked Zheng.
Sung’s lips stretched into a grim smile. “Thanks to the body you provided, they will not get in the way. As ordered, the prison’s commandant identified the remains as Novak’s and then had them destroyed. No one else saw anything but a closed body bag. The guards are convinced that the prisoner is dead. Their search is over.”
The men finished setting up the pavilion and brought chairs for the minister and the colonel. The driver shut down the flatbed’s engine. The offensive smell of diesel began to dissipate. “I will wake our attack force shortly,” said Zheng, leading Sung under the pavilion. He eased himself down into a chair and nodded for the colonel to do the same. “I have good intelligence that the Americans are already on the ground.”
Sung’s eyes widened in surprise. “I was not aware of this. The Air Defense Net has reported no intrusions.”
“And that is good news,” said Zheng. “It means that the fools have brought us their best stealth aircraft. If it can penetrate our defenses, then we can surely use the same technology to render our missiles undetectable. Our dominion over Taiwan is assured.”
“If the Americans are already here, would it not be wise to bring in additional forces? We could flood the forest with regulars.”
“No, my friend,” said Zheng in a fatherly tone. “These fish cannot be caught by casting a wide net. They would get spooked and make their escape before it collapsed upon them.” He did not say that he also feared a larger force would draw the attention of the Politburo. The moderates might shut him down before he could capture his prize. He gazed out at the forest beyond the runway. “No, we must catch these fish with the hook in their mouths. And we will, Sung. The bait is set. They are about to bite.”
CHAPTER 43
“Less than six hundred meters,” said Nick, reading the heads-up display in his goggles. The GPS symbols told him that he was still on track, but he could hardly see anything through the dense vegetation. The lower bushes and vines had grown steadily thicker, filling the spaces between the heavy, broadleaf trees and the thinner pines.
“That checks. More than half a klick to go,” said Quinn tersely. He moved on a parallel path with his team lead, several meters behind and to the left. “Of course, if you weren’t so slow, we would be there by now,” he added, muttering under his breath.
Nick’s jaw tensed. “Hey, chucklehead,” he said, continuing to pick his way forward. “The great thing about these comm implants is that no matter how quietly you whisper, I can still hear you.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Just shut up and stay close. The visibility is getting worse.”
The two had covered nearly half the distance from Shadow Catcher to the Palace, the CIA’s old hideout. They had crested the ridge and then dropped down the other side, crossing a stream and a small road without incident. Now they worked their way through rippling jungle terrain, up miniature ridges and down into small bowls and valleys where the scrub slowed them down considerably. Nick wished that this had all started in the summer. In July, they could have stomped through the underbrush with bells around their necks and still not been heard over the racket of the rain forest bugs. Now, in the early spring, only a few crickets chirped, and every snapped twig made him cringe inside.
After another hundred meters, Nick stopped, just short of a small meadow. The circular gap in the trees was no larger than the width of a small hangar, but that was more open space than he wanted to cross. He signaled Quinn to join him.
“What’d I do now?” asked Quinn.
Nick bit back a rebuke and nodded toward the clearing. “We need to get around this meadow, rather than go through it. It’s too much exposure. I just wanted to show you the reason that we’re deviating from the GPS track.” He moved off to the right, allowing Quinn to fall back to the short wedge formation again.
Nick’s deviation did not last long. He quickly ran into thickly tangled brush. Soon it became impassable. After a few minutes, he returned to his starting point and tried the other direction, but dense vegetation stopped him again less than a quarter of the way around. “It looks like the forest isn’t cooperating. We’re going to have to skirt the inside perimeter of the meadow.”
“What happened to too much exposure?” asked Quinn.
“We’re short on time. Besides, t
he noise of forcing our way through the brambles will cause just as much risk.” He pointed at the clearing. “This is the lesser of two evils.”
Just as Nick stepped forward into the open, he heard a faint rustling in the brush. He crouched and motioned for Quinn to do the same. Night sounds always seemed louder than they actually were. They were harder to locate too. Had he heard Quinn moving behind him? Maybe it was just a rabbit in the undergrowth. Whatever the source, the rustle quickly disappeared amid the faint noises of the nocturnal rain forest.
After listening for nearly a full minute, Nick cautiously rose up and signaled Quinn to move forward, staying close to the tree line. Then, as they reached a point halfway around the meadow’s perimeter, he heard another sound, far more alarming than a rustle. A sharp voice barked, “Halt!”
CHAPTER 44
Novak strained his mind to filter the fog. He was with Anja again, in their small apartment in Sincheng. Her homemade Christmas decorations hung from the walls and over the door. Several open gifts still lay under the tree.
He knew he was dreaming. Over the past few days, he’d come to realize that the dreams were part of his body’s defense mechanism, a way of forcing him to rest. But these were more than dreams; they were vivid memories. Somehow, in order to heal, his mind had to escape its present suffering by regressing to the past. At least, that’s what he told himself. Maybe he was just going crazy. Maybe this was what people with dementia experienced inside their heads. He didn’t care. Despite the knowledge that there were real threats in the real world, Novak released his mind into fantasy.
He watched Anja happily putter around the kitchen, preparing one of the sweet-smelling hors d’oeuvres that she loved to fix for him. In marriage, she had shown him more ways to love than he could ever have imagined. Her devotion carried so far beyond the physical. From Washington, DC, to Taiwan, no matter where they lived, Anja made a home for them. Her efforts allowed him to feel normal, even while living a life that was far from it.
In Poland, Anja’s whole life revolved around the photo analysis shop at Remote Icon. It was her contribution to the resistance, something she owed to the memory of her parents. Now, with the Słuzba Bezpieczenstwa thousands of miles behind her, photo analysis had become just a job. Each night, when they returned to the apartment, Anja did not slump into a chair, exhausted from the day. Rather, she brightened, throwing herself into the passion of creating and fueling something amazing. Them.
As the dream solidified, Novak became aware of another presence. He discovered his friend Jozef seated beside him at the table, his eyes fixed in a thousand-mile stare. In this dreamlike state, Novak found it difficult to determine whether Starek was really lost in thought or was gazing at Anja. “I wish I could read your mind, my friend,” he said out loud.
Starek stirred and blinked at Novak. He looked at a loss for a moment and then settled into a concerned expression. “I was just thinking that it might be wise for you to reconsider this little sting operation of yours,” he said.
“Why? Don’t you want to find the mole?”
Starek sighed and shook his head. “There is no mole. Every operation has its problems. It is Murphy’s Law, right?”
“Is that what all the nationals are saying?”
“You know, you would do well to learn a little Mandarin yourself. It is good for our relations with them. Instead, you’re going to alienate them by running a mission without their knowledge. They are smart people. They will realize your purpose.”
“That is a possibility I am willing to accept,” said Novak with finality.
Starek ignored the response. “What do you hope to accomplish? If we have a smooth mission that uncovers some Chinese secrets, do you really believe that will prove that the nationals are behind our failures?”
Novak frowned thoughtfully, staring past Starek to the picture of Washington, DC, on the wall behind him. “I’m sorry,” he said regretfully.
“Sorry for what?”
Novak looked his friend in the eye again. “I have not told you everything about our mission. I fully expect that it will go smoothly, and I do not believe that such a mission guarantees there is a mole among our nationals.” He paused as Anja brought a platter of blueberry pierogi to the table. He looked up at her. She gave him a comforting smile and nodded. Novak took a long breath and continued. “The whole thing is a trap for the supervisor in charge.”
Starek set down the dumpling he had just stabbed with his fork. “Explain.”
“I have suspected Wright for a while. We have the same troubles here that we had in Poland, and he is the most obvious link. There is a chance that it might be the director of photo analysis, but I can’t be certain. Whoever it is, the mole is almost certain to do whatever he can to give us a smooth mission. That will implicate the nationals and divert attention away from him. To that end, he will have to communicate with his Chinese contacts.”
“So?” said Starek with a skeptical look.
“Let me finish. The mole can’t use a messenger because that would take too long, and all the phone lines are monitored. That only leaves the radio. And thanks to the big mountain in the middle of the island, only one kind of radio is going to reach the mainland.”
“HF,” said Starek quietly.
“Exactly. Wright, or whoever the mole is, has to be running the set out of his room or his office—those are the safest places to keep it—but I can’t get into either to check.” Novak paused and took a bite of pierogi.
“So?” prompted Starek again.
“So I sort of requisitioned two SIGINT payloads from our pod shop. I modified them to record directional hits from an HF signal and placed them several hundred meters apart. They have enough juice to run for a few days. With any luck, we already have a few hits.”
“The crossing directional intercepts from the two pods will pinpoint the source of the radio signals,” said Starek.
“Exactly. X marks the spot.”
“Haven’t you checked it? You might already have enough hits.”
“No, I don’t want the mole to get suspicious. If he catches me heading out to the payloads, the game is up. I must be patient. I’ll go after the mission. Then we’re almost guaranteed to have the evidence we need.”
“Where did you hide them?” asked Starek.
Novak smiled and slowly shook his finger back and forth. “You’ll have to wait. When we get back, we can go out and look together.” Novak checked his watch. “Speaking of going out . . .”
Starek jumped up from the table. “Biyu!” he said, smacking his head with the palm of his hand.
Novak laughed. Starek had forgotten about his late date with his new girlfriend.
Starek bowed slightly to Anja. “Pardon my hasty departure. The pierogi was lovely, better than my mother could make, but don’t ever tell her I said that.”
Anja smiled warmly. “Go. We wouldn’t want to come between you and your girl.”
“No,” called Starek over his shoulder as he opened the apartment door. “Friends should never do that.”
The sound of the door slamming shut shocked Novak back to reality. He stood up from the cot he’d been sitting on. Had the noise just been a part of the memory, or was it a manifestation of a sound in the real world? He crept up to the cave entrance and listened.
Nothing.
In the dim glow from the radio’s control head, Novak surveyed the state of his hideout. Several crates lay open, their contents scattered. Empty ration packs were strewn about the cave. He’d been eating the MREs for days and felt stronger for it. He chuckled to think that the unnatural twenty-five-year-old food served his body better than the filth served to him by the Chinese guards. How much more healthy would he feel if he could just have some of Anja’s pierogi?
Anja.
Was she waiting for him? Was she even still alive? Novak looked at the nuclear-po
wered radio. He had come to hate it. Night and day he stared at it, waiting for a return message, but no reply came. How much longer could he wait here? The food rations could last for months, but he would run out of clean water within a week.
He really did feel stronger. Taiwan was no short trip across the strait, but it was possible—if he could only get to the coast. He bent down and tried to peer through the tunnel’s camouflage into the night outside. What he wouldn’t give for a set of night-vision goggles. He knew that the Chinese would have them. Day or night, it didn’t matter: leaving the Palace was suicide.
Novak glanced around the cave again. So was staying there.
Quickly making up his mind, he sat down and put on a set of boots and camouflage fatigues from the Palace supplies. Then he strapped on a Skyhook survival vest and filled its pockets with dry socks, a few K-rations, and every water pack he could find.
After crawling through the low entrance and replacing its leafy camouflage, he turned to face the rain forest. A night bird screeched. The sound sent pain through his head. He forced himself to breathe. Using a compass tied to his vest, he found a heading southeast and took a step forward. “One . . .”
CHAPTER 45
AChinese soldier emerged from the forest to Nick’s right, on the other side of the small meadow. He moved toward them with purpose, his pistol out and leveled. He wore the mottled camouflage of the People’s Liberation Army Ground Force, the Chinese regular army.
“Keep calm, and follow my lead,” Nick whispered. He did not raise his hands or ready his MP7; instead, he turned nonchalantly to face the intruder. The soldier had an older-generation night-vision system mounted to his infantry helmet. Between his voice, the little he could see of his face, and the way the soldier carried himself, Nick assessed him to be very young, probably the equivalent of a private or a private first class. He walked to the center of the clearing to meet the young man, keeping his head still but actively scanning, searching the periphery for more soldiers. There were none.