Spy Zone

by Fritz Galt

  “Learn anything interesting?” Natalie asked.

  “Hard to say. With the storm brewing, it’s—”

  His voice was lost momentarily by the whipping sound of wind and a crackling telephone line.

  “Are you okay?” Natalie shouted.

  “Wow. That was a major gust. Water is spraying between the panes of glass.”

  “Can you repeat your last sentence?” she said.

  “I said, with this storm, it’s hard to say if I can gather much information. We’ll have to call off mapping for a day or two.”

  Mick raised his voice to be heard above the howling. “The major contributor to your grant is a man named Johnny Ouyang. Has he poked his nose in your operation?”

  “Is he the stock broker from Hong Kong?”

  “You know him?” Mick asked.

  For a moment, all he heard was a high-pitched whistle along with sheets of rain spraying against glass.

  “He called yesterday and moved up the schedule,” Alec said, parts of his voice disappearing in the connection. “We began mapping a volcanic dome today.”

  “Is it possible you’re investigating more than volcanoes?” Mick suggested.

  “No chance. We’re a crew of four scientists and ten divers. We’re all working closely together.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll send a request for information on Johnny Ouyang,” Mick said.

  “I’ll try to find out more about him, too—”

  A sudden whoosh and a loud pop suspended his speech. Mick heard a bang and then utter silence.

  “Alec,” Natalie shouted.

  “Mick? Natalie? Are you there?” Alec’s voice came back a second later.

  “Yes. What happened?”

  “Sorry about that. I accidentally opened my umbrella and it knocked the phone out of my hand.”

  “Don’t scare us like that for chrissakes,” Natalie shouted.

  Mick rolled his eyes. “It sounded like the whole booth blew away.”

  “Sorry. Nothing that dramatic.”

  “I hope the storm doesn’t cut the phone lines,” Mick said. “But in case it does, you may want to use a ship-to-shore radio.”

  “If the ship ever makes it back. She headed out into the storm this evening.”

  “There are sea warnings,” Mick said.

  “I know. It’s dangerous. In any event, I’m stuck here for a few days no matter what. The airport is closed. I hope we have a pack of cards.”

  Natalie made Alec promise to call again, then said good-bye.

  Mick hung up the phone and returned to the living room.

  “This is your department,” she said. “I don’t do covert operations. I don’t instigate them and I don’t report on them. Alec is your baby, Mick. I’m going to stop worrying about him as of right now.”

  She turned and picked up the roll of tape. He watched her teeter unsteadily for a moment. If she were close to tears, he would never see them.

  Crying wasn’t her style.

  May-lin smiled wanly at the captain’s mate and the man in a black wetsuit who leaped through the cabin door.

  “He tried to rape me.”

  The men stopped, dumbfounded. Her pink shorts were down around her knees. Her panties were askew. Her hair was a disheveled mess.

  She recognized the diver as part of the team of frogmen her project had hired for the diving operation.

  They had come on Johnny Ouyang’s recommendation, and they had set the homing device. The rest of his team was busy guiding the bomb into place.

  Then, the captain’s mate noticed their ship heading on a collision course for the Alabaster. He jumped for the helm and spun it madly.

  The other threw the engine in reverse.

  “He forced me against the controls,” May-lin said, whimpering. She turned away and pulled up her shorts. “The ship went out of control.”

  She caught a glimpse of the Dolphin’s prow swinging away from the Alabaster. They would be right over the dive site.

  A woman screamed in French from the rear deck of the Alabaster. A moment later, the same woman was cursing at them and pointing down at the waves. She seemed spirited, sophisticated and disturbed.

  A grinding noise ensued. It had an ugly, banging quality as if something were thumping against the hull. It thumped in time with the twin propellers while the Dolphin churned over the dive site.

  The radio crackled.

  “You just plowed over your captain,” the woman screamed.

  May-lin froze.

  The two men stared at her. Killing a man for having raped her was kind of excessive.

  Sizing her up, they seemed about ready to finish where the captain left off.

  She attempted a demure smile. “Thank you, gentlemen. You’ve rescued me.”

  A small, slim man, Wang Lo felt strangely comfortable in the press room in Shanghai. The room was full of arms suppliers just like him.

  But he was Chinese, representing the European Consortium, and he was ready to hear about the latest request for proposals by the People’s Liberation Army. Out of the corner of his eye, he examined the overweight men seated around him. None of them could possibly have the connections that he had.

  He noted the presence of Israeli, Brazilian, Russian and French companies, along with two American firms: American Allied Incorporated and U.S. Consolidated. Armed with cameras, Shanghai as well as international reporters lined the back wall.

  So much the better.

  The more publicity for his firm, the easier the Chinese public would accept his consortium in the future.

  General Chou stepped up to the battery of microphones and shuffled some papers. He seemed at ease in front of the press, and a natural speaker.

  “Today in the spirit of globalization, not to mention recently improved relations across the Taiwan Strait, the People’s Liberation Army officially opens competitive bidding on a new Multiple Launch Rocket, known as MLRs. We’ll analyze all bids and select a winner based on who best meets our specifications, provides us with state-of-the-art technology, presents a schedule to meet our timetable and what else? Oh yes, at a reasonable price.”

  The room broke into laughter. It was the laughter of men drowning in money.

  The local press was the first to sober up. They hurled various hostile, antiquated, socialist questions. Wang smiled as the general addressed them with ease.

  Then came the Taiwan questions.

  No, the MLRs should not be designed to fight a sea war with Taiwan.

  The thrust of General Chou’s message was clear. War or no war, the build-up would continue. And there was money to be made.

  After the press conference concluded, Wang waited for the competitors to finish shaking hands, exchange business cards, down some drinks, share some laughs and split for separate Shanghai restaurants.

  At last, the general was alone standing by the open bar with an intoxicated look on his face.

  Wang picked up a small glass of brandy with both hands and toasted the illustrious general, then said in a whisper, “Taiwan’s supreme commander General Li has transferred his money to various international accounts by way of Johnny Ouyang’s brokerage firm in Hong Kong. I should receive the access codes tomorrow.”

  The general looked perturbed. Naturally, he would mind being approached in such a public place with such a private message.

  He whipped out a mobile telephone. Barely within Wang’s earshot, he said, “Get me Ouyang in Hong Kong. …Johnny, this is General Chou. Did you receive money from General Li in Taiwan?”

  He turned to Wang as he listened to the reply.

  “On my father’s grave!” He hung up the phone. “The old fool actually sent the money.”

  “Furthermore,” Wang said, “André has the bomb in place, there’s a typhoon in the area, Taiwan radio stations are set up to create havoc and your diplomat, Leng, is ready to issue the ultimatum.”

  The general’s cheeks began to quiver. “We don’t have any troops in place yet.”


  Wang shrugged. “On the political front, things couldn’t be more perfect. Beijing is reacting positively to your idea of ramping up pressure on Taiwan. President Fu has just issued a statement that our great country will begin a military operation called Summer Wind directed at Taiwan. His instructions are to move our troops onto Taiwan.”

  The general clenched his fists and his face went a pasty white. “This is reckless. I didn’t call for any such invasion. André merely wanted military exercises. And that was what I asked for when I talked to Beijing. André is groping for fish in muddy waters. I risked a lot just to call for exercises. So who escalated this into an invasion?”

  “Politicians, of course. But you’ll have to follow your leader’s orders.”

  “Even if I received such instructions, we would need more time to mount such an operation. This just won’t work. At least not right away.”

  “President Fu was taken with your idea.”

  The general stared down at him. He looked like a cornered rat. “I don’t know who you are and what you’re planning. And I don’t want to know. Just remember this: I didn’t start all this, and I’m not involved in it in any way. All I called for was military exercises.”

  “Of course, General. I understand that perfectly. And here’s my business card.”

  EYE OF THE STORM

  Friday

  Chapter 18

  Mick awoke in his apartment with a start. The telephone was ringing.

  He rolled over in the darkness to grab it.

  “Did you hear the news?” It was an elated Tony Chen.

  “What news?” Mick checked his alarm clock. It was 5:30 a.m.

  “Turn on CTV right now.”

  He fumbled around and hung up the phone.

  “Who was…?” Natalie mumbled, half asleep.

  “No one. I’m just going to check the news.” He slid out of bed.

  “I need someone to hold onto,” she murmured.

  “Use your imagination. I’ll be right back.”

  He grabbed a robe, wiped the sleepiness from his eyes and padded out to the living room. There he promptly ran into the television set, which he had moved into the center of the room.

  Hopping around in pain, he noticed that typhoon winds had yet to reach the city. Eventually he found the button on the TV and turned it on. A news anchor cut to the inside of a Taipei district prosecutor’s office.

  Captain Leng stood there in his sweaty green shirt, hanging his head in shame. He stood there for no other purpose than to be displayed to a roomful of journalists. His hands were in cuffs and his feet in heavy shackles. A handwritten sign pinned to his shirt, read, “I killed Kao Sou-wa.”

  Justice could be swift. But was it too swift? The police had connected him to the murder, but had they connected him to the Chinese?

  The CTV reporter didn’t mention Leng’s half-brother Leng Shi-mung, the negotiator in town on China’s behalf. Nor did he say that the accused man was a military officer, or speculate on a motive for the killing.

  According to his confession, the murderer gave only the sketchiest of details about the crime. After his getaway on the motor scooter, he had stayed in a rented flat on Chunghsiao East Road. There he had walked the busy sidewalks in complete anonymity. Then acting on a tip, shortly after midnight the police raided a Karaoke TV bar and found him.

  The man confessed freely, but said nothing of his motives.

  “More details will follow as they become available,” the reporter announced, then signed off.

  The phone rang again.

  Mick jumped across the room and snatched it. “Do you have to wake up the entire neighborhood?”

  “Sorry,” Tony said. “Did you see it?”

  “Yeah. Congratulations. Has Leng divulged anything besides the public statement?”

  “We asked him about the message. He said he was only a messenger passing a note to someone else.”

  “I’ll bet he could decipher it.” Mick was thinking clearly now. “There’s one thing both Leng and the army major at your office neglected to tell us.”

  “What is that?”

  “I talked with a friend in Taiwan’s military yesterday,” Mick said, thinking about what Admiral Shi had told him at the golf course. “Get this: Leng works at the Armed Forces Joint Operations Center.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Not only that. He’s the personal adjutant to General Li, the supreme commander.”

  That dampened the euphoria. If Tony were a religious man, he would probably be praying at that moment.

  At last a weak voice replied, “Do you think the old man is involved?”

  “General Li? The implications are too dangerous to ignore.” Surely Tony understood that. “How will you treat this information?”

  “I guess the Control Yuan will take over the investigation now.” He sounded less sure of himself. “I do not think we should give the case to the military.”

  The Control Yuan was the fifth branch of Taiwan’s five-part government. It was designed to function like an inspector general for the entire federal government. It investigated and prosecuted cases within other branches of the government, including the Executive Yuan, which ran the military among other things.

  “Listen to me,” Mick said. “The case has got to go forward. We’re not talking about military secrets at risk. The entire nation’s security is at stake.”

  He got the uneasy feeling that Tony’s enthusiasm was slipping away like a fish wiggling off a hook.

  “Now, what would General Li know so far?” Mick pursued. “With his personal assistant arrested for murder, this will cast doubt on him. How will he react?”

  “Leng’s line is that he lost the message during the chase,” Tony said hopefully. “Maybe he did not have a chance to read it and pass it on.”

  “We must assume he read the message. And we know that after the big chase, he had time to deliver the message to General Li.”

  He waited for Tony to respond,

  “How do we know that the message was intended for the general?”

  “Forget about motive. I’m talking opportunity. Can we agree he had time and opportunity to deliver the message?”

  “Yes,” Tony said, his voice dry. “I suppose if Leng had time to relay the message, the general would have acted by now.”

  But the fish had slipped off the hook.

  Mentioning General Li’s name had not only killed their conversation, it had killed the investigation.

  As soon as Mick set the phone down, it rang again.

  Damn it all.

  This time when he picked it up, he felt Natalie’s presence beside him.

  But she was not watching him, or the phone. Her eyes were on the TV.

  “Who’s there?” he asked into the receiver.

  “Turn on the TV.” It was Bronson Nichols.

  “It’s already on.”

  “Is Natalie watching?” Bronson had the sound of vindication in his voice.

  Mick looked at the TV. The anchorman was reading off a statement. The face of China’s elderly President Fu displayed behind him. Mick turned up the volume.

  “We will commence Operation Summer Wind in the coming weeks, where we intend to introduce our forces to the Province of Taiwan.”

  “An invasion,” Mick murmured.

  Natalie’s expression turned to stone. “They’re bluffing.”

  The news cut to file footage of military exercises, guns blazing and missiles firing.

  The announcer concluded the news flash with, “The United States has yet to react to this announcement by the People’s Republic of China.”

  “You still there?” Bronson said.

  “We saw it.”

  “Now tell me that China isn’t run by thugs.”

  Vic Padesco, the president’s national security advisor, had never felt so blindsided, in government or in his long career in the military.

  President Charles Damon looked unnerved as well, as the
two sat in the quiet of the Oval Office contemplating China’s announced Operation Summer Wind.

  “What are they trying to pull?” the president demanded to know.

  “I can’t begin to fathom China’s intentions, sir,” Vic said.

  He had his theories ranging from the Chinese being cagey, to outright aggressive, but he had to admit that he was short on facts.

  “However,” Vic concluded, “what this does amount to is a Constitutional test. Will we uphold the Taiwan Relations Act of 1979? Will we abide by our own laws and defend Taiwan, or will we stand by some screwball misstatements coming out of our mission in Taiwan?”

  “Get me a copy of the Taiwan Relations Act,” the president said gruffly. “I’ll look it over before dinner.”

  Vic left the room and jogged down the short hallway to his cramped office. There he slumped into his chair and called Zenia Armbruster.

  “The president needs a copy of the Taiwan Relations Act on his desk within an hour. And I need several copies myself.”

  “Durn blasted Chinese,” she spat out. “Still fighting their ideological wars. Wake up, Ladies and Gentlemen. The Twentieth Century is almost over. We don’t launch invasions any more.”

  “Somehow I doubt this one is about ideology,” he replied. “It’s either political brinkmanship or a bald-faced land grab.”

  “What’s the president going to do?”

  “I can’t read his mind, but he is personally concerned. Probably doesn’t want to fight a war during his second term.”

  “I mean what’s he going to do as an immediate response?”

  “It might take a speech or a diplomatic note or a carrier battle group. I just can’t tell.”

  “I’ll send you the law.”

  Mick had to visit AIT that morning. It was good policy to show up at work every week or so.

  Chungshan North Road was already jammed by 7:30. He drove Natalie down clogged side streets that everybody else in Taipei had already discovered.

  Finally, they reached a crowded alley that stretched the length of an anonymous-looking wall. Halfway down the wall, an enormous steel gate blocked entry to the compound within.