If you didn't need to tell me, then why did you? Wilson thought sardonically. But he dared not say it. These men were scary. "Right. Not a word."
As the door shut behind Meng, Wilson thought about how little he had known about the man other than his brilliance at programming.
Before the men came to take him away, Meng had revealed to Wilson the reasons he had sent the go code words. Wilson sympathized with Meng, although it didn't appear that all that effort and blood had achieved anything.
US-SOCOM Headquarters, MacDill Air Force Base, Florida Sunday, 11 June, 0200 Zulu Saturday, 10 June, 9:00 p.m. Local
Colonel Moore was ordered not to brief even his own commander on the events of the past twelve hours. He hated the smug spook who relayed that information. This was an event that was going to be swept under the rug.
As Moore drove home, he wondered idly whether the team had really blown the pipeline.
Osan Air Force Base, Korea Sunday, 11 June, 2300 Zulu Monday, 12 June, 8:00 a.m. Local
Team 3 was intact again. O'Shaugnesy, C.J., Olinski, and Riley were in the same ward of the hospital. The rest of the team was gathered around the beds. Even the presence of the spooks outside the ward door couldn't put a damper on the feelings inside.
Mitchell's side had been rebandaged, and he now stood at the foot of Riley's bed with the other ambulatory members of Team 3. His wife was close by his side, her hand wrapped around his. Through the windows to their left, a new sun was rising over the mountains of South Korea. They'd been standing in the same positions for forty-five minutes.
Finally, their wait was over. Dave Riley blearily opened his eyes. His entire chest and stomach hurt like hell. He saw Mitchell and his wife and the other team members and managed a bleak smile. He painfully tried to whisper something.
Mitchell came forward and put his ear next to Riley's lips.
Riley tried again. "I told you I'd see you in Korea."
Therefore it is said that one may know how to win, but cannot necessarily do so."
Sun Tzu: The Art of War
POSTSCRIPT
Hills of West Virginia Tuesday, 19 December, 2300 Zulu
Tuesday, 19 December, 6:00 p.m. Local
The newspaper was filled with news of the American invasion of Panama. The old man had no time for that. His interest was drawn to a smaller article.
Meng rubbed his old scar as he read. Members of Congress were reacting with outrage to a report that the president had sent a high-level diplomatic mission to China only a few weeks after the Tiananmen Square massacre. The trip by Mr. Eagleburger and Mr. Scowcroft had violated the president's own ban on such liaisons, the paper reported. Additionally, the secretary of state had just told reporters that a trip made last week was the first high-level contact the administration had had with the government in China. The media did not like being lied to.
Meng shook his head. He knew why that first trip had occurred so soon after the massacre, but he would never be able to tell anyone. The Americans still used his knowledge, but now he was well guarded and had no access to anything of a critical nature.
His stomach twisted in disgust as he continued reading the article. The administration also had just announced negotiation of a $300 million
sale of three satellites to China. The president was determined to maintain commercial relations with the People's Republic of China.
The almighty dollar ruled. Meng wondered what would happen when the dam finally broke in China. How would the present American course of action look then?
Meng knelt on his praying mat and said a prayer to the souls of the men, American and Chinese, who had died because of his manipulations. He had done what he could and failed. It made all those deaths seem much less worthy.
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