Man of Honor

by Chris Malburg

  Jack nodded his okay. “How will we find where Li Yong’s parents are? I was thinking we might have to grab one of the guys from State Security and make him talk.”

  CIA shook his head. “We don’t have that kind of time. So I did the less glamorous thing.”

  “What’s that?” Jack asked. Smitty and Gallagher sat on the bed. The two agents from CIA and FBI sat on the couch, giving Helen and Jack the only two chairs. Beijing hotel rooms—at least, the down market ones—do not have a lot of furniture.

  Helen took her cell phone from her pocket then went directly to the bathroom and closed the door. Jack knew whom she was calling. Li Yong. She just doesn’t want all the chattering in here to bother her concentration. Smart lady.

  CIA broke into Jack’s thoughts, “I just contacted my boss back at Langley. Boss doesn’t like Homeland dragging its feet and keeping intel to itself without letting CIA do what we do best.”

  “Did he know anything?” Jack asked.

  “She. Of course. She’s connected. She discovered there’s a four-person team here in country from CIA’s Special Activities Division. They’re the black hat guys—covert political stuff. The boys from SAD talk to no one. Here in country, you’d never pick them out of the indigenous population.”

  “What are they doing here?” Smitty asked.

  “Probably the same thing we are—searching for Li Yong and his folks, then renditioning them to the US. Homeland probably subbed out the job to CIA. Except—”

  “Except,” Jack said, “the SAD guys will turn Li Yong and his parents over to the FBI who’ll throw them all in a cell. By the time someone springs Li Yong his seven-days to defuse the next attacks will have expired. And the Chinese will have accomplished their mission. At the expense of thousands of American lives.” Way too high a cost if there’s anything I can do to prevent it.

  CIA nodded his head, “Word is the SAD team has a lead on the parents. But they’re still at sea as to where Li Yong himself is hiding.”

  Jack sat there in his chair. Boys from SAD are total badasses. Even Chinese State Security would have their hands full going up against them. “How about we let the Special Activities team do some of our work for us,” Jack said.

  “They don’t sound like the cooperating type,” Gallagher said.

  “Oh they have their orders, that’s for sure. I won’t ask for their cooperation,” Jack said. “At least, not yet. But I’m up for letting them do the heavy lifting.”

  “Meaning?” Gallagher asked.

  Smitty said, “Meaning we locate them. Then follow at a distance until they make contact with the parents. Then we swoop in and ask to take the precious cargo off their hands.”

  Gallagher grimaced. “You don’t think they’ll put up a fight?”

  “Why fight an adversary who’s better armed and better trained than you? Especially when you have the efficiency of reason on your side?” Jack asked.

  “I thought you were a down and dirty bare-knuckle brawler,” Gallagher said.

  “I’m full of surprises, Mr. Gallagher. I only fight when I have to and when I think I can win.”

  “Have you ever been wrong about winning?” Gallagher asked. “You strike me as someone who doesn’t lose.”

  Jack laughed. “I’ve been wrong about thinking I can win lots. Got my ass whipped every time. But I’ve matured. With that comes a sense of knowing when to throw down and when to try another strategy.”

  “So you think this is one of those times?” Gallagher asked.

  Jack nodded. “Besides, Smitty and I have worked with SAD before. We’re on the same side. They may know where the parents are but not Li Yong. We’re in contact with Li Yong right now,” Jack pointed to the closed bathroom door where Helen was talking on her cell phone. “See the mutual need? So why not just pool our resources?” Jack winked at Gallagher.

  Helen walked out of the bathroom toward Jack and relieved him of his can of Tsingtao beer.

  “Well?” Jack asked. “What did he say?”

  After a sip, Helen held the cold beer can to her forehead. “Li Yong is alive and well. He’s pissed off that America is dragging its feet—his words. He wants us to fly him and his folks out of here right now. He also told me something new.” She took another sip of beer.

  “You’re going to make us guess?” Smitty said, putting down his nail clippers. It was something Smitty did when he was nervous.

  “This is no joke,” Helen said. “Li Yong is a smart one—way ahead of us, that’s for sure. He anticipated that he might need some insurance to preserve his own health. What he didn’t know was that he’d need to use it against his target—America—rather than this Looney Tunes Chairman of the Central Military Commission—”

  “He controls the next attack,” Jack said.

  “Four, actually. He’s playing hardball now. He told me that for every day he and his family are not on a plane out of here, he will launch one of the attacks. He also reminded me that at the end of those four days, the Chairman’s launch switch goes active and there’s nothing he or anyone can do to stop World War III.”

  “What are the four attacks he’s threatening us with?” Crypto asked. He ran a hand over his bald scalp, then wiped it on his pants leg.

  Helen shook her lovely head, swirling her short, black hair around her heart-shaped face, “Wouldn’t say. Only that we would read about it in the press.”

  “Timing,” Jack said. “It’s the most valuable weapon on the battlefield. This new wrinkle steals our time advantage. Beginning tomorrow, Li Yong starts launching his one-a-day attacks.”

  Gallagher checked his watch. “Actually, just 23 hours away. And he’s escalating. Don’t forget the 666 passengers killed in the Hawaii airliner accident just two days ago. Let’s not find out what he’s got in mind next.”

  “So where is he,” Smitty demanded. “Let’s go get the son of a bitch!”

  Helen shook her head again. “He wouldn’t say where he is, just that he’s safe for now. When we prove his parents are in our custody then he’ll come to us.”

  * * *

  Chapter 31

  “You just have to know who to ask and where to look,” said CIA.

  “And you do?” Jack asked. He walked to the hotel room’s mini bar to get another Tsingtao beer.

  “Not me. But my associates do. CIA’s Special Activities Division always keeps a team spun up and ready to go within a few hours notice. They also have priority on any transport and equipment loadout their mission might need.”

  “So what did you do?” Jack asked.

  “I called a lady I dated in Transport. She told me one of the assistant directors and his staff got bumped two days ago from the G-650 jet they had scheduled. No one at the ADCIA level gets bumped unless it’s for a damn good reason. Special Activities is that reason. CIA only has three 650’s. They’re expensive and have a waiting list.”

  Crypto chimed in, “Then we hacked into Beijing Capital Airport’s general aviation arrivals log. One of CIA’s G-650 tail numbers matched a landing from yesterday. That’s them for sure. So they have a one-day head start on us.”

  “But how do we find them?” Jack asked. “They’re covert here in the country.”

  CIA wasn’t finished, “We traced them from the airport. Special Activities guys have a boatload of equipment they carry. That’s why they needed the G-650, it’s big and fast. Crypto and I matched the parking entry/exit logs into the general aviation terminal here at Beijing Capital Airport with the approximate time of the landing—”

  “Then we cross-referenced the transport company with the destination on the trip manifest. It led us right to their operating base.”

  “Where?” Smitty asked.

  “A private house in Chongwen on the eastern side of the city. It’s an older neighborhood. I have the address.” CIA stood and walked the few steps to the tiny kitchen for a bottle of water, “I also have the make, model, and license plates of the SUV’s they rented this morning…”
>
  “Pretty crafty,” Jack said to CIA, his voice soft and low as the night’s breeze. “This is it?” Jack lay on his belly, dressed entirely in black, and held a spotting scope to his eye.

  “That’s what my friends back at the Agency tell me. See those two black Baojun 860’s? They’re the Chinese version of a Chevy Suburban. Actually, the manufacturer is a joint venture between SAIC, General Motors, and Wuling—”

  “I don’t give a shit who makes them,” Jack hissed, “I just want to get in, do the job, and get the hell out.”

  “Roger that. It’s 2:30 in the morning. They must be asleep. House lights have been off for hours.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Jack said. “These Special Activities guys never sleep when they’re spun up on a mission.” He looked over the house, the street, and the two SUV’s one final time. “At least, the street lights are out. You take the truck on the left; I’ll get the other. Let’s go.”

  Jack crept out from beneath the hedge. Thick, unkempt vegetation ran from their hiding place right up to the edge of the street. It’s wet earth smell mingled with the green hedge and went up his nose. The SUVs stood just a few feet away. Good. Perfect, in fact. Shielded from the house windows almost the entire way. Now stop. Fist up for CIA to see. Kneel at the edge of the hedge. Hand flat and down. CIA understood and followed. Deep breath, and another. Just five silent, quick steps from the hedge to the opposite side of the SUV. His fingers felt around the pocket of his tactical vest for the tracking device. It was square. About the size of a pack of playing cards. He held it up for CIA to see. Wait until CIA has his in hand too. Go.

  Jack was up and moving. In a single, silent motion, he rolled beneath the truck’s undercarriage and snapped the tracking device into place. Then he stopped dead. Breath caught in his throat. He held it there.

  A light went on in the house. Movement behind the curtains. A bathroom? Maybe a late night drink of water? Jack was motionless; he barely breathed. He gave the hand signal for CIA to stay put. A shadow moved behind the curtain, this time in the other direction. Another agonizing minute passed. The light went out.

  Jack rolled back out from under the truck and silently withdrew to the safety of the hedge. The whole operation should have taken less than ten seconds. He pressed the illuminated button on his watch. Two minutes, thirty elapsed. Luck beats skill any day.

  “Nicely done,” Jack said as they quickly climbed into their rented Bajaj and left the area.

  * * *

  Chapter 32

  “God this feels weird,” Helen said without taking her eyes off the computer’s screen sitting on her lap there in the front seat of the Chinese SUV. She was following the tracking devices planted on the SAD team’s trucks.

  “What’s that?” Jack asked.

  “Everything. Covertly embedding ourselves in China. Following our own CIA operators—except they don’t even know we’re here.”

  “They better not,” Smitty interjected. “Might be a long night if they did. These boys have their orders—”

  “Turn left,” Helen said. “Cross the railroad tracks. I’m not sure just where we are. Looks like they’re heading to the harbor.”

  CIA corrected them, calling it the Port of Tanggu. It is the biggest port in Northern China—the ocean’s door to Beijing. The port complex has over 150 separate berths and covers 121 square kilometers. Li Yong’s folks could be anywhere within that huge area. If they were stowed on some freighter or in one of the hundreds of warehouses, it would be next to impossible to find them.

  “Let’s hold here,” Jack said. He parked off to the side, short of the deserted intersection just below the top of a hill so they wouldn’t be silhouetted against the night sky. He kept the motor running.

  Helen didn’t take her eyes off the computer screen that showed the tracking devices on both vehicles, “Looks like they’re winding their way deeper into the port—”

  “Makes sense,” CIA said. He told them of the different sections in the place. Some were for shipbuilding; others for repair; some just did freight loading. CIA peered at the computer screen. He said the SAD boys were moving into the China State Shipbuilding yard. That’s where China builds most of its supertankers. There’s a high demand for CSS ships since they are the low-cost bidders.

  “I know that company,” Gallagher said from the back seat. “They use cheap Chinese steel. The US Marine Administration banned its use in US made vessels. It doesn’t meet the stress requirements of a modern tanker.”

  “Good to know,” Jack said. “Lots of vacant places to stash Mom and Dad around here.” Jack picked up the binoculars, peered out the windshield and down the hill. “Activity in those two sections on the east side—lights on all over the place. I can see the sparks from welding torches on the ships raining down to the dock. But the west side is dark.”

  Helen lifted her head from the screen. “That’s where our Special Activities friends just stopped. It looks like they parked behind a warehouse adjacent to a pier.”

  Jack kept the lights off, dropped the SUV into gear, and slowly made his way down into the darkest part of the shipyard.

  “Huh,” Jack said, “not even any security vehicles.”

  “Yeah,” CIA said, “but look up ahead. That’s the Princess Fantasy. She’s hard to miss and now famous.”

  “Looks like just another big ship,” Smitty said.

  CIA stared at the ship. He was the shipping expert. “Princess Fantasy isn’t just another ship. She’s China’s first domestically built cruise ship for the American market. China State Shipbuilding outbid Samsung Heavy Industries and the rest of the South Korean shipbuilders for the contract.”

  “I heard about that,” Gallagher said. “NTSB consulted on its design to meet US Coast Guard safety standards. Princess Cruises, China Investment Corporation, and China State Shipbuilding partnered on the $2 billion project. The ship is over 1,000 feet long and carries 4,000 passengers.

  “Why here?” Jack asked.

  “Makes sense,” Smitty said. “The place is secluded and deserted.”

  Crypto seemed to be an expert on the ship. “They completed Princess Fantasy last month. She’s already been loaded with everything from towels and bed linens to food stores. Makes her maiden voyage in just three days.”

  “Let’s go,” Jack said. “I see four people moving from the back of the warehouse toward the ship. Those must be our boys.”

  Jack led the group at a distance behind the Special Activities operators. They slipped into the ship. Smitty followed then Helen, CIA, Crypto, and Gallagher covered them from the rear. All wore night vision goggles and carried M4A1 silenced assault rifles. Except for Helen. She was the surgeon of the group. She carried her favorite Barrett M98 Bravo sniper rifle with an ATN day/night scope. They were dressed completely in black and sheathed in body armor.

  “Helen,” Jack whispered into the mic in front of his mouth. You stay close to me. Keep your head on a swivel. Anything comes at you here in the dark, just shoot it.”

  “Not my first rodeo, sweetie.”

  “I know, hon. But I worry, okay?

  “Where are we?” Smitty asked.

  CIA looked up from his smartphone. “I’m looking at the ship’s floor plan. Pulled it from the project’s naval architect computers when I first saw the ship—”

  “How’d you do that?” Smitty asked.

  “Doesn’t the FBI have a field support office?” CIA asked. “Ours is staffed 24/7. They can pretty much get us any intel needed on an op in real time. Accessing, then sending me these plans took them two minutes.”

  “I’ll be sure to bring it up at our next staff meeting,” Smitty said. “What does it tell us?”

  CIA looked down at the plans on his smartphone screen. He described how the Special Activities Division attack element entered from the dockside gangway onto Deck 4—the excursion deck. Then took a stairway up to Deck 5—Central Park. “It’s a five-story atrium. Right now, they are walking down the left sid
e of Central Park keeping among the trees and shrubbery.”

  “Perfect,” Jack said. “Let’s take the high ground up to the seventh floor. We’ll cover them from above.” The stairs were carpeted so their climb was silent. In less than a minute, Jack’s night vision goggles picked up the heat signature of the Special Activities Division foursome down below. They slipped like wraiths through the trees of Central Park.

  “They seem to know where they’re going,” Smitty said.

  “There are some restaurants on that level,” CIA said, looking at the deck layout. “Maybe the captors are using one of them to feed their prisoners. With the ship’s first voyage a few days away, the restaurants have got to be fully stocked.”

  Jack held up one fist. All whispering stopped. The levels overlooking Central Park were completely open to the view. A waist-high brass railing ran the entire length of the balcony and separated it from a five-story drop. Jack pointed down one level to the sixth floor. Through the night vision optics, they saw five green figures move in lockstep behind and one floor above the SAD team walking through Central Park. They wore combat helmets, body armor, and carried assault rifles. Each was aimed at the SAD team.

  “Who the devil are those guys?” Jack whispered.

  “Chinese State Security,” said CIA. “See the shape of their helmets? They’re some badass hombres. Highly trained, skills like none other, and motivated to serve their leader—including a willingness to give their lives. They can kill in any dozen ways—”

  “Our boys are walking into an ambush,” Smitty whispered over the com net. “We’re not just going to let that happen, Boss.”

  Jack didn’t think so either. Hell no. The boys from Special Activities Division are Americans. Just doing what their bosses told them to. Except capturing Li Yong’s folks and spiriting them away to some stateside cell would end Li Yong’s cooperation. The lives of a few weighed against the lives of hundreds of thousands.