by Mark Alpert
And while she was entertaining this optimistic thought, she saw the old woman again, running back to her husband. The woman dropped the sack of bark and screamed in Mandarin. Behind her, a small gray cloud came into view, gliding around the bend in the trail. The old woman looked over her shoulder and fell to the ground, and a thick tendril from the gray cloud descended upon her. The rest of the swarm charged forward, rushing toward the old man and the schoolboys.
SIXTY-FIVE
Supreme Harmony observed the beginning of the war.
The first shot was fired from the Xichang Launch Center in Sichuan Province. An SC-19 rocket roared into space and released its payload, a guided missile that streaked above the atmosphere at 30,000 kilometers per hour. Supreme Harmony was linked to the Chinese orbital-tracking systems, so it was able to watch the missile rise to an altitude of 700 kilometers and approach the American reconnaissance satellite. Designated Lacrosse 5, the satellite was passing over the East China Sea, in position to provide radar coverage for the swath of ocean around the U.S. Seventh Fleet. At exactly 4:32 P.M. China standard time, the guided missile slammed into Lacrosse 5, instantly turning the orbital radar station into fifteen tons of high-speed debris.
At the same time, an army of hackers organized by the Chinese government launched a series of cyberattacks against the American telecommunications grid. Supreme Harmony sensed an enormous surge of data streaming from thousands of computers across China and flowing through the fiber-optic lines under the Pacific Ocean. The attacks focused on the U.S. Defense Department networks that carried command-and-control communications. The data surge clogged the network hubs, disrupting the links between the Pentagon and its overseas forces. Supreme Harmony knew all too well what happened to a network when its communications were disrupted. Without guidance from their headquarters and reconnaissance of their surroundings, the Seventh Fleet’s aircraft-carrier strike force became exquisitely vulnerable.
The next attack came from the coastal province of Zhejiang. One hundred and three mobile rocket launchers had been positioned close to the seashore, each carrying a Dongfeng 21 medium-range ballistic missile. The first barrage of missiles was launched at 4:33 P.M. Supreme Harmony observed their trajectories by accessing the data stream from Yaogan 9, the Chinese radar satellite that was now the only surveillance station over the East China Sea. The satellite also revealed the location of the Seventh Fleet’s strike force, which was six hundred kilometers east of the Zhejiang seacoast. The U.S.S. George Washington, a nuclear-powered Nimitz-class carrier loaded with nearly a hundred Super Hornet fighter-bomber jets, cruised at the center of the flotilla, surrounded by two Ticonderoga-class cruisers and six Arleigh Burke–class destroyers.
Within five minutes, the Dongfeng missiles hurtled above the atmosphere, arcing through space at the highest points of their trajectories. By this time, the Aegis combat systems aboard the American cruisers and destroyers had detected the incoming barrage and launched dozens of SM-3 interceptor rockets designed to smash into the ballistic missiles in midflight. Viewing the radar images from the Yaogan 9 satellite, Supreme Harmony observed the American interceptors home in on the Chinese missiles and obliterate a substantial fraction of them. But more than half of the Dongfengs made it through the Aegis defense shield, and their maneuverable reentry vehicles plunged back into the atmosphere above the carrier strike force. Each reentry vehicle carried a warhead with half a ton of chemical explosives. Guided by the satellite radar data, a dozen warheads punched through the George Washington’s flight deck and exploded deep inside the aircraft carrier. The other missiles converged on the cruisers and destroyers in the flotilla.
Cheers erupted inside the People’s Liberation Army command center in the Western Hills section of Beijing. Module 73, formerly Minister Deng of the Guoanbu, stood beside the vice president and a dozen PLA generals, who shouted triumphantly as they watched the progress of the battle on their radar screens. The vice president seemed particularly joyful. The portly leader swaggered across the room, shaking hands with every general. When he finally returned to Module 73, Supreme Harmony observed that the man’s body temperature was abnormally elevated. The vice president hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. His forehead glistened with sweat.
“What a victory!” he yelled. “We’ve sunk the George Washington, the Shiloh, and two of their destroyers! And soon we’ll reload the mobile launchers and throw another round of Dongfengs at them!” He clapped a heavy hand on the Module’s shoulder. “Those arrogant Americans! Can you believe that they’d send their fleet so close to our coastline after what their CIA just did to us?”
The Module nodded. The timing of the fleet’s maneuvers had been quite fortunate. “They never suspected we could hurt them so badly. This will be a harsh lesson for them.”
“And it’s not over yet! As soon as we destroy the rest of their warships, we’ll begin the invasion of Taiwan. Our missiles have already devastated the island’s airfields and naval bases. And the Taiwanese can’t expect any help from the Americans now that we’ve annihilated the Seventh Fleet.” He let go of the Module’s shoulder and pointed at the radar screens. “It’ll take weeks for another American carrier group to get here. By then our ground troops will be in full control of the island.”
Module 73 had to suppress a smile. The vice president was blind to his own arrogance. But this kind of thinking, Supreme Harmony recognized, was simply the logic of war. Every victorious combatant assumed his victories would go on forever. “Thanks to your leadership, something good will come out of this catastrophe. China will finally be reunified.”
“And the Americans will think twice before interfering with our sovereignty again.” The vice president clenched his hands. “From now on, they will fear and respect us!”
The Module nodded again in agreement, but Supreme Harmony knew the American response would be more forceful than the vice president anticipated. The network was already preparing itself by hardening its communications systems and dispersing its Modules across China, moving most of them to bomb shelters and other secure locations. “Yes, you’re right. A new day is dawning.”
The vice president continued exulting for several minutes. Then he let out a tired breath and glanced at his watch. “Ah hell, look at the time. I hate to leave now, but I must go home. I have to catch a few hours of sleep before the next meeting of the Standing Committee.”
Supreme Harmony recognized an opportunity. The network had accessed the Guoanbu files containing biographical information on all the Communist Party leaders. According to one of the classified documents, the vice president had a weakness for baijiu, the traditional Chinese liquor. “Why don’t you let me give you a ride?” the Module said. “I have a bottle of Moutai in my limousine. We can drink a toast to the success of your operation.”
Moutai was one of the most expensive brands of baijiu. The vice president raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very generous offer, Minister Deng. But is there room for my bodyguards in your car? I have three of them today, because of the emergency.”
“You don’t need your bodyguards when you’re with the minister of State Security. As you can imagine, a rather large security detail is at my disposal.” Module 73 turned around and pointed to Modules 16, 17, and 18, who were posing as his bodyguards.
The vice president smiled. He was clearly hoping to be persuaded. “Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?”
SIXTY-SIX
There were more soldiers at the border than Kirsten had expected. As she drove through the mountains on the Chinese side of the border, she got stuck behind a convoy of PLA trucks, which rumbled at a glacial pace down the narrow road. When she finally arrived in the late afternoon at the gritty town of Pianma, the main street was so jammed with vehicles and soldiers that she had to get out of her sedan and walk. PLA officers stood in the middle of the road and shouted orders at the infantrymen, who jumped out of their trucks and assembled in long columns. Then they marched by the hundreds toward the
Burmese border, which was less than a kilometer beyond the town.
Kirsten tried to blend in with the townspeople. About half were Chinese and half were Lisu, one of the ethnic minority groups living in Yunnan Province. The Lisu women had dark complexions and wore colorful ankle-length skirts. They shook their heads as they watched the military activity, obviously puzzled by the PLA’s sudden deployment at the border. And Kirsten was puzzled, too. It was logical that the army would go on alert after the disaster at the Three Gorges Dam, but why had the soldiers come here? Although the Burmese border was thick with smugglers and rebellious Kachin militiamen, it seemed odd that the PLA would launch an operation against them now, when it should’ve been preoccupied with the rescue efforts in the Yangtze floodplain. Kirsten suspected that Supreme Harmony had engineered this buildup, but she couldn’t say why.
She employed an old trick to find the local smugglers, a tactic Jim Pierce had taught her long ago. When you’re in a border town, he’d told her, just look for the fanciest car. In all likelihood, it belonged to either the head of the smuggling ring or one of the officials he was paying off. Pianma was a relatively small town, and in less than ten minutes Kirsten found a beautiful black Mercedes parked on a side street. The car sat in front of a shop selling women’s clothing. This was a lucky break for Kirsten—she really needed a new blouse. She entered the shop and quickly perused the clothing, which was a drab mix of pants, shirts, and underwear. There were no other customers in the place and the merchandise looked old. Kirsten guessed that the shop was just a front for the smugglers, a convenient location for arranging their deals.
Kirsten selected a blue shirt in her size and brought it to the counter. The woman behind the cash register was Lisu, but she wore a tasteful Western pantsuit, which was another sign of wealth. She gave a start when she saw Kirsten. “Oh my!” she said in heavily accented Mandarin. “What happened to your blouse?”
Kirsten looked down at the bloodstain. “My boyfriend cut my chin. It’s a long story. How much does the shirt cost?”
The shopkeeper narrowed her eyes. Along with her pantsuit, she wore a necklace with a small gold crucifix. A larger cross hung on a door at the back of the shop. Kirsten recalled a pertinent fact about the Lisu: Many of them were Christian. British and American missionaries had trekked to this area in the early 1900s and converted several of the clans.
“That’s one of our better shirts,” the shopkeeper said. “I’d normally charge two hundred yuan, but I’ll let you have it for a hundred and fifty.” She smiled slyly and lowered her voice. “I take American money, too. You can have the shirt for twenty American dollars.”
Kirsten smiled back at her. “Funny that you mention American money. I have a nice pile of it right here.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her roll of hundred-dollar bills. It was much smaller than it was when she’d left the States, but she still had $3,800. “I’m hoping to do some traveling in Burma. Do you know any tour operators?”
The shopkeeper stared at the cash. “I might be able to arrange something. Can I see your identification papers?”
“I don’t have any. Will that be a problem?”
The woman stared at the money for a few more seconds before coming to a decision. “Please wait here,” she said. Then she walked to the back of the shop and went through the door with the large crucifix on it.
While the woman was gone, Kirsten took off her bloodstained blouse and changed into the blue shirt. It was ugly, but it did the job. She was tucking it into her pants when the shopkeeper reappeared, holding the door open. “You can come in,” she said. “My manager wishes to speak to you.”
Without hesitation, Kirsten strode through the doorway. But as soon as she stepped into the back room, two big Lisu men closed the door behind her and grabbed her arms.
They held her still while a third man patted her down and went through her pockets. The thug took her cash, her satellite phone, and Arvin’s flash drive and dumped them all on a desk in the middle of the room. Sitting behind the desk was a fourth man, who was also Lisu but much smaller and older than the other three. His hair was white and his face was wrinkled, but he had lively eyes and perfect teeth. He wore a gorgeously tailored pin-striped suit and a gold chain with a crucifix.
“Hello, Ms. Chan,” he said in English. “How good of you to stop by.”
Startled, Kirsten wondered for a moment if the old man was a Module, despite his full head of hair. But then he held up a sheet of paper, and she saw her own picture on it, and Jim’s as well. It was the same flyer she’d seen in the hands of the police officers in Yichang. Thousands of copies had probably been distributed across the country by now.
“My name is Wang Khaw,” the old man said. He waved the flyer in the air. “I received this yesterday from one of my friends at the Public Security Bureau. They know I do a fair amount of business at the border, so they try to keep me informed.” He tapped a bony finger on the Mandarin text below her photo. “It says here that you’re an intelligence agent for the Americans. Is that true?”
Kirsten nodded. There was no point in lying to the man. The satellite phone was a dead giveaway. She tried to approach Wang’s desk, but the thugs tightened their grip on her arms and pulled her back. “Look, there’s three thousand eight hundred dollars on your desk,” she said. “And that’s just a down payment. If you help me cross the border, I’ll contact the CIA agents in Kachin State and get you some serious cash. Fifty thousand dollars, how does that sound?”
Wang frowned. “Fifty thousand? That’s all? The Ministry of State Security is offering twice as much for you.” He shook his head. “Fortunately for you, Ms. Chan, I’m not interested in money right now. I want information. Specifically, any information you have about the PLA operation that took over my town this afternoon.”
The old man’s face was tense. Kirsten could see why Wang might resent the presence of the Chinese army, which would surely put a damper on his smuggling activities. And because the Lisu of Yunnan Province were close cousins to the Kachin of northern Burma, she supposed that Wang might not like the idea that the PLA was preparing to attack the Kachin militias.
She gave him a sober look. A good intelligence officer, she reminded herself, makes the most of the facts she has. “This deployment is obviously a reaction to what happened at the Three Gorges Dam. The People’s Republic is lashing out at its enemies, and the Kachin rebels are at the top of the list. The Burmese army can’t control Kachin State, so the PLA is going to do the job for them.”
Wang curled his lip. “Is that the best you can do? Telling me what’s obvious?” He raised his voice. “Does the Chinese government really think the Kachin blew up their dam?”
“It doesn’t matter. The PLA sees this as an opportunity to crush the militias once and for all.” Kirsten didn’t know if this was true, but she spoke with the utmost confidence. “There’s been a change in the leadership of the People’s Republic. The Politburo has become more aggressive, and they’ve launched new operations to eliminate their opponents. I’ve been investigating one of those operations, a project named Tài Hé. It’s based near Lijiang, just one hundred and fifty kilometers from here.”
“Go on,” Wang said, leaning back in his chair. “Is Tài Hé connected to the PLA deployment?”
“I believe so. The Politburo is obsessed with keeping the project secret, but I managed to infiltrate one of their computers.” She stepped toward Wang’s desk and this time the thugs let her go. She pointed at Arvin’s flash drive. “All the information is in there. I’m trying to get it to my superiors in Washington. That’s why every policeman in this country is looking for me.”
Wang picked up the flash drive. “And what secret could possibly be so important?”
“Tell me something, Mr. Wang. Have your employees noticed anything strange over the past few months? Any odd gray clouds that hover over the mountains near the border? Clouds that move like swarms of insects?”
It was just a guess.
Kirsten had no idea whether the Guoanbu had sent drone swarms to the Burmese border. But it was an educated guess. The section of the border near Pianma was certainly one of the places where the Chinese government would’ve wanted to conduct surveillance operations. And after several seconds of stunned silence, Kirsten realized she’d guessed right. Wang exchanged glances with his thugs, who shifted nervously from foot to foot.
She took another step forward, approaching the edge of Wang’s desk. “Did you see it yourself?”
The old man nodded. “I thought I dreamed it at first. But my men saw it, too.”
“That swarm was part of Tài Hé. They’re insects embedded with antennas and computer chips. For spying on dissidents and enemies of the state. And delivering biological weapons.”
Wang put the flash drive back on his desk and pushed it away as if it was unclean. “It’s the work of the Devil,” he muttered. “An abomination.”
Kirsten looked again at the crucifix hanging from the old man’s neck. “You’re right,” she said. “What they’re doing is satanic. So will you help me stop them?”
He didn’t answer right away. He lowered his head and stared at the floor, deep in thought. The old smuggler was clearly a clever man who didn’t do anything without thinking it through. Kirsten and the three thugs stood there in silence, waiting for him to finish calculating.
By the time Wang finally raised his head, he’d regained his composure. “Business is business,” he said. “As soon as we take you across the border, I want my fifty thousand dollars.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
Jim’s troubles started at the timberline, about a mile and a half from the radio tower. For the past five hours he’d ascended the tree-covered ridges of Yulong Xueshan, taking cover behind the thick summer foliage. But the tower loomed above an alpine glacier at the mountain’s summit, and between this ice sheet and the timberline was a long barren slope littered with loose stones. If he tried to climb this slope, he’d be exposed to the dozens of surveillance cameras that were surely monitoring the area around the tower. He’d lose the element of surprise, which was one of the few things he had going for him.