China Crisis (Stony Man)

by Don Pendleton

  “Will Kang know about this place?” Tan asked.

  “He might, but what else can we do?” Hung said. “If we stay in the open, we might freeze. Out here we’re too exposed. If we can get under cover, we’ll be out of the wind and at least have a place to defend.”

  “When you say it like that,” Tan remarked, the trace of irony in his voice not lost on Hung.

  “I didn’t expect it to turn out like this, Dar. This wasn’t the plan.”

  “I’m not blaming you. We all knew what we were letting ourselves get into when we joined the group. I don’t regret it. I just hope we have the chance to make something out of this. It would be a shame if we lost everything after getting this far.”

  They reached the village a short time later, making their way past the razed buildings until they reached the one remaining that would still provide some shelter. This semiderelict house still had a couple of rooms and a door they could close against the bite of the wind. Pushing open the door they got the semiconscious Cho inside. Hung secured the door, then crossed to the single window slot that allowed him to look back the way they had come.

  Tan had Cho propped up in a corner. He found some discarded, dusty blankets and covered the man as best he could. Then he joined Hung at the window.

  “It’s the best we can do. Pity we can’t risk a fire to get a little heat in here.”

  Hung squatted with his back to the wall, hugging the backpack that contained the circuit board to his body.

  “The only thing we can do now is wait.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Townsend Ranch, South Texas

  Oliver Townsend, former Major Oliver Townsend, U.S. Army, retired from active service for the past three years, was the driving force behind the covert organization Shadow. Depending on your stand, Shadow was either an inspired business enterprise or an illegal operation.

  As far as Townsend was concerned, his operation was pure genius. In a world dominated by global enterprises, many of them partly funded and under the protective umbrella of federal government, Shadow might have been small. It did, however, cater to a specific need—that of providing military ordnance and technology to the specific requirements of its clientele. In essence Townsend did his business with those customers who, by whatever misdeed, were considered untouchable by the legitimate suppliers. There was a great deal of hypocrisy in that. It was a well-documented fact that overseas regimes once favored by government could fall into the black hole of becoming non gratis due to political expediency, power change or not adhering to nonspecified rules. The delicate balance in the political game was easily tipped. Today’s friend was tomorrow’s enemy. It was a simple equation that highlighted the power struggles and the watch-your-back mentality.

  Townsend had been a spectator to much of this during his military career, his final two years spent at the Pentagon, and he had realized that there was much to be made from the infinitely complex machinations of the strategy game. He had acquired a great deal of insight, background knowledge and, importantly, contacts, a number of whom were instrumental in backing his enterprise and working behind the scenes. They were powerful men, their influence running deep in financial, industrial and political circles, and Townsend was well versed in the way they operated behind closed doors.

  With his backers on board, Townsend began to formulate the operation that would both fund his retirement and occupy his time. He saw an opportunity and he reached out and took it. There was a certain irony in his decision. His retirement had been forced on him through one of the manpower cut-back initiatives the military machine had devised. Men of his age were being offered early retirement because they no longer fitted into the scheme. The Pentagon wanted younger blood, officers who would slot neatly into the new technological era. Townsend made little fuss. He saw the writing on the wall and figured he might as well go quietly, taking with him all the information he had gathered and channeling it into his own personal data pool.

  Within twelve months of the parting of the ways Townsend had his organization up and running. With his backing secured, Townsend recruited his team of specialists and his newly formed Shadow was already doing business. His first clients had been based in Asia. He had taken on the contract and supplied them with the ordnance they needed. The deal was conducted efficiently, the funds placed in a Swiss account Townsend’s moneyman had set up, and the client suggesting Townsend get in touch with a number of other groups who needed similar deals processing. Shadow’s efficiency was noticed, and over the next year Townsend saw his turnover increase substantially. The people he was dealing with had an urgent need for what he could supply, plus there was the added advantage they paid well and needed anonymity.

  Now Shadow was not only operating from a strong business base but had expanded into another area entirely. Townsend was being asked to supply not just ordnance, but technology centered around advanced weaponry and electronics. He had done some research and found that industrial espionage, as it was designated, had a higher premium comeback. One deal in this sector would net him more than his entire income since he had started the enterprise. He discussed this with his people and the consensus was it had extreme possibilities.

  Shadow had its contacts within military and government research communities, and once Townsend started to look further he realized that obtaining sensitive material was not outside his scope. He used his knowledge of how the military-industrial setup worked to his advantage. As well as employing monetary enticements, Townsend got his people to look into the backgrounds of people in top-secret areas. It wasn’t long before there was a stack of files on a number of key players, containing details of gambling debts, infidelities both financial and sexual, anything that could be used as a lever was employed.

  Townsend learned something about himself during this stage. He found he had no conscience or moral restraint when it came to blackmail, coercion or downright threats. It was a part of his makeup he hadn’t been aware of before. Now it had surfaced he found he liked that side of his character. He was enjoying his new career, the money, the power and the sensation that he was defying the odds each time he went into a new venture. The illicit thrill engendered by the whole risky game was as much of a high as the money. The expansion of his organization, moving into something far beyond selling a few crates of automatic weapons, really hit the right spot for him.

  The call from an intermediary asking for a meet in Paris with his main client had intrigued Townsend. The initial conversation hinted that any possible arranged deal would be worth an extremely high fee. This part of the conversation interested Townsend even more. His trip to Paris was to be paid for, as was his accommodation in a five-star hotel in the city. Townsend agreed to the meeting. A return ticket and hotel reservation were delivered by courier two hours later. The flight was due to leave that afternoon. By the evening of the next day Townsend was sitting in his hotel suite awaiting the call that would summon him to his meeting with his yet-to-be-identified client.

  He had no idea just what he was going to be asked to provide. The hinted-at amount of his fee, being so astronomical, suggested something extremely high-tech and of great importance.

  What was he going to be asked to do? Steal the latest U.S. Air Force fighter plane? Hijack a Navy submarine? He leaned back in the comfortable armchair, toying with the glass of fine French brandy, and let his imagination run wild. He hoped that when he did get the request it wouldn’t be a disappointment.

  He was picked up an hour later and driven in a comfortable limousine to the outskirts of Paris and a château on the edge of the Seine. The house was more than four hundred years old, beautifully maintained and very private.

  Townsend was met at the massive front entrance by an unsmiling Chinese in an expensive suit and immaculate shirt and tie. He was led inside the château, across the marble entrance hall, and shown into a pleasant, sunny room that looked out onto smooth lawns that led to the river. The door closed quietly behind him and Townsend found hims
elf in the presence of a powerful-looking Chinese in his forties.

  “Please take a seat. Do I call you Major, or is it now Mr. Townsend?”

  “I left the rank behind when I left military service,” Townsend said.

  “Mr. Townsend, my name is Su Han. I am director of the Second Department, Intelligence, of the PLA, and I would like to commission your organization to procure certain items for me. These items will be held in the strictest security by the U.S. government and will not be easy to get to.”

  “Director Han, that is why you have come to me. My organization is dedicated to providing what our clients ask for. I’m sure you have done your checks on Shadow. If you have, then you will have seen we haven’t failed once to fill our obligations.”

  “Quite so, Mr. Townsend. I am extremely impressed by your record of successes.”

  “All praise is gratefully received.”

  “From what I have learned, you have no problem relieving the American government of weaponry, electronics and the like.”

  “Why not? Like all governments, the U.S. administration has no hang-ups when it comes to selling its wares if it decides a certain regime suits its purpose. As far as I’m concerned, Director Han, we are in a global bazaar. Supply and demand. It was what America was born for.”

  Han reached down to a folder resting on the small table beside his chair. He opened it and offered it to Townsend.

  “You may find my needs unusual. They are, however, strictly in accordance with current trends in defensive weaponry. In brief, China has an urgent need to bring herself in line with the present level attained by America and Russia. Our leadership cannot tolerate the advances made by Russia especially. The stalemate is too biased in favor of the U.S. and Russia. We need to redress that balance.”

  “And to save time on development you need samples of the latest U.S. hard and software?”

  “Exactly, Mr. Townsend. As for example, the circuit board on the first page. If we could have one of those, our technicians would be able to reproduce it and we would have saved two maybe three years of trial and error.”

  “Very astute, Director.” Townsend smiled. “Let me work on this list. I need to do some checking. Get my people to assess how we could do this.”

  “I take it you are interested in a deal?”

  “As they say in my country, you can take that to the bank.”

  “Take your time, Mr. Townsend. Anything you need should be available here. We have a communications room so you can confer with your people in the U.S. All lines are secure.”

  “I would expect nothing less from you, Director Han.”

  Han called out in his native tongue and the man who had met Townsend at the door entered the room.

  “Show our guest to the communications center. He is to have complete privacy. No disturbances of any kind.”

  The man nodded.

  “Director Han, I will try to have some positive answers for you by midday.”

  Neither man had broached the subject of money. It seemed to Townsend that it would appear churlish if he brought up payment at this time, and Han was plainly from the old school, where payment remained hidden discreetly out of sight until everything else had been cleared.

  The communications center was situated in a room at the rear of the château and contained telephones, computers and a fax machine. Everything was the most up-to-date on the market, and Townsend noted wryly that it was all of Japanese origin. The door closed behind his escort, leaving the American on his own. He sat at the desk and used one of the satellite phones to call his U.S. base. Within a couple of minutes he had Ralph Chomski, his second in command, on the line.

  Chomski, ex-Air Force intelligence, had been with Townsend from day one. He was a man who existed for life’s challenges. His contacts were legion, stretching from the military through both civilian contractors and even a number of covert agencies who handled a great deal of what was known as black ops. He hated being defeated by any problem and would do anything to make sure he came out on top. He had a small but influential list of people within government who could be persuaded to help. He would never divulge exactly what he had as leverage, and Townsend didn’t push him on that, content to accept that Chomski could deliver when required. Chomski listened as Townsend sketched in Han’s needs without being too specific.

  “I’ll e-mail you the list in a few minutes. I need confirmation we can get what the man requires as soon as possible. Ralph, we could do extremely well on this.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Chomski said, and Townsend could sense the rising excitement in his voice at the thought.

  “Calm down, Ralph. Don’t wet your pants too soon. Look at the list first.”

  As soon as he finished his conversation, Townsend used the computer setup to scan Han’s list and forward it as an attachment to an e-mail he sent to Chomski. He received an acknowledgment within a minute and knew that his second in command would be checking the list and working on ways to obtain the goods.

  Townsend returned to find Han, informing him that urgent attention was being given to the list and he would have an answer within a short time. Han nodded, content, and invited Townsend on a tour of the house and grounds.

  Two hours later Townsend had a call from Chomski, guaranteeing they could fill the order. Townsend informed Han, confident that if Chomski said yes they were in business.

  “Excellent, Mr. Townsend. I hope you will dine with me this evening before you return to the U.S.A.”

  “My pleasure, Director. Then I must leave. I have a lot to arrange.”

  Townsend was back at his hotel by nine that night. He retired early and by midmorning the following day was settling in his seat on the plane that would take him to the States.

  That had been six months ago…

  Longhorn Bar, Landry Flats, South Texas Border Country

  T. J. HAWKINS CAUGHT a glimpse of Carl Lyons as the Able Team leader paused in the doorway, scanning the bar’s interior. The moment he spotted Hawkins, Lyons made directly for him, coming to a halt at the table.

  “You think I don’t have anything better to do than chase all over the damn place? I told you once before, Hawkins, nobody skips on me.”

  Hawkins carried on drinking, aware of every eye in the place focused on his table.

  “Playing dumb isn’t going to buy you a ticket home.”

  This time Hawkins sat upright, leaning against the rear of the booth. He faced Lyons.

  “And am I supposed to be worried? What are you going to do, rooster? Crow loud enough so everyone can hear? All I’m doing is having a quiet drink. There’s no law against that. I haven’t broken any rules, so back off, Jenks. I’m not in the fuckin’ Army no more. I don’t have to listen to you.”

  “Listen, asshole, we had a deal. It’s time to settle.”

  Hawkins shook his head. “Deal’s off. You didn’t come through on your end. Or have you forgotten that?”

  Lyons reached out and caught hold of Hawkins’s coat, hauling him upright. He swung the younger man around, slamming him against the wall, then pinned him there with one big hand.

  “You could die right here, Hawkins.”

  “Then are you going to shoot all these witnesses? I don’t think even you could cover that up, Jenks.”

  “Maybe I’ll risk it. Be worth the sight of you with your guts spread over this floor. I don’t like people going back on a deal.”

  “Yeah, right. Jenks, you screwed up. You lost the merchandise and now you expect me to bail you out. Open your eyes, pal. It don’t work that way. We both know you’re trying to put the squeeze on because your boss is going to be pissed at you.” Hawkins slapped Lyons’s hands from his chest, then stiff-armed him away, pushing the man across the floor. “Go tell him what happened. Get the hell off my back. It’s not my problem. Now fuck off before I find my gun and put you down.”

  Lyons made a show of bluster, but eventually backed away. He jabbed a finger at Hawkins.

  “Y
ou and me got this to settle. This isn’t over, Hawkins.” He stared around the bar, face taut with anger.

  “Jenks, this is finished.”

  Lyons backed off a step, refusing to meet Hawkins’s eye. After a moment he spun around, glaring at the rest of the bar’s customers.

  “Seen enough, you assholes? Get back to your bottles, losers.”

  He turned and barged his way out of the bar, slamming the door behind him. A long silence ensued until a single voice broke it.

  “Still bucking the odds, T.J.?”

  Hawkins turned and watched as Vic Lerner moved away from his stool at the bar and crossed the room. He peered at Lerner, pretending he wasn’t certain he recognized the man.

  “Vic? Where in hell did you spring from, buddy?”

  “I was here awhile. Didn’t pay much attention until you made your little stand against the bully boy.” Lerner threw out a hand and slapped Hawkins on the shoulder. “Hell, T.J., how long has it been?”

  “Too damn long. Hey, where’s the uniform?”

  “I dumped that a while back. Had my belly full of being ordered around.”

  “Yeah, I been there, done that.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. Man, they really did the dirty on you in Somalia.”

  Hawkins shrugged. “The system always gets you in the end. Let me buy you a drink, Vic.”

  Lerner had already turned, gesturing to the bartender. He had quickly sized up Hawkins’s shabby appearance, figuring his former Army buddy wasn’t exactly walking around with too much in his pockets. When he returned with a couple of beers, Hawkins had taken his seat again. Lerner placed the chilled bottles on the table, pushing one across to Hawkins.

  “Here’s to when we did have some good times, T.J.”

  Hawkins lifted the bottle and drank. He brushed at his creased shirt. “Seems you caught me on an off day, Vic. I need to do my laundry.”

  “Got to admit I’ve seen you looking better in the middle of a firefight, T.J.”