“Just don’t sneak up on me,” James responded.
“How’s it look out there?” McCarter asked.
“The opposition has pulled back,” Grimaldi advised. “I don’t know whether it’s for good, or just so they can regroup and maybe wait for backup. But I don’t feel inclined to hang around to find out.”
“We’re on our way. We have our package safe and sound, and we’re not meeting much resistance down here.”
THEY MADE THE RETURN flight back to the Afghan border in under three hours. Grimaldi had the throttles wide open all the way, running low and dodging the terrain contours as he flew. If they were picked up by any Chinese surveillance, nothing came of it.
Phoenix Force slept most of the way, only Gary Manning rousing himself when he felt Dragon Slayer accelerating down. Pale light was spreading over the landscape as Grimaldi swooped down into the Wakhjir Pass and on to Bagram air base.
Manning dropped into the seat beside Grimaldi.
“Busy few days,” the Stony Man pilot said.
“I’ve had less stressful ones.”
“Job done?”
Manning gave a worn smile. “Not until we’ve faced the wrath of Brognola,” he said.
“Ouch, I’d forgotten about that.”
“Don’t worry, Jack. He’ll remind you soon enough.”
Grimaldi pulled a face. “Hey, Gary, you want me to double back and we’ll go harass Beijing? Got to be less of a choice.”
“Jack, don’t tempt me.”
CHAPTER TEN
Shanghai, China
Director Su Han replaced the telephone receiver and leaned back in his leather padded executive chair, reflecting with an almost amused feeling that life had a strange way of turning matters upside down.
He had just spoken with one of his trusted aides and had been informed of the news coming through from Xinjiang.
Guang Lor was in ruins. Dr. Lin Cheung was one of the casualties of the armed strike against the facility. His body had been located in the demolished research building where work had been carried out developing technology for the proposed range of missiles. The destruction of the building had resulted in the loss of all the hardware, including the American originals and the computer data files holding development schematics and test results. The final piece of information had referred to another matter, though it was just as damning.
Major Tchi Chuy Kang was also dead. His final attempt at righting the whole miserable affair had resulted in his force being confronted by the American commando team he had been pursuing across country. Kang’s capture, for the second time, of the Pro-Democracy dissident Mei Anna had again been thwarted. Survivors of Kang’s force had told of Kang being killed, the woman liberated and the Americans leaving the scene of the battle in a powerful, unidentifiable helicopter. Last reported sightings had been of the helicopter heading south toward the border with Afghanistan. It was also assumed, and Han was in no doubt that it was true, that Mei Anna’s accomplice—Loy Hung—had also escaped with the American circuit board from the downed C26-V missile.
The aide’s final words had been in the form of a question.
“What do we now, Director Han?”
Han had told the man not to worry and had then broken the connection.
What to do indeed, he thought as he stared out the window of the apartment overlooking Shanghai’s Huangpu River. The river snaked through and divided the city into two parts, east and west. Han found the view, day or night, beautiful. Great modern skyscrapers vied for place with the older buildings in different architectural styles that made Shanghai a vibrant and cosmopolitan place.
This was his place, his refuge when the responsibilities of his position became overbearing. He had bought the apartment on a whim, after being invited to a similar residence owned by one of his superiors. The man had made no pretence of hiding his acquisition. Members of the ruling party were allowed these dispensations, Han was informed. What was the point of power if it couldn’t benefit those who held it? At the time it had seemed a logical reason, which held little comfort for Han now. He crossed to the far end of the living room where he had created a work environment, complete with a large desk made from pale ash, and a leather executive-style chair, pausing to fill a thick tumbler with a generous amount of smooth malt whiskey from his private stock before seating himself. At one corner of the expansive desk sat a high-tech computer, complete with high-resolution flat-screen monitor. The director was extremely proud of his desk. It afforded him great satisfaction to sit behind it and conduct official business. Even hold audience with lesser individuals.
Now, alone and not a little concerned over his future, Director Han felt himself a lesser individual. He recalled his recent telephone conversation with the unfortunate Lin Cheung, how they had conspired to make certain the now late Major Kang be made the scapegoat for the sequence of events at Guang Lor.
With Cheung and Kang dead, only Han remained to shoulder responsibility for what had happened. The thought rested heavily on him. He sat for some time formulating his coming moves, taking into account how his superiors would be assessing his performance.
The fact that he had a high-ranking position within the administration meant nothing. Mistakes were viewed with great seriousness in Beijing, because any flaws within the ruling enclave reflected on everyone. From bitter experience Han had only to look back on others, some he had called friends, who had fallen out of favor. A minor infraction meant either death or a long sentence in a labor camp. The latter was simply another death sentence. The only difference was that it took longer to die. In either situation the guilty ones—in the eyes of the Party—would simply vanish and never be seen again. Han’s long service, his unblemished record, would count for nothing if he was found guilty of mismanagement. He decided he was being too optimistic and changed “if” to “when.” The day of his judgment was coming. So Han decided it was in his own interest to stay one step ahead of his fate.
He reached for the cell phone on his desk. It was a private phone, purchased independently and paid for in cash. The service provider was based in Taiwan. Han paid for the contract out of his own substantial accounts. As loyal as he had been to the Party, Director Su Han had always looked to the future and his own survival. In his position there had always been access to substantial funds. It went with his job. Han had been putting aside regular amounts for years, placing the money in secret accounts. When the connection with Shadow came along, the greater amounts he had to play with meant the ability to siphon off even larger amounts. With his rank came other privileges, such as the ability to manage covert operations. With that in mind, Han had people and his own network, reaching across Asia and the Pacific Rim, even to Europe and the U.S.A. The acquisition of a secure and private means of communication had been a simple matter, and now he was about to use it to secure his future survival.
He tapped in a number from memory and waited for the triband phone to connect.
“Oliver, may I now call you that?”
“I believe our relationship has developed to that point, Director Han.”
“Ever the diplomat. Please call me Su.”
“How can I help?”
“I assume you are aware of the unfortunate turn of events in Xinjiang?”
“News has filtered through up to a point. Perhaps you can give me more details?”
Han described the events in detail. “I think we need to meet, Oliver. To talk in private. On neutral ground perhaps, where we can discuss our dealings for the future.”
“I’m intrigued. It presents no problems as far as I’m concerned. If you give me a little time I’ll work something out and send you an email with the details. Is that satisfactory?”
“Extremely. I will wait for your message.”
Han broke contact and laid the cell phone on the desk. He remained seated for a while, swiveling his chair so he could gaze out the panoramic window and watch where Shanghai’s lights were coming on against the deepe
ning shadows. He was going to miss his apartment, the views, his position in the Second Department, Intelligence. He consoled himself with the irredeemable fact that life wasn’t a constant. It evolved, it changed. As fluid as water, it ebbed and flowed and eventually found its own level. It seemed, due to circumstances beyond Han’s control that his life was about to do just that. He had known for a long time that the Party had a rigid stance. Its members demanded only success and frowned on anyone who failed to maintain the status quo. Knowing them as he did, Su Han saw himself as having done just that.
So the time had come for him to move on. And quickly before his superiors chose to remove him. The full facts concerning Guang Lor had yet to be presented to those who would condemn him, so Han had a small window of opportunity. Contacting Townsend had been Han’s opening play.
Turning again he studied the apartment. This had been his retreat for almost two years. He wasn’t a man who gathered many personal belongings so there was little he needed to take with him. There was a case in his bedroom always packed and ready for quick trips. This time the trip would be for himself and not the department. He opened a drawer in the desk and took out a leather wallet. Inside was his passport and personal documents, as well as a substantial amount of cash in U.S. dollars—always welcome currency. There were credit and cash cards. He placed all these items in a slim attaché case. Han reached back inside the desk drawer and took out his personal firearm, a powerful 9 mm SIG-Sauer pistol. He considered the option of taking the weapon with him, but decided against it. He might be able to get it through internal Chinese checkpoints, but once he reached foreign soil it could easily arouse suspicion and even panic.
Reluctantly he placed the pistol back in the drawer. He would be able to get a weapon from Townsend once he reached his destination. Closing the drawer, he reached for his whiskey glass, draining it. He tapped the space bar on his computer keyboard and brought the machine out of standby. Checking that he was still logged into the department database, Han took a couple of USB flash drives and inserted the first into the port. Tapping in instructions, he initiated a download that would transfer all his data from the department mainframe into the storage unit. While this was working, Han went to the bedroom and collected his packed case and brought it back into the living room. Then he returned and changed into comfortable clothes for traveling. He checked the computer and saw that he had incoming mail. Opening the file he saw it was from Townsend. He read the brief message and smiled. As usual Townsend was proving to be consistently efficient. Han sent a quick acknowledgment, then erased the message.
Townsend had advised that Han join him at Jack Regan’s Santa Lorca residence.
Han saw that the flash drive had completed its transfer. He extracted the slim unit and placed a second one in the port, tapping in more instructions. This time the data he was extracting were his own, personal files, encrypted, and detailing bank accounts, global contacts and the names of people who not only owed him favors, but also those he could coerce into providing assistance due to the incriminating material Han had amassed on them.
Using his cell phone he called Shanghai Pudong International Airport and booked a domestic flight that would take him to Hong Kong. He used one of his credit cards to pay for the ticket and was told his flight would leave in two hours. His official standing allowed him priority treatment. Han had to smile at that, wondering how much longer that would last. How soon would officialdom strip away his power? If it could be forestalled for a few hours longer, he might yet make it out of the country. He made another call, this time to Hong Kong International Airport, and booked a flight that would take off only an hour after he arrived, again using his official authority to gain privilege status.
Han saw that his second flash drive had completed its download. He extracted the stick and placed both of them in an inner, zipped pocket of his jacket.
He was about to delete his database on the computer when he saw a small warning indicator in the top right of his monitor. It told him that his computer was being accessed by an outside source. The safety protocol was something that had been installed some time ago by Han himself. It meant someone was attempting to get into his files. Han realized that he was being monitored, an indication that his position within the department was being investigated. He did nothing, because he had also embedded within his system a device that would, the moment someone hacked into it, wipe the entire memory of his hard drive. He experienced a momentary pang of regret that his years of devotion to the Party could be so quickly wiped away. Trust being dismissed so easily. It seemed that previous achievements meant nothing to the people in control.
Han gathered his travel items, pocketed his wallet, took a last tumbler of whiskey and watched as the hacker broke into his system. There was a pause, then Han’s computer activated the installed program and began the swift and irreversible erasure of everything contained within its electronic heart. Han raised his glass in farewell and drained its contents.
He left the apartment and made his way to the express elevator that would take him to the basement car park. When the doors opened Han walked quickly to his parking bay and unlocked his Mercedes. He stowed his luggage and started the car, leaving by the exit ramp. He swung around the apartment building and headed for the road that would take him to Pudong International.
Traffic was light, so it wasn’t hard for Han to check whether he was being followed or not. His work over the years had given him experience in such practices, so he understood the signs to look out for. He saw nothing.
Perhaps there was no need to panic yet. The computer intrusion proved that he was under observation, but he had no problem with that. It would be the first step in any checking into his affairs. The Party, whatever else, followed the rules. There would be a certain protocol to follow before anything else happened, and it was that rigid adherence to the rules that might allow him the time to clear the country.
He reached the airport in plenty of time, leaving his car in a far corner of the parking lot and walking to the departure lounge where he picked up his ticket. When he reached the gate he showed his department credentials and was ushered through with little fuss as soon as his case had been checked in. He had twenty minutes to wait before the flight call and despite his outer show of calm, Han was inwardly admitting to some nervousness. His fears were unfounded and he made it on to the plane without any incidents. A genuine feeling of relief washed over him when the jet finally hauled itself off the ground for its flight to HKIA.
Han realized that no matter what happened now there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, so he tilted his seat back and closed his eyes.
HONG KONG INTERNATIONAL Airport was teeming with people. Those arriving and those waiting to leave came together in surging waves. Han approached the check-in desk for his flight, first checking the surrounding area in case there were any security personnel waiting to jump on him the moment he showed his face. The young woman at the desk was fully accommodating, especially when she realized who he was. It was, Han thought, interesting to be able to see how people reacting coming face-to-face with someone as important as Director Su Han.
Not for much longer, Han admitted.
“Have a pleasant flight, Director Han,” the woman said.
His final hurdle was passport control. As he stood in line, Han watched the close scrutiny of the officials at the desk. They were being thorough, as usual, so he saw nothing to be alarmed about. By the time it came to his turn Han was in full control, acting as he always did when confronted by any form of lesser officialdom.
He passed his documents to the customs officer and saw the raised eyebrows as the man read Han’s passport. Han placed his case on the belt and allowed it to go through the detector. “Is there a problem?” Han demanded brusquely. “Is my passport out of date?”
“No, Director Han,” the officer said. “Everything appears to be in order.”
“So it should be,” Han snapped. “If the director of the Seco
nd Department, Intelligence, has out-of-date documents, then we are in trouble. Yes?”
“Exactly so, Director.”
“Do you wish to check my luggage?”
“I do not think so,” the officer said hastily, glancing at his superior, who stood a little way off.
His superior stepped forward.
“There are rules about this,” he said.
Ah, Han thought, here we have the one. Self-important and following the regulations.
“You are?”
“Captain Tien…” The man became aware of Han’s immobile expression, his expectancy of a completion of the address as he read the passport and absorbed the details. “Director Han.”
Han beckoned the man to step away from the other passengers who were becoming interested in the moment of intrigue.
“Captain, I appreciate the difficulty of your position. However, allow me to explain something. If I do not board this aircraft, an individual who has already passed through your section and who is waiting to leave may be lost to us.”
“Someone wanted for a crime?”
“In the process of committing a security breach. He is involved in passing state secrets. This flight will take him to a meeting with his contact. I am in the process of following him so I can apprehend him when he meets his buyer at the other end.”
Tien absorbed the information. “Perhaps I should inform my superiors.”
“To what purpose? They will not have any knowledge of this operation, Captain Tien. It is highly classified. If you contact them, there could be a reaction that would delay the flight and raise suspicion in my suspect. If that happens, he will avoid making contact and all my department’s work will have been wasted. If you believe you should make that call, please do so. But if my suspect is lost, Captain Tien, there will be questions asked. The first and most important will demand the identity of the person who interrupted an operation in progress.”
China Crisis (Stony Man) Page 20