by Larry Bond
“Excellent.”
“Yes and no. There’s still a sizeable force on Hainan. They won’t stay there forever. And the CIA thinks there’s some sort of operation being planned against Hai Phong. The details are sketchy.”
“What sort of operation?”
Jackson shrugged. “Details are sketchy.”
“Get a hold of Frost and tell him to sharpen it up,” snapped Greene. Peter Frost was the head of the CIA. “Tell him to stop sending me the latest fake YouTube and Twitter posts, and get real intelligence.”
“One other thing you should know, George,” added Jackson, his voice notably lower. “The two American Army officers involved in the Hainan operation as advisers? They’re missing.”
“Missing where?”
“Hainan.”
Greene pursed his lips. Just what he needed—another public relations nightmare.
“Very possibly they’re dead,” added Jackson.
It was a horrible thought, yet in this circumstance their deaths would be far more desirable than their capture.
A terrible thought, especially for him. Would Nixon have thought that about his capture? And yet it was certainly true for the country.
Or at least for him.
Was that the same thing?
Absolutely not. He had to be clear about that.
“Keep me advised,” Greene told Jackson, opening the door to his private suite.
10
Hainan Island, China
Zeus relaxed a little as the Fokker 50 lifted from the runway. They were off Hainan at least. The farther from the scene of the crime, the better.
The turboprops made a loud, droning noise that reminded him quite a lot of the turbocharger he’d installed in his old Firebird.
Odd to be thinking of the ’Bird now. She wasn’t nearly as nice as the Corvette he’d kept, but she had been a pretty car in her own right, old-school muscle and gas guzzler. He’d done a good job with her, and she’d paid him back nicely, returning a decent premium over what he’d paid when he sold her to a millionaire over eBay. At least he assumed the guy was a millionaire; he didn’t even bark about the price.
The Fokker banked sharply, pushing Zeus against Christian.
“Something’s up,” Christian told Zeus. “We’re turning north.”
“Solt’s got it under control.” She was sitting a few aisles away.
“I’ll bet.”
“You come up with a better plan, let me know.”
Casually glancing to his right and then left, Zeus tried to get a read on the other passengers. He could only see a handful. They were all Asian, probably Chinese. They didn’t seem particularly worried or thrilled to have escaped Hainan. He thought of striking up a conversation to see what they knew of the situation on the island, but decided it was too risky; there was no sense calling more attention to himself.
Zeus unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Where are you going?” asked Christian. There was panic in his eyes.
“Bathroom.”
Zeus glanced at the faces of the passengers as he walked toward the back of the cabin.
No other Europeans. Mostly men, mostly in formal business clothes. His own clothes, a baggy pair of cotton pants and a Western-style sweatshirt with a pseudo designer name, were probably among the most casual on the plane.
The restrooms were occupied. Zeus turned back toward the cabin, hoping that Solt Jan had seen him and would follow. But she didn’t.
The door to one of the commodes opened. Zeus stepped back to let a short, thin woman squeeze past. Then he went inside the restroom.
He needed to wash his face. The salt water from the ocean felt as if it had embedded itself into his pores. He rubbed the water from the faucet into his forehead and down across his cheekbones, to his jaw and chin. He filled his palms again and ran them over his face, trying to flush the salt and fatigue away.
He avoided looking in the mirror, knowing he looked terrible. He took a quick glance at his clothes—stolen from a gym locker, but reasonably close in size—then opened the door and went back out to his seat.
“We’re going to Zhanjiang,” whispered Christian as he sat down.
“How do you know?”
“Solt told me. She came by while you were in the restroom.”
“Okay.”
“She says there’re flights from there to Beijing. From there we can go anywhere. I’m not crazy about going to Beijing.”
“There’s always Pyongyang,” Zeus answered sarcastically, referring to the capital of North Korea.
“You’re a real comedian.”
“Did she say how long the flight was?”
“Didn’t ask.”
Zeus leaned over, trying to see through the window next to Christian. If they were going to Zhanjiang, it shouldn’t take very long. They would fly directly over the island, cross a small strait, and then reach the mainland not far from the city.
“Not even anything to read,” grumbled Christian.
“We’ll be down soon.”
“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to that.”
The pilot began speaking over the loudspeaker in Chinese. There was some rustling in the seats as he went on.
Zeus waited for him to finish, hoping he would repeat the announcement in English, but he didn’t. Finally, he leaned across the aisle.
“Excuse me,” he said to the sleepy-eyed man sitting opposite him. “I don’t speak Chinese. I wonder if you could tell me what he said.”
The man simply stared at him.
Two rows ahead, Solt Jan heard him talking and turned her head back. She got up and came back, kneeling down next to his seat. She looked as if she were genuflecting.
“The plane is diverting because of the war emergency,” she told him in a whisper.
“Uh-huh.”
“Zhanjiang is closed,” she added, her voice even softer. “The pilot didn’t say, but we are most likely going to Beihai. We will be able to continue from there.”
She shook her head, telling Zeus not to ask any more questions.
“Small airport,” she whispered. “But adequate.”
“We’re in your hands.”
She nodded, then went back to her seat. The aircraft had begun banking gently westward.
“Why do you think they closed Zhanjiang?” Christian asked.
“Need it for military operations,” said Zeus. “Has to be.” Probably in response to our fake attack, he thought. Zeus guessed there would be extra patrol flights now, the Chinese military in high paranoid mode.
Good. Though not necessarily for them.
The airplane leveled off. The harsh drone of its engines eased. Zeus wondered about the Vietnamese air force. They still had some flyable MiGs, but he doubted they’d risk them this far from their base. In fact, he tended to doubt that they’d risk them at all.
“We’re over the water,” said Christian a few minutes later.
“What can you see?”
“Lights. I think I can see a boat. A ship, I mean. There’s the coast.”
Obviously, the Chinese didn’t think the Vietnamese air force was much of a threat, or there’d be a blackout.
The airplane suddenly dipped down. Something flew past Christian’s window.
“Shit,” said Christian.
“Sshhh,” said Zeus. But everyone else was talking, and pushing toward the windows near them.
“Fighters,” said Christian.
“What are they doing?”
Christian didn’t answer as the Fokker suddenly dipped down again. Zeus felt his stomach rising in his chest, and fought back a gag response.
Christian reached for the barf bag. So did several other passengers as the Fokker turned sharply eastward, tucking its left wing down and then pivoting even harder onto its right.
Zeus strained against the seatbelt, then felt himself pushed back as they leveled off. He wanted to look out the window, but Christian was in the way, getting sick. Zeus turned toward t
he aisle, trying to keep his own stomach from feeling too queasy.
The pilot came on with another announcement. His words seemed to come more quickly than before, though Zeus could only guess at what he was saying.
Don’t worry. All is routine.
The plane leveled off. After a few moments, Zeus braved a glance at Christian.
“Maybe we should change seats,” he suggested.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“You all right?”
“No.”
Zeus stepped into the aisle, then slipped in as Christian got out of the way.
A set of lights blinked beyond the wing. One of the planes that had buzzed them earlier was now flying parallel to the Fokker. Zeus guessed it was a fighter, and that they had inadvertently strayed into a military area.
That didn’t seem to make much sense, though—they were still out over the water.
Then he saw lights in the distance. At first, he thought he had spotted a city; then he realized he was looking at one of the Chinese aircraft carriers.
Zeus pushed against the glass, trying to get a better view. The Chinese had two carriers. The last he had heard was that they were operating together. But he could see only one.
Something was landing on it. From this distance it was impossible to tell what kind of plane.
Zeus turned his attention to the dots of light near the larger ship. They were escorts. The Navy probably already knew exactly which ships they were, how they were equipped, even who their captains were. Very possibly an unmanned spy plane was watching them at this very moment. Still, this was a real intelligence opportunity: Zeus studied the dots, trying to memorize the pattern. Two small ships flanking the carrier, with a larger ship to the south. Three other vessels behind, to the north. Two seemed relatively large and wide; he guessed they were supply vessels of some sort, with their own escort.
When they were past the last of the ships, the aircraft on the wing veered away. A cone of orange appeared at the back of the gray fuselage, changing from a circle to an ellipse as it made its turn. Zeus stared after it. When he finally turned his attention back to the cabin, he saw that the stewardesses were handing out towels. They were landing soon.
“You okay?” he asked Christian.
“Better. Sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“Funny thing is, I feel hungry now.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t push that.”
Zeus went back to looking out the window. He couldn’t see any more lights, just a dull, orange-brown glow ahead to his left. He glanced at his watch: fifteen past three.
Where had the time gone? And yet it had seemed to pass so slowly.
Ten minutes later, the plane began to bank in the direction of the glow. By now, it looked like a pale yellow foam rising from the crust of the blackness below. Zeus guessed it was Beihai, where they were headed.
The pilot confirmed it with an announcement a few seconds later. The only word Zeus recognized was the name of the city.
He tightened his seatbelt and waited patiently as the plane put down, the engines growing into a loud roar as the wheels hit the tarmac. The passengers applauded as the pilot feathered the engines and gently nudged the brakes.
The plane stopped a good distance from the terminal. A pair of buses waited nearby. Zeus watched a moveable stairway being pushed close to the fuselage.
The passengers got their things together, then filed out slowly, silently, no doubt wondering like Zeus and Christian what they were going to do next.
Solt was a few passengers ahead of them. Zeus angled to the left as he neared the bottom of the steps, intending to catch up. But as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the attendant standing there tapped his shoulder.
“This bus,” she said in English. “That one is full.”
Zeus turned dutifully and led the rest of the passengers to the second vehicle. The driver smiled and nodded as he boarded, greeting him in Chinese. Zeus found a seat a few rows back.
Christian slid in next to him silently. Zeus guessed that he was embarrassed that he’d gotten sick, though he had plenty of company.
The bus was quiet. When the last passenger had found a seat, the driver closed the door and put the vehicle into motion, gliding across the blacktop toward a two-story building about two hundred and fifty yards away. He stopped behind the first bus, which had already discharged its passengers.
Humming to himself, he opened the door, said something to the passengers in the front row, then hopped down the steps and trotted over to the building. No one moved; apparently he had told everyone to wait.
Zeus watched as the driver spoke to a pair of policemen standing next to a glass door, then ran back, hopped up the steps, and then said something in Chinese that Zeus assumed meant, “Everyone off the bus.” The passengers rose slowly and began filing out.
Zeus rubbed his temples as he joined the small herd walking toward the door. He hadn’t slept now for more than a day, not counting assorted fitful turning in a cot aboard one of the boats they’d commandeered. He hadn’t slept all that well for a few days before that, either.
The glass door opened on a narrow hallway, with rooms on the left and right. The passengers were directed to the room at the right, which was well lit by overhead fluorescents. It was a medium-sized office, bereft of furniture.
They organized themselves along the far wall. No one from the first bus was here; Solt was nowhere to be seen.
“Damn,” grumbled Christian, standing next to him. “I feel like I’m back in beast barracks.”
“A lot worse than this.”
“I guess.” Beast barracks was West Point slang for the freshman orientation period, traditionally a test for newcomers. Outright hazing by upperclassmen was no longer permitted, but the older students still found a way to make things hard for the new arrivals.
Christian cupped his face with his hands. “I gotta get out of here and get some rest.”
“I know what you mean,” answered Zeus. “We’ll have a chance soon. They’re probably just figuring out hotels and stuff.”
“Where’s Solt?”
Zeus shook his head.
A man in a dark suit came into the room after the passengers. He told them something in Chinese that didn’t seem to please anyone. They began murmuring and making clucking sounds with their tongues. The man behind Zeus said something out loud that made the airline official redden. The two men began arguing; other passengers joined in. Finally, the airline official left.
“What the hell is going on?” Christian asked.
“Does anyone here speak English?” asked Zeus, deciding there was no sense keeping quiet anymore.
A young woman—the only woman in their group—said something in Chinese, which prompted one of the older men near them to begin speaking to them. It was clear he was trying to explain the predicament, but Zeus had no way of understanding the words. He listened as carefully as he could, and nodded to encourage the man to continue, but the sounds flowed over him like the ocean.
“Let’s go find somebody that can help us,” insisted Christian. “Or at least get to Solt. Hell.”
“She may not be using that name,” said Zeus.
“I don’t care anymore,” said Christian. “I want to get the hell out of here. I feel claustrophobic.”
“Relax.”
“Don’t tell me that anymore,” said Christian, starting for the door. “My head’s going to explode.”
The airline official who’d been speaking inside was talking to another employee in the hallway. Christian strode up to him and in a loud voice demanded to know what was going on.
The airline official briefly glanced at him, then went back to his own intense discussion with his fellow employee.
Christian grabbed his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
The airline official jumped away from Christian’s grip.
“Easy, Win,” Zeus told Christian. “You’re not helping. He doesn’t understand
what you’re saying.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
The airline official stepped back, hands out in horror. His companion began backing up the hall.
“He didn’t mean anything,” Zeus told them. “He’s just a little tired.”
The airline officials exchanged a look, then retreated farther into the building.
“Let’s go after them,” said Christian. “There has to be somebody who works for the airline who speaks English.”
“They’ll get somebody. Wait,” said Zeus. But Christian had already started after them.
Reluctantly, Zeus followed in the direction that the two men had taken. A pair of policemen stood in the hallway just around the corner, blocking the way.
“Excuse me,” said Christian.
Neither man moved. Zeus saw that Christian’s face was beet red again, and his voice was shaky.
“Do you speak English?” Zeus asked the policemen. “A little? We’re trying to find out what’s going on. No one seems to be able to help us.”
The man on the right said something in a sharp tone, then pointed behind them, indicating they should return to the room.
“What if we don’t want to go back?” snapped Christian.
The policeman began gesticulating, thrusting his finger toward Christian’s chest as he spoke in a rapid and clearly angry Chinese staccato.
Zeus suddenly had a premonition of what was going to happen.
“No!” he yelled, reaching for Christian.
But it was too late.
“I’m not taking this shit anymore!” said Christian, launching a left hook that caught his antagonist square in the side of the head.
11
Eastern Pennsylvania
Once the interviews were finished, the Marshal Service took Mara and Josh to a motel in eastern Pennsylvania where they could rest and not be bothered for the rest of the night. But even though they had rented an entire floor of the motel, they were concerned enough about security to tell Mara that she couldn’t go out for a walk by herself.
Josh went right to bed, and fell asleep as soon as he’d pulled the thin blanket over his chest. He slept soundly, and woke smoothly and quickly, rising in the unfamiliar room about a half hour before dawn.