This time he wore a simple Western business suit, but his face was neutral, as if he were delivering a recorded message. The same mixed signals, but with more weight on the outrage this time.
“These intrusions into Chinese sovereignty are becoming intolerable!”
the tiny ambassador snapped, speaking this time in his perfect Oxbridge English. His tones held barely suppressed fury.
The president remained seated behind his desk. “You might care to go back out of the Oval Office, Ambassador Wu, and make a fresh entrance.”
Castilla caught a faint hint of a smile as Wu said, “My apologies, sir.
I fear I am so upset I forgot myself.”
The president refrained from saying Wu Bangtiao never forgot himself.
Bluntness had to be used judiciously. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ambassador. What is it that’s so upset you?”
“An hour ago, I received a communication from my government that our military in Sichuan Province reported a high-flying aircraft, identified by our experts as an E-2C Hawkeye AWACS of the type flown by your navy, had violated Chinese airspace two hours before. In light of your navy’s continued harassment of our cargo ship on the high seas, my government sees a pattern and strongly protests these incursions on our sovereign rights.”
The president fixed his hard stare on Wu. “First, Mr. Ambassador, the matter of the Empress violates no Chinese sovereign rights.”
“And the flyover? Would you know anything about that?”
“No, because I’m sure it never happened.”
“Sure, sir? But no categorical denial?”
“I’d be stupid to categorically deny what I know nothing about and which could have a perfectly reasonable explanation should it actually have happened. You say your military identified the aircraft as an AWACS? The area you speak of is quite close to northern Burma, where we have drug interdiction operations with, I believe, China’s full support.”
Wu inclined his head in acknowledgment. “A reasonable theory, Mr. President. However, we’ve also had a report there was a possible parachutist into Sichuan at nearly the same time. Near Dazu. Local authorities are investigating as we speak.”
“Interesting. I wish them success.”
“Thank you, sir. Then I’ll bother you no more.” Wu, who had not been invited to sit, started to turn toward the door.
“Not so fast, Ambassador. Please have a chair.” The president made his expression as stern as possible. But underneath the severity he felt a surge of optimism for the risk he was about to take. Wu Bangtiao had said not a word about the abortive SEAL raid on the Empress. That could mean only one thing — the Standing Committee knew nothing about the SEALs’ attempt. The warning to the Chinese sub had been delivered by one member or faction on the Standing Committee, while the rest were ignorant.
Wu hesitated, unsure of what the unexpected request signified, then smiled and sat. “You have another matter to discuss, Mr. President?”
“The matter of a Chinese submarine taking up a position perilously close to the frigate Crowe. A warship threatening the warship of another nation on the high seas? I believe that’d be considered an ” by any standards of international law.”
“A simple precaution. Balancing the power, you might say. All vessels have a right to be where they are. Under the circumstances, my government considered it had no choice. After all”—the faint smile appeared again— “we’re merely shadowing the shadower. A routine matter.”
“Now, of course, because of all this, you’ve revealed one of your secrets–
China has subs monitoring our Fifth Fleet. The Indian Ocean is the only place it could have come from so quickly.” A flat statement.
Wu’s careful eyes flickered. Perhaps it was annoyance that his overall negotiating position had been undercut by someone in Beijing. Still, he said nothing.
“We, of course, had always considered such surveillance a possibility, but now we have concrete confirmation. But be that as it may”—the president waved his hand—“I’m going to do something unusual. Something, I might say, not all my advisers agree with. I’m going to tell you why the Crowe is there. A few days ago, we received incontrovertible information that the Empress is carrying substantial quantities of thiodiglycol and thionyl chloride. I doubt I need to tell you what those chemicals can be used for.”
The president waited.
When the ambassador’s expression did not change and he made no comment, the president continued, “The quantities are substantial. In fact, so substantial that they could have no other purpose but weapons manufacture.”
Wu stiffened. “Another Yinhe? Really, sir, wasn’t once―”
The president shook his head. “That time, you knew for certain we were wrong. That allowed you to stonewall to the end and make us look like louts. It was a win-win situation for you. If we didn’t board, you appeared to have made us back down, scoring major points. If we did board, we’d be seen as reckless and arrogant. Since we boarded, you scored a coup on the international stage.”
Wu appeared stunned. “I’m shocked, Mr. President. We were simply supporting international law, then and now.” “Bullshit,” the president said pleasantly. “However, I’ve told you this for a reason — this time we believe Zhongnanhai doesn’t know what the Empress is really carrying and never has known. We think Zhongnanhai is totally uninvolved in the venture and was surprised by the appearance of the Crowe. Which means that when we do board, whatever else happens, your nation is going to look very bad at a time when trade with the rest of the world is one of your long-term, paramount goals.”
For a time, Wu Bangtiao sat silently, his steady gaze fixed on the president, obviously assembling his thoughts. When the words came, once more what they did not say carried the real meaning: “We could not permit such a gross violation as boarding a Chinese flag vessel in the open sea.”
No protest, no denial, no hedging, no bluster.
The president heard the unsaid. “Neither the United States, nor the world — including China — can risk chemical weapons of mass destruction in the hands of irresponsible regimes.”
Wu nodded. “Then, sir, we have an impasse. What do you suggest?”
“Perhaps concrete proof could break the impasse. The actual manifest.”
“Proof would be impossible, since no such cargo could come from China.
However, could such proof exist, my government would, in the interest of international law, have to consider it.”
“If it exists.”
“Which it cannot.” The president smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. That, I think, concludes our meeting.”
Ambassador Wu stood, inclined his head again, and walked from the Oval Office.
The president watched him go. Then he pressed his intercom button. “Mrs. Pike? Ask the chief of my secret service detail to come to the Oval Office.”
President Castilla sat in the shaded Covert-One office of Fred Klein.
“Your AWACS and Jon Smith were spotted outside Dazu. The local authorities are looking for him. At least that was what Ambassador Wu said.”
“Damn,” Klein swore. “I’d hoped that wouldn’t happen. Colonel Smith’s got a tough enough job as it is.”
“Why didn’t you use a B-2? The stealth properties would’ve been useful.”
“No time to get one from Whiteman. We had to go with what the navy had available. I’d have used a higher flying fighter, but we didn’t want to risk an ejection seat being found. How much did they spot?”
“All the ambassador said was the plane had been detected and a parachutist might have been seen coming down.”
“Good. That probably means they’re not even sure about the chute, and they haven’t come close to pinpointing his landing or found his equipment. With any luck, he’s on schedule.”
“With the help you had waiting that I don’t want to know about?”
“That’s the plan, and let’s say the Chinese wouldn’t like our ” any mo
re than they would an all-American operation.”
The president related the rest of his meeting with Ambassador Wu. “We were right. Beijing knew nothing about the Empress until the Crowe showed up, which clued them in that something was wrong. I think when I named the chemicals, Wu was shocked. He’ll report to Zhongnanhai. How close are we to having that manifest?”
“I haven’t heard from Smith, but I didn’t expect to yet. Any word about the new leaker?”
“No, dammit. We’re looking. I’ve cut back every piece of information to only those who must know.”
Monday, September 18.
Dazu.
From where they waited deep inside the small grove of trees, Jon could hear an occasional car or truck roar past on the distant toll expressway. A mile or more away in three directions, a few farmhouses still showed light. The tense breathing of the Uighers was a nervous rhythm in his ears, along with the slow beat of his own heart. A Uigher grunted as he shifted position. Jon moved, too, loosening his joints.
But from the prison camp itself, there was nothing. No sound, no movement.
Asgar peered at his watch. “Our two chaps should’ve been here by now.
Something’s not right.”
“You’re sure they were ready to leave?”
“Should’ve been. We’d better go in and take a check.”
“That sounds like trouble.”
“Should we abort?”
Jon mulled. He wanted to get David Thayer out of prison, but he was concerned about bringing hordes of police and military down on the area and frightening Li Kuonyi away from the meeting. Still, Asgar, Chiavelli, and he — working together — increased the chances of success.
Three armed professionals. Otherwise, it was just Chiavelli and Thayer, and Thayer had probably not fired a gun in a half century, if even then.
One way or another, the pair would attempt to escape tonight. If they got out but alerted prison authorities in the process, they would bring armed troops to the area.
The safest outcome was to help Thayer escape undetected.
Jon said, “Let’s find them.”
Asgar circulated among his people, telling them in a quiet voice what was happening and what he planned. He tapped three to accompany him and Jon, and the five slipped out of the woods. Bent and silent, they trotted across a newly planted field, where Jon’s bruised body ached from running on such soft soil, then through a shadowy orchard of ripening apple trees, where the firmer soil helped him recover.
With a signal from Asgar, they came to an abrupt halt and went to ground. Before them, to the left and right, extended an open space that had been cleared around the perimeter of the prison’s chain-link fence.
Rolled razor wire topped the fence. About ten yards deep, the open area was littered with dry clods of dirt. It was unplanted, unwatered, untrampled — a sterile no-man’s-land.
“I’m going to the fence,” Asgar whispered. “I’ll take―” “You’ll take me,” Jon said. “I want to let Chiavelli and Thayer know I’m here, and I can’t communicate with your men anyway. They can stay back and cover us.”
“All right then. Come along.”
Crouched, they tore toward the fence. Jon sweated from the strain on his sore muscles. Just as they reached it, a searchlight blazed on from the guard tower to their left. They dove to the dirt, their bodies pressed tight against the fence. Dust from the dry earth filled Jon’s nostrils.
He fought a sneeze, at last swallowing it.
Asgar’s whisper was little more than a vibration as the searchlight beam probed, passed over, and passed over again. “What the devil’s going on?
I’ve never seen them this alert.”
“Something’s spooked them.”
“Right. When that light gives up, we crawl west.”
In the darkened barrack room, David Thayer was seated at his plank table, packing a few keepsakes and papers into a waistpack.
Dennis Chiavelli held a small flashlight so Thayer could see what he was doing. The light illuminated Thayer’s thatch of white hair from beneath, making it glow like fresh snow.
“You okay to do this?” Chiavelli asked. “This could turn out to be a lot harder than we expect. You could be hurt or die. It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Thayer looked up. His faded eyes danced. “Are you insane? I’ve been waiting a lifetime. Literally. I’m going to see America again. I’m going to see my son again. Impossible! I feel like an old fool, but I can hardly believe this is happening.” Unembarrassed joy radiated from his wrinkled face.
Chiavelli jerked around toward the window. “What’s that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
But the old man’s hearing was bad. Chiavelli crossed to the window.
“Damn!” He peered out and cursed softly again.
“What is it?”
“The governor. He’s got a squad with him. They’re doing a barrack check.
Now they’re heading for the Uighers. My guess is our barrack is next.”
Thayer’s parchment skin paled. “What do we do?”
“Return everything to where it was.” Chiavelli sprinted back from the window. “Undress again and pretend to sleep. Hurry.”
Moving with amazing speed for a man of his years, David Thayer put the few keepsakes and papers back where they belonged, stripped off his outer clothes, and pulled his nightshirt down over his head. At the same time, Chiavelli yanked off his clothes and, wearing his underwear, slid into his pallet.
The noise of a door banging open into the barrack silenced them. Moments later, two guards entered the room, ordering, “On your feet.”
Both feigned sleepiness, and the guards pulled them roughly up from their pallets.
As the governor entered, he glared at Chiavelli and chided the guards, “Don’t be so rough on the old one.” He studied Thayer for a sign he had not been in his pallet. “You were asleep, prisoner Thayer?” “I was having good dreams,” he said irritably, his eyes half-closed.
“We need to search.”
“Of course.”
The guards investigated the cupboard, moved the pallets, and looked out the windows to see whether anyone was hiding. There was nowhere else to look in the bare room. The governor walked slowly around.
At last, he told Thayer, “You may return to sleep.”
As he left, the guards close behind, they heard him order, “Post a guard at each barrack. Conduct a pallet check every hour. The prison is locked down. There’ll be no work tomorrow, and no one enters or leaves. No one, until further notice.”
The governor marched out of sight. As the guards followed, someone closed the door.
Chiavelli hurried to the window. He stood there for some time. “He’s going back to his office, but he’s short a guard. He must’ve left one at the barrack door.”
“That won’t matter.”
“The bed check and lock-down will. We can’t leave tonight. Even if we managed to escape the farm, they’d be on us before we got five miles.”
David Thayer collapsed on a chair. “No.” His bony shoulders slumped. His face was a mask of despair. “Of course, you’re right.”
“The only good thing is they don’t seem to have connected it to us, and you won’t be transferred tomorrow. The lock-down’s saved you from that.”
Thayer looked up. “Now we wait. And hope. I’m used to that. Still … this time, it all seems much harder.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Between occasional, seemingly random sweeps by the searchlight beam, Jon and Asgar worked their way around the fence, sometimes crawling, sometimes trotting, always hunched over. Asgar knew where they were going, when to crawl, and when to chance moving faster. Suddenly, he dropped to his heels.
Jon pulled in beside him, squatting, too, and followed his line of sight through the fence to a low, square building set ten yards inside the chainlink enclosure. There was a double door in its rear wall, but no windows. From the big door
, an unpaved drive ran to the fence and out to a road. Asgar said, “This is where they’ll come out.”
“What’s the building?”
“The kitchen and mess. We’ll stay here and hope like bloody hell we don’t have to cut our way inside. Those rear doors are for loading and unloading supplies. The important aspect of this piece of real estate is that there’s a blind spot between the doors and the fence — about ten feet wide— out of sight of the guard towers.”
“That’s a damn useful discovery.” They settled in to wait, again lying close to the fence. Jon focused on the double doors. Time seemed to stand still, and the night closed in. The noise of booted feet marching across wood walkways broke the silence. It was a heavy sound, threatening.
Jon frowned at Asgar. “What does that mean?”
“They’re marching away from the barracks toward the governor’s building and the guardhouse.” Asgar’s voice was barely audible. “There must’ve been an alarm, or perhaps the governor made a snap inspection. It doesn’t look good, Jon.”
“A lockdown?” “We’ll know soon,” Asgar said grimly. He found a loose pebble and lobbed it over the fence. It struck the ground with a tiny, nearly inaudible thikkk.
Jon still saw nothing move inside the prison, not even a shadow. Then he felt a sharp sting on his cheek. He had been hit by a return pebble. He picked it up.
Asgar nodded. “That’s the signal. They’re locked down. We’ll have to wait. With luck, twenty-four hours from now, everything will be normal again. The only good thing is they won’t transfer Thayer in the morning.
Of course, it’s possible the lock-down will last longer, maybe even a week.”
“I hope not, for all our sakes. Especially for Thayer’s.”
Sunday, September 17.
Washington, D.C.
Charles Ouray entered the Oval Office quietly. “Mr. President? Sorry to disturb you.”
Late afternoon sunlight warmed the room and the back of the president’s neck. Castilla glanced up from the President’s Daily Brief. “Yes?”
“The DCI would like a word.”
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