Shanghai Mission

by Jamie Fredric

  “Time to move,” he said under his breath. He walked down the last three steps then started for the corner.

  “Head for the back of the building,” a voice directly behind him ordered.

  It wasn’t so much the voice that got Grant’s attention--but the feel of a gun barrel pressing against his back.

  *

  Where the hell are they?!” Adler said, pacing at the bottom of the Gulfstream’s steps.

  “Doc was roamin’ around the snack aisle,” Novak said.

  “Last time I saw them, they were going to take a ‘leak.’” Diaz reported.

  Adler started worrying. “Everybody grab your mikes!” Within seconds, they were ready. “DJ! Ken! Check the store!”

  “What can I do?!” Garrett asked standing at the top of the steps.

  “Stay here with Frank in case Skipper and Doc come back! Mike! Come with me!” He and Novak took off, heading for the hangar and surrounding area.

  Slade and James raced toward the mini-mart, slowing up as they approached the automatic front doors. One behind the other, they went in, stopping briefly. Two men, dressed in flight suits, were in line at a checkout counter.

  Slade whispered, “Check that half. I’ll take this side. Meet you at the back.”

  With hands resting on their holsters, the two walked slowly past each aisle. At the last aisle they headed toward the back of the store, then walked toward each other, checking each aisle again.

  “The ‘head’s’ over there,” Slade indicated with a thumb.

  James pulled the door open. “Dammit! He’s not here!”

  Slade saw a swinging door. A sign above it showed: Employees Only. He grabbed James’ arm, pointing toward the door.

  James slowly pushed the door back and stepped into the storage room, with Slade right behind him. “Doc!” he shouted, seeing Stalley flat on his back next to a stack of cardboard boxes.

  Slade pressed the PTT. “LT! Found Doc! No sign of Kwan!”

  Adler smacked his fist into his other palm. “Shit!” he said through clenched teeth before asking, “Is Doc okay?!”

  “Wait one!” Slade stood behind James, who was kneeling next to the corpsman. Stalley started opening his eyes, trying to touch his head.

  James pointed to a swelling just above Stalley’s temple. “He’s gonna have a bitchin’ headache. C’mon, Doc,” he said, helping Stalley sit up.

  “He got bashed in the head, LT,” Slade reported. “We’re getting him up, then starting to you.”

  Adler and Novak came running from behind the plane, seeing the three men walking slowly toward them. Without waiting, the two raced across the lot. “Doc! Where’s Kwan?!” Adler asked anxiously.

  “Kwan,” Stalley said trying to focus his eyes. “He. . .he’s got his gun.”

  “Oh Jesus!” Adler said. He turned to Garrett. “Matt, help Doc get in the plane. Everybody else--spread out! Find that bastard!”

  *

  “You’re makin’ a mistake, Kwan!” Grant said over his shoulder. “Where the hell do you. . .?”

  Kwan shoved Grant forward. He looked around, seeing an old Quonset hut. “Just keep walking straight ahead!”

  He let Grant get a few paces ahead of him, being cautious, not wanting to give Grant a chance to strike him. “Go around back!” he ordered. They stepped through high grass and weeds, when Kwan said, “Hold it! Get rid of that gun, then put your hands behind your head!”

  Grant unsnapped the holster, slid his .45 from it, then dropped it next to him. He raised his arms, locking his fingers behind his head.

  Once they were behind the building, Kwan shoved Grant hard, knocking him off balance, making him fall against the building.

  Grant looked down the barrel of the Norinco, held rock-steady in Kwan’s hand. His original suspicion and gut feeling about Kwan had been right. Maybe too late--but right! Although, not for the reason he suspected.

  “You know the Team is probably on the hunt for you,” Grant said through clenched teeth.

  “Let them look.”

  The man facing him now was very different from the man he first met. Grant’s eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “You’re finally wising up.”

  Grant spread his legs apart slowly, getting himself into a solid stance, preparing for the right moment.

  “My name’s Shen Gao. I guess you can say I do for my country what you do for yours.”

  “Bullshit! You’re a mercenary, selling yourself to the highest bidder. Aren’t you?” Gao nodded and left it at that. With his next question, Grant pretty much knew what the answer would be. “Where’s Kwan?”

  “Hard to say. There’s probably pieces of him everywhere. I found it most helpful that he set the explosives around his hideout.”

  “You fuckin’ bastard!” Grant took a half step forward, starting to bring hands from behind his head.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Gao said, as he took a step back, motioning with his gun.

  Whatever was about to happen, Grant needed answers before it did. “How did you manage it? How the hell did you become ‘Kwan’?”

  “As far as our appearance, we were very similar. That was purely by chance.

  “The people I work for lucked out and picked up a transmission when Kwan talked about the plutonium that had been stolen. I was sent in with his approximate coordinates. It didn’t take long for me to find him.

  “While he was making one of his daily ‘deliveries,’ I placed a ‘bug’ in his house, then just sat back and listened to very interesting conversations. His last one was about your upcoming mission to locate and rescue your two Navy men.”

  Just during these last few minutes, Grant surmised Gao was one of those people who needed recognition, and liked attention. So he let him talk.

  “I waited for him to return from one of his trips, then took him captive in his own house. For someone who was trained as a CIA operative, he was an easy target. He never checked the house for ‘bugs.’ He never varied his routine. And more importantly, he gave up information rather easily.”

  “You got him to spill his code name.”

  Gao smiled. “Among other things. But again, it was easy. My only problem was when you and your men showed up. After that, you always seemed to be one step ahead of me, and always in my way.”

  “Except for Bridge House,” Grant said. “Somebody else got there ahead of all of us.”

  “Correct.”

  “So every time you hauled ass, you were. . .?”

  “Making contact with my people, or questioning Kwan.”

  Grant thought that since this guy was being so talkative, he’d continue asking questions as long as he could. “And how come you knew so much about the area around the Consulate? How’d you know we’d stake it out?”

  “I didn’t, but I’d been ‘requested’ to check it out over a week ago. I never questioned why. I just did what I was asked.”

  “I suppose you’re gonna tell me it was Kwan who described Ang to you?”

  “He did. . .a bit reluctantly, but he did. Finding those other men dead at Bridge House left me puzzled, I will admit.”

  “Okay, but why the hell did you help my men get to the boat?”

  “I still didn’t know where the canisters were. You left me behind at that surveillance house. Remember? When I finally found your two men, they’d already set the charges on the explosives. They never mentioned having the plutonium, so for all I knew, you could have taken the canisters. I had to stay with them--and you--until I was certain. Of course, there was the possibility they left the plutonium.”

  “Do you actually think we’d allow that to happen, release plutonium on the population?!”

  “As I said--there was a possibility.”

  Grant just shook his head. “You were outnumbered, outgunned aboard the boat. I still can’t believe you were planning to pull this caper off by yourself. Did you think you’d get away with it?”

  “Maybe I only had one g
un, but I had the radio on board. And my way out? There was a helicopter with my ‘support’ team waiting close by for my call. Those two little canisters meant a lot of money, to many people.”

  Grant said, “And with a shitload of gunboats after us, it didn’t give you much of a chance to make your escape, did it?”

  “Disappointing,” Gao said, “but the canisters were still on board, so. . .”

  “Guess your little plan backfired when I handed them over to the gunboat crew,” Grant interrupted.

  “I’ll admit that was a compete surprise. So there I was, stuck with you, having to board an American warship.”

  “That must have been a real treat,” Grant smirked. “Where’d you learn to speak such good English?”

  “Let’s just say I had good instructors, and they were most helpful in other important matters. It was because of them that I’m very good at what I do.”

  “I’d have to disagree there,” Grant retorted. He was certain the Team had to be getting close to finding him. Could he stall for more time? “Is that your Norinco?”

  “I ‘borrowed’ it from Kwan. I guess it was CIA issued,” he answered with a slight wave of the gun. “I prefer a Makarov, which I had to leave behind.”

  “Good weapon. I’ve used one myself on several occasions.”

  It was time to move the conversation along. “So, here we are.” Grant looked overhead as if searching for something. “I don’t see your chopper.” He lowered his eyes, staring again at Gao. “You do realize there’s no way in hell you’ll get off this base. . .unless you want to come along with me. I’ve got a plane waiting.”

  Gao’s facial expression suddenly changed dramatically. “What makes you think you’ll be on that plane?”

  Uh-oh, Grant worried. Idle conversation appeared to be over. He had to act now.

  He leaned his head very slightly to the left, taking his eyes from Gao, acting as though he spotted someone. The second Gao moved, Grant lunged at the shorter man. The weapon discharged, sounding like a cannon.

  *

  “Oh Christ!” Adler spit out, as he swung around. “Over there! Behind that hut!”

  The Team had only one way to reach the rear of the building without putting themselves in danger. They’d have to split up. Adler, Novak, and Slade took the left side, while Diaz and James took the other. Hanging close to the building, they edged their way toward the back. The only sound they heard was a distant siren from a Shore Patrol jeep, trying to find the location where a weapon had been fired.

  Before he reached the corner of the building, Adler whispered into his mike. “DJ. Are we clear?”

  “Wait one.” Holding his .45 with both hands, and elbows bent, James took a deep breath, then leaned slightly forward. “Clear!” he laughed out loud, as he stepped around the corner.

  “What the. . .?!” Adler shouted, as he rushed around to the back.

  Grant was rubbing the top of his head, as he stood over Gao, who was unconscious, and whose face was a bloody mess.

  As they holstered their weapons, they all walked toward Grant, laughing, part from relief, and part from what they were looking at.

  “Are you okay?” Adler asked, pointing to the blood on Grant’s head.

  “Yeah,” Grant responded, looking at his hand. “I’m pretty sure it’s not mine.” He bent down and picked up the Norinco. “Hang on to this, Mike,” he said handing the weapon to Novak. Then, he backed away from Gao, as he wiped his hand on his pants, trying to rid it of blood.

  “So, did you find him, or did he find you?” Adler asked.

  “I’d say he found me. Gentlemen, you’re looking at Shen Gao.”

  Adler’s eyebrows shot up. “Who the hell’s Shen Gao?! I thought he was Kwan?! I’m confused!”

  “So are we!” Slade responded for everyone.

  “Kwan’s dead,” Grant answered. “This guy said Kwan was in the house that blew up. . .that he blew up.” None of the Team could believe or understand what had happened, what Grant was trying to tell them. “I’ll explain later. Frank, go flag down the Shore Patrol.”

  Diaz ran to the front of the Quonset hut, then stood by the feeder road, waving both arms overhead at the oncoming vehicle.

  Grant looked down at the unconscious Gao. “We’ll turn this bastard over to them until I can find out from Scott what we’re supposed to do with him. Although my guess is CIA will want to talk to him personally.” Grant walked around to the side of the building, picked up his .45, then slid it back into the holster.

  Gao was beginning to come around. Slade and James each grabbed an arm, jerked him up, then held on.

  A sound of a vehicle’s engine, coming from the front of the Quonset hut, went quiet. Diaz and two Shore Patrol petty officers hustled to the back of the building.

  Grant showed the men his ID, then gave them a short version of what had happened, before saying, “Sorry I can’t explain further, but I just need you to secure him until I can talk with Washington.”

  One of the petty officers said, “Okay, sir. We’ll hold him in lockup. You understand we’ll have to talk with our OIC.”

  “Understand,” Grant responded, watching the two men handcuff Gao. “Give me a phone number for the brig.” Grant stashed the number in his brain. “If your OIC wants to talk to us, we’ll be by the Gulfstream.” Grant looked at his watch. “I’m hoping we can get out of here in an hour.”

  “All right, sir.”

  As the Shore Patrol started leading Gao away, Grant put an arm out, stopping the petty officers. Then he got close to Gao’s bloody face, and said, “You know, you were a pretty good actor. Too bad all that talent is only gonna get you a date with the electric chair.”

  Waiting until Gao was loaded in the jeep, Adler turned to Grant and asked, “Seriously?! The electric chair?!”

  “Yeah, well, it’ll give him something to think about, won’t it? C’mon. Let’s head back to the plane.” Grant looked around. “Hey! Where’s Doc?”

  Adler responded, “Kwan, I mean Gao, bashed him in the noggin.”

  Grant stopped short. “Is he okay?!”

  “Gonna have a bitchin’ headache, but he should be. Matt’s keeping an eye on him.”

  Grant was concerned. “Do you think he’s got a concussion?”

  “Don’t know. We’ll have to keep him awake for a few hours.”

  “Maybe we need to have him checked out at the dispensary.”

  “Tried that. He didn’t want to go.” He jabbed Grant in the arm. “You should know about concussions!”

  “They made me what I am today,” Grant laughed.

  *

  Grant ducked his head as he went into the Gulfstream. Stalley was sitting near a window, gingerly rubbing his forehead.

  “Doc! How you feeling?”

  Stalley adjusted himself in the seat, looking up at Grant through squinted eyes. “Been better, sir.” He noticed blood on Grant’s head, and pointed. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  Grant sat opposite the young corpsman. “Don’t worry. It isn’t mine.” Leaning slightly forward, he said quietly, “Listen, Doc. I know what you’re probably thinking. Take it from me. . .this kinda shit’s happened to all of us at one time or other. So don’t you go crazy guilty on me, all right?”

  “Yes, sir. Understood.”

  Grant leaned back and finally grinned. “Besides, we caught the sonofabitch. Last time I saw him, he was looking a helluva lot worse than you!”

  “Glad to hear that, sir.”

  Grant stood. “I know you probably want to slam those eyes shut. We both know you can’t.” He patted Stalley’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of you, Doc, just like you took care of me.”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  Grant left the plane and headed again to Operations. First stop was the ‘head’ to wash blood from his hair and hands. Then, he called State.

  Mullins answered the special phone line with obvious surprise. “Grant! What’s wrong?!”

  “Too lo
ng of a story, my friend, but you need to contact CIA. Kwan’s dead.”

  “Holy, Jesus!” Mullins responded, as he slouched in his chair. “What. . .?”

  “They whole time we were in Shanghai, we were dealing with an impostor, Scott. Somebody named ‘Shen Gao.’ He’s the one who killed Kwan. The Agency’s got some serious problems with their codes and transmissions, at least in China.”

  A myriad of thoughts ran through Mullins’ mind concerning possible security breaches. “I can see why this story’s gonna take awhile!”

  “I asked the Shore Patrol to lock him up until you get me authorization to transport. Listen, Scott, I’m pretty certain this guy’s a Chinese national. I don’t know if that’s gonna add to the problem, but my opinion is he needs to be brought to Langley for some serious questioning. He was on the mission by himself, but indicated he reported to ‘others.’ Who the hell they are is a whole other ballgame.

  “That’s all I’ve got for now. No! Wait! Somebody needs to check on the guard at the Consulate.”

  “Are you thinking he may not be legit!”

  “Can’t say for sure. I just think it’s better to be safe.”

  “I’ll contact my director first; will leave it up to him to talk with the President. Stay on the line!”

  Grant paced back and forth in front of the desk, in a room that was now very familiar to him. As he waited, the events of the past few days rolled around in his brain. The mission was a success, everyone was safe, but it wasn’t without a shitload of problems and questions. “Welcome back to covert,” he said quietly to himself.

  “Grant!”

  “Yeah, Scott.”

  “Looks like you’re to transport. As you’d expect, the Agency’s looking forward to meeting that guy.”

  “Any word back from the White House?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Okay,” Grant responded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess CIA authorization will do. You might remind them we’re bringing three others.”

  “Should be cozy aboard the Gulfstream,” Mullins laughed.

  “We’ll be fine just knowing this op is over. Can’t say the same for our guests. Look, I’ll call you from the plane before we start our approach in Virginia. Let’s plan on the ‘Cowboys’ meeting us outside the gate of the property. That should be more secure, away from any curious eyes. If that’s not gonna happen, and they want another location for the transfer, let me know.”