Time Frame (Split Second Book 2)

by Douglas E. Richards

  “Yes,” replied Chang. “This is trillions of times more likely than that the detector really did identify a genuine connection to the dark energy field, one arising from out of nowhere. But the array has been in use for more than three months, during which time countless planes, filled with an endless variety of cargo, have landed and taken off from the airport. And yet never before, and not since, has the detector stirred from its slumber. For all of these reasons, I tend to take these readings seriously. If this detection is accurate, I don’t need to tell you just how monumental this would be.”

  Li pursed his lips in thought. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Director Chang,” he said. “There is no question this is worth investigating with a high degree of urgency. Even if it does turn out to be a false alarm. Send me the exact moment the plane landed, and when it took off again, and I will look into this. I will do whatever it takes to locate this plane and whatever cargo it may be carrying.”

  “Thank you, Colonel Li,” said Chang, relief in his tone. “If you locate the plane while it’s in the air, let it land, and capture it on the ground—using extreme caution. Whatever you do, do not shoot it down. Dark energy is a force of nearly unlimited power, and if something within this plane has tapped into it, a violent disruption of this tap might be very . . . dangerous.”

  “How dangerous, Director Chang?”

  “Possibly dangerous enough to make the aftermath of a worldwide nuclear war seem pleasant.”

  The colonel swallowed hard. “Understood,” he said. “I’ll check in with you as soon as I learn anything more.”

  ***

  “Have you found it?” said Chang the moment Colonel Li had established a video connection between them once again, less than an hour after the first had ended.

  “Not yet,” said Li grimly. “We identified the plane that landed and the plane the cargo was transferred to. What I find astonishing is that the registrations of both planes are false, leading nowhere. I’ve done considerable digging, and I wouldn’t have believed a plane could exist that Chinese intelligence couldn’t trace back to its owner. Until now.” He paused. “And the news gets worse.”

  “How so?” said Chang worriedly.

  “The plane that took off from the airport, the one carrying the signal away from Beijing, filed a flight plan indicating Shanghai was its destination. It was scheduled to have landed there forty minutes ago. Yet it never did. Even so, the plane’s transponder indicates the plane landed in Shanghai, on schedule.”

  “Does this mean it changed course?” said Chang. “And found a way to hide this fact?”

  The colonel nodded. “Yes. Unless someone was actively looking for it, no one would have been aware of this deception.”

  “What does that mean?” said Chang in alarm. “That this plane could be anywhere? That there is no way to track it?”

  “That is basically correct,” admitted Li. “But there is a bright side to this. The level of skill, of sophistication, exhibited by the people behind this cargo is extremely high.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, Colonel Li, but why is this a good thing?”

  “Because the odds of this being a real signal have gone up considerably. If whatever you’ve identified can truly tap the dark energy field, on purpose, one would expect those responsible to have a very high level of stealth and sophistication.”

  “I was already convinced it was real,” said Chang.

  “Good. Now I am, too.”

  “Do you have any leads at all, Colonel Li?”

  “Yes. The only cargo transferred between the two planes was listed as a prototype commercial refrigeration unit. Sub-Zero brand. Two meters wide and two and a half meters tall. Stainless steel. Not packed in any kind of crate.” He paused. “Would I be correct in saying that one doesn’t need dark energy to keep one’s vegetable crisper at the right temperature?”

  Chang smiled grimly. “Unless the temperature you want to achieve is a million degrees Celsius, no. A temperature I wouldn’t recommended for keeping vegetables crisp.”

  Li also smiled, but only for a moment. “The man who accompanied this . . . refrigerator, had technology that blinded cameras at the inspection station when they looked at his face. His passport listed him as John Smith, the most popular name in America.”

  “Is he American?”

  “He had an American passport, but we can’t be sure. People with this level of sophistication could easily be using false papers. The inspector checks through hundreds of people of all nationalities, and can’t recall this exact one. I don’t blame him. That’s why we have video cameras.”

  “Anything more?” asked Chang.

  Li shook his head. “That’s the extent of it.”

  “Can you locate this plane, Colonel Li? This cargo?”

  Li’s jaw tightened in determination. “I will locate it,” he said emphatically. “I assure you. If I have to turn over every blade of grass in China.” He paused. “But I will need a dark energy detector that can be made portable. One that can fit inside a plane or helicopter.”

  “I will see to it that you have one as fast as is humanly possible,” replied Chang.

  19

  When the Sun Yee On jet was minutes away from landing on the outskirts of Shenyang, Blake changed into casual clothing and discarded the gray International Freight Services jumpsuit he had been wearing. He removed a Sig Sauer nine-millimeter handgun from the green duffel bag Zhang had provided and shoved it into his waistband in the small of his back.

  “Feel better now?” said Zhang with a smile.

  Blake nodded. “Much,” he replied, zipping the massive bag back up, for the moment ignoring the rest of the gear inside.

  He studied the airport as the ground approached. The sky was darkening but was crystal clear, a nice change from the smog layer that had hovered above Beijing. Blake guessed night would fall in less than an hour.

  The airport was even more secluded than he had expected, as though it had been carved out of the center of a dense forest. Toward the south side of the facility four runways crisscrossed in pairs like a giant hashtag. To the north of this concrete hashtag was a wall of buildings, including a traffic control tower, several gleaming new warehouses, administrative offices, and any number of hangars.

  Scores of planes and helicopters, along with a wide variety of ground vehicles—some to gas planes up, some to transport passenger baggage, and some to load and unload various types of cargo in various weight classes—were parked on concrete slabs either on, or very near, portions of the runways, leaving less room for pilot error but enhancing the efficiency of the operation.

  The facility was unmistakably new, even from a distance. Zhang’s Triad had only just begun to expand into the Shenyang area, but Sun Yee On thought big, and the airport was like the paws of a newborn Great Dane, much too big for the puppy’s current needs, but just the right size for the fully mature version soon to come.

  “Your people control the entire airport?” said Blake as the plane continued its descent toward the runway, guided by two Sun Yee On pilots.

  “Yes. Every security station, checkpoint, and inspection station is manned by loyal members of Sun Yee On.”

  “Impressive,” said Blake. “But how can you be sure your government’s police or military will leave you alone?”

  “We can’t be,” said Zhang. “Not entirely. Chinese authorities can do as they please. But they haven’t bothered us yet, and we don’t believe they will. We have an . . . understanding. We aren’t officially sanctioned, but they look the other way.”

  “I have to admit that this surprises me,” said Blake.

  “This is a special case,” said Zhang. “We’re doing the government a favor here. North Korea is a client state of China, as you know. But China has agreed to severely restrict trade across the border to comply with growing pressure to abide by international sanctions.”

  “I see,” said Blake. “So your government pretends to comply, but ignores a
ny black market trade that a Triad like yours may want to pursue.”

  “Yes. Such trade is good for the Chinese economy. And this way our leaders can prop up the Kim regime, increasing their influence and using the dictator as a wildcard on the world stage. Not that even China has full control of him.”

  “So your Shenyang operation is strictly about trade with North Korea? Food and clothing and the like? What in other times would be considered legal?”

  An amused twinkle showed in Zhang’s eyes. “Not entirely. Twenty percent of what comes through here is illicit. Even so, as long as we keep crime and violence in the area to a minimum, the local authorities have been instructed to leave us alone. We help ensure this remains the case using generous bribes.” He paused. “Along with . . . unpleasant . . . punishments to those who cross us.”

  Blake ignored this last. “Just how good is your security?” he asked.

  “We have over a dozen trained soldiers on-site who are very well armed, Mr. Blake,” said Zhang as the plane hit the runway and began grinding to a halt. “There is nothing to worry about. You and your cargo couldn’t be any safer.”

  The eighteen-wheeler Blake had requested, which was painted with green and white swirls, began moving toward the plane even before it came to a full stop. These colors, and this pattern, would signal to those in the know in North Korea that the truck was transporting black market rice to an underfed population. Or at least it was supposed to be.

  Blake and his enforcer companion exited the plane and walked a short distance to the truck to oversee the loading of Blake’s cargo, which would be affixed to the back wall of the trailer, the portion nearest the cab. A powerful dual sport motorcycle, built for both highway and off-road driving, was already strapped to a side wall, along with a helmet. Zhang would use this bike to re-cross the border back into China after he deposited Blake and the truck in North Korea.

  Given Sun Yee On’s black market activities, the North Koreans weren’t likely to give him any trouble, even if he announced himself, but why take any chances?

  A small truck worked its way toward the jet to refuel it. The pilots made no move to leave the cockpit, clearly intending to launch the plane back into the air as soon as possible.

  Two large men boarded the cargo compartment of Zhang’s jet and muscled the large stainless steel appliance onto a forklift truck. Both were visibly armed.

  Blake smiled. Sun Yee On airlines did seem to value their security. Like a mafia-controlled dock, all those at the airport were armed to the teeth, but at least the mafia made some effort at concealment.

  The two cargo handlers exited Zhang’s plane, rolled up the large door at the back of the green and white eighteen-wheeler, and affixed a long steel ramp to the trailer. One of the men slowly drove the forklift with its precious stainless steel cargo up the ramp and deep inside the open compartment. Once the cargo was deposited and the forklift truck driven back out of the trailer, both men began strapping the Sub-Zeros into place with practiced efficiency.

  Zhang encouraged Blake to inspect their work before they left, and informed him that he had arranged to air-condition the trailer so Blake could ride in comfort to his North Korean destination. “Nothing but the best for our American friends,” said Zhang wryly.

  Blake chuckled as he stared at the time machines that would finally erase Kim Jong-un and his cruel regime from the world stage.

  A thick red spray suddenly burst onto the surface of the kettle Blake was facing, instantly turning a large swath of the stainless steel a vibrant shade of scarlet, like a bag of bank money after an exploding dye-pack had been triggered.

  Only the red spray wasn’t dye. It was blood and brain matter erupting from the heads of the two men in the truck, both dead before they hit the floor.

  A maelstrom of sound pounded at Blake’s eardrums at the same instant: explosions, pistol fire, machine gun fire, so much of it, coming from so many directions, the most chaotic war zones in Iraq seemed tranquil by comparison.

  He and Zhang both dived behind the semi at the same time, putting the steel behemoth between them and the incoming gunfire.

  The attackers had struck in several locations at once, a multi-pronged assault coordinated down to the second. A hundred fifty yards away, to the north, machine guns and explosions raged on, echoing through the line of buildings there. Zhang’s vaunted, heavily-armed associates were putting up a spirited fight, but they had been blindsided and were outmanned and outgunned.

  To the south a number of men were pouring from the tree line, moving toward the green and white eighteen-wheeler, taking cover behind various vehicles parked near the runway. They continued to work their way forward with caution, laying down a dense line of fire as they did so.

  The poor bastard about to refuel Zhang’s plane was caught in no man’s land and took so many bullets he was practically vaporized.

  Shit! thought Blake, annoyed that he had left the duffel bag Zhang had prepared for him next to the plane. He had let the confident assurances of his Chinese host, and the Sig Sauer in his waistband, lull him into a false sense of security. An inexcusable mistake.

  Zhang returned fire. Inside the plane, one of the pilots took a messy bullet through his jugular, killing him instantly, while the other, severely wounded, managed to crawl from the cockpit to temporary safety.

  Blake moved from the front edge of the trailer, where Zhang remained, to its back edge fifty feet away, but didn’t yet return fire. Firepower alone wouldn’t get him out of this. He only wished he knew what might. Sometimes even the most talented, creative soldiers could be left without any options, overwhelmed by superior numbers.

  He manipulated his phone to activate his comm link with Zhang, the only way he could now communicate with the man. Even if they were side by side screaming as loudly as they could, their words couldn’t penetrate the deafening shield of noise surrounding them.

  “Zhang, who’s behind this?” said Blake rapidly. “I don’t see military or police uniforms.”

  “Don’t know,” grunted Sun Yee On’s top enforcer as he continued to return fire, trying to keep the wave of death at bay, but only delaying the inevitable. “But very sophisticated. Cell coverage beyond the airport has been blocked.”

  The second pilot managed to tumble down the stairs that still extended from the door of the aircraft to the runway and crawl to cover behind the truck on Zhang’s end. The pilot braced himself against the green and white vehicle, adding a handprint of blood, and began to return fire. Blake was astonished the man was still alive, but he was losing blood in a hurry and wouldn’t be for long, no matter what else happened.

  The bursts of machine gun fire and explosions ended abruptly to the north, suggesting to Blake that Sun Yee On forces had finally succumbed and the battle for the main terminal buildings was over.

  This suspicion was confirmed seconds later.

  “We have taken over this airport,” boomed a voice coming from a hidden loudspeaker system, amplified enough to be heard over gunfire that had suddenly diminished. Blake’s phone translated these words into English almost as quickly as they were spoken. “I hereby claim it in the name of Shui Fong.”

  Blake noted that the group of men who had been steadily getting closer—now down to six after Zhang had managed to kill two who had temporarily left their cover—were no longer firing, explaining the welcome reduction in the noise level. The man on the loudspeaker, no doubt the head of this assault, had surely been responsible. Zhang and the pilot followed suit, quieting their weapons and honoring this temporary ceasefire.

  “To all survivors on the runways,” blared the speaker, and for the first time, Blake took a panoramic look at his surroundings and noted that three other pockets of men were still alive on other runways, taking cover behind planes or equipment, and engaged in firefights of their own. “If you surrender now, you will not be killed, and we will not ask you to betray Sun Yee On. It is true that we will leave you with several broken bones, but you will
be left alive, to send a message to your dragon head. A message that we will not tolerate this expansion into our territory. I know you have struck a deal with a faction of the Politburo. But Shui Fong has offered a much better deal to prevent your encroachment. We have been given permission to . . . explain to you that your services here are no longer needed.”

  Blake had never heard the words, Shui Fong, before, but any idiot could figure out from the context that this was a rival Triad. A very pissed off rival Triad. The one danger even Blake hadn’t considered. Apparently the Politburo could be fickle, and didn’t mind allowing survival of the fittest to determine who controlled black market trade into North Korea.

  “You have three minutes to disarm,” continued the amplified voice, “and come out in the open with your hands extended over your heads. Those who do not comply in this time will not be given a second chance.”

  With that, the loudspeaker abruptly fell silent.

  “We need to surrender, Enforcer Zhang,” said the American into the man’s comm.

  “Never!” spat Zhang. “Our dragon head would kill us himself for showing this kind of cowardice. And rightly so.”

  “My mission is of vital importance,” said Blake. “If I’m killed, your US allies will be furious. Would your dragon head wish you to jeopardize his alliance with us?”

  “Some missions fail,” said Zhang simply. “Your people will know we did our best. The alliance will remain.”

  Without another word the Sun Yee On enforcer began firing once again, and the pilot, still hanging on by a thread, followed suit. Having caught the attackers somewhat by surprise, and not having to avoid an incoming wall of fire, Zhang demonstrated extraordinary accuracy, picking off two more of the remaining six.

  Still, the four attackers who remained were well covered behind a cargo truck, and could wait for the arrival of large numbers of reinforcements from the north. The situation was still hopeless, and Zhang’s left leg, pierced by return fire, was now drenched in blood.