"Good job."
"I'm glad you liked it. Can I have a drink?"
"No booze for you, Lev. I need you sharp."
Lev lowered his head. "I keep telling you: Vodka makes me sharper."
"I doubt it," Jose said.
"Everyone give me a sec." Moyer closed his eyes and let the ideas run rampant. "How fast were they going, Lev?"
"Faster than is safe."
"The Chinese already have a lead on us," Rich said. "Now we've got hostile Russians headed to the same place."
"I know, I know. I need another sec." Moyer eyed Rich. "I'm still here, Shaq."
"I believe you."
"That's what your mouth says, but your face says something else."
"My face has always had a mind of its own."
Moyer looked down, then smiled. "This could be good. Very good."
When he looked up again, he saw six men, Lev included, staring at him.
"What?"
CHAPTER 27
COLONEL MAC AND ALAN Kinkaid sat at one side of the long conference room table; Jerry Zinsser and Terry Wallace sat across from them. Mac selected one of the meeting rooms in the main administrative building. At first, Zinsser assumed they would be meeting in the Concrete Palace, but the idea faded when he was reminded he was no longer Spec Ops, and even if an exception could be made for him, it couldn't for Terry Wallace, CID or not. Technically speaking, despite the local CID director's influence and experience, he shouldn't even know about the Spec Ops control center.
Zinsser only served under Colonel Mac for one mission. He met with Colonel Mac several times before being assigned to Moyer's team last year and before making a hash of his career. Zinsser's first impression of Mac was a positive one. The man was built like a brick, had a quick mind, was a no-nonsense leader, and had eyes that could bore through a steel plate. He had never seen Mac angry and never wanted to. Zinsser knew the type. He could intimidate a rabid pit bull with just the tone of his voice.
"Fill me in, Jerry." Mac leaned back and folded his arms. Kinkaid took notes on a notebook computer.
"You received the web link I sent you?"
"Yes. Received and viewed."
Sometimes Mac acted like he had to pay real money for each word he spoke.
"Someone knows about Moyer's mission."
"Maybe."
"Sir, with all due respect, the kidnapper called Moyer by name and mentioned the mission."
"Correction, Agent Zinsser. The kidnapper mentioned a mission."
Wallace leaned on the table, putting weight on his elbows. "Colonel. I know you have secrets to keep. I've been around the Army for a long time, but we are facing a different kind of case here. A young girl's life is at stake."
"I know that. People higher up the food chain know it as well."
"I can't speak to that," Wallace said. "My only concern is the girl."
It was a slight motion but Zinsser saw Colonel Mac's jaw tighten. Not good. "I'm aware of the problem."
Wallace drummed his fingers. "Sir, what mission is Moyer and his team on?"
"That's classified."
"It may be pertinent to our investigation." Wallace scooted closer to the table. Zinsser wanted to leave.
"The mission is classified above your level."
Wallace ran a hand over his face. "Colonel, I didn't expect you'd show up with blueprints, but I have to ask the nature and goal of the mission. It is an integral part of our investigation."
"There is nothing I can tell you."
Wallace stood and leaned over the table. "Colonel, I try never to go over an officer's head—"
"Sit down, Agent Wallace."
"Perhaps you don't understand. I—"
"I said, sit down."
Wallace did, but his face grew three shades of red.
Mac straightened in his chair. "Agent Wallace, have you ever met the president?"
"I know he's pulled strings on this investigation, but no, I haven't met him."
"Well, if you want to go over my head, he will be the guy to talk to. On most missions that's not the case. It is the case for this mission. If you catch my drift."
"I don't catch your drift."
Mac's attention shifted from Wallace to Zinsser. He sighed. "The colonel is saying the president is involved. That implies the level of secrecy is way above our pay grades and probably deals directly with national security. We're not going to get anywhere here."
Wallace sprung to his feet. "I don't believe this. It's your own man. Don't you care about that? You are willing to let some homegrown terrorist torment a fourteen-year-old girl. What kind of man does that?"
"A man who knows how to follow orders."
"So you're not going to tell me anything?"
"At this moment, my men are entering harm's way. I don't need a desk jockey to bust my chops about this."
"I'm trying to save a life."
Mac was on his feet. "So am I, Agent."
"Really? Because I don't see it."
Mac looked at Zinsser. Zinsser wished he hadn't. "You need to put a leash on your lapdog, Data."
"It's not Data anymore, Colonel, and Agent Wallace is not my lapdog. I work for him. Besides, he's right. And just for the record, I have met the president."
"You know better than that. My hands are tied."
"I know, Colonel, but you're tying our hands. If we don't act quickly, we will be attending the funeral for Eric's daughter. I've faced a lot of frightening things in my life. Standing at Gina Moyer's graveside scares me to death."
"Gentlemen, I can't help you. I wish I could . . ." Mac grew silent, then glanced at Kinkaid. "You want a cup of coffee, Master Sergeant."
"No thanks, I'm fine." He looked into Mac's eyes. "Come to think of it, I do want coffee. Do I want a donut too?"
Mac nodded. "Yeah, you do. Take Agent Wallace with you."
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm leading this investigation. I will not be dismissed."
Zinsser frowned. "You want coffee, Boss. It will do you good. Trust me on this."
Wallace shoved his seat back so hard it fell over. Kinkaid was already at the door, holding it open for the fuming CID director.
The moment the door closed, Mac sat again and folded his hands on the table. Zinsser sat in silence, giving his former commander time to think. He was asking the man to, if not break security protocols, at least bend them beyond recognition. It was a career ender.
"Colonel—"
"Shut up, Jerry. You've put me in an impossible situation."
"Only because I'm in the same spot."
Mac gazed at the table. Silence filled the space. Zinsser could hear the man breathing.
"Colonel, let's try a different spin on this. You have multiple issues here, one we haven't touched on, mostly because my boss has a mouth problem."
Colonel huffed. "He is a piece of work. His CID protection allows him to talk rough to an officer, but even a gentleman like me has his limits." He chuckled, something that seemed to come from need more than humor. "Okay, let's hear your spin before I end my career."
"Here are the factors. One, you have a team in the field on a covert mission; one apparently of high order. Two, you also have the daughter of a team leader whose life is in danger. I'm guessing Eric knows about this."
"You'd be right. I owe him that much and more."
"Okay, if we can rescue his daughter, it will help him in the field."
"I'm listening."
"The third problem, the one we haven't mentioned is this: There's a mole in the system, someone who knows about the mission and who is in on it. How can that be? I don't know, but I do know that not only Moyer's mission, whatever it is, must succeed, his daughter needs to be saved, and the mole needs to be eradicated. True?"
"True."
"By helping us, Colonel, you are enhancing the success of Moyer's mission and plugging a hole in military security."
"You should have been an attorney."
"Nah, they don't let y
ou carry weapons on duty."
"Okay. I'm going to give you the skinny. You talk to no one, not even your boss. Guide him the best you can, but I don't want him in the know about the details."
"Understood, sir."
"A few days ago, a Chinese satellite we believed to be long dead came back to life and targeted one of our birds . . ."
Fifteen minutes later, Zinsser stood at the door but facing Colonel Mac. "I don't know what to do with all this, Colonel, but thank you. It might prove useful."
"Find the girl, Data. Find her and the men who took her. I don't care what you do to them, just give her back to Moyer. His country owes him."
"Yes, sir. I will do my best." He paused. "Ready?"
"Yeah. I'll see you at the Oscars."
Zinsser smiled, then cleared his throat. He raised a finger and pointed at his one-time commander. "You are a disappointment, Colonel. It shames me to think I served under you."
Mac matched his volume. "You best evacuate this room before I have you tossed in the stockade."
"Go ahead, call for help."
"I don't need help to deal with you!"
Zinsser snapped the door open and slammed it behind him. In the hall, were Wallace and Kinkaid, both wide-eyed.
"Let's go, Boss. This place is starting to turn my stomach."
CHAPTER 28
PENG DIDN'T KNOW WHETHER to be thankful for the lack of deep forest or apprehensive. Five Chinese men in mottled blue-white-green-gray camouflage military field dress scooting along animal paths and open fields in half-sized off-road vehicles made of metal tubes couldn't be more noticeable. The only thing working to their benefit was the lack of population. This area of east Siberia was mountainous with little ground flat enough for good farming. Not to mention the harsh winters that would cause any sane family to leave for a place easier to scrape out a miserable living. Those who stayed, he surmised, were those who had no choice or were unwilling to give away their land. There were many similar areas in China.
The land was marked with hundreds of tributaries starting to swell in the mid-spring melt off. Most still had sandy, stony shores that the buggies handled easily. The animal paths were created by centuries of migrating moose, deer, wolf, and other creatures that called the larch forests, lower grassland, and barren slopes home.
The fact the sun made good progress toward its zenith made driving easier, but it also made it easier to be seen from ground, air, and satellite. He pushed the worries from his mind. Worry wouldn't change anything. All he could do was carry out his mission with as much care and speed as possible. With luck, he would return home a hero. If unlucky, he wouldn't return at all.
A small mirror on the driver's side of the vehicle allowed him to catch a glimpse of the team behind him. The two buggies followed at a distance. Grouping was unwise. If something happened to him—such as driving off a cliff—his team would see it and avoid committing the same mistake.
Peng's buggy came equipped with an onboard compass and GPS unit. He glanced at the latter. Just a few more minutes.
The motor in the rear, which operated the propulsion fan in flight and the transmission on the ground, seemed too loud. Low vis was preferred, but being low visibility in this situation was impossible. Even when in the expanses of larch forest, they could still be heard. After all, there were three motors chugging away. In the open, they could be seen and heard. A poor way to carry out a mission. Peng had no idea why the fallen satellite was so important, but it was significant enough for his government to break treaties, international law, and risk the best Spec Ops team in the People's Liberation Army.
He moved along another animal path, down the steep side of a hill, in and out a coppice of larch trees, and into a small spread of open grassland. Ahead was another hill. He accelerated to gain momentum to help him up the slope. The engine could drive the buggy close to one hundred kilometers an hour on open, solid ground, but on this terrain he had not been able to make half that. By necessity, the engine had to be small. Nonetheless, its power impressed Peng.
As he climbed the hill he steered around trees and brush, something that required slowing, and slowing meant the engine had to work harder to push him up the hill. It did its job. Peng crested the hill and braked to a stop.
Snow clung in the shadowed areas created by rock outcroppings. Trees lined the slopes of hills to the east and west, hills creating a valley down through which a shallow stream meandered. No houses. No shacks. No sign of humanity anywhere.
He switched off the engine and exited, his QBZ-95 carbine in hand. He dropped to a knee as the rest of his team arrived, each stopping a short distance from their team leader, again avoiding grouping their assets. The men poured from the vehicles, taking positions along the ridge and seeking what cover they could.
With the engines stilled, Peng strained to listen for any sound that might indicate they were not alone. He heard only wind and birds.
Peng turned his attention to the gulch floor. A broken streak, like a dotted line, of churned and broken earth ran just north of the stream, ending in a small, comet-shaped crater a hundred or so meters from the base of the hill where he and his men had taken position. Peng didn't need to be a scientist to know what happened: The satellite came in at a shallow angle and skipped along the ground, losing momentum with each bounce until it came to rest in the soft, wet ground at the base of the hill. Along the path he could see bits of metal, part of a solar array, a chunk of what looked like it might have been an antenna at one time, and other items Peng couldn't even guess about. It was the large, battered piece of junk in the crater that kept Peng's attention. The heart of his mission was just meters away.
"Gao, reading?" Peng looked to his left where Gao Zhi lay on the damp earth. The man slipped off his backpack and produced a small, handheld Geiger counter.
"Background radiation only."
Peng looked to his right. "Wei, report our status."
"Yes, Captain." Wei Dong sent a coded text, impossible to trace. "Situation reported. Acknowledgment received."
"Understood." Peng studied the shallow valley. He listened again but still heard only birds. It was time to get this done and leave the area. "Wei, Gao, Zhao, I want a three-point perimeter."
Zhao, the ranking member of the three, answered for them. "Yes, Captain."
"Hsu, you're with me."
"Yes, sir."
Peng pushed to his feet and moved slowly down the slope, his men on either side of him. A glance to Gao showed he was taking constant readings on the Geiger counter.
When they reached the satellite, Peng was finally convinced they were the only ones in the area. He relaxed.
PRESIDENT HUFFINGTON WAS UNFLAPPABLE, most of the time, but sitting in the Situation Room watching the real-time satellite feed of a military team other than his own reach Angel-12 first undid him. He pushed his chair back, paced, and used language his wife would spend weeks scolding him for. At the moment, that was the least of his concerns. The Chinese beat them.
"I don't believe it. They beat us."
"It's not over yet, Mr. President," Admiral Gaughan said. He sat two chairs down from the head of the table where the president had been sitting a moment before. To the left of the president's spot was Helen Brown. Across the table from her, his head resting in his hands, sat Bacliff.
Huffington rubbed the back of his neck. "How did we get behind? Despite their statements to the contrary, we know the Chinese have been planning this for some time, but we have the better technology."
"It's not how advanced out technology is, Mr. President," Brown said. "The Chinese don't need superior technology—and let's not lie to ourselves, they have great tech—they just need adequate technology. Tracking satellite motion doesn't require the latest tech, just good-enough tech."
Huffington stared at the screen. He had been watching the Chinese team inch their way closer to the downed bird. He pulled out all the stops. The president turned to Brown. "Brownie, I want the Chinese ambass
ador in the Oval Office as soon as possible. Tell him, I'll be calling his premier in one hour."
"Yes, sir." Brown excused herself and stepped from the room.
Huffington turned to Gaughan. "Where are our men now?"
"They're still a ways out. They're following a convoy of trucks."
"The ones we assume are from the Russian splinter group?"
"Yes, sir. They're staying well back."
"How could they let themselves fall into third position?"
Gaughan cleared his throat. "Well sir, the Russians were already in the area. We assume they got some of their information from moles in the legitimate government of the Russian Federation. That's how these things usually work. And the Chinese . . . well, they were just sneakier and more brazen than we were."
"Maybe they could teach us something. Have you confirmed they exited from a wayward, crippled cargo jet?"
"Confidence is in the 95-percent range. When the pilot of the MD-90 squawked his transponder to the emergency frequency, we picked it up and tracked the plane with radar in Sapporo, Japan. We also had a few intel assets near the Sea of Okhotsk that followed the radio traffic between the Chinese pilot, the Russian escort planes, and Chinese traffic control. Bottom line: The aircraft made it back to Chinese airspace but at very low altitude. It then switched off its transponder. We think it used a false signal. We don't believe it crashed."
"So the whole thing was a ruse?"
"Yes, sir, and a good one."
"But your earlier report said the aircraft was an MD-90 used by a Chinese cargo company. Hardly the kind of thing troops would parachute from, especially using those things Moyer described."
"Yes, sir, the powered parachute. We can only guess, but the MD-90 has a rear emergency exit. It's possible they used that to make their jump."
Huffington looked at the video feed. "Let's get Colonel Mac on the feed. I know he's watching this at Fort Jackson."
"Yes, sir."
A moment later the video image of Colonel MacGregor appeared on one of the screens to the side of the large main screen.
"Mr. President."
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