War of Eagles o-12

by Tom Clancy

  That left the chancier second plan. Rodgers finished the message but did not send it. He switched on the ignition and turned the car around so it was facing away from the complex. As he did, he removed his cell phone jack from the dashboard. He replaced the lighter, pushing it in hard. Then he uncapped the water bottle, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, and stuffed it into the neck. He left a lot of fabric on top. He needed a big flame. The lighter popped out, and he touched it to the end of the handkerchief. It flared quickly. Leaving the car, Rodgers hurried through the high grass to the middle of the road. The speeding van was just seconds away. Rodgers held the flaming bottle high in his right hand, Mr. Statue of Liberty prepared to play a high stakes, high noon game of chicken with a gang of Chinese soldiers.

  It was inelegant, but it felt right. The “Molotov cocktail” would not do much, but it did what he needed it to do: it got the attention of the men inside. He could see their surprised, worried faces as the van approached.

  But they did not stop. They did not veer. They sped up. They intended to run him down before he could attack.

  Rodgers hurled his little missile at the onrushing vehicle. He needed it to do just one thing, and it did. The flaming bottle hit the windshield hard, transforming it into a fragile webwork of glass. The concussion also extinguished the burning handkerchief with its own water. The men must have felt very lucky. The vehicle did not stop. As Rodgers jumped back toward the grasses, he could see someone in the passenger’s seat trying to push the shattered glass outward.

  He had learned what he needed to know. These soldiers wanted to get away from the complex as quickly as possible.

  Rodgers got back in his car and floored the gas pedal. Dirt and grass spat from the tires as he ripped his way to the road. Now he intended to catch the bastards and force them to stop.

  As he gave chase, Rodgers hit Reply/cc to send the message he had typed. The same text was simultaneously sent to the marine team leader:

  IDs confirmed. Am in pursuit. Boosters likely target.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Xichang, China Thursday, 11:33 A.M.

  Prime Minister Le Kwan Po felt anxious as he left the car and entered the Technical Center. On the short drive from the command center he had received word from the security office that one of the helicopters circling the complex spotted what appeared to be a chase along the main road from the complex. Military police from the space center had been dispatched on motorcycles, and the information had been radioed ahead to Xichang City. Several constables were driving out to intercept the two vehicles.

  A call to the main gate revealed that no one had left by that route. The other gates were card-activated, with patrols on the inside but no checkpoints. Security cameras revealed that a dark green van had left nine minutes earlier. The card used for egress was a temporary pass issued to one of the security teams.

  The unit Le Kwan Po had just spoken with.

  The men reporting to General Tam Li.

  The prime minister called the command center. The countdown was finally put on hold — a humiliating delay for the vaunted launch — and technicians were en route to the boosters to search for explosives. What worried Le was whether an explosive had been placed somewhere that would detonate regardless of the launch status. The result would be the same, a massive rain of radioactive dust across the complex.

  The first thing Le had to do was find out what those renegade soldiers knew. The second thing was to get his daughter out of here. That was why he had not sent a helicopter to chase the soldiers. If they were used for anything, it would be an evacuation.

  Paul Hood and Anita were waiting in the upstairs lobby of the Technical Center. Anita was conversing quietly but angrily with Hood, who was pacing in front of the security desk. Upon Le’s arrival, his daughter stared at him for a long moment. She did not brighten as she typically did when he entered a room. No doubt she was surprised by the look of concern on his normally impassive face.

  She did not ask what was wrong. She knew he would tell her when he was ready. He regarded Hood, who had stopped pacing.

  “The soldiers I interviewed have fled,” Le told Hood through Anita. “Someone is chasing them toward Xichang City. Would that be one of your associates?”

  “Most likely,” Hood replied.

  “Is he equipped to stop them?”

  “If you’re asking whether he is armed, I do not believe so,” Hood replied.

  “The pursuit has been joined by agents from both the space center and the city,” the prime minister informed him. “But that may not help us.”

  “Not enough time?” Hood asked.

  “Scientists are on the way to the boosters. They know the rocket, but they may not be able to find and defuse explosives.”

  Le noticed his daughter start when he said that. He was sorry she had to be here. He would get her out as soon as possible.

  “I may be able to help,” Hood told him.

  “Please,” Le said. He did not ask how. He did not at this moment care. His daughter would have to be evacuated in just a few minutes. There was not a lot of time to talk.

  Hood made a call and spoke for several seconds. Anita discreetely translated his end of the conversation. Le’s daughter was a thorough professional again. It was a sad irony that he had to be so frightened for her to be so proud of her. Like her mother, she was quite a woman.

  Hood was talking to someone named Bob. He needed to meet the “team” as soon as possible. While Hood was still on the telephone, he turned to Le.

  “I need a landmark by the boosters,” Hood said.

  Le shook his head helplessly.

  “Sir?” said the guard.

  “Go ahead,” Le told her.

  “There is a large holding clamp on the northeast corner of the pad,” she said. “I have been there. It is painted red, and it is very easy to see.”

  The prime minister nodded once. Anita translated for Hood. The American finished his conversation, hung up, then turned to Le.

  “I am going to meet some people there, people who have been briefed by Mike Rodgers,” Hood said. “I will meet them alone.”

  There was no time to debate this. Le nodded. He indicated for Anita to go with him to his car and explain to the driver.

  “You leave him and come back here immediately,” her father said.

  “I will,” she promised.

  When Anita and Hood were gone, the prime minister went to the telephone. He asked the guard to excuse him. The young woman rose, bowed, and stepped outside. The prime minister did not want her to know that he intended to evacuate his daughter. This girl was also someone’s daughter, and he intended to stay with her. But Anita was neither a soldier nor a politician. She would be ferried to safety.

  The space center operator connected Le with the director of security. He told the former PLA officer that he wanted to know as soon as Hood and his personnel had reached the launch pad. Then he wanted one of the helicopters flown to the Technical Center and placed at his disposal.

  “I am sorry, sir, but we cannot do that.”

  “What are you talking about? This is the prime min—”

  “I know who you are, sir,” the director interrupted. “But we will be using the helicopters ourselves.”

  “For what?” Le demanded.

  “To evacuate, once we have eliminated the American and any of his allies for General Tam Li.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Xichang, China Thursday, 11:40 A.M.

  The only thing going faster than the van was Mike Rodgers’s mind. He needed to figure out a way to slow the soldiers’ flight.

  At least the broken window was keeping them within range. It could not be easy to see through the cracked glass, and diamondlike particles were shooting every which way around the van. Pieces were certainly flying at the driver as well. Part of that was likely being caused by the passenger, who was trying to kick it out. Every few seconds Rodgers could see large slabs of fractured windshield tumble ont
o the hood and over the side.

  His attack had hurt them, but it had not stopped them. He needed to do something else. He thought about calling Bob Herbert and asking for a missile strike on the road ahead, something from Taiwan, South Korea, or Submarine Group 7 based in Yokosuka, Japan. He dismissed that idea as provocative, and not just to the PLA. Tam Li would see it coming. They might inadvertently give him an excuse to do whatever he was planning to do. It would be a shame to save the rocket and lose the war. Besides, he did not know if such a strike could be launched before the van reached Xichang City. Rodgers could also ask Herbert for a satellite look at the road ahead. There might be someplace where he could cut through the grasses and shave time from the run.

  And then fate gave him a hand.

  One of the smaller sections of glass and part of the windshield frame pinwheeled around the driver’s side and dropped under the van. As the van rolled over the glass and metal, the rear left tire blew, sending the vehicle into a swerving forward slide. The flapping shards of the tire dropped away, and the bare rim spat sparks in all directions. The driver was able to regain control of the vehicle, but he could not maintain his speed.

  Rodgers closed the gap quickly. Conscious of the fact that these men could have firearms, he remained directly behind them. Eventually they would have to stop and either commandeer his car to complete their getaway or let him know what had been done to the rocket. If they attacked, Rodgers would run the nearest man down and try to get his weapon. It was not an ideal plan, but it was something. Besides, they were less than three miles from the space center. If the rocket blew up, they were well within the red zone for radiation poisoning.

  The van slowed, and Rodgers slowed with it. He did not want to be right on top of it. That would not leave him with any room to maneuver. As he drew to within two car lengths, he heard sounds coming from behind. Rodgers glanced in his rearview mirror as three men on motorcycles whipped into view. They were all wearing uniforms. From his reading, he recognized them as Xichang space center security. What he did not know was whose side they were on.

  If they were the enemy, he was in a lot of trouble. He would have to move around the van and use them as a shield while he tried to get away.

  Rodgers’s phone beeped. It was the marine team leader sending him a text message.

  Security team en route to help you. Need bomb location. We expect armed resistance.

  Tam Li must have additional allies at the complex, men who no doubt had an exit strategy or else were willing to die for their commander. That suggested something new to Rodgers. People did not surrender their lives simply to help a man gain power. They died to support an idea. Tam Li must have a vision for China that appealed to these men and probably to others like them. Usually, the vision of military men resulted in death on a staggering scale.

  The van struggled for another quarter of a mile or so before stopping. Rodgers stopped behind it, and the men on the motorcycles stopped in a row behind him. Obviously, these men had not been briefed. One of them was on the radio. The other two drew firearms from their holsters. They were hunkered low behind their handlebars as they waited for instructions.

  There was no time for this. Rodgers opened the door but did not immediately get out. He waited to make sure, first, that the security men did not fire. They did not. Slowly, he swung his legs from the car and emerged with his hands up, his back to the security team. He was watching the van from behind his open door. He could see a face in the side mirror. What he needed to do was get from his car to the other car and beat that face until it gave him the information he needed. At least now there was someone who could translate for him.

  Rodgers lowered his hands and turned. He indicated, by gestures, that he was going to the other car.

  The security guard who had been on the radio said something. One of the other guards fired a round. Rodgers dropped to the road. The other rear tire exploded with a loud wheeze. The guard said something else. Translated, it probably meant, “Now they are definitely not going anywhere.”

  They also did not return fire. Perhaps they were waiting for Rodgers or the guards to make themselves better targets. The soldiers probably did not want to damage the car or motorcycles.

  Suddenly there were new sounds, a low whine from the direction of the city. Through the noontime haze Rodgers saw several police cars approaching, their top lights flashing.

  Now the men in the van pointed automatic weapons out three windows and opened fire. Rodgers jumped back into the car, which was still running. He left the driver’s side door open and threw open the passenger’s side door to give the security guards a little added protection. The guards returned fire as they moved behind the open doors, driving the soldiers back into the van. There were two guards on the passenger’s side and one on the driver’s side.

  This was not going to get them the information they needed.

  Lying with his feet on the passenger’s side, Rodgers swung back behind the wheel. He sat very low and put the car in drive, steering it slowly toward the van, the guards firing around the sides of the open door, the pops of each round nearly drowned by the clang of the bullets striking metal. When the rental car touched the rear bumper of the van, Rodgers asked to borrow one of the guns. The innermost guard on the driver’s side was not at a good angle to hit the van. He gladly surrendered his weapon. Rodgers fired a burst through his own windshield to smash it, then sat back and pushed the window out with his foot. Tucking the gun into his belt, he climbed through it onto the hood of the car, and from there to the roof of the van. He moved quietly, on his knuckles and the balls of his feet. He stopped above the cab. He knew that if he fired through the roof he might kill one or more of the men. He also knew that the survivors would fire back. Instead, he motioned for the security guard on the driver’s side to stop firing. Drawing his gun, Rodgers crouched on the edge of the driver’s side but facing the passenger’s side. He waited until the driver poked his hand out to return fire. Then he jumped down, landing on his feet and facing the driver. That was only one gunman he had to worry about. The others would not fire for fear of hitting the man at the wheel.

  Rodgers slammed the man’s extended arm against the side of the car and pointed his automatic at the man’s head.

  “Drop it!”

  The soldier probably had no idea what Rodgers was saying. But he released the weapon, and the others ceased firing. Perhaps they were looking to get a shot at Rodgers. Fortunately, the side of the van afforded him a slight degree of cover.

  The security guards shouted something. Rodgers heard a series of thumps as the other weapons fell. He edged forward toward the window. He did not release the man’s arm but twisted it, holding the palm. The move was known as a kodogash. The pain in the victim’s wrist guaranteed that he would move where Rodgers wanted him to go. And right now, Rodgers wanted him to remain a shield.

  Rodgers looked into the window. The men had their hands raised defensively. There were no weapons. He used the gun to motion for the men on the passenger’s side to get out. They did, arms lifted higher now. The security guards moved from behind the doors of Rodgers’s car. The former general released the driver and gestured for him to get out the other side. The frightened man scooted out just as the police arrived. Rodgers tucked the gun back into his belt and walked toward the back of the van. He went through a pile of papers on the passenger’s seat of his car. He pulled out a set of blueprints and grabbed his cell phone. He opened the large document on the hood of the car and motioned for the security guards to bring one of the men over. The man was pulled roughly toward the red Xiali.

  Rodgers pointed at the diagram. “Boom!” he shouted, throwing his fingers outward to simulate a blast. Then he ran a hand palm-up over the blueprint. “That’s universal for ‘Tell me what the hell I want to know, or I’ll slap you silly.’ ”

  The security guard obviously understood. He said something to his captive, who muttered something back and pointed a trembling finger at
the diagram.

  “Shit,” Rodgers said and got on his phone.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Xichang, China Thursday, 11:49 A.M.

  Hood reached the holding clamp before the marines arrived. The clamp was one of two huge, inverted L-shaped structures that held the rocket in place as the boosters fired. Ignition typically occurred four to six seconds before liftoff. When the two powerful engines had built to maximum thrust, the clamps were drawn back so the rocket could lift off. The clamps were about the size of a fullsized semi, bent at the rig and slung over flanges on the bottom of the boosters. In front of him were stacked pipes that carried coolant to the launchpad. They were heavily insulated with a ceramic thermal coating to keep the contents from boiling and exploding during the launch. To the left was an equipment rack the size of a cottage. It was set well back from the raised launchpad and contained various monitors, cameras, and other recording devices. There were also several emergency generators there, used to keep the rocket functioning in case of a power failure during the postignition moments of the countdown. That was not a time when mission control wanted to have a dead, flaming rocket on their hands.

  The entire area was protected by a massive blast shield. That would keep the equipment box and generators from being immolated during launch, but it would not protect a person from the heat or smoke it generated.

  The marines showed up about a minute later. They were dressed in lab coats and coming from several different directions. A moment after that, the car that had brought Hood returned. Hood was shocked to see Anita get out. She was waving to him and shouting.