The Second Chinese Revolution (The Russian Agents Book 5)

by Ted Halstead

  Shi's mind raced furiously. The last report he'd read said the new "island" had already been built with enough rock and dirt to keep it reliably above sea level.

  Fortunately, Shi had anticipated the freeze being lifted at some point. So, ships were still on station nearby with the materials needed to build the hangers, bunkers, control buildings, and runway required for a functioning base.

  But that left planes.

  "Sir, as Army Commander, I am in charge of all military construction. But I have no authority over the deployment of aircraft to the base once it is ready," Shi said carefully.

  Lin shook his head impatiently. "Don't concern yourself. General Yang will do as I order. And be sure you understand this. The base must be ready for full combat operations. I will order the defense of our airspace as soon as our planes can fly. The Americans and their allies must learn there are consequences for refusing our just requests."

  Shi automatically said, "Yes, sir. We will be ready," but his mind was racing. Slapping together a few temporary structures together and declaring a base "ready" was one thing. But Shi would not be the judge of whether this new base in the South China Sea was able to conduct "full combat operations."

  No, that would be Air Force Commander Yang.

  And all for what? To proclaim sovereignty over thousands of square kilometers of empty ocean?

  "Very well, General, see that you are. I will expect regular reports on your progress. You're dismissed," Lin said.

  Shi rose, saluted, and left.

  Like most high Party officials, Lin had never served in China's military. Shi had checked, and Lin had registered for selective service as required. But, of course, had never been drafted.

  Too bad. Maybe if Lin had spent any time in the military, he'd have known better than to dismiss his Army Commander with less respect than Shi would have given a Private.

  As Shi reached the building entrance and his waiting car, he realized Yang might have been right all along.

  Maybe it was time for President Lin to go.

  As Shi settled into the staff car's back seat and it sped back to his headquarters, he smiled.

  Shi realized Lin had given him a precious gift. Unscheduled meetings between military commanders were always viewed with suspicion by the Ministry of State Security (MSS). But now they had the perfect cover.

  An operation absolutely requiring close coordination between the Army and Air Force, ordered by Lin himself.

  Yes. Now Shi could speak with Yang far from the many eyes always watching in Beijing.

  And decide whether it was time for the military to take charge from bumbling incompetents like Lin.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cocoa Beach, Florida

  Boris Kharlov did his best to keep a smile from his lips at the transformation Alina had worked on Neda Rhahbar’s appearance.

  The glare Neda sent his way suggested his attempt had not been successful.

  Well, then why not say what he was thinking?

  “We will be passing through Miami on our way to Key West. Perhaps we should try your new look at one of its many nightclubs?” Kharlov asked, doing his best to look as innocent as possible.

  Kharlov could see immediately that his attempt at humor had not been successful.

  Alina put a restraining hand on Neda as she moved to stand. Kharlov had the strong impression Neda had been about to demonstrate her unarmed combat skills.

  Though Kharlov was confident in his abilities, and knew he was certainly stronger, he had heard stories about Neda’s prowess both in training and in the field.

  Alina was right, though. This wasn’t the time to put Neda’s reputation to the test.

  “Workers in this country have far greater latitude in their appearance on the job than in Russia. The shade of red I have dyed her hair would not be encountered on a utility work site in Moscow. Here, though, it is nothing surprising,” Alina said.

  “And her green eyes?” Kharlov asked. “Surely not a combination found in nature!”

  Alina shook her head. “Perhaps you have never seen it. But though it is one of the least common combinations, it does exist. It is not even the most rare. That honor falls to red hair and blue eyes.”

  “And the tattoos?” Kharlov asked.

  “Removable, of course. In the event we are recorded somehow, another false trail for investigators to follow. And another difference between Neda, FSB agent, and the person caught on camera,” Alina replied.

  Kharlov knew Neda would not appreciate comments on Alina’s skill in using makeup to conceal all traces of the scars on Neda’s face. But Alina’s comment had made it clear doing so had nothing to do with vanity. Instead, it was to avoid revealing Neda’s true identity.

  So instead Kharlov just grunted, and said, “I’m sure her hair color will be considerably harder to return to normal.”

  “Usually you would be right. Fortunately, the FSB’s technical staff has long experience with all aspects of disguise, and this challenge is relatively simple. There is a plastic container in the back of the van large enough for Neda to immerse her hair. Into the container will go a chemical solution formulated to remove the dye I used without trace,” Alina said, and then smiled and nodded towards Neda.

  “You are lucky to be following in my footsteps,” Alina said. “I used exactly this process during my first field mission. The solution in use then worked perfectly to return my hair to its original color, but stripped it in the process. It also left behind a horrible smell like nail polish remover. I visited the FSB lab after I returned to Moscow. You will find your experience much improved.”

  Kharlov sighed. “I don’t suppose any magic tricks are waiting in that van to restore my normal appearance,” he said, unconsciously rubbing his newly bare chin.

  Alina shook her head, and said gravely, “Perhaps part of a bear pelt we could glue to your face and neck? No, I’m afraid not.”

  Seeing Kharlov’s expression and his futile efforts to frame a suitable response, both Alina and Neda collapsed in laughter.

  Looking at them, part of Kharlov was still furious. Both in Spetsnaz and as a warlord in separatist Ukraine, it had been a rare day when anyone dared to laugh at his expense.

  But the larger part was glad to see Neda had truly overcome her earlier anger with Alina. Kharlov knew they would have to function as a team to have any chance of success with this mission.

  “In any case, I see your skin reacted well to the salve I gave you after your shave. This morning I see little evidence of irritation. How does it feel?” Alina asked.

  Kharlov grudgingly nodded. “It’s fine. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I never had a beard at all. Your father taught you well.”

  Alina smiled. “You are the first man I have shaved since he passed. It brought back good memories for me. More important, a straight razor is the best way to avoid the telltale nicks and redness that usually show recent beard removal.”

  Alina paused and looked both Kharlov and Neda over, finally nodding with approval.

  “As long as an image is not collected at a short distance by a high resolution camera, I think it will be difficult to match either of you with your true identity. Now, do you have everything you need before we depart?” Alina asked.

  Kharlov and Neda both nodded silently.

  “Very well. It should only take us a few minutes to reach the target location,” Alina said.

  Moments later they were all in the van, now sporting a utility company logo. The sky was just beginning to lighten with dawn’s approach.

  As Alina eased the van into traffic, Kharlov said with a frown, “I thought you said the logo could be replaced after we finished the mission and were on our way to Key West. But I saw no seam or other evidence that the utility company logo there now is removable.”

  “Good,” Alina replied, as she kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead. “That means the FSB technical staff is doing their job. Commercially available removable signs are based on
magnets. That means a certain thickness is necessary to ensure a proper seal. But this sign’s grip is chemical, not magnetic.”

  “Chemical,” Kharlov repeated with an even deeper frown. “How does that work?”

  “We apply a specially formulated clear chemical solution to the entire van, both to ensure a uniform appearance and to give flexibility on where to place a logo. The sign is made of a very thin sheet of plastic, made to bond with the chemical once it has dried. Though this bond is highly stable, logo removal is still easily accomplished by sliding a fingernail under its edge at any point and pulling. However, this method has many limitations, and so is only used for the highest priority missions.”

  Kharlov nodded. “I wondered why I had never heard of this technique before. What are these limitations?”

  Alina halted at an intersection with a stop sign, looked both ways and then drove on before replying.

  “The clear chemical solution takes nearly two days to dry completely. It also has a short shelf life. Production of the plastic signs requires a lead time of about a week. Both the solution and the signs are only made in Moscow, and must then be flown to wherever they are needed. So, this is only the second time I have ever used these materials in a mission.”

  “I appreciate your taking the time to explain this,” Kharlov said slowly. “It helps keep my mind off speculating about what could go wrong with the mission.”

  “Understood,” Alina said. “We are nearing the target location. I will advise through your earpiece if I see police approach, which is a real possibility. They are always on heightened alert during launch days. Remember, none of us may be taken.”

  “You mean, taken alive,” Kharlov said quietly.

  Alina shrugged. “Just so,” she said as she made another turn and began to slow.

  Kharlov could see Neda’s hand already reaching for the rear door as the van came to a stop.

  Moments later, they were at the manhole cover that showed where the disused access tunnel was located. Crumbling asphalt around it revealed the manhole had been in a road at one point, but now it was surrounded by weeds.

  The sky was a bit lighter, but true dawn was still some way off.

  In the gloom they couldn’t see the short stretch of water separating their island from the one housing Cape Canaveral. But the unmistakable smell of the sea told them they were close.

  The secondary road they had turned onto to reach the manhole had no traffic, at least so far. But that was sure to change before long.

  It only took Kharlov moments to unfold and place barriers around the manhole cover indicating it was now an active work site.

  Alina nodded, satisfied. “Good. I will move the van nearby where I can observe any approaching traffic and provide warning. I know you will work as quickly as possible.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Alina drove off.

  She left Kharlov and Neda standing in front of the manhole cover. Each was carrying a bag.

  Kharlov’s was much larger.

  He opened it, and extracted a tool which he used to pry the manhole cover loose. As it fell to the side, Kharlov sighed with relief, and Neda looked at him curiously.

  Kharlov smiled. “I was worried something out of use this long might be rusted shut. So far, so good.”

  Neda smiled back. “I wondered what you had in that big bag. Glad to see it’s tools, not weapons.”

  Kharlov just raised an eyebrow in response, and pointed his flashlight into the newly revealed hole. Metal handrails glinted back in the gloom.

  “Our luck is holding,” Kharlov said quietly. “I’ll go first.”

  Holding his bag in one hand, Kharlov swung his bulk onto the ladder. Neda was always surprised by Kharlov’s speed and agility in spite of his mass.

  Of course, Neda never saw the many hours of daily exercise Kharlov devoted to making such performance possible.

  Almost immediately, Neda heard “clear” over her earpiece, and followed Kharlov down. It turned out few handrails had been necessary to allow access to the tunnel, which was barely tall enough to let Kharlov stand.

  The light from Kharlov’s flashlight showed the way ahead was unobstructed.

  “Proceeding to objective,” Kharlov said for Alina’s benefit. A single “click” told Kharlov and Neda his message had been received.

  Now the flashlight showed a sharp bend in the tunnel ahead.

  Kharlov glanced back to see that Neda was keeping pace right behind him. He said quietly, “We should see the junction with the tunnel we need to access as soon as we make this turn.”

  But they didn’t.

  Neda drew her breath in with a sharp, disappointed hiss. “All our work was for nothing,” she said, disgusted.

  To her surprise, Kharlov smiled. “Fortunately, you have a soldier with you. Who had the foresight to bring the right tools.”

  A few moments later, they were standing in front of the concrete wall revealed earlier by the flashlight. Its smooth texture contrasted sharply with the rough, pitted surface of the tunnel they had been walking through so far.

  Kharlov bent down and pulled a small, round object from his bag. Frowning with concentration, he tapped several small buttons on its front, and was rewarded with a “beep” and a digital display reading “1:30.”

  Kharlov peeled away a strip of paper, revealing an adhesive patch on the other side of the device.

  “What is that thing?” Neda asked. Her tone, though, suggested she had already guessed the answer.

  “With luck, our ticket in,” Kharlov said, as he pressed the small round object against the smooth concrete wall.

  It stayed attached, even when Kharlov gently pulled on it.

  Seeing Neda’s puzzled look, Kharlov grinned. “It would be bad if it fell off and rolled after us. We need to get back to the other side of that bend in the tunnel behind us.”

  Neda wasted no time following Kharlov’s instruction.

  Kharlov pressed the largest of the small buttons on the device.

  The digital display began counting down to zero.

  Kharlov rounded the turn in the tunnel, and saw that Neda had moved on some distance towards the manhole. He nodded with approval.

  Caution was always warranted when dealing with explosives. Especially ones planted by someone else.

  A muffled roar was followed by a plume of dust that rounded the turn in the tunnel, but had largely dissipated by the time it reached Kharlov and Neda.

  Alina’s alarmed voice immediately sounded in their earpieces. “What’s happening down there?” she asked.

  Kharlov replied tersely, “Stand by,” and led the way as they both returned to the concrete wall that had blocked their way forward.

  The wall was still there, but a large hole showed where the device had been planted, along with cracks radiating outward from the new opening.

  Kharlov removed a sledgehammer with a folding handle from his bag, gesturing for Neda to stand back. Snapping the handle into place, he checked to make sure Neda was safely out of range of his swing. Satisfied, Kharlov began with the area of the wall closest to the hole.

  It took only a few minutes before it became obvious this was a contest Kharlov was destined to win. Less than ten minutes after he’d started the hole was large enough to admit Kharlov, and Neda followed quickly behind him.

  Only now did Kharlov update Alina. “We had to remove an obstacle blocking our way to the objective. Now approaching.”

  Alina’s voice was low and furious. “Your removal method sent up a dust plume that can be seen from some distance. Police are likely to be here soon.”

  “Understood,” Kharlov replied calmly. “Will report when mission complete.”

  Neda said nothing, but Kharlov could see she was worried.

  Well, he knew Neda placed a higher priority on mission success than her own safety. Since if they failed, her husband Vasilyev and their friend Grishkov were up next.

  Kharlov had willingly risked his life for fri
ends and comrades many times. But he didn’t remember feeling that he would actually prefer his own death to theirs.

  And knowing they would feel the same way about him.

  Yes, Vasilyev was a lucky man.

  Neda spotted the fiber optic cable first. She stepped forward confidently, reaching down into her bag for the optical splitters she would need to access the cable.

  Once Neda had them in place, she glanced backwards at Kharlov. As expected, he had already removed the optical transmitter and attached it to a bulky portable power supply.

  Neda connected the optical splitters to the transmitter, and then pressed its power button.

  A solid green light announced a stable connection. Good.

  But the hardest part was still ahead.

  Holding her breath, Neda gently slid the thumb drive with the virus designed to destroy the rocket into the transmitter’s USB port. Their transmitter was set up to send any data inserted into it immediately, so the “data being sent” light began blinking amber at once.

  Only a few seconds later, the blinking amber light was replaced with a single solid green light.

  Data sent.

  Her hands blurring, Neda disassembled everything and shoved the small items into her bag, while Kharlov stored the optical transmitter and its power supply.

  “Mission accomplished. En route,” Kharlov said over his earpiece to Alina.

  “Understood,” came Alina’s crisp acknowledgement.

  It only took a few minutes for them to reach the tunnel exit.

  But it was a few minutes too long.

  Kharlov’s head was just emerging from the manhole when he heard over his earpiece, “Hold position! Police on scene!”

  At the same instant a blinding light transfixed Kharlov, just as he was about to go back into the tunnel.

  A voice over a loudspeaker said, “Police. Come out slowly, with your hands over your head.”

  There was no choice. Kharlov did exactly as he was told.

  His eyes were still dazzled by the light being trained on him, but Kharlov could see at least one thing.

  There were no certainly no spinning red and blue lights, and he didn’t think the police vehicle had its headlights on either.