Beyond all Limits (17 page)

4

Cole hadn’t had time to consider the ramifications of nearly being caught by the fishing trawler; the possibility that someone on board had seen them, that an experienced fisherman had examined the net and realized it had been cut by a knife and not by the teeth of a large fish, that it wasn’t a real trawler but a disguised surveillance ship which was even now tracking them via sonar – these things touched the edges of his consciousness but were not allowed to take hold. He simply had no time. What would be would be, and there was no use wasting mental energy on things he had no control over.

So, with the threat of the possible consequences of their narrow escape banished from his mind, he fixed his concentration on the task he could control – that he
had
to control.

Getting the SDV out of Bohai Bay and into the inlet of Yongding New River.

He could literally see the hulls of the boats above him, next to him, behind him; and all the while Tim Collins was maneuvering the small submersible, head out to one side as he moved the manual control stick in smooth, practiced, fluid actions, the SDV magically following the inputs as it glided unseen through the busy waters.

Cole’s GPS was telling him they were right up at the harbor wall, his sonar confirming; he could even see it now through his goggles, a looming black mass lurking ahead through thick green shadow.

Cole placed his hand on Collins’ arm, gesturing with his other hand with two sharp actions to the side. Collins nodded, adjusting the stick slightly, the SDV sliding gently to the right, lining up towards the entry for the Beitangkou inlet towards Sanhe Island and the Yongding beyond.

The stretch of the harbor wall that Cole could see ahead of him separated the Beitangkou inlet from the twin waterways that led to Tianjin Port. Making a mistake at this stage would surely be fatal – Tianjin Port was one of the busiest marine traffic areas in the world. But even without the GPS, Cole could see they were headed for the right area – Beitangkou was far quieter as it didn’t lead directly to a port, and all the major shipping was immediately south of the SDV.

Collins let the SDV crawl along the harbor wall until it opened up into the broad inlet, and Cole felt the craft begin its turn into Beitangkou, to be finally free of the Bohai Sea and the immediate threat of the Chinese navy.

But then Cole’s hand touched Collins’ arm again, giving him the signal to slow down; a larger vessel had appeared on Cole’s screen, moving into the same channel.

Collins did as instructed, throttling back, positioning the SDV so they could look at the hull through their goggles.

It was a large vessel, but not large enough to be a container ship. Cargo ships would be headed for Tianjin anyway, and Cole guessed it would be another local fishing trawler.

Cole and Collins watched as the hull slid close past them, breaking through into the inlet in front of them, and then Cole touched the pilot’s arm again and nodded his head, pointing to the stern of the fishing vessel.

Collins nodded, understanding Cole’s intention, and increased speed, slipping in right behind the fishing boat to follow in its wake.

Despite the dark night, one of the dangers of an SDV insertion – especially in the narrower channels as they began to work their way inland – would be people noticing the tell-tale bubbles produced by the ship’s movement and its open-circuit breathing systems. By following in the wake of the fishing boat, they would not only disguise their visible presence, but would also blend in with the vessel on any sonar system which might be monitoring the Chinese coast.

Collins matched his speed perfectly, following the trawler into the Beitangkou inlet just ten feet from its stern, unseen within the murky depths of the bay.

Cole smiled with satisfaction.

They had made it; they were now inside the Chinese mainland.

Now they just had to get to Beijing.

Yuan Ziyang mopped his sweaty brow, wiping moisture from his eyes so that he could see the road ahead.

Damn the CIA.

He was driving his delivery truck down the S30 highway from Beijing, en route to some sort of rendezvous at a very specific place on the Changshen Expressway. He had been told to be in position next to where the expressway crossed the Yongding New River by four o’clock in the morning, forty-five minutes before first light. He would meet six people there, and take them into the back of his truck for the return journey north to Beijing.

Who they were, or what they were doing here, Yuan didn’t know. In fact, he didn’t want to know. The less he knew, the less he could tell anyone if he was caught.

And didn’t the CIA realize how likely it was that he
would
be caught?

The city – indeed, most of northeastern China – was in full lockdown. General Wu was claiming that life was proceeding as normal under military rule, but Yuan knew better – there were increased guard units all over the place, and restrictions on mobility were being enforced day and night.
Especially
at night.

He’d told the man from the embassy that the odds were against him being allowed out of the city at all, but he’d been told to stop worrying and to just get on with it. If only he could be so confident, Yuan thought unhappily as he shielded his eyes from the headlights of oncoming traffic, every time terrified that it was the armed police.

But it never was.

And leaving Beijing hadn’t been quite so fraught with danger as he’d initially feared; he had passed unmolested through the manned checkpoints, allowed to go on his way with not so much as an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

But that didn’t mean he
wouldn’t
be stopped though, and he tried to remember again what he would say if the security forces pulled him over. At the minute he didn’t even have anyone else aboard, but he didn’t want to alert anyone by seeming nervous. He breathed deeply, going through his cover story once again in his mind.

The thought of the money helped calm his nerves, he had to admit. He wasn’t a man driven by strong moral convictions, providing information and assistance to the ‘enemy’ due to some sort of ingrained sense of right and wrong; nor was he a candidate for blackmail, another easy way to recruit agents. In fact, he led a fairly quiet and innocuous life.

But the one thing he
was
, was greedy. He saw how the more well-off citizens of Beijing lived, the things they had, and he wanted the same for himself and his family. He already had access to western satellite television, which made him crave even more things. And as a lowly delivery-truck driver, how else was he ever going to be able to afford those things except through betraying his country? And the CIA paid well.

He almost missed the flashing lights ahead of him, his mind filled with the images of hundred-yuan banknotes.

But then the sirens sounded, and the situation soon became all-too real.

There was a roadblock up ahead, three police cars strung out across the highway flagging down passing vehicles. Yuan’s truck was just one more, and yet his mind started screaming at him with insistent fury.

They know! They must know! Crash through them! The truck’s bigger than the cars, you can do it! Go!

For a few terrible seconds, Yuan was actually going to do it – drive right through them, crash through the police cars and high-tail it out of there with the gas pedal pushed all the way down to the floor.

But then sanity resecured it grip on him and his foot went instead to the brake, easing the truck in to the side of the road as he struggled to breath, to control his racing heart rate.

He wound down his window as an armed patrolman came up to the side of his truck, and Yuan’s hand went reflexively to the small revolver he’d hidden under the cushion of his seat; ludicrously underpowered compared to what he faced, but a source of comfort nevertheless.
Unless they search the cab
, he thought suddenly, pushing the gun back under the seat cushion as far as he could, presenting both hands on the wheel. He tried to smile but stopped himself; the cop might think something was amiss if he started to act strangely.

‘Your papers?’ the cop asked, and Yuan relaxed ever so slightly; despite the presence of the assault rifle in the man’s hands, his attitude was bored, lethargic, typical of someone in the middle of an enforced night-shift.

Yuan nodded and pulled his papers from the glove compartment, handing them over smartly.

The policeman looked them over with no real interest, jotted something down in a notebook, then raised his eyes to Yuan’s face, regarding him with sudden interest.

‘You are . . .sweating?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘Is something perhaps the matter?’

Yuan’s hands went to his face, his neck, felt how the sweat was dripping over him and smiled feebly before he could stop himself. ‘It’s this damned summer heat,’ he said, ‘I can’t stand these close nights, so stifling. I’ve had a bit of a fever too.’
Stop talking
, he willed himself; talking too much was always a sure sign that someone was lying or hiding something.

‘Are you working?’ the cop asked next, and over his shoulder Yuan could see his two armed colleagues looking over at them, wondering what was taking so long. If this didn’t end soon, they would probably head on over this way too.

‘Yes,’ Yuan answered, ‘taking a delivery over to Tianjin.’

‘What are you delivering?’

‘Electronics.’

‘What kind?’

‘Televisions, DVD players, that sort of thing.’

The cop nodded, eyeing him with interest.

‘Get out,’ he said finally, ‘open her up.’

Yuan’s pulse jumped even higher and he concentrated hard on his breathing. It was going to be okay; there
were
electronics in the back, the company he worked for was legitimate even if the delivery destination itself was a CIA cover. But there was nothing to worry about; the people he was supposed to pick up weren’t even
in
the back yet. Everything was above board. Yes; he had nothing to worry about.

But still the sweat poured, and his heart raced.

He opened the door and climbed down from the cab, walking with the cop to the back of the truck, unlocking the steel double doors and letting them swing open.

The cop looked at the cardboard boxes piled high, then at Yuan, seeming to assess him.

Then he turned, shouting to his colleagues.

Yuan could hear booted feet racing to the truck and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Damn it! He didn’t even have his revolver. What the hell was he going to do?

Silently, as smoothly as he could, Yuan’s hand went to his belt, sliding out a thin metal dagger from the horizontal sheath disguised by the thick leather. He palmed it by his side, looking for his opening.

He was still going through his options, his mind racing, when the two other cops stopped next to him and stared into the back, whistling appreciatively, clapping their friend on the shoulder.

What the hell was going on?

The first cop jumped on board and started rooting through the boxes, pulling one from the top of a large pile. It was a forty inch, 3D LCD television, and he called for his colleagues to assist him.

Yuan watched in open-mouthed wonder as they took the TV off the back of his truck and carried it across the brightly-lit nighttime highway towards their own vehicles.

It was a shakedown, as simple as that.

Just as slowly and smoothly as he’d withdrawn it, Yuan sheathed his dagger, amazed that he’d come so close to using it, supremely happy that he hadn’t needed to.

The cops returned twice more, a gift for each of them carted away to the roadblock vehicles, and Yuan just stood there and watched.

When they had finished, the policeman who had been dealing with him looked at him sternly. ‘I presume you know what happened here?’ he asked Yuan.

‘Nothing,’ Yuan said, hiding his elation and pretending to be glum about being robbed. ‘Nothing happened here.’

‘Good,’ the cop said, gesturing to his notebook, and then to his gun. ‘Because we know where you live, if you understand me.’

Yuan just nodded sullenly.

‘Good,’ the cop said again, all smiles now, ‘you are free to go. And please be careful –there are some dangerous people out there.’

‘I will,’ Yuan replied. ‘Thank you for the advice.’

As he climbed back into the cab, Yuan heard the policeman laughing as he strolled back to his friends.

But the cop had no idea that the man he’d just robbed was laughing too.

5

The fishing vessel had finally docked in a small inlet off to the starboard side, and the SDV now continued up the Yongding New River alone.

Cole wasn’t overly concerned that they’d lost their cover, now that they had worked their way inland to some extent, but was monitoring everything very carefully just to be on the safe side – not just the GPS and sonar systems, but the waters themselves, always on the lookout for anything unusual.

He also had to make sure the SDV was continuing to go the right way; to starboard up ahead was the turn-off for a whole network of inland waterways, which they would have to avoid – if they took a wrong turn, it might take them hours to correct the error.

Immediately adjacent to that, as the Yongding curved around to the left was a small island which connected to the left bank of the river via a bridge. If the SDV went to the port side of the island, it would have to slip in between the bridge pylons, which would be unlikely to show up on the sonar systems in enough detail to avoid. Collins would have to rely on the underwater night-vision goggles and pilot the SDV by sight.

The chance of impact in such a situation was too great, and Cole therefore wanted the SDV to take the path between the turnoff for the waterways and the clear starboard side of the island.

Monitoring the ship’s systems, and also the murky green view up ahead, Cole gave hand signals to help guide Collins on the correct route, and he saw now the bulge of the island underwater on the port side, happy they were going the right way.

Confident in Collins’ skills in getting the SDV past the island, he switched gears in his mind to the next section of river, which would take them on a northwesterly course to the rendezvous by the G25 expressway.

His mind occupied, nothing prepared Cole for the incredible noise that suddenly assaulted him, the impact, the shocking, abrupt motion of the SDV as it rolled up and down underneath the water.

Collins looked at him as if to say,
what the hell was that?
, and Cole could only return the look right back. He had no idea what it could be, nothing had appeared on his instruments; and yet as he looked back behind the SDV, he saw the water swirling as if something had exploded behind them.

Were they under attack?

Cole chopped his hand forwards, giving the signal to Collins to accelerate and get them the hell out of there, and then the impact came again, the colossal sound, the surge of water; and then again, and then again.

The SDV was pulling away, increasing distance when the waters behind started to clear and Cole, hanging out of the side of the SDV, zoomed in with his night-vision goggles to try and see what had nearly hit them.

But when he finally identified it and reached over to tap Collins’ arm, signaling him to slow down, he couldn’t help but smile.

It was kids.

Four kids, half-naked teenagers, kicking and swimming now for the island which the SDV was leaving behind. Cole remembered that there was a bridge over the river just before the island, and realized the kids must have jumped off, dive-bombing into the river.

Cole could barely believe he’d mistaken four teenagers for dangerous explosive weapons, and suppressed a laugh. The bridge was high, and their impact upon hitting the water was exactly like the concussive blast of a grenade.

But, Cole decided, he and the team could laugh about it later; it was during times of relief that you let your guard down, and that was when things could
really
get you.

And so, back to business, Cole directed the SDV to the northwest and continued with the mission.

Captain Hank Sherman was, like Cole, still on high alert. He too knew the old samurai adage – ‘after the battle, it’s time to tighten your helmet straps’.

It would have been all too easy to have disgorged the SDV, collected back the SEAL dive team, and set back home while patting himself on the back, congratulating himself on a job well done.

But he knew that complacency was the military man’s worst enemy, and it was during the ‘quiet after the storm’ that the worst things always happened; and they happened simply because you weren’t expecting them, which doubled or tripled the psychological impact. He knew that soldiers would try and re-take a piece of ground immediately after losing it for this very reason; the enemy would be high on their perceived success, would make the fatal mistake of relaxing, and thus be completely unprepared to defend their new position effectively.

And Sherman knew very well that he wasn’t out of trouble yet; while he might have got the USS
Texas
through the East China Sea, the Yellow Sea, and right into the middle of the nearly enclosed Bohai Sea successfully and without detection, he knew this was only one half of the equation.

Now he had to get out again, and there was no reason to think things would be any easier on the way out than they’d been on the way in.

Added to which, there was always the chance that the SDV and its commando team would be discovered, and then the Chinese navy would go all-out to try and find the submarine which had dropped it off.

And then Sherman and the
Texas
would
really
be in trouble.

He wasn’t headed home anyway, he considered as he monitored the sub’s navigation systems, checking they were still en route to the correct location. There would be no rest for him or the crew; not yet anyway.

They were being sent into harm’s way yet again, although this time he would have to come south through the Yellow Sea and then enter into a holding pattern in the well-patrolled waters of the East China Sea. Not ideal, but he’d had recent experience in that area and was fairly happy he could avoid detection for the time-frame demanded.

At some stage, though, he would be required to pilot the
Texas
in close again to the Chinese coast, this time near Shanghai.

No, he considered with a smile as he confirmed the sub’s position and course, he couldn’t afford to relax for a moment.

But at the end of the day, he understood that was exactly how he liked it.

‘So where are we at?’ Captain Sam Meadows asked, cigar in his mouth and hands on his hips. Smoking was not really allowed onboard ships in the modern US Navy, but Meadows knew they had a lot worse problems to contend against and had thus issued his most recent ship-wide edict on the ruling – ‘Screw it. Smoke if you want.’

He knew it would give comfort to some of the men, and in a situation like this – left high and dry by the ‘Potomac desk drivers’, crippled in an unfriendly sea for over a week now – Meadows knew the men needed as much comfort as they could get.

They were getting even more from being kept busy with the ship’s various projects too, and Meadows awaited word on how things were progressing.

‘Good news with the desalination plant,’ his Executive Officer, Bill Duffy, said. ‘It’s not back to normal yet of course – probably impossible now – but we’re getting a good two hundred thousand gallons out of it, about fifty percent capacity. That’s good enough for a decent amount of drinking water, maybe even the occasional shower.’

Meadows nodded, puffing on his cigar. ‘Excellent,’ he said, and meant it. ‘That’ll improve morale no end.’

‘Yes sir,’ the XO continued. ‘Not so great news to report about our medical casualties I’m afraid though.’

‘Go on.’

‘We lost another two today, Petty Officer First Class Jim Franklin and Seaman Veronica Peaks. Takes the total to two hundred ninety eight.’

Meadows closed his eyes and rotated his neck around slowly, counting the cracks and pops as he did so.

Two hundred and ninety eight dead. Damn those fucking Chinese! What the hell were they trying to prove? Every day the ship floated out here was another day injured people might die. Why wouldn’t they agree for the casualties to be taken off? It was amazing to Meadows, the calculated callousness of the Chinese action.

And why wasn’t the US government responding? Word from Admiral Decker and his contacts in the Pentagon and the White House was that things were ‘difficult’, and a diplomatic outcome was being sought, and the men and women of the
Ford
would just have to ‘hold on’ a while longer.

Well, fuck them.

‘How we doing on the propellers?’ he asked next, anxious for good news.

Duffy shook his head sadly. ‘No big improvements there, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘It really is shot all to hell, a real mess. We can only access the area in full SCUBA gear, and I doubt that we have any realistic chance of being able to patch her up, even to make a single knot.’

Meadows exhaled a ring of smoke and nodded his head, determined not to show his disappointment to anyone, even his most senior officer. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay. I appreciate how difficult it is, but we’re not gonna stop trying. Despite what we’re hearing from on high, I can’t believe we’ve been left to the wolves. I think we’re doing a little bit more than we’re letting on back home, and I want this ship in a position where we can help. So keep trying.’

‘Yes sir,’ Duffy said with conviction. ‘We’ve got most of our armaments back online now, our engineers have recalibrated them to take account of our angle in the water and our lack of stability. Our missiles and our guns are ready to go anytime if we need to defend ourselves.’

‘Good,’ Meadows said. ‘That’s good.’ It was better than nothing of course, but the warrior in Meadows knew it wasn’t enough; he wanted to be able to
move
, to fight
offensively
, to take the fight to the enemy at the first chance he got. But for now, a self-defense capability was definitely better than nothing at all. ‘Arrange a memorial service for Franklin and Peaks for fourteen hundred hours, make sure next of kin are informed, as well as fleet command.’

‘Yes sir.’

And let’s just hope there aren’t any more
, he didn’t add.

But he knew that this was wishful thinking; before this thing was over, there would be a
lot
more.