Covert One 4 - The Altman Code (20 page)

Alani turned to Jon. “Asgar sent Fatima to the pagoda with an electric
lantern and a shielding sleeve. She’ll put it in a window embrasure at
the top, with the shield protecting it from being seen from land.” She
nodded in the opposite direction, toward the water. “The beach is about
five hundred meters in a straight line from the pagoda. It’s normally
deserted, especially at this hour, but there are those who like to fish
or crab at night. There’s also the chance the police could be watching
through night-vision binoculars.”

“Then we should avoid the beach as long as possible.”

She nodded. “We’re armed. We’ll go with you as soon as we see the light
in the pagoda.”

The group stayed together, hunched down in the thick growth, tall trees
rising and arching toward an imaginary ceiling overhead. Every second
seemed like a minute, every minute an hour. The low whispering from the
Uighers was subdued, concerned, and deadly serious. Alani crouched
beside him in silence, busy with her thoughts.

A sudden, distant point of light appeared high in the night sky. Asgar
materialized among them. He spoke quickly in Uigher and turned to Jon.

“Time to move, Jon. I’m not completely certain, but I believe I heard
someone near the road while I was crossing. I saw nothing, so I hope I’m
wrong. No reason to take chances. We don’t know how far offshore your
people are, or if they’re here at all. Still, we’d best hurry.”

“It’s time, so they’re here,” Jon assured him.

Toktufan trotted in the lead, snaking his way through the brush and
trees like a phantom. The rest of the Uighers were right behind, weapons
in hand. Jon followed with his Beretta ready, while Asgar and Alani
brought up the rear. The hushed procession seemed to float among the
grasses, wraiths no more substantial than the fog.

At last, Jon heard the splash of breaking waves. A salty breeze stung
his face. The trees and brush reached to a low ridge of tufted grass
that dropped off perhaps four feet to a narrow, rocky little beach. Jon
and the Uighers squatted inside the edge of trees to wait. The moon was
nearly down over the black sea, projecting a silvery path toward the
horizon. Tall trees swayed, leaves rustling eerily.

There was a flash of light out at sea. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then darkness again–and an abrupt sound. A stumble. A grunt. An angry
oath.

“Under the bank!” Jon whispered urgently and rolled.

At the same time, Alani shouted in Uigher.

They slid and dove into the cover of the bank at the edge of the beach
nearly simultaneously with a fusillade that exploded in an arc from deep
among the trees. The bullets burst into the sand and rained into the
surf.

“Wait until you see them!” Jon yelled over the din.

Asgar repeated it for the Uighers. No one panicked. They waited with
their backs to the sea, calm, with a sense of cold inevitability.

Another fusillade erupted, and Jon saw movement deep among the trees to
his left. He fired. A distant cry. He had hit one, whoever they were.

Someone else fired, and then a third shot. There were no cries, no
crashing through the undergrowth.

Asgar cursed in Uigher and yelled angrily.

A third volley thundered from ahead, but weaker this time, ragged, and
Jon saw to his left that shadows were running from the trees and out
into the open swath of tall grass before the beach.

“They’re outflanking us!”

Alani repeated his warning, and Jon wondered–were these the same people
who had attacked him and Mondragon on Liuchiu Island and then at Yu
Yongfu’s mansion? Feng Dun once more, using his favorite tactic?

He had no time to analyze further. No matter who they were, they
outnumbered the Uighers, and they were closing in. Already Jon could see
more movement, visible now, much nearer the front line of trees. So
could the Uighers, who opened a careful, lethal fire, sending the
approaching attackers to ground.

Asgar crouched beside him. His breath was hot and worried in Jon’s ear.

“We can hold them for a time, but when those others up the beach move
in, they’ll trap us if we don’t clear out of here soon.”

“Right,” Jon agreed. “You’ve done a lot. I’m grateful–you know that.

When you have to go, go.”

“And you?”

“It’s only me they want, whoever they are.”

“You don’t think they’re security?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to us.”

Jon understood. “If it’s security, I’ll try to hold them until you get a
good–”

A fresh barrage of automatic fire burst from the left. The Uighers hit
the beach and returned fire, but now their front was exposed. Feet ran
from among the trees before them, pounding the sand. They were cornered.

“Go!” he snarled to Asgar. “I’ll surrender.”

Asgar hesitated.

Alani was there. “We can’t leave him!”

“Come with us!” Asgar urged. Before Jon could decide, a withering
eruption of automatic weapons frac-tured the night again, the bullets mowing the stretch of grass between
the trees and the low bank. Chilling screams echoed across the dark sea.

Jon and Asgar spun on their heels in time to see eight black shapes rise
at the surf line, deployed at equal intervals, still firing over the
heads of Jon and the Uighers at the ambushers.

Jon grinned. “I’ll be damned. It’s our navy. The best of the
best–SEALs.”

The word spread instantly. The Uighers opened up again on the flanking
attackers, who fell back. With shouts and curses, the group above the
bank retreated from the assault.

A SEAL loped up from the water and hunkered down. “Orchid.” He was
broad-shouldered and muscular. His face was covered with black grease.

“Nice of you to drop by.”

“Lieutenant Gordon Whelan, sir. Glad we made it in time. We’d better
book now. There’re patrol boats out there, more than one. They know
something’s up. Can your people get away on their own?”

Asgar nodded. “If you keep them pinned down a few more minutes.”

“Roger. Go.”

Asgar called low to the rest of the Uighers. They did not wait for
farewells. Crouched low, they crab-walked quickly along the beach to the
right and vanished into the darkness. The SEALs provided a steady
covering fire, keeping the attackers too busy to notice.

“Get to the raft, sir,” the lieutenant ordered. “We have to get out damn
quick now.”

Jon ran the short distance to the big rubber Zodiac that had been pulled
up onto the beach. White surf churned around it. He clambered aboard.

Four of the SEALs fired a final volley before pushing off, jumping in,
and paddling swiftly out to sea.

Behind them, the remaining four, including Lieutenant Whelan, continued
firing. Then silence. From the raft, Jon watched as the land receded.

Shadowy figures had gathered to stare helplessly out to sea, weapons
hanging down from their hands.

Jon’s heart hammered with leftover adrenaline. He listened to the quiet
wash of waves against the raft, felt the gentle rise and fall of it. The
Zodiac kept moving farther and farther from the shoreline. The SEALs
said nothing. He knew they were thinking about the quartet left behind.

Worrying. He was, too.

Finally, at least four hundred yards out, four black shapes suddenly
burst out of the water. Hands reached over the side of the raft. The men
grabbed the hands and scrambled aboard, one by one. Lieutenant Whelan
was last. He counted heads and nodded. “All accounted for. Nice work,
people.”

Nothing more was said until they were a half mile at sea. The searing
glare of a searchlight suddenly whipped across the dark water to the
north. It was sweeping the sea more than two miles away but approaching
rapidly.

“They’ll spot us soon,” the lieutenant said. “Better start the motor,
Chief.”

One of the SEALs cranked the sealed outboard motor, and the raft shot
ahead, bouncing like a toy across the tops of the swell. Jon held on,
enjoying the cold spray on his sweaty face. At the same time, he watched
the Chinese patrol boat uneasily. It was approaching through the night,
closer and closer, gunfire singing from it, looking for a target. Its
searchlight had yet to hone in on them, but when it did–

Then he saw a dark shape, towering ahead like a giant sea monster. It
was a submarine. American, thank God. At the same moment that the SEALs
raft reached the hulking steel sub, the searchlight on the patrol boat
finally found them. Bullets ripped through the rubber as they swarmed up
aboard, hauling Jon and the tattered Zodiac after them.

A voice on the bridge bawled, “Get below! Clear the decks!”

The patrol boat caught the submarine in the beam of its searchlight, and
its siren shrieked at them. The sub was already submerging as Jon, the
SEALs, and the deck crew hurtled down through the open hatches and
slammed them closed against the rushing sea. The patrol boat opened fire
with a heavy machine gun, but its bullets bounced harmlessly off the
steel. As the conning tower sank beneath the surface, the patrol boat
moved in aimless, frustrated circles.

Below, as Jon was escorted to a tiny cabin to clean up and rest, he
decided whoever had attacked them on the beach had not been national
security forces. If they had been, they would have sent more than a lone
patrol boat. No, whoever they were, their employer was private.

Beijing.

As befitted one of the older members of the Standing Committee,
Wei Gaofan’s walled compound inside Zhongnanhai had a choice location,
near the lotus-carpeted Nanhai–South Lake. In his courtyard stood a
manicured willow tree that swayed in the morning breeze, trailing its
jade-green branches over thick grass. Small flowering trees and groomed
flowers decorated the tiled paths that led to the four small buildings
that rimmed the courtyard. Crowned with graceful pagoda roofs, the
structures were decorated with columns carved with dragons, clouds, and
cranes symbolizing good fortune and longevity. He shared the largest
house with his wife, while their daughter, her child, and a babysitter
lived across from them. The third building was his office, while the
fourth was where the family entertained guests.

The sun had been up more than an hour when Feng Dun was admitted to
Wei’s office, which was appointed with small treasures from all of
China’s dynasties since the great Han. Wei, a connoisseur of tea, was
sitting at a table, drinking Longjing. Its subtle floral scent perfumed
the air. Unlike wine, which was best when aged, tea was most
flavorful–as well as most costly– when drunk the year it was picked.

This tea was hardly six months old. Grown in Hangzhou, Longjing was the
finest, most delicate tea in China.

Wei did not bother to offer any to Feng Dun, nor did he bother to hide
his anger. “So the American colonel escaped you.”

“He escaped the Public Security Bureau also.” Without an invitation to
sit, Feng Dun remained standing, staring down at Wei, who was bald and
narrow-eyed, with a bulky torso and spindly legs.

Wei looked at him sharply. “Fortunate for you.”

“Fortunate for both of us,” Feng said, his gaze unflinching as he
matched the hard stare of the immensely powerful member of the Standing
Committee.

Wei sipped his tea. “But General Chu and Major Pan suspect something.”

“Suspect perhaps, but don’t know and never will.”

Wei scowled again. “There’s Yu Yongfu’s wife, who is, I hear, missing.”

Feng shrugged. “There’s nothing she can do. Her father would be ruined,
and she’s too intelligent to want that. Your favor can make life very
good for him, her, and her children.”

“True.” But there was still doubt in Wei’s eyes. “So, was this American
agent really so skilled? How did he get away?”

“He’s good, but not good enough to get the manifest. As for his other
escapades, he was lucky, and he had help.”

“Whose help?”

“First, an interpreter and asset of the CIA, who is now dead. And later,
an underground cell of Uighers. They took him to his point of
extraction. The stupid police never suspected. They smiled and laughed
at the Uighers, and then they let them pass. Imbeciles.”

“Can you identify the Uighers?”

“We were never close enough, but they knew the city and countryside
well. Then American SEALs appeared and enabled their escape.”

Wei Gaofan nodded, pleased. “A submarine. That means the Americans are
very concerned about risking an incident. We are succeeding. You have
done well.”

Feng Dun inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment, but smarting
because he had not been offered the polite gesture of sharing tea.

Still, the time to bring up his rewards would come later, when Wei
Gaofan assumed his greater role in the destiny of China.

“The manifest is destroyed?” Wei continued.

“Burned.”

“You are sure?”

“I was there with Yu Yongfu when he burned it before taking his gun and
driving away,” Feng said. “Of course I followed.”

“The police have found no corpse.”

“They may never find it.”

“You saw him kill himself? With your own eyes?”

“Which is why I followed. And then he fell into the Yangtze. He wanted
it that way.”

Wei Gaofan smiled again. “We have nothing left to worry us, while the
Americans have much to worry them. Would you care for a cup of tea,
Feng?”

The Indian Ocean.

On the gray ocean, the guided missile frigate USS John Crowe slipped
into its assigned station. The water was placid, with a gentle southwest
swell and a following sea. Dawn glowed low across the sky behind them,
while to the west, night still reigned, dark and unfathomable. Radar had
raised the Crowe’s quarry, The Dowager Empress, an hour ago, but the
suspect ship was still invisible in the night ahead.