Covert One 4 - The Altman Code (48 page)

This time he wore a simple Western business suit, but his face was
neutral, as if he were delivering a recorded message. The same mixed
signals, but with more weight on the outrage this time.

“These intrusions into Chinese sovereignty are becoming intolerable!”

the tiny ambassador snapped, speaking this time in his perfect Oxbridge
English. His tones held barely suppressed fury.

The president remained seated behind his desk. “You might care to go
back out of the Oval Office, Ambassador Wu, and make a fresh entrance.”

Castilla caught a faint hint of a smile as Wu said, “My apologies, sir.

I fear I am so upset I forgot myself.”

The president refrained from saying Wu Bangtiao never forgot himself.

Bluntness had to be used judiciously. “I’m sorry to hear that,
Ambassador. What is it that’s so upset you?”

“An hour ago, I received a communication from my government that our
military in Sichuan Province reported a high-flying aircraft, identified
by our experts as an E-2C Hawkeye AWACS of the type flown by your navy,
had violated Chinese airspace two hours before. In light of your navy’s
continued harassment of our cargo ship on the high seas, my government
sees a pattern and strongly protests these incursions on our sovereign
rights.”

The president fixed his hard stare on Wu. “First, Mr. Ambassador, the
matter of the Empress violates no Chinese sovereign rights.”

“And the flyover? Would you know anything about that?”

“No, because I’m sure it never happened.”

“Sure, sir? But no categorical denial?”

“I’d be stupid to categorically deny what I know nothing about and which
could have a perfectly reasonable explanation should it actually have
happened. You say your military identified the aircraft as an AWACS? The
area you speak of is quite close to northern Burma, where we have drug
interdiction operations with, I believe, China’s full support.”

Wu inclined his head in acknowledgment. “A reasonable theory, Mr.
President. However, we’ve also had a report there was a possible
parachutist into Sichuan at nearly the same time. Near Dazu. Local
authorities are investigating as we speak.”

“Interesting. I wish them success.”

“Thank you, sir. Then I’ll bother you no more.” Wu, who had not been
invited to sit, started to turn toward the door.

“Not so fast, Ambassador. Please have a chair.” The president made his
expression as stern as possible. But underneath the severity he felt a
surge of optimism for the risk he was about to take. Wu Bangtiao had
said not a word about the abortive SEAL raid on the Empress. That could
mean only one thing–the Standing Committee knew nothing about the
SEALs’ attempt. The warning to the Chinese sub had been delivered by one
member or faction on the Standing Committee, while the rest were
ignorant.

Wu hesitated, unsure of what the unexpected request signified, then
smiled and sat. “You have another matter to discuss, Mr. President?”

“The matter of a Chinese submarine taking up a position perilously close
to the frigate Crowe. A warship threatening the warship of another
nation on the high seas? I believe that’d be considered an ” by any
standards of international law.”

“A simple precaution. Balancing the power, you might say. All vessels
have a right to be where they are. Under the circumstances, my
government considered it had no choice. After all”–the faint smile
appeared again– “we’re merely shadowing the shadower. A routine
matter.”

“Now, of course, because of all this, you’ve revealed one of your
secrets–

China has subs monitoring our Fifth Fleet. The Indian Ocean is the only
place it could have come from so quickly.” A flat statement.

Wu’s careful eyes flickered. Perhaps it was annoyance that his overall
negotiating position had been undercut by someone in Beijing. Still, he
said nothing.

“We, of course, had always considered such surveillance a possibility,
but now we have concrete confirmation. But be that as it may”–the
president waved his hand–“I’m going to do something unusual. Something,
I might say, not all my advisers agree with. I’m going to tell you why
the Crowe is there. A few days ago, we received incontrovertible
information that the Empress is carrying substantial quantities of
thiodiglycol and thionyl chloride. I doubt I need to tell you what those
chemicals can be used for.”

The president waited.

When the ambassador’s expression did not change and he made no comment,
the president continued, “The quantities are substantial. In fact, so
substantial that they could have no other purpose but weapons
manufacture.”

Wu stiffened. “Another Yinhe? Really, sir, wasn’t once–”

The president shook his head. “That time, you knew for certain we were
wrong. That allowed you to stonewall to the end and make us look like
louts. It was a win-win situation for you. If we didn’t board, you
appeared to have made us back down, scoring major points. If we did
board, we’d be seen as reckless and arrogant. Since we boarded, you
scored a coup on the international stage.”

Wu appeared stunned. “I’m shocked, Mr. President. We were simply
supporting international law, then and now.” “Bullshit,” the president
said pleasantly. “However, I’ve told you this for a reason–this time we
believe Zhongnanhai doesn’t know what the Empress is really carrying and
never has known. We think Zhongnanhai is totally uninvolved in the
venture and was surprised by the appearance of the Crowe. Which means
that when we do board, whatever else happens, your nation is going to
look very bad at a time when trade with the rest of the world is one of
your long-term, paramount goals.”

For a time, Wu Bangtiao sat silently, his steady gaze fixed on the
president, obviously assembling his thoughts. When the words came, once
more what they did not say carried the real meaning: “We could not
permit such a gross violation as boarding a Chinese flag vessel in the
open sea.”

No protest, no denial, no hedging, no bluster.

The president heard the unsaid. “Neither the United States, nor the
world–including China–can risk chemical weapons of mass destruction in
the hands of irresponsible regimes.”

Wu nodded. “Then, sir, we have an impasse. What do you suggest?”

“Perhaps concrete proof could break the impasse. The actual manifest.”

“Proof would be impossible, since no such cargo could come from China.

However, could such proof exist, my government would, in the interest of
international law, have to consider it.”

“If it exists.”

“Which it cannot.” The president smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.
That, I think, concludes our meeting.”

Ambassador Wu stood, inclined his head again, and walked from the Oval
Office.

The president watched him go. Then he pressed his intercom button. “Mrs.
Pike? Ask the chief of my secret service detail to come to the Oval
Office.”

President Castilla sat in the shaded Covert-One office of Fred Klein.

“Your AWACS and Jon Smith were spotted outside Dazu. The local
authorities are looking for him. At least that was what Ambassador Wu
said.”

“Damn,” Klein swore. “I’d hoped that wouldn’t happen. Colonel Smith’s
got a tough enough job as it is.”

“Why didn’t you use a B-2? The stealth properties would’ve been useful.”

“No time to get one from Whiteman. We had to go with what the navy had
available. I’d have used a higher flying fighter, but we didn’t want to
risk an ejection seat being found. How much did they spot?”

“All the ambassador said was the plane had been detected and a
parachutist might have been seen coming down.”

“Good. That probably means they’re not even sure about the chute, and
they haven’t come close to pinpointing his landing or found his
equipment. With any luck, he’s on schedule.”

“With the help you had waiting that I don’t want to know about?”

“That’s the plan, and let’s say the Chinese wouldn’t like our ” any
more than they would an all-American operation.”

The president related the rest of his meeting with Ambassador Wu. “We
were right. Beijing knew nothing about the Empress until the Crowe
showed up, which clued them in that something was wrong. I think when I
named the chemicals, Wu was shocked. He’ll report to Zhongnanhai. How
close are we to having that manifest?”

“I haven’t heard from Smith, but I didn’t expect to yet. Any word about
the new leaker?”

“No, dammit. We’re looking. I’ve cut back every piece of information to
only those who must know.”

Monday, September 18.

Dazu.

From where they waited deep inside the small grove of trees, Jon
could hear an occasional car or truck roar past on the distant toll
expressway. A mile or more away in three directions, a few farmhouses
still showed light. The tense breathing of the Uighers was a nervous
rhythm in his ears, along with the slow beat of his own heart. A Uigher
grunted as he shifted position. Jon moved, too, loosening his joints.

But from the prison camp itself, there was nothing. No sound, no
movement.

Asgar peered at his watch. “Our two chaps should’ve been here by now.

Something’s not right.”

“You’re sure they were ready to leave?”

“Should’ve been. We’d better go in and take a check.”

“That sounds like trouble.”

“Should we abort?”

Jon mulled. He wanted to get David Thayer out of prison, but he was
concerned about bringing hordes of police and military down on the area
and frightening Li Kuonyi away from the meeting. Still, Asgar,
Chiavelli, and he–working together–increased the chances of success.

Three armed professionals. Otherwise, it was just Chiavelli and Thayer,
and Thayer had probably not fired a gun in a half century, if even then.

One way or another, the pair would attempt to escape tonight. If they
got out but alerted prison authorities in the process, they would bring
armed troops to the area.

The safest outcome was to help Thayer escape undetected.

Jon said, “Let’s find them.”

Asgar circulated among his people, telling them in a quiet voice what
was happening and what he planned. He tapped three to accompany him and
Jon, and the five slipped out of the woods. Bent and silent, they
trotted across a newly planted field, where Jon’s bruised body ached
from running on such soft soil, then through a shadowy orchard of
ripening apple trees, where the firmer soil helped him recover.

With a signal from Asgar, they came to an abrupt halt and went to
ground. Before them, to the left and right, extended an open space that
had been cleared around the perimeter of the prison’s chain-link fence.

Rolled razor wire topped the fence. About ten yards deep, the open area
was littered with dry clods of dirt. It was unplanted, unwatered,
untrampled–a sterile no-man’s-land.

“I’m going to the fence,” Asgar whispered. “I’ll take–” “You’ll take
me,” Jon said. “I want to let Chiavelli and Thayer know I’m here, and I
can’t communicate with your men anyway. They can stay back and cover
us.”

“All right then. Come along.”

Crouched, they tore toward the fence. Jon sweated from the strain on his
sore muscles. Just as they reached it, a searchlight blazed on from the
guard tower to their left. They dove to the dirt, their bodies pressed
tight against the fence. Dust from the dry earth filled Jon’s nostrils.

He fought a sneeze, at last swallowing it.

Asgar’s whisper was little more than a vibration as the searchlight beam
probed, passed over, and passed over again. “What the devil’s going on?

I’ve never seen them this alert.”

“Something’s spooked them.”

“Right. When that light gives up, we crawl west.”

In the darkened barrack room, David Thayer was seated at his plank
table, packing a few keepsakes and papers into a waistpack.

Dennis Chiavelli held a small flashlight so Thayer could see what he was
doing. The light illuminated Thayer’s thatch of white hair from beneath,
making it glow like fresh snow.

“You okay to do this?” Chiavelli asked. “This could turn out to be a lot
harder than we expect. You could be hurt or die. It’s not too late to
change your mind.”

Thayer looked up. His faded eyes danced. “Are you insane? I’ve been
waiting a lifetime. Literally. I’m going to see America again. I’m going
to see my son again. Impossible! I feel like an old fool, but I can
hardly believe this is happening.” Unembarrassed joy radiated from his
wrinkled face.

Chiavelli jerked around toward the window. “What’s that?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

But the old man’s hearing was bad. Chiavelli crossed to the window.

“Damn!” He peered out and cursed softly again.

“What is it?”

“The governor. He’s got a squad with him. They’re doing a barrack check.

Now they’re heading for the Uighers. My guess is our barrack is next.”

Thayer’s parchment skin paled. “What do we do?”

“Return everything to where it was.” Chiavelli sprinted back from the
window. “Undress again and pretend to sleep. Hurry.”

Moving with amazing speed for a man of his years, David Thayer put the
few keepsakes and papers back where they belonged, stripped off his
outer clothes, and pulled his nightshirt down over his head. At the same
time, Chiavelli yanked off his clothes and, wearing his underwear, slid
into his pallet.

The noise of a door banging open into the barrack silenced them. Moments
later, two guards entered the room, ordering, “On your feet.”

Both feigned sleepiness, and the guards pulled them roughly up from
their pallets.

As the governor entered, he glared at Chiavelli and chided the guards,
“Don’t be so rough on the old one.” He studied Thayer for a sign he had
not been in his pallet. “You were asleep, prisoner Thayer?” “I was
having good dreams,” he said irritably, his eyes half-closed.