Dancing with the Dragon (2002) (16 page)

The president slowly removed his glasses. "I assume these people are tied to the string of crashes?"

"It would appear so. Six of the treasonous recruits have died mysterious deaths in the past two weeks and the other two are missing."

Hearing the Black Hawk VIP helicopter come to life, Hartwell reached for his cap. "Sir, I must excuse myself. Ebersole is waiting to give me a thorough briefing at the FBI Crisis Center."

"Get back to me as soon as you can," Macklin said.

"Yes, sir. Mr. President, I think it would be prudent to have our secretary of state fly to Beijing ASAP and personally visit with President Liu Fan-ding. In my opinion, he's on the edge of the precipice, and I think Secretary Shannon needs to visit with him in person."

"That would add some leverage," Macklin said, and looked at the world map on the wall. "We have to make damn sure Liu Fan-ding and his cronies understand the consequences of their actions."

Pete Adair spoke in a clear voice. "The tougher we are on China, the more quickly they get into compliance."

"I know, but we have to be very careful. We're already spread thin with the goings on in the campaign on terrorism."

Prost picked up his briefcase. "Mr. President, it's also time to start discussing issues with Beijing about China's military buildup near the Panama Canal."

"Let me think about that," Macklin said, then turned to his close friend, General Chalmers. "It's time for a summit, Les. How fast can we get two aircraft carriers into the waters of Southeastern Asia?"

He cast his gaze down and then looked at the president. "It's going to take a while--I'll let you know in a few minutes."

Chapter
11.

Denver Centennial Airport, Colorado

"Three hours and sixteen minutes," Scott said as the Learjet 35A touched down on runway one-seven-left.

Jackie removed her sunglasses and placed them in their case. "Not bad for a jarhead--you're a minute early."

"Better than being a minute late."

"Dinner at the Grant Grill says you can't hit a one-minute-window to San Diego--to Miramar--this afternoon."

"You're on. However, you're flying the leg to California, so I'm challenging you--can you handle it?"

"Piece of cake, hotshot."

After rolling out, Scott turned off the runway, and Jackie contacted ground control for permission to taxi to the Denver Jet Center, a local fixed-base operator.

When Scott brought the shiny Lear to a smooth stop in front of the FBO, her satellite phone rang. Jackie removed her headset and answered the phone while Scott shut down the engines, then joined the SEALs on the parking apron.

Dressed in nondescript business suits, the SEALs could have passed for typical corporate executives, even with their ultrashort haircuts. With their weapons concealed under their coats, Slocum and another SEAL stayed close to the Learjet, while the other two men surveyed the automobile parking areas and approaches to the aircraft apron.

While Scott was overseeing the fueling for the trip to MCAS Miramar, California, Jackie exited the aircraft and spoke to him in a hushed voice.

"That was Hartwell on the phone. I don't know what's going on, but he's canceled his trip to Seattle."

"Is he still going to meet us here?"

"Yes. He wants us to meet him at Denver International at thirteen hundred local. We'll meet him at Signature Flight Support, and then he's headed to Los Angeles. From what I gather, he'll join us at Miramar as soon as he can finish his business in Los Angeles."

"Wonder what's up?"

"We'll know soon enough. Hartwell was in a hurry, but he said it's imperative that he talk to us in person."

"Uh-oh," Scott said. He looked at the fuel truck and then hurried over to the young man who was servicing the jet. "Whoa, partner, stop the fueling--shut it down."

The lineman quickly shut off the fuel and gave Scott a questioning look. "Is there something wrong?"

"Our destination has changed. We're going nonstop to Denver International."

The lineman gave him an understanding look and went about rewinding the fueling hose.

"Well," Scott said, "I suppose we had better meet Merrick, then see if we can manage to navigate all the way to International without getting lost."

"Are you sure we have enough fuel?"

"Just barely."

FBI Crisis Center, Washington, D. C.

Nearly as large as a football field and capable of tracking many crises at the same time, the $20 million FBI Crisis Center complex houses the new Strategic Information and Operations Center. Covering more than forty thousand square feet on the fifth floor of the FBI headquarters, the supersecret SIOC (pronounced "sighock") facility has no windows.

Heavily shielded to prevent detection of electronic emissions, the state-of-the-art crisis center is packed with high-resolution five-by-fifteen-foot video screens and computers that can gather information instantaneously from around the world. The last seventy-two hours had been a madhouse, with analysts and agents working overtime to sort through one crisis after another.

Smart in dress and demeanor, FBI director Jim Ebersole was a small, wiry man with a large nose and an even larger ego. The oldest son of a washed-up, punch-drunk boxer from Hackensack, New Jersey, Ebersole had put himself through law school by driving dump trucks during the day and taking college classes at night.

Cautious and crafty, Ebersole spent an inordinate amount of time buffing his image in front of television cameras and user-friendly reporters.

After Hartwell was ushered into Ebersole's antiseptically clean high-tech office, the director and another man rose to greet Prost. Ebersole handled the introductions in his usual unctuous manner.

Before the elderly stranger offered his big paw, Hartwell could tell that Dr. Filo Neubauer was an eccentric man. The yellow bow tie adorned with a dozen smiling faces of Mickey Mouse was an obvious sartorial statement. Sporting a thick pompadour of snow-white hair and a neatly trimmed beard that was variegated in color, much like the fur of a calico cat, Neubauer looked morose.

Ebersole turned his attention to Prost. "Hartwell, as you know, Dr. Neubauer is an acclaimed physicist who is an expert in the field of lasers."

Hartwell politely nodded.

On the edge of his chair, Ebersole sat upright and cleared his throat. "He has an interesting story to tell you, one I think you will find quite intriguing and frightening."

"I'm sure I will."

"Dr. Neubauer," Ebersole prompted.

The Brown Palace Hotel, Denver

When Scott and Jackie joined Lt. Merrick Hamilton in her suite, the threesome settled in the living area. Merrick's two FBI escorts sat down across the room and tried to appear relaxed and inattentive to Hamilton and her visitors. Told by their superiors that Jackie and Scott were also FBI, the agents were not concerned.

Outside, a team of FBI agents guarded the entrances to the grand hotel while two special agents surveyed the surrounding area from the roof of the triangular landmark.

"How are you doing?" Jackie asked.

"I'm fine, really--just tired of being isolated in this hotel room." "I know what you mean."

"Hopefully," Scott interjected, "you won't have to be here much longer."

Merrick smiled. "At least I'm catching up on my reading." "Can you tell us what happened in Santa Barbara?" Jackie asked. "It's important that we know every detail."

For the next twenty minutes, Merrick gave them a precise and full account of the incident with the kidnappers, including a description of her abductors and the encounter with the highway patrolman.

"Were there any distinguishing characteristics, anything that was odd about either one of them?" Scott asked.

"The Caucasian had a thin mustache and a clipped English accent, and the Oriental man had his forearm and hand wrapped in a dressing."

"Do you remember which hand?"

"Yes, it was his right hand."

Scott and Jackie exchanged knowing glances.

"What about names?" Scott asked.

"The British guy introduced himself as Chauncey Harrington and referred to his partner as Zing or Zheng, something like that." "Anything else?"

"Yes, now that I think about it. Although Harrington did all the talking, I had the distinct impression that Zheng was in charge." "Why's that?"

"I saw Harrington catch Zheng's eye a couple of times, as if to seek his approval, and Zheng would discreetly nod his head."

Jackie looked at Scott. "ZhengY-something with an injured arm and hand--could be our man."

"I think he's our guy," Scott said, and turned to Merrick. "You've been a great help. Any chance we can take you to lunch?"

"That, I'm sorry to say, is strictly verboten." She handed him a menu. "But we can call room service and pamper ourselves." Scott smiled. "Ah . . . an actual free meal."

Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland

After the Marine Corps VH-60 Black Hawk helicopter landed on the apron, Hartwell Prost and his three assistants quickly boarded one of the air force C-32A VIP transports. A specially configured derivative of the twin-engine Boeing 757-200 airliner, the gleaming executive transport was part of the 89th Airlift Wing of the Air Mobility Command. Replacing the aging fleet of four-engine Boeing VC-137s (Boeing 707s), the new planes were used by the vice president, members of the cabinet and Congress, and various government officials.

While the jet taxied for takeoff, Hartwell settled into his seat, kicked his shoes off, and began devouring the neatly organized notes compiled by Dr. Filo Neubauer. Once he was finished with Neubauer's report, there was an intriguing stack of files Jim Ebersole had given him.

Immersed in his research material, Hartwell was impervious to the deep-throated thunder of the powerful engines. The sleek jet accelerated to rotation speed and gently lifted off the runway. After a quick stop at Denver International, Prost would continue to Los Angeles to inspect the secret laboratory near San Clemente, and then proceed to Miramar.

Chapter
12.

Denver International Airport

Scott slowly taxied the Learjet to Signature Flight Support and shut down the engines when a fuel truck approached. While Master Chief Slocum and his men reconnoitered the area around the Lear and the FBO, Scott monitored the fueling for the trip to California. Jackie went inside to check the weather and file an instrument flight plan to MCAS Miramar.

Fifteen minutes later, a pristine air force C-32A transport smoothly touched down at Denver International and taxied to Signature Flight Support.

After the big Boeing came to an imperceptible stop on the parking apron, ackie casually checked her wristwatch. "Exactly thirteen hundred."

"Yep, they're almost as good as we are."

"No one's that talented."

With the engines winding down, Hartwell Prost met Jackie and Scott at the forward entrance to the spacious VIP plane. He escorted them to a conference area, where the trio could converse in private. Once they were comfortably seated, Hartwell loosened his tie, then opened his briefcase and placed a briefing booklet on one of the foldout tables.

"We have a lot to cover. You may want to take notes."

They reached for the government pens and writing pads conveniently placed by their seats.

Prost cleared his throat. "We have reason to believe that Beijing may, and I emphasize may, be connected to the rash of strange accidents. Let me lay this out for you, then I'll answer questions and we'll discuss our options, okay?"

Scott and Jackie nodded.

Prost explained in detail about the voyage itineraries and movements of the various Chinese-flagged cargo ships and the related aircraft disasters, including the Chinese airliner full of dissidents and political activists. He continued the briefing with the latest information concerning the secret laboratory near the TRW Capistrano Test Site.

Hartwell concluded the summary with a report about eight engineers and scientists who had been the nucleus of the laser experiments at the laboratory.

"What was the focus of their work?" Scott asked.

"From what we understand, they were refining a prototype high-energy laser-based weapon system."

"Like the laser in the Team ABL 747s?"

"Yes, but they weren't concentrating their efforts on a system to destroy missiles in the initial stage of flight. The primary role of their system is to destroy aircraft and spacecraft. CIA analysts believe the weapon system could be deployed in cargo planes, railroad cars, truck trailers, cargo ships, possibly submarines, or adapted for use as a satellite killer."

Uncertain about a point in the FBI report, Prost reached for a briefing note. "According to Jim Ebersole, they believe the scientists and engineers were recruited by the same person, a Chinese national."

"Do you know his name?" Jackie asked.

Hartwell consulted his point paper and the photograph of the recruiter. "Let's see, his name is Zheng Yen-Tsung, and he is the--"