Dancing with the Dragon (2002) (42 page)

She switched radio frequencies to monitor approach control at the Mianyang Nanjiao Airport. "As long as we stay low, I don't think they'll get a primary target."

"Let's hope not."

The rain subsided as they neared Luojiang, allowing Jackie to increase the airspeed. Less than ten minutes later, she lowered the landing gear and began her visual approach to Mianyang. The GPS was incredibly accurate. It placed the Agusta in the exact position Scott had circled on the satellite photographs.

"Any doubts?" she asked without taking her eyes off the scattered lights on the ground.

"Doubts, are you kidding? If I had any brains, we'd be doing something rational--like having a nice dinner at a fine restaurant where they don't allow firearms."

"Do you think we need some kind of counseling?"

"Counseling? No way--this is perfectly normal behavior," he said with a nervous laugh.

The rain increased, causing Jackie to lose sight of her ground reference points. She kept her instrument scan going as she eased the helicopter down. Finally, in near zero-zero conditions, she glimpsed the muddy field and began her approach.

Scott made a final check of his weapons and gear. "You keep the engines running, and we'll stay in touch by radio. If anyone comes near you, get the hell out of here and we'll work something out."

She nodded. "If you find him and he doesn't want to--"

"If he doesn't want to go, he won't be of any further use to the Chinese--end of story."

When Jackie began her flare for the landing, some of the lights in the Mianyang compound began to disappear behind the hill. As the Agusta touched down in the mud, all the lights had vanished from sight.

"Good luck," Jackie said, and squeezed his hand.

He reached for one pair of the night vision binoculars and a set of large bolt cutters. "Thanks--keep your eyes open."

"I will."

Scott stepped out into the cold, driving rain and hurried toward the isolated housing area. He stopped for a radio check after he had rounded the hill that obscured the helicopter.

"Eggbeater, how copy Nighthawk?" he asked while he panned across the area with the enhanced binoculars.

"Loud and clear."

"Same with you." Scott cautiously approached the complex. He dropped to the wet ground and began crawling toward the back side of the housing units. There were bright lights at each corner of the compound, one shining inside and two others casting beams of light into the darkness outside the compound.

He stopped and raised the binoculars to check on the poorly lighted areas on both sides of the housing complex. He didn't detect any movement and continued to crawl toward the living quarters.

About fifteen feet from the high chain link fence, Scott froze when he saw the glow of a cigarette. The sentry was sitting in an unlighted guard-shack near the rear entrance to the compound. The simple structure reminded Scott of a firecracker stand.

Approaching the wooden shelter, Dalton drew his K-Bar knife out of the sheath. When he was about three feet away from the guard, Scott started rising to his feet. After he was upright, he stepped on something that snapped. "Shit!"

The sentry spun around and Scott lunged at him, driving the knife deep into the chest of the Chinese guard. The soldier silently slumped to the ground. Dalton sheathed his K-Bar and then grabbed three keys off the wall and opened the gate with the second key he tried. He tossed the bolt cutters on the ground and wiped mud off his fatigues and body-armor vest.

"Eggbeater, Nighthawk," he whispered into the wireless radio. "Nighthawk, go."

Scott reached for his Sig Sauer. "I'm about to enter the compound."

"Copy."

There were three buildings, each with a central hallway and four apartment-like living quarters. Scott quietly entered the closest building and heard Chinese music coming from the first apartment.

"I'm in the southernmost building."

"Copy--everything is okay here."

"Good."

He passed the closed door and crossed the hall to the next apartment, glancing through a partially opened door. Two men, both middle-aged Chinese, were playing a board game and watching television.

From the sounds coming from the next two apartments, one a very animated conversation, Scott could tell the occupants were Chinese.

He left the building with grave doubts about finding Dr. Cheung, let alone rescuing him. What am I doing on this boondoggle?

"No joy in the first unit." He moved slowly toward the next. "I'm entering the second building."

"Roger." Jackie searched for any movement near the helicopter and then glanced at the engine instruments.

Scott quietly entered the building and wondered how long his luck would hold out before someone spotted him.

He stopped and whispered into his radio. "I'm in the middle building."

"Copy."

Scott approached the first of the four living quarters. No discernible sound came from inside the apartment. He slowly opened the door and did a double take. Scott's heart caught in his throat as Dr. Richard Cheung, who was lying on a couch, looked up at him in slack-jawed silence.

The stupefied physicist turned pale and bolted upright to a sitting position, rigid with fear at the sight of the camouflaged, mud-covered warrior with the 9mm Sig Sauer. Stepping inside, Scott quickly closed the door and motioned for Cheung to keep quiet.

"I'm here to help you."

"What?"

"Don't say a word--just listen to me, understand?"

Overwhelmed with shock, Cheung swallowed hard and nodded his head. Jackie listened to Scott's conversation and maintained a careful watch for intruders.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

The plump man's face reflected raw fear and indecisiveness. "Yes," he answered in a faltering voice, "but I'm not sure if I should go back home--back to the United States--right now."

Monitoring the communication between the two men, Jackie spoke forcefully to Scott. "Tell him the truth--tell him what he's facing."

"Your laser project for the Red Chinese has been exposed. You've been found out and you're in deep shit, my man--up to your neck."

Stunned by the revelation, Cheung sagged against the couch, his eyes wide. "Oh, no, what have I done?" His voice was barely audible. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"You're facing a charge of treason--know what that means?" "Yes--yes, I do." Cheung grimaced as he considered the enormity of his offense.

"On the other hand, if you cooperate with the U. S. authorities, they'll go easy on you--that's straight from the White House."

A blank look crossed Dr. Cheung's pasty face.

"Do you comprehend what I'm telling you?" Scott said, and grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt. "We don't have a lot of time to waste!"

Cheung had reservations, and it showed in his darting eyes. "I understand, but I'm not sure if that's what I should--if that's the right thing for me to do."

"Dammit, do you want to go back to your country or not--your decision, but make it quick!"

"Yes, I want to go home, but they'll kill me if I try to escape--they've made that clear."

"Listen to me. They're going to kill you anyway--when you're no longer useful to them."

Cheung's pleading eyes grew even larger as fear paralyzed his ability to think rationally. "No, they told me that I could go home when I completed the last of the tests and--"

Scott grabbed the man by the collar and twisted it. "Six of your colleagues--Mills-Morrison, Aycock, Owens, Douville, Fitzpatrick, and Kalenkov--have been murdered in the past three weeks. You and Dr. Nash will be next. It's just a matter of time--do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Like a guppy out of water, Cheung opened and closed his mouth without uttering a sound.

"Let's go," Scott said harshly.

Cheung began to tremble and his body went limp.

"Look, we don't have a smorgasbord of options here!" Scott snatched Cheung to his feet and shoved him toward a small closet. "If you have a raincoat, get it."

At the same moment, Jackie's concentration was broken when she saw beams from flashlights near the side of the hill. She immediately added power as a rifle round penetrated the clamshell door covering the right engine. Lifting free of the mud, Jackie raised the landing gear and pushed the Agusta to its performance limits as more rounds struck the helicopter.

"Scott, I'm taking fire and heading east! Do you copy?" "Roger."

"We're going to have to use a different pickup point." "I'll work on it--stay low."

"If I get any lower, I'll be plowing ground."

Dr. Cheung grabbed his weatherworn raincoat and shut the closet door. Frightened about having to face a charge of treason, he searched his mind for a bargaining chip. I was kidnapped, held against my will, and I have the hard drives from the laser project they forced me to work on.

Shaking from fear, Cheung looked straight at Dalton and spoke rapidly. "I can give you the hard drives--all the laser technology. I have access to the computer room."

Scott looked intensely at Cheung. "How many are there?" "Four."

"The entire project is contained on four hard drives?"

"Yes," Cheung said in a whisper. "The Chinese were very suspicious of everyone. They kept the project very tightly controlled." Scott paused, unsure if he should take the chance. "Where's the computer room?"

"It's in the building in front of these apartments."

"Is it guarded--anybody there at this time of night?"

"No." Cheung clutched his hands together to keep them from shaking. "An alarm sounds if the wrong access code is used." "Okay, let's go."

They hurried outside and quickly walked to the building. Using his left hand to steady his shaking right hand, Cheung punched the code into the door lock and they went inside. The hallways were well lighted, but the computer room was dark. After they entered the room, Scott quietly shut the door. He used his flashlight to illuminate the computers while Dr. Cheung removed four hard drives and placed them in separate static sensitive bags. He bundled the hard drives together and put them in a large waterproof satchel.

A few seconds later the door flew open with a loud bang and two rounds from a 9mm Beretta blew holes in the wall next to Scott's head.

Chapter
29.

Manchuria, China

Fully integrated into the political structure of Beijing, Manchuria is the industrial heartland of China. On a secondary road in a heavily wooded area of the Mandarin Dongbei region, four road-mobile DF-31 ICBMs were being transported to a remote launch site. The ponderous vehicles had heavy-duty dual axles front and rear. They also had a powerful lift system to position the solid-fuel missiles for flight.

Capable of striking Hawaii, Alaska, and sites in western America, the East Wind ballistic missiles had single one-megaton warheads, an explosive force equivalent to that of a million tons of TNT Showcased in the grand parade in Beijing marking the fiftieth anniversary of Communist rule, the three-stage ICBMs were central to China's military prestige.

The crack People's Liberation Army teams who maintained and fired the deadly missiles had been given orders, straight from Beijing, to prepare for a launch. Aware of the fierce battle in the Taiwan Strait, the men had heard many conflicting stories about the outcome of the conflict. Many of the soldiers believed that China was going to use short-range and medium-range missiles to attack U. S. military bases in Japan, South Korea, and Guam.

One thing was almost certain among the crews: The DF-31 East Wind ballistic missiles would be targeted at American soil.

Mianyang, China

"Drop your weapon," Zheng Yen-Tsung shouted, flipping on the light switch. "Drop it!"

Scott immediately recognized the man from his photograph. "Drop your weapon!" Zheng said. "Drop it now!"

Silently cursing his bad luck, Dalton allowed the Sig Sauer to fall to the floor as he swept the tiny radio from his left ear.

Zheng glanced at the armed guards accompanying him, allowing Scott a second to surreptitiously drop the radio behind him.

Smiling with mischief in his eyes, Zheng searched Scott's face. "You're a very predictable man, Mr. Dalton."

Scott remained quiet and dropped his flashlight.

"Very predictable indeed," ZhengYen-Tsung repeated with great satisfaction in his voice.

Scott was surprised that Zheng spoke English so fluently. He noticed the deep, reddish scar on the man's right hand. Part of his thumb and forefinger were missing. The wound was obviously the result of their close encounter in Pensacola.

"Put your hands on top of your head," Zheng ordered. "Now, before I blow your head off!"

Without any visible sign of emotion or fear, Scott complied while Dr. Cheung slowly backed away from the mud-caked American.

"I knew you would show up here," the ever-smiling Zheng said with a smug look. "You couldn't resist, could you?"