Книга - China Crisis

China Crisis
Don Pendleton


When talks and negotiations stall, when rampant violence goes unchecked, the covert arm of the U.S. Justice Department enters the fray at Presidential command.United by an unspoken bond of commitment and patriotism, Stony Man operates for a just cause: the sanctity of the free world, even if keeping it safe demands the ultimate sacrifice. When a Chinese test missile crashes inside the Afghan desert, a conspiracy of global proportions explodes. The missile is fitted with stolen American technology and Beijing will be caught in diplomatic crosshairs unless they can retrieve the hardware. A Stony Man team is dispatched to get it first–and bring tough justice to the shadow organization deep within the U.S. government selling America's biggest military secret to the world.









China Crisis

Don Pendleton


Stony Man


AMERICA'S ULTRA-COVERT INTELLIGENCE AGENCY










www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)




Contents


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE




PROLOGUE


Second Department, Intelligence, Beijing, China.

“We are nothing if not versatile,” Director Su Han said. “Industrial espionage is something we have excelled at for many years. At this juncture it can serve us well. Rapid advancement can be ours simply by jumping a generation as it were. The Americans have devoted years and millions of dollars developing the current technology. Now we can reap the benefits.”

“I fully appreciate the concept,” Dr. Lin Cheung said quietly. “My only concern is that this kind of illicit dealing will only increase American hostility toward us if they discover what we are doing.”

“The Americans would like nothing better than to see China remain a backward nation where weapons are concerned. It suits them if we were to remain singularly weak and unable to fully defend ourselves. It keeps us in our place, which would be behind both the Americans and the Russians. That imbalance sits well with the American military. They would breathe easier if we stayed in the background. It would allow their expansion in this part of the world.” The Director leaned forward. “Our voice must be heard. Through military strength we cannot be ignored. If we fall behind, then we have no one to blame but ourselves. This must not be allowed. I will not allow it.”

Director Han waited for his words to take effect. He looked around the table, seeing the approving nods coming from the uniformed military presence. His words were what they had been hoping to hear. He turned his attention to Lin Cheung. He sat quietly considering the director’s statement. Han allowed himself a slight smile. As always, Cheung considered every facet of any proposal before he took it on board. It wasn’t that he was a weakling. Cheung possessed a fertile mind, brimming with originality, but always tempered by caution, and though he might never vocalize it, Han appreciated Cheung’s input. He was almost Han’s conscience.

“Cheung? You are quiet,” Han said, gently prodding the man with his words.

Cheung, slim and reserved in contrast to his superior, turned his full attention to Han.

“We will need to work very carefully. Be certain that whoever we deal with can supply what we need without exposure. Once the Americans become suspicious, they will increase security on all projects and suppliers that we might find all avenues closed against us. If we are shut out before we have all we need then the whole project will falter.”

“Exactly why I have entered into a partnership with an organization that will handle that part of the deal for us,” Han said. “They will gain the major technology for us. And we will pay them for it, leaving us clear to simply handle the hardware and adapt it for our own use.”

“Who are these people?” an air force colonel asked.

“They call themselves Shadow,” Han said, smiling indulgently. “I find these people amusing with their little code names. But in the instance of this group they are extremely proficient. I have had excellent reports from previous users of their services.”

“Have you met them?”

Han nodded. “I have had successful meetings with the man who heads Shadow. He calls himself Townsend. His background is the U.S. military. Many of his people are also ex-military.”

The Chinese army representative, a heavyset man in his sixties, registered alarm.

“You make deals with the Americans? The nation we are competing against?”

“Who better to understand the intrigues of the military-industrial complex? Townsend has contacts, people in place, the means and the motive to provide what we need.”

“Motive?”

Even Cheung understood the response to this.

“Money. The driving force behind the American psyche. It is what keeps the U.S. living and breathing. It is their god.”

“Nicely put, Cheung,” Director Han said. “Shadow operates like any American company, providing a service we pay for. They are not going to risk damaging their own reputation by trying to cheat us. There is a whole world out there willing to hand over large amounts of money for their expertise.”

“Is this entirely wise?” another dissenting voice questioned.

“Do you think I would contemplate such a venture without extreme investigation?” Han asked. “I understand your reservations, but be assured that the security constraints I have raised to shield us will defy any and all attempts at penetration.”

Cheung said nothing this time. He had past experience of so-called impenetrable security protocols. He did not trust them. As secrets were often betrayed, so were loyalties and promises. People were simply people in the end. Whatever nationality, whatever regime, there were always those who harbored weaknesses that could be exploited. Bought and paid for by any number of means or combination of means. Monetary, sexual, politically motivated, or through misguided reasons. It was extremely difficult to maintain total security, and the Chinese were no different than anyone else. He was well aware that the reigning Chinese regime had many enemies, both out of and within the country. The hard-line, Marxist style of government was held in contempt by many of its own people. That the government came down hard on any form of dissention only added fuel to the flames of resistance and simply pushed those dissenters deeper underground where they continued to work on their own manifestos. Director Han had to be aware of such counters to the Chinese administration, and in light of that he had to accept that the covert acquisition of American technology was open to exposure by those who sought to get their hands on anything that might cause embarrassment to the Beijing masters. Whatever he felt on the matter, Lin Cheung kept it to himself.

A short time later, when the meeting had been concluded, Han beckoned Cheung to stay behind. When they were alone he gestured for Cheung to take a seat next to his at the table.

“A quiet word, my friend. This undertaking has the problem of being an unqualified success for us, or a rather messy failure. You agree?”

Cheung inclined his head. “All matters we involve ourselves in have their plus and minus sides.”

Han smiled.

“Lin Cheung, the master of understatement. I sensed during the meeting a faint air of disapproval. Does my intuition serve me well?”

“Only from the point that I can see that gaining this technology could take us forward, but with grave repercussions if something goes wrong. The Americans would orchestrate great political profit if they exposed our intent. Even more if they had names and faces to go with that exposure.”

“Then we will have to be certain nothing does happen to put us in the spotlight.”

“Easy to say, but difficult to put into practice.”

Han leaned back in his seat. “Yes. I will not deny that. But we must take the chance. We need this technology. China needs to maintain its place alongside America and Russia. Too much is at stake to allow us to slide into a weak third place. If we are not careful, North Korea will overtake us and that is something Beijing will not tolerate. Can you imagine how Pyongyang would crow if they gained superiority over us?” Han shook his head. “We must regain the lost ground, Cheung. If this is the only way, then we pursue it with all our might.”

“You have my support as always,” Cheung assured the director.

“I never doubted it. As soon as you have concluded your business here I want you to return to Guang Lor. I have the authority to give SD-1 anything you need. Work your people day and night on the prototypes. I am already in discussion with Shadow to start supplying us with hardware as soon as they obtain it. Have your technology sections ready to commence work once we receive consignments. And be ready to initiate a test launch as quickly as possible so that we can show we are capable of giving them what they want.”

Six months later

D OCTOR L IN C HEUNG HEARD the knock on his office door. He continued pouring the pale tea from pot to cup before he raised his head and spoke.

“Come,” he said.

The door opened and Major Kang stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. Kang was young, ambitious and had an elevated sense of his own importance. He strode across to Cheung’s desk and stood rigid while Cheung turned, cup in hand, and sat down.

“Tell me, Kang, do you sleep at attention?” he asked casually.

Kang’s expression failed to register any emotion. Sighing inwardly, Cheung tried to imagine what it had to be like to go through life without a shred of humor in his body. He was unable to grasp the concept, except to realize that Kang had to be a miserable individual. Being dedicated to the State was a laudable ambition but allowing it to turn the individual into a humorless drone was going too far. When he looked at Kang he felt sorry for the man. He understood Kang’s problem. The boy had been indoctrinated almost from birth, taught nothing but ideological dogma to the total exclusion of everything else.

Cheung sipped his tea, placed the cup on the desk and turned his attention on Kang.

“Your call suggested a problem. Tell me about it.”

“The C26-V missile being tested has been lost, Doctor.”

“Major Kang, would you define the word lost for me.”

“Our tracking station was monitoring the performance of the missile.”

“I’m aware of that. But you said lost.”

“The test firing was going well until a short time ago. All functions were working as expected until the missile stopped responding to instructions.”

A small shred of unease raised its head. Cheung leaned forward to pick up one of the telephones on his desk.

“Put me through to Kwok. Immediately.” He lowered the receiver and glanced at Kang. “Go on.”

“Contact was lost just after the missile was tracked moving in the direction of the border with Afghanistan. Self-destruct failed to initiate. The last thing registered was the C26 almost at the border.”

A voice was speaking through the receiver. Cheung put to his ear and heard the measured tones of Yen Kwok, the launch controller.

“…have lost all contact with the missile.”

“Give me your best guess,” Cheung said.

Kwok’s sigh was answer enough.

“I’m certain we lost it close to the border. With its remaining fuel I’d say it traveled at least twenty, maybe thirty miles before it came down.”

“Yen, what else? ”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I have known you too long, Yen. There’s something else you haven’t mentioned.”

The pause was long, heavy with dread, and when Kwok spoke it was as bad as Cheung had expected.

“I just had a talk with Sung. Because of the demand we had from Director Han the missile had to be readied so fast. Sung had no time to…”

“Just tell me.”

“The stabilizing and control circuit board we were duplicating wasn’t ready in time. Sung panicked.”

“Let me guess. He used one of the American boards we acquired. A stolen piece of technology that probably has Made in the U.S.A. stamped across it.”

“Yes. One of the shipment we purchased from Shadow.”

“Foolish.”

“Sung is beside himself.”

“I mean Han. Always pushing. Demanding so much but denying us the time to develop things correctly.” Cheung thought for moment. “Yen, keep things calm out there. See what you can do about locating where the missile went down. If we can find it quickly enough, perhaps we can retrieve it before it falls into the wrong hands.”

“And if we can’t?”

“We’ll worry about that if it happens.”

Cheung put the phone down and gathered his thoughts. He suddenly remembered that Kang was still with him.

“Major Kang, assemble a retrieval team. Use the helicopter. If the missile can be located, we have to get our hands on it before anyone else does.”

“Who else would..?”

“Any of those damned dissident groups. We know they’ve been skulking around the district, just waiting for something they can use to embarrass us. Surely you understand that if they got their hands on the missile and found we were utilizing stolen American technology it would be a great propaganda coup for them. It would cause Beijing a great deal of embarrassment having to explain how U.S. circuit boards were fitted in a Chinese missile.”

“Deny everything,” Kang said, his approach simplistic almost to the border of naivete.

“I truly wish it was that simple, Kang, but we live in the real world, not the fantasy one Beijing sometimes favors. As long as that stolen item exists, there is always the possibility of it being traced back to where we obtained it. If the people who sold it to us found themselves compromised, any kind of loyalty toward us would simply vanish. Survival is the strongest emotion within the human animal when it comes down to choice. And do not forget the money trail. With all the electronic movement in the world the slightest chance of connecting buyer to seller…” Cheung paused, aware of Kang’s expression. “Never mind, Kang. I do not suspect that military training covers the world of banking and illegal money laundering. Suffice it to say that our surest way of preventing any repercussions is to recover the circuit board from the missile before anyone else. Do that and we avert complications. That, Major Kang, is your objective.”

Kang nodded.

“Leave it to me, sir.”

He turned and left the office, heels clicking on the hard floor. Cheung sighed. He returned to his pot of tea, pouring himself a fresh cup. There was nothing else he could do at this precise moment. He would have to depend on Kang’s devotion to duty. He had no doubt as to the young officer’s skill in his chosen career. Kang would pursue his mission will fervent zeal. Cheung felt a moment of pity for anyone who got in Kang’s way and did not give the answers the man wanted to hear.




CHAPTER ONE


CIA Field Surveillance Unit

Agent Arnie Trickett was starting to get nervous. It showed in the way he was pacing back and forth in the surveillance truck, constantly peering at the monitors. He was downing paper cups of black coffee as if the stuff was going to go on ration.

“Arnie, sit before you wear a hole through the bottom of the truck,” his partner Jack Schofield said. “It’s going to go down.”

“Yeah? Well we’re going to look like a pair of prize dicks if it doesn’t. We only got the go-ahead because of our input. All the intelligence is ours.”

“And it’s sound.” Schofield swung his seat around. “Arnie, what’s wrong? Why the jitters?”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve tried to catch that bastard Townsend with the goods. Every time he’s slipped through the nets free and clear. We can’t touch the guy without evidence that’s one-hundred-and-one-percent solid. I don’t see that happening. The guy is laughing all the way to the bank, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Patience, my boy, patience. We’ll catch him. Even Townsend has to slip up sooner or later. When he does, it’s payday.”

The third member of the observation team snapped his fingers.

“We got contact,” he said. His name was Zach Jordan. He was younger than both Trickett and Schofield, with only a few years’ field experience. “Looks like Riotta. Yes. Confirmed. Joseph Riotta.”

Trickett leaned over to scan the monitor.

He saw that a dark sedan had parked outside the deserted warehouse where the exchange had been arranged. A man was already out of the vehicle, standing beside the front passenger door, gazing around the abandoned industrial site. Jordan zoomed in with the camera and brought the man’s face into full view. Even in the gloom Trickett was able to recognize Joseph Riotta. He had looked at dozens of images of the man over the past few weeks, along with other members of the group Riotta was in with.

“What’d I tell you,” Schofield said. He leaned forward to open a switch and spoke into his headset mike. “First contact made. Stay alert, people. We should be getting more visitors anytime now. Will advise. Nobody moves until I give the word. Let’s get these people in one spot before we net them.”

There was more to it than that. Getting Townsend’s people and the sellers in one place was nothing on its own. They needed an actual exchange to take place, with goods and money in evidence before a conviction could be guaranteed. Schofield’s years with the Agency had taught him one thing: total, unbreakable evidence was required before any case could progress. They needed more than simple knowledge of a crime. They had to have the whole package, which was why he understood Trickett’s nerves were strung so tight. His partner was a born worrier. He liked every detail nailed down before he could relax. That wasn’t a bad thing in their line of work. It was only that it made life difficult for anyone working with him. Trickett’s insistence on overplanning sometimes bordered on the irritating.

“Hey, this looks like what we’ve been waiting for,” Trickett said, pointing at one of the monitors. It showed a dark-colored SUV cruising along the service road that would bring it to the warehouse where Riotta had parked.

“Be advised,” Schofield said. “Second party has shown up. Be ready.”

He left his mike open to avoid any delay when he gave the order to move in. Now he turned his attention back to the monitors, studying the people under the eye of the CIA cameras.

“They going ahead?” he asked.

Jordan shook his head. “All they seem to be doing is standing around talking.”

Something stirred the back of Schofield’s mind. Both parties were present. There was no logical reason why they should stand around passing the time of day. Unless they were waiting for something else to happen.

But what?

The faint stirring took on an uneasy edge as Schofield allowed his mind to permutate the options, and even as he did, a disturbing thought entered his consciousness.

In was then that he heard the door to the surveillance truck click as the handle was turned. He felt a rush of chill air and he turned to look over his shoulder…. T HE PEOPLE LISTENING to the tape later heard Schofield say, “What are you doing here? I didn’t see your name on the roster for—”

There was a subdued cough of sound, easily identified as the chug of 9 mm bullets exiting the muzzle of a sound suppressor. It was stated in the written report that the weapon had most probably been a 9 mm Uzi on full-auto, expending its entire magazine in seconds. The end result was inevitable. Arnie Trickett, Jack Schofield and Zach Jordan were all killed in those fleeting moments. They weren’t given a chance to draw their own weapons, and from the way Schofield had greeted the assassin, it was obvious he knew and recognized the individual.

What the killer hadn’t realized was that Schofield had left his com line open and everything said in those final moments was relayed back to the field office and caught by the tape machine monitoring the entire operation.

By the time the office contacted the tactical team waiting for Schofield’s go and ordered them to check out the truck, the killer had left the scene, the buyer-seller had been alerted and fled. Nothing was found at the rendezvous point, but at the surveillance truck the tactical team found bloody slaughter.

White House—three days later

“I’ M REACHING THE POINT when I don’t trust my own shadows,” the President said. “Trust. Hal, that word is becoming a joke around here. I get a new version of events depending on who I talk to. The CIA excludes the FBI. The NSA has the lead when it comes to paranoia. None of them wants to cooperate with the others, and they only give me versions they believe I can handle.”

Brognola waited in strained silence. He knew what the President’s final request would be. He wouldn’t have been summoned to the White House if it didn’t need the attention of the Sensitive Operations Group.

The Man sat heavily, the weight of his burden showing for a moment on his face. Then he gathered himself and directed his gaze at the man seated across the desk from him.

“I truly believe you’re the only man in the damn country who wouldn’t betray me,” the President said, studying the big Fed closely. “Tell me I’m right, Hal.”

“No problem, Mr. President. You know how I feel about this office and you especially. I work for you. No one else. The SOG is your security arm. We don’t compromise on our mandate and that goes down the line.”

The President relaxed a little. He reached out and placed a hand on a file.

“Are you up to date on this?”

“I read your memo.”

This time the Man managed a laugh.

“Memo. Well, that cuts it down to size. Then you’ll know the defense community has been losing top-secret electronic hardware. Computer software has gone, too, specifically items developed for current and developing missile applications. Guidance and stabilizing systems. Inflight circuitry boards. God knows what else. From what I’ve been able to gather, the suspicion is the stuff has been stolen to order and sold to the end user—namely the Chinese.

“I have been reliably informed that the Chinese are currently engaged in an all-out program being developed so their military can keep pace with the latest in missile capacity.”

“China? Our emerging Asian trading buddies?” Brognola asked.

“Exactly. Don’t let all that twenty-first-century business expansion fool you, Hal. The Chinese will play the market for what it’s worth. They’ll build our TV sets, washing machines and DVD recorders. Automobiles, too, if we let them. And they’ll undercut prices, sell by the shipload and collect their pay in dollars. Then they will use those dollars to buy military know how by the back door.”

“What’s behind all this?” the big Fed queried.

“Survival. Our defense program has always been ahead of theirs, because we put in the money and the time. No one has the capacity to match the Slingshot satellite system, and once we get the Zero platform fully operational, that will put us even further ahead. The Russians only pushed the knife in deeper when they announced they were going to update their own ballistic missile arsenal again. For home defense, they quoted,” the President stated.

“And there’s no way the Chinese are going to stand by and let that happen.”

“Precisely. China sees itself as number one in their neck of the woods and a major player on the world stage. They aren’t going to lose face and end up the poor kid on the block behind the U.S. and Russia.”

“Full circle,” Brognola said. “Back where we started.”

“If we allow it to happen. The Chinese are aware that starting from scratch means years of development and testing. Buying in technology, to be copied and reproduced, will give their armament community one hell of an advantage. They let us do all the research and development, spend the billions, then buy the goods from their U.S. supplier. All they need then is to analyze the components and start to build their own.”

“Suspicions?” Brognola probed.

“Nothing we can move on officially. It’s believed an organization called Shadow run by a man named Oliver Townsend may be the culprit. The CIA got close to a deal being brokered but the whole thing went to the wall at the eleventh hour, so we’re no closer to the truth at this time,” the President told him.

“We heard through the grapevine about some CIA people getting killed. This the same incident?”

The President nodded. “Three. Shot down in cold blood during surveillance on the deal I mentioned. Early indications suggest it might have been one of their own who pulled the trigger. There’s a transcript of the tape that recorded the last words of one of the agents.”

“Anything on the shooter?”

“No admission yet. Personally I don’t believe they know. But the CIA is embarrassed that the killing may have been by one of their own. They were caught off guard. The Agency has closed ranks. There’s an internal investigation being carried out, but every time I ask questions I don’t get much. I have the feeling the CIA is confused by what happened and they don’t know themselves who to trust. I’m the President, Hal. I should be able to get to the truth.”

“You want Stony Man to take this on for you?”

“Damn right I do. No stonewalling, Hal. I want this handled. Top to bottom. I want this mess cleaned up. From the CIA mole, through to the people handling these deals and the Chinese. If Beijing is sanctioning the purchase of U.S. technology, I want it stopped. What’s the point of us developing superior firepower if it’s being taken from under our noses and sold down the road to use against us? This is a direct threat to U.S. security. Put an end to it. We’re being taken for a ride here, Hal, and I won’t let it go on. If the Chinese want down and dirty, they can have a taste themselves. Do we understand each other?”

“No restraints, Mr. President?”

“When was the last time that worried you, Hal?”

“Just like hearing you say it, sir.”

“No restraints, Hal. Get our hardware back, or destroy it so the Chinese can’t use it. Go the whole damn mile and however farther you have to go. If the Chinese are running this deal, give them a bloody nose and shut the operation down.”

“Repercussions?”

“I’m sure there will be, but we’ll field them if and when. Be interesting to hear the mitigating circumstances from Beijing.” The President slid a file across the desk. “Main points. All the detail I’ve been able to collect. I’m sure your Mr. Kurtzman’s cyberteam will find out more.”

“They like a challenge, sir.”

“Usual terms, Hal. If want anything, just pick up the phone and ask me.”

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

T HE ACTION TEAMS and support staff sat at the War Room conference table.

The meeting was headed by Hal Brognola, with Barbara Price, mission controller, at his side. Aaron “The Bear” Kurtzman was checking out the monitor setup, ready to reveal his findings.

The members of Phoenix Force and Able Team were spaced around the table, all of them eager to get the proceedings under way.

“Let’s have the light show,” Brognola said to Kurtzman.

Kurtzman tapped in a command and the large wall monitor displayed a series of photographic images, the first one showing Oliver Townsend. The other shots were of people known to be associated with him and working out of the ranch he operated in South Texas, close to the border with Mexico. The sequence was short. No one recognized any of them, until T. J. Hawkins asked if Kurtzman could backtrack.

“That one,” he said.

The image was held. Hawkins leaned forward to make certain he had been correct, then nodded.

“That’s him. Vic Lerner.”

“He’s right,” Kurtzman said, checking his list.

He brought up Lerner’s detail.

“Where do you know him from, T.J.?” Gary Manning asked.

“We served together. He was with me in Somalia. I lost track of him after that.”

“Records show he left the military about a year ago. Seemed to drop out of sight, then he was seen with a couple of people tied in with Townsend.” Brognola glanced at Hawkins. “Impressions?”

“Nice enough guy face-to-face but I always had the feeling there was something going on under the surface. Vic always had his eye out for the main chance. Did a little dealing in ‘lost’ equipment if I remember. He could always get his hands on whatever you wanted. That kind of guy.”

“He’d be up for this kind of deal?” Brognola asked.

“Vic? If it paid cash money, he’d trade his sister’s puppy dog.”

“High-tech hardware is a lot more expensive than a dog,” Manning said.

“And stuff like that doesn’t just casually fall into someone’s hands,” Calvin James pointed out. “I mean, these boards aren’t lying around like crackers spilled from a box.” He stared around the table. “Well, are they?”

“Let’s hope not,” Brognola said. “That means the gear is being systematically stolen by an organized group. It looks like we’ve hit on something deep and dirty here. From the information we’ve already got, the Chinese have started in on their missile regeneration big-time. Interagency data points to a concentrated program.”

“So why now?” Rosario Blancanales asked.

“This didn’t happen overnight,” Brognola said. “The Chinese have been feeling out in the cold for a few years now. Kind of like the poor relation peering in through the window at all the goodies on show. And they see the neighbors being invited in and not them.”

“Sounds like paranoia to me,” Carl Lyons said.

“The Chinese are into saving face,” Brognola said. “No chance are they going to let other nations stand tall and leave them in the shadows. Remember last year when the Russians announced they were going to beef up their own missile program? It was soon after that the Chinese stepped on the gas and started to improve their own missile program.”

“Are we into ‘if you have a big stick, I’m getting me a bigger one’ territory here?” David McCarter asked.

“That’s a simplistic way of putting it,” Brognola said, “but it pretty well sums up the problem.”

“See, simple is best,” the Briton offered.

“And you’re the expert when it comes to simple,” Manning agreed.

McCarter leaned forward, wagging a finger at the big Canadian.

“And also the boss, chum.”

“China isn’t going to let itself be pushed into the background,” Brognola agreed, choosing to ignore the banter. “They have to been seen as the strongest force in Asia and being able to dictate terms if the need arises. This Russian desire to be able to rattle the saber again isn’t going to go down well in Beijing. So it’s in China’s interest to become a major player. They want parity with all the other big powers.”

“Back to the old cold-war syndrome,” Price said. “Full circle.”

“Not exactly,” Brognola said. “The President has green-lighted this as priority. Bad enough China up-ping its weapons capability, but it’s like being given the finger when they start using our technology to let them jump-start and draw level.”

“Government loses technology, we’re handed the baton and told to get it back?” Carl Lyons said.

“That’s what we can’t allow to happen.” Brognola turned his attention to Hawkins. “T.J., hear me out on this.”

McCarter caught the inflection in the big Fed’s voice and was way ahead of Brognola. “I smell an undercover job coming up, young Hawkins.”

Hawkins glanced at the Briton, a slight frown on his face.

“You’ve got history with this Vic Lerner,” Brognola said. “If you can make contact, maybe it could give us a way into Townsend’s organization.”

“I guess so.”

“No pressure, T.J.”

“Don’t you believe it,” McCarter stated. “Turn him down and he’ll cut your credit-card rating and stop your subscription to the Buffy fan club. By the way, you still got that life-size cardboard cutout?”

Price barely concealed her snort of laughter. She raised a hand to her mouth as she feigned a sudden cough.

Brognola allowed a wisp of a smile to touch his lips before he moved on.

“Able Team will shadow you on this. Find anything we can pin on him, and they’ll move on Townsend.”

“Get me into his computer system,” Kurtzman said, “and we can dig out all his dirty secrets.”

“Tell me how and I’ll do it.”

“I love enthusiasm.” Kurtzman grinned.

Hawkins drummed his fingers on the table. “Sure. Let’s see what we can work out. I need some kind of hook to get me involved with Lerner.”

“You are in the hands of the masters of guile and deceit,” Blancanales said.

Price extracted a file from the stack in front of her.

“Phoenix, you handle China,” she said, and handed the file to McCarter. “That’s your mission brief, guys. Everything you need to know. We want our technology returned or at least destroyed so it’s useless to any potential hostiles. You can bring yourselves up to speed while you’re on your way to Andrews. There’s a C-17 transport waiting to take you to Bagram airbase. Jack’s already on board with Dragon Slayer. He’ll make the insertion into China. The flight will give you the chance to update with Mei Anna. An incident has occurred directly tied in to this whole affair.”

“Whoa,” McCarter said. “Mei Anna? How did she get caught up in this?”

“David, she’s been back with her group for the past few weeks.”

“Didn’t she tell you?” Lyons asked.

“Lover’s tiff maybe,” Blancanales suggested innocently.

McCarter’s dark scowl indicated he wasn’t seeing the humor.

“You forgot where I’ve been the past few weeks? A little busy.”

“The important thing is, David, that Anna has background that bears directly on your upcoming mission. We flew her in from Hong Kong so she could join up with you and go into Xinjiang with you. Read the file and you’ll see why,” Price said. “Hey, I’m sure she would have let you know, but it might have been difficult getting a message to you at the time.”

McCarter slumped back in his seat. “I suppose so.”

“Part of Anna’s Pro-Democracy group has been monitoring the facility the Chinese set up some time ago,” Price said, quickly moving on. “Aaron?”

Kurtzman keyed up a series of images, showing the facility. It was set in rough terrain, with low mountains far to the north. The shots were mostly taken via long-range lens.

“The place is called Guang Lor,” Kurtzman offered. He brought up a map. “Northwest China, province of Xinjiang. It’s close to the border with Afghanistan. Well isolated, away from any populated areas so Beijing can keep it under wraps as much as possible. Intel says this is where they’re developing their new generation of long-and short-range ballistic missiles. There’s a small settlement grown up in the vicinity for workers at the facility.”

“Anna’s Pro-Democracy group has been working the area and picking up what they can,” Price went on. “They have to be careful because the area is pretty well controlled by the Chinese. Current intel says the missile testing has been increased lately. The group has a man inside the facility now, and he’s been feeding them what he can. Pretty thin, but at least it indicates just what the Chinese are up to.”

“Take a look at this,” Kurtzman’s said. “The Pro-Democracy group took these shots a couple of weeks back in Hong Kong.”

He brought up a series of shots that showed a group of men talking together.

“This was shot in Hong Kong. The Chinese is Sammo Chen Low. No surprise that he comes from the facility at Guang Lor. He’s a negotiator and a financial specialist. The Caucasian here is Joseph Riotta, and CIA intel has him linked to Townsend’s Shadow organization. Same with this guy. Ralph Chomski. Ex-Air Force. I managed to filch that information from military data banks. Make of it what you will, folks.”

McCarter leaned forward and poked a finger at the image of another man in the group, sitting a little back, but listening intently to what was being discussed.

“Well, well,” the Briton muttered. “Our old chum from Santa Lorca. Jack bloody Regan.”

James studied the face of the man in the crumpled suit and old Panama hat.

“You are not wrong, bubba,” he said, using the man’s favorite expression.

“Still in the business,” McCarter said. “Regan has good contacts for moving ordnance. Looks like he sub-contracted to Shadow.”

“That going to be a problem for T.J.?” Brognola asked.

“No. He never met Regan on that mission. T.J. was backup on a warehouse roof. They never even saw each other.”

They spent a few more minutes tossing facts back and forth until one of the phones rang. Price picked it up and took the message.

“Phoenix, your ride is ready to take you to Andrews.”

McCarter stuck the file under his arm and stood, the rest of his team following suit.

“We’re gone,” the Briton said. “Hey, hotshots, you look after my mate. He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s my pain. We’d like him back in good working order.”

Lyons nodded. “He’ll be fine. You know our rep.”

“That’s what worries me,” McCarter said, grinning.

“Take care, guys,” Price said.

“Easier said than done,” Manning replied.

“You sure you old boys can manage without me?” Hawkins asked.

“You really sure you want an answer to that?” James asked, a wide grin on his face.




CHAPTER TWO


The aircraft waiting to ferry them to Bagram was sitting on the end of a runway, engines already warmed up. The vast cargo space of the C-17 housed the Stony Man combat helicopter, Dragon Slayer. Jack Grimaldi was inside carrying out detailed preflight checks that would go through everything from the twin-turbine power plant, electronics and computer aids. He would also run thorough checks on the chopper’s impressive ordnance capabilities. Dragon Slayer carried an awesome catalog of weapons, multibarrel chain gun, missiles and pilot-activated aim and fire through a slaved helmet array. Within the electronic heart of the machine were sensors and range-locating instruments. The satellite-linked communication setup enabled Grimaldi to call Stony Man at the flick of a button and also connect in to air-traffic feeds so he could maintain instant locations. Where they were going on this particular mission his sources would be the U.S. Military Communications Net.

The men of Phoenix Force, carrying their gear, crossed in driving rain and climbed on board. Grimaldi raised a hand in welcome as he watched the team arrive, then returned to his checking procedures. As they stowed their gear, McCarter spotted a familiar figure sitting patiently on one of the benches the far end of the aircraft.

It was Mei Anna. She wore a camou-pattern combat suit and boots, the same as Phoenix Force, her jet-black hair pulled back from her face. A backpack lay on the floor at her feet, along with her P-90 assault rifle. She carried a 9 mm Beretta pistol in a shoulder rig. She offered McCarter a brief, silent acknowledgment when he met her gaze. He nodded in recognition, then turned and made his way to the flight deck and immersed himself in the technicalities of the pre-takeoff discussion with the flight crew.

While he did that, James, Manning and Rafael Encizo secured their equipment, then joined the Chinese operatives.

“Where’s T. J.?” she asked.

“Working undercover on another piece of the mission,” Manning said. “We thought it was time he had a grown-up job.”

“It’s good to see you,” Anna said, standing and greeting them all with a quick hug.

They responded warmly. There wasn’t one man among Phoenix Force who didn’t hold Mei Anna in great esteem. Since their first encounter during a previous mission to China, she had proved herself to be a formidable young woman. Her dedication to her Pro-Democracy group was intense, and her fight against the repressions of the Chinese government and the often brutal suppression of civil and personal rights was something she believed in with a passion. Her fight had taken her all over China, and she was a wanted woman by Beijing. She accepted it without making a point over the matter. Her courage was something Phoenix Force was fully aware of. Her being back in action didn’t surprise them. It had been something they had all accepted as inevitable now that she had recovered from the aftermath of a wound that had taken its toll and forced her into a long recovery period.

“We had no idea you were involved in this until a short while ago,” Manning said.

“Things happened fast” Anna told him. “We’ve been monitoring the activity at Guang Lor for some time. This particular incident has given us something definite we can focus on, and it seems to have happened just as you became involved.”

They felt the aircraft vibrate as power was applied to the powerful engines. After a few seconds they felt the plane start to move, the whine of the engines increasing.

“Is David okay?”

James grinned. “He’s being David,” was all he said.

Anna touched his arm. “You don’t have to say any more.”

They braced themselves as the aircraft gained speed, the sound of the engines filling the cavernous interior, and then the deck beneath their feet tilted and they felt the momentary hollowness in their stomachs as the aircraft lifted off.

“No going back now,” Manning said.

McCarter appeared and made his way along the plane.

“Talk to you later,” James said.

They nodded to McCarter as they passed him halfway down the length of the plane and took their seats, leaving the Briton to join Mei Anna.

The woman had sat again and made a point of looking out the window. She kept up the pretence for a couple of minutes before turning to face McCarter.

“What do you want me to say, David?”

“Hello would be a start. Might make up for vanishing the way you did,” he stated.

“I had no choice.”

“Bloody hell, Anna, we all have choices.” McCarter controlled his outburst, lowering his voice. “What do you think I would have done? Locked you in the cellar and hidden the key?”

“Something like that,” the woman replied.

He moved to sit beside her. “Am I that much of an idiot?”

She laid a hand on his. “Of course not. You’re a caring man I have learned to trust and have affection for.”

“So why the disappearing act?” the Briton queried.

“You know why. If you had found out you would have tried to persuade me not to go. I was afraid you might succeed, so I decided the best thing to do was to just go. The last thing I intended was to hurt you. You have to understand my feelings in this. I was doing this kind of thing before we ever met. You know that. I would never change the times we have together, and I want that to go on. Truly. But what I do in China is something I can’t turn my back on. If a matter comes up and I’m needed, I have to respond. That was what happened, and it was why I had to go. Don’t hate me for that.”

McCarter put his arm around her shoulders.

“Hate you? Not going to happen, love. You are the best thing to happen to me in a long time. It’s just bloody hard to watch you haring off on some dangerous trek with a gun in hand and that look in your eyes. Honestly? It scares the pants off me. And I miss you.”

“Really? I haven’t given you a single thought since I boarded that plane out of England.”

“Comforting to know.”

“And not true. It was nice having you around. London can be a dangerous place.”

“Don’t I know it. Talking of dangerous places how was it going back to HK?”

“We have to be so careful now. The authorities have been coming down hard on any kind of antigovernment groups. Beijing is showing its tough face right now. Harsh penalties for anyone getting caught. It doesn’t show them in a good light when corruption or repression is exposed, so they use any means to strike back. Every so often they have a purge. Round up suspects, jail them without trial. Send them off to labor camps for reindoctrination. There are public executions, too. It doesn’t stop the groups though. Just makes the survivors more determined to carry on.”

“What the hell is it with Beijing?”

“The government is scared. They see the people getting restless, wanting change and being prepared to suffer, and die, to get it. The ruling group is terrified of allowing China its freedom because it would signal their end. They cling to power so desperately, the country pays the price.”

“So this missile deal is part of that paranoia?”

“Exactly. America is still the most powerful nation on Earth. Now Russia is updating its missile system, claiming it’s for defense. Beijing sees all this and has to respond, to bolster its own strength and to convince the people they are safe in the government’s hands. It’s all to do with saving face and maintaining the balance of power. No one has learned a thing, David. The wheel goes around and comes around.”

“More or less what we talked about back at base when we got the mission brief.”

“So we’re all after the same thing,” Anna said. “Only for slightly different reasons.”

“Not that different.” McCarter smiled. “I only said yes because I knew I’d see you.”

“Flatterer. But don’t stop, I like it.”

“Tell me about Xinjiang.”

Anna pulled a folded map from her pack and spread it. She pointed out locations.

“Northwest China. Close to Afghan border here. Some pretty harsh country where we’re going. Some desert areas. Rocky terrain. Desolate and isolated. Which is why China’s nuclear test site is located in the area. Here at Lop Nor. It’s a long way from where we’ll be operating, so don’t worry about picking up anything to make you glow in the dark. The missile research and development facility is here at Guang Lor, with a village close by to house outworkers. There is also a military presence in the area because the indigenous population, the Uygur, want autonomy from the rest of China. The Uygur maintain their Islamic religion, and they refuse to relinquish it. Some years back Beijing decided to send in Han Chinese to bring the area under control. The Uygur opposed that, believing it would erase their ethnic identity, which is probably Beijing’s intention. So there is unrest, resistance, military repression.”

“So there’ll be more military than we might normally expect?”

“Not necessarily where we’re going.”

McCarter frowned. “I don’t know whether to take that as a yes or a no.”

“Take it as an ‘I’m not certain either way.’”

He smiled at her firm reply. One thing he had learned about Mei Anna was her refusal to be intimidated in any way, as slight as the intention might be. At her strongest, she took no prisoners.

“Here, take this map. I have another. Use it to work out what you need to do,” the woman stated.

McCarter folded the map and tucked it under his belt. “Okay. Let’s talk about your people. How many? Where are they and can we get to them without ending up with the local militia coming down on us?”

“The latest report we had said they’re on the run from the military. They located the downed missile before a search party from Guang Lor could get there. They extracted the circuit board and took photographic evidence. But they were spotted and the military pursued them. From what I managed to pick up, there had been a running fight. Hung and his surviving team took refuge in the foothills. Something about a deserted village. It was shelled by the army during one of the strikes against the Uygur. Planes razed it to the ground, the people relocated. In real terms it means many of them were killed and buried in a mass grave.”

“Do they know we’re coming in?”

Anna nodded. “We managed to get a short message through to Loy Hung. He’s our team leader in the area. He understands we have people coming in to help and to collect the evidence because he’s been prevented from delivering it to Hong Kong.”

“The board and the photographs?” McCarter queried.

She nodded and pulled a group of photographs from one of her pockets, handing them to McCarter.

“Loy Hung, Dar Tan and Sammy Cho. They are all that is left of the team. The others died during the escape into the hills.”

“And what about this Major Kang character?”

“He is head of security at the Guang Lor site and for the region. A very ruthless man. He will not have taken this incident well. It will reflect on him personally, so he will be doing everything in his power to regain possession of the board.”

“Okay.” McCarter paused as a thought intruded. He realized it had been niggling away at the back of his mind, kept at bay by more pressing matters, but it was suddenly demanding his full attention. “Anna, the information that came out from Guang Lor said the only reason the U.S. board was used for the trial was that the copies weren’t completed yet?”

“Yes. Why?”

“If we get the original back, that isn’t going to stop Lin Cheung’s development people from finishing what they started. They’ll go right ahead and complete their counterfeit boards, and still have what they want.”

“In other words, they’ll still be on a par with the U.S.”

“Not much use the President waving the genuine board and shouting, ‘We got it back, Beijing.’ All they’ll do is smile and rattle their newly equipped missiles at him and yell, ‘So what?’ They’ll do their best to stop the news leaking out about what they’ve been up to, but in the end they aren’t going to pack up developing their missile system, using technology they stole. And they probably still have other hardware they’ve bought under the counter.”

McCarter leaned back against the bulkhead. He could feel the power of the aircraft vibrating through the metal skin of the fuselage. He focused on the information Anna had given him and the implications of his own thought process and what it meant. Whichever way he turned it around, it looked as though Phoenix Force’s incursion into China was about to have its stay extended and its mission upgraded. Whatever lay ahead, it wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Phoenix Force was going to drop in on a potential minefield of problems just waiting to jump up and bite them.

He paused in his thoughts. There were never any guarantees of an easy time. Stony Man didn’t exist to take on peaceful missions or easy tasks. It was here to handle situations that required on-the-spot-down-and-dirty solutions to ugly scenarios. When in doubt, send out Phoenix Force or Able Team. It was what they did best, and they were the best at what they did. He smiled at his own clichés.

He felt Anna’s eyes on him. She had a wistful smile on her lips, head slightly to one side as she observed him.

“What?” the Briton asked.

“I was just imagining what I’d like to be doing right now if we were back in London. Maybe breakfast in that café near the flat,” Anna told him.

“You just fold those thoughts up and store them away, love. Keep them safe until we get back.”

“Okay. I have something else for you. Loy Hung has a man inside Guang Lor. He’s been established for some months. It’s why we got the information on the circuit board and the downed missile. Hung’s man has also passed him detailed information on the security setup and locations within the site. Could be helpful.”

“Will we be able to depend on this man if we hit the site?”

Anna shrugged. “We can’t say. The last time they spoke, Hung’s man said he was concerned Major Kang might be on to him.”

“Let’s hope he’s okay.”

Anna glanced at her watch.

“David, I’m going to get some sleep. It feels like I’ve been in the air for the last week.”

“You do that. And I’d better go have a chat with the lads. Tell them what a pleasant spot we’re going to drop into.”

He pushed to his feet and made his way along the aircraft to where Manning, James and Encizo were checking equipment.

“Briefing session over?” Manning asked.

McCarter joined them. “Oh, yes. You want the good news or the bad news?”

“What’s the bad news?” Encizo queried.

McCarter couldn’t resist a wide grin. “The bad news is, there’s no good news.”

“I hate it when he gets that smug attitude,” James said.

“He likes to think he has comic timing,” Encizo said.

“I do,” McCarter announced.

“Miss-timing more like,” Manning said.

“I just talked to Anna,” McCarter said. “Her people are on the ground and hiding out, waiting for us to make contact, haul them out of trouble and take this circuit board off their hands.”

He passed the photographs Anna had provided so the team would know Hung and his men.

“These are the people we have to locate and lift out,” the Phoenix Force leader said.

“But?” James asked, waiting for McCarter to drop the bombshell he was keeping to himself.

“Collecting one board isn’t going to make the problem go away. And the problem is that the Chinese will still have the copied version of whatever they stole from the U.S.”

“I feel something’s coming that I’m not going to really want to hear,” Manning said.

“Along the lines of we have to neutralize the missile center,” Encizo guessed.

“And make sure all the stolen technology is destroyed,” James added.

McCarter didn’t respond until he felt three pairs of eyes on him.

“Well, yes, something like that.”

“Let’s take a stroll in the park suddenly turned into a rumble in the jungle,” James said.

“We have to be flexible, chums. This was part of the mission brief so we had to expect it.”

McCarter produced the map Anna had given him. He spread it out, and his teammates leaned in closer as he pointed out the various locations.

“So we concentrate on Anna’s group first?” Encizo asked. “Get them clear before we go take a look at this missile base?”

“That’s the way we run it. Once we have them sorted, we can decide if going on to Guang Lor is feasible.”

“Does Anna have a figure on the kind of resistance we might face if we do try for the base?” Manning asked, tracing routes across the map with his finger.

“We won’t get that information until later,” McCarter admitted. “But Anna’s group has a man on the inside. He’s already passed on some information about the place, so hopefully we’ll have some data.”

“Oh, that will be helpful,” Manning said.

“I do understand the sarcasm,” McCarter stated. “And I wish we had better intel. If we can’t pin it down to numbers, we’re not going to walk in like a bunch of amateurs.”

“Can we have that in writing?”

The question was posed by James and Manning in the same breath.

McCarter glanced at Encizo, who simply shrugged.

Kai Chek Village, Guang Lor, Xinjiang, one day earlier

L OY H UNG CAUGHT the man’s sleeve and pulled him inside, closing the door.

“What is so urgent?”

The man’s face blanked. His gaze wandered the room, in itself an admission he was nervous.

“Kam Lee?”

Lee hung his head, hands nervously toying with the wide straw hat he held.

“Kang…”

“I know about Kang. You have had to deal with him all these months.”

“I think he may have suspicions about me.”

“After all this time? Why?”

Kam Lee shook his head. “A feeling. Loy, I think my time at Guang Lor may be finished.”

“Then we will have to bring you out,” Hung said.

Lee seemed relieved. “I will complete this assignment, then we will do it.”

“So what is you need to tell me?”

“The missile test went wrong,” Lee said. “Something to do with the stabilizing system. It sent the missile off course and it crashed close to the border.”

“My people will have been tracking it,” Hung said. “I haven’t spoken to them during the last couple of days.”

“There is one more thing,” Lee said. “I was nearby when Controller Kwok was talking to Kang. One of the circuit boards on the missile was a stolen one. It came from America.”

“Truly?” Hung asked.

“Yes.”

Hung smiled. “Just what we need to prove what Beijing has been up to.”

“And because of that, Kang will be working hard to get it back,” Lee stated.

“Have they sent out a search party yet?”

“It’s being organized now.”

“Then we don’t have much time,” Hung said. “You are certain about this stolen board?”

“Yes. Orders came from Beijing for the test of the new missile to go ahead immediately. No excuses. The technicians were still working on the copies of the board, and they knew they wouldn’t get them ready in time. Mau Sung fitted one of the stolen boards so there would be no delay. If the test had gone as planned, the board would have been destroyed when the missile hit its target and detonated.”

“We have to get our hands on that board. This is better than we expected,” Hung told him.

“I should return. If I stay longer, someone might notice,” Lee said.

Hung nodded. “You go. I’ll make contact with our team to locate the missile and retrieve the board. If we can clear the area before the search team arrives, we have a chance.”

“Hung, be careful. Major Kang will be leading the search team personally. If he learns of your involvement…”

“Don’t worry. I know all about Kang. His reputation doesn’t alarm me,” Hung replied.

“Be careful,” Lee advised.

Hung waited until Lee was well away from the house. He closed up and made his way out to the rear of the building where a battered panel truck was parked against the wall. He climbed in, started up the vehicle and drove out of the settlement, picking up the dusty road heading north. Once he was clear he took a cell phone from inside his tunic and switched it on. The cell was Tri-Band and worked through a satellite signal. Hung tapped in a number and waited until his call was picked up.

“I’ve just learned about the missile crash. Have you found it?” Hung asked.

“Yes. We know it landed miles off track. We have it on our monitor.”

Hung explained about the stolen circuit board and the need to get their hands on it.

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Get the team moving. If they are close they should be able to reach the missile well before the team from Guang Lor can assemble and take off. If we locate this board, it has to be moved out of the area quickly before Major Kang can pin us down. Make sure that everyone is armed in case Kang does show up.”



T HREE HOURS LATER Hung met up with the group. There were five of them, all armed and ready to move. He parked his truck alongside their vehicle.

“Have you located the missile?” he asked.

Dar Tan, heading the group, nodded. He led Hung across to the team’s 4x4. The rear door was open and one of the team sat over an electronic tracking system.

“Show Hung where the missile is, Sammy.”

Sammy Cho, a thin, young man wearing a faded denims and a baseball cap, indicated the readout screen on his tracking station.

“We had the missile’s flight path locked in from the moment it was launched,” he said. “It was easy to follow the flight path. It left enough of a signature from its engines that we were able to keep it on screen. Even when it went off course we managed to keep tracking, and after it went down I was able to work out the location.” Cho leaned out the door, pointing in the direction of low hills to the northeast of their position. “No more than thirty miles from here.”

“Good. Can we reach it by vehicle?”

“Should not be a problem,” Cho told him.

“Then we go now. I want to try to be out before Kang shows up. We’ll take your 4x4. That old truck of mine isn’t fit to tackle those foothills.”



T HE MISSILE LAY at the end of a shallow furrow it had gouged in the dry ground, coming to rest straddling a wide stream. The moment the 4x4 stopped, Hung, Tan and Cho went directly to the missile. Cho had a tool kit slung from his shoulder. The rest of the team spread out to form a protective shield, keeping watch while Cho went to work.

Hung took out a digital camera and started to take shots of the missile, following the actions of his team and what was being done.

Cho knew exactly where to go. While Tan held the open tool kit the young technician used a power-pack-driven tool to remove the flush retaining screws holding the access panel in place. The whine of the power tool was the only sound to break the silence of the desolate location. Once he had the screws out, Cho used a steel pry-bar to break the seal holding the access panel secure. With the panel free Cho leaned inside the body of the missile, probing the shadows with a flashlight until he located the section he wanted.

“Can you see it?” Tan asked.

“Wait. You know how much equipment is packed inside one of these things?”

“Cho, you can explain when we’re safely back in Hong Kong with the evidence. I’ll gladly listen while you present me with a detailed thesis on missile technology.”

Cho made no reply. He was concentrating on getting hold of the circuit board. He had to free a number of retaining clips before he could lift out the board. Finally he had it.

Cho inspected the twelve-inch-square circuit board.

“Well?” Hung asked.

“It’s the one,” Cho affirmed.

Hung, who had kept taking shots as Cho worked inside the missile, focused in on the board, shooting it from both sides.

“Good. Now let’s move out of here.”

“Cho, take this,” Tan said, handing the tech a solid, brick-shaped package. “Push it down out of sight. I’ve set the timer for twenty minutes, and it’s activated.”

Cho took the explosive device and leaned back inside the missile, sliding the package deep inside the interior.

“Time to go,” he said.

They all returned to the 4x4 and climbed in. Loy Hung took the circuit board and the camera and packed them in a small backpack after wrapping each in lengths of cloth to protect them.

“Now all we have to do is deliver it.”



K ANG HEARD the explosion and saw smoke rising from the site.

“Sergeant, get the men moving faster.”

The five-man squad broke into a trot. Kang swung around and returned to his combat vehicle. He leaned inside and spoke to the radio operator, who was also operating the tracking equipment.

“Did that come from where the missile came down?”

“Yes, Major. The signal has ended. That explosion must have destroyed the tracking device inside the missile.”

Kang called his sergeant. “Spread out. If the missile has been destroyed there may be a good reason.”

“Sabotage?”

“Exactly. I can’t believe the missile has been down for so long and has only just exploded. That traitor Kam Lee must have passed information to the group he was spying for.”

“Pity he died before he gave us any more information.”

Kang shook his head. “He died because he made us kill him. It was pure luck we caught him trying to reenter Guang Lor before we left. My suspicions were simply confirmed that he was the one working undercover.”

“And he had discovered the American circuit board was used in the missile? Passed it to his people?”

“A logical conclusion. Which is why they were heading for the crash site. If they got their hands on that board, it could cause Beijing great embarrassment.” Kang waved an arm in the direction of the WZ-11 helicopter that had flown in to join them from Guang Lor. “Sergeant, take command of the squad. I will fly over the crash site and relay anything we see from the air. Stay in radio contact.”

“Yes, Major.”

Kang took his seat in the helicopter. “Get this thing airborne. Take me to the site.”

Over his shoulder he instructed the door gunner. “If we see anyone moving in the vicinity, don’t waste time waiting for orders. Shoot. If we are correct and Kam Lee’s friends have been at the crash site, they have most probably located and removed that circuit board before sabotaging the missile. I want that board back. Understand?”

“Yes, Major Kang.”



T HE HELICOPTER MADE a direct flight to where the dark coils of smoke stained the sky. It took them less than ten minutes. The pilot took the chopper over the crash site. Looking down, Kang saw that there was little left of the missile. The explosion, powerful in itself, had also detonated what had remained of the missile’s fuel. The resulting detonation had torn the missile apart, scattering debris in a wide circle. The actual spot where the missile had landed had been turned into a blackened crater. Kang felt his anger rise.

Damn those dissidents, he thought.

They were causing major problems. If their fate had rested in his hands, they would have been rounded up and executed long ago. Beijing hadn’t been strong enough in its actions against the Pro-Democracy groups. Perhaps now they would admit the error of their ways and strike a harder blow against these people. The longer they were allowed to survive, the more popular they became among the masses. Hero status had the strength to increase their appeal.

“Take us lower,” Kang instructed the pilot. “Let’s see if we can spot any tracks. They won’t be on foot.”

The helicopter began to make wide sweeps, covering an ever-widening circle out from the crash site.

Over the next hour Kang and his ground troops checked and cross-checked the area. It was starting to reach late afternoon before they spotted anything. It was Kang’s sergeant who was the first with a positive report.

“Vehicle tracks, Major. Fresh. Heading in a easterly direction. By the condition of the tire marks they can’t be more than a few miles ahead.”

“Good. Keep moving after them. I’ll fly over and check ahead.”



D AR T AN SAW the helicopter first.

“It’s coming this way.”

“Military?” Hung asked.

“In this part of the country, what else would it be? No one else is allowed to fly here.”

“Try for cover,” Hung said, “before he spots us.”

“We may be too late.”

Cho’s remark was punctuated by the harsh rattle of a machine gun. A stream of slugs curved down from the pursuing chopper as it dropped lower to line up with the 4x4. Loy Hung watched, almost fascinated, as the line of slugs slapped the dry earth, moving closer to the speeding vehicle. Then the solid thump of the slugs hitting the ground changed to metallic sounds as they rose and peppered the rear of the 4x4. A startled cry rose from one of the team sitting in the rear as ragged slugs, deformed by the thin metal, drilled into yielding flesh. The man slumped across the rear floor of the vehicle, clutching his bloody side where the ragged chunk of metal had torn into his body. The 4x4 veered from side to side as the driver tried to escape the hovering bulk of the helicopter. The problem was the lack of escape routes. The foothills offered little in the way of substantial cover.

The helicopter dropped even lower, aligning itself alongside the 4x4. Turning his head, Hung saw the black muzzle of the 7.62 mm door-mounted machine gun swing around. He tried to shout a warning, but his words were lost in the harsh rattle of the machine gun. The heavy stream of slugs tore into and through the bodywork of the 4x4. Window glass shattered, shards hitting exposed flesh, Hung himself felt a sudden burn of pain across his cheek, then felt the warm stream of blood. The lurching 4x4 hit a rough stretch of ground, and the wheel was being wrenched from the slack hands of the driver. Only now did Hung realize the man had taken a number of the 7.62 mm rounds down one side of his body. He was slumped back in his seat, sightless eyes ignoring the hazards ahead. More machine-gun fire sounded, bullets clanging against the sides of the vehicle as it ran out of control. It made a sharp right turn, careering over a steep ridge, and bounced its way down a long, rocky slope, finally coming to a jarring stop at the bottom of a gully.



T HE GULLY was too narrow to allow the helicopter access. All it could do was hover while Kang screamed into his handset for his ground troops to locate the stricken vehicle. It would take them almost thirty minutes to reach the base of the gully, where they found the 4x4 and three dead occupants.

Loy Hung, Dar Tan and Sammy Cho were gone.

And so, too, was the circuit board.



I T WAS near dark, freezing cold with food or water, and Sammy Cho was wounded. He had taken a couple of bullets in his right side.

But at least they had their weapons and the circuit board.

Loy Hung hoped that was enough. They were alone in the foothills, being pursued by Major Kang and his squad, which was as bad as it could get. At least, Hung thought, the major was denied the use of his helicopter until dawn. The machine was of little use in the dark, so Kang was having to depend on his ground troops.

It gave Hung and his men something of a chance to stay ahead. Not much, but at least a little advantage.

“Loy, we have to stop,” Dar Tan called. “Sammy’s wounds are bleeding again.”

They crouched in the semidarkness, able to see only what the thin moonlight allowed. While Hung kept watch, Tan did what he could for Cho. Tan had managed to rescue the first-aid bag from the 4x4 when they had been forced to abandon it. The bag held only basic first-aid items, certainly not advanced enough to deal with two bullet wounds. Tan had used some of the sterile pads to cover the holes, then bound them in place with some of the bandage from a roll. For his part Sammy Cho made no sound, offered no complaints and managed to keep up with his partners.

That had been three hours ago. Now Cho was showing signs of slowing down. He kept stumbling and when Tan had a look at his bandage he saw it was oozing blood heavily. When Cho fell to his knees this last time, he couldn’t get up.

“You should leave me. I can hold them off for you.”

“So you can be a hero?” Tan smiled at his friend. “You’d love that. So all the girls can flock around you while you tell the story?”

While he spoke to distract Cho, his fingers loosened the sodden bandage. Peeling back the inner dressing, he saw that the bullet wounds had swollen around the entry points. They were still bleeding, too. Tan feared they had become infected. His problem was that he had little idea what he really needed to do. The bullets needed extracting and the wounds cleaning and sealing. For once in his life Tan felt utterly helpless.

“That bad?” Cho asked. “Must be to stop you talking, Dar.”

“Sammy, I wish I could do more for you. But this is something I can’t deal with.”

Hung knelt beside them. “Can you keep moving? I think we’re not far from the village now. If we get there we only have to wait for Mei Anna and her friends. They’ll surely have someone experienced to deal with your wounds.”

“Well, I don’t have many other choices, do I?”

Tan dressed the wounds and replaced the bloody bandage with a fresh one. They stayed for a little while longer, giving Cho more rest.

Hung took a look around, checking the direction they had come. If it had been daylight, he might have been able to spot Kang’s men. The semidark, layering the terrain with deep shadows, made it impossible to identify anything. He decided they would just have to keep moving, hoping the encroaching night would slow Kang as much as it had them. He preferred that way of thinking rather than imagining everything was running smoothly for their pursuers.

Their luck seemed to be holding. Despite the fact they had to move slowly, they spotted the village just after midnight. The temperature had dropped even further. The wind coming down from the higher slopes of the hills dragged at their clothing, pushing them around, and with the ground underfoot being unsafe, it made travel difficult.

“Will Kang know about this place?” Tan asked.

“He might, but what else can we do?” Hung said. “If we stay in the open, we might freeze. Out here we’re too exposed. If we can get under cover, we’ll be out of the wind and at least have a place to defend.”

“When you say it like that,” Tan remarked, the trace of irony in his voice not lost on Hung.

“I didn’t expect it to turn out like this, Dar. This wasn’t the plan.”

“I’m not blaming you. We all knew what we were letting ourselves get into when we joined the group. I don’t regret it. I just hope we have the chance to make something out of this. It would be a shame if we lost everything after getting this far.”

They reached the village a short time later, making their way past the razed buildings until they reached the one remaining that would still provide some shelter. This semiderelict house still had a couple of rooms and a door they could close against the bite of the wind. Pushing open the door they got the semiconscious Cho inside. Hung secured the door, then crossed to the single window slot that allowed him to look back the way they had come.

Tan had Cho propped up in a corner. He found some discarded, dusty blankets and covered the man as best he could. Then he joined Hung at the window.

“It’s the best we can do. Pity we can’t risk a fire to get a little heat in here.”

Hung squatted with his back to the wall, hugging the backpack that contained the circuit board to his body.

“The only thing we can do now is wait.”




CHAPTER THREE


Townsend Ranch, South Texas

Oliver Townsend, former Major Oliver Townsend, U.S. Army, retired from active service for the past three years, was the driving force behind the covert organization Shadow. Depending on your stand, Shadow was either an inspired business enterprise or an illegal operation.

As far as Townsend was concerned, his operation was pure genius. In a world dominated by global enterprises, many of them partly funded and under the protective umbrella of federal government, Shadow might have been small. It did, however, cater to a specific need—that of providing military ordnance and technology to the specific requirements of its clientele. In essence Townsend did his business with those customers who, by whatever misdeed, were considered untouchable by the legitimate suppliers. There was a great deal of hypocrisy in that. It was a well-documented fact that overseas regimes once favored by government could fall into the black hole of becoming non gratis due to political expediency, power change or not adhering to nonspecified rules. The delicate balance in the political game was easily tipped. Today’s friend was tomorrow’s enemy. It was a simple equation that highlighted the power struggles and the watch-your-back mentality.

Townsend had been a spectator to much of this during his military career, his final two years spent at the Pentagon, and he had realized that there was much to be made from the infinitely complex machinations of the strategy game. He had acquired a great deal of insight, background knowledge and, importantly, contacts, a number of whom were instrumental in backing his enterprise and working behind the scenes. They were powerful men, their influence running deep in financial, industrial and political circles, and Townsend was well versed in the way they operated behind closed doors.

With his backers on board, Townsend began to formulate the operation that would both fund his retirement and occupy his time. He saw an opportunity and he reached out and took it. There was a certain irony in his decision. His retirement had been forced on him through one of the manpower cut-back initiatives the military machine had devised. Men of his age were being offered early retirement because they no longer fitted into the scheme. The Pentagon wanted younger blood, officers who would slot neatly into the new technological era. Townsend made little fuss. He saw the writing on the wall and figured he might as well go quietly, taking with him all the information he had gathered and channeling it into his own personal data pool.

Within twelve months of the parting of the ways Townsend had his organization up and running. With his backing secured, Townsend recruited his team of specialists and his newly formed Shadow was already doing business. His first clients had been based in Asia. He had taken on the contract and supplied them with the ordnance they needed. The deal was conducted efficiently, the funds placed in a Swiss account Townsend’s moneyman had set up, and the client suggesting Townsend get in touch with a number of other groups who needed similar deals processing. Shadow’s efficiency was noticed, and over the next year Townsend saw his turnover increase substantially. The people he was dealing with had an urgent need for what he could supply, plus there was the added advantage they paid well and needed anonymity.

Now Shadow was not only operating from a strong business base but had expanded into another area entirely. Townsend was being asked to supply not just ordnance, but technology centered around advanced weaponry and electronics. He had done some research and found that industrial espionage, as it was designated, had a higher premium comeback. One deal in this sector would net him more than his entire income since he had started the enterprise. He discussed this with his people and the consensus was it had extreme possibilities.

Shadow had its contacts within military and government research communities, and once Townsend started to look further he realized that obtaining sensitive material was not outside his scope. He used his knowledge of how the military-industrial setup worked to his advantage. As well as employing monetary enticements, Townsend got his people to look into the backgrounds of people in top-secret areas. It wasn’t long before there was a stack of files on a number of key players, containing details of gambling debts, infidelities both financial and sexual, anything that could be used as a lever was employed.

Townsend learned something about himself during this stage. He found he had no conscience or moral restraint when it came to blackmail, coercion or downright threats. It was a part of his makeup he hadn’t been aware of before. Now it had surfaced he found he liked that side of his character. He was enjoying his new career, the money, the power and the sensation that he was defying the odds each time he went into a new venture. The illicit thrill engendered by the whole risky game was as much of a high as the money. The expansion of his organization, moving into something far beyond selling a few crates of automatic weapons, really hit the right spot for him.

The call from an intermediary asking for a meet in Paris with his main client had intrigued Townsend. The initial conversation hinted that any possible arranged deal would be worth an extremely high fee. This part of the conversation interested Townsend even more. His trip to Paris was to be paid for, as was his accommodation in a five-star hotel in the city. Townsend agreed to the meeting. A return ticket and hotel reservation were delivered by courier two hours later. The flight was due to leave that afternoon. By the evening of the next day Townsend was sitting in his hotel suite awaiting the call that would summon him to his meeting with his yet-to-be-identified client.

He had no idea just what he was going to be asked to provide. The hinted-at amount of his fee, being so astronomical, suggested something extremely high-tech and of great importance.

What was he going to be asked to do? Steal the latest U.S. Air Force fighter plane? Hijack a Navy submarine? He leaned back in the comfortable armchair, toying with the glass of fine French brandy, and let his imagination run wild. He hoped that when he did get the request it wouldn’t be a disappointment.

He was picked up an hour later and driven in a comfortable limousine to the outskirts of Paris and a château on the edge of the Seine. The house was more than four hundred years old, beautifully maintained and very private.

Townsend was met at the massive front entrance by an unsmiling Chinese in an expensive suit and immaculate shirt and tie. He was led inside the château, across the marble entrance hall, and shown into a pleasant, sunny room that looked out onto smooth lawns that led to the river. The door closed quietly behind him and Townsend found himself in the presence of a powerful-looking Chinese in his forties.

“Please take a seat. Do I call you Major, or is it now Mr. Townsend?”

“I left the rank behind when I left military service,” Townsend said.

“Mr. Townsend, my name is Su Han. I am director of the Second Department, Intelligence, of the PLA, and I would like to commission your organization to procure certain items for me. These items will be held in the strictest security by the U.S. government and will not be easy to get to.”

“Director Han, that is why you have come to me. My organization is dedicated to providing what our clients ask for. I’m sure you have done your checks on Shadow. If you have, then you will have seen we haven’t failed once to fill our obligations.”

“Quite so, Mr. Townsend. I am extremely impressed by your record of successes.”

“All praise is gratefully received.”

“From what I have learned, you have no problem relieving the American government of weaponry, electronics and the like.”

“Why not? Like all governments, the U.S. administration has no hang-ups when it comes to selling its wares if it decides a certain regime suits its purpose. As far as I’m concerned, Director Han, we are in a global bazaar. Supply and demand. It was what America was born for.”

Han reached down to a folder resting on the small table beside his chair. He opened it and offered it to Townsend.

“You may find my needs unusual. They are, however, strictly in accordance with current trends in defensive weaponry. In brief, China has an urgent need to bring herself in line with the present level attained by America and Russia. Our leadership cannot tolerate the advances made by Russia especially. The stalemate is too biased in favor of the U.S. and Russia. We need to redress that balance.”

“And to save time on development you need samples of the latest U.S. hard and software?”

“Exactly, Mr. Townsend. As for example, the circuit board on the first page. If we could have one of those, our technicians would be able to reproduce it and we would have saved two maybe three years of trial and error.”

“Very astute, Director.” Townsend smiled. “Let me work on this list. I need to do some checking. Get my people to assess how we could do this.”

“I take it you are interested in a deal?”

“As they say in my country, you can take that to the bank.”

“Take your time, Mr. Townsend. Anything you need should be available here. We have a communications room so you can confer with your people in the U.S. All lines are secure.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, Director Han.”

Han called out in his native tongue and the man who had met Townsend at the door entered the room.

“Show our guest to the communications center. He is to have complete privacy. No disturbances of any kind.”

The man nodded.

“Director Han, I will try to have some positive answers for you by midday.”

Neither man had broached the subject of money. It seemed to Townsend that it would appear churlish if he brought up payment at this time, and Han was plainly from the old school, where payment remained hidden discreetly out of sight until everything else had been cleared.

The communications center was situated in a room at the rear of the château and contained telephones, computers and a fax machine. Everything was the most up-to-date on the market, and Townsend noted wryly that it was all of Japanese origin. The door closed behind his escort, leaving the American on his own. He sat at the desk and used one of the satellite phones to call his U.S. base. Within a couple of minutes he had Ralph Chomski, his second in command, on the line.

Chomski, ex-Air Force intelligence, had been with Townsend from day one. He was a man who existed for life’s challenges. His contacts were legion, stretching from the military through both civilian contractors and even a number of covert agencies who handled a great deal of what was known as black ops. He hated being defeated by any problem and would do anything to make sure he came out on top. He had a small but influential list of people within government who could be persuaded to help. He would never divulge exactly what he had as leverage, and Townsend didn’t push him on that, content to accept that Chomski could deliver when required. Chomski listened as Townsend sketched in Han’s needs without being too specific.

“I’ll e-mail you the list in a few minutes. I need confirmation we can get what the man requires as soon as possible. Ralph, we could do extremely well on this.”

“Sounds interesting,” Chomski said, and Townsend could sense the rising excitement in his voice at the thought.

“Calm down, Ralph. Don’t wet your pants too soon. Look at the list first.”

As soon as he finished his conversation, Townsend used the computer setup to scan Han’s list and forward it as an attachment to an e-mail he sent to Chomski. He received an acknowledgment within a minute and knew that his second in command would be checking the list and working on ways to obtain the goods.

Townsend returned to find Han, informing him that urgent attention was being given to the list and he would have an answer within a short time. Han nodded, content, and invited Townsend on a tour of the house and grounds.

Two hours later Townsend had a call from Chomski, guaranteeing they could fill the order. Townsend informed Han, confident that if Chomski said yes they were in business.

“Excellent, Mr. Townsend. I hope you will dine with me this evening before you return to the U.S.A.”

“My pleasure, Director. Then I must leave. I have a lot to arrange.”

Townsend was back at his hotel by nine that night. He retired early and by midmorning the following day was settling in his seat on the plane that would take him to the States.

That had been six months ago…

Longhorn Bar, Landry Flats, South Texas Border Country

T. J. H AWKINS CAUGHT a glimpse of Carl Lyons as the Able Team leader paused in the doorway, scanning the bar’s interior. The moment he spotted Hawkins, Lyons made directly for him, coming to a halt at the table.

“You think I don’t have anything better to do than chase all over the damn place? I told you once before, Hawkins, nobody skips on me.”

Hawkins carried on drinking, aware of every eye in the place focused on his table.

“Playing dumb isn’t going to buy you a ticket home.”

This time Hawkins sat upright, leaning against the rear of the booth. He faced Lyons.

“And am I supposed to be worried? What are you going to do, rooster? Crow loud enough so everyone can hear? All I’m doing is having a quiet drink. There’s no law against that. I haven’t broken any rules, so back off, Jenks. I’m not in the fuckin’ Army no more. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Listen, asshole, we had a deal. It’s time to settle.”

Hawkins shook his head. “Deal’s off. You didn’t come through on your end. Or have you forgotten that?”

Lyons reached out and caught hold of Hawkins’s coat, hauling him upright. He swung the younger man around, slamming him against the wall, then pinned him there with one big hand.

“You could die right here, Hawkins.”

“Then are you going to shoot all these witnesses? I don’t think even you could cover that up, Jenks.”

“Maybe I’ll risk it. Be worth the sight of you with your guts spread over this floor. I don’t like people going back on a deal.”

“Yeah, right. Jenks, you screwed up. You lost the merchandise and now you expect me to bail you out. Open your eyes, pal. It don’t work that way. We both know you’re trying to put the squeeze on because your boss is going to be pissed at you.” Hawkins slapped Lyons’s hands from his chest, then stiff-armed him away, pushing the man across the floor. “Go tell him what happened. Get the hell off my back. It’s not my problem. Now fuck off before I find my gun and put you down.”

Lyons made a show of bluster, but eventually backed away. He jabbed a finger at Hawkins.

“You and me got this to settle. This isn’t over, Hawkins.” He stared around the bar, face taut with anger.

“Jenks, this is finished.”

Lyons backed off a step, refusing to meet Hawkins’s eye. After a moment he spun around, glaring at the rest of the bar’s customers.

“Seen enough, you assholes? Get back to your bottles, losers.”

He turned and barged his way out of the bar, slamming the door behind him. A long silence ensued until a single voice broke it.

“Still bucking the odds, T.J.?”

Hawkins turned and watched as Vic Lerner moved away from his stool at the bar and crossed the room. He peered at Lerner, pretending he wasn’t certain he recognized the man.

“Vic? Where in hell did you spring from, buddy?”

“I was here awhile. Didn’t pay much attention until you made your little stand against the bully boy.” Lerner threw out a hand and slapped Hawkins on the shoulder. “Hell, T.J., how long has it been?”

“Too damn long. Hey, where’s the uniform?”

“I dumped that a while back. Had my belly full of being ordered around.”

“Yeah, I been there, done that.”

“I haven’t forgotten. Man, they really did the dirty on you in Somalia.”

Hawkins shrugged. “The system always gets you in the end. Let me buy you a drink, Vic.”

Lerner had already turned, gesturing to the bartender. He had quickly sized up Hawkins’s shabby appearance, figuring his former Army buddy wasn’t exactly walking around with too much in his pockets. When he returned with a couple of beers, Hawkins had taken his seat again. Lerner placed the chilled bottles on the table, pushing one across to Hawkins.

“Here’s to when we did have some good times, T.J.”

Hawkins lifted the bottle and drank. He brushed at his creased shirt. “Seems you caught me on an off day, Vic. I need to do my laundry.”

“Got to admit I’ve seen you looking better in the middle of a firefight, T.J.”

Hawkins gave a vague shrug, reaching for his glass again. “To better days.”

“So what happened after you left the service?”

“Things kind of went on a downward spiral. What the hell, Vic, I was trained as a damned soldier, not a brush salesman. Tried different things but nothing lasted. Money was scarce. I wasn’t pulling much in, so I started looking around for anything where I could put my training to use. You know what? Ain’t much there. Almost hooked up with a mercenary group going to Africa. Missed the boat there, too. Funny, I heard a month later the whole crew were wiped out by some local militia. So I guess my luck stayed with me that day.”

“And now?”

“I scratch around. Do a little social drinking, if you know what I mean. But I’m not eating too high off the hog, and that old pickup outside on the lot is the best I can afford right now.”

“What you working on now?”

“Now? Right now I’m drinking with an old Army buddy who looks like he won first prize.”

Lerner smiled. “Can’t complain.” He hesitated for a moment. “T.J., you up for a job?”

Hawkins toyed with his glass. “Is it legal?”

Lerner laughed. “Does it make a difference?”

“Hell, no. That deal I had with that jerk who was here wasn’t exactly tax deductible. Anything that kicks the honest and upright’s ass is just what I need. Walking the line didn’t do me any good. I did the right thing and the Army booted me out. Honorable discharge—that was their way of getting rid of me.”

“How about we get out of here? Let me buy you a decent meal and make a call. Could be I can find you a place with the people I work with. Hell, T.J., you got the credentials we’re looking for.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Lerner led the way out of the bar. His vehicle was parked at the edge of the lot. A dark metallic-gray Blazer.

“Cool-looking truck,” Hawkins said.

“What about yours?”

Hawkins grinned. He pointed across the lot to a battered and sad-looking Chevy pickup. The once-red paintwork had faded to a dull pink and numerous scratches showed rust.

“Some set of fancy wheels.”

“You said it, Vic.”

“Where did you buy that?”

“Let’s say it’s kind of borrowed. I don’t even have insurance, or papers for it.”

“That kind, huh?” Lerner grinned. “You bothered about leaving it lay?”

“Hell, no, the tank’s about dry anyhow.” Hawkins hesitated. “You mind if I pick up my bag?”

“Go fetch it.”

Lerner used his remote to unlock his truck and climbed in. He waited until Hawkins returned with a scruffy duffel over his shoulder. Opening the passenger door, Hawkins tossed his bag on the rear seat and settled in the passenger seat as Lerner fired up the powerful engine.

“Sweet sound.” He patted the leather seat. “I might move in. This is better than the trailer I’m living in right now.”

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Lerner said, “if this works out, you could be running around in one of these.”

As Lerner drove out of the lot, dust spewing up from beneath the heavy tires, Hawkins sank into the comfort of the seat, almost closing his eyes.

“Who do I have to kill to get one of these?” he asked. “Just remember that I got my own fantasy list to work through first.”

“That bad?”

“Fuck, Vic, look at me. One step off being a tramp. Man, I’ve been so long on the downslide I forgot what it’s like to walk tall. Be honest? If you can get me something I’m in. Man, I just want to climb out of this damn hole I been stuck in for too long.”



“O UR TWO-DAY STAKEOUT paid off. Looks like Lerner took the bait. He and T.J. just took off in Lerner’s truck. They headed west. That’s in the direction of the Townsend ranch. We’ll hang back. Give them some space until we know if it’s taken.”

“Keep us updated, Carl,” Price said. “Just don’t let anything happen to T.J. or we’ll have World War McCarter on our hands.”

Lyons smiled bleakly. He wasn’t a man to be fazed by anything, but given a choice between a room full of cobras and David McCarter on the prod, he admitted he would go for the snakes.

“Talk to you,” he said, and broke the cell phone connection.

He picked up the transceiver on the seat beside him and called Blancanales. “T.J. and Lerner in a metallic-gray Blazer heading your way, Pol.” He recited the license number. “Give them room. All we do now is watch and wait.”

“Understood.”

Lyons called Hermann Schwarz.

“The Politician has them under surveillance. They took off west from the bar.”

“Okay. What do we do?”

“Head back to the motel for now. We’ll coordinate once we hear from Pol or T.J.”



“M R . T OWNSEND, THIS IS T.J. Hawkins, the feller I called you about. We were in the service together until he got in a jam.”

“Heard about your trouble,” Townsend said. “You’re not the first to end up on the wrong end of military injustice. Might make a man want to get even. How do you feel on that score?”

“I think you already know that, Mr. Townsend. Since Vic called earlier, you probably have most there is to know about me.”

Townsend smiled. He jerked a thumb at the computer setup on the corner of his wide desk.

“We live in the age of information, Hawkins. Press a button and a man’s life spills right across your monitor.”

Don’t I know it, Hawkins thought. And now I also know I’m looking at your own information bank.

Hawkins waited. He wanted to see how Kurtzman’s data implants had colored his files. It was surprising, and a little scary, to realize just what could be done to someone’s background in the hands of a man like Aaron Kurtzman.

“Seems you’ve had quite a ride since you quit the military. Close scrapes with the law. What was that little fracas you had down in Albuquerque? They pulled you in for suspected dealings in illegal weapons. How come you walked away clean?”

Hawkins gave an embarrassed shrug. “I was kind of expecting problems, so I made sure I was well covered before the Border Patrol moved in. They searched, but they didn’t find a damn thing. While they were busting me, my deal was going through somewhere else.”

Townsend smiled. “So how come you’re walking around like a bum?”

“The deal was small-time, Mr. Townsend. By the time I paid off everyone it didn’t leave me with much, and the cops were still dogging me. I like making money. Problem is, I’m not too hot when it comes to working the financial side. So I had to move on. Since then, well, I guess my luck kind of went south.”

“With your guns by the sound of it,” Townsend said. “Your latest deal kind of bit you in the ass I hear.”

“Something like that.”

“Hawkins, I don’t deal small,” Townsend said. “You sound like the kind of man we could use. But don’t be fooled into thinking I tolerate any stupidity. Fuck around with me, and you’ll wish the Border Patrol had caught you. A stretch in Huntsville would be a vacation compared to what I could do to you.” He met Hawkins’s unflinching gaze. “Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Townsend. Understood. I might not be too smart with finance operations, but I know how to take orders.”

Townsend visibly relaxed. “Fine. Vic, can you make room for Hawkins?”

“Sure. Plenty of spare rooms in the bunkhouse.”

“Get him some clothes and whatever he needs. Hawkins, there’s something coming up shortly. You can handle it with Vic. Let’s see if you’re as good as your rap sheet says.”

When Hawkins and Lerner left the office, Townsend turned to Ralph Chomski, who had been standing quietly to one side, observing. “Do the usual, Ralph. Keep an eye on him. See if he does anything we should be suspicious of. If he behaves himself, fine. If there’s anything, anything, that doesn’t sit right, you know what to do.”

“Oh, I know what to do,” Chomski said, his mood lightening at the thought.

“Now let’s have Mr. Kibble in here. I have a feeling I’m not going to be too happy with what he has to tell me.”

Chomski left the room. He was back a couple of minutes later, accompanied by a sandy-haired man in his early forties. Townsend indicated a seat in front of his desk.

“You have a good flight?”

The man nodded, his expression indicating he was in no mood for small talk.

“Sit down, Mark, and tell me what the problem is.”

Mark Kibble took the offered seat. He sat on the edge, refusing to allow himself to relax, and Townsend took that as a bad sign. The man was so tense he would snap in two if he bent over.

“The problem is, I can’t complete the arrangement.”

Behind Kibble there was movement. It was Chomski. He already had his hand inside his jacket. Townsend caught his eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

“Take your time, Mark. Tell me what the problem is. Would you like a drink?”

Kibble raised a hand in a gesture of refusal. “I need to get this said.”

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“There’s been some kind of security initiative. I don’t know where it came from, but the entire setup has been upgraded. New people running things. All codes changed and a fresh protocol put into place. They’re even installing some new hand-print identification procedure. One of those gizmos where you have to place your hand on a pad and it scans your fingerprints against records held in the computer. They took mine yesterday, and they have introduced more frequent stop and searches. There’s no way I can risk taking anything out now.”

“And you haven’t had any directives telling you why all this is happening?”

“Not a thing. Someone did ask, and they were told it was none of their business and to carry on with their work.”

“Do you think it might have to do with the missing items?”

Kibble shrugged.

He was running scared, Townsend realized, and a frightened man might easily let something slip.

“What do we do?”

Townsend smiled. He knew what he had to do. But not here. Not now.

“Mark, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to take stock. Stand back and look at this calmly. There will be a way around it.”

Kibble shook his head. “No. I’m out. If I got caught, I’d end up in some federal facility and I won’t risk that. Jesus, it would ruin my family. I have a wife. Children.”

“And you have a great deal of money hidden away in that special account we help you set up.”

“I’ll give the money back. It isn’t worth all this risk.”

Kibble was sweating now. He was ready to cave. The next step could be running to the Feds and telling them everything if it would help to pull him out of the deep, dark hole threatening to swallow him.

“I don’t see there being any need for that, Mark. You already earned that money for previous transactions.”

Townsend took a long moment to consider his next move. He wanted Kibble out of his house, well away before anything happened, because that was the next move.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” Kibble said, pushing to his feet.

“Okay, Mark. Leave it with me. I understand your position and I won’t push you into anything you can’t do. Perhaps it’s time to back off and let things cool for a while. Give things a chance to settle down. You agree?”

Kibble nodded, a little of the tension draining from his face. He watched Townsend stand and cross over to face him.

“I’m sorry this had to happen,” Kibble said.

“Like I said, Mark, don’t worry. We’ll figure a way around this mess. Go home. Be with your family. Someone will run you back to the strip and the Lear can fly you back to Dayton.”

Chomski waited until Kibble cleared the room before he spoke.

“He’ll do it,” he said. “Somebody gives him a hard time, he’ll spill his guts and point the finger. We can’t let that happen.”

“Nicely put, Ralph,” Townsend said. “You’ll never win prizes for diplomacy, but you head straight to the heart.”

“So?”

“Send a couple of the boys with him. Make sure they deal with it quietly. Just make sure there are no tracks that lead back to us. Fly him back home as excess cargo. Let his body be found by his local cops.”

Chomski turned and left the room, closing the door.

Townsend sat, staring out the window.

“That boy sure likes his work,” he said, voicing his thoughts.

Now that Kibble was out of the loop, he needed to work on his second string at RossJacklin Inc. He had to have the secondary circuit board. It was necessary if he wanted to deliver the full package to Director Han. Necessary and, more importantly, it would demonstrate Shadow’s ability to always complete its contracts. Since taking on the Chinese client, Townsend had profited greatly. His initial deliveries of vital components to the facility at Guang Lor had resulted in six-figure cash amounts being deposited in his Swiss account. There had been no delays, no complications. Han, as if to prove a point, had made immediate deposits, and had followed up with calls to Townsend to make certain the money had arrived safely. The man certainly knew how to maintain customer-client relations on an even footing. Townsend understood the courtesy. It was part of established Chinese custom. They understood the need for both the hard and the soft approach to negotiating a deal. Strict lines of communication, with everything handled quietly, resulted in a harmonious relationship. The American also knew there was another side to Director Han. It would only be revealed if Townsend failed to live up to his promises. The claws of the dragon would show and persuasive words would be lost in the roar of chastisement. He was in no doubt that Han would exact severe retribution if matters fell below his exacting standards.

Townsend assessed the situation. He realized why the security upgrade had happened. It was because of the CIA’s surveillance of the recent transaction. Bad enough that the Agency had gotten close enough to be on the spot during an exchange. Townsend’s CIA contact had prepared Townsend beforehand, allowing him to put on a display and had enforced the setup himself, leaving the Agency in no doubt as to what they could expect if they tried to interfere. They had nothing solid to move with and as long as Townsend could stay one step in front he would survive. It was all to do with keeping the balls in the air at the same time. Risk management came with the package. All Townsend had to do was to move the lines of engagement.

He picked up his telephone and punched in a number. He let it ring until a message clicked in. He waited until he was requested to speak.

“Call my number, Raymond. We need to talk. And it is urgent. I’ll expect your call back soon. Don’t make me wait too long.”



W HEN HE THOUGHT BACK to the night of the killing of the three CIA agents, it had taken a couple of hours for Pete Tilman to take in the full realization of what he had done, that there was no going back. He was fully committed now, even more than he had been before pulling the trigger. Yet even with that acceptance of having stepped over a line that wouldn’t let him go back, he felt little in the way of remorse. He lived in an uncaring world. One that decreed a man stand or fall by his own actions, and if he wanted to survive he had to make his stand for what he believed in. His actions had been dictated by that need for survival and his fear of being discovered.

His desertion from the path of loyalty to his chosen profession had been easy at first. The illicit thrill of playing a dangerous game had become a narcotic, fueled by the financial rewards and the closeness to men of power and influence. There was, too, the choice he made to kick back against the hypocrisy of the administration that preached one line of policy, while at the same time consorting with the devil. Government within government was no fantasy. Infighting and self-advancement created strange partnerships. Hidden agendas and the lust for power and wealth layered the administration with secret alliances and back-door dealing that would have astounded the naive and the innocent. As an agent within the CIA, Tilman had been privy to certain aspects of the Agency that had surprised him at first, but as his own experiences clouded his clear vision he began to see the world in a different light. What was good for America became blurred within the twists and turns of policy, and there were those in power who were working, not for the elected administration, but for their own goals. And with these insights Pete Tilman’s disenchantment soured his view of what was good and what was evil.

His move from the path he had walked initially to his crossover came about painlessly. He hadn’t realized that his casual remarks at an embassy party in Washington had been overheard by someone from a group influencing illicit operations from the corridors of power. Within days of the party Tilman had been approached by a young woman he had briefly met that evening. It wasn’t until later that he realized he had been drawn into a relationship with her. By then he was so smitten he would have denounced the President himself. Tilman already lived beyond his means. He owed money. He wanted more money. It was as simple as that. And he was fast losing faith with the agency, tired of being pushed around by younger, lesser men who were rising rapidly while he seemed to be standing still, despite his impressive record. She had suggested he meet someone who could offer him a promising future, someone who could use his skills and his position in the Agency. His desire for her sucked him even deeper. He was addicted, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to break the habit. In his private moments he accepted his weakness. It scared him a little, but he quickly got over that feeling. One phone call, hearing her voice, a few minutes of being with her and drinking in the sweet scent of her, and he was a total devotee and would have committed murder at her suggestion.

In the end he did just that, gunning down three fellow agents in a moment of desire to maintain his new lifestyle and his position within the organization that now called the tune he willingly danced to.

Financial rewards were offered and taken without consideration of possible repercussions. Tilman had taken on board the full package. The people he was secretly working for, while maintaining his position within the CIA, expected results and he found he was able to comply comfortably. His Agency classification gave him access to high-level data. It allowed him to view sensitive material, check operational dispersement and gain advance warning of upcoming operations. Once he had carried out a number of these clandestine procedures with no comeback, the illicit excitement had made him eager for more. It was almost a secondary sexual thrill, this dangerous game he was playing, but it was so addictive. It gave him back the buzz he had almost forgotten, the kind of feeling he used to get in the old days when he’d run his own team and was involved in covert operations.

By this time Tilman was well involved with Townsend and his operation. He worked closely with the man, manipulating Agency information leaks and making sure that Shadow remained just that—a whisper of a murmur, kept discreetly out of the limelight and always just beyond the reach of the authorities.

The information concerning the Agency operation intended to gain evidence against the Oliver Townsend organization raised concern with Tilman’s employers. Townsend was one of the principal players within the consortium buying and selling U.S. technology and ordnance. The word filtered down to Tilman that any exposure of Shadow could create a ripple effect that would engulf them all. The cards would fall and they would all be taken down. Tilman, able to access operational details, was given the task of making sure the CIA operation failed. He was told that he had a free hand in solving the problem. Dead men didn’t point fingers.

The remark was the last thing Tilman was told as the meeting ended. He repeated those chilling words over and over as he drove home, and by the time he reached his apartment his decision had been made. It wouldn’t be the first time he had killed. It had been part of his remit for so long it had become just another facet of his Agency work. Tilman had done wetwork for the Agency during operations in Central America. The concept didn’t cause him any moral problems. The atrocities man carried out against his fellow humans were well documented within the CIA. Tilman had viewed evidence in sound and pictures. He had seen videotapes that made the twisted outpourings of Hollywood look like kid stuff. So the acceptance of carrying out an execution-style killing settled easily on his shoulders. It was a necessity, something that was required to maintain the security of the people and the organization that he had become a part of. The bottom line was Tilman’s reluctance to lose what he had gained, including the woman who had first lured him. In an odd twist she had become as attracted to him as he was to her. Their relationship had developed into one of mutual dependency, spiced by lust and a craving for the excitement of the experience.

It had been easy to find out the location of the surveillance unit. Tilman pinpointed where the assault team would be waiting, finding that he would be able to approach the truck free and clear. It would be parked in a secluded position where it could monitor the event planned to go down. Tilman was able to park his unmarked car well away from the location and work his way through the timbered area that lay on the blind side of the parked truck.

Tilman had chosen an unregistered 9 mm Uzi he had obtained a few years back during an operation. The weapon had been brought into the States by some illegals and had fallen into Tilman’s hands at an opportune moment. The weapon was brand-new, had never been fired, and he had kept it on an impulse. He’d brought the weapon out of mothballs, fitted it with a suppressor and used it on the night he’d shot the three agents on the surveillance stakeout. The silent kill allowed Tilman to make his retreat without interruption. He had climbed into the waiting car and had driven quietly away, long gone before the waiting assault team became aware something was wrong and the surveillance team was out of communication. The car was one he had from the department pool. It was equipped with CIA plates that were untraceable. And when Tilman returned to his block and parked in the basement garage, he took the Uzi with him to his apartment, cleaned it thoroughly and returned it to its hiding place.

He had been in the shower when the call came in about the killings. Suitably shocked he had readily accepted the order to return to the Agency and assist in the investigation that was gathering momentum. He had, with others from his section, remained on duty over the next couple of days. At the end of it there had been little solid evidence forthcoming. The investigation had been pushed to the higher echelons of the Agency.

It wasn’t until some time later that Tilman learned from inside sources of the transmission from the surveillance vehicle that the late Agent Schofield had appeared to recognize his killer. It also came as something of a shock that he learned the murder weapon had been identified as an Uzi. He had experienced brief panic, but had calmed himself with the knowledge it meant little in itself. The sound of an Uzi did nothing to pin down the actual weapon or who had fired it. The added factor—Schofield appearing to recognize his killer—concerned him a little more. He spoke about it to Townsend. The man was more annoyed than overly concerned.

“Okay, so Schofield saw you. That’s as far as it goes, Pete. He didn’t say your name. He didn’t write it in blood because he was dead when you left. He was dead, wasn’t he?”

“What do you think I am? Some amateur? Yes, they were all dead. I made sure of that.”

“So the Agency is walking around in the dark. All they have are theories. Just theories. Quit gripin’, Pete. Let’s move on. We got bigger things to deal with.”



T HE LAST TO ARRIVE WAS Joseph Riotta. He was Townsend’s negotiator, the man who handled the smooth running of deals and doing most of the financial arrangements. Riotta, a lean, balding man in his thirties, had a natural affinity for organizing money transactions. He was meticulous, sometimes too abrasive, but no one could come anywhere near to matching his skill when it came to working the clients. He came out onto the patio, wearing a neat suit and button-down shirt. His only concession to the informal occasion was that he hadn’t put on a tie.

Townsend was already seated at the table with Tilman and Ralph Chomski. They were dressed in casual, light clothing and were already into their second round of drinks.

“Joseph, fill yourself a glass and join us,” Townsend said. He turned back to the table. “So what’s the latest from our pals in the CIA?”

“Can’t put my finger on it,” Tilman said, “but the Agency has gone quiet on the killings. Hardly ever mention it anymore. It’s weird. Like they’ve decided not to chase the case any further.”

“Doesn’t sound natural to me,” Chomski said. “Like the cops shelving an investigation after one of their own gets hit. I’ve never heard of that ever happening. And I figure the spooks would be the same. You sure you haven’t been shut out, Pete? Like it’s gone to a higher level?”

“Or maybe they have a suspect and they don’t want him to know,” Riotta said as he joined them, a tall glass of iced fruit juice in his hand.

Tilman glanced across at him, a faint smile on his face. “It doesn’t work like that in the Agency, Joseph. If I was a suspect in the killing of three agents, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I would be locked away in a deep, dark place having the crap kicked out of me. Or I’d be sitting on a cloud with my harp, trying to explain to my three dead buddies why I shot them.”

Chomski gave a loud hoot of laughter. “I like that, Pete. You know that’s the first time I realized you have a sense of humor.”

“Yeah? So why don’t I nudge Joseph to see if some of it rubs off on him?”

Riotta ignored the gibe. He noticed Townsend smiling gently. It made him bristle. Riotta admitted he had no sense of humor. He took his work, as his life, seriously. It was all business with Joseph Riotta.

“Oliver, I confirmed payment for the shipment to Africa. Full settlement. The delivery should be completed in three days.”

“Fine. That should keep our principles happy. Now what about the Jack Regan order?”

“He’s still having problems with the local guy, Calvera.”

“Is that the Mexican who thinks he’s going to put the squeeze on us?” Chomski asked.

Townsend nodded.

“Damned local hood who must have seen too many episodes of The Untouchables. ” He reached across the table and plucked a thick cigar from an open box. “Let’s send Vic down to give Regan some backup. Our new recruit, Hawkins, can go with him. Let’s see how he operates when the going gets tough.”

“New man?” Tilman asked, suddenly alert. “You vetted him?”

“Relax, Pete,” Chomski said. “He’s ex-military. Served with Vic back when. Got ditched because he got a hard-on over some pussy UN officer who turned chicken and had to shoot some local warlord. I ran a computer check on him. He’s been in a few scrapes with the law. Just toughed it out with some redneck trying to run a scam. Looks okay, but don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on him.”

Tilman picked up his glass and swallowed hard.

“If you say so.”

“Ralph, is the Kibble matter settled?” Townsend asked.

Chomski nodded. “Account closed. We won’t be hearing from him again. Neither will anyone else.”

“Joseph, I’m calling in a backup contact for this Guang Lor deal. We have to complete this order on time. Su Han will start getting impatient if we lose time. And I don’t want to upset the Chinese government.”

“I understand. Are you talking about Dupont?”

“He works the same research department Kibble was in at RossJacklin. We brought him in and kept him in the background in case anything soured the Kibble deal.”

“Did I miss something? Do we have a problem with Kibble?” Tilman asked.

“Kibble backed off. Said there were problems at the plant. Security had been tightened. He wanted out.”

“Scared people do things like caving in and talking to the wrong people,” Chomski said. “We couldn’t risk that, so Mr. Kibble has gone AWOL. For good.”

“I’ll do some checking,” Tilman said. “See if the Agency is involved.”

“Fine, Pete.”

“By the way, our friend from Beijing called earlier,” Riotta said. “It appears our Chinese clients have an updated list of requirements.”

“Can we handle it?”

“I gave it to Ralph.”

“More of the same,” Chomski admitted.

“Anything else?”

Chomski smiled. “Only details on deep-cover U.S. operatives working the Asian beat.”

“That might come under your wing, Pete,” Townsend said.

“I’ll see what I can do. It’s going to depend on which agency they’re with. Leave it with me.” Tilman glanced at his watch. “I’d better get on out of here. I’m going to be busy once I get back.”





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