Operation Barracuda (2005) (30 page)

“No, thanks.”

“Very well. What is it you wanted to speak to me about, Mr. Fisher?”

“Let’s go back to the beginning of all this. Once upon a time there was a physicist working in weapons development in my country. His name was Gregory Jeinsen. He died here in this room.”

Ming registers no reaction when I say this but he also offers no refutation.

I continue. “Through Mike Wu, your mole at Third Echelon, you obtained information from Professor Jeinsen over a period of time. This consisted of the specifications, plans, and everything else that’s needed to create an MRUUV. Am I right so far?”

“Operation Barracuda,” Ming says. “Yes, you are correct.”

“Of course I am. You then—wait, why do you call it ‘Operation Barracuda’?”

“Because an MRUUV is long and cylindrical, like a barracuda fish.”

“I see. Anyway, you then sold all of Jeinsen’s material to the Shop.”

“We
traded
it for goods, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Whatever. There was one piece of the pie you didn’t give them, though—the guidance system that your illegal research outfit in Los Angeles created. By then you had called off your business relationship with the Shop and closed down GyroTechnics.”

“You are exceptionally well informed, Mr. Fisher. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone with your aptitude and abilities.”

“Are you aware that Eddie Wu managed to sell the device to the Shop anyway? And that he and the Shop have delivered it to General Lan Tun in Fuzhou?”

For the first time since we began, Ming registers concern on his face by blinking several times. He adjusts himself in the seat and says, “Go on.”

“The United States has reason to believe that General Tun is about to attack Taiwan with a nuclear device. I’m not sure why he wants to
blow up
Taiwan, but all the intelligence we’ve gathered points to that scenario.”

“And why do you tell me this, Mr. Fisher?” Ming asks after a pause.

“Because I know you hate General Tun and Communist China. It’s a basic, fundamental tenet of the Lucky Dragons, as it is with all Triads.”

“That may be true,” Ming says. “But are you asking me for something?”

“I’m asking for your help.” There. I’ve said it. Lambert and I debated for over an hour whether or not we should seek an alliance with a criminal organization that has in the past done damage to the United States. In the end I convinced him there might be some wisdom to it.

I elaborate. “Mr. Ming, you have the means to lead men to Fuzhou and do something to General Tun before he attacks. You have a small army at your disposal. You have people that believe in your cause. Do you understand what will happen if General Tun—if
Red China
—attacks Taiwan? It would lead us all into World War Three. You and your little empire here in Hong Kong would not go unaffected.”

Ming takes a drag from his cigarette and asks, “Are you absolutely certain the MRUUV guidance system is in General Tun’s hands?”

“No, but I know Eddie Wu was in possession of it and he was last seen in the company of Shop personnel. We have evidence that they fled the United States and were headed for Asia. They have the ability to get into China and deliver it right into the general’s hands. You know they do.”

Ming crushes the cigarette into an ashtray. “Is there anything else, Mr. Fisher?”

I consider my words for a moment and then say, “Yes. When I encountered your men at that warehouse near the old airport, they had a device, some kind of transmitter.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know the thing would be useful against me?”

“That machine was loaned to us by the Shop. It was created by and belongs to them. We gave it back to them. You should direct that question to someone in their organization.”

“Interesting.” So the knowledge of my implants and how they work most likely came from the Shop’s source within our government. Possibly the mysterious informant Mike Wu mentioned? The one who sits “high on the food chain” somewhere in Washington?

“And how did you know I would be at that warehouse?” I ask. “Only two people were aware of my movements that night and one of them is dead.”

“Again, Mr. Fisher. The Shop. Our source in the Shop knew where you would be at all times.”

“Did you know a man named Mason Hendricks?”

“Yes. He was one of our best customers here in the club. I was very sorry to hear of his unfortunate accident. I believe he perished with a woman who worked for me. Very tragic.”

“That fire at his home was deliberately set. Any idea who was responsible?”

Ming shakes his head. “None whatsoever. Although I suspect—”

“I know:
the Shop
. Regular scapegoats, aren’t they, Mr. Ming?”

Ming’s eyes flare and then he asks, “Is there anything else, Mr. Fisher?”

I sit back in the chair and say, “No. That’s it.”

“Very well. It was a pleasure talking with you.” Joe and Shmoe move forward and stand on either side of me, ready to escort me out.

“That’s it?” I ask. “You have nothing to say?”

“The conversation is over, Mr. Fisher. Let us say that I shall take your words under advisement. You are still an enemy of the Lucky Dragons. I cannot and will not divulge my thoughts to you. Good day and good luck, Mr. Fisher. My men will see you out.”

Fine. I’ve tried my best. I stand and leave the way I came. Little Miss Hostess is still cleaning the tabletops when I go by. This time she smiles at me—if I was important enough to gain an audience with Jon Ming then I must be a VIP of some kind. I ignore her and head for the door. Before I get there, Joe puts his hand on my shoulder as if to give me a word of advice. With the speed of a snake I grab his wrist and twist it, sending him to his knees. Shmoe moves in to defend him but I hold my hand out in front of him, warning him not to get any closer.

“It was a pleasure meeting you guys,” I say with a smile, then I let go of Joe’s hand. If looks could kill . . . but I pay them no mind as I turn and walk out the door.

THE
trip to the coastal region of Fujian was uneventful. I made my way to Guangzhou by train on a falsified work visa and passport that indicated I’d be consulting with high schools on creating a “foreign government policies” curriculum. The U.S. consul received my equipment via the diplomatic bag and provided me with an imported Cadillac to drive to Fuzhou. My passport and visa were changed and the consul sent through the paperwork indicating that my first identity had left the country. Now I’m a U.S. environmentalist studying global temperatures. I just hope I don’t have to actually talk about my “work” because I’d fall flat on my face.

Most Taiwanese people consider the Fujian province to be their ancestral home, which is ironic seeing that the country is about to be attacked from there. The language spoken in the region is essentially the same as Taiwanese, although officially it’s supposed to be Mandarin, like everywhere else in China. Prior to the fifteenth century, the region was a major port for travelers moving from China to Taiwan, Singapore, the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, and back. Today it’s still a heavily used shipping harbor. The capital, Fuzhou, is a city dating back to around the third century and was reportedly one of Marco Polo’s favorite stops when he was running around Asia at the end of the thirteenth century. I won’t be spending much time in the city, though. I’m heading closer to the coast, where General Tun’s encampment lies. I find the area beautiful, to an extent, in that it is fertile and green and typifies the images one might think China is supposed to look like. The land is flat nearer the coast and is covered by rice fields and other farmland, so everywhere you turn there’s a bare-legged guy wearing one of those broad Chinese straw hats and leading a team of oxen over his field.

China’s situation with Taiwan is akin to that of a strict parent and an estranged child. After being ruled by the Japanese for something like sixty years, the Taiwanese rebelled when Chinese Kuomintang officials occupied the island and imposed their rule on the people. This led to unrest and rioting and the KMT ended up massacring tens of thousands of Taiwanese civilians. This event is still commemorated in Taiwan. Chiang Kai-shek’s son and successor eventually executed the KMT military governor responsible for the atrocity. By the time the Korean War erupted in 1950, the United States sided with the KMT and Taiwan against the Communist Chinese forces supporting North Korea. It was a case in which Taiwan became a democracy almost by default.

China’s government is under the mistaken belief that Taiwan still belongs to her. The island has governed itself since the Chinese Nationalist forces fled to Taiwan in 1949. Most inhabitants of the island view Taiwan as already sovereign even without a formal declaration. The Chinese government has offered the island autonomy if it will come under China’s direct rule. Thus, Taiwan is a major thorn in China’s side because the small island country has shown itself to be economically successful on the world stage. The end of military rule and the beginning of full democracy challenged notions that China was better off as a communist country. Now that the capitalist colony Hong Kong is in the fold, there is some thinking this will have an influence on the way China does things in the future. The jury’s still out. In the meantime, there are hard-liners like General Tun who insist on reunifying China and throwing a net over Taiwan.

Tun’s army encampment is set up along the coast just north of Fuzhou. After nightfall I do a reconnaissance around the place to get an idea of what I’m up against. Satellite photos provided to me by Third Echelon come in very handy. The technology has become so advanced that they can zero in on a chessboard on the ground and determine what the next move should be. From these pictures I can tell how many men are gathered in a particular spot, what kinds of vehicles are present, and how much firepower is sitting around. Sometimes we can get X-ray pictures and see inside certain structures, such as tents and temporary buildings. Thermal vision shots allow us to see where living beings are grouped. This intelligence shows that the army is housed in six barracks lining the perimeter of the base. A command post is set up next to the three large hangar-type buildings on the shore. The analysts at Third Echelon are now certain these buildings are submarine pens. The water happens to be deep enough where they’ve set up camp as opposed to the beachfront just east of Fuzhou. It makes sense.

Just before I arrived in Fujian province, several Chinese landing craft were mobilized at the shore. Two Luda-class destroyers, one Luhu-class destroyer, and two Chengdu frigates are busy doing maneuvers in the strait. Chinese air support will come from a base in neighboring Quanzhou. If these guys aren’t preparing for an invasion then someone’s playing a very unfunny elaborate joke. Our own naval forces have gathered nearer to Taiwan and outside of the strait, standing guard like floating sentinels just waiting for something to happen. It’s a tense situation.

“We have you by satellite, Sam,” Lambert says in my ear. “Just watch the patrolling guards. Otherwise you’re good to go.”

Temporary wire fences surround the base. Two gates allow entrance, one on the north side and the larger main access on the south. It appears that only two guards stand duty at the main gate at all times, but only one mans the north one. I elect not to use either. Instead I crawl through what foliage there is on the north side of the encampment, about sixty feet east of the gate, and use my wire cutters. There’s no moon tonight and it’s cloudy so the darkness provides me with a fair amount of cover. I’ll still have to be careful, though. There are no trees or other thick vegetation to hide behind if I need to. The base itself is illuminated by a number of floodlights set up at strategic locations.

One of the barracks is right in front of me. I quietly move behind it and can hear snoring through the walls. Everyone’s asleep, or at least they should be. From observing the site before I crawled in, I determined that four single-man patrols cover quadrants, moving back and forth within each man’s specific section. I imagine they’ll be spelled after three or four hours.

I make my way around the barracks, darting from shadow to shadow. I’d like to shoot out the damned floodlights but that certainly would be an attention grabber. When I crouch behind what appears to be the mess hall I see a lengthy stretch of brightly lit turf to the submarine pens. Unfortunately that’s where I need to go to learn what I can about Operation Barracuda. How the hell am I going to get from here to there?

“Guard approaching from the east,” Lambert says.

There’s my answer—walking toward me in the form of one of the soldiers patrolling his quadrant. He’s lost in his thoughts, not paying much attention to his surroundings, and probably figures there’s no way in hell he’s going to encounter any trouble in the middle of an army base. I wait until he’s nearly upon me and then I spring forward, clasp my hand around his mouth, and butt him on the back of the head with my Five-seveN. The soldier falls limp in my arms. I drag him into the shadow behind the mess, remove his jacket and helmet, and try them on for size. A little tight but they’ll do. I take his assault rifle—a QBZ-95—then I stand, get into character, and slowly walk into the light. I’m now a patrolling Chinese soldier.

As inconspicuously as possible, I slowly and surely make my way to the command post and submarine pens. It’s out of my guy’s quadrant but I don’t think anyone’s going to notice. I just don’t want to run into the guy who
is
supposed to be patrolling this quadrant or there might be some fireworks.

The entrance to the first pen is open. I stand to the side and carefully peer in. Sure enough, there’s a submarine sitting in the water. Work lights illuminate the pen and I see a couple of soldiers on the platform at the side of the sub, sitting at a table and playing cards. They, too, probably figure no one’s going to bother them this late at night.