Razing Beijing: A Thriller (100 page)

Thackeray thrust a fist in the air. “We got a
transmission!”

Stuart joined Emily behind Thackeray. Vertical
black-and-white lines that appeared to be a calibration signal of some sort marched
left to right across the bottom of Thack’s screen. All he could make out
otherwise was a shifting monochromatic image. Catching his breath, Stuart asked,
“
That’s
a transmission?”

*     *     *

“THOSE ARE TIME BAR CODES,”
Chen Ruihan suggested nervously from beside Comrade Rong.

The female technician seemed put out by the distraction. Even
Rong seemed about to take umbrage when the lines disappeared to reveal the
typical aerial view of an urban center.

The woman glanced up at Rong. “Stand by, please, Comrade,”
she tersely advised.

“Has something gone wrong?” asked Rong.

Fear of that very question had haunted Chen Ruihan for the
entire afternoon. However self-assured the engineers seemed with their hastily
concocted Virginia target parameters, he had continued to harbor doubt. There
could be no doubt as to the consequences of failure.

But the technician didn’t even respond to Rong’s inquiry. She
and her colleagues instead continued altering settings through an assortment of
dials and switches. They scurried between consoles in an uncoordinated effort
to arrest what now had become obvious to all in the room was some sort of loss
of control.

A discordant murmur rose from the Standing Committee
members drawing closer for a better look. To them, the hologram certainly appeared
to be operating normally. The tiny gold sphere depicted the satellite weapon
progressing toward the eastern border of China and the Yellow Sea.

Rong held his eyes on the digital timer in the lower right
corner of the video screen, which even he understood to be tracking the time
remaining for the device to unleash its fury on the designated target. A
Newtonian physicist he admittedly was not, but here there was something
seriously wrong. Moments earlier the timer indicated some 61 minutes, a
duration consistent with his impressions of what to expect, and what Deng’s
explanations had indicated, for the satellite’s trek across the Pacific and the
continental United States beyond. But now he watched the timer tick down
through 12 seconds...

Even for those not acquainted with infrared imagery, the
transmitted image on the screen grew steadily distinct. To Rong the image was
eerily familiar and it delivered a chill of unease. He knew he had seen it
before. Had he not scrutinized this very scenery, many times in fact, from
inside his helicopter? Rong turned and managed a confident smile for his
baffled colleagues before being drawn back to the screen.

The outline of two small bodies of water acquired a
striking resemblance to Zhongnanhai’s twin lakes. The televised image showed
objects now recognizable as buildings, looming ever larger, as the
extraterrestrial lens smoothly zoomed in on its acquired target. With
increasing definition the roof of one building—cluttered with communications
gear—dominated the screen. The digital counter ticked to zero.

Rong cast a horrified stare at his state security man.

Inside a room where interior lighting was kept
deliberately low for the reading of electronic displays, everything now
effervesced with an angry blue glow. All of the occupants reacted with
instinctive alarm. Some were struck in their final seconds by the light’s
peculiar absence of any corresponding sensation of heat.

TWENTY-NINE MINUTES BEFORE
MIDNIGHT,
the streets of Beijing were silent. After leaving the Old
Defense Building, Deng had walked across Iron Lion Lane to a small park
consisting of twisted oaks and dogwoods, which grew by virtue of some
irrepressible force out of the hard-packed earth. There he found a bench and tried
to relax as much as the pain in his hip allowed. The onset of cataracts meant
the best he could say about the moonless sky was that it looked exceptionally
clear. During the thirty-odd minutes that he had sat there, he was able to
conjure a list of dozens of individuals who would have given anything to
accompany him, but whose witness history had chosen to deny. Perhaps, he
thought with a sigh, that was as it should be.

Deng shielded his eyes from the sudden intensity of light. The
sporadic sounds of small detonations, one after another, briefly transported
him to his days as an infantryman on the Vietnamese border.

As abruptly as it began, the sound and light vanished; Deng
lowered his arm. The entire upper half of the building, and everything it
contained, appeared to be gone. While his mind struggled to accept what his
senses delivered, the lights in the remaining structure flickered and went out.
The weapon had expended the last of its energy stripping the interior core of
plaster and furniture and anything else it could parcel away. The lobby
security detail had escaped this fate and they dashed into the street, looked
up in confusion at where the building had been, and ran. Severed pipes now
stood as geysers spewing water up into the air—rather like a fanciful fountain,
Deng thought as he listened to the water splashing down to pool in the street. Soon
the sirens he heard approaching from the distance would quell the pleasant
sound.

An explanation was due the General Secretary, and Deng
began the task of assembling his thoughts on how to go about providing one. With
Kang Long
out of the picture, winning his rebellious son’s release from
prison should not be too difficult.

Deng winced in pain as he rose from the bench. He started
toward the building’s basement to see if the tunnel tram could still whisk him
to Zhongnanhai. With each step his hip actually felt a little bit better. He
paused for a deep breath of cool, night air. Glancing up at the sky, he could
not help but share the Standing Committee’s curiosity as to their final place
among the stars. He took great solace in knowing that the answer was probably
painful in coming—and, recalling his father’s fate, more so than having one’s
feet battered into pulp. With that thought, Deng decided a walk outdoors was
more in keeping with these invigorating times.

.

EPILOGUE

GLANCING AROUND THE OVAL
OFFICE,
McBurney had to resist the temptation to gloat. The Attorney
General tried to ignore him under the guise of perusing her document for last
minute errors, while for his part Tom Herman simply pretended to have a lot on
his mind. Whatever their expressions were meant to convey, there was nothing
suggesting remorse; not that he had arrived at the Oval Office expecting to
find contrition in the air. The administration had managed to prove again that
inside the Washington Beltway, what one knew carried more weight than how one
performed—here the Information Age had nothing to do with computers. What both
he and Herman knew of the inner circle would guarantee their professional survival.

President Denis strode into the Oval Office with not a word
to acknowledge the three who rose to greet him. The Attorney General met the
President at his desk and presented her boss with a manila folder. Denis sat
and began studying its contents.

McBurney fiddled with his wristwatch as they waited for the
President to finish. Congressional hearings were scheduled to begin in only a
few weeks. He could not help but wonder who it was they would blame for
misconstruing intelligence in the case for attacking Iran. His best guess was
someone in the Pentagon, but other than maybe the President, who actually knew?
One thing for certain was that it wouldn’t be him. McBurney watched the
President’s face gradually redden.

Denis looked up from his desk. “You’ve reviewed and are
satisfied with this?” Denis asked, wielding a pen in preparation to sign it.

“Yes, sir.” McBurney felt a smidgen of guilt and he
chided himself for it. The presidential signature scratched audibly over both
copies of the document. The AG turned from the desk with a scowl and,
consistent with their agreement, she handed one to McBurney.

REALIZING THAT HE RISKED
running aground, Stuart eased the helm to starboard and
Mystic’s
bow
returned to the center of the channel. There was no reason to tempt fate by
cutting corners only to shave off a few minutes.

Following their many afternoons on the water in recent
weeks, no longer did Emily consider herself the sailing neophyte. She
understood Stuart’s impatient maneuvering for what it was and caught his eye
with her smile. “I doubt you’ll be satisfied by whatever it is he has to say,” Emily
said.

Stuart found it hard to be positive while a federal grand
jury was convening to consider his indictment, on evidence endorsed by the
President of the United States. He watched wisps of Emily’s hair dance about
her face in the breeze. “Can you think of anything more to ask on behalf of
your parents?”

“Actually, my father thinks Deng has finally cleared the
way for my mother’s trip to Johns Hopkins.” Already her name was in the queue
to receive a liver transplant. None of this would be true were it not for
Samuel McBurney. “What we really could use is more help from the FBI. Every day
it seems they come up with some new reason to delay the Thanatech investigation.”

Ashley was in step with the twists and turns of recent
events, as her knowing glance between the adults confirmed. “So, will we be
going to China?” she asked.

Stuart shared a smile with Emily. He pointed overhead at
the sails luffing as they motored up the channel. “I suspect we may not be all
that welcome in China. Let’s worry about making it to shore.”

Ashley rolled her eyes and disappeared below to retrieve
her windbreaker—Emily turned to Stuart and smiled. She rose from the bench,
wrapped her arms around his neck, and they embraced in a long kiss.

Emily helped Ashley furl the jib and dump the main. They
had just begun tying
Mystic
to the dock when Gordon’s bark announced the
arrival of their guest. Stuart placed two fingers between his teeth and
whistled loudly to signal their presence there on the dock. A few minutes later,
Sam McBurney made his way down the sloping lawn toward the river clutching a
large envelope. To Stuart’s surprise, he had not come alone.

“How’s that leg doing?” Special Agent Ed Hildebrandt
awkwardly extended his left hand.

Stuart had all but forgotten the flesh wound in his thigh. Hildebrandt’s
injuries were more difficult to ignore given the ungainly contraption that
supported his arm in front of his chest. He gripped Hildebrandt’s hand. “Good
to see you’re up and around. Emily and I really cannot thank you enough.”

“The flowers you all sent to my room were plenty for
someone only doing his job. We’re the ones who should be thanking you. Sam told
me he was coming down, so we figured it was a chance to do just that.”

Stuart turned to see what was keeping Emily. She brushed
past him and threw her arms around McBurney. Eyes wide, the hulking CIA officer
patted her lightly on the back.

“Thank you.” Emily withdrew and wiped away her tears. “I
was certain my father had died.”

Stuart broke the momentary silence. “Any word on Devinn?”

Hildebrandt’s expression turned grim. “We found him once. We’ll
find him again.”

Stuart still had difficulty accepting the implications of
Devinn’s escape. What would life entail for him as a parent until the
fugitive’s eventual capture—
if
he was captured?

“But I’ve got good news,” said Hildebrandt. “We’ve worked
out a legal framework for you and an FBI team to try to isolate that computer
virus in the Thanatech memory module.”

McBurney added, “Lance Lee has admitted to having directed
Devinn and Thompson to commit sabotage.”

Stuart was surprised. “How did you manage that?”

“I guess there’s nothing like capital punishment hanging
over your head to clarify matters.” Hildebrandt chuckled then winced at the pain
in his chest wound. “We’re stumbling over a few holes in Mr. Lee’s story. But we
see the potential for closure with this software virus of yours.”

Closure...?
Stuart noted Hildebrandt’s obvious
physical discomfort. “Let’s grab a seat inside the boathouse and continue this
over a beer.”

“I don’t know about beer with this painkiller I’m on, but a
chair sounds awesome.”

Emily suggested that she help Ashley whip together sandwiches
and chowder. The two left the others behind in order to attend to the food.

Hildebrandt paused outside Stuart’s boathouse looking
perplexed. “I thought it was Emily’s mother who was near death. What was that
comment Emily made about her father?”

McBurney said to Hildebrandt, “I guess I forgot to tell you
about that.”

Hildebrandt rotated stiffly toward his colleague. “I can’t
imagine.”

McBurney gazed at the woman and girl walking hand-in-hand toward
Stuart’s house. “During the exciting part of the episode at CLI—the part that
you and I apparently missed, Ed—it seems Miss Chang was more or less convinced
that her father was among those about to be killed in Beijing.”

“You mean...she went ahead and pulled the trigger on that
thing any way?”

“We couldn’t know whether or not Emily’s father was inside
the targeted building,” Stuart explained. “There was reason enough to suspect
it. As it turns out, more so than we realized.”

“About the time they rolled you into the ambulance, Emily
raced out of the building. She was pretty badly shaken up.” McBurney explained
that he had woken Deputy Ambassador Rotger in the middle of the Beijing night
and charged him with the task of locating Deng. Rotger subsequently reported
that Emily’s father was unharmed. “Deng told me a few days later that her
father’s presence inside the Old Defense Building might have actually been an
issue, but he had personally ordered Zhao to the hospital on the pretense that
his wife was on her deathbed.” McBurney fixed his gaze on Stuart. “Your Emily’s
quite an extraordinary individual—I mean, she is truly a patriot.”