Razing Beijing: A Thriller (95 page)

Deng smiled as he greeted the arriving elites, increasingly
convinced that tonight’s display of covert military prowess was ideally suited
to this particular crowd. Rong’s arch rival, the finance minister, was not
among them. He glanced at one of several clocks in the room; 13:46 ZULU, 9:46
P.M.
Beijing local time—8:46
A.M.
in the eastern United States.
Exactly one
hour and forty-five minutes to go
. The precise periodicity of orbital
mechanics left little room for uncertainty.

Deng found himself reflecting on his sense of remorse, deeper
than he had expected. Might there have been that
other
crop of leaders,
those he had always counted on to seize this opportunity to the betterment of
all
China’s people? What months earlier he would have condemned as the ultimate act
of betrayal, he now considered rescue from the hands of a power-mongering
butcher. Was he committing treason, or perhaps something worse—a personal
vendetta, masquerading as treason? Certainly his was the act of a desperate
man—and one that he would come to regret? A stab of worry served to remind him
that his wasn’t the only desperate act tonight.
Okay, Peifu—any time now
would be fine.

Deng realized he was neglecting his guests. “Forgive me,”
he said with a crooked grin. “I am a bit the distracted father awaiting the
birth of his child. If you will, comrades, this way.” He led the entourage past
Defense Ministry engineers seated before their various electronic displays, and
over whose heads expectations for the upcoming event hung like a Damocles
sword.

“Here you see the object of a great gnashing of teeth—and
yes,” Deng said, reading their thoughts, “no small drain on our coffers. Leave
the Americans to their antiquated JSTAR military communications. Like
everything else before you, proof that the Western hegemon is losing his grip.”

Seemingly suspended in air—it was actually a two-meter
diameter sphere constructed of syntactic foam—was the satellite tracking
display. Deng explained for his captivated audience that three lasers mounted
in the ceiling and three recessed beneath the floor projected the hologram of
earth onto the sphere. He neglected to add it had taken Korzhakov months to
convince him and others that this was no mere extravagance, but the
next-generation theatre battlefield management. The Standing Committee marveled
at the remarkable detail of mountain ranges in relief, iridescent nighttime
swathes of population centers, rivers, barren deserts—all of it thanks to a
United States space shuttle ground radar imaging survey, a revelation that
triggered an undercurrent of laughter.

“This is much more than simply a map.” China’s leaders were
almost without exception degreed engineers, a fact which simplified Deng’s task
of explaining the fully integrated weapon targeting system. He directed their
attention to the small gold sphere currently hurtling eastward over the Atlantic
Ocean toward the western coast of Africa. “Note the bright red circle cast
beneath it onto the earth’s surface. This depicts the instantaneous range of
Fourth Line’s satellite weapon. We track the device as well as evaluate the
proximity of a given orbit to a potential target. A thorough evaluation of any
adjustment to the orbit can be made before expending precious maneuvering fuel.”

Beads of sweat rimming his forehead, Deng nodded to proceed
with the presentation. The technician complied by advancing the rotation of ‘planet
earth,’ represented by the spherical hologram. The bright gold sphere was now
shown positioned on a vaporous white ring of light depicting its wavy, sinusoidal
track over the ground. As the earth rotated the committee members could see
that the weapon would pass nearly over their heads before streaking over Korea
and Japan. As the globe rotated they were given a preview of the wavy path the
satellite was programmed to take over the Pacific, northern California, the
American Upper Midwest and, finally, near that nation’s capital—the animation
paused briefly to allow the various members to study it. The technician
returned the globe to live tracking mode. Instantly the gold sphere again depicted
the satellite’s present location, hurtling eastward, soon to cross into
darkness over Eastern Europe and the border of China’s western provinces beyond.

The Chief of Public Security asked, “How often does the
weapon repeat a pass?”

“The satellite completes an orbit about every two hours,”
said Deng. “Every two days or so—forty-nine hours and three seconds, to be
exact—the weapon passes above the same point on the surface of the earth. That’s
also the time it takes for the solar array to fully charge, or recharge, the
capacitors.” Deng surveyed his guests. “That’s not mere coincidence.”

“The satellite needs to be fully charged before each
attack?”

“Simulations run with less than full charge have been
inconclusive. For maximum effectiveness, 100 percent charge will become the
routine. As each orbit requires two hours, twenty-four orbits through the
sunlit half of the globe allow it to fully recharge.”

“We still have no knowledge as to the destination of the
transported material?”

Deng slowly shook his head in shared bafflement. “None
whatsoever.”

“And neither do the Americans?”

“Especially the Americans, who arguably have more reason to
care. Perhaps, comrade, the material is spread among the stars of Orion. Or
perhaps...” Deng paused to consider a more thoughtful reply, but he only shook
his head.

He was fielding similarly vacuous questions when two
mid-rank PLA officers entered the room. They were accompanied by their civilian
intelligence officer, whom Deng immediately recognized as the deputy minister
of state security. The two uniformed men paused while the younger stripped away
a wax seal from a large envelope, removed the contents and handed one of the two
sheets to his senior. They strolled purposefully past the Standing Committee
and assumed positions before separate consoles.

“An historic moment, comrades,” Deng observed, his voice
sounding a note of fatigue that probably didn’t square with his inspirational
words.

After verifying that the documentation was in order, Deputy
Minister Chen Ruihan stepped away from his PLA charges and approached Rong
Peng.

“There were no problems revising the target parameters,”
Chen reported with strident confidence and, as Rong could readily see, profound
relief.

THE SKY ABOVE BYRD
INTERNATIONAL
was scudding overcast but gradually clearing. Across the
country, patrolling military jets could be heard in place of commercial air
traffic as the aviation ground-stop was slow to be lifted. From inside the
Richmond tower, controllers watching the active runway noted the high-speed
ground roll of the arriving Citation.

The airplane slowed to a fast clip before veering onto the
ramp. The executive aircraft no sooner rolled to a halt when ground crew
slammed chocks into place and began transferring luggage from the jet to the
back of a waiting van.

Waiting for Stuart as he stepped off the plane was the
black FBI agent whom he recognized from his interrogation several weeks ago. “You
guys should compare notes on interrogation techniques,” quipped Stuart, earning
himself a bemused look from McBurney. “Where are—”

“Miss Chang and Mr. Thackeray drove themselves to CLI,”
Agent Hildebrandt said. “I understand you’re both in some kind of all-important
hurry.”

Stuart noted the man’s testiness. “Then I guess they’re all
right?” He climbed into the van behind McBurney, as Special Agent Nick Brophy
piled in behind them.

“A little battered,” Hildebrandt acknowledged from behind
the wheel of the van. “I tried to coax them to the hospital so that they could
be looked at, but Miss Chang ’bout ripped my head off.” He dropped the shift
into gear and gunned the accelerator. “Somebody mind telling me what the deal
is with CLI this morning?”

McBurney cast a glance over his shoulder at Stuart. “You
know the deal.” He gazed out the front passenger window as they passed various
idled aircraft. “This business with Mr. Stuart and his colleagues involves an
urgent national security matter. I’m afraid that’s about all I can say.”

“Yeah, well, your national security matter became my
domestic responsibility the minute I charged a CLI employee with conspiracy to
commit terrorism.”

Stuart asked, “What are you talking about?”

Agent Brophy dropped a thin stack of pages into Stuart’s
lap. On top was a mug shot taken earlier that morning. Stuart looked at it and asked,
“Steven Reedy, a
terrorist?
”

Hildebrandt described the stake-out to apprehend Paul
Devinn that culminated in Reedy’s arrest. “And maybe a few counts of
espionage.” He caught Stuart’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “Surprised?”

The more ominous question for Stuart was what Reedy’s
arrest might portend. “I don’t know if I am or not. Has he admitted to
anything?” Stuart handed the pages to McBurney’s outstretched hand.

“We think Mr. Reedy’s the mercenary type, and they usually
do. The early indications are he’s not going to be much help apprehending
Devinn.”

“Holy
Christ
—now I know where I saw this guy!”
shouted McBurney.

Hildebrandt said, “Who, Reedy?”

“No!” He held up a faxed photograph of Paul Devinn. “Someone
videotaped him walking past the van where they staged the Holocaust Museum
attack. Except he wasn’t walking
past
it, he must’ve been walking
away
from it. I remember asking if he might’ve been the driver, but your Agent. Kosmalski
essentially advised me to pound sand up my ass.” McBurney frowned. He turned
toward Hildebrandt. “I had understood Lance Lee might meet us here at the
airport.”

Hildebrandt suddenly looked as though McBurney had just
reached across and slapped him in the face. “Why would you think that?” He
shared an uneasy glance with Agent Brophy.

McBurney described his communications with Special Agent Peter
Kosmalski.

As the minutes passed, Stuart found the dynamic between
these people increasingly strange.

“BECAUSE IT WOULD BE
AGAINST THE LAW,”
Ralph Perry replied matter-of-factly.

Milton Thackeray was regretting whatever instinct had led
him to seek the CEO’s permission. Then again, triggering the alarm and
summoning police would have defeated the purpose. “Does that mean you’ve
disabled the access door so that no one can enter?” he asked.

Perry stared hard at the haggard figure standing in front
of his desk. On his short list of reasons for coming in early that morning was
drafting his plan to present to the board for riding out the congressional
snarl. He was actually hoping to hang onto his employees. He hadn’t expected to
be confronted with reasons for firing them. “Thack, I just told you, it’s
against the
law
. What that means is, any one entering the facility
without court approval is going to jail. And losing his job.”

That sounded to Thackeray like the security system had not
been disabled, at least not yet.

“What happened to your face?”

“Someone broke into my house.” Thackeray turned to leave.

“You should take the day off,” Perry advised the retreating
form.

Thackeray met up with Emily outside the executive suite. He
ignored her inquisitive stare as they crossed the floor of the lobby.

Emily hesitated at the blaze-orange barricade cones
positioned in front of the elevator. “So what did Mr. Perry say?”

“Only that we could go to jail.” Thackeray pushed the
button on the wall and the elevator doors slid open. Emily stepped around the
cones and joined him inside.

Five minutes later, Ralph Perry sat brooding in his office,
feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. His secretary disturbed him
to say that he had another visitor.

He glared at the intercom. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Carl Smith. He said he’s with Joanne Lewis’s law firm.
They apparently sent him down to help us deal with our problem.”

“Send him in,” Perry replied at once.

Smith entered a moment later and introduced himself. Perry
offered the lawyer the chair in front of his desk.

“Our first order of business, Mr. Perry, is to resurrect
the effort to win an injunction,” Smith suggested without preamble.

Perry eyed his guest. He decided he might have misjudged
the man by his casual attire. Under the circumstances, he found Smith’s
no-frills manner encouraging. He leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

“Of course, our case should receive special consideration
given the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Ms. Lewis. Especially if we
provide evidence of your security compliance.”

“Then you don’t expect there to be a problem rescheduling
our hearing?”

“No, but in the interest of my being conversant on the
subject, perhaps you should bring me downstairs and familiarize me with the
security.” Smith stood up from his chair. “I don’t suppose I can just walk on
in.” He smiled.

Perry frowned.

“The offices downstairs are empty, aren’t they?”

“Listen here, Smith. If you still think you need to, I can
arrange for that later. Right now, I’ve got a pile of...” He watched the man
reach behind the small of his back. Perry’s eyes went wide at the sight of the
pistol with a silencer attached to its barrel.

“We’re both busy men, Mr. Perry. I won’t waste your time
with a lot of questions. Just tell me how to gain access to this facility of
yours.”

“You can’t gain access,” Perry said, voice taut. He wondered
if there was some way for him to warn Linda. He glanced at the intercom...