River of Ruin (50 page)

“That’s why we’re getting the manifest, Dad. It’ll give us an exact time the ship’s going into the canal. How about on your end? Anything?”

“Maybe.” Vanik cleared his throat. “A refrigerator ship called the
Korvald
was seen leaving Shanghai harbor less than twenty-four hours after a special armored train arrived in the city. Security was tight during the transfer of eight individual payloads onto the ship. The operative on the ground couldn’t tell what they were but at least knew the count.”

“This came from the Taiwanese?” Mercer asked

“No comment,” the general said quickly. “The important thing is that the ship had been in port for five weeks without any kind of activity going on and it appears that nothing other than the cargo from the train was loaded aboard.”

“I doubt it’s a giant takeout order of Peking duck,” Harry White said.

“Who the hell is that?” Anger flared in General Vanik’s voice.

“Sorry, sir,” Mercer said. “That’s a colleague of mine.” He covered the mouthpiece and shouted across the suite, “Harry, keep your goddamned comments to yourself.” The octogenarian scowled.

“Any idea where the train came from?” Lauren asked her father.

“HUMINT wasn’t that good. This all happened about two and a half weeks ago, more than enough time for a ship like the
Korvald
to reach Panama. Can your friend verify if that ship is in Panamanian waters?”

“I’ll call him right now.” Harry hung up his extension and returned to the living room, where Mercer gave him Lauren’s cell phone.

“Could it be the missiles that go along with the launchers Lauren and I saw?” Mercer mused.

“CIA has been sitting on that piece of information since the ship sailed, but as soon as I got some analysts looking for eight rockets it took on a new meaning,” Vanik answered. “It had been filed away with the hundreds of other bizarre things the Chinese do every day.”

Like with so many rogue operations, the hindsight of combing old intel often revealed direct links that only looked significant after it was too late. Learning about the
Korvald
this quickly was a major break.

“What’s going on at our embassy?”

“A group of about fifty protestors are there. Marine detachment says they’re pretty riled up but haven’t done anything other than burn a couple of flags and prevent anyone from leaving or entering.”

“Liu’s cut us off.” Mercer repeated what he’d said when Lauren first told him.

“Appears so,” General Vanik agreed. “Worse still, if the Panamanian government doesn’t allow us to land troops, any Special Forces team we send down won’t have weapons and can’t get access to the armory at the embassy.” He added sarcastically, “Thank the Clinton administration for not pressing to keep at least one active base in the Canal Zone.”

Lauren knew a tirade was coming and headed him off. “Dad, if you can get us the troops, I’ve got the contacts to get the weapons down here.”

“To be on the safe side I did call General Peter Horner, the head of Special Operations Command. He’s put a team on alert status.”

“But no Go order?” Mercer asked.

“It’s no secret we’ve kept antiterrorism forces on standby ever since the World Trade Center attack. What is not widely known are the tight constraints put on their deployment. It takes some pretty solid evidence before we unleash them. There are serious implications of sending American troops to a sovereign nation like Panama.”

“They’re nothing compared to what happens if you don’t, sir.” Mercer’s ire leaked into his voice. Lauren shot him a look.

“We know what you’re up against, Dad,” she soothed. “But things are getting tense here. We need help.”

“I’m getting it for you. Don’t worry. Once we get confirmation from the French, I’ll get the authorization to divert the guided missile destroyer, USS
McCampbell
that’s currently in the waters off western Colombia.”

“Any combat troops on that ship?” Mercer asked.

“No, but she’s loaded with Tomahawk missiles and has been retrofitted with an experimental VGAS cannon.”

“VGAS?”

“Vertical Gun for Advanced Ship. It’s a 155mm precision weapon to be installed on the next-generation Battlefield Dominance Vessels. The gun can fire fifteen rounds a minute and can direct a stream of six-inch explosive shells like a fire hose from about eighty miles away.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. So don’t think I’m not supporting you.”

“I didn’t think you weren’t,” Mercer said respectfully. “Just so you know, General, the French agent, along with a team from the Foreign Legion, were in Panama tracking what they thought was a shipment of nuclear waste stolen off a ship in the canal.” Mercer could sense Vanik was about to go off again and spoke quickly. “The materials have already been found in Japan, where a clerical error had triggered the alert. I tell you this so you’ll know that’s what they were up to. It may help in dealing with them when they call to verify Lauren and my findings.”

“What’s the agent’s name?”

“Rene Bruneseau.” Mercer spelled it for him. Given the sensitivity of his mission, I expect he’s a ranking agent within the DGSE.”

“Okay. I have to go now,” the general said abruptly. “I’ve already traced this call so I have your number. I’ll call you with any new developments. You do the same.”

“Yes, sir,” Lauren answered automatically and hung up. She turned to Mercer. “What do you think?”

Mercer remained silent for a second, thinking about all that could go wrong and the slim chance that everything could come together in their favor. If even one thing went awry, any planned response to Hatcherly’s operation would collapse. He knew they were facing the longest odds he’d ever encountered, but true to his nature, he would go on no matter what. He looked at Lauren without a trace of pessimism. “We’re going to nail Liu to the wall.”

“Amen,” Harry said around a cigarette. “I reached Roddy. He’s just about to enter the admin building at Balboa Heights. I told him to check on the
Korvald
if he can.”

“If my father can get us some SF, I need to get working on securing some weapons.” Lauren reached for the phone again. “I lost some of my best contacts back at the River of Ruin when that Hatcherly chopper made the lake bubble up, but I’ve got a few people I can call here in the city.”

Roddy Herrara’s throat was so dry that swallowing felt like a hot needle being jammed into the back of his throat. His palms were greasy and the lump of the 9mm pistol tucked into the back of his pants weighed a ton. He stood along a tree-lined street in the
Prado,
the area of stately homes created for the canal’s original builders. The neighborhood resembled a slice of small-town America circa 1912. Looming above on a grassy hill was the three-story administration building, its red-tiled roof contrasting with its massive white stone walls. Where once the flags of Panama and the United States had waved, a single blue, white, and red checkerboard standard of the Republic of Panama now hung like a rag in the humid air. He wondered if someday they’d be so bold as to fly China’s bloodred flag next to it.

Near where Roddy waited was the house of the canal administrator, Felix Silvera-Arias. He and Carmen had been invited there for a lavish reception when the legislature confirmed his appointment. A short while later, Roddy had his “accident,” and had been summarily fired.

The memory was as bitter as the taste of fear in his mouth.

He had another few minutes to wait for Esmerelda Vega. Essie was a fixture within the Canal Authority, a procurement manager who’d outlasted the past six administrators. Overweight and mustached, Essie was perhaps the finest person Roddy had ever met, and that included his own wife. She was like a mother to many canal employees and best friend to the rest. Roddy had called her from his car, telling her only that he needed to meet her outside the building. Without argument or need for explanation, the sixty-six-year-old grandmother of seventeen agreed.

While Roddy was confident, he was also racked by guilt. His responsibility to his family weighed heavily on his mind. Carmen had been a pillar of strength since he’d lost his job, encouraging one minute and commiserating the next as his moods swung from outrage to despair. The kids, too young to really understand the strain on the family, had been wonderful. Then there was Miguel. Despite everything that had befallen his family, Carmen was talking about adopting the boy. Had she not miscarried their first child, he or she would be Miguel’s age now. He knew she wasn’t trying to make up for their loss—she was too practical for that—yet here was an opportunity to give a full life to another. Though he hadn’t given his consent, Roddy knew they would take Miguel in if the orphan wanted to stay. Roddy should be with them now, he felt, not standing in the shadows of the very place that had denied him his career.

And still he was here. It wasn’t that his duty to his country meant more than his obligation to his family. In his mind this was one of those times the two ideas merged into one.

A pair of soldiers stood outside the entrance to the building, their M-16s cradled in their arms. Even at this range, Roddy could sense they were eager to use them. As he watched, the main door swung open and a large spot of color appeared. Essie. She wore a shapeless muumuu large enough to cover a motorcycle, and in such a bright shade of pink that Roddy couldn’t help but smile. Unlike many other women, Esmerelda enjoyed drawing attention to her size and often dressed to emphasize it.

Roddy pushed himself from the tree he’d been leaning against and began the long walk up the steps to the office building. When she finally spotted him Essie gave a cry and her dark, moon face blossomed with a smile.

“About time you showed up!” she said with good-natured scorn. “The office is a madhouse without you.”

Not knowing exactly what Esmerelda was talking about, Roddy went along. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

“Well, Felix wants to see you right this minute. Ships in the canal are backing up every second we waste. Come on.”

Roddy took the last few stairs three at a time. The two guards considering denying him entry had heard the exchange and how casually Essie used the director’s name. They let him pass without challenge and continued their monotonous staring across the
Prado
.

Essie held the door for Roddy. “Hurry, hurry.”

Once through, she led him across the rotunda, past the overly heroic William Van Iagen murals of the canal’s construction, and up the sweeping stairs. Another guard had been sitting at a reception desk, but she hadn’t given him enough time to even think about stopping them.

The brightly lit hallways were nearly deserted, which surprised Roddy. At this time of the day, the administration building should be a hive of activity as they coordinated ships in transit as well as maintenance and all the other details that kept the waterway functioning. He thought Liu Yousheng’s impending attack was the likely reason it was so quiet.

Approaching her office, Esmerelda placed her hand on Roddy’s back in a motherly attempt to guide him. Feeling the outline of the pistol, her jaw dropped and her eyes became huge. She was about to question him when a male voice echoed off the walls from down the hall.

“You there. Stop.” It was another guard. This one didn’t have an M-16, but the webbing belt cinched around his scorpion-thin waist supported a dangling holster. The soldier wasn’t more than twenty years old, yet swaggered as if he’d practiced the walk his entire life.

Roddy’s heart pounded in his chest so loudly he was sure the young soldier could hear. There was nothing he could do. One minute into the building and he was already being captured. And then he thought about the pistol. Could he use it? Surely this was important enough to kill for, but the sound would draw more guards. He felt paralyzed.

“Who are you?” the guard demanded.

“Esmerelda Vega. You’ve seen me a dozen times.” Essie moved so she was backed slightly into her office.

“Not you, cow. Him.” The soldier reached to unsnap his holster, revealing the dark glint of his sidearm. “I asked you a question.”

Unable to believe what he was doing, Roddy reached behind him with the hand the soldier couldn’t see. And felt Essie was already pulling up his shirt. Jesus, no! He planned to push her into the office before showing the weapon. Now she was placing herself right in the middle of the fight.

“Don’t you dare call me cow, young man.” Esmerelda’s tone was filled with the censure of a school principal. She didn’t betray that just past the guard’s view she was pulling a 9mm pistol. “Did your mother allow you to use such language?”

Don’t do it, Roddy silently prayed. Essie cleared the gun from his shirt. He didn’t dare turn away from the guard to see what she was doing with it.

The young soldier didn’t look quite so bold in the face of her anger. “Who is he?” he asked with a little more respect.

Without missing a beat, Essie Vega set the pistol on top of a filing cabinet just inside her office and brushed her substantial calf against the door to close it slightly. “This is Rodrigo Herrara. He’s a senior canal pilot. Director Silvera-Arias has called him in to help handle a crisis. Why don’t you come into my office and we can call him together and you can explain why Mr. Herrara’s being held up from his duties.”

Roddy felt like he was going to throw up. He swiveled his eyes and could see the H&K’s ugly shape on the cabinet. If the soldier took another couple of paces closer he’d be able to see it too.

The guard frowned, looking even less certain now. A silence hung for a few seconds. Squinting, the soldier studied Roddy. Mustering every scrap of self-discipline he possessed, Roddy remained motionless, trying to appear bored.

“Very well,” the soldier said at last. “Carry on.” He returned back down the hallway to wherever he’d been lurking.