The Chinese Agenda (29 page)

`Because the troops they already have on the border are sufficient to hold back Russian border troops. That isn't the problem. It's the strike-force troops that will be brought up from the rear that will overrun them .. . courtesy of the helicopter. The missiles are for those troops and for blackmail against Soviet cities. One of those blasted things dropped anywhere near an inhabited area could start a plague. They won't need to aim for the cities. The suburbs, beyond the range of the antimissile defenses, will serve just as well.'

Gillon knew that there was no need to discuss the matter further. Liu was right. The real danger in the Chicom plan lay in that unregulatable human factor, the possibility that some fool or madman might get his hand on the trigger. The danger was strong enough with nuclear weapons; but bacteriological warfare was immensely more dangerous.

`What do you say?' Liu asked softly. 'Give the packet to one of the others and come with us. Let those bastards in Moscow and Washington sort out their own mess.'

Stubbornly, Gillon shook his head. 'No. Give me the package.'

Liu reached into his parka, then hesitated. "Never was a patriot yet, but was a fool," ' he intoned in a somber voice.

Gillon snorted. 'There's no patriotism involved. I don't owe anyone a damned thing. And anyway, you're not the only one who can quote poetry . . . "plots, true or false, are necessary things, to raise up commonwealths and ruin kings." Dryden, wasn't it?'

`Damn .. .' Liu burst into laughter. 'All right. Like I said, you're a big boy. Take it.'

He tossed a slim creased manila envelope, stained with perspiration, to Gillon. It felt empty and he held it up to the firelight.

`Microfiche,' Liu explained, noting the way Gillon

was handling it. `Take damned good care of it. More people than you know about have died for that . that and some stupid theory formulated by a power-hungry maniac in the last century to describe what any text on child psychology would tell you.'

Gillon tucked the envelope away inside his own pocket without comment. He had what he had come for and, strangely enough, he felt no elation. Their chances were very slim indeed of ever crossing the border to deliver it. If he wasn't such a damned fool, he'd take Liu up on his offer and march south with him. But he turned away and paced around the edge of the wavering firelight.

`No,' he said suddenly. Ìf my double agent doesn't have a radio, then he has to figure some other way of getting word to the Reds; otherwise, he is just as trapped as the rest of us. The Chicoms don't know where we are now and your friends in the caravan don't want them to know. So our boy is stuck . . . for a while anyway. If it is Dmietriev, then he is going to have to make some move to attract their attention. All I've got to do is stop him before he does.'

`Yeah, that's all,' ,Liu shook his head. Àll right, I've tried.'

`Jack . . . look, why don't you come with us? That way, we'll all stand a better chance of getting out. The Russians are going to let you through . . . you're the one who got the packet.'

Liu shook his head. 'Sorry, but probablys and maybes aren't enough in my line. You go ahead ... you'll stand a better chance in a small party. But I won't leave you flat. We're heading off to the southwest and we'll kick up enough of a fuss along the way to distract them.'

Gillon nodded, knowing that there was nothing more that he could say. Liu knew ... or thought he knew ... what he had to do. Liu stuck out his hand. Reluctantly Gillon took it. 'What do you think your chances are ... ?'

Òne in a million, same as when we came in two years ago. They never change, but somehow we keep going.'

Gillon nodded and Liu gripped his hand, hard, then turned and hurried away toward a smaller yurt, in front

of which several of his hard-faced Chinese troopers stood watching. Feeling like a fool, Gillon forced down the lump in his throat and walked slowly hack to his own yurt, thinking bitterly that in a few days they could all be dead . . . and for what?

Some stupid pieces of information in a stupid game that would probably be public knowledge in a few months anyway. Was a few months worth their lives and the lives of all those who had already died in this elaborate chess match?

Gillon stood beside the-yurt watching the. spectacular display of color flaming over the eastern horizon above the peaks of the Khalik Tau. Long streamers of high cirrostratus cloud swept in feathery whorls across the sky, changing from rose to white as the sun heaved itself above the peaks. The valley floor was still enmeshed in. night but the camp was astir with the activity of camels being loaded and yurts and eouipment packed away. Three old men worked. like frenzies packing crates and bags near the central campfire and Gillon spotted what he supposed were women carrying boxes toward the line of camels that had already been saddled and were complaining loudly as the loads were lashed securely onto their backs. Men, women and children wore the same. heavy clothing, either the traditional' padded jackets and pants or else the cast-off cold-weather clothing of a dozen different armies, and it was extremely difficult to distinguish between sexes at distances beyond a few feet.

Behind him, Stowe edged out of the yurt through the narrow doorway. He bent forward and tugged the white coverall parka over his head, then glanced toward Gillon.

`Morning.'

Gillon nodded and watched two small boys chase a bellowing camel in from the trees. The noise was unbelievable but he saw that in what appeared to be complete chaos, every action was performed with practiced

purposefulness. The felt yurts disappeared quickly and shortly the women were at work sweeping the snow.

Gillon nodded at Stowe. 'If we want to eat, we had better get this thing packed up. Or else they may decide to leave us.'

Stowe stopped swinging his arms and stamping his feet against the brutal dawn cold and glanced around the campsite, noticing the activity for the first time. He turned to examine the yurt.

`Have you ever taken one of these things down before?'

`Nope, but it looks like it should be easy enough. The felt covering is tied to the curved risers and the floor is separate. I noticed that last night.'

Stowe wandered around the other side, then stopped to watch two women at work, as they struck a smaller yurt.

`Hey, look at that! The covering goes on in quarters . . Gillon walked around to join him and they both watched for a moment.

'Yeah .. . look, see if you can find any drawstrings inside where the sections meet while I pull the pegs out. We'll take one quarter at a time until we get this thing figured out. Oh .

. . and get those other two clowns up, we'll need the help,' he called after Stowe. Stowe nodded and disappeared back inside. A moment later Dmietriev and Leycock stumbled out to stand shivering in the snow while they zipped up their parkas. The sheepskin floor coverings flew out after them. One roll hit Ley-cock in the back of the legs as he bent over to lace up his boots and sent him sprawling into the snow. Between Leycock's profanity and Gillon's and Dmietriev's laughter they made a fair start on dismantling the yurt.

Drawstrings on the inside held the four quarters tightly over the pole framework that came together in a cleverly fashioned socket at the top to form the smoke hole. The eight tent poles were then held securely in place by the tension of the felt covering. It took them twenty minutes of fumbling and false starts to dismantle the yurt and roll the felt quarters up tightly. By the time they had finished they had gathered a crowd of grinning men and angry women.

Stowe straightened up to see one of the women glaring at him. Òh, oh . . . it looks like we are in for some trouble,' he called to Gillon, and jerked his thumb at the crowd. Gillon turned to look and the men broke into gales of laughter as one of the older women made an obscene - gesture and spit into the snow at his feet. Surprised, Gillon dropped the roll of felt he was tying off and the stiff fabric began to unroll. The old woman elbowed Dmietriev out of the way and spitting a stream of curses, snatched it up.

'It looks like we are breaking into someone's union

. . .' Gillon started to say when he caught sight of the • caravan master stalking angrily toward them. Still laughing, the men broke away to return to the camels but the women began shouting and gesticulating at Gillon. The carayan master pushed through, then with kicks and blows herded them back toward the camels. He returned immediately, shouting angrily, and Gillon understood at once. They were not• to touch anything, they were to stay out of the way entirely. He put his hands behind his back and marched to the side, nodding his head to show that he understood. Somewhat mollified by this-ready acceptance, the caravan master stopped shouting, shook his head and turned back to the camels.. A few paces away, he turned and pointed toward the cooking pots, then at his mouth, then at the four of them and finally at the ground beside their half-struck yurt.

`What the hell was that last hit?' Leycock demanded. Dmietriev, grinning for the first time in days, explained.

'He was telling us to keep our hands to ourselves and not touch any of his equipment. Then he told us that we were barbarians, not fit to live with civilized people and that we would he fed, but we would have to stay away from his people.'

`Do you understand that language?' Stowe asked in surprise.

`Mongolian . . . oh no. But the -meaning was plain enough.'

`That it was,' Gillon said quietly. He turned away,

angry and somewhat embarrassed at the same time. Around the camp, the darkness was beginning to dissipate as the sun climbed higher over the eastern peaks. As yet, it had not reached into the valley, but the ridges to the south and west were sharply outlined in the reddish dawn glow. As the light brightened, he caught sight of a line of black dots crawling slowly over the crest of a ridge to the southwest. A sudden feeling of loneliness went through him as he realized that it was Jack Liu and his people. For one intense moment, he was tempted to throw the packet to Stowe and go after Liu.

'Come on,' Leycock said, breaking into his reverie. 'They're ready to feed us.'

Gillon shivered slightly, took a last look at the distant line of figures, then followed Leycock, Stowe and Dmietriev toward the central fire.

The sunlight had barely reached the valley floor when the caravan march began. Gillon had never imagined a caravan traveling through forest. Camels and caravans belonged to deserts, not high mountain valleys. But now that he was actually a part of a caravan, following one of the most ancient caravan routes in the world, he realized that the desert portions of the Asian route would be relatively short in proportion to the segments that would lead through temperate forests and high mountain passes. According to Jack Liu, the route they would follow was one of the oldest. Centuries before, it had constituted the main road from Peking and Urumchi to the ancient Central Asian cities of Samarkand and Herat. From there, it led to Persia and finally Istanbul and Antioch, a total of nearly seven thousand miles. Now it was reduced to an almost unknown route less than two thousand miles long. But even so, an annual business only slightly less lively than that of the less ancient African trade routes was still conducted. Across the Gobi into the Khalik Tau range, down through its valleys to the southeastern flanks of the Tien Shan to the Pamir-Altai plateau, where it crossed the Soviet border a final time into northern Afghanistan; all but

four hundred miles of the trail – the Gobi portion was above six thousand feet. The caravan was large and stretched so far ahead that Gillon, Stowe, Leycock and Dmietriev, stuck back near the tail end, where they could be conveniently watched, could rarely see the entire line. All the long morning and well into the afternoon, they marched at what Gil-Ion considered to be an exceptionally fast pace. They were placed so as to march abreast of the last few camels in the single file. The camel masters steadily ignored them except to shout curses if they came too near. Guards came and went on snowshoes or skis, always watchful. They were under the constant surveillance of at least two guards at all times. The one time during the day that a search aircraft flew at treetop level over the forest the caravan came to an abrupt halt while guards swept down the line warning all to remain perfectly still. The Kalmucks stood as carved from ice with practiced precision that told Gillon this was for them a routine drill. He was, however, not certain that he appreciated the five men who surrounded them with lowered rifles. The aircraft did not return and the caravan moved off, but the four of them remained subdued for some time afterward.

It was well along toward sundown before the caravan halted for the night. Near exhaustion, Gillon stumbled to a halt while the camel drivers led their animals off. Having learned that morning that their help was neither wanted nor solicited, he lowered his pack and sat down in the snow under the branches of a spruce. Leycock dropped down next to him.

'Christ! You'd think they would at least take these damned packs so that we wouldn't have to carry them.'

Gilson gave him a grin of sympathy and nodded. 'I suppose they have each animal loaded to the exact mark. Another thirty pounds each just might swamp them.'

'Yeah, I guess so. Did you notice that no one rides? Not even the women or kids.'

Gillon nodded, and too tired to carry on a conversation, closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

Stowe and Dmietriev trudged up, dumped their packs and sank down into the snow beside them.

`Goddamn, I'm bushed,' Stowe muttered. 'These are the marchingest people I've ever seen. I thought caravans only traveled about fifteen miles a day and stopped early. Hell, I bet we've covered at least twenty miles.'

Dmietriev leaned back, cradling his head against his pack with a deep sigh that blew a plume of frosted breath in a long, curling streamer. 'Perhaps they are anxious to be rid of us. If we have walked twenty miles today, then we are much nearer the border than I thought we would be.'

'Speaking of the border,' Stowe said, turning to Gillon, 'no one has asked yet, but did your gook friend pass on the information that we came for?'