War of Eagles (36 page)

Hood was not surprised by what Anita told him. He would not miss Chou Shin. The man was a hard-line ideologue who kept China anchored to its backward, isolationist past. Whose agents had helped to endanger his Op-Center field team in Botswana when they tracked a kidnapped priest.

But assassination, if that’s what had happened, was not a policy that Paul Hood endorsed. It was the last and ultimately least effective resort of desperate megalomaniacs. If they did not have the support to accomplish what they wanted through legitimate means, murder was a short-term solution.

“Do you need help with something?” Hood asked the prime minister through his daughter.

“I am concerned about Tam Li,” Le Kwan Po replied. “Your own friend the general might have some thoughts. Perhaps you have your own sources.”

Ordinarily, Hood would be suspicious of a Chinese leader who asked for help from American intelligence. Though the presidential envoy did not entirely trust the man, he believed in him. Le Kwan Po had been caught between two strong polar forces. One of them had just been eliminated. He was clearly looking to restabilize himself and perhaps his nation.

“I will call him when we land,” Hood promised. He did not want to contact him while they were in flight. Rodgers was probably with the marines. The pilots might be able to track his call using the sophisticated electronics of the aircraft. He did not want to give them that opportunity. “In the interim there is someone else who might have some insights,” he said.

Hood called Liz Gordon. The Op-Center psychologist had just gotten home and was feeding her cat.

“Paul Hood,” she said flatly. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“Frankly, I didn’t expect to be calling,” he fired back.

As a rule, Hood had not been a booster of psychiatry or profiling. He still was not sure it deserved the validity and effort law enforcement gave it. Occasionally, however, it offered useful insights.

Gordon snickered. “Touché. What can I do for you?”

“Has Bob kept you abreast of the situation in China?”

“I read his summary before leaving,” she said.

“There’s been a new development,” Hood said. “The nonmilitary individual was eliminated, apparently by his rival.”

“The man who was hit in Charleston and Taipei struck back,” she said.

“Right.”

Hood knew that Liz would understand his shorthand. There were English-speakers on board the aircraft. The engines were loud but not that loud. Some of them might overhear.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said.

“Why?”

“Soldiers are not diplomats. They run out of words and patience faster than other people,” Liz told him. “Where did this happen?”

“At a base in the east.”

“Isn’t this his rocket being launched?” Liz asked.

“Yes.”

“Why isn’t he there?”

“The big man says he is staying at home to oversee the investigation,” Hood told her. “Perhaps he is concerned that the deceased succeeded in his alleged plot to boobytrap the mission.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell that to the PM?” she asked. “If he was responsible for this incident at the base, there is sure to be an inquiry. He will be a likely suspect. Information about a plot against the mission would give our man a reason for having acted the way he did.”

She had a point.

“Do we even know why the deceased went there?” Liz asked.

“No.”

“People tend to confront other people face-to-face for one of two reasons,” Liz said. “Either they are flat-out nuts, or they have a virtuous cause and strength of numbers behind them. Was this man crazy?”

“Not at all,” Hood said.

“Then he must have known something, or had something that he wanted to present to his rival. That’s the information you should be looking for, information that may have been worth killing for.”

“Mr. Hood!” Anita said urgently.

Hood looked over. She was pointing to her father’s laptop. He nodded and held up a finger.

“Liz, this has been helpful. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you doing okay?” he added as an afterthought.

“Just peachy,” she replied. “Go. We’ll talk later.”

“Thanks again,” he said.

He folded away his cell phone as Anita typed a translation on the laptop. When she was finished, she handed the device to Hood. It was an incomplete E-mail from Guoanbu Director Chou. It had been sent around the time of the explosion. It read:

After landing at the airfield fifty kilometers south of the complex, Prime Minister Le Kwan Po had placed a call to the Ministry of National Defense. The minister confirmed that General Tam Li had reported organizing an appropriate “ready response” to the Taiwanese deployment. He had no information about Chou Shin’s report of “overwhelming firepower.”

“When was the last time you communicated with Tam Li?” the prime minister inquired.

“He called to inform me of the explosion,” the minister replied.

“You have had no other reports of activity in the east?”

“None,” the minister said.

Le was not surprised. Those reports would have originated at Zhuhai and been disseminated throughout the national defense system. The PLA was not equipped to spy on itself, and it did not have reciprocal arrangements with other nations. Still, someone was lying, either Chou Shin or Tam Li. The prime minister could not imagine the intelligence director sending an E-mail claiming an attack was being prepared unless he could have supported his claim.

“If there were an unusual deployment, and it were not reported to you, how long would it take to get independent corroboration?” the prime minister asked.

“Do you have reason to suspect that something is wrong?” the minister asked urgently.

“I cannot go into that now,” Le said.

“Mr. Prime Minister, if there is a threat to our national defense—”

“I received an uncorroborated report of a possible PLAAF buildup in Tam Li’s command sector,” Le said quickly. He did not have time to debate with the stubborn minister.

“A report from who?”

“Chou Shin, just before his death,” the prime minister answered impatiently.

“He was a patriot,” the minister said. “Radar at the Nanjiang Military Region is piped to the Coordinated Air Command in Beijing,” the minister went on. “That tells us at once how many aircraft are in the skies. At the moment I see nothing unusual apart from the required patrols.” He added, “I would tell you, Mr. Prime Minister, if it were otherwise.”

“You are not someone I doubt,” Le replied truthfully.

“Nor I, you,” the minister told him. “But this information is not deeply useful to us.”

“Why?”

“It would not take long to put several squadrons from the Nanjiang bases into the air and over the strait,” the minister said.

“Can you override Tam Li’s authority?”

“Not until and unless he actually does something that overreaches established protocol or expressed policy. So far, he has acted in accordance with the rules of preemptive engagement regarding Taiwan and air-lane security for a launch path.”

“What does air-lane security entail?”

“PLAAF jets are scrambled to patrol well beyond the boundaries of the rocket’s course,” the minister said. “That prevents enemy aircraft from moving in and compromising rocket integrity.”

“You mean firing a missile,” Le said.

“Yes. The Russians and Americans have been known to observe our launches from high-altitude fighters.”

“Our jets are already in the air?” Le asked.

“They are. A little premature but not alarmingly so.”

Tam Li was doing everything according to schedule. He was not a fool. There was also a chance that he was not guilty.

Le thanked the minister and asked for updates if and when they became available. He sat back and looked out the tinted windows at the rustic countryside. It was possible that Chou Shin had been trying to frame the general. The intelligence director had been responsible for several explosions over the past few days. Perhaps he had gone to Zhuhai to attack the general’s command post. The prime minister was willing to believe that Tam Li had struck directly at his foe, destroying the aircraft. The same could also be true of Chou Shin. His own explosives may have detonated prematurely.

Whatever the truth, there was nothing Le could do now but wait.

Wait, and hope that Paul Hood came up with something that might not be on the radar.

The Xichang Satellite Launch Center was one of three major launch sites in China. The other two were located in Jiuquan and Taiyuan. The Jiuquan site was built in 1968, one thousand miles from Beijing in the Gobi Desert. It was an old site but due to its geographical location was ideal for the launch of both manned and unmanned orbital missions. Taiyuan Satellite Launch Center was primarily a test site that was ideally situated for the launch of polar-orbiting spacecraft. It was the newest of the Chinese space centers, and began operations in 1988.

Xichang had been designed to put geosynchronous satellites into orbit, hardware that would remain in place over specific regions of China. A network of geosynchronous stations would create a relay system, making telecommunications and wireless technology available to all of the vast nation. Begun in 1978 and completed six years later, Xichang was built in the heart of an area populated with small farms. The facility was inaugurated inauspiciously with the disastrous launch of a satellite whose third stage failed to ignite. Several years of successful launches followed until the powerful Long March 2E booster exploded on takeoff in 1995. The debris killed six farmers and injured twenty-three others who were going about their business five miles downrange. The following year, a Long March 3B crashed in a hill just a mile from the launch pad, killing six and injuring fifty-seven. As recently as one year ago a powerful new Star Dragon 5 exploded upon liftoff, killing twelve technicians and destroying the pad. Very few of the local citizens relocated. They made too much money selling food, clothes, and other goods to the men stationed at the space center.

The failure of the Star Dragon 5 was one reason Beijing had invited international participation in the creation of the hardware. The old boosters were based on Russian designs. They were brutish rockets that could lift heavy payloads but had little finesse and sophistication. A great deal of time and money had gone into the reconstruction of the base. It was important that the hardware function properly. It was just as important that the invited dignitaries see the start of a successful new era in Chinese space activities. One way that Beijing hoped to raise money for future endeavors was by using their rockets to boost foreign payloads into space.

They could not afford a failure.

Mike Rodgers was very much aware of that. He was also aware of the fact that over four hundred people were going to be in the launch area, including five Americans. He did not want to see any of them vaporized. For that matter, an explosion would not do him any good. He was well within the fallout zone if the plutonium power source were attacked.

Rodgers had taken a commercial flight from Beijing to the Xichang Airport. He managed to sleep during the three-hour-plus flight. Studying maps and white papers was a key part of mission preparation. So was being rested. Since he would be on the outside, with the data available on his laptop, he opted for sleep.

The airport was small but modern. Rodgers took a taxi to the nearby Satellite Hotel which, as the name suggested, had been built primarily for visitors to the space center. He rented a car at the hotel, a reservation that had been made through the prime minister’s office. Foreigners were not generally permitted to drive through the securityconscious area. He tucked himself into the compact cherry-red Xiali Bullet, one of the new generation of Chinese cars intended for domestic and international sales. Its pickup reminded him of one of the rickshaws that wove in and out of the streets of Beijing. Slow to build, once it reached the required speed, it hummed along nicely. Not that it mattered. Though a new freeway was being built through the region, it was not yet completed. Most of the hour-long drive took place on dirt roads, which cars had to share with bicycles and horses as well as herds of sheep and cows. At one point Rodgers had to wait for nearly twenty minutes while a bus driver and a woman argued in the middle of the road. From what he could gather based on the position of their vehicles, the woman’s scooter had tried to pass the bus and ended up in a ditch. Every now and then she slapped the hood of the bus angrily, which was a greater insult than if she had struck the man. It was not the driver himself who had offended her but his ability. That was the equivalent of insulting his manhood.

The conflict ended when the bus driver simply drove off, leaving the woman shouting and cursing at his thick black exhaust.

After clearing that impediment, Rodgers checked in with the marines. They had gone ahead on the shuttle bus operated by the space center. They had flown in earlier with other specialists from Beijing. Throughout the mission the marines were going to stay in touch via text alert. These were similar to cell phone text messages. The difference was that they were transmitted via wristwatch, as a crawling document. The wearer spoke his or her message, a chip in the watch transcribed it to text, and it was sent to every other wristwatch receiver in the network. The DoD was working on a heads-up display for eyeglasses, which would also display graphics images visible only to the wearer. Tiny but powerful antennae in the hinges would allow the wearer to intercept wireless data sent between stations. Rodgers’s firm was bidding on the contract to develop the lens technology. By connecting to an international number, Rodgers’s cell phone would be able to receive all the messages. His capacity to send was limited to text messages or sending a single tone to each of them. The watches would vibrate, and they would call him on their own cell phones. It was not a secure means of communication, but it might be the only one available to them in an emergency.