White Jade (The PROJECT) (5 page)

Chapter Seven

General Yang Siyu peered out at the barren wasteland of China's Lop Nur nuclear testing range. The desert rippled under the furnace glare of the Mongolian sun. Yang stood with
his
feet planted apart, hands clasped behind his back. The hardened concrete building smelled of stale stress and the dry odor of electricity. Racks of instruments lined the long room. Rows of fluorescent lights reflected from banks of electronic equipment, cold co
unterpoint
to the searing sunlight outside.

A thin, dry, angry looking man stood next to Yang’s squat form
. T
he creases on his immaculate uniform
were
as sharp as the harsh contours of his face. Lieutenant General Lu Cheng commanded the missile base at Luoyang, where China’s long range ICBMs were targeted on the West. Lu looked at the clock on the wall.

“Two minutes. This warhead will increase our strike range and destructive yield at the same time. We must have these.”

“If the test goes well.” Yang’s voice was wet, throaty.

“Deng has assured me it will go well.”

Deng Bingwen was chief research scientist in
China
’s nuclear weapons program. A graduate of
America
’s MIT, he was considered a treasure among the scientific elite of the People’s Republic, if always suspect because of his American education.

The treasure himself came over to the two generals. Deng was a mouse of a man, small, his sparse hair slicked back from his domed forehead. Large glasses with thick plastic frames set crookedly over his nose. He wore a white laboratory coat two sizes too large on his stooped frame, making him seem even smaller. He nodded his head nervously at Yang, almost a bow, smiling to hide his feelings of unease.

He looks like one of those little dogs, Yang thought, a Pekinese under a white tent.

“Thirty seconds, General. I think you will be pleased with the result.”

The men
watched
as the countdown reached zero.
In the distance t
hree columns of white smoke rose skyward, marking the underground shaft where the warhead would detonate.
A
deep rumble under the ground vibrated through the thick concrete beneath their feet.
T
he earth erupted in
a
black,
towering
geyser r
ising
hundreds of feet into the air. The blast
expanded outward in a wide ring, a boiling cloud of churning sand and dust racing across the desert floor.

Lu Cheng smiled.

Deng glanced at the instruments recording every detail of the blast.

“Even better than we hoped. Eight point two megatons. Over fifty percent increase in output.”

Deng looked again at the readings.

“A bit dirty. We’ll hear from the IAEA about this.”

“Let them wag their fingers and cluck like chickens,” Lu said. “There’s nothing they can do about it. How soon can we go into production?”

“There is the question of resources," Deng said. "If we had a high grade source of ore
and more centrifuges we could produce fifty of these warheads a year, even a hundred. As it is, perhaps eight or ten.”

China
’s entire strategic arsenal consisted of only three hundred missiles of varying capabilities, and none carried a payload bigger than five megatons. Lu’s smile widened at the thought of a hundred powerful new missiles each year.

Yang spoke. “Begin production immediately. You will formulate two plans, one based on our current resources and one based on having what is needed for high production. The hundred or so you mentioned.”

“But we have no resources for so many,” Deng protested.

“That is not your concern. Prepare the plan anyway. Or you may find yourself working on a different kind of project. Understood?”

Yang’s eyes were hooded
and bulging under the red star on his green, high-peaked military hat. Deng looked at Yang’s, coarse,
toad-like
face. The General was not a man to be denied.

This new nuclear demon was smaller, lighter, more destructive. The expression on the faces of Yang and Lu said they wanted more of these things, many more. There was only one reason for that. Only aggression required high numbers of missiles.

Deng thought about his days of freedom as a student in
America
, before this insanity of nuclear weapons had trapped him. In China careers were dictated for men like him. Deng had rationalized his feelings about building weapons meant to kill millions by
telling himself that
China
’s nuclear forces were defensive in nature.

Looking at Yang and Lu, he had a chi
lling intimation of the future.
Deng’s face gave nothing away of his thoughts, but he
suspected
more about Yang’s plans than the General imagined. Deng was not without his sources of information
. It was necessary
for personal survival in a position as sensitive as his.

“
UNDERSTOOD?”

Yang shouted in his face, sending flecks of spittle onto Deng’s glasses. Deng was shocked. He kowtowed, twice, nervously.

“Yes, of course, General, two plans, as you suggest.”

Yang grunted. “Keep me informed.” He turned to Lu. “I have to get back to
Beijing
. Ride with me.”

Lu nodded and the generals rudely turned their backs and walked outside without a further glance at Deng
. He stared
after them
and f
elt a hot flush of shame. Everyone in the room was suddenly absorbed in their instruments and charts. No one was looking at him but they had all witnessed his humiliation. He had lost face.

Yang acts like he thinks he can find resources to up production
, Deng thought
. Then what? More orders, more bombs, more threats. They have no respect
. They have
no honor. I might as well be dog shit under their boots.

He marched into his private office and shut the door, his rage building. Enough was enough. He sat down at his computer, furious. He opened his email and sent
a brief,
innocuous, message to an address he’d never thought he would
use
.

On the road leading away from the facility, Yang and Lu sat in the back seat of their vehicle. The salt flats of the old lake bed of
Lop Nur
slipped by in a blur, billows of brown dust trailing far behind the speeding car.

Lu drummed his fingers on the armrest. “We must have
more
warheads.”

“We will,” Yang said. “Once I give the order, we will have the centrifuges in six months. All that remains is to locate the ore.”

“You are sure the deposit exists?”

“Reasonably sure, yes. The location is being sought as we speak. We’ll have it soon. Meanwhile our plans go forward.”

“I worry about Chen. We need the railroads.”

“Let me worry about Chen. So far, he has done all that we asked. Of course, he may not get what he wants afterwards.”

“What does he want?”

“To be President.”

Lu laughed. There was no mirth in the sound.

“President! He deludes himself, as usual.” Lu paused, sneezed from the dust. “What do you think about Deng?”

“He bears watching, but I already have full surveillance on him. Meanwhile, he continues to produce. For such a small man he builds big bombs, and they are getting better.”

“Yes. One day we may see how well they work.”

“The West is weak, they have no political will. When we have control, they will be afraid to do anything. Just the threat will be sufficient. Then
China
will step into her rightful place.”

Lu nodded agreement. The two men sat lost in their thoughts as the car barreled along the gravel road, each in his own way contemplating a new
China
, dominant over the world.

Chapter
Eight

The security guard stared
as Nick came through the door.

"
You okay, Mister
Carter
?
"

"
I
'
m fine,
Bob
. Just an accident.
"

Nick
walked ten flights up
to
his
floor.
He didn't like elevators
much
, not since Kabul.
He went into his apartment and
into the bathroom and looked in the mirror
.
The bullet had taken
away
the left
earlobe
. I
t wouldn
'
t do much for
his
looks when the bandage came off. A woman
had
told
him
once that
he
had rugged good looks.
He
got the rugged part, but
he
wasn
'
t too sure about the rest.
He
didn
'
t much care.

He
poured a whiskey
,
tossed
his
jacket on the couch and took off the shoulder rig
. He needed to call Jordan.
He thought about the FBI and the way the Bureau kept things close. He probably wasn't going to get much help there, but Jordan was a pretty good guy. 

"
Jordan
.
"

"
Zeke, it
'
s Nick
Carter
.
"

"
Nick. I saw
you
on the evening news
.
What happened out there?
"

Jordan
'
s voice
was
deep and vibrant.
A
big man, stone coal black
,
h
e was a
n anomaly
for an agent
, unafraid to speak his mind.
Nick wondered how he'd lasted as long as he had
in the rigid culture of the FBI
.
He'd made it all the way to the WFO in Washington in spite of everything.

"
I was catching a ride with William Connor
'
s niece
. T
wo vehicles full of Chinese goons tried to
grab her
.
"

"
You must have been a big surprise.
"
There was a pause
.
"
What can I do for you?
"

"
Yo
u
'
re the liaison for the Bureau
on Conner's murder
.
Did you
turn up anything we haven
'
t heard about yet
?
"

"
Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.
"

"
You know it was Wu who set up Connor?
"

"
Yes.
"

"
We
have
a computer belonging to Connor. We hoped it would give us leads. All we got were business reports, financial info and a draft proposal for work in
China
.
"

"
What kind of work in
China
?
"

"
An archeological dig. Connor wanted to fund it and get permission to dig in return.
"

"
Can you get that financial info to me?
"

"
First thing tomorrow. I wanted to ask if you found anything in Connor
'
s office.
"

"
Not much. Just the kind of things you
'd
expect. Lots of financial records.
"

"
Any keys? Safe deposit keys?
"

"
We did find some keys.
"

"
And?
"

"
W
e got warrants to open the boxes, but there wasn
'
t anything helpful. Some antique jewelry, diamonds, sapphires, gold coins, bearer bonds, that sort of thing. Just your average billionaire
'
s little treasures.
"

"
Do I detect a note of judgmental envy?
"

"
Nah, everyone should have something set aside for a rainy day.
"

Nick said,
"
Zeke
.
If there
'
s something going on
we don't know about
it might help if you guys came clean.
About Wu.
"

S
ilence.
Then,
"
Off the record?
"

"
Yes.
"

"
When Harker asked
about
Wu it dovetailed with an ongoing investigation. You know about the Chinese criminal underworld here in the States? The
Triads
? Also known as the Black Societies?
"

"
I know the Mafia are newcomers compared to them.
"

"
Yeah
. The T
riad
oaths make the Mafia Code of Silence look like a radio talk show.
T
hey
'
re planning something
and Wu is mixed up in it
.

"
Wu met with them
at least
three times.
H
e
'
s up to his eyeballs in the murder of Connor and you say
Chinese thugs
tried to grab
his
niece. Seems like more than a coincidence.
"

"
We didn
'
t know about the
Triads
.
"
Carter
paused.
"
We might have a lead. I'm going to follow up on it.
"

"
There
'
s always a lead, sooner or later.
Can you
let me know wh
at you find out
?
"

"
Subject to
Harker's
wishes, yes.
Maybe off the record.
"

"
Okay
. Let
'
s stay in touch. Nice talking with you.
"

"
Likewise.
"
Carter
broke the connection
.

H
e
went over the conversation in
his
mind. The Bureau had
told
Harker
nothing when
she
requested their files on Wu. Now
he
knew
there was a
connection between the
Triads
and Colonel Wu, and by extension General
Yang.

If the book
was
at Connor
'
s country place tomorrow, some questions might get answered.
He
hit the rack and fell asleep.

He had the dream.

They come in low and fast over the ridge, the
relentless
har
d
drumbeats
of the rotors
echoing
from the valley walls.

The village is a
miserable,
dust-blown cluster of low, flat-roofed buildings, baking in a bleak hollow of sharp, brown hills. A wide, dirt street runs down the middle. They
drop from the chopper and
hit the street running. On the right, low flat roofed houses. On the left, more houses and the market, a patchwork of ramshackle bins and hanging cloth walls. Clouds of flies swarm around
things
hanging in the open air of the butcher’s stall.

He
leads his team
past the market. Close enough to the
buildings
to be able to duck into a doorway. Far enough away so a round fired won't burrow down a wall and right into him.

He hears a baby cry. The street is deserted. Where is everyone?

A dozen b
earded figures rise
up
on the rooftops and begin firing AKs. The market stalls disintegrate
around him
in a firestorm of splinters and plaster and rock exploding from the sides of the buildings.

He dives for cover.
A
child runs toward him, screaming about Allah. Nick watches
a
nd hesitates, a second too long. The boy cocks his arm back and throws a grenade
as
Nick shoots him
. The
M4 kick
s
back, one, two, three.

The
first round strikes the
boy's
chest, the second
his
throat, the third
his
face.
The
child's head balloons into a red fountain of blood and bone. The grenade drifts through the air in slow motion...everything goes white...

He
woke shouting, twisted in sweat-soaked sheets.

He
got up, made coffee, poured in a double Jameson
'
s.
W
hen
he
had the dream
there was
no point in going back to bed.

When he joined the Marines he'd been gung-ho
. Naive. R
eady to change the world. But all the nameless and meaningless landscapes of
loss
and death had changed him
. T
he world stayed the same.

That
kid
in Afghanistan
couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve. Old enough to throw a ball, or a grenade, a pretty good distance. Young enough to believe the bullshit he'd been fed about what God wanted him to do
and
put himself right where Carter would have to kill him.

Th
e child and the grenade
always waited in the back of his mind. Carter knew there
wasn't
anything
else he could have don
e
, but it
didn't
help.
It was
one more
death in a
chaotic
war that could
n't
be won
,
in a corrupt and brutal land
.

W
orking for Harker
gave him a way to
bring some kind of meaning to
it
.
It was personal.
A way to stop the kind of people who'd sent that child against him
.
People
who thought it was a really good idea to put grenades in the hands of children.
People who thought that whatever they wanted was the only right way for everyone
. That
killing anyone who didn't agree with them
was
righteous
. People who thought God was pleased by that.
Carter
was damn sure God
hadn't told that kid
what to do.

He
waited for sunrise.