by Ed Kovacs
Zhao was the key. There might still be time.
###
Barry Bergman stood with Socorro Trujillo in a 15th floor vacant office in a high-rise on Queens Road East. He hitched his pants up to a more comfortable position on his expanding waistline as he peered across the street at the bedlam. The view of Justice Drive and the vehicular entrance into Pacific Place between the Marriott tower and the Conrad tower showed roads gridlocked with every kind of emergency vehicle imaginable. The westbound lanes of Queensway were closed and choked with fleeing pedestrians, many looking unsure of where to go. The media roamed everywhere, and the chaotic scene resembled a kind of slow motion disaster as a procession of cars inched out of the complex onto Justice Drive and then funneled onto a cloverleaf feeding them eastbound onto Queensway.
Bergman glanced at Trujillo. She’d been assigned to him six weeks ago, specifically to help him oversee the secret efforts to place Zhao into the Chinese presidency. He’d started having sex with her almost immediately and almost spent more Viagra-fueled time in the sack with her than he did taking care of business. She was a slick one who kept her own counsel and would do well in the sewer called Washington, D.C.
She’s one cool customer, he thought as he watched her stoically take in the mayhem and the horrific mess still unfolding across the street. He looked back out the window and shook his head. Bergman usually kept his anger in check, but right now he was beyond livid.
“You’re sure it was Rice?”
Trujillo nodded. “A South African freelancer put the device together for her. Wheeler was supposed to meet Hernandez and if he couldn’t kill him, Rice would detonate.”
“But instead she blows up a swimming pool full of civilians. And that’s after the bloodbath in our field station,” said Bergman, shaking his head. “She’s completely off the reservation.”
“Gail Roberts’ body was found in our safe house condo. Shot three times at close range. Had to be Rice.”
“Roberts needed to die, but not in our safe house.”
The ground was metaphorically shifting beneath him like a magnitude eight quake. Bergman felt the need to say something out loud. “The Chief of Station here will put two and two together and blame all this on me. A horrible day, all the way around.” He pulled out a small encrypted sat phone from his suit jacket pocket. “Where’s Rice now?”
“Unknown.”
“I’m going to recommend we bring in Agency teams to clean this mess up. Rice, Wheeler, Hernandez and Grant need to be terminated immediately.”
Stone-faced, Trujillo stared at him, “Can Zhao salvage his candidacy?”
“I think our chances are still good that he can capture the Chinese presidency, so I’m going to tell the president that we should stay the course. Zhao’s new Agency handler is waiting for him in Beijing. We close the loop and things will settle down.”
Bergman put on reading glasses, and then looked at his phone.
“The committee agrees with you that the loop needs to be closed.”
Incredulous, Bergman gawked at his lover. “What did you say?”
“I was instructed to thank you for your service.” Trujillo fixed Bergman with a look that sent chills down his spine.
It was the look of a killer that ran icy with contempt and annoyance. She moved her hand slowly into her purse.
Bergman's mouth went dry and perspiration appeared on his forehead. “This isn’t funny.” His eyes darted around the vacant office as Trujillo pulled out a suppressed semi-auto. He dropped the sat phone and raised his hands. “You’re ambitious, we can make a deal!”
The worst night of his life was screeching downhill, and then two rounds tore into his heart.
###
Vice Premier of the People's Republic of China Zhao Yiren had been known to move mountains, but he couldn't move the hundreds of vehicles blocking the road in front of his Rolls Royce and the rest of his large entourage. Since leaving the Island Shangri-La his progress could be measured in meters. That made him angry and he tended to drink when he got angry. So he opened up the recessed bar in the back seat of the Rolls and poured himself three fingers of Laphroiag single malt scotch.
The Americans were setting him up for something. He could feel it. Had they videotaped his sex sessions? Probably, but that wasn't really blackmail material. They wanted to have an ax hanging over his head, though. This whole business with Nicole Grant was a set-up, all the way back to Phoenix. Her computer and all of that. The CIA must have known she'd left the country but didn't inform Tang's people. So they had wanted Grant, and Hernandez, too, right here in Hong Kong. They had orchestrated all of this last-minute strife. Grant and Hernandez must be using an elaborate CIA support team. They'd even suckered Ma's men into an Agency field office.
Using the United States to further his goals had been risky, but not without precedent. Chairman Mao himself had once used relations with the U.S. to strengthen his position against political opponents in the Chinese military. But the Americans didn't want their friend as the Chinese president, they wanted their asset.
They wanted him to come begging to save himself. Fat chance. Zhao suddenly had a radical thought. Kate Rice. He needed to get her into China... and kill her. She was another loose end. Arrangements had already been made to eliminate Tang and Ma, so yes, he mustn't forget Rice. She could die in the explosion at the apartment of Ma's girlfriend, the hacker Oi Lam. The explosion, in fact, would be pinned on Rice. He could spin her to be a rogue agent who sought revenge upon the Chinese hacker who stole the American spy drone. Rice's death in this fashion would cement his carefully crafted story that it was his people, Zhao Yiren's people, who'd stolen the drone. He'd make it work.
Yes, yes he could do it. He smiled, lifted his glass, and drank to his success.
CHAPTER 32
23:56
A number of copters circled above Pacific Place while a steady stream of medical helicopters took turns landing in the plaza near the Marriott to pick up critically wounded. General Ma’s helicopter wasted no time in dropping into a tightly controlled hover just off the deck. Grant, Ma, and Hernandez sprinted under the slicing blades and through the rotor-wash of an Aerospatiale Gazelle SA 342 flown by the PLA Ground Force and painted in olive drab. The copter sat five, so Grant and Ma piled inside behind the female pilot and co-pilot—both of whom were nieces of the General—and onto a padded bench seat backed by the rear fuselage.
Grant saw Hernandez take a quick look up as a police helicopter appeared overhead. As soon as he climbed inside, before he even had the door closed, the pilot pulled up on the collective and the craft lurched into the air. Hernandez almost lost his balance, but got the door closed and locked. The three passengers buckled in and put on radio set headphones. The female pilot's voice came through almost immediately.
“We're being hailed by the police helicopter. They are ordering us to follow them.”
“Ignore them and get us to Guangzhou!” said Ma, emphatically.
As the chopper gained altitude, Hernandez got Ma's attention in the noisy compartment and showed him a cell phone. Ma's code word was already typed in, the phone number of Ma's daughter already entered. Nicole watched as Hernandez made eye contact with the general, and then pressed SEND.
He's a man of his word, even with his enemies, thought Nicole. She hoped against hope that somehow, as crazy as this notion was of flying into China and breaking into that country's most precious computer, she hoped that somehow she'd be able to Skype with her mom tomorrow, and fly back to Phoenix with a bunch of genuine fake purses for her girlfriends, and, and maybe even get to know Ron Hernandez.
###
General Ma's helicopter had landed on the wide, multiple-lane road that serviced a cluster of five-story buildings—seven modern structures—making up the complex where Tianhe-2 was located just north of the Pearl River. As soon as Grant, Hernandez, and Ma disembarked the pilot took off to refuel. It had been a short, thirty-one-minute flight to Guangzhou from Ho
ng Kong.
At this late hour the east campus was quiet, and this particular area of the school was more secluded. Few people noticed the brief landing and no one called the authorities. After all, it was a Chinese army helicopter that had landed and Tianhe-2 was built by the National University of Defense Technology—an engineering school for the military. A two-man security detail emerged from the building with visitor badges and escorted them inside. General Ma's standing as head of the feared Second Department was such that no questions were posed regarding his unusual arrival and Caucasian companions.
Ma scowled as they walked. The American woman had spent the entire flight madly working on her tiny computer. He was no expert, but it had looked like computer code to him. There was no way he'd let the U.S. agents sabotage Tianhe-2 or use it to their advantage. Even if he had to flee China, he was still loyal to the Motherland.
What he planned was to have the Americans killed, and then claim they kidnapped him and forced him to operate against his will. He'd assert he'd been plotting to get them all along. How marvelous the publicity would be from killing two American intelligence agents who'd beaten and kidnapped a Chinese general! He'd still flee China, of course, just to be on the safe side.
The range of his helicopter would take him all the way to Laos where he and Oi Lam would be most welcome. But he'd need to work out a settlement with the Standing Committee in Beijing. He hadn't lied to the two Americans earlier. He'd squirreled away enough blackmail material that an agreement to leave him alone should be fairly easy to reach. Otherwise, what Hernandez had said would be true—assassins would hunt him for the rest of his days.
As they wormed their way along brightly lit hallways with highly polished fake marble flooring, Ma noticed how few staffers were present. He'd never visited so late at night and the usual daytime hustle-bustle was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, realizing that the night shift security team was a skeleton force. The guards were armed with old-style Type 54 pistols and looked like retirees, so Ma wasn't sure how much help they'd be. How could he turn the tables on Hernandez? Then he thought of Oi Lam and got an idea.
###
Ron Hernandez memorized the route he took with Nicole Grant and General Ma as they followed the guards through the modern campus building. He felt certain they'd be leaving under duress. If they left alive. The stab wound was bothering him but that was the least of his worries. Fatigue gnawed at his muscles and bones, affecting his concentration. He lacked sharp focus.
This incursion, the kidnapping of Ma to get to the supercomputer was audacious, but it was also madness. Why had he been going along with so many of Grant's ideas? How many times did he have to roll a boulder up a hill, only to have her tell him, “Whoops, sorry, there's a new problem,” and then watch the boulder careen back down the hill? How in the hell can we forcibly gain access to the fastest supercomputer in the world, set up shop, and then escape? Since he didn't see an answer, he considered that this might be the place where he made his last stand. He'd cheated the Grim Reaper many times in his life, but his odds now were barely a blip. Maybe he'd call his parents in the next few minutes and tell them he'd be out of touch for a long time.
Then he caught himself and shook his head. Improvise! Adapt! Overcome! You're not dead yet, Hernandez. There's a way. Look for the way. He quickly latched onto a positive—he'd spent time in Guangzhou. There was advantage to being on the run in a gargantuan city, so if they could get off campus alive he had ideas about how to exfiltrate from China. After sending the text to General Ma's daughter, he'd texted Jaffir and told him to get to Guangzhou, pronto. Getting out of China would be difficult, but possible. In the meantime, he had to push another huge boulder up a hill for Grant. And look for a way.
CHAPTER 33
(Simulated rendering of the Tianhe-2 complex, Sun Yat-sen University, East Campus, Guangzhou, People's Republic of China)
00:28
The Hong Kong Business Aviation Center—BAC—facilities served executive aircraft and sat tucked into a corner of Hong Kong Airport, separate from the airport's public terminals. The sleek, upscale private terminal provided refuge for the rich, famous, and powerful, pampering them and keeping them isolated from the crass huddled masses who had to fly commercial. Zhao's helicopter and executive jet were here now, prepped and ready to fly back to Beijing.
A cool night breeze heavy with moisture and redolent of jet fuel enveloped Director Tang as he stood in the front gate area of the BAC. Tang had good relations with Zhao's head of security, Chief Lin. So he called Lin and explained that he needed to urgently speak with Zhao about something so delicate it couldn't be done even on an encrypted phone. He asked Lin not to alert Zhao about the matter, and said he'd be waiting for the Vice Premier outside the BAC terminal.
Tang watched as jumbo jets executed precision landings on the other side of the huge airport. He observed them, but wasn't really looking; he was fixated on his desire to kill the Americans, Hernandez and Grant. Secondly, if the opportunity presented itself, he'd kill General Ma as well. They all deserved to die, and they all needed to die for Tang to feel confident that none of his team members would be unfairly held accountable.
The arrival of Zhao's motorcade brought Tang out of his reverie. The headlights of the third car in line flashed and Tang hurried over to the black Rolls Royce Phantom. Chief Lin emerged from a rear passenger door and held it open. Tang steeled himself as he eased into the luxury of the Rolls. He had bad news to deliver and knew that when doing so one must always provide options.
Zhao was still drinking and didn't hide his displeasure with the appearance of Tang, who got right to the point. “Vice Premier Zhao, the two Americans, Grant and Hernandez boarded a PLA helicopter with General Ma during an illegal rooftop landing on the Island Shangri-La tower.”
“That can't be.” Zhao set his drink down.
“It's true.”
The vice premier of China then put his fingers to his temple as if he'd just heard the worst news of his life. This was the kind of reaction Tang expected. Now all he had to do was to convince the man to do something foolish.
“It's possible General Ma has made a deal with the Americans. But even if he hasn't, we must follow in your helicopter right now.”
“Was Ma taken against his will?” asked Zhao. The man might be drunk, but knew how to ask incisive questions.
“That's unclear. His pilot didn't answer any radio hails. It appears they have landed in Guangzhou. Please take us there, we haven't a moment to spare. I will kill Grant and Hernandez.”
Zhao pursed he lips together as he seemed to digest the shocking information. “I can mobilize the Guangzhou Military Region Special Forces Unit. I've no doubt those troops could easily—”
“If you use that unit—the same unit you used two years ago to detain Wang Hongwei—President Li would learn of it almost immediately.” Tang put his hand on Zhao's forearm. “Vice Premier Zhao, you, me and Chief Lin should go in your helicopter. We can assemble some local authorities once we're on the ground. Keep things quiet so Beijing doesn't get wind of these unfortunate developments... or how we resolve them.”
Zhao appeared to consider this. “You're right that Beijing needs to stay in the dark. But my personal involvement may not be so wise.” Zhao looked out the window. “Where are your men?”
“Detained by Hong Kong Police, caught in traffic, dead.”
Zhao looked at him stoically.
“You think that getting personally involved in such dirty work will ruin your chance to become president. But I think that, on the contrary, after this catastrophe here in Hong Kong, your chances are now hanging in the balance. Your personal involvement in killing the assassin Hernandez and the spy Grant are your only hope of claiming the presidency. They are in league with Ma and must be stopped. After we kill them, you’ll arrive in Beijing a conquering hero.”
“What you’re proposing is very risky.”
“Risk has never stopped you from acting before. As I s
ee it, the risk is to do nothing and watch your candidacy collapse into a pile of rubble.”
Zhao simply sat there looking indecisive.
“You must decide now, before it’s too late,” said Tang. “If you chose to remain behind, I’ll go with Chief Lin, but remember that the traitor General Ma wields more authority in Guangzhou than Lin or myself.”
Zhao calmly looked toward the terminal building. “I was supposed to meet someone here at the BAC, but perhaps other arrangements can be made.” Zhao fixed Tang with a dark look. “We'll take my helicopter to Guangzhou right now.”
Unseen by anyone, Tang, the man with the even demeanor who never betrayed his feelings, allowed himself a slight smile. He was in the shadows again, in his element. Murder was in the air, of that he had no doubt.
###
Kate Rice was a frequent flyer on private jets so she knew the BAC terminal well. She'd gotten a secure message from Zhao telling her to meet him here. What a stroke of good fortune that had been, since she didn't have to contact him herself. Maybe her luck was changing. She knew she could stop him from leaving for China tonight, if she could just get a moment with him alone.
She looked out a front window and saw Zhao's motorcade approach the gate. He'd be inside the terminal in minutes, so she turned away from the windows and rehearsed her spiel. She'd always been able to convince him to see things her way, and her inner confidence grew. This would be her swan song performance with Zhao, whose candidacy now hung by a thread. Who better to guide him during his final lap to victory than herself?
She glanced out into the parking lot again as the motorcade parked, but something looked wrong. What... where was the black Rolls? The hotel always provided the Phantom when Zhao visited Hong Kong. Hadn't she just seen it out at the gate?
Rice raced upstairs taking a carpeted stairway. She crossed an open space to a huge bank of windows giving her an elevated view of the entire executive ramp area. He eyes darted from jet to parked jet, most sitting in dim light. She saw tugs, fuel trucks, catering vehicles. Headlights far out on the macadam caught her eye. They pierced the dense, dark night, bobbing as they grew larger, more distinct, heading toward the BAC. She then spotted the running lights of some kind of small craft. Squinting, she could barely make out a row of helicopters parked at the far end of the ramp. A helicopter with its running lights on slowly lifted into the air just as the approaching headlights entered a well-lit area.
