"Jian was telling me about 'Preppers'. I can't believe the American government allows such things. In China such practices would be considered subversive and reactionary. Such people would be sent to the new 'Professional Education Schools' along with the Muslims, Christians, and other deviants that threaten the stability of China," Chonglin said.
"The United States is based on individual freedom. Sometimes it works for them and sometimes it doesn't. They are as much an experiment as China. Neither form of government has been around very long," Lingli said, while glancing at the setting sun.
"A philosopher with a tolerance for American ways. Perhaps you should be the one sent to an Education School, Doctor Zhang," Chonglin said, while turning and staring at her.
"Perhaps, but Chairman Mao once said, ' Under Communism, the people enjoy extensive democracy and freedom, but at the same time they have to keep within the bounds of socialist discipline.' Do not doubt my loyalty to the cause, Chonglin," Lingli replied.
"Unlike you, I understand my place. I am a soldier, nothing more. If I'm told to kill, I kill. If I'm told to work, I work. You are just a doctor in service of the People. I am just a soldier in service of the People. Tonight, you fetch groceries," Chonglin said.
"Yes, and tonight you work for me," Lingli said.
They did not talk again until they reached the Exxon gas station.
The Exxon Gas Station
2012 hours EST
The sun was on the very edge of the horizon as they pulled into the gas station. One customer drove away as Lingli pulled up beside Pump No. 4.
"I will go pay for $40 worth of gas, and use the bathroom. Fill the tank and then get back in the Suburban," Lingli said, while walking toward the store.
Chonglin nodded, got out of the Chevy, and removed the gas cap. The night was warm. The sky was still lit by the setting sun. The orange clouds were being replaced with purple as the coming darkness loomed. He heard the gas pump click. The numbers on the gauge had returned to all zeros.
After inserting the nozzle and turning on the gas, Chonglin removed his combat knife from his belt and inspected the blade. He glanced around and, seeing that he was alone, walked over to one of the pillars that held up the rain shed above the pumps. Glancing around once more, he then used his knife and carved the Chinese character for 'Tiger' ( 虎) into the painted surface. The character was not large, only two inches high.
Chonglin was not an intellectual, and his handwriting had always been crude, lacking any elegance; but this character was different. He had practiced this character a thousand times while growing up.
"I always wanted to be a soldier like my father and grandfather," Chonglin thought, while inspecting the symbol he had carved into the heavy enamel paint.
"Grandfather fought the Americans in North Korea, and here I am invading the country of the imperialist aggressors," Chonglin said, while brushing a paint flake from his art work.
"Chonglin, are you day dreaming? It's through pumping. Put it up and get in the car. The Food Lion closes at ten," Lingli said, while walking around the Suburban and opening the door.
Chonglin nodded, glanced at the character once more while putting up the nozzle, and then got in the vehicle while thinking, "Grandfather would be proud of me. We will strike down the aggressors once and for all."
CHAPTER 17
Alexandria City Police Department
Criminal Investigations Division
Office of Detective First Class Angelo Morehead
3600 Wheeler Avenue
Alexandria, Virginia
May 12, 2017
1130 hours EST
Amanda knocked on Detective Morehead's office door and was greeted with a bellow to 'Enter'. She felt like she was entering the principal's office back in high school.
"You should try your inside voice, Detective," Amanda said, while opening the door and stepping into the room.
"That was my inside voice. Thanks for leaving your palace and paying us a visit. You remember the Jansons," Angelo said, his long legs draped over his battered wooden desk.
"I'd almost forgotten how small his office is. Or is it that he's so huge?" Amanda thought, while greeting the father and daughter forensic team with a nod.
Doctor Wilton Janson sat at a small table jammed against the right wall. His daughter, Clair, sat with her legs hanging over an old wooden arm chair on the other side. Her hair was a pink Mohawk with black shaved sides. Her attire matched her hair.
They both ignored her.
The daughter was focused on her phone, the father on the contents of a folder spread across the small desk. There was no place for Amanda to sit, so she stood at the entrance to the room.
"Not exactly 48 hours, but what did you find?" Amanda asked, after taking a deep breath and ignoring the insults.
"Forty-eight hours? Who said this would take 48 hours?" Wilton asked, looking up from a particularly interesting spreadsheet. His full head of white hair reminded Amanda of Doc Brown, in Back to the Future.
"I might have made that claim," Angelo said, while smacking on a large wad of Nicorette gum.
"Ridiculous! Things like this take precision. Precision takes time," Wilton said. Claire grunted in agreement, still focused on her phone.
"So . . . what did you find?" Amanda asked.
"Make it concise, Doc. It's almost lunchtime and my stomach's growling," Angelo said.
"Concise? The man asks for the 'Cliffnote' version of a highly detailed analysis of a crime scene. Sometimes I don't know why I bother," Wilton mumbled, while glancing around the room over a pair of gold wire-rimmed spectacles.
"Doc!" Angelo said, as his size 18's hit the floor.
"All right! Concise!" Wilton said.
"STR DNA testing revealed that seven adult males occupied the ambulance prior to its abandonment. This includes the man killed in the hospital and left behind. One of the six remaining men was wounded in the hospital. All seven were Han Chinese. Their actions were those of a trained assault team . . . with one exception," Wilton began.
"The calligrapher," Amanda said.
"Yes, Shūfǎ jiā, a calligrapher. I find Mandarin language awkward, though I do love their visual language. But, 'calligrapher' . . . what a beautiful word. It just rolls off the tongue," Wilton said.
"Concise, Doc!" Angelo said.
"Yes . . . concise, how boring," Wilton said.
Once again, Claire grunted in agreement, still focused on her phone.
"All these men are from a PLA Special Forces unit renowned for its brutal training and discipline. This man is an outlier, a rebel. This calligraphy, this 'Tiger' character that he leaves behind, is his calling card. You will be able to follow these characters like bread crumbs. Everywhere this man goes he will leave behind this symbol. I guarantee it!" Wilton said.
"Was that 'concise' enough, Detective Morehead?" Wilton asked.
"Agent Langford, if you have any questions you'd like to ask him, now is the time. Tomorrow this case will be history, and he'll refuse to discuss it," Antonio said.
"Why did they come after their leader?" Amanda asked.
"Obvious, they are loyal to a fault," Wilton replied.
"Too simple, Father. Don't embarrass me," Claire said, still focused on the phone.
Wilton turned in Claire's direction and glared, before saying, "He's a symbol. He's all they have left of their connection to their nation. He's their Sun Tzu, their Washington and their Abraham Lincoln, all rolled into one."
"Close, Father, but you can do better," Claire said, glaring back at her father.
"He is their soul. He's the only reason they keep going. Kill him, and they'll crumble. Let him live, and there will be hell to pay," Wilton said, as he stood up, gathered all his papers back into the folder, and left the room, never acknowledging Amanda's presence.
Claire swung her legs over the chair arm and stood up. Amanda couldn't decide if the look was Goth, Steam Punk, or an amalgamation of both.
"H
e's right you know. He's the Dracula to their coven. If you don't put a stake through his heart, the peasants will pay dearly," Claire said, while walking past Amanda to follow her father.
"What the hell was that?" Amanda asked, while turning toward Antonio.
"I think I pissed him off with the concise bit. I should have known better, but I am getting hungry. How about some lunch, my treat? We could go down to The Torpedo Factory and eat at Vola's Dockside Bar & Grill for old times' sake," Antonio said, while slipping into his suit coat.
"Then we can go sit in the sun by the river and stare at that ridiculous diesel engine, slash sculpture. You know, the one that used to hold the nuclear bomb," Antonio said, while gesturing for Amanda to leave his office.
Amanda just stared up at him as he approached.
"Girl, your poker face still ain't for shit. You need to work on that if you're going to be a career spook. Now your boss, that woman is bad to the bone. I don't think she'd blink if she got shot," Antonio said, while nudging Amanda toward the door.
CHAPTER 18
Valero Gas Station
2599 New Market Road
Henrico, Virginia
May 14, 2017
1015 hours EST
"Quit complaining, we're almost at the exit off 295," Amanda said, as she saw the sign for Exit 22B and cut into the right lane in her 2003 Honda CRV.
"I should have figured you would own a 'clown car'. Next time, I drive," Antonio said, while massaging his aching knees.
"Hey, this car lasted me through high school and college. It was used when my parents bought it for me. It's indestructible. So what do you own, an M1 tank?" Amanda said.
"Something sensible for a man who's 6'10" and 300 pounds," Antonio replied.
"Three hundred pounds? Right . . . 350 pushing 400 would be more like it," Amanda said, while turning onto the 22B exit ramp.
"I thought women didn't like to talk about weight," Antonio said.
"They don't like to talk about their weight, because it's none of your business. A man's weight is fair game. Plus, most men don't care anyway after they're married," Amanda replied, while jerking to a stop at the bottom of the off ramp.
"That's stupid. Who told you that?" Antonio asked.
"My mother," Amanda said, staring at Antonio as she turned right onto New Market Road.
"This place is where they stopped. I've watched the video from the station 20 times. The driver got out to fill the tank. The passenger went inside to pay with cash. Both men wore ball caps with loose hoodies to cover facial details. Then a third man slipped out of the back of the truck, and pissed on the right rear tire. Then he went out of camera view for 29 seconds. He was back inside before the other two men were through with their business," Amanda said, as she turned off New Market Road and pulled into the Valero Gas Station.
"Why would he piss on the tire?" Antonio asked.
"You're a man. You tell me," Amanda said.
Amanda turned right, and then left, before parking at the same gas pump that the U-Haul truck had used. She got out and walked back to her right rear tire. Antonio groaned as he pried himself out of the compact CRV.
"I think I'll call a taxi for the ride back, a big one," Antonio said, while stretching his back.
"Where would he have gone for 29 seconds?" Amanda asked, as she turned to the right and began walking.
Antonio glanced around, and said, "Maybe he was hungry and went to the Subway?"
"For 29 seconds?" Amanda said.
She glanced to the right, at the edge of the paved area, and saw a trash can and a pay-for-use vacuum/air combo machine. She walked over and began circling the equipment. She found nothing.
"Crap! He stayed behind the truck. The camera never picked him up. Where else could he have gone?" she asked herself, while turning in a circle.
"Occam's Razor . . . keep it simple," she told herself, as she walked up to a small, gray square-sided light pole on the edge of the property, right beside the exit.
"Antonio! Good old Wilton was right. He left his calling card," she said, while staring at the Chinese character for 'Tiger' carved into the paint on the street side.
Antonio walked over, bent down, and stared at the strange script that was becoming far too familiar.
"This dumbass is going to lead us right to them," Antonio said.
"We knew they stopped here. I wanted to test Wilton's theory, and he's right. But where else do we look?" Amanda said, as Antonio straightened up and groaned.
"Do those back seats fold down? Maybe I can lie in the back on the way north," Antonio said.
She took a photo of the carving, and sent it to Antonio and Janet Davidson, along with the text, "We need to look everywhere for breadcrumbs".
CHAPTER 19
The White House
The Oval Office
Washington, DC, USA
June 13, 2017
0900 hours EST
"Damn it, Clarisse, it's been two months. Where the hell is this last weapon?' President Konrad Miller asked, while staring out the window of the Oval Office.
"Mr. President, we're doing everything that we can. Every appropriate federal agency has this as their top priority. It's just a needle in a haystack. We know the U-Haul went south down Interstate 95. We have a video of them stopping for gas near Richmond, on the 295 bypass. Agent Langford, with help from an Alexandria PD detective name Antonio Morehead, has discovered a marking that one of the individuals leaves behind everywhere they stop. But then, they haven't been able to find another one. I'm afraid the Chinese have disappeared. The range for that size truck is 400 miles. If they stopped again, it must have been off 95 at some place we haven't found," Clarisse Beaumont said.
"So, they could be anywhere in the Southeast?" the President asked.
"Yes, Mr. President," Clarisse said.
"Well, that just sucks. I am truly amazed that this whole thing hasn't leaked yet. If we can get hold of this last device, then I'll go public. I'll do it on national TV, and tell the people everything. I'll tell them why it was kept from them for so long. But I can't do it with one weapon unaccounted for," the President said.
"Mr. President, the only new lead is based on the personnel info that China provided. We have apprehended every one of Kung's agents on the list except for 11 individuals. We know that China has other agents located within the US, but that wasn't part of our agreement with them," Clarisse said.
"So what do we know about the 11?" the President asked.
"First, they're all from the same Special Forces Unit, the Siberian Tigers. In 2012, six of them were in a platoon commanded by 1st Lieutenant Gong Aiguo . . ." Clarisse began.
"Damn, that's their connection with the hospital killer. They were rescuing their former officer," the President said.
"It seems they were all recruited from the Siberian Tigers by General Kung to be part of his organization in the United States. Our sources in the PRC tell us that there has been a serious culling of the leadership of the Siberian Tigers. Over 60 officers have been 'purged'," Clarisse said.
"Well, the only difference is we'd court martial the group and send them off to Leavenworth. The Chinese take them out and shoot them. That sets an example for the rest of the military. They're just a little more blunt than we are. So what else do you have?" the President said.
"All these operators worked for Sergeant Major First Class Wang Jian. He was the lead for Kung's operation in the Southeast US. All of these men reported to him. The best theory is that he saw everything falling apart and consolidated what resources he had left. Then they went after their former Lieutenant. How they found out about him, we don't know," Clarisse said.
"And the device?" the President asked.
"They retrieved it from a location southwest of Fort Benning. Then they killed the family assigned to maintain the storage location. I suppose they were considered 'loose ends'," Clarisse said.
"So what are they going to do with one bomb? What are the best theories?
" the President asked.
"Homeland thinks they'll go after a major military target. The FBI thinks they'll use the weapon as a bargaining chip to get passage out of the US, or go for a major city," Clarisse said.
"How about the CIA? What was that young lady's name that worked for Janet Davidson?" the President asked.
"Amanda Langford, Mr. President. Director Davidson says that Agent Langford has a theory that they're suicidal like mujahedeen or kamikaze. Janet's not so sure. It's just a theory. Another thing she found was a calling card being left everywhere they go," Clarisse said.
"You mean something other than a stack of bodies?" the President asked.
"Yes, Mr. President, a Chinese character for a Tiger. It's been found carved into different surfaces," Clarisse said.
"How are we following up on this?" the President asked.
"We're checking every gas station, bathroom and restaurant heading south on 95. So far . . . nothing," Clarisse said.
"All of this points to the Southeast. That's the area they're familiar with. They're probably holed up somewhere planning their next move. We can't wait for that. I may have to go public now. Unless they're living in a cave, and eating grass, they have to come out in public for resources. That means that somebody has seen them. If we get the public involved . . . ," the President said.
"Sir, if we do that, then we risk the panic that we wanted to avoid in the first place. Plus, it will look like we're hunting Chinese. The ACLU and the Democrats will scream. They'll start saying you want internment camps. They'll want your head for allowing this whole thing to happen," Clarisse said.
"Politics and PR, Clarisse. It's part of the job description. It just depends how you spin it. Arrange a meeting of the Homeland Security Council. I want opinions on going public. While you're working on that, I need to make a private call to my Chinese counterpart," the President said.
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