Spy Zone

by Fritz Galt

  She hugged herself and let her eyes close. The last image she remembered was that of a family of three. A mother and two daughters pressed against a window grill as smoke rose to obscure them from view.

  They had not waited at the blocked window and screamed. At the last moment, they had turned in to the propane-fueled blaze.

  She must have drifted off to sleep, because a panicked voice jolted her awake.

  “Gas is leaking.”

  In the pitch darkness, the groggy crew stumbled out of the building and into blowing sheets of rain.

  Ten minutes later, a workman emerged from the building and motioned for them to come back inside. Bumping into others in their cold, wet clothes, she found her original spot on the floor. It was just in front of an office couch occupied by a young family.

  She lay on her back listening to the roomful of people settling down and trying to get back to sleep.

  Who had cried out the warning?

  The voice had seemed remarkably similar to her own.

  FOG LIFTING

  Saturday

  Chapter 29

  Natalie heard a faint buzz. It was the radiophone.

  Instantly wide awake, she considered her situation.

  She lay in her damp, wrinkled business suit surrounded by snoring men and women draped over couches and propped up against walls.

  The night was still dark.

  It might be Washington calling. Telephone calls often came from the power center of the planet during the wee hours of the morning. It seemed that the State Department was just as geocentric as relatives calling to wish her happy birthday across the time zones.

  Footsteps tiptoed up to her.

  “Natalie?”

  It was Steve.

  “The director’s asleep, so I’ll give it to you.”

  She pulled her hair out of her face and propped up on one elbow.

  “It’s Washington,” he said.

  Who else?

  Seconds later, she sat in an office chair and leaned over the bulky phone.

  It was Assistant Secretary Paul Townsend, full of updates.

  He reported that at 2:00 a.m. Tokyo time, a battle group led by the aircraft carrier USS Independence had cast off from its homeport of Yokosuka, steaming toward Taiwan. Meanwhile, C-5 Galaxy transports filled with humanitarian supplies had taken off from air force bases in California, relying on aerial refueling over the Pacific. At the crack of dawn, AIT could expect to hear the whir of transport helicopters over Taipei and the roar of military jets at the airport.

  “Thank you, Paul. That’s what we wanted to hear.”

  “There’s more. The president shocked us all at our breakfast tables with a surprise televised press conference. He said we’re committed to peace and democracy in Taiwan. And I quote, ‘Nothing and nobody will hinder our efforts to bring the people of Taiwan the security and relief they need during this enormous humanitarian tragedy.’ End of quote.”

  She stopped to think. “Nothing” meant no natural disasters would stop the operation. “Nobody” clearly meant the Chinese.

  “Anything about calling in the Chinese ambassador?” she asked.

  “Nothing on that front. I guess the president isn’t willing to blame them yet.”

  “That’s good. It buys us time to prove who actually planted the bomb.”

  “Aren’t you overwhelmed by other problems at the moment?”

  “I am. But whoever did this, I’m gonna nail him to the wall.”

  “And how are you going to find him, given your present circumstances?”

  She looked out the black window. “It won’t be easy.”

  Bronson Nichols hadn’t slept well. It was 5:00 a.m., and he couldn’t rest while his mission lay in pieces. So he called a staff meeting.

  Section leaders stumbled into his office with their flashlights. He even invited Natalie Pierce.

  He turned to Gary Shields, his consul general, first. “So what are the latest casualty figures?”

  Gary had spent the night counting heads. And bodies. Most American employees and their families were accounted for. But the bad news was staggering.

  Five officers were confirmed dead. Twelve dependents had died. He nodded at Natalie and said, “And Mick is still missing.”

  Bronson couldn’t believe it. Seventeen Americans in his mission were dead. Crushed, drowned, burned. What could he have done to prevent it?

  He glanced out the window at the row of bodies wrapped in plastic bags. “And the foreign service nationals?”

  “Of the FSNs, eleven were found dead in the institute building alone.”

  Bronson took a deep breath.

  “As for the American citizens on Taiwan, they keep flooding in,” Gary continued. Hundreds more Americans had reached the compound during the night. The consular section had begun to compile a list of names of both living and dead. “So far, we have a total of one hundred and thirty-three American citizens confirmed dead.”

  “That’s confirmed. What are our estimates?” He held his breath.

  “We predict roughly five hundred to a thousand Americans may have perished island-wide.”

  He let out his breath. “And the wounded?”

  “The injured on the compound number nearly one hundred. There are children without parents, parents without children. All the horrors of a natural disaster.”

  Okay, it was time for leadership.

  Bronson cleared his throat. “This is only the start of a very long and difficult fight. Some have perished already. More will die as this thing plays out. We have lots of work to do. Our country has called on us to serve our fellow countrymen. We’ll do so with every particle of our being. We will face obstacles and we’ll face danger, but we will prevail.”

  He heard a snort.

  Someone wasn’t buying the speech.

  “Cut the crap,” Colonel Gabe Starr said, and scratched a twitching eye. “Let’s get practical.”

  “Okay, okay.” Bronson felt more comfortable working with details anyway. He focused on the main issue at hand. A civil war might pose personal hazards to his mission, but the threat to regional security was a grave danger to all Americans. “On to the military/political front. Gabe, fill us in on what the military is up to.”

  Several flashlights swiveled to the tall man in a crumbled pinstripe suit. “Most of our information arrives here through the local media. The few radio stations that still operate are reporting anecdotal information as it comes in. Two main stations have already been countermanded by the military. A third was operated by the military before the disaster struck.”

  “Okay,” Bronson said. “So the media will give us a lopsided view of the situation.”

  He looked for confirmation at spokesman Kevin Yew, who nodded.

  Gabe continued with a nervous quaver. “As for the anecdotal information, we’re hearing of Taiwan’s defense forces moving into government buildings. However, there isn’t much effort to stop looting and restore order in the streets. Some military posts are providing emergency accommodations and food.”

  “A goodwill gesture,” Natalie said. “They don’t have any better access to food than the rest of us.”

  “It’s hard to say how much control the military actually does have,” Gabe went on. “They report taking over the government, but they haven’t told us who’s in charge, and the broadcasts seem vague on the structure of the government under martial law. I contacted the Presidential Palace, and they reported no change in personnel. I assume, the president and vice president are still there.”

  “Confirmed,” Larry Winters, the head political officer, said. “All figures in the Executive Yuan remain in place, while military officers will occupy key advisory roles in various departments and agencies. The president will also have such an ‘advisor.’”

  Bronson hated double talk and shadow governments. “So who do we talk to, the president or the chief of the military?”

  A chorus of responses awakened people slum
bering nearby. The suggestions fell predictably along section lines.

  Larry Winters advised him not to recognize military rule.

  The military attachés advised talking to nobody.

  Station Chief Bill Fellows said that it wasn’t the right moment to upgrade relations with Taiwan by talking directly with the head of state, no matter who it was.

  Bronson shook his head vigorously. “Our president has offered all the security and humanitarian assistance necessary, and if I have to talk to Taiwan’s president directly, I’ll do it. We aren’t making nice-nice with the Chinese right now. In fact, they’ve got me rather teed off. Gabe, what moves has the PRC taken?”

  “Our embassy in Beijing has been reporting troop movements in Fujian Province. It’s either a simulated assault on Taiwan or it’s for real. We don’t know for certain, but we can’t count on those being dummy bullets in their rifle chambers either.”

  “So what do we know?”

  “Several Chinese units are assembled just off of Taiwan’s front-line islands of Kinmen and Matsu right now. Also, as you know, the Chinese have built up a highly mobile naval fleet in the past decade as they try to extend their defense perimeter from two hundred to four hundred nautical miles. Their transport vessels are limited, but they’ve got an immense merchant marine. Sir, not to belabor the point, they are rapidly becoming the world’s next great sea power.”

  Natalie was trying to look small.

  Bronson skipped her and turned to Larry Winters for his take on the diplomatic front. “What’s State doing?”

  Larry looked at Natalie. “No notes to the Chinese ambassador. No messages at the UN. The State Department is depicting this as a humanitarian mission after one hell of a typhoon and earthquake.”

  “Well, damn it, it isn’t.”

  Bill grumbled. “What do you mean? What else would you call a typhoon and earthquake?”

  Bronson caught Natalie and Steve glancing at each other.

  Then at him.

  Bronson hadn’t briefed his entire staff on the atomic bomb theory. For one thing, it wasn’t his theory.

  “We don’t have one hundred percent confirmed proof of this,” he said. “But it appears that the earthquake might have been triggered by an atomic bomb exploding off the southeast coast of Taiwan.”

  “Nuclear weapons?” Gabe breathed, incredulous. “Taiwan has no nuclear weapons.”

  “Was it an unprovoked attack by China?” Bill conjectured.

  Bronson saw Natalie squirming in her seat. “Okay, Natalie. Explain your pet theory.”

  She stood up. “Right now it looks like a Hong Kong businessman may have been behind the bomb. This guy’s tied to the Taiwan military, the Chinese military and the opposition party’s taxi companies in Taiwan.”

  “Who is this guy?” Bill asked. “And as station chief, why don’t I know about him?”

  “Mick, Alec and I had only begun to piece the information together when the earthquake hit.”

  Steve stood up beside her. “His name is Johnny Ouyang. We have no idea what his motives are.”

  “If Alec is still alive,” Natalie said, “he’ll be able to bring us proof of the explosion.”

  “Where is he?” Bill demanded.

  “On Orchid Island,” she said. “The blast occurred over a major Pacific Rim fault there.”

  Gabe buttoned up his uniform. “Let’s get hold of his proof right away. If it’s an atomic blast, I’ve got to alert all sorts of people: the White House, the National Security Council, the Department of Energy, the CIA, the Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, the U.S. Civil Defense, the FBI and the Pentagon, to name a few.”

  “Don’t get carried away,” Bronson said. “We don’t want to start a panic.”

  “It might be too late to panic. This amounts to nuclear proliferation, and once it’s in the hands of fanatics, fringe groups or the underworld, we’ve lost all control.”

  “Don’t you lose control,” Bronson warned.

  Gabe stared at him, blinking like an eagle focused on its prey. “I agree we do need proof. Then we’ve got to establish the source and come down hard and sledgehammer their operation. If it’s the Chinese, so help me, they’ll suffer for this.”

  Natalie’s voice seemed like a cool, calming breeze. “As far as proof goes, I don’t know where Alec is right now. Or whether he’s still alive. The blast, the typhoon, the earthquake and a tsunami may have devastated Orchid Island. We should send a search party down there right away.”

  “We will,” Gabe vowed.

  “So, I think you can see what a delicate moment this is,” Steve said. “We’ve got case officers working on this in both Hong Kong and Beijing.”

  They were getting beyond the realm of what Bronson could achieve at AIT. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much we can do from here. Most of the investigation seems to be concentrated on the mainland right now. In the meantime, we need to remain focused. Politically, we have to play it cool with the competing forces in Taiwan and not be baited into recognizing one power or another.”

  “And who, exactly, is in power, sir?” Larry Winters asked.

  “Whoever answers the phone over there,” Bronson said, pointing across the city. He felt his blood pressure rising. “Our highest priority is the safety and medical treatment of Americans and Chinese alike. Whoever is in charge will appreciate our efforts.”

  “We’ve got amphibious landing craft approaching from Okinawa with choppers aboard,” Steve mentioned. “They come complete with advance marine medical and guard detachments. They’re close enough to deploy offshore and land in Taipei at oh-six-hundred hours.”

  “We’ll be waiting for ’em,” Bronson said.

  “So are we saying Beijing is behind this or not?” Gabe insisted on knowing.

  Bronson shot a look at Natalie. She just stared back.

  “We just can’t say,” he said at last.

  Chapter 30

  By morning, Mick felt large rifts in the straw mats and he lay mostly on the wooden floor.

  The guesthouse smelled damp and moldy. Opening his eyes, he saw the muted blue glow of dawn.

  He rolled over and his hand splashed in a puddle of dirty water.

  What a rude awakening.

  He sat up straight and used his sleeve to wipe his face and hair. Through the screen door, he saw that the wind had disappeared, leaving misty clouds in its wake.

  Typhoon Ivan had finally blown out of town.

  He rocked to his feet, pushed the screen door open and stepped to the edge of the porch. A single spout of water gushed happily out of an underground spring. Beside it, a plump Buddha-like Morisot sat in his rumpled warm-up jacket studying the mountains across the valley.

  “Dr. Morisot, I presume.”

  The barrel-shaped man didn’t move. For half a minute, Mick held his breath.

  “Hello in there.”

  At last Morisot’s dim, rhino-like eyes lowered from the distant hills, and he slapped his dark-framed glasses back on his face.

  “Sorry to break your trance.”

  “I was just enjoying the landscape.”

  “It isn’t bad, if you don’t mind all the destruction.”

  “I’ve never felt such peace.”

  Mick took a look at the fallen limbs, bent trees and the rubble of the neighbor’s house. He hated to see a tourist ignoring such details just to enjoy his visit, and have mystic revelations to boot.

  Mick listened to the sprinkling fountain and birds chirping tentatively as if testing their voices after the storm.

  The only thing mystic was how the hell they had survived the previous day’s brutal typhoon.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  Mick heated up some water and prepared two bowls of oatmeal. He hoped the gruel would coat the inside of their stomachs long enough for them to reach AIT. What he would find there, he didn’t know and didn’t want to contemplate.

  But first he had a mission.
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br />   They finished eating and briskly cleaned up the house. Having achieved nirvana, Morisot seemed anxious to leave as quickly as possible.

  Mick kicked aside several fallen branches by the front door, and they climbed the slate steps to the car. There, he turned on the radio and heard Rocky Ouyang’s irritatingly excited voice.

  Mick shuddered as he steered onto the empty road. The absence of students and their motor scooters at the Chinese Cultural University was eerie.

  The only sound was Rocky’s agitated voice on the car radio.

  The McDonald’s was closed and dark. Its sign lay shattered in the street, giving new meaning to the term “fallen arches.”

  Mick swung past American diplomatic housing. It looked like a ghost town, many roofs having been crushed.

  Then he skidded to a halt before a storefront that sat recessed under a large apartment block.

  It was Rocky’s place.

  Mick turned off the car radio. It was time to shut the guy up.

  He stepped out of the car. “Hold the fort. I’ll be right back.”

  Morisot grunted and remained in his seat.

  The only sound in the neighborhood was the hum of a generator behind the radio station.

  Mick looked at the anonymous storefront. There was no sign that police or army had been there. Next to the building, the radio tower had miraculously survived the storm. Then he saw why. The base was embedded in concrete, with triple strands of wire bracing each leg at two separate points.

  He glanced up and down the building’s façade. There was no obvious way to infiltrate it, so he tried the front door.

  The latch lifted and he slipped inside.

  In the first room was a wooden altar table. Two red eggs glowed on porcelain vases. Offerings included an unopened bottle of liqueur, packs of gum and cigarettes, and a bowl of fresh apples and bananas.

  Beyond the altar, he could see into a sound booth.

  A husky engineer reclined with a Styrofoam bowl of instant noodles behind a console of dials and switches.