by Joe Poyer
Now, how about that, Gillon thought to himself, and
pushed the door wide open. The little devil forgot to lock it. A careless guard . . . not likely. These people did not impress him as being careless, or forgetful. Perhaps they wanted him to try and walk away from the room? Then they could shoot him and claim that he tried to escape. Again not likely; otherwise why go to all the trouble to lock them up in the first place; why not just march them outside and shoot them down?
Gillon scratched his head, pushed the door shut and wandered back to the window to stand thinking until the guard returned and pushed the door open. He stepped into the room, a wide grin on his face and arms full of magazines. On top of the pile rested two packs of cigarettes. Gillon grinned back and relieved him of the load, noting that his rifle was carelessly slung over his shoulder, where it would be out of the way ... and out of reach as well.
`Spasebo: Gillon grinned back and the guard touched his cap and pushed the door closed.
Gillon carried the magazines over and dumped them on the bed . . . and swore loudly. All of them were printed in bright colors on relatively good quality paper, and of recent vintage. But they were all in Russian. Ah well, he decided, lit a cigarette and slumped down on the bed, bunching his parka behind his head for a pillow, and picked up the top magazine. There was nothing else to do and long hours ahead to kill and since no explanation of the quirky things that were happening was forthcoming .
at least the magazines were full of pictures.
The day ground on to its conclusion in a burst of color over the western edge of the airfield. The weather had faded during the long afternoon from its wintry beauty of sunshine, blue shadow and ice as a heavy cloud cover edged across the sky. The change in weather brought a drastic drop in temperature and, by evening, the single window overlooking the runway was completely frosted over. Gillon used his knife to scrape away the frost and stared out into the darkness. Feeble lights marked the limits of the airfield; red along the runways and blue for the apron and taxiways. Thin splashes of color circled the snow beneath each light, but as there were no halos visible in the air Gillon
knew that the temperature was well below freezing and the air intensely dry.
Behind him on the bed, the remains of an excellent hot meal shared space with the unreadable magazines.
As he gazed through the frost-rimmed patch of cleared window, a snowflake drifted by.
A moment later another and another until the sky was full of soft, gliding flakes fluttering down in the still air. At least the snow, he knew, would keep the temperature from dropping much below zero – not that it would be of much concern to him in his present predicament. Whatever game the Russians were playing, they were not about to let them into China. He had concluded that the Russians, in spite of the potential importance of the documents, had contracted a case of diplomatic cold feet. A clerical error, or whatever, could easily become a face-saving device. Rather than admit that they were afraid of the Chinese, the Kremlin could easily justify their withdrawal from the mission by claiming an administrative error had delayed the start of the mission until it was too late. Then they could apologize and send the Americans packing.
He heard footsteps below and the sound of someone kicking his heels against the risers of the steps to dislodge caked snow. A moment later, footsteps came up the stairs and marched down the hall. Doors were unlocked and a voice called in bad English for them to come out.
His own door was thrown open and a heavyset noncommisioned officer glanced at him with indifference and motioned him out.
Gillon picked up his parka and stepped through the door to find Stowe, Jones and Leycock and three armed soldiers gathered in a little knot in the middle of the hall waiting for him.
`We were just comparing notes,' Leycock said as he joined them. 'Apparently we've all come to the conclusion that the Russians have gotten scared and are stalling until it's too late. Then they'll send us to Moscow and see us out of the country. What do you say?'
Gillon, somewhat surprised that all four of them had reached the same conclusion independently, nodded in agreement.
'I don't know if anybody else could see the Jetstar,' he added, 'but they towed it around to the back of a hangar and left it there. That's all, just left it there. As far as I know, the crew is still inside.'
'I saw that too,' Jones murmured. 'This whole setup really stinks . . . the guards are just too damned careless ...'
The non-corn came up at that point and shooed them toward the stairs. They went down the steps, along the hall and out into the cold night; a cold so sudden in its intensity that it caught them all by surprise, whisked their breath away and left them coughing.
`You know . . .' Stowe managed to choke out finally. 'Somehow or other ... I'm damned glad they ... fouled up.' He caught his breath and pulled the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth and chin. 'Can you imagine spending twenty-four hours a day for two or three days out in this stuff?'
`Just hope to God,' Jones said, 'that they don't intend to send us to a labor camp.
Otherwise, you'll see a hell of a lot more of this kind of weather.' The grimness in his voice drove away the touch of euphoria that had begun to affect them all.
They were lined up in single file, two soldiers to a man, and trotted through the falling snow under a blaze of arc lights to the same administration building in which they had been questioned that morning, each expecting to be told that everything had been straightened out but that it was too late and therefore the mission had been canceled.
Gillon found himself hoping that he was wrong, a reversal of his previous attitude, he realized with surprise. But he suddenly understood that if the Russians were going to renege, then Jack Liu would be left holding the bag. And if that happened, there was nothing, absolutely nothing that Gillon could do for him. The interior of China was a hell of a long way in space and time and condition from the Laotian border area.
They were brought to a halt outside the door and while the non-corn slipped inside and slammed the door shut, they all, -guards included, stamped their feet and huddled against the icy wind. The non-com came back
out a moment later and motioned them inside. Gillon gasped in the sudden change of temperature and the combination of heat and bright overhead fluorescent tubes filled his eyes with tears, blinding him for a moment. He rubbed his fingers across his eyes to rid them of the tears and finally could make out a group of men standing in front of him.
From their bearing and uniforms, they were officers, and Gillon realized with a shock that two of the men were Orientals, wearing the khaki uniforms and green collar tabs of the Army of the People's Republic of China.
THE TIEN SHAN
CHAPTER SEVEN
Four officers, two of them Russian, two of them Chinese, faced the four Americans. The Soviet officer, a colonel, whom they had met earlier waved his hand to indicate that they were to line up against the wall. Collectively stunned by the unexpected turn of events, they shuffled into position and only then did Gillon hear Stowe begin to curse non-stop under his breath as the shock of the Chinese uniforms began to wear off. Afterward, Gillon could not recall when he had ever been as surprised, surprised to the point of being unable even to formulate words of protest. Both sides stared at one another for a long moment and the silence in the overheated room was devastating.
`What the hell ... ?' Jones began.
'Be silent,' the Russian officer snapped, and that broke the moment of time in which they had all been suspended. The colonel bent over to converse with one of the Chinese officers, then straightened at his nod. The two Chinese officers continued to stare impassively at the Americans. In spite of their controlled features Gillon could sense that they were angry, intensely angry, but at the same time also pleased, as if they had been vindicated. The colonel murmured once more and the Chinese nodded carefully.
'We have checked your story, as you suggested,' the colonel began, and nodded toward Gillon. 'As we suspec
ted, it is a lie from beginning to end. There is no officer named Andre Dmietriev at this base or anywhere within the Soviet armed forces and your tale of orders to report to this fictitious gentleman at this installation is worse than foolish. I can only surmise that you, were planning some type of intrusion into the People's Republic of China when your aircraft was forced down here.'
He paused and looked at them carefully, as if to gauge the effect of his words. Stowe was now standing rigidly against the wall, staring at him. Leycock had lounged back and was gazing around the room as if bored. Only Jones appeared to be angry, a slow, red flush suffusing his face, but he held himself in check.
The colonel drew himself up straight and clasped his hands behind his back.
`You are accused by the People's Republic of China of attempting to gain illegal entrance into China to rendezvous with bandits and then to carry out sabotage, murder and espionage. Your attempt to involve this nation in your scheme is reprehensible, to say the least.'
A feeling of complete unreality swept over Gillon. Something had gone wrong, terribly wrong. The colonel sounded to Gillon as if he were reading a prepared script. Gillon shook his head and the Russian caught the slight movement.
Àh, you seek to deny it, do you? Well, this information and my instructions come to me from the highest levels in Moscow.'
He paused to lend weighted emphasis to his words. 'You will be placed into the custody of General Lin Chuo' – he nodded to his left – 'and flown to Peking, where you will be put on trial for crimes against the People's Republic of China.'
When he finished, the four Americans stared at him in stunned silence. Even Leycock had lost his air of boredom and his mouth was open in total surprise. Jones started forward, only to be shoved back by a guard. He shook himself free, shouting, 'You can't do that. We have not violated Chinese territory. We are still in the Soviet Union and therefore the Chinese Government has no legal jurisdiction.'
Àh, but there you are wrong, my dear sir,' the Chinese general broke in, his English soft and accentless. 'In China, it is held that the thought is partner to the deed. You have contemplated a crime, planned it carefully and attempted to carry it out. Therefore, legally, you have committed that violation, even though you were prevented from doing so. To have allowed you to commit the crime would have been foolish in the extreme.'
Jones spat out a curse. 'That, sir, is in China, This is the Soviet Union ...'
It will do you no good to argue,' the other Soviet officer, who had so far remained silent, interrupted. The decision has already been made. You will be flown tonight to Peking and there stand trial for your crimes.'
Gillon looked at the officer who had just spoken. Tall, broad and bullnecked. He wore the uniform of the Soviet Army but his lapel was adorned with the insignia of the GRU, the Chief Intelligence Directorate of the Soviet General Staff. So, they really had checked as Gil-Ion had facetiously suggested. A shock of graying blond hair surmounted a seamed and weathered face. This man spent a good deal of time outdoors, he thought.
General Lin laughed at Jones. 'We have conclusive evidence that you were to meet a group of Nationalist Chinese gangsters and together engage in sabotage to the nuclear testing installations at Lop Nor. Understandably enough, in this time of strained relations, the Soviet Union resents your attempts to involve them, to use their national territory as your starting point. And, I might add, the Soviet Government has been very cooperative.'
If that was the story the Chinese had been told, Gillon thought, it helped bring into perspective everything that had happened so far. The Red Chinese could very well have learned the broad details of the mission in Taiwan . . . they probably had as many spies in the Nationalist government as the Nationalists had in the Communist government.- They would have known that the Americans had been asked to help. From Phan Duc Phnom, they would have learned that the Russians were involved before he died. A little pressure applied to the Kremlin could easily have forced them to reconsider their commitment to assist the Americans. Now that the Vietnam War was over, the U.S. was relatively free of foreign encumbrances while the Russians were heavily committed in the Middle East and more and more so in Northeast Africa. The wisdom of engaging in a border clash with China, that and the effect on Sino-American rapprochement that the capture of the Americans would have, must certainly have seemed attractive. And so they were being tossed to the lions. From the sick look on Jones's face, Gillon knew that he had reached the same
conclusion. So much for their optimistic conclusion less thin ten minutes ago that the Soviets were sending them to Moscow. They were going on a trip all right, but in the opposite direction . . . to Peking. Stowe had remained impassive following his initial outburst and Leycock was now staring at the floor, as if disinterested in the proceedings.
'Just how did . .. ?' Gillon started to ask, but the GRU officer cut him off sharply and snapped an order in Russian. Before he could demand that his question be answered, they were pushed into position, by soldiers and forced out into the freezing night. They were marched at a trot to an aircraft waiting on the apron, where its brightly lit interior spilled out in yellow patches onto the snow- and ice-covered concrete.
As they reached the foot of the ladder, Stowe unexpectedly sidestepped away from his guard and before the soldier could react, had lashed out, hitting him in the face. Instantly, Stowe was smothered by soldiers. One swung his carbine, hitting him a glancing blow across the shoulders that nevertheless was sufficient to stun him. Stowe went down without a sound. Gillon started forward but a bayoneted rifle thrust toward his stomach brought him up short. The GRU officer materialized at his side and Gillon roared at him.
'Tell this bastard to back off or I'll take that rifle away from him and shove it down his throat!'
The intelligence officer threw a surprise glance at him and, grinning, ordered the guard to back off before pointing to the guards lifting Stowe off the snow.
'If you do not wish to receive similar treatment, then you will all behave yourselves.'
Jones cursed him roundly but he turned away, still smiling.
The area surrounding the aircraft had been lit by a series of portable floodlights and, though the light was dimned by the heavy snowfall, Gillon saw that the aircraft was an old. Russian turboprop transport with Chinese markings. Two Chinese guards waited at the head of the steps and two more below. The Russian guards had backed away, leaving Gillon, Leycock and Jones standing at the foot of the ladder with the two Russian officers and the Chinese General Lin. Gillon
surmised that the second Chinese officer, who had remained inside, was to go on to Moscow. A moment later four Russian soldiers pushed past, loaded down with the duffle bags and packs, and disappeared up the ladder and into the aircraft.
General Lin lit a cigarette and standing to one side watched the three Americans with an air of expectancy. The soldiers trotted back clown the gangway, and Stowe was carried up and into the cabin.
Gillon, watching them haul Stowe's unconscious form up the steps, had turned to say something to Jones when his guard jolted him with the rifle. Gillon started to swing round on him but the two Chinese guards at the bottom of the steps pushed him away.
The Russian jabbed him again with the rifle butt, eyes glistening with anticipation. Gillon forced himself to swallow his rage and followed Jones up the stairway, his anger barely contained. They ducked and stepped into the brightly lit interior, blinking against the lights. Stowe had been shoved down into a seat at the back of the cabin. As they walked past, he groaned and pushed himself carefully into a sitting position, rubbing the back of his neck. Jones, Leycock and Gillon were led up the aisle and motioned into seats well away from one another. The Chinese guards followed them down the aisle, stopping at each seat to handcuff each by one wrist to a steel bar let into the bulkhead beside the seat.
Two of the Chinese soldiers took up positions at the front of the cabin, their hacks against the bulkhead separating the cabin from the cockpit.
A moment later, a Russian sergeant pushed down the aisle, bringing with him a curious assortment of odors, alcohol, heavy, biting Balkan tobacco and the freshness of cold air and snow, as well as a large duffle bag, which he slung into a seat across from Gillon. He paused to stare down
-at Gillon for a moment, his face expressionless, then turned back and slid into the seat directly in front of him. Gillon noticed that the sergeant was wearing the same GRU insignia and, puzzled, Gillon glanced over his shoulder in time to see General Lin come aboard, followed by the Soviet GRU officer. Both were laughing at some joke and they settled themselves companionably into seats in the
back of the aircraft. One more Chinese soldier hurried aboard, trotted up the aisle and disappeared into the cockpit. Almost immediately, the starboard engine began to turn, its high-pitched turbine whine rising until the engine exploded into a cloud of smoke that was whipped to tatters as the propeller bit into the cold air.
Very curious, Gillon thought. Two Soviet military intelligence operatives aboard the same aircraft taking them into China, Perhaps they had been sent along as witnesses, although that hardly seemed necessary. Very curious indeed. Again that same sense of bewilderment swept over him. Very little of what was happening made sense. There was something missing, something definitely missing, but he could not put his finger on it.
The information that Jack Liu was holding for them was important, in fact downright more important to the Soviets than to the Americans. As the State Department clown had pointed out, the United States was taking a big chance with this mission whereas the Soviets, with a three-thousand-mile contiguous border and their already strained relations with China, were not. And surely the situation, the data at stake, were not important enough to risk threatening the Soviet Union with war. Since the Communist take-over in 1949, the Chinese had always been militarily conservative, fighting beyond their borders only when forced into it. They did not enter the Korean War until American troops were standing on the Yalu River border; did not attack India until the Indians had repeatedly sent troops into China; never did send combat troops to Vietnam. And their previous set-tos with the Soviets had been limited to a lot of name-calling and border skirmishes only in areas historically belonging to China. It just did not make sense and .. . if the Soviets had gotten cold feet, why turn them over to the Chinese? Why not just send them packing and be done with it? Then if the Chinese protested, they could say with a clear conscience and nothing to hide that they had •in fact been approached by the United States for help, but had turned them down. That would avoid any possible conflict with China as well as set back the Sino-American rapproachement . . . a situation patently dangerous to Russia if allowed to progress very far.
