by Joe Poyer
The way he saw it, turning them over to the Chinese was tantamount to admitting involvement, no matter what was said officially. Gillon shook his head, nothing seemed to make sense, yet he knew that none of the three governments involved ever took a step without a plan. The plan itself might often be utterly foolish, but every action had a logic of its own. Both engines were running to power now and Gillon felt the plane move forward, edging slowly away from the hangar area. When they reached the end of the taxiway and began turning slowly into position, Gillon spotted another aircraft ahead of them just gathering speed down the runway. Gillon watched it reach flight speed and leave the runway. For a moment, the aircraft was silhouetted against the white snowfield and he was positive that it was the Jetstar. The aircraft banked sharply around to the north and disappeared from his field of view.
North, he thought. If they were going north it probably meant Moscow. At least the Russians were not giving up the Jetstar to the Chinese. Gillon hoped that the flight crew was still aboard and that they would prove resourceful enough to find a way of notifying Washington of what had happened. Since they had been warned that the State Department would not intercede if they were caught, their chances of getting out of this situation were not good. Gillon shifted uncomfortably in the seat. The sharp metal ring of the handcuff bit painfully into his wrist. There would he a trial in Peking, he knew, one in which trumped-up evidence would play a big part. And if the Chinese were really going to use them as evidence that the United States was hypocritical in its dealings, the trial would receive wide international publicity and the sentences would be severe.
Probably not death, but at least twenty years in prison. Somehow, death might he preferable. ,
The transport had turned onto the runway; the engines ran up and, as the brakes were released, it leaped forward, rushing down the icy runway. Gillon felt the tail section begin to sway back and forth but a moment later, the wheels broke free and they were airborne. The runway dropped beneath and Gillon's field of vision expanded, then steadied as the ground fell away, en-compassing first the apron, then the hangar area and finally the entire airfield before it disappeared astern. Then there was nothing but the wide, empty steppe with here and there an occasional light to mark a lonely building and to the east, the pale towers of the Tien Shan.
The flight into China was silent. For a long time, the transport had circled, climbing for altitude to clear the twenty-thousand-foot peaks of the Tien Shan. Gradually, the distant features of the steppe had faded below, leaving nothing but a faint glimmer of starlight on snow. The flanks of the Tien Shan had merged into black silhouettes of grinding teeth, blocking the stars with their bulk.
The murmur of conversation from the back of the cabin, where the two officers sat together, had died away following takeoff. Gillon sat back in the worn seat and tried to relax. He had calculated that with the probable range of the aircraft they would make two refueling stops; the first at Urumchi in Sinkiang, the second somewhere in Kansu and then the final landing at Peking. Six thousand miles almost and at an average speed of 300 miles an hour, they would reach the capital in twenty to twenty-four hours.
Gillon looked around the cabin again but the high seat backs, obscured his view and the handcuff kept him in place. From the sound of his deep breathing, Jones was asleep, and Leycock and Stowe were both out of his line of vision and hearing. The two Chinese soldiers 'remained stolidly near the front bulkhead, swaying gently with the easy motion of the aircraft, and Gillon wondered if they were going to remain there during the entire flight. The Russian sergeant was slumped well down in the seat, his feet propped on the armrest of the seat across the aisle, asleep to all appearances.
An hour after takeoff, Gillon heard laughter from the back and the rustle of what sounded like a map being unfolded. A few minutes later he looked around to see General Lin standing in the aisle beside his seat, facing Jones.
'We are now in the People's Republic of China,' he said, smiling down in a friendly fashion at Jones. 'Shove it,' Jones murmured.
'Come now, that is no way to talk. We all play a
game. Unfortunately, you have selected the losing side.' 'No,' Jones said mildly, 'not the losing side . . . just a
real loser for a teammate.'
`How is that?' Lin inquired politely.
`The Russians,' Jones snarled. 'It's too bad that during the kangaroo trial coming up we won't be allowed to tell the full story.'
Lin bent over to beam at him. 'That really will not be necessary, really not necessary at all.' Gillon had to strain to hear this murmured response.
'However, no matter how well-intentioned your motives, it will do you no good. Your government has trifled with mine long enough. Many of us have warned that the perfidious American warmongers were only disguising themselves ...'
Lin continued in this vein and Gillon grimaced. One of the hawks, he thought. There was no hope for them at all if these people were in, or near to being in, control . . . no matter how much he was forced to admit that there might now be some justification to Lin's charge.
'Shove it,' Jones repeated, and Lin chuckled, then suddenly cuffed him on the ear.
.
'You bloody . . .' Jones half rose from his seat. Gillon saw it coming but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Lin drew his pistol, reversed it in his hand and used the butt to hit Jones viciously across the temple. Jones groaned once and slumped back, blood welling out of a deep cut above his temple. Gillon found himself on his feet, swearing violently, his right arm caught against the bulkhead by the handcuff. Lin smiled thinly and turned, raising the pistol to strike again. A shot blasted through the cabin and Lin jolted forward, caught his balance and turned to the rear of the cabin. Gillon saw his look of utter astonishment as he faced the Soviet GRU colonel, now standing in the aisle.
The colonel took slow aim and fired the pistol once more, striking Lin squarely in the chest. Lin's own
pistol dropped from his nerveless fingers and he crumpled forward.
Behind Gillon, the sergeant was moving like a dancer, twisting out of his seat and drawing his own revolver at the same time. The colonel fired once more, shifted his aim, slightly, pistol hand lying across his left forearm. Gillon stared for an eternity down the muzzle before it fired for the third time ... past his shoulder and struck the Chinese soldier on the left side of the cabin. At the same time the sergeant shot twice, dropping the soldier standing to the right of the door. The cockpit door was thrust open and a rifle poked out. The sergeant jumped to the left and fired twice inside as the colonel raced up the aisle. The cockpit guard crumpled to his knees and the sergeant fired once more, into the back of the neck, and he slumped face forward onto the floor in a welter of blood.
The Russian officer hurdled the body and slammed into the cockpit. Three shots were fired in quick succession and the aircraft banked abruptly to the left and fell off the port wing, throwing Gillon forward and wrenching the skin- from his wrist, where the handcuff dragged at the flesh. The transport tipped into the slow twist that preceded a spin, then, just as abruptly as it had begun, righted itself and, a moment later, the engines were running up to full rated power, dragging the nose up, and she began to come level once more.
Gillon untangled himself from the seat and got shakily to his feet. The three Chinese soldiers were dead. One body had rolled across the cabin in the violence of the spin and lay on its hack, sightless eves staring at the ceiling. Lin was on his hack, astonishment still evident in his staring eyes, a thin trickle of blood running idly down his cheek.
The sergeant had been thrown hard to the deck by the sudden movement of the aircraft.
He got to his feet, shaking his head, swayed in the aisle a moment and grabbed a seat hack to steady himself. Then he walked carefully to Lin, stooped down and went through his pockets until he found the key to the handcuffs. Without a word, he reached hack and handed the key to Gillon, then bent over Jones's unconscious figure.
Gil
lon found the key that fit his cuffs, unlocked them,
and tossed the set to Leycock, who released both his and Stowe's. Leycock tensed and Gillon heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. He turned to see the GRU colonel standing in the cockpit doorway, pistol still in his hand but grinning from ear to ear. The colonel laughed and snapped the magazine out to show that it was empty. As if nothing had happened, he slipped a fresh magazine into the pistol, snapped the slide back to load a cartridge into the chamber, put the safety on and shoved it back into his holster. Still wary, Leycock came up the aisle and knelt down beside Jones. The sergeant backed out of the way while Leycock undid the handcuffs and, examined his bleeding head.
The sergeant walked down the aisle to the colonel and spoke to him in Russian, gesturing at Jones. Gillon caught a trace of concern on his face and hastily leaned over the seat.
Stowe came up and together the three of them got Jones lifted out of the seat and onto the carpeted floor.
His breathing was shallow, his skin almost gray and covered with a thin film of sweat.
Leycock rubbed his wrists and chest and Stowe hurried back down the aisle to where the packs were piled in one of the rear seats and came back with a first-aid kit. He found an ammonia ampul, broke it and waved it under Jones's nose. Jones coughed and feebly pushed the ampul away. Ley-cock pressed him back to the floor and his color and breathing began to return to normal. After a minute or so, Leycock held up three fingers.
'How many?'
'Seven, dammit, let me up ..
'Okay, but take it easy ...'
Leycock helped him into the seat and stepped back while Stowe went to work with swab and antiseptic to clean the gash that the pistol butt had left above his temple.
'Ye gods, take it easy,' Jones whispered between clenched teeth.
Stowe grunted and finished up, dabbed an antibiotic ointment on a sterile pad and taped it in place. Then he shook two tablets out of a bottle and offered them to Jones. Leycock handed him a canteen and they both insisted that he swallow the tablets.
`They're just aspirin. And you are going to have one hell of a headache in a few moments.'
Jones nodded and swallowed the tablets, then leaned his head back against the seat.
Stowe adjusted it until it was almost horizontal.
'All right, Colonel, fun and game times are over,' Gillon said tightly, turning to the two Russians talking together at the front of the cabin. 'What the hell is this all about?'
The colonel smiled easily and came down the aisle to them. 'I would not really blame you if you were angry. It is a very dirty trick to play. But we had no other choice. My name is Andre Dmietriev and this is my friend and associate Sergeant Anton Rodek. We are the two other members of this apparently ill-fated venture.'
Gillon was surprised by the announcement. But then, he thought, nothing had made sense so far. Why should it start now?
Stowe moved up the aisle as if to back him up and Leycock got slowly to his feet, his hands relaxed at his sides. Gillon glanced at Stowe, noting that his face, although still pale with the after-effects of his beating, was set into hard lines of anger.
Ìll-fated is the word, Colonel. Perhaps you will explain what all this nonsense is about and who these people are ... were,' he corrected himself.
'Certainly, but first . . .' He said something to Rodek in Russian, Rodek nodded and stepped into the cockpit. Dmietriev waited a moment, a look of concentration on his face, and Gillon felt the roar of the engines deepen and the deck under his feet tilted upward slightly.
`Sergeant Rodek is an excellent pilot. He feels that perhaps a bit more altitude is necessary. In view of the height of these mountains,' he finished, half-apologetically.
Gillon had almost forgotten that they were well into the Tien Shan by now and he stooped to peer, through the window.
`No,' Dmietriev smiled, 'I am afraid it is too dark to see anything. The moon will not rise for several hours
yet. Now come,' he invited, 'let's be seated and I will tell you what has happened.' He gestured to the seats and, rubbing his aching wrist, Gillon sat down on the armrest., Stowe took the seat across the aisle from Jones while Leycock remained standing.
'I am afraid this deception, hard on you as it was, was completely necessary. As you probably know, one of your operatives was murdered in Rome.'
Behind him, Gillon heard the sudden intake of breath as Jones reacted to this news.
Gillon felt the same way. How the hell had the Russians found out so quickly?
Dmietriev laughed at their response. 'But you forget, we are supposed to be partners in this operation. We knew of course as soon as your people did that your operative had been killed . . . knew from two sources, I might add. Your people and our own channels of communication.'
Dmietriev paused and looked at them. Gillon could feel the hostility that was being directed toward the Russian by the other three. It seemed foolish to him, but then he thought, perhaps if he was as involved in intelligence work as they were, he might feel the same way. It all seemed like pure nonsense to him, serving only to aggravate the differences between nations.
'So,' Dmietriev continued, 'we are now quite certain that he was killed by the Chinese. I say this because within hours of your man's death, the Ambassador of the People's Republic of China handed our Foreign Minister a note of diplomatic protest couched in the strongest terms. This mission is as important to us as it is to your country, perhaps more so since we share common borders with China. As far as my country is concerned, that data must be retrieved at all costs . . . and this was stressed to me by no less than the Minister of Defense himself. So we devised this little drama to convince the Chinese that we had nothing to do with you, that everything was the exclusive idea of the United States. I must say that there are certain elements in my government, as there are in the Chinese Government, that have reacted with strong approval to the idea of destroying whatever progress had been achieved to date in the American-Chinese talks?
Dmietriev glanced at his watch as he continued. `So you were put under arrest as soon as you landed at Ala Kul ... I trust it did not prove onerous?'
He was met by a stony silence and chuckled. 'We knew that the Chinese would be arriving within hours of your aircraft . . . we could only hope that it would be after and not before. Both of your arrivals coincided so closely in fact that we did not have time to explain to you what was happening . . . which from my standpoint was just as well, as your reactions were certainly convincing.'
`You are saying then,' Stowe broke in, 'that this whole business was just a sham to convince the Chinese that the Russians had nothing to do with this mission . . . ? You really didn't expect them to believe that, did you?'
Dmietriev laughed. 'If you were a bit more familiar with the art of diplomacy, my friend, you would see that as having no bearing on the matter at all. Of course they did not believe us . . . but that is not what they were asking. The Chinese Government warned my government that there would be serious repercussions if we allowed the mission to take place. So we agreed that the mission would be halted by simply arresting you and your friends and turning you over to the Chinese Government.
`Now that we have done so, we are no longer responsible for what happens. You see, a Chinese officer stayed behind to report to Peking as well as to the Chinese Embassy in Moscow. He saw you put aboard this transport, saw his fellow officer and the three soldiers go aboard, but did not see either Sergeant Rodek or myself follow. After he boarded the aircraft in which you arrived, a message came for General Lin informing him that two Soviet military personnel would accompany him to Peking . . . Sergeant Rodek and myself . . . to assist in the trial. Of course the message was unimpeachable as it was in the latest Chinese military codes.'
Gillon raised his eyebrows at this news and Stowe, Jones and Leycock exchanged glances.
'Of course, the message was completely false,' Dmietriev continued modestly. `So far as the Soviet Union is
c
oncerned we have complied with the Chinese request. If the escort should prove incapable of controlling their prisoners, that, of course, is their problem.
`So it will appear that you left Ala Kul earlier tonight after General Lin sent a wireless message informing Peking of the time of departure . . . and after being seen aboard by one of their own people. In addition, a second message was sent from this aircraft confirming that we had crossed the border. Our flight records will show that this aircraft left on schedule and radar logs on both sides will show that this same aircraft crossed the border still on schedule. In fact, the pilot was to report his position every half-hour. It has now been fifteen minutes since he last did so and we are wasting valuable time talking.
This aircraft will crash in twenty minutes and we do not want to be aboard when it does so. It will appear,' he finished triumphantly, 'that once having overpowered your captors, you were unable to fly the aircraft and it crashed in a remote area of the Tien Shan. Very neat, hey?'
`Very neat is right,' Jones murmured. 'You say twenty minutes? Where will that put us?
`Right in the middle of the scheduled drop zone. Unknown to them and fortunately for us, they were flying very close to the route we would have taken if we had not been discovered. It is the only sensible way to cross the Tien Shan to Urumchi, where normally an aircraft would refuel.'
