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River of Ruin

Page 15

by Jack Du Brul


  At five feet ten inches, he was taller than all the men with the exception of Sergeant Huai and a few of his troops. Yet his slender build and hatchet-thin face made him look smaller, frailer, like a gangly teen around adults. None, however, could match his severity, nor could they avoid the palpable tension coiled within him. As his eyes swept the apologetic faces of the guards, each physically recoiled from the deep-seeing stare, casting their glances anywhere but at their leader. Liu’s eyes finally settled on Captain Chen Tai Fat, who was in overall command of the Sword of South China Special Forces detachment and whose primary responsibility was maintaining security at the warehouse.

  Chen was a career officer, competent and professional, but like so many in the People’s Liberation Army, he’d achieved rank as much through nepotism as by ability. His father was a general in the air force, and had Chen’s vision not been less than perfect he’d be flying fighter jets out of Hainan Island. Liu didn’t blame Chen for his birth. He himself had benefited from the accomplishments of his family in a lineage that dated back to Chairman Mao’s famous Long March. What Liu couldn’t forgive was ineptitude.

  Standing ramrod straight, Chen waited for what he knew was coming, a dressing down he fully deserved. Thieves had breached his perimeter, and while their attempt to steal anything from the port had been thwarted, he was responsible for the security lapse.

  Liu Yousheng blew on his fingers as if they’d been singed. “You said when you phoned my home that the thieves escaped with the aid of missile fire from outside the fence,” he began, and Captain Chen nodded. “And yet you still think they are nothing more than a rabble looking to swipe electronics from a couple of containers?”

  Chen blinked, not expecting Liu’s question to come so soft-spoken. “Their weaponry indicates a certain sophistication, sir, but Panama is awash in such weapons—surplus arms from the Contras and Sandanistas on their way to FARC and ELF rebels in Colombia. Rocket-propelled grenades are as common as prostitutes here and cheaper to buy.”

  Liu glanced at Sergeant Huai for confirmation. The old soldier dipped his eyes in agreement. Liu continued in a mild tone while menace was building in his expression, “So common thieves have automatic weapons and rocket grenades? Interesting. And how do common thieves know to come into this particular warehouse at this particular time?”

  Chen had a ready answer. “Despite our precautions, the Panamanian dock workers all knew that something would be happening in here. Our increased security was a sure tip-off. One of them could have let it slip or could even be working with the thieves.”

  “Is there any evidence that we were so betrayed?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Have you started an investigation?”

  “As soon as the thieves made their escape, I had the harbor shut down. All employees are being questioned right now.”

  “In your estimation, how much of our activities did these thieves see?”

  Chen considered dodging the question but too many soldiers had been in the warehouse and he couldn’t count on them to maintain his ruse if he lied. It was not lost on him that they showed more deference to Sergeant Huai than himself, and because of COSTIND’s dual nature, Liu did hold the rank of colonel in the PLA even if he never wore his uniform. “It is possible they saw a portion of the gold, sir.”

  “Close enough to see the seals stamped on it?”

  “No, sir. They were on the second-floor storage area. Too far away and the angle was wrong for them to get a good look.”

  Liu turned to Huai. “Is this true?”

  “I was checking the perimeter fence when the firefight took place but my men agree. The gold was under cover except when one of your assistants pulled the cloth from one bar. The robbers were too far away to see the stamp.”

  Turning slightly to regard the two suited men who’d been overseeing the transfer, Liu’s dark eyes silently asked the question of who looked at one of the gold ingots. Both men paled under the scrutiny and many seconds passed before one of the men pushed the other forward. “It was Ping, Mr. Liu.”

  “How about it, Ping?” Liu asked affably, the menace suddenly gone from his bearing. “Did you sneak a peek at my gold?”

  The young junior executive couldn’t muster enough saliva to respond. He nodded sharply, keeping his head down in supplication.

  Liu laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it, Ping. In your position I’d be tempted to want to see it too. One rarely gets the chance to gaze upon forty million dollars.”

  Ping looked up, a small smile forming at the corners of his mouth. That was how he saw the discreet signal flash from his boss to the commando sergeant.

  Huai pulled his sidearm and fired with the weapon still at the level of his waist. The bullet hit square on Ping’s right kneecap. As he buckled, Huai fired again and the other knee shattered in a cloud of blood and bone chips. The junior executive sprawled awkwardly on the concrete, screaming at the unbelievable agony until his body overwhelmed his brain’s ability to deal with the pain and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Liu gave the other executive a speculative look, and was satisfied that he’d made his point when a wet stain bloomed at the man’s groin.

  “Lest you forget that this is a military operation and I will not tolerate mistakes, let Ping’s punishment be a reminder.” Liu’s voice encompassed all those assembled. “We aren’t in Hong Kong or Shanghai. We are in a country that until a few years ago was America’s puppet. Because the Panamanians have only recently gained their freedom from the United States’ imperialism, they are wary of any outsider, especially us. Panama is a Catholic country whose citizens see communism as an affront to their God. Our investments in Panama’s infrastructure are welcome. We are not.

  “I have designed Operation Red Island to keep our actual involvement to a minimum for this very reason. One slip, one whispered rumor about what is happening and the people will take to the streets. It’s something they love to do. Omar Quintero is this country’s most unpopular president since Noriega. Until he can better consolidate his power base it won’t take much to push this country into chaos. Captain Chen?”

  Chen stepped forward. “Sir.”

  “You see what happened to a man who took an unauthorized look at the gold. I want even worse to happen to the thieves.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sergeant Huai, what about the American from Paris who turned up at Gary Barber’s river camp? Mercer?”

  “We lost him after he left the restaurant last night because those drunken tourists rammed our car, but he was spotted at the airport late this morning boarding a flight to Miami. If you still want the journal he bought we will have to dispatch a team to the States.”

  Liu considered the proposal. “That won’t be necessary. We have enough old manuscripts to legitimize our discovery if someone ever wonders how we found the treasure. The one he bought is of no consequence.” Hatcherly’s director in Panama moved back toward his car. “Just in case Captain Chen fails to find our thieves, I want the gold out of this warehouse immediately and everything else cleared within forty-eight hours.”

  Chen opened his mouth to voice an opinion but Liu cut him off. “I’m well aware of our transport guidelines. What can’t be removed from this building in two days should be stored in another location at the terminal until you can get it out. Don’t violate the guidelines but don’t leave anything in here either.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Settled in the back of the Mercedes, Liu Yousheng dug around the mini-bar until he found a container of antacid liquid. He took three heavy swallows, wincing as his stomach gave one more volcanic heave. Thirty-eight was too young for an ulcer, he thought. But thirty-eight was also too young for this kind of responsibility. As he liked to do when the pain was bad, he mentally drew out the flowchart of power within Hatcherly. He enjoyed reviewing the incremental steps he’d climbed. The only people ahead of him now were the president of the entire HatchCo conglomerate, Deng Hui. Then came G
eneral Yu, the man who controlled all of COSTIND. Yu’s only superior was the defense minister in Beijing, and at the top of the pyramid was China’s president. Liu had already climbed twenty positions and had only four more to go. If he pulled off Red Island, he was assured the presidency of Hatcherly Consolidated. They’d have to make him a secret general for that, moving him that much closer to the chairmanship of the Commission on Science, Technology and Industry for National Defense. He estimated that it would take only two years to move up from COSTIND to the defense ministry.

  The pain in his stomach subsided.

  He regretted crippling Ping. Shattering the junior executive’s legs was far too harsh a punishment for his error in judgment. A simple reprimand would have sufficed. Liu had done it as a demonstration to the rest of the men rather than retribution for a stupid mistake. If anyone should have suffered, it was Chen for letting the thieves into the container port in the first place. Being forced to use Panamanian troops at the outer perimeter to keep Hatcherly’s local partners happy was no excuse for the would-be burglars getting into the warehouse.

  There were no critical junctures to Operation Red Island because every phase was equally important. Now that Liu’s forces were taking more active roles, he couldn’t afford inattention. Ping’s mutilation was a reminder.

  He had to maintain control and discipline, and make sure everything stayed on its tight schedule. Any delay could lead to Beijing pulling out of the entire operation. Red Island had been a gamble that few in the highest echelons of the government believed in. They had only allowed themselves to be persuaded to authorize it because Liu had ensured there would be no downside. He could feel the pressure mounting. The gold would last only so long.

  The limo dropped into a pothole and Liu cursed. He wasn’t a xenophobe or even a racist, but he had learned to hate all things Panamanian in his months here. From the constant rain that left oppressive humidity when it cleared, to food that made his ulcer roil, to the grubbing bureaucrats who were never satisfied with their bribes, Liu hated it all. But he despised the people most.

  Had it not been for the United States’ desire to build the canal, Panama would still be a backwater province of Colombia. The Americans had literally created the country from nothing. Theodore Roosevelt had defended their staged revolt from Colombia with gunboats, and had recognized the fledgling nation even as the ink was drying on their constitution. Since that time the United States had poured in billions of dollars, making Panama a true cross-roads of commerce. Granted, Liu could understand the people’s frustration at being treated as second-class citizens by the gringos, but second class to the most powerful nation in the hemisphere was better than first class in a Third World cesspool. And it was inevitable that Panama would slip that way again.

  Singapore was the only country near the equator with a decent standard of living; all others had succumbed to a tropical malaise that left them far behind the industrial world. Liu understood that dozens of factors conspired to make this happen, but the reason he most believed was that the tropics bred laziness. The approach of winter in northern latitudes had created urgency in farmers to plant and harvest in a desperate race to beat the first frost. This work ethic had carried forward into the industrial age and created the prosperity found in Europe, America, Japan, Australia and parts of northern China.

  In contrast, the belt surrounding the equator never had such urgency. Dry seasons provided a similar bounty to the rainy ones. There was never a compelling reason to rush. And this too had spilled over into the industrial age. There was no pressure to complete a project because the next day would be the same as the last. Liu didn’t blame the people for how their societies evolved, but he hated that they resisted adapting to northern ways. They expected the world to adjust to their schedule. Bankers in Panama City felt nothing when they made clients wait for hours while they lingered over lunches or mistresses. Such laxity seemed to be endemic and he feared that his own people were being infected. Back home, Ping would have never dared look at the gold.

  He felt certain that tonight’s demonstration would buy him a few more weeks of commitment. That would be all the time he needed.

  The safe house was located in a quiet neighborhood to the north of Panama City. The building was an indistinguishable one-story cement bungalow with small windows framed in pitted aluminum and a low pitched roof with a long overhang to keep rain from the single door. The rest of the homes on the street were identical with the exception of owners’ tastes in pastel paint. The safe house was a faded pink.

  Rene Bruneseau had refused to answer any of Mercer’s questions until they were in the building, but that didn’t stop Mercer from figuring out a few things on his own. One was that Bruneseau worked for one of France’s spy agencies, most likely the DGSE. How else could he explain the presence of the Foreign Legion troops?

  Disjointed by the turn of events, Mercer needed to take a measure of control if he was going to reestablish his equilibrium. That was why as soon as the blocky Frenchman turned to face him from across the threshold, Mercer fired a punch to Bruneseau’s unshaven jaw that sent the larger man first into the open door and then onto the floor.

  “That’s for nearly getting me killed in Paris,” Mercer hissed, his pistol magically in his hand. He held his aim steady on the Foreign Legion soldier who was closest to him. “This isn’t your fight,” he warned.

  From the threadbare carpet, Rene glared for a moment and then nodded, tension running from his body. He made a gesture to his soldiers to back off. “I suppose I deserved that, Dr. Mercer.” He heaved himself to his feet, cracking his jaw to the side. “Nice punch. Your friend Jean-Paul Derosier said I shouldn’t underestimate you. I think he doesn’t know the half of it. But instead of blaming me, you should thank me for saving your ass twice in two days. Tonight at HatchCo and the night before when two of Hatcherly’s pet Dingbats trailed you from the Japanese restaurant.”

  Still reeling from Bruneseau’s rescue, Mercer could only return a blank look.

  “Did you think they wouldn’t have you under observation?” the Frenchman continued. “Liu’s people have known every move you’ve made since your arrival in Panama. He’s built a hell of a network in a very short time. But so have I. Remember your dinner companions?”

  “The German guys at our grill table?”

  “The beauty of the Legion, no? Men from all over the world. They’re some of the troops who pulled off your extraction tonight.”

  “Who’s German?” Lauren asked, having just ducked under the curtain of rain falling from the eaves. She hadn’t seen the exchange.

  “No one, Captain Vanik,” Bruneseau replied. “An earlier misunderstanding.”

  She caught Mercer’s eye and saw he was as much adrift as she felt. The after-action adrenaline hangover and the surprise that French spies were operating in Panama left her shaky. She’d hoped that Mercer could anchor her and sensed for a while that he could not. Bruneseau led them into a cramped living room stripped of everything but a pair of couches and the dirt outline of a crucifix that had once adorned a wall. A coffee table sat between the couches. The ashtrays littering it overflowed. A soldier came in from the kitchen with a box of cold beer bottles and set six of them on the table before retreating to a back bedroom for their debrief. Mercer and Lauren were left alone with Rene Bruneseau.

  The spy used a Swiss Army knife to open three of the beers and passed over two. “Okay, to answer your accusation—yes, I did set you up in Paris with Jean Derosier’s help. Do not blame him. My government didn’t leave him much choice.”

  “You wanted to flush out whoever was buying up all the Panama diaries?” Mercer already knew the answer and only wanted confirmation.

  “That’s right.”

  “But why?” Lauren asked. “What’s your interest?”

  “To put it frankly, Captain”—Bruneseau lit a cigarette and held it in the underhanded French fashion—“because your country no longer shows any interest, despit
e evidence that the People’s Republic of China is buying up huge chunks of Panama and will very likely have control of the canal within a year.”

  Lauren wasn’t satisfied with the answer even though she knew it to be true. “Again, what is France’s interest?”

  Bruneseau suddenly looked at her with renewed interest, as if she’d just passed some unwritten test. He inclined his head in admiration. “Very good, Captain. I think our friend Mercer here would have left it at that, but you want more. Why is that?”

  “Because France has never shown any interest in Central America, nor have you ever seemed particularly alarmed at China’s recent geopolitical growth. And finally because few French ships transit the canal and very little of your GDP depends on raw materials that pass through here. Your geography insulates you from what happens in Panama.”

  “Meanwhile,” Bruneseau cut in, “America accounts for sixty to eighty percent of all goods that move through the canal and yet you dismantled your presence here. Actually you abandoned it, leaving behind about three billion dollars in assets, including a rather sophisticated antenna array and listening station atop Ancon Hill.”

  Understanding dawned on her. “Ariane.”

  Rene toasted her with his beer. “Since I didn’t say it first, I suppose it’s all right if I said yes.” He glanced at Mercer. “Do you understand what we are talking about?”

  The Frenchman wanted to treat Mercer like a fool, revenge perhaps for the sucker punch. Mercer wasn’t going to play his game. “Because the European Space Agency launches their Ariane rockets from Kourou, Guyana, in South America, you see a Chinese listening post in Panama as a potential threat.”

  “Wouldn’t you? Not all of what Ariane does is civilian and a great deal can be learned of our capabilities with a tracking station that can intercept our rocket’s radio instructions.”

  “So France is finally willing to stand on the wall to guard against China’s growing influence.” An angry flush had risen on Lauren’s face. “About damned time some of our allies saw what was happening.”

 

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