Springboard nf-9
Page 34
Kent nodded and worked his way back to his seat.
Next to him, General Wu sat, staring out through the window.
He turned to look as Kent sat.
“You are in the American Army?”
“Marines, sir, working for Net Force’s military unit.”
Wu nodded. “Net Force. Shing. The idiot and his computers. They gave us away. Such things are not to be trusted.”
“Between you and me, yes, sir.”
Wu nodded again. “I was so close.”
Kent didn’t reply.
Wu frowned. “What now?”
“We have people who want to talk to you.”
“I won’t tell them anything.”
Kent shrugged. “If I were in your place, I’d consider it, sir. Your government will eventually sort out what happened in Macao. They’ll want to talk to you worse than we do. Probably more, uh, harshly.”
“And if I cooperate with the U.S. authorities, I’ll be allowed to stay in your country? Is that what you are saying? People died during this operation, and I am responsible — you would excuse that?”
“No, sir, I can’t make that promise. A Chinese general would have a lot to give us, and I’d expect that somebody from the State Department will eventually get around to making an offer to you, but that’s politics, and not my area of expertise.”
Wu smiled. “I have seen your area of expertise, ah… I did not get your name and rank…?”
“Abraham Kent, sir, Colonel.”
“A well-played operation, Colonel.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“One must admire skill wherever one sees it, even in an opponent. How long did you take to set up your operation?”
Kent was embarrassed to tell him, but there was no point in lying. “We got to Macao today, sir. We didn’t know you were going to hit the casinos until we got there, so we had to develop our options on the fly, as it were.”
Wu’s face showed his surprise. “No! Our plan was many months in the making, and you just swept in and destroyed it with no preparation?”
“Better to be lucky than good, sir.”
Wu smiled, but it was bitter. “Your gods must be stronger than mine. I had dreams, Colonel. A new and better China. I would have gotten rid of the Communists. I might have done it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well. Sometimes the dragon flies, sometimes the dragon dies.”
Kent thought he was speaking metaphorically. He didn’t have a chance to move before Wu pulled his uniform shirt up and bit off the top button—
“General, don’t—!”
Wu smiled. Kent heard the crunch as Wu’s teeth crushed the poison tablet disguised as a shirt button.
“Medic!” Kent yelled. He grabbed at Wu, tried to open his mouth, but he knew it was already too late.
Comrade General Wu had been right. He wasn’t going to be telling anybody anything. Wu was on a one-way voyage to… elsewhere.
Damn.
45
Net Force HQ
Quantico, Virginia
General Hadden sat at one end of the conference table, Thorn at the other, and along the sides were Jay Gridley, Abe Kent, General Roger Ellis, and a couple of Hadden’s men from the Pentagon, along with the Director of the CIA.
Kent finished his recitation. It had been clean, crisp, and to the point. He ended it with an apology for allowing Wu to commit suicide.
“Not at all, Colonel,” Hadden said. General Ellis nodded. “That old poisoned-button trick went out before Mao, nobody does that kind of thing anymore. No reason to expect it. Besides, whatever grand schemes Wu had died with him. That’s what we were really after.”
Kent nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The CIA Director, who had held the job less than a year, said, “The Chinese recovered most of the money from the thefts. Some of it was, ah, destroyed in an explosion, and a few hundred thousand dollars grabbed by looters at that location, but apparently somebody tipped off Beijing as to the whereabouts of the transport planes and they were stopped before they could take off.”
He looked around the table, his eyes coming to rest on Colonel Kent. “Although it seems at least one of the gang might have managed to escape,” he went on, “for there is an estimated six and a half million dollars that has been unaccounted for. There was a leased Chinese helicopter discovered on a beach in Taiwan only a day or so after the heist. No sign of the pilot or any passengers was found, but a local farmer says he saw a beautiful woman he didn’t know in the area shortly before the helicopter came to light. Taiwanese authorities have not been able to locate this woman — if she actually exists. Could be the farmer conked the pilot over the head and stole the money.”
Nobody had anything to say about that. It was not their problem in any event.
Thorn looked around. It was his meeting. “Anything else?”
Nobody said anything.
“Then I guess that wraps it up,” Thorn said.
“Oh, one other thing,” General Hadden said. “Roger?”
General Ellis reached into a pocket and came out with a small box. He grinned and slid it across the table toward Abe Kent.
Ellis said, “We know you have a closet full of ribbons and medals you seldom bother to wear, Abe, but we thought you might like these.”
Kent opened the box.
Inside was a pair of small silver stars.
“Congratulations, General,” Hadden said.
The stunned look on Abe Kent’s face was, Thorn thought, priceless.
EPILOGUE
Washington, D.C.
The Mall
The sun shone brightly, but a recent thundershower had cooled the air a bit, so that it was muggy, but not too hot.
Thorn and Marissa walked along the edge of the Mall, looking at tourists, enjoying the day and each other’s company.
“So, are you going to stick around at Net Force, Tommy? If I’m going to introduce you to my family as my intended, I have to tell them whether you’re unemployed or not. My mother always worried that I’d marry some shiftless, no-account bum I’d have to support.”
Thorn smiled. “I’m sure I can convince them I can take care of you.”
“Perhaps. But I’m not sure they’d approve of a ne’er-do-well who can’t hold a job, even a rich ne’er-do-well.”
“I expect I’ll stay where I am for a while,” he said. “So far, the military hasn’t stuck its nose too far into my business. They’re happy with the job we did on their problem. With luck they won’t get too hands-on.”
“Good. Maybe we can go down to Georgia on a long weekend soon, see my grandparents.”
“That’d be fine. I’ll brush up on my Shakespeare and squirrel-skinning.”
“My grandfather’s favorite play is A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and he prefers the Fisher printing over the Roberts.”
“Duly noted. Any hints on squirrel stew?”
“Only one — first, catch a squirrel.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You’ll do fine. My mother is so desperate for grandchildren, as long as you have a pulse you’ll be acceptable. My father trusts my judgment, though I have given him occasion to wonder. My grandma and grandpa will see the real you through whatever facade you hold up, and that’ll be good enough for them.”
“You think?”
“It’s good enough for me. That’s all that really matters.” Thorn grinned. Earlier, he had thought that life couldn’t get any better. He’d been wrong.
He squeezed Marissa’s hand. Life was getting better all the time.
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