The Lone Patriot

by JT Brannan

  ‘How so?’ Mason asked, not really interested but willing to play the game.

  ‘Well, not only have they got military units stationed in Nicaragua to protect their investment in the new canal from activists, but now they’re bringing military “advisors” over to Mexico.’

  ‘Why?’ Mason asked. He should probably have known – Rush and a hundred other advisers had probably outlined the issues before – but he couldn’t for the life of him remember anything about this particular subject.

  ‘Drugs,’ Rush explained patiently. ‘The cartels have got some sort of pipeline into Beijing now, and the Chinese government is furious.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mason said with a wry smile, ‘it messes up their own trade with the Golden Triangle, doesn’t it?’

  Rush shrugged. ‘I’m not sure about that, Mr. President,’ he said a little uncomfortably. ‘But they’ve been pushing the Mexican government for tighter regulations, a more heavy-handed attitude to the gangs. And then there was that coachload of Chinese tourists who got shot up a few weeks ago in a street battle between the Zetas and the Sinaloa cartel. Eighteen dead, another dozen badly hurt. Beijing insisted on sending in its own people to investigate.’

  ‘And from that . . .’

  ‘Yeah, from that, they’re now sending in military advisers. They’re even talking about letting in actual military units.’

  ‘And why’s President Rodrigues allowing it?’ Mason asked.

  ‘Money,’ Rush explained. ‘China have invested a hell of a lot in Mexican infrastructure, business and real estate, with the promise of billions more.’

  ‘And if Rodrigues doesn’t play ball, they pull out?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Rush confirmed. ‘And with the Mexican economy the way it is, they can’t afford to upset China.’

  Mason thought about the matter as he drank more coffee. ‘Hell, Quince,’ he said finally, ‘maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing? Heaven only knows, those cartels are out of control and the Mexicans can’t seem to do a damn thing about it themselves.’

  Rush shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘That’s one point of view,’ he allowed, ‘but a number of analysts see a Chinese presence at the US border as a clear and present danger to our national security.’

  ‘I see,’ Mason said, ‘and I can certainly see their point.’ He paused for a few moments as he collected his thoughts. ‘You said they are thinking of sending in military advisers?’

  Rush nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But they still haven’t done it?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Rush allowed, ‘no.’

  ‘And I can therefore assume that military units themselves are much further off?’ he continued with his line of reasoning.

  ‘That’s correct,’ Rush said, shifting again in his seat as he realized what Mason was doing.

  ‘So it’s a little bit early,’ Mason concluded, ‘to be getting our panties in a twist about China, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I think,’ Rush said carefully, ‘that it’s a situation we need to keep an eye on.’

  ‘I agree,’ Mason said, to Rush’s relief. ‘But,’ he added, ‘our “experts” aren’t really suggesting that China is purposefully getting closer and closer to our border in order to attack us, are they?’ He laughed good-naturedly. ‘Because that would be preposterous, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It is certainly unlikely,’ Rush agreed, ‘but these people are paid to look for worst case scenarios.’

  The truth was, Mason wasn’t thrilled about the potential Chinese presence on the Mexico/US border either. The new president, Chang Wubei, seemed okay – he was certainly better than General Wu, the despot who had killed the previous president, taken the entire Politburo hostage in the Forbidden City, and then launched an insane plan to invade Japan after disabling one of America’s newest aircraft carriers – but Mason didn’t trust him completely. He had, after all, completely refused to hand back the territories stolen by Wu – the Diaoyu Islands and Taiwan – and seemed to be nothing more than the mouthpiece for stronger men that hid in the shadows behind him.

  But on the other hand, Mason had no wish to rock the boat; China was a permanent member of the UN Security Council, and could cause problems with the upcoming vote if Mason complained about Chinese activity in Mexico. The general assembly was meeting to discuss the American proposal tomorrow, and Mason hoped that the security council would meet to approve the resolution just the day after that.

  So, for now at least, he was willing to let sleeping dogs lie.

  ‘We’ll put that one on the backburner for now,’ he told Rush. ‘But the moment those advisers get there, we’ll readdress it, okay?’

  ‘Yes, Mr. President.’

  China could wait, Mason told himself.

  For now, Iran was all that mattered.

  Kang Xing accepted the long-stemmed pipe from his old friend and relaxed contentedly back into his chair, taking a puff from it as he pushed his finished plate to one side, listening to the Peking opera music as it played gently in the background.

  The food here at Mei Fu was the best, and it was a rare treat to be able to come to this exquisite courtyard restaurant with a friend who was not a part of Beijing’s powerful inner circle.

  Indeed, Xiaobo Mo was not in the government at all, nor had any wish to be. He was an artist, sculptor and novelist, and Kang found his friend’s creative soul to be the perfect antidote to life in the Zhongnanhai, the imperial garden opposite the Forbidden City which housed the government apparatus of the People’s Republic of China, and where Kang spent most of his time, despite his advancing years.

  By rights, as Vice Chairman of the Central Military Commission, he should have spent most of his time in the Ministry of National Defense compound in western Beijing, where the CMC was based. But as the president’s chief military adviser – among other things – he orchestrated it so that he was almost permanently by Chang Wubei’s side, guiding him in the correct way.

  The position of Vice Chairman of the CMC – which accorded vast power, as the man in charge of the world’s largest standing army – had previously been held by General Wu De, before he had staged a coup and named himself Paramount Leader. Kang, as Minister of National Defense, had been the only general not to support Wu’s claim, and as such had been imprisoned in the Forbidden City with the rest of the Politburo. Upon their release, Chang had been elevated to president, and he in turn had rewarded Kang with Wu’s old job.

  The entire plan had been Kang’s from the start, of course, everything from General Wu seizing power, to the invasion of Japan, to his protégé Chang Wubei becoming president. It hadn’t gone perfectly – American intervention had ensured that Japan had not been annexed, as desired – but it had been quite effective nonetheless. China had increased her territory, her resource base, and her power, tested her military, and gained a new leader; and all without blame. After all, General Wu was a crazed megalomaniac, and the politburo had authorized nothing.

  But this had only been part of Kang’s long-term plans, part of a strategy he had been working on for years, for decades, and which was only just nearing the point of fruition.

  American involvement in Iran, and Russia’s subsequent Project Europe, was all part of it, although it was only Kang who saw it, the only man with the vision to plan out a truly long-term strategy that would ultimately enable China to usurp the United States as the world’s most powerful nation.

  As Mo regaled him with tales of courtesans and opium addicts, a part of Kang was sad that he didn’t feel the joy in those stories that he normally did; but the truth of the matter was that he could think of nothing else but his plan. Even here in this restaurant, relaxing with his pipe, he couldn’t stop working out the details, the percentages.

  He was so close; China was so close . . .

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the smoke, deep into his lungs.

  He was an old man, with only a few years of life left, if he was lucky. He had forsaken a normal existence for the life h
e had already lived – he’d never married, had no family – and he could only hope, hope and pray, despite his communist background, that it hadn’t all been for nothing.

  It all balanced, he judged, on whether the US led the coalition into action against Iran. If they did, and then Russia instigated her own plans, then the door for China would be wide open . . .

  And the dragon would awaken once more.

  4

  ‘Dementyev’s old-school,’ Vinson told Cole over the secure line in his private office. ‘Did his time in the Soviet military and the KGB, before making the switch to the SVR in ninety-one.’

  ‘He escaped the purges?’ Cole’s voice came back to him from Moscow, crackly but audible.

  ‘It appears he did, yes. Must have been too junior at the time to bother with, I suppose. But it left him in a good position within the new organization – experienced but untainted.’

  ‘And yet we hadn’t heard of him before,’ Cole noted.

  ‘Well, you hadn’t heard of him,’ Vinson corrected his friend.

  ‘What,’ Cole asked doubtfully, ‘and you had?’

  ‘Don’t forget, I worked for SIS for many years,’ Vinson reminded him, referring to Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service, ‘many of them at the height of Cold War fever. I heard about Dementyev while he still with the KGB, supposed to be a brilliant officer. His name came up more than once during mole-hunts in London, he was very good at placing agents.’

  ‘That was his department?’

  ‘Yes, First Chief Directorate, foreign espionage operations. We never got anything on him – he must have been too good for that – but I remember the name.’

  ‘I take it he’s still engaged in foreign operations.’

  ‘He certainly is, he’s now one of the Deputy Directors of SVR, heading up Directorate S.’

  ‘Illegal Intelligence?’

  ‘Yes,’ Vinson confirmed. ‘You know the sort of thing – the age-old classics of agent placement and general espionage, but it’s also involved in using foreign terrorist groups as proxies, stirring up trouble in other countries. Real nasty stuff.’

  ‘Does he have links to Mohammed Younesi and MOIS?’ Cole asked, referring to the Iranian intelligence chief who had masterminded the attacks on London.

  ‘We are looking into it,’ Vinson assured him, ‘but the bottom line is, the SVR and MOIS are known to work together in many areas. Younesi was head of the equivalent department as Dementyev, and it is likely that they would have known each other.’

  ‘I’m not liking the sound of this,’ Cole said. ‘The more I learn, the more I’m sure the Russians had something to do with London.’

  ‘I agree,’ Vinson said, rubbing his temples. ‘But the question is, why?’

  ‘Changing the global status quo maybe,’ Cole offered, ‘trying to increase their power base with the new leadership structure.’

  ‘Maybe. We know that some of the new presidents and prime ministers that are appearing are more openly pro-Russian. Alexis Thrakos in Greece and Alexei Krinitsky in Belarus are two that jump out immediately. But it seems a hell of a thing to do, just to get a few extra presidents on board.’

  ‘You think Emelienenko wants something else?’

  Vinson rubbed the sides of his head harder, a dull throb hurting his brain as he pondered the issue. ‘It’s possible,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m just not sure exactly what. But Project Europe sounds fairly ominous, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You think Russia is planning some sort of attack?’

  Vinson sighed. The truth was, he had no idea. He had studied the Russians for most of his adult life, and still didn’t truly understand them; their minds simply didn’t work the same way as their western counterparts.

  ‘It’s possible,’ he answered finally, ‘but it is also possible that it’s mere posturing. I think that Emelienenko is going to try and win concessions from the US at the security council meeting, I think that’s what it’s all about. Mason is so damn keen to invade Iran, he’ll probably give Russia whatever she wants. Did you know that President Hudaybergenov has just given his approval for coalition forces to be stationed in Turkmenistan?’

  ‘No,’ said Cole in surprise. ‘I thought Turkmenistan was supposed to be neutral?’

  The US had use of a terminal at Ashgabat International airport, Cole knew, but only for refueling and processing supplies; it had been used to launch a rescue force of Black Hawk choppers into Iran just a few short months ago, but that had been a covert operation and been kept out of the public eye.

  So what had changed?

  ‘This isn’t public knowledge yet,’ Vinson said, ‘as the last thing we want is Iran being made aware of our invasion strategy. It was Pete who told me, as he’s been given the word to move his troops in before Christmas. As to what’s changed, we can only assume that President Emelienenko has used his influence. There’s a lot of money to be made from that Russian pipeline, and Hudaybergenov is quite new in the job, he’s anxious to make things work.’

  ‘And why would Emelienenko use his influence like that?’ Cole asked, immediately suspicious.

  ‘Why indeed?’ Vinson responded. ‘It’s a good question, and we can only assume that it’s because our own beloved president has offered him something in return.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine, old chap,’ Vinson said resignedly. ‘But we are trying to find out.’

  ‘Sounds like the UN votes are going to be largely ceremonial.’

  ‘You know how it works, Mark. Mason wants UN approval because he thinks it will give him protection if things don’t go well, the last thing he wants to happen is to be prosecuted as a war criminal. But he’s given his word in front of the world that Iran will get what’s coming to it, so the invasion will go ahead with or without that approval.’

  ‘Good old Clark Mason.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Vinson said with a chuckle, before turning serious again. ‘But Mark, we can’t rule out that there’s more to this than just games at the security council. We need to know what’s really going on over there in Moscow, what this special project is, and we need to know yesterday.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ came the confident reply, and Vinson was glad that it was Cole over in Moscow and not anyone else; if anyone stood a chance of getting to the bottom of this thing, it was him.

  ‘Thank you, Mark,’ Vinson said. ‘And good luck. I’ve got a feeling that you’re going to need it with this one.’

  ‘Michiko,’ Cole said, Vinson having transferred him to his daughter’s line. He was in one of the apartment bedrooms, which the team had transformed into a secure communications center.

  Mike Devlin – currently a sniper from Marine Force Recon, but a former psychologist with a doctorate from Yale – was talking to Galushka, to see if any more information could be extracted from the woman.

  The other members of the team, meanwhile, were preparing their weapons and equipment, while they made initial plans for gaining access to the SVR headquarters at Yasenevo.

  ‘Mark,’ Cole heard his daughter breathe over the phone, ‘are you okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered simply. He wanted to say more, but this wasn’t the time for familial pleasantries; they were on a timetable now, and Cole had to keep the conversation on the business at hand. ‘We’ve got reason to believe that Jake is with the SVR,’ he continued, ‘and not the FSB as we first thought.’

  It was a key point – foreign agents were almost always interrogated by the FSB, and this was where Force One had directed most of its intelligence-gathering in terms of locating Navarone. Now that he had more details on his friend’s disappearance, Michiko could use them to narrow down the field of her search.

  ‘He was arrested at the SVR headquarters at Yasenevo on November eighth, apparently trying to gain access to the office of Colonel Vladimir Dementyev, head of Department S, Illegal Intelligence. Rumor is that he’s not being held at the regular facilities, but a secret SVR interrogatio
n center or jail somewhere. Not in Moscow perhaps, but probably not too far away.’

  ‘But that’s rumor only?’ his daughter replied, all-business now as well.

  ‘Unfortunately yes, but it seems likely he won’t be too far; if he’s been identified as a foreign agent, the SVR won’t want him too far away. They may want to use him, roll him out in public. And certainly, intelligence officers will need access to him, maybe politicians too.’

  ‘Okay,’ Michiko said, ‘I’ll use the information to refine the search. Some more details would be useful though.’

  ‘We’re working on it now,’ Cole assured her, ‘and when we learn anything, you’ll be the first to know. But do what you can, okay?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘And we need an intel dump,’ he told her. ‘Everything you can get on SVR headquarters, including whatever you can get on the location of Directorate S, and Dementyev’s office. Also, we need as much as you can find on Vladimir Dementyev himself. Bruce has given us the broad brushstrokes, but we need the details – where he lives, what he drives, how he travels to and from work, who he lives with, where he goes out to eat, you know the sort of thing.’

  ‘You want his inside leg measurement too?’ Michiko asked, and Cole was forced to laugh.

  ‘If you can get it,’ he said, ‘then yeah, why not?’

  Michiko laughed too. ‘I’ll get started right away,’ she told him.

  ‘Thanks, Michiko.’

  ‘No problem. Stay safe.’

  And with that, his daughter was gone, and he rose from his seat to join the others.

  It was time to go to work.

  ‘I see that your project is going according to plan, my president,’ said Boris Manturov as he puffed on a Belomorkanal, a papirosa-style Russian cigarette without a filter, the smoke black and strong.

  ‘Our project, Boris Borisovich,’ Mikhail Emelienenko reminded his prime minister, ‘for we are now all in this together, are we not?’