Читать книгу Stealth Sweep - Don Pendleton - Страница 10

Yangtze River Valley, Red China

“No! Please!” Colonel Weng Pei pleaded. “I had to act. Choi Lei at the CIA station said that a specialist was coming from America to deal with something big. He had to be eliminated.”

“Shut up,” Major Shen-wa Fen muttered, slashing his knife along the man’s throat.

As a torrent of hot blood gushed forth, the major pushed his gurgling commander out of the hovering Z-8 transport helicopter.

“You contemptible fool,” Shen-wa said in annoyance, cleaning the blade on a rag as he watched the hurtling body vanish into the thick forest below. “Who told him to move on the intel provided by our insider and lay a trap for the CIA agent? I want the Americans stonewalled, learning nothing as they rush about Hong Kong from one false lead to another until they meet the Lucky Lady!”

“Mice in a maze,” Sergeant Ming Bohai rumbled from the cockpit, angling the military helicopter away from the rolling forest and back toward home base.

Sheathing the blade, Shen-wa nodded. “Exactly! But now…”

Annoyed, he looked out the window, lost in his private thoughts. Was the plan compromised? He didn’t think so, which was lucky, because at this point it would be nearly impossible to stop. After five long years of planning, everything was dovetailing into place, and he wouldn’t allow anything to get in his way. Certainly not some hot-snot nephew of a politician, a fat fool who had never fired a weapon in combat, and earned his rank by throwing elaborate parties and kissing ass.

No wonder the world hates China, Shen-wa noted, leaning back in the jump seat. We’re a joke. As corrupt as the Americans and as decadent as the Russians.

Pulling a small ironwood pipe from the breast pocket of his uniform, Shen-wa tucked it contentedly into his mouth. Sadly, he couldn’t light the pipe, as smoking was strictly forbidden on board the helicopter. Something about the smoke bothering the advanced electronics. Still, having the stem between his teeth gave him no small measure of comfort, and it was an aid to clear thinking. How had a CIA agent been dispatched to Hong Kong so fast? What did the spy agency know?

Unlike most of the executive operatives in Red Star, the major was a tall, handsome man with perfectly combed hair, and the smile of a Beijing movie star. He always spoke softly, rarely above a whisper, yet combat veterans jumped as if he were cracking a whip. Nobody in the Central Military Command really understood how the major achieved the effect, not even the president, and every attempt to duplicate it had failed miserably. The aura of command radiating from Shen-wa was a natural talent, and had caused quite a lot of resentment in the regular army. His transfer from counterintelligence into the covert division of the Red Star had been as expected as rain in the spring—normal, natural and to everyone’s benefit.

“Sir, can the damage be repaired?” Ming asked, swinging away from the new high-tension powerline towers jutting up from the forest like the skeleton hands of dead robots.

“Most certainly, old friend,” Shen-wa replied, smiling around the pipe. “We’re fine. For the moment, at least. Your prompt action in telling me about this saved us all. It has helped save China itself.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” Ming demurred, leveling the helicopter so as not to draw unwanted attention from the workers below.

Childhood hadn’t been kind to the sergeant in many ways. It gave him a face from hell, and had started him on the twisted path to his present employment. Unusual for a race known for its rather compact stature, Ming was a hulking giant, well over seven feet tall and with shoulders as broad as a Tibetan ox. His fingers were so large he had to remove the trigger guard from his service pistol to operate the weapon, yet he flew helicopters with smooth precision.

“We’re all just doing our jobs,” Shen-wa said, lost in thought. The CIA…the CIA…why did that keep echoing in his mind?

Lost in contemplation, he made no further comments as the sergeant expertly piloted the helicopter over the small town of Sandooping, and then proceed up the river toward the gigantic Three Gorges Dam.

Finished only a few years earlier, the Three Gorges facility was the largest dam in the world, with twenty-seven hydroelectric generators fully capable of supplying power to half of China. Once, he had read the exact figures of how much voltage it generated, but then promptly forgot the number. He wasn’t overly interested in statistics, only results. The dam had cost thirteen billion euros to build, and so it had been relatively easy for him to siphon off a decent chunk of the funds for Project Keyhome.

The Three Gorges Dam was so huge that it had a series of locks alongside, elevators for cargo ships, and could lift entire oceangoing vessels from the lower runoff located at the bottom, to the vast lake on top. No other dam in the world could do that, and the fact was a constant source of pride for the major. The Chinese had always been creators, inventing black powder, rockets, the compass, and a host of other items that made modern life possible.

And soon they would bring freedom to every civilized nation on the planet, Shen-wa added mentally. Whether they wanted it or not. But first China had to clean its own house.

Receiving clearance from the air traffic controller inside the control tower atop the massive dam, the sergeant landed the helicopter directly on one of three circles set aside for emergency transport.

Even before the sergeant had shut down the complex machine, Major Shen-wa had exited the helicopter and walked far enough away that he could light his pipe.

“Orders, sir?” Ming asked, bending low as he walked under the slowing blades.

“You better go and report the terrible accident to your political officer, Sergeant,” Shen-wa directed. “Now remind me again, the colonel was drunk, as usual, and fell off the helicopter….” He paused expectantly.

“A hundred miles to the north, near the abandoned missile base?”

“No, better make it the south, near the rock quarry. That will be much harder to search.”

“Yes, sir. A hundred miles to the south, near the old rock quarry,” Ming replied, managing to look contrite. “We tried to land to see if there was anything we could do, but the terrain in the area made it impossible.”

“And we didn’t radio in immediately for help because…”

“We couldn’t! The colonel had ordered a halo of full radio silence around the dam.”

Removing the pipe, Shen-wa smiled. “Exactly. Such a shame.”

“Sir, what if they don’t believe me?”

“Then kill them all and throw the bodies into the gorge. In fact—” he gave a hard smile “—do it anyway. It’s time that we took over this facility. I’m tired of listening to these cowardly paper-jugglers.”

“Yes, sir!” Ming replied eagerly, giving a fast salute.

Shen-wa almost smiled at that, then it hit him. Less than thirty-six hours had passed since the attack on Kazakhstan. There was no way the CIA could have dispatched an agent to China in so short a time period. The colonel knew the bureaucracy of the Agency was horrendous. Whomever Colonel Weng had tried to capture was merely somebody pretending to be a CIA agent. That was the only logical answer.

Exhaling a long stream of smoke, Shen-wa grunted. The old bastard may have done the project a good deed, accidentally uncovering an unknown enemy before he could get close.

“Something wrong, sir?” Ming asked in concern.

“Yes and no,” Shen-wa replied, removing the pipe. “After you terminate everybody in the political office, go to Hong Kong and find out who it was that entered the island. He isn’t a CIA agent, and we need to know who this man actually works for.”

“Perhaps the American…ah…NAS?”

“NSA,” Shen-wa corrected. “But no, they are code breakers. More paper-pushers. This was the act of somebody with blood in their veins. A professional. A killer.”

“Perhaps the Mossad.”

“Yes, that could very well be,” Shen-wa answered slowly. “The Israelis are very good at what they do, almost as good as us!” He chuckled, and the sergeant joined in for the sake of solidarity.

“Find this man,” Shen-wa said. “Question him thoroughly. Then poorly hide the body, and blame it on the Russians.”

“What if he is Russian, sir?”

“Blame it on them anyway. Who can keep track of their internal politics, eh?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Ming replied with a crisp salute.

Puffing on his pipe, Major Shen-wa watched as the sergeant strode away, loosening the massive .50-caliber Norinco pistol holstered at his side. Just for a fleeting moment, Shen-wa almost felt sorry for the poor bastard, but then it was gone, a random thought lost on the breeze.

Leaving the small heliport, Shen-wa walked to an iron door and waved his identification card before the scanner. There came a subtle hum, and the door unlocked, then cycled open to the sound of working hydraulics.

Stepping inside, the major walked past a huge soundproof room full of technicians busily operating the complex controls of the gargantuan power station. A pretty woman at one of the consoles smiled at him in passing, and Shen-wa politely touched his cap in reply. Lieutenant Lee Jade was a distant cousin, and he had gotten her the job in case he needed some insider information about the daily operations of the dam. So far, he hadn’t, but it was nice having family nearby, anyway. After all, family was why he was trying to help China conquer the world.

Reaching a private elevator, Shen-wa showed his identification card to the wall scanner once more, then pressed his hand on a glowing sensor plate. There came a slight tingle as the plate sent a few volts of electricity through his fingers to make sure the hand was still alive, and not detached by an enemy spy in order to facilitate entry. This was another Chinese invention, although he had heard rumors that the West had also created a similar device, for the exact same reasons.

It was a very long ride down to the bottom level, and Shen-wa emerged from the elevator in a cloud of tobacco smoke. Tapping out the glowing ashes into a trash container, he then slowly walked toward a sandbag nest with two soldiers stationed behind the waist-high barrier. They looked strong and fit, even though one was clearly much older than the other. Both men were in full dress uniform, heavily armed and wearing class four body armor. Field soldiers got class two armor, and special forces wore class three. Class four was much too heavy to wear in combat, but the bulky armor was perfect for soldiers who could sit down and rest for most of the day.

“Major!” a young private called out crisply, snapping a strange weapon to his chest in lieu of saluting. The barrel of the weapon was ridiculously large, the ammunition clip even bigger, and there was a bandoleer of 35 mm shells draped across his chest, with two more tucked into loops at his side where he normally would have had a sidearm.

“So, it finally arrived,” Shen-wa said softly, looking over the QLB 35 mm grenade launcher. “Yes, Major!”

“And you passed the mandatory testing?”

“Of course, Major!” the young private stated proudly. “I can fire the QLB in my sleep, and repair it in the dark!”

Hefting his own QBZ assault rifle, the older private grunted in acknowledgment. “He actually can, Major. I’ve seen him at the gun range. Fast. Faster even than Sergeant Ming.”

“Show me,” Shen-wa commanded, pointing down the corridor. “Destroy that light, third from the end.”

In a blur of motion, the young private crouched as he swung up the oversize weapon and fired. Hot smoke and flame belched from the muzzle, and a hundred feet away a light fixture exploded into debris, leaving a fist-size dent in the steel wall.

“Why nonexplosive rounds?” Shen-wa asked sternly.

“Only the first two are solid,” the young private replied crisply. “The next three release hundreds of razor-sharp fléchette rounds. The last shell in the clip is high-explosive, armor piercing.” He grinned. “In case an invader is also wearing body armor.”

“Very wise. Carry on,” Shen-wa said, walking around a corner. Just a few words now and then, a touch of courtesy, and the troops would die for him. It was a good investment.

An iron gate closed off this section of the corridor, and the major again pressed his hand to a sensor plate. The gate unlocked with a clang, and he went through, closing it tight behind. Electronics were all well and good, but he would always put his real trust in simple cold steel.

An unmarked door was at the end of a short corridor, and sitting at a plain wooden desk nearby was a mature woman in a long civilian dress, the flowing black fabric decorated with colorful flowers. A plate on the desktop had her name in both Mandarin and Cantonese. She was industriously typing away on a computer keyboard, and looked up at his approach.

“She’s waiting in the office,” Wu Cassandra said without any preamble, not pausing in her work.

“Thank you, Miss Wu,” he said, walking past and opening the door, which gave a musical chime.

Across the office, a tall woman in a tan outfit looked up in surprise at the noise, then jumped to her feet and gave a salute. “Good evening, sir!” she cried out.

There was a canvas duffel bag on the floor near her chair, along with a nylon travel bag locked with a red security seal. Shen-wa recognized it as a weapons kit. “At ease, Zhang,” he said, closing the door.

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Zhang Meiron replied uneasily, but stayed erect. It had been a long flight from Taiwan, and she was more than a little tired. However, she was also grimly determined not to show any weakness before the dreaded old man.

A veteran of numerous wars, the major had helped create the Red Star, and had personally terminated over a hundred enemy spies during his long career. It was rumored that he had even helped design the August 1st Building, the headquarters for the entire Chinese military. The only reason Major Shen-wa held so a low rank, instead of being in charge of the CMC, was that he was a maverick, a loner who hated politics, and disliked obeying the rules, being much more interested in getting results.

Just like me, Zhang thought proudly.

Six feet tall, and built like a professional weight lifter, Zhang found that nothing in the world easily accommodated her. Beds were too short, doorways too low, shirts too tight, and romance was mostly a matter of finding somebody drunk at a bar, and leaving quietly in the morning before finding out his name. Only the military had accepted her with open arms, in spite of its many reservations to a woman serving in combat.

Automatically cycling closed, the armored door to the office shut with a muffled boom.

“Why are you out of uniform and dressed like a civilian?” Shen-wa demanded.

“Sir, I…I was told to remain inconspicuous in my travel here,” she replied.

“Logical and reasonable,” he agreed, starting across the office.

Resembling a research library, the metal walls of the domed room were lined with bookcases stuffed with bound technical manuals. There were no personal effects anywhere in sight. No sports trophies, family pictures, knickknacks or executive toys. It was neat and impersonal, a place of work, nothing more.

The single humanizing aspect was a small black lacquered cabinet set under a large flag of China. The cabinet was made in the style of the Hung Dynasty of the fourth Century BCE, and whatever had been its original purpose, it was now well stocked with liquor bottles, glasses, an automatic ice dispenser and a tobacco humidor.

“So, how much do you know about this project?” Shen-wa asked, going to the liquor cabinet.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Then why did you agree to the assignment?” he asked pointedly, making a stiff drink of whiskey, then taking a seat behind a large redwood desk. Covered with piles of reports, and computer monitors, the desk was set kitty-corner to the rest of the room, so that his back was protected by the plain steel walls.

Zhang paused uncertainly. “Because I wish to work with you, sir,” she replied honestly. “You’re a living legend!”

“No matter what the project is?”

“My faith in you is absolute!”

“How touching,” Shen-wa whispered, almost smiling. “Make yourself a drink, Lieutenant. Relax.”

“Not while on duty, sir.”

Taking a sip from his glass, Shen-wa said nothing.

Suddenly, Zhang realized that she was being tested, not merely interviewed, and wondered what would happen if she failed.

“You’re smarter than you look,” Shen-wa said, turning on a monitor. “Very good. I suspected as much. You hide your intelligence to catch an opponent by surprise.”

“It is a man’s world,” Zhang stated, keeping the emotion from her voice. “A woman is either smart or pretty. Nature made my choice for me.”

Clearly, that confused him. “But you are both,” he said hesitantly.

She scowled, but said nothing. Did he really mean that?

“Ah. I see that we disagree.” He smiled, typing briefly on the keyboard. “Good! I like that. Now sit down. I prefer to talk at eye level.”

She wavered, wondering if this was another test.

“That was a direct order, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she replied, sitting down and stretching her long legs. She was in traveling clothes of a loose tan jacket, white blouse, pleated tan skirt and flats. High heels made her long legs look good, but the additional height only served to alienate her more from the rest of scurrying humanity.

Briefly, Shen-wa glanced at her legs in frank appreciation, then went back to the monitor.

Pleased with his controlled reactions, Zhang warily studied the officer behind the desk. Major Shen-wa Fen was old, but clearly in excellent health, his face and hands braided with muscle. Her guess was that he was a student of kung fu, probably Southern style, from the appearance of his fingers. The bent pinkie was a dead giveaway to those who knew what to look for. Old, but fast and accurate. That would make him a very deadly opponent, indeed. It would seem that the major also liked to attack with surprise. She liked that and felt a growing warmth in her stomach. She liked that a lot.

In spite of the outside environment, Shen-wa had a deep tan, and his thick black hair had natural wings of silver at the temples. There was no other word for it but dashing.

Then she saw his eyes looking directly at her face in mild disapproval, and felt a chill. Oh yes, she knew that look well enough. She had seen it a thousand times before in combat zones across the world. It was the face of a killer, as cold and merciless as an open grave. Briefly, Zhang wondered what he would be like in bed.

Thinking along similar lines himself, Shen-wa grinned as a report scrolled on the monitor about a drone attack on the Tokyo computer complex that controlled the coastal defense guns for Japan.

“Sir?” Zhang asked.

“One moment,” he replied curtly. Ah, the backup computers in Osaka had also been destroyed, along with a busful of technicians racing to effect emergency repairs. More food for the demons of hell, he thought. There could never be enough dead Japanese, but it was merely the beginning. France would be next, then Russia again, followed by the United States.

“Ahem, sir?”

He looked up with a broad smile. “Yes?”

“When did Colonel Weng die?” Zhang asked, crossing her legs at the ankles.

“How could you possibly know that he…” Shen-wa scowled. Was she testing him now?

“Weng is—was—the head of security for the Three Gorges Dam,” Zhang stated with a neutral expression. “If you need another, then he must have failed in some gross manner involving your private project, and now you require a replacement. Why else would you summon me?”

Templing his fingers, he openly smiled. “Publicly, he fell out of a Z-8 transport.”

“And actually…?”

“I slit his throat and threw him out alive. The man acted foolishly, and may have alerted enemy forces to my plans long before I was ready to openly act against them.”

“Is the project compromised?” she asked, leaning back in the chair. Her jacket spread wide, exposing a holstered 9 mm Norinco pistol and spare ammunition clips.

“Not at the moment. But for want of a nail…” He made a vague gesture.

She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “I know the allusion, sir. Will my first duty be disposing of the body?”

“Already taken care of by Sergeant Ming. You will meet him later at the general staff meeting tonight. However, at the moment I need you to take over all matters involving security for Project Keyhome.”

“I accept,” she said.

“Excellent!” He rose to offer a hand.

She stepped closer and they shook, maintaining the hold for much longer than necessary. They could each feel a bond start to form between them that was more than just impersonal business.

“Do I need to know what Sky Tiger is?” Zhang said, reclaiming her chair. “Or would it be better for me to work in the dark?”

“It would probably facilitate matters if you were fully informed,” Shen-wa said, reaching for a thick security folder. He was starting to like this bold woman more and more.

Pressing his thumb to the metal clasp, Shen-wa waited until it hummed twice, announcing that the explosive charge was deactivated, then tossed it onto the desk.

Uncrossing her legs, she leaned forward to pick up the massive folder, and started riffling the pages. As her fingers touched the paper, it turned bright red at that exact spot.

“Let me summarize,” Shen-wa said, excited, and slightly embarrassed, by the brief glimpse down her blouse. Her breasts were small but firm, and the lieutenant was obviously not wearing any sort of undergarment.

“Not necessary, sir,” she replied, speed reading through the pile of reports and documents. “Is…is this already in operation? Wait…yes, I can see that it is from the dates the cargo boxes were shipped.” She looked up, her eyes bright with excitement. “I gather the drones are a success.”

“Eminently so!” Shen-wa beamed proudly. “Every few hours a new flight is unleashed to secure a critical bridge, destroy a vital airfield or assassinate a potential troublemaker. In two days, we will be ready to move.”

“And then…?”

Tapping the keyboard, he started the printer humming, and said nothing in reply.

Sexy or not, he was a reticent bastard, Zhang thought. “What about the CMC in the August 1st Building?” she asked, spreading her legs on impulse to see if the major would notice.

Privately, she was sexually excited by the sheer force of the man and didn’t care in the least about the vast difference in their ages. Zhang had no objection to going to bed with a superior officer. She did that often, but only after being assigned to a project. Never before. She didn’t trade sex for advancement, as some female officers did. That was an insult to the uniform.

“The August 1st Building?” Shen-wa muttered, slowly returning his gaze to her face. This time he didn’t seem embarrassed in the least. “Once I inform the Central Military Command of these events, the fat occupants of the August 1st Building will have no choice but to comply with my plan and attack at full force in all directions!” He gave a cold grin. “Soon, the West will be crushed, and China will finally be the dominate military force on the entire planet!”

“As we should be,” Zhang acknowledged, placing the folder aside. “However, sir, there will be opposition.”

“And that is where you come in, Lieutenant,” Shen-wa whispered, the strobing light of the monitor highlighting his craggy features in stark relief.

“Sir?”

The printer stopped humming and Shen-wa passed her a photograph. “After the staff meeting, have Sergeant Ming find this enemy agent. He was nearly apprehended in Hong Kong by one of our operatives working as a cabdriver, but we both know what he will do next.”

“Of course. The obvious choice is Macao, so he will not try there. I would think that a clever man would attempt to sneak into China through the city of Guangzhou, what they call Canton. The heavy industry there will offer good cover,” she replied, then frowned. “No, that is the location of Red Star field office. There will be agents everywhere. Instead, he’ll try for…Fufa, on the coast, where there will only be the harbor patrol and a few police to worry about.”

Debating the matter, she gave a nod. “Yes, Fufa. The heavy industry there would offer good cover for a stranger. It is the more logical location.”

“He would have no reason to check Fakkah?”

“None, sir.”

“Good. And not even an American would be bold enough to go anywhere near Guangzhou,” Shen-wa said, making a short note on a sheet of sticky yellow paper with a stubby pencil. “Have Ming find the man, and detain him.”

“Kill him?”

“Not until he talks first,” Shen-wa said, gesturing with the pencil. “If he is CIA, I wish to know everything about all the other CIA operatives in mainland China—who they are, locations, specific goals and such.”

“So that we can remove them.”

“So that you can, Lieutenant,” he said, attaching the note to the side of the monitor.

Slowly, she smiled.