They did not pursue the Uighers. Instead, they parted, and an officer stepped through the line, walking across the clearing toward them.
“That’s what they were waiting for,” Jon said. “A captain. Infantry, from the insignia,” Randi agreed. Jon, Randi, and Li Kuonyi stepped away from the fallen trunk. Kuonyi clutched the manifest in one hand, the cigarette lighter in the other. It was no longer alight. The captain’s expression was stern, his step authoritative. He glanced to the right, toward where the dead Feng Dun lay in his own blood. He slowed and stopped, his expression uncertain. A pudgy little man, also in the full uniform of the PLA, appeared from the rocks behind Feng. As the new man walked steadily toward the infantry officer, Randi whispered, “He’s wearing the insignia of the Public Security Bureau — internal security and counterintelligence.”
“Swell. The Chinese KGB.” Major Pan Aitu had watched the first act of the drama at the Sleeping Buddha from behind the statue of a ferocious dragon that guarded the entrance to the Cave of Full Enlightenment. As the action had progressed, he had circled around, following it. Night-vision binoculars had enabled him to study the band of Uighers who had attacked Feng Dun and his gangsters, including a few PLA soldiers, which had told him much. The clothes, faces, and weapons of the twenty-odd hillside guerrillas had made him smile his benign smile. Disciplined Uighers, with AK-47s. He had long since decided Colonel Smith had made his escape with the help of an unknown Shanghai cell of Uigher resistance fighters. Now they were here, too, where the elusive Feng Dun had murdered Yu Yongfu and the rich American, Mcdermid, to obtain the cargo manifest of The Dowager Empress. Could Colonel Smith be far away?
Pan’s admiration for Li Kuonyi’s cunning had increased ten-thousandfold.
But if Wei Gaofan were to be defeated, Pan would still need to intervene. The appearance of the depleted squad of infantry only confirmed his decision. Now as he stood before the captain, who was staring uncertainly at his PLA uniform, his rank, and his internal-security insignia, he said mildly, “I am Major Pan Aitu, Captain. Perhaps you know of me?” He looked the tall captain up and down. The captain regained some of his martinet air. He held his ground.
“Captain Chang Doh, and yes, I have heard of you, Major.”
“Then we can dispense with the preliminaries. You are, I believe, under the personal orders of a commander who’s a friend of Wei Gaofan. You’ve been unofficially detailed to aid Feng Dun, whom you can see is now quite dead. Under his completely illegal orders, you have lost PLA soldiers, both wounded and killed.”
The captain’s face went ashen. “I cannot speak of my orders, Major.”
“Oh? There are many more soldiers hidden among the trees under my command. At the same time, I myself have written orders to investigate and, if needed, prevent the activities of the late Feng Dun. To assuage any doubt, here are my papers.” He handed Niu Jianxing’s authorization to the captain.
The captain read slowly, as if he hoped the documents would disappear from his fingers. Unfortunately for him, the orders confirmed that Major Pan was operating in his capacity as a counterintelligence and internal- security officer for the member of the Standing Committee who was in charge of such operations. The captain, on the other hand, was in the weak position of being merely an infantry officer working for a personal friend of a member of the Standing Committee, who was not in charge of the military.
As Jon, Randi, and Li Kuonyi watched, the infantry captain returned Major Pan’s papers, took one step back, and saluted smartly.
“Looks as if the major’s won the argument.”
Li Kuonyi relit her lighter. “You can have the manifest before he gets here. I want passage to the United States for myself and my children and asylum. Otherwise, I burn it now.”
“No two million?”
She shrugged. “That was for my husband. I’m an actress, a good one. I’m already becoming known in America. I’ll earn my own millions.”
“Done.” Jon grabbed the manifest and the lighter at the same time, before she changed her mind.
When the major reached them, he smiled at Jon and introduced himself in English. “I’m Major Pan Aitu, Colonel Smith. It’s my pleasure to meet you at last. You’ve been most interesting to investigate. Unfortunately, there’s no time left. Give me the cargo manifest.” “No!” Randi said instantly. She snatched the lighter and flicked it on.
“I don’t know why you want it, but?”
Jon stopped her. “Turn it off, for now. There’s not enough time to get it to Washington anyway so the president can send it on to Zhongnanhai.
Let’s hear what our fellow agent has to say for himself.”
The diminutive major’s eyes flickered. He pointed to where the eight soldiers were disappearing into the trees. “They’re now under my orders.
Did you know that Captain Chang took two prisoners? One is an American captain, the other an old man. I can guarantee you, them, the two ladies here, and Madame Li’s two children quick passage to the United States.
We’re on the same side in this, Colonel.” “Why help Li Kuonyi?” Randi asked. “Let’s just say I admire the lady’s intelligence, resourcefulness, and artistry. I also admit that she’s a complication we don’t want. None of what’s happened can or will become public. In your country or in mine. But success is slipping away, even for me.” Jon considered. The major did not want the manifest destroyed. There was nothing more China could gain unless they did want the Dowager boarded.
A decision had to be made, and only he could make it. America had nothing more to lose and everything to gain. He asked the critical question: “Do you have a way to stop the cargo ship before it’s too late, Major Pan?”
“Yes.” He handed Pan the invoice manifest. The major turned on his heel, motioned them to follow, and ran across the clearing and through the trees to another open space where a helicopter waited, its motors silent. Pan spoke into a walkie-talkie. As they closed in, the rotors roared to life.
The moon was at its brightest as the John Crowe moved across the long, slow swells to close in on the Empress, still steaming ahead at full speed toward the Strait of Hormuz, which was faintly visible in the distance. The boarding party stood in the lee of the Crowe’s aft superstructure, armed, ready to lower the boats, ready to motor to the Chinese freighter. In the communications-and-control center, It.
Commander Frank Bienas paced, stopping every few minutes to lean over the shoulders of the radio, radar, and sonar specialists. He was peering at Operations Specialist Second-Class Baum’s radar screen, when Hastings on sonar boomed, “Sub’s moving!”
Bienas barked, “How fast?”
“Looks like full speed, sir.”
“Heading toward the Empress?”
“Sort of, sir, yes.”
“What the hell does ‘ of mean, technician?”
“It means she’s angling in toward the Empress, but her course’ll take her around the stern.”
“So they’re heading for our side, armed and ready?”
“Maybe, sir. I guess so.”
“Then say that, damn you!”
The shocked silence was broken by Hastings’s stiff words, “I can’t tell you where the sub’s headed, Commander. Only her speed and course.”
Bienas flushed. “Sorry, Hastings. I guess I’m kind of strung out.” “I guess we all are, sir,” Hastings said.
The executive officer activated the intercom to the bridge. “Jim? Looks like she’s coming to our side, full speed.”
On the bridge, Jim Chervenko acknowledged the message, his gut tight: “Okay, Frank. The moment she comes ‘, let me know.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Chervenko switched off the intercom and stared astern. Then he bent to the intercom again. “Sparks? Open a channel. Hail the freighter.” He straightened, watching the hard-driving freighter no more than a half mile away now.
The intercom squawked. “They’re not responding, sir.”
