“Keep trying. Let me know when they do.” He pressed another switch.
“Ready, Canfield?”
“Yes, sir.”
Chervenko nodded to himself, recognizing the young lieutenant’s eagerness to go into battle. He remembered when he had been like that in what seemed now another world. “Put one across her bow. And Canfield?”
“Yessir?”
“Don’t hit her.”
A pause. “No, sir.”
Chervenko raised his night binoculars to focus on the fast-moving bow of the Empress. He listened to the five-inch fire and watched the geyser erupt no more than a hundred yards ahead of the bow. A rewardingly large splash. That should shake their shorts.
He counted: One, two, three, four … The intercom squawked again. “He’s responding,” the radioman said. “He’s demanding to know the meaning of our aggression.”
“Tell him to cut the crap, stop dead in the water, and prepare to receive a boarding party. Tell him I better not see even a tin can go overboard, or I’ll put the next round from the five-inch down his gullet.” Chervenko suddenly felt nervous. He studied the Empress again.
When it slowed, he let out a breath. So far so good. He was about to give the order to lower the boats, when there was another signal.
Frank Bienas’s agitated voice burst out: “The sub’s come around, Jim!
Submerged. Torpedoes in the tubes.”
There it was. Sweat broke out on Chervenko’s forehead. He bellowed, “Prepare for evasive maneuvers. Send off the Seahawks!”
Out of the corner of his eyes, he noted that the Empress was hardly moving. She was almost dead in the water, barely gliding ahead as she rose and fell on the swell. But the main target of his gaze was astern, where the telltale trail of a torpedo could appear any second.
He saw no torpedo. What he did see was a giant shape rising ghostly in the moonlight, a monster emerging from the depths.
It was the Chinese submarine. As Chervenko watched, incredulous, it moved slowly toward the Crowe five hundred yards astern and a few hundred yards closer to the stationary Dowager Empress.
The intercom announced, “He’s hailing us, sir!”
Chervenko’s eyebrows shot up to his officer’s cap. Now what? “Pipe him onto the bridge.” The stiff, vaguely angry voice said in stilted English, “Commander Chervenko, I believe. This is Captain Zhang Qian of the People’s Liberation Army submarine Zhou Enlai. I have received orders from Beijing to join you in boarding the outlaw vessel Dowager Empress to search for and destroy any and all contraband cargo. I am further instructed to place a crew aboard the vessel to sail it and its personnel back to China.”
Chervenko did not move. He stood there gazing out over the dark Arabian Sea, the intercom in his hand, and told his heart to stop thundering. It was over. Thank God, it was over. Someone had done their job. Someone… probably many … whose risks and sacrifices he could only imagine and whose names and faces he would probably never know.
“I’m at your service, Captain,” Chervenko said politely. “And, of course, once the contraband is destroyed, we will be pleased to escort the ship back to Shanghai. Wouldn’t want an outlaw vessel like this one to slip away or fall into someone else’s hands, now would we?”
Epilogue
The heads of the ten men seated around the ornate imperial table in the Zhongnanhai meeting room turned in unison to the door to the left of the general secretary. They watched as a slender man in the uniform of a lieutenant commander of the PLA navy entered. He whispered in the ear of the general secretary, and the secretary nodded. When the young officer left, the secretary explained, “We have good news. It’s over. The captain of the Zziou Enlai reports the boarding of the Empress by parties from the Zhou Enlai and the American frigate John Crowe. Many tons of contraband chemicals were found. The contraband is destroyed.
The officers of the cargo vessel are in our custody, and the ship is returning to Shanghai, escorted by the American frigate.” A murmur of both approval and relief traveled around the table. Wei Gaofan said, “A close thing, but must we allow an American frigate to escort our ship?”
“I expect,” the secretary said mildly, “the frigate captain insisted.
Under the circumstances, we can hardly protest.” His eyes were tiny points of black stone behind his thick glasses as he fixed his gaze on General Chu Kuairong at the far end of the table. “How could this have happened, General Chu? An illegal enterprise of such unimaginable danger conducted by our citizens under our very noses?” “I believe,” Niu Jianxing said, “I must be the one to answer that, Secretary.” Wei Gaofan interrupted angrily, “None of us can be expected to answer for all the failures of those who conduct actual operations.”
Niu did not look at Wei. He addressed the room in general. “Our colleague Wei appears to want to pass the culpability down to those least able to defend themselves.”
“I resent—!” Wei snapped.
The secretary cut him off: “If there’s an explanation, Jianxing, tell us.”
“There is,” Niu said quietly. “A simple explanation of various forces — a weak businessman, the greed inevitably fostered by free-market economics, the conspiracy of certain Western corporations, and the corrupt arrogance of a member of this very committee.”
As the Owl enunciated the last words, there was a shocked pause. Then the room erupted in outrage, protest, and shouted questions directed back at Niu.
Wei Gaofan, his temple-dog face choleric with rage, shouted, “Such a statement is tantamount to treason, Niu! I call for a vote of censure!”
“Which one of us are you slandering, sir!” Shi Jingnu demanded.
“It’s unconscionable!” called one of the youngest members.
“Unless,” the secretary said quietly, “Niu can prove his accusation.”
The room instantly was silent, questioning.
Someone muttered, “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” General Chu growled, his unlit cigar rolling around his thin-lipped mouth.
Niu pushed himself away from the table and walked to the door. He opened it and beckoned.
Still in his PLA uniform, Major Pan Aitu marched inside. Niu escorted the pudgy spycatcher to the table and stood beside him. “Major, detail your investigation, if you please.”
In his gentle, completely expressionless voice, Pan laid out the conspiracy from Donk & Lapierre’s approach to Yu Yongfu with the contraband deal, to Li Aorong’s and Wei Gaofan’s involvement, until Jon Smith had at last handed the only existing manifest to Pan, who had faxed it from Dazu to the Standing Committee.
Wei Gaofan’s hard face paled. Still, he grumbled, “It seems, with the tragic death of Li Aorong only an hour ago, all those named by Major Pan are dead. Except for me, of course. I categorically deny?”
Pan gazed steadily at Wei. “Not all of them are dead, sir. Li Kuonyi— without father or husband — is alive. Many of Feng Dun’s men survived.
The captain of infantry is, of course, alive, as is your friend, the general, who sent the captain to help Feng Dun retrieve the manifest.
All have given me official statements.”
For a moment, Wei Gaofan did not move. His features seemed to melt, but his jaw clamped tight. “Niu Jianxing has forced them to lie!”
“No,” the secretary said thoughtfully, studying Wei as if seeing him for the first time. “There is only one liar here.”
The color suddenly returned to Wei’s face. “Niu Jianxing and the general secretary are destroying China,” he
