using it.”
“Of course, if China wants to use the incident as an excuse that they’re being threatened, they might invade Taiwan,” Fred Klein continued. “They’ve wanted to do that for decades.”
“If they feel we won’t retaliate, yes. There’s Central Asia, too, now that Russia is less of a regional threat.” The Covert-One chief said the words neither wanted to think: “With their long-range nuclear weapons, we’re as much a target as any country.” Castilla shook off a shudder. Klein removed his glasses and massaged his temples. They were silent. At last, the president sighed. He had made a decision. “All right, I’ll have Admiral Brose order the navy to follow and monitor The Dowager Empress. We’ll label it routine at-sea surveillance with no revelation of the actual situation to anyone but Brose.”
“The Chinese will find out we’re shadowing their ship.”
“We’ll stall. The problem is, I don’t know how long we’ll be able to get away with it.” The president went to the door and stopped. When he turned, his face was long and somber, his jowls pronounced. “I need proof, Fred. I need it now. Get me that manifest.”
“You’ll have it, Sam.” His big shoulders hunched with worry, President Castilla nodded, opened the door, and walked away. One of the secret service agents closed it. Alone again, Klein frowned, contemplating his next step. As he heard the engine of the president’s car hum to life, he made a decision. He swiveled to the small table behind his chair, on which two phones sat. One was red — a single, direct, scrambled line to the president. The other was blue. It was also scrambled. He picked up the blue phone and dialed.
After a medium-rare hamburger and a bottle of Taiwanese lager at Smokey Joe’s on Chunghsiao-1 Road, Jon Smith decided to take a taxi to Kaohsiung Harbor. He still had an hour before his afternoon meetings resumed at the Grand Hi-Lai Hotel, when his old friend, Mike Kerns from the Pasteur Institute in Paris, would meet him there. Smith had been in Kaohsiung — Taiwan’s second-largest city — nearly a week, but today was the first chance he’d had to explore. That kind of intensity was what usually happened at scientific conferences, at least in his experience. Assigned to the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases — USAMRIID — he was a medical doctor and biomolecular scientist as well as an army lieutenant colonel. He had left his work on defenses against anthrax to attend this one — the Pacific Rim International Assembly on Developments in Molecular and Cell Biology. But scientific conferences, like fish and guests, got stale after three or four days. Hatless, in civilian clothes, he strode along the waterfront, marveling at the magnificent harbor, the third-largest container port in the world, after Hong Kong and Singapore. He had visited here years ago, before a tunnel was built to the mainland and the paradisaical island became just another congested part of the container port. The day was postcard clear, so he was able to easily spot Hsiao Liuchiu Island, low on the southern horizon. He walked another fifteen minutes through the sun-hazed day as seagulls circled overhead and the clatter of a harbor at work filled his ears. There was no sign here of the strife over Taiwan’s future, whether it would remain independent or be conquered or somehow traded off to mainland China, which still claimed it as its own. At last, he hailed a cab to take him back to the hotel. He had hardly settled into the backseat when his cell phone vibrated inside his sport jacket. It was not his regular phone, but the special one in the hidden pocket. The phone that was scrambled. He answered quietly, “Smith.” Fred Klein asked, “How’s the conference, Colonel?” “Getting dull,” he admitted.
“Then a small diversion won’t be too amiss.” Smith smiled inwardly. He was not only a scientist, but an undercover agent. Balancing the two parts of his life was seldom easy. He was ready for a “small diversion,” but nothing too big or too engrossing. He really did want to get back to the conference. “What do we have this time, Fred?” From his distant office on the bank of the Anacostia River, Klein described the situation. Smith felt a chill that was both apprehension and anticipation. “What do I do?”
“Go to Liuchiu Island tonight. You should have plenty of time. Rent or bribe a boat out of Linyuan, and be on the island by nine. At precisely ten, you’ll be at a small cove on the western shore. The exact location, landmarks, and local designation have been faxed to a Covert-One asset at the American Institute in Taiwan. They’ll be hand- delivered to you.”
“What happens at the cove?”
“You meet another Covert-One, Avery Mondragon. The recognition word is ‘orchid.’ He’ll deliver an envelope with The Dowager Empress’s actual manifest, the one that’s the basis for the bill to Iraq. After that, go directly to the airport in Kaohsiung. You’ll meet a chopper there from one of our cruisers lying offshore. Give the pilot the invoice manifest.
Its final destination is the Oval Office. Understood?”
“Same recognition word?”
“Right.”
“Then what?” Smith could hear the chief of Covert-One puffing on his pipe. “Then you can go back to your conference.” The phone went dead. Smith grinned to himself. A straightforward, uncomplicated assignment. Moments later, the taxi pulled up in front of the Hi-Lai Hotel. He paid the driver and walked into the lobby, heading for the car rental desk. Once the courier had arrived from Taipei, he would drive down the coast to Lin-yuan and find a fishing boat to take him quietly to Liuchiu. If he could not find one, he would rent one and pilot it himself. As he crossed the lobby, a short, brisk Chinese man jumped up from an armchair to block his way. “Ah, Dr. Smith, I have been waiting for you. I am honored to meet you personally. Your paper on the late Dr. Chambord’s theoretical work with the molecular computer was excellent. Much food for thought.” Smith smiled in acknowledgment of both greeting and compliment. “You flatter me, Dr. Liang.”
“Not at all. I wonder whether you could possibly join me and some of my colleagues from the Shanghai Biomedical Institute for dinner tonight. We are keenly interested in the work of both USAMRIID and the CDC on emerging viral agents that threaten all of us.”
“I’d very much like that,” Smith said smoothly, giving his voice a tinge of regret, “but tonight I have another engagement. Perhaps you are free some other time?”
“With your permission, I will contact you.” “Of course, Dr. Liang.” Jon Smith continued on to the desk, his mind already on Liuchiu Island and tonight.
Chapter Two
Wide and physically impressive, Admiral Stevens Brose filled his chair at the foot of the long conference table in the White House underground situation room. He took off his cap and ran his hand over his gray military buzz cut, amazed — and worried — by what he saw.
President Castilla, as always, occupied the chair at the head. But they were the only two in the large room, drinking their morning cups of coffee. The rows of seats at the long table around them were ominous in their emptiness. “What chemicals, Mr. President?” Admiral Brose asked.
He was also the chairman of the joint chiefs. “Thiodiglycol?”
“Blister weapons.”
“?and thionyl chloride.”
“Blister and nerve gases. Damn painful and lethal, all of them. A wretched way to die.” The admiral’s thin mouth and big chin tightened. “How much is there?”
“Tens of tons.”
President Castilla’s grim gaze was fixed on the admiral. “Unacceptable.
When?” Brose stopped abruptly, and his pale eyes narrowed. He took in all the empty chairs at the long table. “I see. We’re not going to stop The Dowager Empress en route and search her. You want to keep our intelligence about the situation secret.”
“For now, yes. We don’t have concrete proof, any more than we did with the Yinhe. We can’t afford another international incident like that, especially with our allies less ready to back us in military actions, and the Chinese close to signing our human-rights accord.” Brose nodded. “Then what do you want me to do, sir? Besides keeping a lid on it?”
“Send one ship to keep tabs on the Empress. Close enough to move in, but out of sight.”
