“Right,” Jon agreed. “You’ve done a lot. I’m grateful — you know that.
When you have to go, go.”
“And you?”
“It’s only me they want, whoever they are.”
“You don’t think they’re security?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to us.”
Jon understood. “If it’s security, I’ll try to hold them until you get a good?”
A fresh barrage of automatic fire burst from the left. The Uighers hit the beach and returned fire, but now their front was exposed. Feet ran from among the trees before them, pounding the sand. They were cornered.
“Go!” he snarled to Asgar. “I’ll surrender.”
Asgar hesitated.
Alani was there. “We can’t leave him!”
“Come with us!” Asgar urged. Before Jon could decide, a withering eruption of automatic weapons frac-tured the night again, the bullets mowing the stretch of grass between the trees and the low bank. Chilling screams echoed across the dark sea.
Jon and Asgar spun on their heels in time to see eight black shapes rise at the surf line, deployed at equal intervals, still firing over the heads of Jon and the Uighers at the ambushers.
Jon grinned. “I’ll be damned. It’s our navy. The best of the best — SEALs.”
The word spread instantly. The Uighers opened up again on the flanking attackers, who fell back. With shouts and curses, the group above the bank retreated from the assault.
A SEAL loped up from the water and hunkered down. “Orchid.” He was broad-shouldered and muscular. His face was covered with black grease.
“Nice of you to drop by.”
“Lieutenant Gordon Whelan, sir. Glad we made it in time. We’d better book now. There’re patrol boats out there, more than one. They know something’s up. Can your people get away on their own?”
Asgar nodded. “If you keep them pinned down a few more minutes.”
“Roger. Go.”
Asgar called low to the rest of the Uighers. They did not wait for farewells. Crouched low, they crab-walked quickly along the beach to the right and vanished into the darkness. The SEALs provided a steady covering fire, keeping the attackers too busy to notice.
“Get to the raft, sir,” the lieutenant ordered. “We have to get out damn quick now.”
Jon ran the short distance to the big rubber Zodiac that had been pulled up onto the beach. White surf churned around it. He clambered aboard.
Four of the SEALs fired a final volley before pushing off, jumping in, and paddling swiftly out to sea.
Behind them, the remaining four, including Lieutenant Whelan, continued firing. Then silence. From the raft, Jon watched as the land receded.
Shadowy figures had gathered to stare helplessly out to sea, weapons hanging down from their hands.
Jon’s heart hammered with leftover adrenaline. He listened to the quiet wash of waves against the raft, felt the gentle rise and fall of it. The Zodiac kept moving farther and farther from the shoreline. The SEALs said nothing. He knew they were thinking about the quartet left behind.
Worrying. He was, too.
Finally, at least four hundred yards out, four black shapes suddenly burst out of the water. Hands reached over the side of the raft. The men grabbed the hands and scrambled aboard, one by one. Lieutenant Whelan was last. He counted heads and nodded. “All accounted for. Nice work, people.”
Nothing more was said until they were a half mile at sea. The searing glare of a searchlight suddenly whipped across the dark water to the north. It was sweeping the sea more than two miles away but approaching rapidly.
“They’ll spot us soon,” the lieutenant said. “Better start the motor, Chief.”
One of the SEALs cranked the sealed outboard motor, and the raft shot ahead, bouncing like a toy across the tops of the swell. Jon held on, enjoying the cold spray on his sweaty face. At the same time, he watched the Chinese patrol boat uneasily. It was approaching through the night, closer and closer, gunfire singing from it, looking for a target. Its searchlight had yet to hone in on them, but when it did–
Then he saw a dark shape, towering ahead like a giant sea monster. It was a submarine. American, thank God. At the same moment that the SEALs raft reached the hulking steel sub, the searchlight on the patrol boat finally found them. Bullets ripped through the rubber as they swarmed up aboard, hauling Jon and the tattered Zodiac after them.
A voice on the bridge bawled, “Get below! Clear the decks!”
The patrol boat caught the submarine in the beam of its searchlight, and its siren shrieked at them. The sub was already submerging as Jon, the SEALs, and the deck crew hurtled down through the open hatches and slammed them closed against the rushing sea. The patrol boat opened fire with a heavy machine gun, but its bullets bounced harmlessly off the steel. As the conning tower sank beneath the surface, the patrol boat moved in aimless, frustrated circles.
Below, as Jon was escorted to a tiny cabin to clean up and rest, he decided whoever had attacked them on the beach had not been national security forces. If they had been, they would have sent more than a lone patrol boat. No, whoever they were, their employer was private.
As befitted one of the older members of the Standing Committee, Wei Gaofan’s walled compound inside Zhongnanhai had a choice location, near the lotus-carpeted Nanhai — South Lake. In his courtyard stood a manicured willow tree that swayed in the morning breeze, trailing its jade-green branches over thick grass. Small flowering trees and groomed flowers decorated the tiled paths that led to the four small buildings that rimmed the courtyard. Crowned with graceful pagoda roofs, the structures were decorated with columns carved with dragons, clouds, and cranes symbolizing good fortune and longevity. He shared the largest house with his wife, while their daughter, her child, and a babysitter lived across from them. The third building was his office, while the fourth was where the family entertained guests.
The sun had been up more than an hour when Feng Dun was admitted to Wei’s office, which was appointed with small treasures from all of China’s dynasties since the great Han. Wei, a connoisseur of tea, was sitting at a table, drinking Longjing. Its subtle floral scent perfumed the air. Unlike wine, which was best when aged, tea was most flavorful — as well as most costly— when drunk the year it was picked.
This tea was hardly six months old. Grown in Hangzhou, Longjing was the finest, most delicate tea in China.
Wei did not bother to offer any to Feng Dun, nor did he bother to hide his anger. “So the American colonel escaped you.”
“He escaped the Public Security Bureau also.” Without an invitation to sit, Feng Dun remained standing, staring down at Wei, who was bald and narrow-eyed, with a bulky torso and spindly legs.
Wei looked at him sharply. “Fortunate for you.”
“Fortunate for both of us,” Feng said, his gaze unflinching as he matched the hard stare of the immensely powerful member of the Standing Committee.
Wei sipped his tea. “But General Chu and Major Pan suspect something.”
“Suspect perhaps, but don’t know and never will.”
Wei scowled again. “There’s Yu Yongfu’s wife, who is, I hear, missing.”
Feng shrugged. “There’s nothing she can do. Her father would be ruined, and she’s too intelligent to want that. Your favor can make life very good for him, her, and her children.”
“True.” But there was still doubt in Wei’s eyes. “So, was this American agent really so skilled? How did he get away?”
“He’s good, but not good enough to get the manifest. As for his other escapades, he was lucky, and he had help.”
“Whose help?”
“First, an interpreter and asset of the CIA, who is now dead. And later, an underground cell of Uighers. They
