“First the American spy, who has, it seems, been allowed to escape,” Wei Gaofan complained. His fierce, temple-dog scowl made his usually unsmiling face seem almost kindly. “Now this American warship — what is it? the John Crowe? — invading our rights on the high seas! It’s an outrage!” It was the hawk party line.
“Exactly how did Colonel Smith escape?” Song Riuyu, one of the younger members of the Standing Committee, asked.
Niu said calmly, “That is being investigated as we speak.”
“How is it being investigated?” Wei Gaofan demanded. “Are you forming one of those endless, pointless committees like the Europeans do?”
Niu’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Are you volunteering for that committee? If so, I can certainly form one and would be honored to add your name … ”
“You have the confidence of us all, Jianxing,” corpulent Shi Jingnu purred in his smooth, silk-merchant’s voice.
The general secretary intervened: “These matters concern all of us. I, for one, need answers to both questions. Are the Americans just waving the Roosevelt big stick, or are they actually sharpening their Kennedy swords?”
“A full report on the escape of Colonel Smith will be in your hands tomorrow,” Niu promised.
“And their frigate shadowing our cargo ship?” The secretary glanced down at the papers before him on the long table. “The Dowager Empress, is it?”
Niu nodded. “That’s her name. She’s owned by Flying Dragon Enterprises.”
He cast a swift glance toward Wei Gaofan, because the son-in-law of one of his closest proteges was the president of Flying Dragon. Still, Wei showed no particular interest — or even a reaction — to Niu’s statement.
Niu continued, “She’s registered in Hong Kong. I have completed an investigation of Flying Dragon and learned it’s operated by one Yu Yongfu in Shanghai, and that the Empress is en route to Basra, Iraq.”
There was still no reaction from Wei. At the least, he should be offering his observations if not the information that he knew Yu Yongfu.
“Iraq?” questioned Pao Peng, the secretary’s old Shanghai partner, suddenly becoming alert.
“What is its cargo?” Han Mengsu, another of the younger men, demanded.
“The actual cargo seems to be in dispute,” Niu said. He explained the possible connection of Lieutenant Colonel Smith to the Empress. “Smith came to Shanghai looking for something.”
“What does the manifest say the cargo is?” Wei Gaofan questioned.
Niu recounted the innocent cargo listed on the official manifest.
“Well, there you are,” Wei Gaofan said angrily. “As usual, the American bullies are throwing their weight around to impress their own people, as well as Europe and the weaker nations. It damn well is another Yinhe, and this time we absolutely can’t permit them to board. We’re a strong, independent nation, far larger than the United States, and we must put a stop to their warmonger politics.”
“This time,” Niu insisted, “there really could be contraband material aboard the Empress. Do we want such material to reach Iraq, especially without our knowledge or permission?” From the corners of his eyes, he continued to carefully observe Wei, not wanting him to become suspicious that he knew about Wei’s connection to Flying Dragon. The information would prove useful at some point. But not yet. As far as the Owl was concerned, patience and knowing when to act were the keys to success in all things.
“On what is that conjecture based?” Shi Jingnu demanded, his unctuous tone uncharacteristically absent.
“Colonel Dr. Smith is an unusual man to send as an agent. The only reason I can think is that he was in Taiwan and was that rare American who could get into China immediately by invitation. Whatever he actually came for had to be vital and time urgent.”
The general secretary pondered. “And you suggest that his mission could be to discover the truth about the Empress’s cargo?”
“That would qualify.”
“Which,” Wei Gaofan declared, “makes it all the more imperative the Americans are not allowed to interfere with it. If the charges are true, we would be exposed to the world.”
“Even if we had no knowledge and were innocent?” Niu asked.
Shi Jingnu said, “Who would believe that of China? And if they did, would we not appear weak and vulnerable? Not able to control our own people and in need of American oversight?”
Song Riuyu looked grave. “We may have to show our power this time, Secretary.”
Pao Peng nodded, one eye directed at the general secretary. “At least, we should plan to match them threat for threat.”
“A standoff?” the secretary mused. “You may be right. Who agrees?”
From behind his half-closed eyes, Niu Jianxing counted the hands. Seven.
Two were raised a little lower and less certain than those of Wei Gaofan, Shi Jingnu, and Pao Peng. The secretary did not raise his hand, but that was irrelevant. He would not have called for a vote had he been opposed.
Niu had a formidable task ahead if he were to save the human-rights accord. He did not like to think what else might need to be saved, if, during the standoff, someone pulled a trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In the clear air of late morning in the southern Arabian Sea, the day’s heat was beginning to build as Lieutenant (jg) Moses Canfield leaned on the aft rail enjoying the fresh air before he went below for his watch in the communications-and-control nerve center of the John Crowe. The Empress, which they had been shadowing for close to twenty-four hours, was hull up on the horizon, still making a steady course for Basra. Only the officers knew where the Empress was heading and what she was supposed to be carrying, and they had been ordered to tell no one. The secrecy somehow made Can-field’s nerves worse. He had found it difficult to sleep last night.
Now he was reluctant to go below. He had always been a little claustrophobic, which had prevented him from considering the submarine service, and his imagination was working overtime. He imagined himself trapped belowdecks as the Crowe absorbed a direct missile hit and plunged to the bottom within seconds, taking everyone with it. He shivered in the day’s growing heat and told himself to get a grip.
His nervousness had not been helped by the firm lecture from Commander Chervenko about waiting patiently and alertly when shadowing a ship until one was sure it was really changing course and not simply going on a brief side venture.
“Never jump to conclusions about the actions of the enemy, Lieutenant,” Chervenko had told him. “Get information before committing your ship.
Put yourself in the other man’s position and consider what he would do.
Finally, always be sure of your identifications.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Canfield had answered. He was mortified and a shade angry at the commander.
The touch of anger, as it so often did, refocused Canfield’s mind and, at least temporarily, chased away his claustrophobia as he looked at his watch, turned from the rail, and hurried below to his post in the cramped communications-and-control center.
Radar man OS2 Fred Baum was leaning back in his chair, drinking a Diet Coke. There had been nothing on the screen except the Empress since late yesterday. The Crowe was in action, and the excitement of pursuit, which had sustained Canfield’s people for most of the last twenty-four hours, was exhausted. Now they faced another day with only a blip on the radar or, when on deck, a distant silhouette. Boredom was becoming a danger.
Canfield decided to give them a version of the captain’s lecture. “All right, people, let’s shape it up. The Empress skipper could make a move any damn time. Don’t jump to conclusions about the actions of another ship. It all may look routine, but she can turn on you in a second. We can’t be sure what the Chinese have aboard or what they have in mind.
They might have a big gun or missiles, too. Always think every second about what could be in the mind of
